The Principles of the Chao

or How to Defend Yourself Against the REALLY Real Discordians

tm

A Collection of

ome of the !ost Recent and Profound

Discordian Te"ts #ncluding$ The Principia Discordia %Loompanics &th ' (th Edition) The *ise +oo, of +aloneThe Et Cetera Discordia The +lac, #ron Prison The Chao Te Ching

Compiled .Re/0 1udas #!234 3 C and Trisha Ta,inawa

Dedicated to all the spags at the principiadiscordia0com forums *ithout -ou all4 # would ne/er ha/e done this000 whether -ou wanted me to or not5 *hether -ou li,e it or not0

Contents$ The Principia Discordia$ The *ise +oo, of +aloneThe Et Cetera Discordia The +lac, #ron Prison The Chao Te Ching pg0 6 pg0 78& pg0 8&9 pg0 6:; pg0 &9&

PD4<ChsY2LD67;=

RAW Intro | Omar Intro | Title Page | Index |

Version Notes

INTRODUCTION You hold in your hands one of the Great Books of our century fnord. Some Great Books are recognized at once with a fusillade of critical huzzahs and gonfolons, like Joyces Ulysses. Others appear almost furtively and are only discovered 50 years later, like Moby Dick or Mendels great essay on genetics. The Principia Discordia entered our space-time continuum almost as unobtrusively as a cat-burglar creeping over a windowsill. In 1968, virtually nobody had heard of this wonderful book. In 1970, hundreds of people from coast to coast were talking about it and asking the identity of the mysterious author, Malaclypse the Younger. Rumors swept across the continent, from New York to Los Angeles, from Seattle to St. Joe. Malaclypse was actually Alan Watts, one heard. No, said another legend the Principia was actually the work of the Sufi Order. A third, very intriguing myth held that Malaclypse was a pen-name for Richard M. Nixon, who had allegedly composed the Principia during a few moments of lucidity. I enjoyed each of these yarns and did my part to help spread them. I was also careful never to contradict the occasional rumors that I had actually written the whole thing myself during an acid trip. The legendry, the mystery, the cult grew very slowly. By the mid1970s, thousands of people, some as far off as Hong Kong and Australia, were talking about the Principia, and since the original was out of print by then, xerox copies were beginning to circulate here and there. When the Illuminatus trilogy appeared in 1975, my co-author, Bob Shea, and I both received hundreds of letters from people intrigued by the quotes from the Principia with which we had decorated the heads of several chapters. Many, who had already heard of the Principia or seen copies, asked if Shea and I had written it, or if we had copies available. Others wrote to ask if it were real, or just something we had invented the way H.P. Lovecraft invented the Necronomicon. We answered according to our moods, sometimes telling the truth, sometimes spreading the most Godawful lies and myths we could devise fnord. Why not? We felt that this book was a true Classic (literatus immortalis) and, since the alleged intelligentsia had not yet discovered it, the best way to keep its legend alive was to encourage the mythology and the controversy about it. Increasingly, people wrote to ask me if Timothy Leary

had written it, and I almost always told them he had, except on Fridays when I am more whimsical, in which case I told them it had been transmitted by a canine intelligence vast, cool and unsympathetic from the Dog Star, Sirius. Now, at last, the truth can be told. Actually, the Principia is the work of a time-traveling anthropologist from the 23rd Century. He is currently passing among us as a computer specialist, bon vivant and philosopher named Gregory Hill. He has also translated several volumes of Etruscan erotic poetry, under another penname, and in the 18th Century was the mysterious Man in Black who gave Jefferson the design for the Great Seal of the United States. I have it on good authority that he is one of the most accomplished time-travelers in the galaxy and has visited Earth many times in the past, using such cover-identities as Zeno of Elias, Emperor Norton, Count Cagliostro, Guillaume of Aquitaine, etc. Whenever I question him about this, he grows very evasive and attempts to persuade me that he is actually just another 20th Century Earthman and that all my ideas about his Extraterrestrial and extratemporal origin are delusions. Hah! I am not that easily deceived. After all, a time-traveling anthropologist would say just that, so that he could observe us without his presence causing culture-shock. I understand that he has consented to write an Afterward to this edition. Hell probably contradict everything Ive told you, but dont believe a word he says fnord. He is a master of the deadpan put-on, the plausible satire, the philosophical leg-pull and all branches of guerilla ontology. For full benefit to the Head, this book should be read in conjunction with The Illuminoids by Neal Wilgus (Sun Press, Albuquerque, New Mexico) and Zen Without Zen Masters by Camden Benares (And/Or Press, Berkeley, California). We are operating on many levels here, as Ken Kesey used to say. In conclusion, there is no conclusion. Things will go on as they always have, getting weirder all the time. Hail Eris. All hail Discordia. Fnord?
-Robert Anton Wilson International Arms and Hashish Inc. Darra Bazar, Kohat

5th edition introduction: by Kerry Thornley, Discordian Society Co-founder

If organized religion is the opium of the masses, then disorganized religion is the marijuana of the lunatic fringe. Most disorganized of all religions, Discordianism alone understands that organization is the work of the Devil. Holy Chaos is the Natural Condition of Reality, contrary to popular belief. Theologians cite Order in the Universe as proof of a Supreme Intelligence, but a glance is enough to see that the stars are not actually in neat little rows. (Oh, sure, there is the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper - but if they were really connect-the-dot drawings there would be numbers next to the stars.) Theology is just a debate over who to frame for creating reality. What we imagine is order is merely the prevailing form of chaos. Every few thousand years some shepherd inhales smoke from a burning bush and has a vision or eats moldy rye bread in a cave and sees God. From then on their followers kill one another at the slightest provocation. Haunted houses called temples are built by one side and torn down by another - and then bloody quarrels continue over the crumbling foundations. Organized religion preaches Order and Love but spawns Chaos and Fury. Why? Because the whole Material Universe is exclusive property of the Greco-Roman Goddess of Chaos, Confusion, Strife, Helter-Skelter and Hodge-Podge. No Spiritual power is even strong enough to dent Her chariot fenders. No material force can resist the temptation of Her Fifth Intergalactic Bank of the Acropolis Slush Fund for Graft and Corruption. All this was revealed to me in an absolutely unforgettably miraculous event in 1958 or 1959 in a bowling alley in Friendly Hills or maybe Santa Fe Springs, California, witnessed by either Gregory Hill or Malaclypse the Younger or perhaps Mad Malik or Reverend Doctor Occupant or some guy who must have vaguely resembled one or another of them. With the help of a Chaosophers Stone I found the Goddess Eris Discordia in my pineal gland (on Cosmic Channel Number Five) and ever since I have known the answers to all the mysteries of metaphysics, metamystics, metamorphics, metanoiacs and metaphorics. (Before that I didnt even know how to install a plastic trash can liner so it wouldnt fall down inside the first time somebody threw away garbage.)

You, too can activate your pineal gland simply by reciting the entire contents of this book upon awakening each morning, rubbing sandalwood paste between your eyes each evening upon retiring, banging your forehead against the ground five times a day, refraining from harming cockroaches and meditating (defined as sitting around waiting for good luck). When your pineal gland finally lights up you will never again, as long as you live, have to relax. Eris Discordia will solve all your problems and She will expect you in return to solve all Her problems. In these very pages you will learn about converting infidels. Later on, you will be taught how to annoy heretics. You will also be required to resolve Zen-like riddles, such as: If Jesus was Jewish, then why did he have a Puerto Rican name? Once you become adept at leaning on backsliders, you will qualify for a calling. Maybe you will be a Chaosopher (who delivers commentaries on chaos) or perhaps, instead, a Chaoist (who goes around stirring up chaos) or, perchance, a Knower (who knows better than to do either one). But under no circumstances may you become a Prophet. We dont intend to jeopardize our nonprophet status. What we lack in Prophets, however, we make up for in Saints. Only a Pope may canonize a Saint, but every man, woman and child on this planet is a genuine and authorized Pope (genuine and authorized by the House of the Apostles of Eris). So you can ordain yourself - and anyone or anything else - a Saint. Times werent always so easy. When in 1968 I first declared myself a Saint, Gregory Hill said, Thats impossible, insisting, Only dead people can be Saints, adding, and fictional characters, guessing, You are neither one. But it happened that, although I was no longer a believer, I was still on the membership roles of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. So Greg was too late. Me and all the other Mormons were already Saints and some of us living ones - no matter what he said. Nowadays only the Mormons have more Saints than the Discordian Society. But we plan to catch up with them. Won't you please join our Sainthood Drive? Moral perfection isn't necessary for Discordian Sainthood. You just have to suffer a lot. So many other privileges of membership in our religion come to mind that I don't know where to begin. For instance, you don't have to get out of bed early on Sunday morning to attend church. You can sleep in. How many Christian denominations - for all their talk of brotherly love - are that compassionate?

You can even be a Discordian in good standing without ever having to so much as look at another Discordian - early in the morning or any other time. Thats an advantage to mail-order religion that the more conventional faiths try to play down. What is so unusual about Discordian Abnormail - as we call it - is decentralization. Dont contact me here at Orthodox Discordian Society Hindquarters! Send your letters, notes, relics, sacraments and writs of excommunication to one another. That, says Discordian Episkopos Ol Sam (36 Erskine Drive, Morristown, NJ 07960), is eristic abnormail - adding: Unfortunately, the majority of eristic abnormail is nothing but inane gossip, masturbatory in-jokes, trivial variations of stale dogma, snide put-downs of those not weird in exactly the same was as us, and similar such garbage ad naseum; and thats good too! (I like the way Ol Sam always keeps a positive attitude.) Our outreach program is called aneristic abnormail and is defined by Ol Sam as weird things sent in fun to those still trapped in the Region of Thud - squares, that is. When some order-bound heathen makes an especially unenlightened public remark, that unsuspecting dolt is likely to receive a Jake - whole mail box full of weird shit from Discordians everywhere on the same day. For maximum benefit, says Ol Sam, a good Jake should be in response to a particularly gross manifestation of the Aneristic Delusion, not merely intended to chastise, but to teach and amuse as well (or else make them hopping mad). The best Jakes involve a lot of Discordians, all conspiring to contact the subject on Jake Day - a shining example of Discordian accord, as paradoxical as that sounds. (If you think that sounds paradoxical, wait until you hear about the Discordian accordion.) Another advantage to Discordianism over the worlds other great religions is that we tell you about the Fendersons. While it is true that you dont have to be a Discordian before becoming a Fenderson, the Taoists - for instance - dont even know about the Fendersons. And those who know do not speak. Fenderson Discordian Graham Trievel explains that a Fenderson is a member of a family you can join by saying you are one. Yes, anybody who wants to be a Fenderson can be a Fenderson. Just say these three words, Im a Fenderson. Its as simple as that. Genealogy buffs will be interested to know, Our Fenderson forefather can be reached at: S.J. Glew, 5611 Lehman Road, DeWitt, MI 48820 ..... Blame him. All Fendersons add Fenderson to their existing name or they use the last name of Fenderson with entirely new first and/or middle names. For

example, you can call me Graham Fenderson Trievel, Fenderson Graham Trievel, or Graham Trievel Fenderson. (And you can call me Saint Ignatius Fenderson.) But you must at all times keep in touch with other Fendersons. This, says Fenderson, is easy to accomplish as you can make anybody you want a Fenderson, even if they dont want to be one. Write Graham Fenderson Trievel about how to get a 1989 Fenderson family reunion baseball cap at Rt. 113, Box 481, Lionville, PA 19353. But he warns, Ill be collecting names and addresses of Fendersons for possible future publication. If you become a Discordian and also want salvation in the Industrial Church of the SubGenius (Box 140306, Dallas TX 75214) you are free to maintain a duel membership. Or if you live outside of Texas (in some state where dueling is illegal), you can be an honorary SubGenius and a dishonorary Discordian both at once. You might even say SubGeniusism is our sister faith or brother religion - or at least our Marine-Corps buddy theology, because J.R. Bob Dobbs was my Marine Corps buddy in Atsugi, Japan (where he distinguished himself by shooting his own toe while on guard duty although he was only aiming for a fly on the tip of his boot). Dobbs want on to become a supersalesman and trance medium who until his untimely assassination channeled Prescriptures that occasionally mentioned Eris Discordia, if not always as kindly as prudence would dictate. Out of these Prescriptures came the SubGenius Church - so named because you only qualify to join if your IQ is below genius. A pipe in his mouth and a maniacal gleam in his eyes were trademarks of Bob and so his fanatical cult sues for copyright violation anyone whose eyes gleam in a similar fashion. Other exciting features of the SubGenii include their spirited quest for Slack, their brave determination to be Overmen, their understandable disgust with Technoboredom, their unblushing Crass Commercialism and their keen pride in their Northern Tibetan abominable snowman ancestry. You can find out more by sending them your bank account. If, on the other hand, you would rather join the Bavarian Illuminati, you have to bury your bank account in a cigar box in your yard. One of their underground agents will find it and contact you. Our religion is so completely infiltrated with agents of the Ancient Illuminated Seers of Bavaria that if, for instance, you pass out Fair-Play-ForSwitzerland flyers for us you are assured of rapid advancement to more important work for the Illuminati.

Both the _Illuminatus!_ trilogy by Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson and the Illuminati Board Game by Steve Jackson mention the Discordian Society almost as often as they speak of the nefarious Bavarian Conspirators themselves. Prestige of intimate association with the Illuminati is enormous because they have absolutely ruled the whole world for the past five thousand years. Unlike the Illuminati, who are everywhere, the Right Reverend Jesse Sumpss First Evangelical and Unrepentant Church of No Faith is an exclusive Discordian franchise. Upon receiving a precious Mao button that said, We must have faith in the Party and we must have faith in the masses, Sump exclaimed: No faith! No faith in the Party, no faith in the masses, no faith in God and no faith in the ruling class! and thus the First Evangelical and Unrepentant Church of No Faith began. Jesse Sump has faith in Eris Discordia, though, because everybody has just got to believe in something. Perhaps the chief difference between the Discordian Society and Sumps outfit is one of style. We got it. They dont. But if you like working yourself into a frenzy at camp meetings in order to foam at the mouth, speak in tongues, handle snakes, run moonshine and experience phantasmagoria, the No Faith Church will make you happy as a pig in mud. Of course, all the high-church glitter of the Paratheoianametamystichood of Eris Esoteric is not just yours for the asking. We solicit no donations, demand no tithes, charge no admission, levy no poll tax and run only a few nifty religious novelty stores on the side. But certain obligations adhere to the more hallowed manifestations of Discordianship. Eating hot dog buns is prohibited, except on Friday - when it is compulsory. Stepped on cockroaches will earn you no points with our Blessed Saint Gulik. You must discipline yourself under a certified Slackmaster until you are capable of drinking beer and watching television with total concentration. All bowling alleys are sacred to Discordians and, if necessary, you must give your life to protect them from desecration - if anyone ever decides to desecrate bowling alleys. Finally, you must not rest until all the sheep are brought into the fold. (And when we convert all the sheep we are going to the dogs next, then wolves, goats and, at the anointed hour, human beings.) Goddess also expects you to work on yourself. You must devote your full attention to every task you perform so you will realize - in a flash of sudden enlightenment - how confusing it is. You must master one Little Moron riddle after another until, with years of study, there is no longer any

separation in your perception between subject and object, between you and the Little Moron. Then there are bigots, who will persecute you because they hate Eris Discordia, and have no better sense than to judge an entire religion by the behavior of a single deity. But before I was a Discordian, when I entered my room only to be reminded by its disarray that it was a mess, I felt a sense of defeat. These days when that happens I just say, Hail Eris! - our customary salute to any embodiment of chaos - and then I cheerfully carry on, secure in the knowledge that the constellations look no better. Before I was a Discordian, I wasted a lot of time arguing with evangelists about God and Jesus. Now they waste a lot of time arguing about Eris Discordia with me. Before I was a Discordian, I took life much too seriously. When you take life too seriously you start to wonder what the point of it all is. When you wonder what the point is in life, you fall into a trap of thinking there is one. When you think there is a point, you finally realize there is no point. And what point is there in living like that? Nowadays I skip the search for a point and find, instead, the punch lines. Before I was a Discordian, I was distressed by the inefficiency and inhumanity of organizations. Now I am vindicated by their inefficiency and inhumanity. Before I was a Discordian, I used to be afraid of my own shadow. Ah, but now my shadow is afraid of me! Having at last glimpsed the value of Discordianism, you are hereby ready to be awed by the importance of the little book you hold in your hands this very moment. Five years of Discordian Society activity transpired before the First Edition of Principia Discordia rolled off District Attorney Jim Garrisons mimeograph machine (without his knowledge) in New Orleans in 1964. That was the work of Gregory Hill and Lane Caplinger, a Discordian typist in the DAs office. During the next five years Greg produced bigger and funnier editions, with a little help from me (but not as much as the enemies of our faith suspect). By no means is the Principia our only scripture. All along Greg has been writing what he says is a summary of the Universe, but evidently it will be quite some time before he completes it. Additionally, there are piles and piles of Discordian leaflets and broadsides cranked out by zealous converts from everywhere - with new ones arriving in the mail each month - but

Goddess only knows where they all are now or remembers what they said. There is also Chaos: Broadsheets of Ontological Anarchism by Hakim Bey (Grim Reaper Books) of the Unarmed Expropriation Committee of the John Henry McKay Society and Bishop of Persia (in Exile) of the Moorish Orthodox Church of America. But out most exalted testament of all is The Honest Book of Truth - of which there is, alas, only one copy locked away in the Closed Stacks of the Akashic Records. Only qualified Discordian Episkoposes with activated pineal glands may copy passages from it - and these may only be published when they can be shown beyond a reasonable doubt to have redeeming social value, such as by educating you or arousing purient interest. But this Fourth and Fifth Combined Edition of Principia Discordia is unquestionably the most influential of all the great, immortal works of significant literature our classic Greek Goddess has inspired. Who would even venture to guess how many wretched and thankless lives these few astonishing pages have deprived forever of meaningless purpose? Who can say how many seminarians read the Principia and decided to change vocations and become clowns, or many landlords it has caused to sell their estates and buy yachts or airplanes for smuggling marijuana, or how many politicians it has inspired to vanish alone into the high mountains and become sagacious hermits, or how many investment bankers it has turned into anarchists? Slim Brooks was just an ordinary merchant seaman dwelling in the New Orleans French Quarter until he read Principia Discordia. Then he became the mysterious Keeper of the Submarine Keys who would never tell anyone what submarine or why it was locked. Roger Lovin was just a dashing, talented and handsome con artist who was too shallow to settle into any one thing. But for years and years after he read the Principia, under his Discordian Name of Fang the Unwashed, he consistently and with unswerving devotion to the task excommunicated every new person any of the rest of us initiated into the Discordian Society. Robert Anton Wilson was just a Playboy advisor who wrote safe and insipid answers to inquiries from readers about the size and present whereabouts of John Dillingers penis until he read this remarkable tract. Then he became Mord the Malignant and wrote a whole library full of widely read books about the Illuminati and how to make Synchronicity work for you in finding quarters on the sidewalk. Mike Gunderloy was just a compulsive reader of fanzines until the fateful day he read Principia Discordia (under the mistaken impression it

was another fanzine). Now he is Ukulele the Short of the Discordian Society and big-time publisher of Factsheet Five. Elayne Wechsler was just some broad with a funny bone until she read the Principia and asked the question that led to my great definition of theology. Why, she wanted to know, is the Discordian Society, which worships a female divinity, so male dominated? Recalling that more women than men are devout about Christianity with its male God and His male Son, I decided that people like religions that blame reality on the opposite sex. So let that be a lesson to us males. Behind every great idea there is a broad with a funny bone. So there is no telling how much happier and better adjusted reading this book will make you. Principia Discordia is both a psychological laxative and a spiritual corn plaster. Unsolicited testimonials can be mailed to me in care of Out of Order - the sectual organ of the Orthodox Discordian Society - at Box 5498, Atlanta GA 30307. How Discordianism will change you is not, however, the real question. Anybody can be changed by something they read. No wit, imagination, creativity, talent or energy is required for that much. How will you change the Discordian Society is the real question - a question you should be asking yourself from page 00001 all the way through page 00075, a question you should keep asking yourself long after you reverently close the covers of Principia Discordia, wrap it carefully in silk, solemnly return it to its golden box and bow five times after resting it in its place of honor on your altar. Most neophyte Discordians are either too cautious or too serious. They constantly ask permission to do this or that like there are rules hidden away somewhere in the folds of our robes of office. Or they labor at length over ponderous metaphysical schemata with no gags in them, as if the sole ironclad rule of our Society isnt that you have to be funny, as much as possible and as often as possible - or else. But we are indulgent toward monks who catch on in due time. Seldom do I beat anyone with my trusty staff - and certainly never without their help. On the subject of personal encounters with other Discordians - and sometimes even the most careful among us cannot avoid them - keep in mind the lodge grips of our Disorder. Somewhere in the following pages you will learn the Turkey Curse. Among Zen Buddhists it is said, When you meet another bodhisattva on the road, greet him with neither words nor silence. That leaves you with a vast selection of barnyard noises from which to choose.

But as you crow like a rooster or quack like a duck or moo like a cow, scrutinize your brother or sister Discordian with alert interest - never cracking a smile - to see how he or she will respond. An oinking reply that is too loud indicates a swaggering bravado which falls short of mature eristic enlightenment, but that is far better than a feeble and spiritless neigh. Perhaps best of all is simply uttering a mondo. That is like picking up the telephone when it rings and saying, Wrong number, please! However much you think about a mondo it makes no sense - even clamps and pliers cannot get hold of it. Yet at the same time, if it is a good mondo, the longer you think about it the more it seems light it ought to make sense - although you can never figure out why. Beyond that much, a truly great mondo sticks to your mind like hot pine pitch - gumming up your thought process for weeks on end. When the Zen Master Joshu was still a monk, his master - Nansen struck him in answer to some dumb remark or other. Joshu grabbed Nansens arm, glared at the master and said, From now on do not hit people by mistake! Nansen replied as follows: The whole world can tell a snake from a dragon, but you cannot fool a Zen monk. Thats a genuinely great mondo. From this much you can see why meeting other Discordians in person can be harrowing. Besides the pen is only mighter than the sword at a range greater than five feet. When the SubGenius Church held its first Devival, Reverend Ivan Stang of the Dallas Clench expressed surprise at how nice and polite all the fans of his Dobbswork were, adding, Its almost disappointing. Still, the wise take no unnecessary chances. As you can tell, we are much indebted to other religions. Not only SubGeniusism and Zen and Taoism have inspired us, but also Zoroastrianism - which practiced fire worship. We too, pay homage to fire in certain circumstances - such as when it is burning the writings of false prophets or is producing inhalable quantities of cannabis smoke. Our tradition is rooted in a medieval rite called the Mass of the Travesty in which marijuana was the sacrament. According to The Emperor Wears No Clothes by Jack Herer, the Mass of the Travesty can be liked to a Mel Brooks, Second City-TV, Monty Python, or Saturday Night Live - e.g., Father Guido Sarducci-type group - doing irreverent, farcical or satirical take-offs on the dogmas, doctrine, indulgences, and rituals of the R.C. Ch. mass and/or its absolute beliefs. Unfortunately, the humorless Roman Catholic Church authorities of the 15th century thought the Mass of the Travesty was heretical - and that was the true story of how marijuana got its bad name, which it has never since been able to shake off.

Actually, the Mass of the Travesty may have been a disguised remnant of the original Greek Discordianism. For history indicates there must have been, among those ancient ones, Erisian Mysteries. (But if so, they were never solved.) Eris tells us they existed and were the work of Malaclypse the Elder, a mystery writer by trade who also tutored the philosopher Diogenes in lamp maintenance, barrel keeping, rock rolling, public masturbation and Cynicism - until Diogenes was with it enough to fend for himself. No outpouring of gratitude would be complete without acknowledging the desert religions of the Middle East which keep that part of the world alive with action to this day - and from which we inherited our fanatical determination to be at all times, right or wrong, as unreasonable as possible. Translated into Latin this commitment is the motto on our coins, seals, rings, plaques and tomb stones: Semper Non Sequitur! Much of our grandeur is also derived from Hinduism. From the Aryan mystery cult we acquired our soma-drinking habit. Soma, in turn, fortified us with the confidence that we are better than people who look different than us. From Verdanta we learned how to Sanskrit our temple walls. Tantra taught us our many strange sex secrets. That staying up all night to smoke ganja and dance and sing can be passed off as religious activity was something we learned from the Bauls of Bengal. But surely the cult of Kali, Cosmic Mother, Giver and Taker of Life, resembles Discordianism most. We asked Eris about this and She said Kali is short for the Greek Kallisti, which was engraved on the party-crashing Golden Apple of Discord dealt with later on in this informative volume. She added that Her own full name is actually Eris Kallisti Discordia, but took the Fifth Amendment when we asked if this means She and Kali are one in the same. Our borrowings from Christianity are so obvious that mention of them is almost insulting to whatever modicum of intelligence you possess. But from that tradition we gained our crafty distrust of the reality principle as well as the rather singular notion of an Only Begotten Son. We asked Goddess if She, like God, had an Only Begotten Son. She assured us that She did and gave His name as Emperor Norton I - whom we assumed was probably some Byzantine ruler of Constantinople. Diligent research eventually turned up the historical Norton, as we call Him, in the holy city of San Francisco - where He walked his faithful dog along Market Street scarcely more than a century ago. Gregory Hill has since become the worlds foremost authority on Joshua A. Norton who, on September 17th of 1859, crowned Himself the Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico. Just before then, He

vanished for a number of days - perhaps into the wilderness where maybe He was tempted by the Devil, probably to organize His life and get His affairs in order. Certainly they looked like thats what they needed. For on the day before his disappearance Norton, heretofore little more than a successful businessman, cornered the rice market - only to be foiled by the unscheduled arrival of a whole shipload of rice from the Orient. A lesser man would have been thrown out of step by that event which for Him became a step to the throne. When the U.S. Congress failed to obey His Majestys Royal Order to assemble in the San Francisco Opera House, Norton fired every last member of that rebellious organization. Thus, the people of San Francisco knew better than to incite His Imperial wrath. His Royal Decrees were printed free of charge in the newspapers, the currency He issued was accepted in the saloons, local shopkeepers paid the modest taxes He occasionally demanded and on at least one occasion a tailor furnished Him with a new set of Royal finery. Although a madman, Norton wrote letters to Abraham Lincoln and Queen Victoria which they took seriously. One night a gang of vigilantes gathered for a pogrom against San Franciscos Chinatown. All that stood in their way was the solitary figure of Norton. A sane man would not have been there in the first place. A rational man would have tried to reason with them. A moralist would have scolded them. A man as daft as Norton usually seemed would have loudly ordered them to cease and desist in the name of His Royal Imperial authority. All such tacks would probably have been futile, and Norton resorted to none of them. He simply bowed His head in silent prayer. The vigilantes dispersed. Discordians believe everybody should live like Norton. So write your legislative representatives demanding harsh laws with teeth in them requiring people of all faiths - especially Christians and especially on Sunday - to live as Joshua A. Norton did. About five years ago I had a dream in which someone was yelling, SIGNS IN THE SKY! When I looked up I saw balloons and blimps carrying aloft big neon letters that said: NORTON DIED! WANT NO DEAD! But when Emperor Norton died, tens of thousands of San Franciscans flocked to His full Masonic funeral. Pilgrimages to His grave are still common.

Perhaps occasionally the soul of Emperor Norton descends once more into the world to momentarily inhabit the body of an otherwise undistinguished infidel. One day I was sitting in a hamburger stand in rundown midtown Atlanta. A burned-out speed freak at a nearby table looked at me with a pleasant smile and said, Im King of the Universe. I dont know what Im doing in a place like this. And perhaps thats the big attraction of our faith. If you want, you can be King of the Universe. Jesse Sump is Ancient Abbreviated Calif. of California. I am Bull Goose of Limbo and President of the Fair-Play-forSwitzerland Committee. Camden Benares is Pretender to the Throne of Lesbos. Greg Hill is Polyfather of Virginity-in-Gold. Sabal Etonia is High Constable of Constantinople. You can declare yourself Archbishop of Abyssinia or Curator of the Moon - we dont care but your mailman will be impressed. According to L.A. Rollins in Lucifers Lexicon a Discordian is one who likes to wear Emperor Nortons old clothes. If anything could be added to that definition, I cannot think what. As I indicated earlier, my own background is Mormon. Since few are familiar with the off-beat creeds of that unusual sect, Mormonism doesnt land itself to broad satire readily. Yet the temptation is forever with me to swipe such startling rituals as, say, baptism of the dead. Based on the rule that you cannot enter the Celestial Kingdom unless your name is recorded in Salt Lake City, all who passed away without the benefit - at any time in the past - must, for their own good, be sooner or later baptized. (So strong a conviction is this among the Saints that when my uncle died and left a lot of unpaid bills my Aunt Lena made off with his church records one day while doing volunteer secretarial work, secure in the faith his soul would be locked outside the Pearly Gates until or unless she brought them back.) But Mormon baptism of the dead is a cop-out because in spite of stressing the importance of complete physical immersion for the living, they dunk the deceased by proxy. A Discordian Church of Ladder Night Saints could open graves for the purpose of submerging skeletons and corpses. Then it could lower them back down before dawn. That would give us an exciting mission which would heighten our commitment by inviting persecution - a function served in the early days of Latter Day Saint Church history by polygamy. Technically the Mormons practiced only polygyny - one husband with a plurality of wives. Polyandry - one wife with more than one husband - is also a form included by the generic term of polygamy. Discordians are free

to practice all varieties of polygamy and polymorphous perversity as well. Marriage is an institution which should adjust itself to the needs of individuals and not the other way around. Any Discordian Episkopos may perform group marriage ceremonies, short-duration marriages, same-sex marriages and, with special permission, straight monogamous weddings. If Mormonism is out of the mainstream, it still does not rival in that way an obscure Japanese religion called Perfect Liberty. May Goddess damn me if I am putting you on: Perfect Liberty teaches salvation through playing golf (as close to our own theory of salvation through nonsense as anyone else has come). For that reason Perfect Liberty owns many of the regular golf courses that dot the U.S. and Japan. Personally, I think we Discordians could work out a similar path to liberation via surfing. That sounds like a program that would work for me. Unlike Will Rogers, I cannot honestly say Ive never met a man I didnt like. But certainly I have never met a surfer I didnt like. When Pope Paul excommunicated Saint Christopher - who happens to be the Patron Saint of Surfers - for what seems to us like the rather negligible fault of never existing, the Discordian Society adopted him, along with Saint Patrick (discharged for the same reason at the same time). Already an experienced beach bum, with many years on the sands of Floridas Sun Coast, I think I might very well spend the twilight years of my life in the holy land of California mastering the graceful art of riding a surfboard. When I am ready to take on disciples, you can probably find me somewhere along the stretch between Venice and San Diego, praying to Eris for surf. But joining me will entail sacrifices because a Discordian surfer will be prohibited from owning anything but a surfboard, trunks, a toothbrush, a beach towel and an automobile (maybe a hot rod or dune buggy). Because surfing is not just a sport; its a lifestyle. And Discordianism is not just a religion; it is a mental illness. Should you arrive too late, during the first many years of my next lifetime I shall be found in the Simon Bolivar School for Boys of the Discordian Convent of San Medellin, Ciudad de Sandoz, Columbia - where instead of beating pupils for misconduct, the nuns give them blow jobs and then threaten delinquents with a termination of favors. (At least thats what Discordian San Juan Batista, Keeper of the Seven Veils, tells us.) But enough of this vocational planning. If the Discordian Society is to become the worlds next great cargo cult it will be due to the efforts of the House of Mirrors. Not only have we nunneries, but recognized and accepted heresies, powerful lobbies complete with popcorn concessions and everything from progressive belaboring

unions to square sewing circles. Many are mentioned in the /Principia/ proper and I dont think it proper to repeatedly engage in repetitive repetition by repeating things repeated later on because I hate redundancy. But there are also some new ones, such as the Ignorant Rescue Mission with its rousing slogans: Rescue the ignorant! Save the dead! Cast out lepers! (Members dress in old band or military brass-button jackets and help attractive females get adequate sex.) There are also the Brunswick Shriners, Moral Regurgitation, Citizens against Infant Sexuality, the Crack House Integration of the Black Lotus Society, the Misplaced Bolivian Wild Animal Relocation Fund, the Laurel Foundation for the Recognition of Unique Achievement, the Gould Charitable Trust for Dynamic Population Control, the Patrio-Psychotic Anarcho-Materialism Study Group and the Sovereign State of Confusion. Also not mentioned in the Principia - our many business ventures. No church likes to engage in the unseemly practice of boasting of its great wealth, but since I am being paid by the word I will list the names of our financial assets: the Brooklyn Bridge Holding Company, the Umbrella Corporation, the Spare Change Investment Corporation, Junk Mail Assossiates, San Andreas Shoreline Properties, the Fast Buck Riding Academy, the Informed Sources News Syndicate, Fly-by-Night Drug Transport, Infinite Vistas, Ltd., Everglades Land Investment, Cosa Nostra Amusements of New Jersey and the Laughing Buddha Jesus Ranch of Pinga Grande, Texas, Inc. No doubt you are a little confused. Jesus, God and the Devil get such frequent billing in our religion - whereas most other faiths never advertise the competition. Thats mostly because of the neoGnostical influence of SubGeniusism. Jesus was not the Son of God at all but - as He says again and again in The Bible - He was the Son of Man. Actually, His mission was to warn us against God - a laser-armed computer-robot space station sent to regulate or destroy humanity. (Our very own Dr. Van Mojo finally got rid of YHVH-1 by sticking hat pins in a tetherball, but thats another story.) As for the Devil - that is somebody our religion tried to do without for a long time. We didnt think we needed a Devil, especially with Eris Discordias reputation being what it is already. But religions without devils are like politicians without enemies or perpetual motion machines. If they are possible, they might just work. But who will ever know? Our Devil came through the back door after introducing himself as Mr. Greyface. You will read about him in The Curse of Greyface. After

blaming the first few evils on him we realized how handy he was and gave him a lifelong membership before we determined his true identity. What really fooled us is that his face is gray - and thats far from being his only resemblance to J.R. Bob Dobbs, the SubGenius Messiah of Mediocrity. But then so many gray-flanneled American males look like Bob, that is hardly evidence of conspiracy. One difference: Greyface never smiles except when he is showing you how stupid you are; Bob always smiles except when he is showing you how stupid you are. For that reason the SubGenii call Greyface the AntiBob, but in both our churches seers and sages know he is the Devil. No matter whether he calls himself Greyface or the Anti-Bob he acts like the Devil, because his most famous line is: Let me organize it for you! But no doubt you are also curious about Eris. Where does she hang out these days - now that Olympus has gone tourist? Eris Discordia is in Limbo, where all we virtuous pagans and our gods and goddesses go between lifetimes. Think of Key West in the off-season and youve got it. Imagine an open-air bar at about ten in the morning. An aging barefoot Greek beauty with an Art Garfunkel hairdo is giving Zeus, the bartender, a hard time with a barbed wit that always leaves him bereft of any retort besides an extended middle finger. Another attraction of Limbo is a nonstop party for the faithful, but Zeus has child support bills and Eris never was much of a party animal, contrary to popular belief. Nor will you find any SubGenii at that party, or anywhere else in Limbo. With bikers and Nazis - if they were good Nazis - skinheads and pillars of the Church of the SubGenius go to Vahallah. Bad people of every persuasion go to the Region of Thud. A sprawling astral subdivision where there is nothing to do but eat and watch television and where all the houses, yards and people look pretty much alike, Thud keeps up with the Joneses. Most Christians are there, but in their creed it is called Paradise. Only souls who, in the eyes of Eris, went out of their way to be a pain in the ass during their earthly sojourns are in Hell. Harry J. Aslinger qualifies. But still, the perils of Hell are exaggerated. Fire and brimstone are sources of heating during cold snaps, but our human rights group, Amnasty Interfactional, reports that nothing in Hell is any worse than the hideous shade of pink on its walls.

There are also such things as Nirvana - an exclusive resort for extinguished Zen Masters - and the Happy Hunting Grounds, where traditional Native American braves and warriors are the forest rangers. Dead cops (and Gurdjieffians who forgot to remember themselves) go to the Moon, a big precinct station in the sky, controlled by space aliens, where there are twice as many laws as here - converted to its present use from what was originally a slain space monsters hollow titanium skill. You can only be asking yourself at this point how these guys could possibly be taking all this shit seriously. If we werent serious, do you really think we would have published so many tracts and pamphlets at our own expense for so many years? Do people who are not serious stay awake nights thinking up new theologies and scriptures? Who but serious fanatics would have risked their lives by exposing their work to the readership of our first mass-circulation publisher, Loompanics? Let me answer by asking what being serious has to do with believing what we write. But that isnt to say we dont at least believe in Goddess even if we are skeptical of what She says. But that is now, after more than three decades of Discordianism. No way did we think there was an Eris Discordia at first. But as Greg says, At first I thought I was fucking around with Eris. Now I see that Eris is fucking around with me. A Discordian must believe that Eris Discordia rules the Material Universe - and that She won it from God in a divorce suit during the Beforelife, and that the French anarchist Pierre Joseph Proudhon was Her attorney at the trial, and that nobody is Her Prophet, and that eating hotdog buns is a sin. All else is a matter of individual conscience. Graven images and icons and pictures of Eris are all right as long as they are flattering. Safe sex - with a condom, rubber gloves and a wet suit is fine as long as you dont fall in love. You may covet your neighbors ass - providing your neighbor is into it. You may drink, but not to escape problems. (Like the Maltafarians of the SubGenius Church, you may only drink to create problems.) There is no prohibition against prayer - which is not to say we think it is a wise activity. You dont have to believe in Eristic Avatars to be a Discordian, but it helps. Eristic Avatars are sent down into Reality, the original Rorschach, for the purpose keeping things from becoming so well ordered that they stop working. This they often accomplish by insisting that certain arbitrary interpretations of reality are the only valid ones. That causes Strife which

results in Confusion which revitalizes Holy Chaos. Most Eristic Avatars display certain signs by which they can be certified, such as employment as civil servants. So far, the most successful Eristic Avatar has been Confucius. Eristic Avatars can also be ascertained by the fact that they are always ignorant of their mission and have no idea they are serving Eris or, for that matter, that they are even promoting confusion. That is made possible by the Law of Eristic Escalation, of which you must be innocent to serve as Eristic Avatar. (For an unknown reason, it does not work as well for those of us who are guilty of it.) This Law pertains to any arbitrary or coercive imposition of order. It is: Imposition of Order = Escalation of Chaos. Fendersons Amendment adds that the tighter the order in question is maintained, the longer the consequent chaos takes to escalate, BUT the more it does when it does! Armed with the Law of Eristic Escalation and Fendersons Amendment any imbecile - not just a sociologist - can understand politics. So I will translate into the lingua franca of the Western world: An imposition of order creates a chaos deficit, which compounds until it is paid off (by enduring all the outstanding chaos). Of course, Eris thinks all chaos is outstanding. But we mortals find too much of a good thing a little overwhelming. Thus we cringe when we encounter an anerism - a pronouncement, that is, which is innocent of the Law of Eristic Escalation. If you hear that outlawing prostitution will eradicate rape, you are listening to an anerism - a manifestation of Aneristic Delusion. (If you read The Sacred Chao on pages 00049 and 00050 - instead of skipping over it in the recommended way - you will comprehend the anamysticmetaphorics of aneristics.) An anerism nearly always enters the world through the mouth of a politician - but it can come by way of any authority figure such as a minister or a teacher or a parent or a boss or Ronald McDonald. We need more laws with stiffer penalties to rid our community of drugs, says an innocent pawn of Eris. To be sure, these laws make smuggling and selling and buying drugs more risky. That, in turn, drives up their prices - thus making them more profitable. So more money and work goes into expanding the market for the contraband - in keeping with the Law of Eristic Escalation. Or, as the Taoist sage Chuang Tzu simply said, The more laws there are, the more crime there is.

(Identification and elucidation of anerisms is a favorite pastime of politically conscious Discordians - who note that the whole text of my Epistle to the Paranoids on page 00069 is a psychological anerism. Goddess punished me for it, about five years later, by turning me into a paranoid myself. A conspiracy helped Her. As of this writing, I am still paranoid - according to my friends.) (Or are they my enemies?) Proliferation of crime in the wake of multiplication of laws is more than a matter of expanded definition. Governments are impositions of order designed to discourage theft and killing. But they wind up taking more in taxes than all the freelance crooks around could steal. Their wars involve more killing than all the meanest toughs and hoodlums can hope to rival. Laws were unknown to the True People of Old, says Chuang Tzu. All during the paleolithic and the neolithic there could hardly have been any laws, because the cave paintings in France and Spain depict no battle scenes. We know that in the time of Moses many laws did not seem necessary or desirable because the second time he came down from Mount Sinai he said: The good news is I got Him down to ten; the bad news is that one of them is still THOU SHALT NOT COMMIT ADULTERY. In Limbo there are only five laws: 1) No making anybody do anything they dont want, except mind their own business; 2) No shitting or pissing in the streets; 3) No spitting on the floors; 4) No undated notices on the bulletin board; 5) No eating of hotdog buns. That sounds like a program that will work for me because there is nothing in there against swiping jokes. Nearly all the graphics in Principia Discordia, by the way, were ripped off. (I dont know why, because Greg and I are both passable artists.) The Discordian Society does not condone plagiarism. (Our rates for ills are quite reasonable.) Discordians hold all unoriginality in contempt. (Our familiarity with Discordian themes is unsurpassable.) Henceforth, no Discordian shall rip off graphics. (Contact me, or Greg, for your eristic artistic needs.) All I can say in our defense is at least we were honest about it. As we reached the end of the Third Edition, Greg pasted in a little blurb that credited the graphics to Rip-Off Press - which he snipped out of something that was actually printed by Rip-Off Press. Hows that for a rip-off? You will also notice an unusual number of unusual rubber stampings scattered about among the following pages. That was Greg showing off his rubber stamp collection. Few hobbies are as psychologically gratifying especially when some bureaucrat is making you wait, with his or her back to you for a moment - as collection rubber stamps. This is also an exciting way to recoup some of your tax losses. But you must abide by the laws of the Rubber Stamp Congress. All Discordians are permitted to collect rubber

stamps provided they dont mention the Discordian Society if they are caught. Just point out to them that among people of all faiths stamp collecting is a popular hobby. And tell them your religious preference is none of their business. Tell them that collecting stamps in the name of your nameless religion is your Constitutional right and then, to make your point, take the Fifth Amendment. They will find themselves in a legalistic quandary. On most occasions mentioning your Discordian Society affiliation is perfectly acceptable. If perchance, you are idiotic enough to somehow foolishly blunder and end up in the military, insist they stamp DISCORDIAN on your dog tags. Because we are sick and tired of hearing there are no Discordians in foxholes. You might also wish to list Discordian as your religion on job applications - especially if you are already on unemployment and dont want the damned jobs anyhow. A secret method of identifying your Discordianship for the benefit of other Discordians is by wearing a pull-off aluminum beer-can tab, strung through its ring, around your neck. That is called an All-Seeing Eye of Eris (complete with Tear) and it will help other members of the Discordian Society keep out of your way. Or if you are an extrovert - and are not even ashamed of it - you can get up on a soap box and rant for Goddess right out in public. Personally I prefer standing on a wooden box but, anyway, you get at least five points for every rant you deliver. Extra points are awarded for handling hecklers with aplomb - or with anything else besides your fists. A secret of dealing with hecklers, incidentally, was imparted to me by a professional rabble rouser who used to speak in Hyde Park. You memorize a bunch of standardized put-downs good for all occasions. So no matter what your tormentor says, you can fire back with something like: Hot air makes a balloon go up. Whats holding you down? Another secret of ranting was revealed by Rev. Ivan Stang when, of a rejected submission to The Stark Fist, he said: It wandered, but not enough. A fine rant doesnt just wander, it positively meanders. (Use this introduction as a model.) Keep changing the subject so your listeners, with their short attention spans, wont get bored. If you change themes between 45 and 72 times a minute (a rhythm close to the human heartbeat) - and mystify them by mixing metaphors - pretty soon those suckers will be putty in the palm of your hand at your feet wrapped around your little finger. You can also learn a great deal by studying magnificent orators of the past. Huey P. Long taxed Standard Oil ten dollars for each barrel they

pumped in Louisiana and then gave them back 90% of it under the table. Aaron Burr shot Alexander Hamilton. Mark Anthony kept saying, ...but these are honorable men, all through his speech. Remember how effective that selective repetition was in swaying the emotions of the actors in Shakespeares play who were cast as Roman citizens. Do not for a moment think you cannot be an exceptional orator if you can just find some way to keep repeating yourself hypnotically and changing the subject of your speech frequently at the same time. Winston Churchill pointed out another attribute of good rhetoric: it is sincere. You must yourself really be against the Germans buzz-bombing London before you can persuade the English people it is a rotten notion. Natural aptitude also plays its part. America has known no greater public speaker than Franklin D. Roosevelt, whose son once quipped, Father wanted to be the bride at every wedding and the corpse at every funeral. And thats important to keep in mind, because if you want to be the bride at every funeral and the corpse at every wedding you just are not made of the right ingredients. Your timing is off. In that case you could have better luck with eyeball-to-eyeball conversations, the versatile art of one-on-one seduction which you want to learn anyway. Here, too hypnotic repetition is a key to unlimited potential. Pick any theme out of the air for repeating - a word, a name or a number will do. Let us say, for this example, that you choose the number five into your pitch. Again and again, five times five, over and over, drive that mother home until your victim is entranced in the Fifth Dimension. Then dazzle them with all the techniques in A Primer for Erisian Evangelists on page 00065. Such mood setters as lighting and music are also important. For maximum results, illuminate the room with strobe lights. Play Beethovens Fifth Symphony in the background. They will be putty eating out of your hand. If you are repelled by having anything to do with human beings whatsoever - as individuals or in groups - then you were probably meant to be a great Discordian writer such as myself. That being the case, my advice to you is consider that rousing literary form known as the manifesto. Not only should you read The Communist Manifesto so you can find our how to get bankers to finance your activities, you should also study the lesser-known but equally great specimens of this genre. What especially comes to mind in this respect is that underground

classic anonymous authorship, Manifesto of the Artistic Elite of the Midwest. As it has not yet been anthologized, I reproduce it here in full just as it appeared in issue #2 of False Positive (c/o Donna Kossy, Box 953, Allston, MA 02134): Manifesto of the Artistic Elite of the Midwest Artistic elite is a misnomer. We claim unity with the American Midwest where we were born and raised. We support the secession of the Midwest from the faltering carcass of the American way. We feel that the Midwest should sign its own treaties and create its own alliances. We support liberation for Quebec! We dont believe in the balance of terror hypothesis and wish to be counted out of all future nuclear war. We believe in the sanity and stability of the Midwest and refute those of either coast who see the heartland as oppressive, backward, uncultured (we are redneck, motherfucker), etc. This is propaganda created by the intellectual power elite of the East in their cynical and ruthless attempt to keep the chains on middle america. We claim solidarity with the Third World as an exploited people! As one of the richest Third World nations we vow to beat our Winebagos in plowshares in order to do our part in the growing Third World alliance. We call for the cessation of the telecommunications monopoly and destruction of all over the air methods of propagandizing. No more Lucy. No more Beaver. No more corporate propagandizing for the consumerist ethic. Free TV! A new localized media system will be created. No more sensationalist news coverage. Constant and open exchange of ideas and a refutation of present masssubscribed theories of the free exchange ideas. No more enslavement to the Marlboro cowboy! No more enslavement to the false illusion of American individuality. Real individuality, not hype. No more Charlies Angels. No more escapism. This is a call for the Midwest peoples to be concerned with their own lives, not the lives the West thinks we have and the East demands we have. This is a call for solidarity of all Midwestern peoples so that we can refute the ideas of the East, to call a halt to the convenient image of the Midwest as a passive land filled with bumpkins and hayseeds. Of easily led puppets, of a land easily dominated by the ideas and wills of our English speaking cousins. Were not your puppets anymore! We need to restructure our Eastern dominated universities. Solidarity with the Canadian Midlands. Solidarity with the Ukraine! An end to the

industrial monopoly of the worlds resources. An end to the blight of consumerism. An end to the present sectioning of the world and unity with all oppressed peoples! Sponsored by the Organization of Indiana Artistic Elites. Note the presence here, in spite of a lack of explicit Discordianism, of all the characteristics of an excellent manifesto: mixed emotions expressed with all the vitriolic vehemence of unmixed emotions. So if there is a cause about which you are ambivalent, do like Karl Marx did. Pen its manifesto. No Discordian Manifesto yet exists. We need at least five. That will generate controversy and confuse Greyface. My own favorite Holy Name - Omar Khayyam Ravenhurst - functions in that way. It is a walking identity crisis. Anybody can say or do anything in the name of Omar Khayyam Ravenhurst. For better or worse, that never fails to confuse the authorities. This tradition started in 1960 when I was basic training clerk in Marine Air Base 11. I typed in the Ravenhurst moniker on a training lecture roster, listing him as a truck driver in motor transport - serial number 1369697, rank: private. When Ravenhurst, Omar K., failed to answer the role call somebody called the captain in charge of motor transport to find out where Ravenhurst was. Of course nobody in the motor pool ever heard of any such private. Motor transport called administration. No Ravenhurst on record there, either. A clerk-typist from administration Corporal Chadwick, came by to ask me about the mysterious Marine. Upon returning to his desk, Chadwick completed an IRC card - a condensed record - which would have to do until Ravenhursts entire file arrived from his last duty station: Marine Barracks, East British Outer Cambodia. An unusual man, this Ravenhurst - with his IQ of 157. How many other truck drivers spoke 17 languages but, in ten years of service, had never been recommended for promotion? You would imagine that one glance at such statistics would arouse suspicion. But some days later there occurred within my earshot a conversation between two lieutenants and the swaggering staff sergeant who headed basic training (who, so as to protect his identity from ridicule, I shall call Karen Elliot instead of Sergeant Garcia). Where do you figure he learned 17 languages - including Upper and Lower Swahili? one of the officers wondered aloud.

Ill bet his parents were missionaries, contributed Karen Elliot. Most men make private first class in about six months. This guy has been a private for ten years! Im going to recommend him for promotion, announced the other lieutenant. You better have a talk with him first, sir, Karen Elliot warned. You just never can tell about them intelligent guys. Chadwick, who was lurking nearby, suddenly shouted: THERE HE IS! THATS HIM! THATS RAVENHURST RIGHT THERE! A big chunky truck driver whose nickname was Buddha happened to be dampening the dust in that vicinity with a water-tank equipped with a sprinkler in back. Eager to score some points with the officers, Karen Elliot ran over and yelled at the Buddha. Buddha stopped the truck and shut off the engine and then said, What? YOU WONT GROW ANY GRASS THAT WAY! Elliot repeated with a weak laugh. Oh, spake the Buddha, before starting up the truck again and driving off. Stories like that spread rapidly and so did the Ravenhurst name. On his behalf, I for my part answered a survey on improving basic training. More realistic combat conditions on the obstacle course and field training in venereal disease control where among his recommendations. Later on, I added to our files an application by Ravenhurst for officer training school. Reason: I have been a private for ten years, so the only way I expect to be promoted is if I try for second lieutenant. Across the page was stamped: APPROVED. Nevertheless, for some unexplained reason, Ravenhurst remained a private. After I was discharged I ran into Bud Simco, who remained in the same unit a short while longer than me. About a month after you mustered out, there was a dress rehearsal for the biggest inspection of the year. By then Ravenhurst had a wall locker with his name on it and a bunk. Somebody even added a touch of realism by putting an old pair of size six shoes with holes in them under Ravenhursts bunk. There was only one other guy in that cubicle and he was pretty bent out of shape because Ravenhurst was never there in the mornings to help sweep. Once or twice he even brought it up with the top sergeant. When the big day came, they even shut down radar center. Everybody had to stand inspection. No exceptions.

Colonel Fenderson and the top sergeant walked down the isle, inspecting one cubicle at a time. It was junk on the bunk, he added, indicating the most thorough inspection there is - with every piece of gear spread out neatly on the bunk. Only one bunk with bedding on it was empty. Only one man was missing. They wanted to know who Ravenhurst was and, more importantly, where he was. Nobody knows, but the other guy in his cubicle reminds the top sergeant than Ravenhurst is a malingerer. Then they ask if anybody has ever seen this Ravenhurst. Private Monty Cantsin pipes up. Every afternoon Ravenhurst sits right there on his bunk. Well then, what does this Ravenhurst look like? Cantsin stretches out both arms and says, Oh, hes a big mountain of a man! But just then the top sergeant bends over and picks up these little size six shoes. They call up motor transport. For the hundredth goddamned time, the captain tells the top sergeant, there is nobody named Ravenhurst in motor transport. So the brass huddle together and decide Ravenhurst must have mustered into squadron without checking in with his assigned work station - so he could just fuck off all the time. So they are ready to hang him - as soon as they find him. A futile base-wide manhunt was conducted before Sergeant Karen Elliot heard they were searching for Ravenhurst. Somehow - perhaps by examining the basic training files - he discovered that Ravenhurst was a hoax earlier and now he spilled the beans in exchange, Im sure, for many points. A few days later a letter of commendation, dictated by Colonel Fenderson, appeared on the squadron bulletin board - congratulating Private Omar Khayyam Ravenhurst for outstanding conduct. In 1968, when Robert Anton Wilson and I decided to form a conspiracy with no purpose - so that investigators would never be able to figure out what it was doing - I told him about Ravenhurst and invited him, or anyone else he recruited, to do anything, anywhere, any time under the already-ubiquitous name. We decided to call that conspiracy, however unoriginally, the Bavarian Illuminati - a caper that culminated eventually in the Illuminatus! Trilogy. As for Ravenhurst, the last I heard was the KGB was trying to find him so they could make him Chairman of the American Communist Party. Im sure they got the wrong Fenderson. Omar Khayyam Ravenhurst, Pvt., USMC (Ret.) January 23, 1991

THE MAGNUM OPIATE OF MALACLYPSE THE YOUNGER

PRINCIPIA DISCORDIA
OR

How I Found Goddess And What I Did To Her When I Found Her

Be ye not lost Among Precepts of Order...

THE BOOK OF UTERUS 1;5

Some excerpts from an Interview with Malaclypse the Younger by THE GREATER METROPOLITAN YORBA LINDA HERALD-NEWS-SUN- TRIBUNE-JOURNALDISPATCH-POST AND SAN FRANSISCO DISCORDIAN SOCIETY CABAL BULLETIN AND INTERGALACTIC REPORT & POPE POOP

GREATER POOP: Are you really serious or what? MAL-2: Sometimes I take humor seriously. Sometimes I take seriousness humorously. Either way is irrelevant. GP: Maybe you are just crazy. M2: Indeed! But do not reject these teachings as false because I am crazy. The reason that I am crazy is because they are true. GP: Is Eris true? M2: Everything is true. GP: Even false things? M2: Even false things are true. GP: How can that be? M2: I dont know man, I didnt do it. GP: Why do you deal with so many negatives? M2: To dissolve them. GP: Will you develop that point? M2: No. GP: Is there an essential meaning behind POEE? M2: There is a Zen Story about a student who asked a Master to explain the meaning of Buddhism. The Masters reply was Three pounds of flax. GP: Is that your answer to my question? M2: No, of course not. That is just illustrative. The answer to your question is FIVE TONS OF FLAX!

FOURTH EDITION

ODD# II/2, xii; 68Chs3136

PRINCIPIA DISCORDIA or HOW I FOUND THE GODDESS & WHAT I DID TO HER WHEN I FOUND HER being a Beginning Introduction to The Erisian Mysterees WHICH IS MOST INTERESTING

as Divinely Revealed to My High Reverence MALACLYPSE THE YOUNGER, KSC Omnibenevolent Polyfather of Virginity in Gold and HIGH PRIEST of THE PARATHEO-ANAMETAMYSTIKHOOD OF ERIS ESOTERIC (POEE)

Dedicated to The Prettiest One

- JOSHUA NORTON CABAL Surrealists, Harlequinists, Absurdists and Zonked Artists Melee

POEE is one manifestation of THE DISCORDIAN SOCIETY about which you will learn more and understand less We are a tribe of philosophers, theologians, magicians, scientists, artists, clowns, and similar maniacs who are intrigued with ERIS GODDESS OF CONFUSION and with Her Doings

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3 The Sacred Chao (illustration) 4 Five Commandments (The Pentabarf) 5 Zen Story 6 Telegram to Jehova 7 Birth of The Erisian Movement 11 Battle Hymn of The Eristocracy 12 On Prayer 13 Heaven is down... 14 Nortons Money 15 Eris - Greek Geneology 16 Law of Fives 17 Myth of The Apple of Discord
19 Erisian Hymn 20 POEE Chart 21 POEE Symbol 22 POEE 23 Application Form 24 POEE Priests 26 Erisian Affirmation 27 Legionnaire Certificate 27 St. Gulik 28 How To Start a POEE Cabal Without Messing Around With The Polyfather 29 Baptismal Rite 31 Mysteree Oath 32 The Discordian Society 33 The Golden Apple Corps 33 Numeral V Sign 34 Calendar 35 Holy Names 36 Pope Cards

37 Parable of The Bitter Tea 38 Sermon on Ethics & Love 39 Apostles of Eris 41 How Honest Book of Truth was Revealed 42 Curse of Greyface 43 Mandala 44 Cosmology (Book of Uterus) 46 Orders of Discordia 47 Entropy (Norbert Wiener) 48 Zarathuds Enlightenment 49 The Sacred Chao (text) 52 Hodge/Podge Transformer 53 Brunswick Shrine 54 Starbucks Pebbles 55 Eris during 3125 years (Brazil letter) 56 Cosmogeny (Voids Daughters) 59 Syadastian Chant 60 Classification of Saints 61 Occultism 62 Astrology 63 Greyface and Negativism 64 The Turkey Curse 65 Arguments for Evangelists 66 "Sink" (game) 67 Chain Letter (Joint Effort) 68 Avatar Classification 69 Epistle to the Paranoids 71 Super Secret Crypto Cypher Code 72 Illuminati (letter) 74 Salvation

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THE FIVE COMMANDMENTS (THE PENTABARF) The PENTABARF was discovered by the hermit Apostle Zarathud in the Fifth Year of the Caterpillar. He found them carved in gilded stone, while building a sun deck for his cave, but their import was lost for they were written in a mysterious cypher. However, after 10 wks & 11 hrs of intensive scrutiny he discerned that the message could be read by standing on his head and viewing it upside down.
KNOW YE THIS O MAN OF FAITH! I - There is no Goddess but Goddess and She is Your Goddess. There is no Erisian Movement but The Erisian Movement and it is The Erisian Movement. And every Golden Apple Corps is the beloved home of a Golden Worm. II - A Discordian Shall Always use the Official Discordian Document Numbering System. III - A Discordian is Required during his early Illumination to Go Off Alone & Partake Joyously of a Hot Bog on a Friday; this Devotive Ceremony to Remonstrate against the popular Paganisms of the Day: of Catholic Christendom (no meat on Friday), of Judaism (no meat of Pork), of Hindic Peoples (no meat of Beef), of Buddhists (no meat of animal), and of Discordians (no Hot Dog Buns). IV - A Discordian shall Partake of No Hot Dog Buns, for Such was the Solace of Our Goddess when She was Confronted with The Original Snub. V - A Discordian is Prohibited of Believing What he Reads.
IT IS SO WRITTEN! SO BE IT. HAIL DISCORDIA! PROSECUTORS WILL BE TRANSGRESSICUTED.
TEST QUESTION from TopangaCabal THE TWELVE FAMOUS BUDDHA MINDS SCHOOL : If they are our brothers, how come we cant eat them?

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A ZEN STORY By Camden Benares, The Count of Five Headmaster, Camp Meeker Cabal A serious young man found the conflicts of mid 20th Century America confusing. He went to many people seeking a way of resolving within himself the discords that troubled him, but he remained troubled. One night in a coffee house, a self-ordained Zen Master said to him, Go to the dilapidated mansion you will find at this address which I have written down for you. Do not speak to those who live there; you must remain silent until the moon rises tomorrow night. Go to the large room on the right of the main hallway, sit in the lotus position on top of the rubble in the northeast corner, face the corner, and meditate. He did as the Zen Master instructed. His meditation was frequently interrupted by worries. He worried whether or not the rest of the plumbing fixtures would fall from the second floor bathroom to join the pipes and other trash he was sitting on. He worried how he would know when the moon rose on the next night. He worried about what the people who walked through the room said about him. His worrying and meditation were disturbed when, as if in a test of his faith, ordure fell from the second floor onto him. At that time two people walked into the room. The first asked the second who the man sitting there was. The second replied Some say he is a holy man. Others say he is a shithead. Hearing this, the man was enlightened.

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THE BIRTH OF THE ERISIAN MOVEMENT

10. The Earth quakes and the Heavens rattle; the beasts of nature flock together and the nations of men flock apart; volcanoes usher up heat while elsewhere water becomes ice and melts; and then on other days it just rains. 11. Indeed do many things come to pass. HBT; The Book of Predications, Chap. 19

THE REVELATION

Just prior to the decade of the nineteen-sixties, when Sputnik was alone and new, and about the time that Ken Kesey took his first acid trip as a medical volunteer; before underground newspapers, Viet Nam, and talk of a second American Revolution; in the comparative quiet of the late nineteen-fifties, just before the idea of RENAISSANCE became relevant... Two young Californians, known later as Omar Ravenhurst and Malaclypse the Younger, were indulging in their habit of sipping coffee at an allnight bowling alley and generally solving the worlds problems. This particular evening the main subject of discussion was discord and they were complaining to each other of the personal confusion they felt in their respective lives. "Solve the problem of discord," said one, the other, "chaos and strife are the roots of all confusion." FIRST I MUST SPRINKLE YOU WITH FAIRY DUST Suddenly the place became devoid of light. Then an utter silence enveloped them, and a great stillness was felt. Then came a blinding flash of intense light, as though their very psyches had gone nova. Then vision returned. The two were dazed and neither moved nor spoke for several minutes. They looked around and saw that the bowlers were frozen like statues in a variety of comic positions, and that a bowling ball was steadfastly anchored to the floor only inches from the pins that it had been sent to scatter. The two looked at each other, totally unable to account for the phenomenon. The condition was one of suspension, and one noticed that the clock had stopped.

00007

New Story of Chaos

no girdle ever cured a pregnancy

-2There walked into the room a chimpanzee, shaggy and grey about the muzzle, yet upright in his full five feet, and poised with natural majesty. He carried a scroll and walked to the young men. "Gentlemen," he said, "why does Pickerings Moon go about in reverse orbit? Gentlemen, there are nipples on your chests; do you give milk? And what, pray tell, Gentlemen, is to be done about Heisenbergs Law?" He paused. "SOMEBODY HAD TO PUT ALL OF THIS CONFUSION HERE!" And with that he revealed his scroll. It was a diagram, like a yin-yang with a pentagon on one side and an apple on the other. And then he exploded and the two lost consciousness. ERIS - GODDESS OF CHAOS, DISCORD & CONFUSION They awoke to the sound of pins clattering, and found the bowlers engaged in their game and the waitress busy with making coffee. It was apparent that their experience had been private. They discussed their strange encounter and reconstructed from memory the chimpanzees diagram. Over the next five days they searched libraries to find the significance of it, but were disappointed to uncover references only to Taoism, the Korean flag, and Technocracy. It was not until they traced the Greek writing on the apple that they discovered the ancient Goddess known to the Greeks as ERIS and to the Romans as DISCORDIA. This was on the fifth night, and when they slept that night, each had a vivid dream of a splendid woman whose eyes were as soft as a feather and as deep as eternity itself, and whose body was the spectacular dance of atoms and universes. Pyrotechnics of pure energy formed her flowing hair, and rainbows manifested and dissolved as she spoke in a warm and gentle voice: I have come to tell you that you are free. Many ages ago, My consciousness

00008

-3left man, that he might develop himself. I return to find this development approaching completion, but hindered by fear and by misunderstanding. You have built for yourselves psychic suits of armor, and clad in them, your vision is restricted, your movements are clumsy and painful, your skin is bruised, and your spirit is broiled in the sun. I am chaos. I am the substance from which your artists and scientists build rhythms. I am the spirit with which your children and clowns laugh in happy anarchy. I am chaos. I am alive, and I tell you that you are free. During the next months they studied philosophies and theologies, and learned that ERIS or DISCORDIA was primarily feared by the ancients as being disruptive. Indeed, the very concept of chaos was still considered equivalent to strife and treated as a negative. "No wonder things are all screwed up," they concluded, "they have got it all backwards." They found that the principle of disorder was every much as significant as the principle of order. With this in mind, they studied the strange yin-yang. During a meditation one afternoon, a voice came to them: It is called THE SACRED CHAO. I appoint you Keepers of It. Therein you will find anything you like. Speak of Me as DISCORD, to show contrast to the pentagon. Tell constricted mankind that there are no rules, unless they choose to invent rules. Keep close the words of Syadasti: TIS AN ILL WIND THAT BLOWS NO MINDS. And remember that there is no tyranny in the State of Confusion. For further information, consult your pineal gland.

-4-

NO HURRY

"What is this?" mumbled one to the other, "A religion based on The Goddess of Confusion? It is utter madness!" And with these words, each looked at the other in absolute awe. Omar began to giggle. Mal began to laugh. Omar began jumping up and down. Mal was hooting and hollering to beat all hell. And amid squeals of mirth and with tears on their cheeks, each appointed the other to be high priest of his own madness, and together they declared themselves to be a society of Discordia, for what ever that may turn out to be.

THE BATTLE HYMN OF THE ERISTOCRACY by Lord Omar

VERSE Mine brain has meditated on the spinning of the Chao; It is hovering oer the table where the Chiefs of Staff are now Gathered in discussion of the dropping of the Bomb; Her Apple Corps is strong! CHORUS Grand (and gory) Old Discordja! Grand (and gory) Old Discordja! Grand (and gory) Old Discordja! Her Apple Corps is strong! VERSE She was not invited to the party that they held on Limbo Peak; * So She threw a Golden Apple, stead of turnd tother cheek! O it cracked the Holy Punchbowl and it made the nectar leak; Her Apple Corps is strong!
* "Limbo Peak" refers to Old Limbo Peak, commonly called by the Greeks "Ol Limb Peak."

00011
"The tide is turning... the enemy is suffering terrible losses..." -Gen. Geo. A. Custer

Persons in a Position to Know, Inc.

ON PRAYER MAL-2 was once asked by one of his Disciples if he often prayed to Eris. He replied with these words: No, we Erisians seldom pray, it is much too dangerous. Charles Fort has listed many factual incidences of ignorant people confronted with, say, a drought, and then praying fervently -- and then getting the entire village wiped out in a torrential flood.

14. Wipe thine ass with What is Written and grin like a ninny at what is Spoken. Take thine refuge with thine wine in the Nothing behind Everything, as you hurry along the Path. THE PURPLE SAGE HBT; The Book of Predications, Chap. 19

Heaven is down. Hell is up. This is proven by the fact that the planets and stars are orderly in their movements, while down on earth we come close to the primal chaos. There are four other proofs, but I forgot them.

IT IS MY FIRM BELIEF THAT IT IS

A MISTAKE TO HOLD FIRM BELIEFS

--Josh the Dill KING KONG KABAL

The Classical Greeks were not influenced by the Classical Greeks

DO NOT CIRCULATE

WHAT WE KNOW ABOUT ERIS (not much) The Romans left a likeness of Her for posterity -- She was shown as a grotesque woman with a pale and ghastly look, Her garment is ripped and torn, and as concealing a dagger in Her Bosom. Actually, most women look pale and ghastly when concealing a chilly dagger in their bosoms. Her geneology is from the Greeks and is utterly confused. Either She was the twin of Aries and the daughter of Zeus and Hera; or She was the daughter of Nyx, goddess of night (who was either the daughter or wife of Chaos, or both), and Nyxs brother, Erebus, and whose brothers and sisters include Death, Doom, Mockery, Misery and Friendship. And that she begat Forgetfullness, Quarrels, Lies, and a bunch of gods and goddesses like that. One day Mal-2 consulted his Pineal Gland* and asked Eris if She really created all of those terrible things. She told him that She had always liked the Old Greeks, but that they cannot be trusted with historic matters. "They were," She added, "victims of indigestion, you know." Suffice it to say that Eris is not hateful or malicious. But She is mischievous, and does get a little bitchy at times. *THE PINEAL GLAND is where each and every one of us can talk to Eris. If you have trouble activating your Pineal, then try the appendix which does almost as well. Reference: DOGMA I, METAPHYSICS #3, "The Indoctrine of The Pineal Gland."

DIRUIT AEDIFICAT MUTAT QUADRATA ROTUNDUS Horace

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The Inside Story!

THE LAW OF FIVES

00016

The Law of Fives is one of the oldest Erisian Mysterees. It was first revealed to Good Lord Omar and is one of the great contributions to come from The Hidden Temple of The Happy Jesus. POEE subscribes to the Law of Fives of Omars sect. And POEE also recognizes the Holy 23 (2+3=5) that is incorporated by Episkopos Dr. Mordecai Malignatius, KNS, into his Discordian sect, The Ancient Illuminated Seers of Bavaria. The Law of Fives states simply that: ALL THINGS HAPPEN IN FIVES, OR ARE DIVISIBLE BY OR ARE MULTIPLES OF FIVE, OR ARE SOMEHOW DIRECTLY OR INDIRECTLY APPROPRIATE TO 5. The Law of Fives is never wrong. In the Erisian Archives is an old memo from Omar to Mal-2: "I find the Law of Fives to be more and more manifest the harder I look."

The Nagas of Upper Burma say that the sun shines by day because, being a woman, it is afraid to venture out by night.

00017
"YOU WILL FIND that the STATE is the kind of ORGANIZATION which, though it does big things badly, does small things badly too." - JOHN KENNETH GALBRAITH

THE MYTH OF THE APPLE OF DISCORD It seems that Zeus was preparing a wedding banquet for Peleus and Thetis and did not want to invite Eris because of Her reputation as a trouble maker. * This made Eris angry, and so She fashioned an apple of pure gold** and inscribed upon it KALLISTI ("To The Prettiest One") and on the day of the fete She rolled it into the banquet hall and then left to be alone and joyously partake of a hot dog. Now, three of the invited goddesses,*** Athena, Hera, and Aphrodite, each immediately claimed it to belong to herself because of the inscription. And they started fighting, and they started throwing punch all over the place and everything. Finally, Zeus calmed things down and declared that an arbitrator must be selected, which was a reasonable suggestion, and all agreed. He sent them to a shepherd of Troy, whose name was Paris because his mother had had a lot of gaul and married a Frenchman; but each of the sneaky goddesses tried to outwit the others by going early and offering a bribe to Paris. Athena offered him Heroic War Victories, Hera offered him Great Wealth, and Aphrodite offered him The Most Beautiful Woman on Earth. Being a healthy young Trojan lad, Paris promptly accepted Aphrodites bribe and she got the apple and he got screwed. As she had promised, she maneuvered earthly happenings so that Paris could have Helen (the Helen) then living with her husband Menelaus,

-2King of Sparta. Anyway, everyone knows that the Trojan War followed when Sparta demanded their Queen back and that the Trojan War is said to be The First War among men. And so we suffer because of The Original Snub. And so a Discordian is to partake of No Hot Dog Buns. Do you believe that? _______________
* This is called THE DOCTRINE OF THE ORIGINAL SNUB. ** There is historic disagreement concerning whether this apple was of metalic gold or acapulco. *** Actually there were five goddesses, but the Greeks did not know of the Law of Fives.

Remember: KING KONG Died For Your Sins

5. An Age of Confusion, or an Ancient Age, is one in which History As We Know It begins to unfold, in which Whatever Is Coming emerges in Corporal Form, more or less, and such times are Ages of Balanced Unbalance, or Unbalanced Balance. 6. An Age of Bureaucracy is an Imperial Age in which Things Mature, in which Confusion becomes entrenched and during which Balanced Balance, or Stagnation, is attained. 7. An Age of Disorder or an Aftermath is an Apocalyptic Period of Transition back to Chaos through the Screen of Oblivion into which the Age passeth, finally. These are Ages of Unbalanced Unbalance. HBT; The Book of Uterus, Chap. 3

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DO YOU REMEMBER?
1. Polite children will always remember that a church is the ______________ of _____________.

00019

OFFICIAL PROCLAMATION

--

ODD# III(b)/4,i; 18Aft3135

POEE DISORGANIZATIONAL MATRIX

V) THE HOUSE OF APOSTLES OF ERIS For the Eristocracy and the Cabalablia A. B. C. D. E. The Five Apostles of Eris The Golden Apple Corps (KSC) Episkoposes of The Discordian Society POEE Cabal Priests Saints, Erisian Avatars, and Like Personages

IV) THE HOUSE OF THE RISING PODGE For the Disciples of Discordia A. B. C. D. E. Office of My High Reverence, The Polyfather Council of POEE Priests The LEGION OF DYNAMIC DISCORD Eristic Avatars Aneristic Avatars NOTE: A, B, and C are POEE PROPER; while D and E are POEE IMPROPER III) THE HOUSE OF THE RISING HODGE For the Bureaucracy A. The Bureau of Erisian Archives B. The Bureau of The POEE Epistolary, and The Division of Dogmas C. The Bureau of Symbols, Emblems, Certificates and Such D. The Bureau of Eristic Affairs, and The Administry for The Unenlightened Eristic Horde E. The Bureau of Aneristic Affairs, and The Administry for The Orders of Discordia II) THE HOUSE OF THE RISING COLLAPSE For the Encouragement of Liberation of Freedom, and/or the Discouragement of the Immanentizing of the Eschaton A. B. C. D. F. The Breeze of Wisdom and/or The Wind of Insanity The Breeze of Integrity and/or The Wind of Arrogance The Breeze of Beauty and/or The Wind of Outrages The Breeze of Love and/or The Wind of Bombast The Breeze of Laughter and/or The Wind of Bullshit

I) THE OUT HOUSE For what is left over A. B. C. D. Miscellaneous Avatars The Fifth Column POEE =POPES= everywhere Drawer "O" for OUT OF FILE E. Lost Documents and Forgotten Truths

= The Five Fingered Hand of Eris =

The official symbol of POEE is here illustrated. It may be this, or any similar device to represent TWO OPPOSING ARROWS CONVERGING INTO A COMMON POINT. It may be vertical, horizontal, or else such, and it may be elaborated or simplified as desired. The esoteric name for this symbol is THE FIVE FINGERED HAND OF ERIS, commonly shortened to THE HAND.

NOTE: In the lore of western magic, the is taken to symbolize horns, especially the horns of Satan or of diabolical beasties. The Five Fingered Hand of Eris, however, is not intended to be taken as satanic, for the "horns" are supported by another set, of inverted "horns." Or maybe it is walrus tusks. I dont know what it is, to tell the truth.

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"Surrealism aims at the total transformation of the mind and all that resembles it" -Breton

00022

POEE (pronounced "POEE") is an acronym for The PARATHEOANAMETAMYSTIKHOOD OF ERIS ESOTERIC. The first part can be taken to mean "equivalent deity, reversing beyond-mystique." We are not really esoteric, its just that nobody pays much attention to us. MY HIGH REVERENCE MALACLYPSE THE YOUNGER, AB, DD, KSC, is the High Priest of POEE, and POEE is grounded in his espiskopotic revelations of The Goddess. He is called The Omnibenevolent Polyfather of Virginity in Gold. The POEE HEAD TEMPLE is the Joshua Norton Cabal of The Discordian Society, which is located in Mal-2s pineal gland and can be found by temporaly and spacialy locating the rest of Mal-2. POEE has no treasury, no by-laws, no articles, no guides save Mal-2s pineal gland, and has only one scruple -- which Mal-2 keeps on his key chain. POEE has not registered, incorporated, or otherwise chartered with the State, and so the State does not recognize POEE or POEE Ordinations, which is only fair, because POEE does not recognize the State. POEE has 5 DEGREES: There is the neophyte, or LEGIONNAIRE DISCIPLE. The LEGIONNAIRE DEACON, who is catching on. An Ordained POEE PRIEST/PRIESTESS or a CHAPLIN. The HIGH PRIEST, the Polyfather. And POEE =POPE=. POEE LEGIONNAIRE DISCIPLES are authorized to initiate others as Discordian Society Legionnaires. PRIESTS appoint their own DEACONS. The POLYFATHER ordains Priests. I dont know about the =POPES=.

POEE & ITS PRIESTS If you like Erisianism as it is presented according to Mal-2, then you may wish to form your own POEE CABAL as a POEE PRIEST and you can go do a bunch of POEE Priestly Things. A "POEE Cabal" is exactly what you think it is. The High Priest makes no demands on his Priests, though he does rather expect good will of them. The Office of the Polyfather is to point, not to teach. Once in a while, he even listens. Should you find that your own revelations of The Goddess become substantially different than the revelations of Mal-2, then perhaps The Goddess has plans for you as an Episkopos, and you might consider creating your own sect from scratch, unhindered. Episkoposes are not competing with each other, and they are all POEE Priests anyway (as soon as I locate them). The point is that Episkopos are developing separate paths to the Erisian mountain top. See the section "Discordian Society."

ORDINATION AS A POEE PRIEST There are no particular qualifications for Ordination because if you want to be a POEE Priest then you must undoubtedly qualify. Who could possibly know better than you whether or not you should be Ordained? An ORDAINED POEE PRIEST or PRIESTESS is defined as "one who holds an Ordination Certificate from The Office of the Polyfather."
Seek into the Chao if thou wouldst be wise And find ye delight in Her Great Surprise! Look into the Chao if thou wantest to know Whats in a Chao and why it aint so! (HBT; The Book of Advice, 1:1)

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World Council of Churches Boutique

NOTE TO POEE PRIESTS: The Polyfather wishes to remind all Erisians the POEE was conceived not as a commercial enterprise, and that you are requested to keep your cool when seeking funds for POEE Cabals or when spreading the POEE word via the market place.

00025

THE ERISIAN AFFIRMATION BEFORE THE GODDESS ERIS, I (name or holy name), do herewith declare myself a POEE BROTHER of THE LEGION OF DYNAMIC DISCORD. HAIL HAIL HAIL HAIL HAIL ERIS ERIS ERIS ERIS ERIS ALL HAIL DISCORDIA! The presiding POEE Official (if any) responds: ALL HAIL DISCORDIA!

To diverse gods Do mortals bow; Holy Cow, and Wholly Chao. - Rev. Dr. Grindlebone Monroe Cabal

HOW TO START A POEE CABAL WITHOUT MESSING AROUND WITH THE POLYFATHER If you cannot find the Polyfather, or having found him, dont want anything to do with him, you are still authorized to form your own POEE CABAL and do Priestly Things, using the Principia Discordia as a guide. Your Official Rank will be POEE CHAPLIN for THE LEGION OF DYNAMIC DISCORD, which is exactly the same as a POEE PRIEST except that you dont have an Ordination Certificate. The words you are now reading are your ordination. HOW TO BECOME A POEE CHAPLIN 1 2 3 4 5 Write the ERISIAN AFFIRMATION in five copies. Sign and nose-print each copy. Send one to The President of the United States. Send one to The California State Bureau of Furniture and Bedding 1021 D Street, Sacramento CA 94814 Nail one to a telephone pole. Hide one. And burn the other.

Then consult your pineal gland.

OLD POEE SLOGAN: When in doubt, fuck it. When not in doubt get in doubt!
-

00028

TRIP

5
= THE POEE BAPTISMAL RITE =

This Mysteree Rite is not required for initiation, but it is offered by many POEE Priests to proselytes who desire a formal ceremony. 1) The Priest and four Brothers are arranged in a pentagon with the Initiate in the center facing the Priest. If possible, the Brothers on the immediate right and left of the Priest should be Deacons. The Initiate must be totally naked, to demonstrate that he is truly a human being and not something else in disguise like a cabbage or something. 2) All persons in the audience and the pentagon, excepting the Priest, assume a squatting position and return to a standing position. This is repeated four more times. This dance is symbolic of the humility of we Erisians. 3) The Priest begins: I, (complete Holy Name, with Mystical Titles, and degrees, designations, offices, &tc.), Ordained Priest of the Paratheo-anametamystikhood of Eris Esoteric, with the Authority invested at me by the High Priest of It, Office of the Polyfather, The House of The Rising Podge, POEE Head Temple; Do herewith Require of Ye: 1) ARE YE A HUMAN BEING AND NOT A CABBAGE OR SOMETHING? The initiate answers YES. 2) THATS TOO BAD. DO YE WISH TO BETTER THYSELF? The initiate answers YES. 3) HOW STUPID. ARE YE WILLING TO BECOME PHILOSOPHICALLY ILLUMINIZED? He answers YES. 4) VERY FUNNY. WILL YE DEDICATE YESELF TO THE HOLEY ERISIAN MOVEMENT? The initiate answers PROBABLY.

00029

-25) THEN SWEAR YE THE FOLLOWING AFTER ME: (The Priest here leads the Initiate in a recital of THE ERISIAN AFFIRMATION.) The Priest continues: THEN I DO HERE PROCLAIM YE POEE DISCIPLE (name), LEGIONNAIRE OF THE LEGION OF DYNAMIC DISCORD. HAIL ERIS! HAIL HAIL! HAIL YES! 4) All present rejoice grandly. The new Brother opens a large jug of wine and offers it to all who are present. 5) The Ceremony generally degenerates.

MORD SAYS THAT OMAR SAYS THAT WE ARE ALL UNICORNS ANYWAY

00030
3. And though Omar did bid of the Collector of Garbage, in words that were both sweet and bitter, to surrender back the cigar box containing the cards designated by the Angel as The Honest Book of Truth, the Collector

was to him as one who might be smitten deaf, saying only: Gainst the rules, yknow. HBT; The Book of Explainations, Chap. 2

The Discordian Society has no definition. I sometimes think of it as a disorganization of Eris Freaks. It has been called a guerrilla mind theatre. Episkopos Randomfactor, Director of Purges of Our Peoples Underworld Movement sect in Larchmont, prefers The Worlds Greatest Association of What-everit-is-that-we-are. Lady Mal thinks of it as a RENAISSANCE THINK TANK. Fang the Unwashed, WKC, wont say. You can think of it any way you like. AN EPISKOPOS OF THE DISCORDIAN SOCIETY is one who prefers total autonomy, and creates his own Discordian sect as The Goddess directs him. He speaks for himself and for those that say that they like what he says. THE LEGION OF DYNAMIC DISCORD: A Discordian Society Legionnaire is one who prefers not to create his own sect. If you want in on the Discordian Society then declare yourself what you wish do what you like and tell us about it or if you prefer dont. There are no rules anywhere. The Goddess Prevails.

Some Episkoposes have a one-man cabal Some work together. Some never do explain.
When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride, then I get to the bottom and I see you again! Helter Skelter! -- John Lennon

THE GOLDEN APPLE CORPS The Golden Apple Corps* is an honorary position for The Keepers of The Sacred Chao, so that they can put "KSC" after their names. It says little, does less, means nothing.

* Not to be confused with The Apple Corps Ltd. of those four singers. We thought of it first.

00033

HOLY NAMES Discordians have a tradition of assuming HOLY NAMES. This is not unique with Erisianism, of course. I suppose that Pope Paul is the son of Mr. & Mrs. VI? And also TITLES OF MYSTICAL IMPORT.

FOR YOUR ENLIGHTENMENT

THE PARABLE OF THE BITTER TEA by Rev. Dr. Hypocrates Magoun, P.P. POEE PRIEST, Okinawa Cabal When Hypoc was through meditating with St. Gulik, he went there into the kitchen where he busied himself with preparing the feast and in his endeavor, he found that there was some old tea in a pan left standing from the night before, when he had in his weakness forgot about its making and had let it sit steeping for 24 hours. It was dark and murky and it was Hypocs intention to use this old tea by diluting it with water. And again in his weakness, chose without further consideration and plunged into the physical labor of the preparations. It was then when deeply immersed in the pleasure of that trip, he had a sudden clear voice in his head saying "it is bitter tea that involves you so." Hypoc heard the voice, but the struggle inside intensified, and the pattern, previously established with the physical laboring and the muscle messages coordinated and unified or perhaps coded, continued to exert their influence and Hypoc succumbed to the pressure and denied the voice. And again he plunged into the physical orgy and completed the task, and Lo as the voice had predicted, the tea was bitter.

00037
"The Five Laws have root in awareness." -Che Fung (Ezra Pound, Canto 85)

The Hell Law says that Hell is reserved exclusively for them that believe in it. Further, the Lowest Ring in Hell is reserved for them that believe in it on the supposition that theyll go there if they dont. HBT, The Gospel According to Fred, 3:1

A SERMON ON ETHICS AND LOVE One day Mal-2 asked the messenger spirit Saint Gulik to approach the Goddess and request Her presence for some desperate advice. Shortly afterwards the radio came on by itself, and an ethereal female Voice said YES? "O! Eris! Blessed Mother of Man! Queen of Chaos! Daughter of Discord! Concubine of Confusion! O! Exquisite Lady, I beseech You to lift a heavy burden from my heart!" WHAT BOTHERS YOU, MAL? YOU DONT SOUND WELL. "I am filled with fear and tormented with terrible visions of pain. Everywhere people are hurting one another, the planet is rampant with injustices, whole societies plunder groups of their own people, mothers imprison sons, children perish while brothers war. O, woe." WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH THAT, IF IT IS WHAT YOU WANT TO DO? "But nobody wants it! Everybody hates it!" OH. WELL, THEN STOP. At which moment She turned Herself into an aspirin commercial and left the Polyfather stranded alone with his species.

CHAPTER 5: THE PIONEERS

= THE FIVE APOSTLES OF ERIS & WHO THEY BE = 1. HUNG MUNG A Sage of Ancient China and Official Discordian Missionary to the Heathen Chinee. He who originally devised THE SACRED CHAO. Patron of The Season of Chaos. Holyday: Jan 5. 2. DR. VAN VAN MOJO A Head Doctor of Deep Africa and Maker of Fine Dolls D.H.V., Doctor of Hoodoo and Vexes, from The Greater Metropolitan Yorba Linda Jesus Will Save Your Bod Home Study Bible School; and F.I.H.G.W.P., Fellow of the Intergalactic Haitian Guerrillas for World Peace. Patron of The Season of Discord. Holyday: Mar 19. NOTE: Erisians of The Laughing Christ sect are of the silly contention that Dr. Mojo is an imposter and that PATAMUNZO LINGANANDA is the True Second Apostle. Lord Omar claims that Dr. Mojo heaps hatred and curses upon Patamunzo, who sends only Love Vibrations in return. But we of the POEE sect know that Patamunzo is the Real Imposter, and that those vibrations of his are actually an attempt to subvert Dr. Mojos rightful apostilic authority by shaking him out of his wits. 3. SRI SYADASTI SYADAVAKTAVYA SYADASTI SYANNASTI SYADASTI CAVAKTAVYASCA SYADASTI SYANNASTI SYADAVATAVYASCA SYADASTI SYANNASTI SYADAVAKTAVYASCA commonly called just SRI SYADASTI His name is Sanskrit, and means: All affirmations are true in some sense,

00039

-2false in some sense, meaningless in some sense, true and false in some sense, true and meaningless in some sense, false and meaningless in some sense, and true and false and meaningless in some sense. He is an Indian Pundit and Prince, born of the Peyotl Tribe, son of Chief Sun Flower Seed and the squaw Merry Jane. Patron to psychedelic type Discordians. Patron of The Season of Confusion. Holyday: May 31. NOTE: Sri Syadasti should not be confused with BLESSED ST. GULIK THE STONED, who is not the same person but is the same Apostle. 4. ZARATHUD THE INCORRIGIBLE, sometimes called ZARATHUD THE STAUNCH A hard nosed Hermit of Medieval Europe and Chaosphe Bible Banger. Dubbed "Offender of The Faith." Discovered the Five Commandments. Patron of The Season of Bureaucracy. Holyday: Aug 12. 5. THE ELDER MALACLYPSE A wandering Wiseman of Ancient Mediterrania ("Med-Terra" or middle earth), who followed a 5-pointed Star through the alleys of Rome, Damascus, Baghdad, Jerusalem, Mecca and Cairo, bearing a sign that seemed to read "DOOM". (This is a misunderstanding. The sign actually read "DUMB". Mal-1 is a Non-Prophet.) Patron and namesake of Mal-2. Patron on The Season of The Aftermath. Holyday: Oct 24.

00040

THE HONEST BOOK OF TRUTH being a BIBLE of The Erisian Movement and How It was Revealed to Episkopos LORD OMAR KHAYYAM RAVENHURST, KSC; Bull Goose of Limbo; and Master Pastor of the Church Invisible of The Laughing Christ, Hidden Temple of The Happy Jesus, Laughing Buddha Jesus (LBJ) Ranch

From The Honest Book of Truth THE BOOK OF EXPLAINATIONS, Chapter I 1. There came one day to Lord Omar, Bull Goose of Limbo, a Messenger of Our Lady who told him of a Sacred Mound wherein was buried an Honest Book. 2. And the Angel of Eris bade of the Lord: Go ye hence and dig the Truth, that ye may come to know it and, knowing it, spread it and, spreading it, wallow in it and wallowing in it, lie in it and lying in the Truth , become a Poet of the Word and a Sayer of Sayings - - and inspiration to all men and a Scribe to the Gods. 3. So Omar went forth to the Sacred Mound, which was to the East of Nullah, and thereupon he worked digging in the sand for five days and five nights, but found no Book. 4. At the end of five days and five nights of digging, it came to pass that Omar was exhausted. So he put his shovel to one side and bedded himself down on the sand, using as a pillow a Golden Chest he had uncovered on the first day of his labors. 5. Omar slept. 6. On the fifth day of his sleeping, Lord Omar fell into a Trance, and there came to him in the Trance a Dream, and there came to him in the Dream a Messenger of Our Lady who told him of a Sacred Grove wherein was hidden a Golden Chest. 7. And the Angel of Eris bad of the Lord: Go ye hence and lift the Stash, that ye may come to own it and, owning it, share it and, sharing it, love in it and, loving in it, dwell in it and, dwelling in the Stash, become a Poet of the Word and a Sayer of Sayings - - an Inspiration to all men and a Scribe to the Gods. 8. But Omar lamented, saying unto the Angel: What is this shit, man? What care I for the Word and Sayings? What care I for the Inspiration of all men? Wherein does it profit a man to be a Scribe to the Gods when the Scribes of the Governments do nothing, yet are paid better wages? 9. And, lo, the Angel waxed in anger and Omar was stricken to the Ground by an Invisible Hand and did not arise for five days and five nights. 10. And it came to pass that on the fifth night he drempt, and in his Dream he had a Vision, and in this Vision there came unto him a Messenger of Our Lady who entrusted to him a Rigoletto cigar box containing many filing cards, some of them in packs with rubber bands around, and upon these cards were sometimes written verses, while upon others nothing was written. 11. Thereupon the Angel Commanded the Lord: Take ye this Honest Book of Truth to thine bosom and cherish it. Carry it forth into The Land and lay it before Kings of Nations and Collectors of Garbage. Preach from it unto the Righteous, that they may renounce their ways and repent.

00042

CONVENTIONAL CHAOS
GREYFACE In the year 1166 B.C., a malcontented hunchbrain by the name of Greyface, got it into his head that the universe was as humorless as he, and he began to teach that play was sinful because it contradicted the ways of Serious Order. "Look at all the order about you," he said. And from that, he deluded honest men to believe that reality was a straitjacket affair and not the happy romance as men had known it. It is not presently understood why men were so gullible at that particular time, for absolutely no one thought to observe all the disorder around them and conclude just the opposite. But anyway, Greyface and his followers took the game of playing at life more seriously than they took life itself and were known even to destroy other living beings whose ways of life differed from their own. The unfortunate result of this is that mankind has since been suffering from a psychological and spiritual imbalance. Imbalance caused by frustration, and frustration causes fear. And fear makes a bad trip. Man has been on a bad trip for a long time now. It is called THE CURSE OF GREYFACE.

Bullshit makes the flowers grow and thats beautiful.

Climb into the Chao with a friend or two And follow the way it carries you, Over the Waves in whatever you do. (HBT; The Book of Advice, 1:3)

00043

MEANWHILE, at the Chinese Laundromat . . .

DOGMA I - METAPHYSICS #2, "COSMOLOGY" *

THE BOOK OF UTERUS from The Honest Book of Truth revealed to Lord Omar -I1. Before the beginning was the Nonexistent Chao, balanced in Oblivion by the Perfect Counterpushpull of the Hodge and the Podge. 2. Whereupon, by an Act of Happenstance, the Hodge began gradually to overpower the Podge - - and the Primal Chaos thereby came to be. 3. So in the beginning was the Primal Chaos, balanced on the Edge of Oblivion by the Perfect Counterpullpush of the Podge and the Hodge. 4. Whereupon, by the Law of Negative Reversal, ** the Podge swiftly underpowered the Hodge and Everything broke loose. 5. And therein emerged the Active Force of Discord, the Subtle Manifestation of the Nonexistent Chao, to guide Everything along the Path back to Oblivion - that it might not become lost among Precepts of Order in the Region of Thud. 6. Forasmuch as it was Active, the Force of Discord entered the State of Confusion, wherein It copulated with the Queen and begat ERIS, Our Lady of Discord and Gross Manifestation of the Nonexistent Chao. 7. And under Eris Confusion became established, and was hence called Bureaucracy; while over Bureaucracy Eris became established, and was hence called Discordia. 8. By the by it came to pass that the Establishment of Bureaucracy perished in a paper shortage. 9. Thus it was, in accord with the Law of Laws.

-210. During and after the Fall of the Establishment of Bureaucracy was the Aftermath, an Age of Disorder, in which calculation, computations, and reckonings were put away by the Children of Eris in Acceptance and Preparation for Return to Oblivion to be followed by a Repetition of the Universal Absurdity. Moreover, of Itself the Coming of Aftermath waseth a Resurrection of the Freedom-flowing Chaos. HAIL ERIS! 11. Herein was set into motion the Eristic pattern, which would Repeat Itself Five Times Over Seventy-three Times, after which nothing would happen. * This doctrine should not be confused with DOGMA III - HISTORY #6, "HISTORIC CYCLES," which states that social progress occurs in five cycles, the first three ("The Tricycle") of which are THESIS, ANTITHESIS and PARENTHESIS; and the last two ("The Bicycle") of which are CONSTERNATION and MORAL WARPTITUDE. * * The LAW OF NEGATIVE REVERSAL states that if something does not happen then the exact opposite will happen, only in exactly the opposite manner from that in which it did not happen.

NOTE: It is from this text from The Book of Uterus, that POEE has based its Erisian Calendar with the year divided into 5 Seasons of 73 days each. Each of the Five Apostles of Eris has patronage over one Season. A chart of the Seasons, Patrons, Days of the Week, Holydays, and a perpetual Gregorian converter is included in this edition of Principia.

00045

The seeds of the ORDERS OF DISCORDIA were planted by Greyface into his early disciples. They form the skeleton of the Aneristic Movement, which over emphasizes the Principle of Order and is antagonistic to the necessary compliment, the Principle of Disorder. The Orders are composed of persons all hung up on authority, security and control; i.e., they are blinded by the Aneristic Illusion. They do not know that they belong to Orders of Discordia. But we know. 1. The Military Order of THE KNIGHTS OF THE FIVE SIDED TEMPLE. This is for all of the soldiers and bureaucrats of the world. 2. The Political Order of THE PARTY FOR WAR ON EVIL. This is reserved for lawmakers, censors, and like ilk. 3. The Academic Order of THE HEMLOCK FELLOWSHIP. They commonly inhabit schools and universities, and dominate many of them. 4. The Social Order of THE CITIZENS COMMITTEE FOR CONCERNED CITIZENS. This is mostly a grass-roots version of the more professional military, political, academic and sacred Orders. 5. The Sacred Order of THE DEFAMATION LEAGUE. Not much is known about the D.L., but they are very ancient and quite possibly were founded by Greyface himself. It is known that they now have absolute domination over all organized churches in the world. It is also believed that they have been costuming cabbages and passing them off as human beings. A person belonging to one or more Order is just as likely to carry a flag of the counter-establishment as the flag of the establishment - - just as long as it is a flag.
HIP-2-3-4, HIP 2-3-4 GO TO YOUR LEFT-RIGHT....

00047
THE FOLLOWING IS QUOTED FROM BERGAN EVANS ON NORBERT WEINER, NUCLEAR PHYSICIST The second concept Wiener has to establish is that of entropy. Probability is a mathematical concept, coming from statistics. Entropy comes from physics. It is the assertion - - established logically and experimentally - - that the universe, by its nature, is "running down", moving toward a state of inert uniformity devoid of form, matter, hierarchy or differentiation. That is, in any given situation, less organization, more chaos, is overwhelmingly more probable than tighter organization or more order. The tendency for entropy to increase in isolated systems is expressed in the second law of thermodynamics - - perhaps the most pessimistic and amoral formulation in all human thought. It applies, however, to a closed system, to something that is an isolated whole, not just a part. Within such systems there may be parts, which draw their energy from the whole, that are moving at least temporarily, in the opposite direction; in them order is increasing and chaos is diminishing. The whirlpools that swirl in a direction opposed to the main current are called "enclaves". And one of them is life, especially human life, which in a universe moving inexorably towards chaos moves toward increased order.
Personal
PLANETARY PI, which I discovered, is 61. Its a Time-Energy relationship existing between sun and inner plants and I use it in arriving at many facts unknown to science. For example, multiply nude earths circumference 24,902.20656 by 61 and you get the distance of moons orbit around the earth. This is slightly less than actual distance because we have not yet considered earths atmosphere. So be it. Christopher Garth, Evanston. I SHOULD HAVE BEEN A PLUMBER. --Albert Einstein

IF THE TELEPHONE RINGS TODAY... WATER IT!

-Rev. Thomas, Gnostic N.Y.C. Cabal

"GRASSHOPPER ALWAYS WRONG IN ARGUMENT WITH CHICKEN" - Book of Chan

compiled by O.P.U. sect

=ZARATHUDS ENLIGHTENMENT = Before he became a hermit, Zarathud was a young priest, and took great delight in making fools of his opponents in front of his followers. One day Zarathud took his students to a pleasant pasture and there he confronted the Sacred Chao while She was contentedly grazing. "Tell me, you dumb beast," demanded the Priest in his commanding voice, "why dont you do something worthwhile. What is your Purpose in Life, anyway?" Munching the tasty grass, The Sacred Chao replied "MU".* Upon hearing this, absolutely nobody was enlightened. Primarily because nobody could understand Chinese. * "MU" is the Chinese ideogram for NO-THING.

TAO FA TSU-DAN

FIND PEACE WITH A CONTENTED CHAO

00048

THE SACRED CHAO The SACRED CHAO is the key to illumination. Devised by the Apostle Hung Mung in ancient China, it was modified and popularized by the Taoists and is sometimes called the YIN-YANG. The Sacred Chao is not the Yin-Yang of the Taoists. It is the HODGE-PODGE of the Erisians. And, instead of a Podge spot on the Hodge side, it has a PENTAGON which symbolizes the ANERISTIC PRINCIPLE, and instead of a Hodge spot on the Podge side, it depicts the GOLDEN APPLE OF DISCORDIA to symbolize the ERISTIC PRINCIPLE. The Sacred Chao symbolizes absolutely everything anyone need ever know about absolutely anything, and more! It even symbolizes everything not worth knowing, depicted by the empty space surrounding the Hodge-Podge. HERE FOLLOWS SOME PSYCHO-METAPHYSICS. If you are not hot for philosophy, best just skip it. The Aneristic Principle is that of APPARENT ORDER; the Eristic Principle is that of APPARENT DISORDER. Both order and disorder are man made concepts and are artificial divisions of PURE CHAOS, which is a level deeper than is the level of distinction making. With our concept making apparatus called "mind" we look at reality through the ideas-about-reality which our cultures give us. The ideas-aboutreality are mistakenly labeled "reality" and unenlightened people are forever perplexed by the fact that other people, especially other cultures, see "reality" differently. It is only the ideas-about-reality which differ. Real (capital-T True) reality is a level deeper than is the level of concept. We look at the world through windows on which have been drawn grids (concepts). Different philosophies use different grids. A culture is a group of people

00049

-2-

with rather similar grids. Through a window we view chaos, and relate it to the points on our grid, and thereby understand it. The ORDER is in the GRID. That is the Aneristic Principle. Western philosophy is traditionally concerned with contrasting one grid with another grid, and amending grids in hopes of finding a perfect one that will account for all reality and will, hence, (say unenlightened westerners) be True. This is illusory; it is what we Erisians call the ANERISTIC ILLUSION. Some grids can be more useful than others, some more beautiful than others, some more pleasant than others, etc., but none can be more True than any other. DISORDER is simply unrelated information viewed through some particular grid. But, like "relation", no-relation is a concept. Male, like female, is an idea about sex. To say that male-ness is "absence of female-ness", or vice versa, is a matter of definition and metaphysically arbitrary. The artificial concept of no-relation is the ERISTIC ILLUSION. The point is that (little-t) truth is a matter of definition relative to the grid one is using at the moment, and that (capital-T) Truth, metaphysical reality, is irrelevant to grids entirely. Pick a grid, and through it some chaos appears ordered and some appears disordered. Pick another grid, and the same chaos will appear differently ordered and disordered. Reality is the original Rorschach. Verily! So much for all that.

-3The PODGE of the Sacred Chao is symbolized as The Golden Apple of Discordia, which represents the Eristic Principle of Disorder. The writing on it, "KALLISTI" is Greek for "TO THE PRETTIEST ONE" and refers to an old myth about The Goddess. But the Greeks had only a limited understanding of Disorder, and thought it to be a negative principle. The Pentagon represents the Aneristic Principle of Order and symbolizes the HODGE. The Pentagon has several references; for one, it can be taken to represent geometry, one of the earliest studies of formal order to reach elaborate development;* for another, it specifically accords with THE LAW OF FIVES. THE TRUTH IS FIVE BUT MEN HAVE ONLY ONE NAME FOR IT. Patamunzo Lingananda It also is the shape of the United States Military Headquarters, the Pentagon Building, a most pregnant manifestation of straightjacket order resting on a firm foundation of chaos and constantly erupting into dazzeling disorder; and this building is one of our more cherished Erisian Shrines. Also it so happens that in times of medieval magic, the pentagon was the generic symbol for werewolves, but this reference is not particularly intended and it should be noted that the Erisian Movement does not discriminate against werewolves - - our membership roster is open to persons of all races, national origins and hobbies. * The Greek geometrician PYTHAGORAS, however, was not a typical aneristic personality. He was what we call an EXPLODED ANERISTIC and an AVATAR. We call him Archangle Pythagoras.

00051

28 DAY RECORDING
5. Hung Mung slapped his buttocks, hopped about, and shook his head, saying, "I do not know! I do not know!" HBT; The Book of Gooks, Chap 1

00052

BRUNSWICK SHRINE In the Los Angeles suburb of Whittier there lives a bowling alley, and within this very place, in the year of Our Lady of Discord 3125 (1959*), Eris revealed Herself to The Golden Apple Corps for the first time. In honor of this Incredible Event, this Holy Place is revered as a Shrine by all Erisians. Once every five years, the Golden Apple Corps plans a Pilgrimage to Brunswick Shrine as an act of Devotion, and therein to partake of No Hot Dog Buns, and ruminate a bit about it All. It is written that when The Corps returns to the Shrine for the fifth time five times over, then shall the world come to an end: IMPENDING DOOM HAS ARRIVED And Five Days Prior to This Occasion The Apostle The Elder Malaclypse Shall Walk the Streets of Whittier Bearing a Sign for All Literates to Read thereof: "DOOM", as a Warning of Forthcoming Doom to All Men Impending. And He Shall Signal This Event by Seeking the Poor and Distributing to Them Precious MAO BUTTONS and Whittier Shall be Known as The Region of Thud for These Five Days. As a public service to all mankind and civilization in general, and to us in particular, the Golden Apple Corps has concluded that planning such a Pilgrimage is sufficient and that it is prudent to never get around to actually going.

* Or maybe it was 1958, I forget.

00053
STARBUCK'S PEBBLES

Which Is Real?

Do these 5 pebbles really form a pentagon? Those biased by the Aneristic Illusion would say yes. Those biased by the Eristic Illusion would say no. Criss-cross them and it is a star. An Illuminated Mind can see all of these, yet he does not insist that any one is really true, or that none at all is true. Stars, and pentagons, and disorder are all his own creations and he may do with them as he wishes. Indeed, even so the concept of number 5.
Can you chart the COURSE to Captain Valentine's SWEETHEART?

The real reality is there, but everything you KNOW about "it" is in your mind and yours to do with as you like. Conceptualization is art, and YOU ARE THE ARTIST.

Convictions cause convicts.

00054

When I was 8 or 9 years old, I acquired a split beaver magazine. You can imagine my disappointment when, upon examination of the photos with a microscope, I found that all I could see was dots.

7. Never write in pencil unless you are on a train or sick in bed.

There is serenity in Chaos. Seek ye the Eye of the Hurricane .

A POEE MYSTEREE RITE - THE SRI SYADASTIAN CHANT Written, in some sense, by Mal-2 Unlike a song, chants are not sung but chanted. This particular one is much enhanced by the use of a Leader to chant the Sanskrit alone, with all participants chanting the English. It also behooves one to be in a quiet frame of mind and to be sitting in a still position, perhaps The Buttercup Position. It also helps if one is absolutely zonked out of his gourd. RUB-A-DUB-DUB O! Hail Eris. Blessed St. Hung Mung. SYA-DASTI O! Hail Eris. Blessed St. Mo-Jo. SYA-DAVAK-TAVYA O! Hail Eris. Blessed St. Zara-thud. SYA-DASTI SYA-NASTI O! Hail Eris. Blessed St. Elder Mal. SYA-DASTI KAVAK-TAV-YASKA O! Hail Eris. Blessed St. Gu-lik. SYA-DASTI, SYA-NASTI, SYA-DAVAK-TAVYASKA O! Hail Eris. All Hail Dis-cord-ia. RUB-A-DUB-DUB It is then repeated indefinitely, or for the first two thousand miles, which ever comes first.

00059

00060
THE CLASSIFICATION OF SAINTS 1. SAINT SECOND CLASS To be reserved for all human beings deserving of Sainthood. Example: St. Norton the First, Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico (his grave near San Francisco is an official POEE shrine.) THE FOLLOWING FOUR CATAGORIES ARE RESERVED FOR FICTIONAL BEINGS WHO, NOT BEING ACTUAL, ARE MORE CAPABLE OF PERFECTION. 2. LANCE SAINT Good Saint material and definitely inspiring. Example: St. Yossarian (Catch 22, Heller) 3. LIEUTENANT SAINT Excellent Goddess-saturated Saint. Example: St. Quixote, (Don Quixote, Cervantes) 4. BRIGADIER SAINT Comparable to Lt/Saint but has an established following (fictional or factual). Example: St. Bokonon (Cats Cradle, Vonnegut) 5. FIVE STAR SAINT The Five Apostles of Eris. NOTE: It is an Old Erisian Tradition to never agree with each other about Saints

Everybody understands Mickey Mouse. Few understand Herman Hesse. Only a handfull understood Albert Einstein. And nobody understood Emperor Norton.
- Slogan of NORTON CABAL- S.F.

Tests By Doctors Prove It Possible To Shrink

= On Occultism = Magicians, especially since the Gnostic and the Quabala influences, have sought higher consciousness through the assimilation and control of universal opposites - - good/evil, positive/negative, male/female, etc. But due to the steadfast pomposity of ritualism inherited from the ancient methods of the shaman, occultists have been blinded to what is perhaps the two most important pairs of apparent or earth-plane opposites: ORDER/DISORDER and SERIOUS/HUMOROUS. Magicians, and their progeny the scientists, have always taken themselves and their subject in an orderly and sober manner, thereby disregarding an essential metaphysical balance. When magicians learn to approach philosophy as a malleable art instead of an immutable Truth, and learn to appreciate the absurdity of mans endeavors, then they will be able to pursue their art with a lighter heart and perhaps gain a clearer understanding of it, and therefore gain more effective magic. CHAOS IS ENERGY. This is an essential challange to the basic concepts of all western occult though, and POEE is humbly pleased to offer the first major breakthrough in occultism since Solomon.

00061

00062
POEE ASTROLOGICAL SYSTEM 1) On your next Birthday, return to the place of your birth and, at precisely midnight, noting your birth time and date of observation, count all visible stars. 2) When youve done this, write to me and Ill tell you what to do next.

The theorem to be proved is that if any even number of people take seats at random around a circular table bearing place cards with their names, it is always possible to rotate the table until at least two people are opposite their cards. Assume the contrary. Let n be the even number of persons, and let their names be replaced by the integers 0 to n - 1 "in such a way that the place cards are numbered in sequence around the table. If a delegate d originally sits down to a place card p, then the table must be rotated r steps before he is correctly seated, where r = p - d, unless this is negative, in which case r = p - d + n. The collection of values of d (and of p) for all delegates is clearly the integers 0 to n-1, each taken once, but so also is the collection of values of r, or else two delegates would be correctly seated at the same time. Summing the above equations, one for each delegate, gives S - S + nk, where k is an integer and S = n (n 1)/2, the sum of the integers from 0 to n - 1. It follows that n = 2k + 1, an odd number." This contradicts the original assumption. "I actually solved this problem some years ago," Rybicki writes, "for a different but completely equivalent problem, a generalization of the nonattacking eight queens problem for a cylindrical chessboard where diagonal attack is restricted to diagonals slanting in one direction only.

THE CURSE OF GREYFACE AND THE INTRODUCTION OF NEGATIVISM To choose order over disorder, or disorder over order, is to accept a trip composed of both the creative and the destructive. But to choose the creative over the destructive is an all-creative trip composed of both order and disorder. To accomplish this, one need only accept creative disorder along with, and equal to, creative order, and also be willing to reject destructive order as an undesirable equal to destructive disorder. The Curse of Greyface included the division of life into order/disorder as the essential positive/negative polarity, instead of building a game foundation with creative/destructive as the essential positive/negative. He has thereby caused man to endure the destructive aspects of order and has prevented man from effectively participating in the creative uses of disorder. Civilization reflects this unfortunate division.

POEE proclaims that the other division is preferable, and we work toward the proposition that creative disorder, like creative order, is possible and desirable; and that destructive order, like destructive disorder, is unnecessary and undesirable. Seek the Sacred Chao - therein you will find the foolishness of all ORDER/DISORDER. They are the same!

ERISIAN MAGIC RITUAL - THE TURKEY CURSE Revealed by the Apostle Dr. Van Van Mojo as a specific counter to the evil Curse of Greyface, the TURKEY CURSE is here passed on to Erisians everywhere for their just protection. The Turkey Curse works. It is firmly grounded on the fact that Greyface and his followers absolutely require an aneristic setting to function and that a timely introduction of eristic vibrations will neutralize their foundation. The Turkey Curse is designed solely to counteract negative aneristic vibes and if introduced into a neutral or positive aneristic setting (like a poet working out word rhythms) it will prove harmless, or at worst, simply annoying. It is not designed for use against negative eristic vibes, although it can be used as an eristic vehicle to introduce positive vibes into a misguided eristic setting. In this instance, it would be the responsibility of the Erisian Magician to manufacture the positive vibrations if results are to be achieved. CAUTION - all magic is powerful and requires courage and integrity on the part of the magician. This ritual, if misused, can backfire. Positive motivation is essential for self-protection. TO PERFORM THE TURKEY CURSE: Take a foot stance as if you were John L. Sullivan preparing for fisticuffs. Face the particular greyface you wish to short-circuit, or towards the direction of the negative aneristic vibration that you wish to neutralize. Begin by waving your arms in any elaborate manner and make motions with your hands as though you were Mandrake feeling up a sexy giantess. Chant, loudly and clearly: GOBBLE, GOBBLE, GOBBLE, GOBBLE, GOBBLE! The results will be instantly apparent.

00064

A PRIMER FOR ERISIAN EVANGELISTS by Lord Omar The SOCRATIC APPROACH is most successful when confronting the ignorant. The "socratic approach" is what you call starting an argument by asking questions. You approach the innocent and simpy ask "Did you know that Gods name is Eris and that He is a girl?" If he should answer "Yes." Then he is probably a fellow Erisian and so you can forget it. If he says "No." then quickly proceed to: THE BLIND ASSERTION and say "Well, He is a girl and His name is ERIS!" Shrewdly observe if the subject is convinced. If he is, swear him into the Legion of Dynamic Discord before he changes his mind. If he does not appear to be convinced, then proceed to: THE FAITH BIT: "But you must have Faith! All is lost without Faith! I sure feel sorry for you if you dont have Faith." And then add: THE ARGUMENT BY FEAR and in an ominous voice ask "Do you know what happens to those who deny Goddess?" If he hesitates, dont tell him that he will surely be reincarnated as a precious Mao Button and distributed to the poor in the Region of Thud (which would be a mean thing to say), just shake your head sadly and, while wiping a tear from your eye, go to: THE FIRST CLAUSE PLOY wherein you point to all of the discord and confusion in the world and exclaim "Well who the hell do you think did all of this, wise guy?" If he says, "Nobody, just impersonal forces." Then quickly respond with: THE ARGUMENT BY SEMANTICAL GYMNASTICS and say that he is absolutely right, and that those impersonal forces are female and that Her name is ERIS. If he, wonder of wonders, still remains obstinate, then finally resort to: THE FIGURATIVE SYMBOLISM DODGE and confide that sophisticated people like himself recognize that Eris is a Figurative Symbol for an Ineffable Metaphysical Reality and that The Erisian Movement is really more like a poem than like a science and that he is liable to be turned into a Precious Mao Button and Distributed to The Poor in The Region of Thud if he does not get hip. Then put him on your mailing list.

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00066

A GAME By Ala Hera, E.L., N.S.; RAYVILLE APPLE PANTHERS SINK is played by and people of much ilk.

PURPOSE: To sink object or an object or a thing- in water or mud or anything you; can sink something in. RULES: Sinking is allowd in any manner. To date, ten pound chunks of mud were used to sink a tobacco can. It is preferable to have a pit of water or a hole to drop things in. But rivers - bays - gulfs - I dare say even oceans can be used. TURNS are taken thusly: who somever gets the junk up in the air first. DUTY: It shall be the duty of all persons playing "SINK" to help find more objects to sink, once; one object is sunk. UPON SINKING: The sinked shall yell "I sank it!" or something equally as thoughtful. NAMING OF OBJECTS is some times desirable. The object is named by the finder of such object and whoever sinks it can say for instance, "I sunk Columbus, Ohio."

A JOINT EFFORT OF THE DISCORDIAN SOCIETY

Post Office Liberation Front

THIS IS A CHAIN LETTER. WITHIN THE NEXT FIFTY-FIVE DAYS YOU WILL RECEIVE THIRTY-ELEVEN HUNDRED POUNDS OF CHAINS! In the meantime plant your seeds. If a lot of people who receive this letter plant a few seeds and a lot of people receive this letter, then a lot of seeds will get planted. Plant you seeds. In parks. On lots. Public flower beds. In remote places. At City Hall. Wherever. Whenever. Or start a plantation in your closet (but read up on it first for that). For casual planting, its best to soak them in water for a day and plant in a bunch of about 5, about half an inch deep. Dont worry much about weather, they know when the weather is wrong and will try to wait for nature. Dont soak them if its wintertime. Seeds are a very hearty life form and strongly desire to grow and flourish. But some of them need peoples help to get started. Plant your seeds. Make a few copies of this letter (5 would be nice) and send them to friends of yours. Try to mail to different cities and states, even different countries. If you would rather not, than please pass this copy on to someone and perhaps they would like to. THERE IS NO TRUTH To the legend that if you throw away a chain letter then all sorts of catastrophic, abominable, and outrageous disasters will happen. Except, of course, from your seeds point of view.

00067

Questions Have a friendly class talk. Permit each child to tell any part of the unit on "Courtesy in the Corridors and on the Stairs" that he enjoyed. Name some causes of disturbance in your school.

00069

Chapter 1, THE EPISTLE TO THE PARANOIDS - - Lord Omar 1. Ye have locked yerself up in cages of fear - - and, behold, do ye now complain that ye lack FREEDOM! 2. Ye have cast out yer brothers for devils and now complain ye, lamenting, that yeve been left to fight alone. 3. All Chaos was once yer kingdom; verily, held ye domination over the entire Pentaverse, but today ye wax sore afraid in dark corners, nooks, and sink holes. 4. O how the darknesses do crowd up, one against the other, in ye hearts! What fear ye more than what ye have wroughten? 5. Verily, verily I say unto you, not all the Sinister Ministers of the Bavarian Illuminati, working together in multitudes, could so entwine the land with tribulation as have yer baseless warnings.

Despite strong evidence to the contrary, persistant rumor has it that it was Mr. Momomotos brother who has swallowed Mr. Momomoto in the summer of 44.

Advertisement

00070

Dear Brother Mal-2, In response to your request for unclassified agitprop to be inserted in the new edition of the PRINCIPIA, hope the following will be of use. And please stop bothering us with your incessant letters! Episkopos Mordecai, Keeper of the Notary Sojac, informs me that you are welcome to reveal that our oldest extant records show us to have been fully established in Atlantis, circa 18,000 B.C., under Kull, the galley slave who ascended to the Throne of Valusia. Revived by Pelias of Koth, circa 10,000 B.C. Possibly it was he who taught the inner-teachings to Conan of Cimmeria after Conan became King of Aquilonia. First brought to the western hemisphere by Conan and taught to Mayan priesthood (Conan is Quetzlcoatl). That was 4 Ahua, 8 Cumhu, Mayan date. Revived by Abdul Alhazred in his infamous Al Azif, circa 800 A.D. (Al Azif translated into Latin by Olaus Wormius, 1132 A.D., as The Necronomicon.) In 1090 A.D. was the founding of The Ismaelian Sect (Hashishism) by Hassan i Sabbah, with secret teachings based on Alhazred, Pelias and Kull. Founding of the Illuminated Ones of Bavaria, by Adam Weishaupt, on May 1, 1776. He based it on the others. Weishaupt brought it to the United States during the period that he was impersonating George Washington; and it was he who was the Man in Black who gave the design for The Great Seal to Jefferson in the garden that night. The Illuminated tradition is now, of course, in the hands of The Ancient Illuminated Seers of Bavaria (A.I.S.B.), headquartered here in the United States. Our teachings are not, need I remind you, available for publication. No harm, though, in admitting that some of them can be found disguised in Joyces Finnegans Wake, Burroughs Nova Express, the King James translation of The Holy Bible (though not the Latin or Hebrew), and The Blue Book. Not to speak of Ben Franklins private papers (!), but we are still suppressing those. Considering current developments - - you know the ones I speak of - - it has been decided to reveal a few more of our front organizations. Your publication is timely, so mention that in addition to the old fronts, like the Masons, the Rothchild Banks, and the Federal Reserve System, we now have significant control of the Federal Bureau of Investigation (since Hoover died last year, but that is still secret), the Students for a Democratic Society, the Communist Party USA, the American Anarchist Assn., the Junior Chamber of Commerce, the Black Lotus Society, the Republican Party, the John Dillinger Died For You Society and the Camp Fire Girls. It is still useful to continue the sham of the Birchers that we are seeking world domination; so do not reveal that political and economic control was generally complete several generations ago and that we are just playing with the world for a while until civilization advances sufficiently for phase five. Ancient Illuminated Seers of Bavaria - The Discordian Society

MALIK to Mal-2 pg. 2 In fact you might still push Vennards The Federal Reserve Hoax: "Since the Babylonian Captivity there has existed a determined, behind-the-scenes under-the-table, atheistic, satanic, antiChristian force - worshippers of Mamon - whose underlying purpose is world control through the control of Money. July 1, 1776 (correct that to May 1st, Vennard cant get anything right) the Serpent raised its head in the under-ground secret society known as The Illuminati, founded by Adam Weishaupt. There is considerable documentary evidence to prove all revolutions, wars, depressions, strikes and chaos stem from this source." Etc., etc., you know the stuff. The general location of our US HQ, incidentally, has been nearly exposed; and so we will be moving for the first time this century (what a drag!). If you want, you can reveal that it is located deep in the labyrinth of sewers beneath Dealy Plaza in Dallas, and is presided over by the Dealy Lama. Inclosed are some plans for several new potential locations. Please review and add any comments you feel pertinent, especially regarding the Eristic propensity of the Pentagon site. Oh, and we have some good news for you, Brother Mal! You know that Zambian cybernetics genius who joined us? Well, he has secretly co-ordinated the FBI computers with the Zurich System and our theoriticians are in ecstasy over the new information coming out. Look, if you people there can keep from blowing yourselves up for only two more generations, then we will finally have it. After 20,000 years, Kulls dream will be realized! We can hardly believe it. But the outcome is certain, given the time. Our grandchildren, Mal! If civilization makes it through this crisis, our grandchildren will live in a world of authentic freedom and authentic harmony and authentic satisfaction. I hope Im alive to see it, Mal, success is in our grasp. Twenty thousand years....! Ah, I get spaced just thinking about it. Good luck on the Principia. Ewige Blumenkraft! HAIL ERIS.

PS: PRIVATE - Not for publication in The Principia. We are returning to the two Zwack Cyphers for classified communications. Herewith is your copy. DO NOT DIVULGE THIS INFORMATION SECURITY E-5.

Part Five

NONSENSE AS SALVATION

The Golden Secret

The human race will begin solving its problems on the day that it ceases taking itself so seriously. To that end, POEE proposes the countergame of NONSENSE AS SALVATION. Salvation from an ugly and barbarous existence that is the result of taking order so seriously and so seriously fearing contrary orders and disorder; that GAMES are taken as more important than LIFE; rather than taking LIFE AS THE ART OF PLAYING GAMES. To this end, we propose that man develop his innate love for disorder, and play with The Goddess Eris. And know that it is a joyful play, and that thereby CAN BE REVOKED THE CURSE OF GREYFACE. If you can master nonsense as well as you have already learned to master sense, then each will expose the other for what it is: absurdity. From that moment of illumination, a man begins to be free regardless of his surroundings. He becomes free to play order games and change them at will. He becomes free to play disorder games just for the hell of it. He becomes free to play neither or both. And as the master of his own games, he plays without fear, and therefore without frustration, and therefore with good will in his soul and love in his being. And when men become free then mankind will be free. May you be free of The Curse of Greyface. May the Goddess put twinkles in your eyes. May you have the knowledge of a sage, and the wisdom of a child. Hail Eris.

00074

00075
THUS ENDS PRINCIPIA DISCORDIA This being the 4th Edition, March 1970, San Francisco; a revision of the 3rd Edition of 500 copies, whomped together in Tampa 1969; which revised the 2nd Edition of 100 copies from Los Angeles 1969; which was a revision of PRINCIPIA DISCORDIA or HOW THE WEST WAS LOST published in New Orleans in 1965 in five copies, which were mostly lost.

All Rights Reversed Reprint what you like

Published by POEE Head Temple - San Francisco "ON THE FUTURE SITE OF BEAUTIFUL SAN ANDREAS CANYON"

THE LAST WORD The foregoing document was revealed to Mal-2 by the Goddess Herself through many consultations with Her within his Pineal Gland. It is guaranteed to be the Word of Goddess. However, it is only fair to state that Goddess doesnt always say the same thing to each listener, and that other Episkoposes are sometimes told quite different things in their Revelations, which are also the Word of Goddess. Consequently, if you prefer a Discordian Sect other than POEE, then none of these Truths are binding, and it is a rotten shame that you have read all the way down to the very last word.

DISCORDIAN SOCIETY
DEDICATED TO AN ADVANCED UNDERSTANDING OF THE PARAPHYSICAL MANIFESTATIONS OF EVERYDAY CHAOS

DID YOU KNOW THAT YOU HAVE A LOPSIDED PINEAL GLAND?

Well, probably you do have one, and its unfortunate because lopsided Pineal Glands have perverted the Free Spirit of Man, and subverted Life into a frustrating, unhappy and hopeless mess. Fortunately, you have before you a handbook that will show you how to discover your salvation through ERIS, THE GODDESS OF CONFUSION. It will advise you how to balance your Pineal Gland and reach spiritual Illumination. And it will teach you how to turn your miserable mess into a beautiful, joyful, and splendid one.

SPECIAL AFTERWORD to the Loompanics Edition of Principia Discordia G.H. Hill, San Francisco, 1979 All Rites Reversed Reprint What You Like

INTERVIEW WITH NORTON CABAL by Gypsie Skripto, Special Correspondent It has been ten years since I met the mysterious Malaclypse the Younger. I was free lancing for the underground papers and went by POEE Head Temple at 555 Battery Street to try for an interview. I found him in the Temple PO Box busy wrapping up the new Fourth Edition of Principia. He seemed impatient with me, insisting that he didnt have the time or inclination for foolish questions from reporters. Undaunted, I burst out with questions like whether he preferred Panama Red or Acapulco Gold and how the fuck did we manage to fit inside of a tiny post office box and other things apropos a naive young semiliterate dropout hippy writer. He asked me if I wanted to drop mescaline and fuck all night and said he knew how to turn himself into a unicorn and there might be room for a tiny interview on the cover of the Principia if I wanted to work for the Greater Poop so I said sure, OK, Ive never dropped mescaline in a post office box before. It turned out I was among the last to see Malaclypse. As subsequent issues of Greater Poop revealed, he was to disappear and POEE business was to be assumed by his students at Norton Cabal. Professor Ignotum P. Ignotius, Department of Comparative Realities, was assigned the Trust of the POEE Scruple and Rev. Dr. Occupant became Keeper of the Box. The newly published copies of Principia were distributed by Mad Malik, Block Disorganizer, who had distribution contacts with the Aluminum Bavariati. Practical relations remained in the hands of concept artist G. Hill. When the 1000 Principias were gone the Greater Poop stopped publishing, Head Temple closed down and the Cabal just seemed to evaporate. Finally even the box was closed. But over the years I noticed that copies were still circulating, and that independent Discordian Cabals would occasionally pop out of nowhere (and still do). And I would wonder what ever happened to Malaclypse. When I read the Illuminatus trilogy I resolved to again find and interview the denizens of Joshua Norton Cabal of the Discordian Society. 79/11/26 -1Loompanics

NORTON CABAL INTERVIEW ***

G. Skripto

As I cabled over Nob to San Franciscos Station O Post Office I couldnt help but wonder at Goddess, hand in assigning street addresses to Her outposts. Mal2 had told me that Good Lord Omar always filed everything under "O" for Out Of File. "Maya is marvelous" I was thinking when I rapped on the little metal door and was greeted warmly by a huge beard who introduced himself as Professor Ignotius. He ushered me into a spacious wood paneled and tapestry hung parlor where three others were laughing and passing around a wine jug. The sunny one in a tunic was the Reverend Doctor Occupant, the trim khaki and jeans was Mad Malik and the wine jug claimed to be Hill. I got the recorder on ....

GYPSIE SKRIPTO [in response to a question]: ...1969 but only briefly. I guess I missed you guys. MAD MALIK: No wonder, he was pretty much a one man show then. We were just his students and were usually off on errands. You worked for the Poop? Gypsie: Well, for one night anyway. The interview is in the Principia. REV. DR. OCCUPANT: Malik was the only one he would ever let write for the Poop or get on the letterhead. Gypsie: Did you [Malik] have higher authority than the others? Malik: No, [but I was allowed to speak in the Poop] because [Malaclypse the Younger] hated politics. He was infuriated with Johnson and Nixon over Viet Nam because it was turning the renaissance into a political revolution and was stealing his sacred thunder. So he trained me in Zenarchy, which he learned from Omar, and I was the official anarcho-pacifist for the Cabal. Also I was liaison to The Ancient Illuminated Seers of Bavaria, the Chicago Discordians. Later Omar activated the Hung Mung Cong Tong and ELF, on zenarchist principles, and also Operation Mindfuck. I was also into those. Though at that time I was masquerading in Greater Poop as a cremated cabbage to throw off the FBI. Gypsie [to Hill]: Since you wrote it, I take it you are an anarchist?

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G. Skripto

NORTON CABAL INTERVIEW

G.H. HILL: Since then I have given up anarchy. Too many rules - hating the government and all that stuff. IGNOTUM PER IGNOTIUS: Its like hating your own fantasies. Malik: [Anarchy] is also standing up and proceeding forward, fantasy rule or not. The condition is the same. Occupant: Brother needs some wine! Malik: We have had this argument before, Reverend Doctor Brother. But wine before platitudes, fill it up. Gypsie [to Hill]: And pacifism? Hill: Im not sure I ever was one. Mal2 was not, Malik was. Personally I accepted self defense yet I could never reconcile that with the ideal. I finally gave up on that one too. Actually I just gave up on idealism. Ignotius: Idealism lives with rules. Realism lives with rocks. Hill: Yeah. I get along better with rocks. Malik: Mal2 once told me that pacifism was a dilemma. If everybody was a pacifist then everything would be perfect. But nobody is going to be a pacifist unless I am first. But if I am and somebody else is not, then I get screwed. He said that there were five choices under that circumstance. The first was napalming farmers and the second was executing your parents. The third was hypocrisy, the fourth was cowardice, and the fifth was to swallow the dilemma. Zenarchists are trained in dilemma swallowing. Occupant: So are other Erisians, like POEE. Ignotius: That is characteristic of the Discordian perspective. Hill: But of course training contradicts Discordian principles. Malik: Oh so what. Contradictions are nothing to Discordians. Occupant: Dilemma, Schlimemma. [to Gypsie]: What do you think of this, pretty maam? We dont get to hear your thoughts. Gypsie: Im reporting now, you talk. Occupant: Later then? 79/11/26 -3Loompanics

NORTON CABAL INTERVIEW Gypsie: Perhaps. Later. Occupant: You are smiling.

G. Skripto

Gypsie: Hey, guy, later. [to Hill]: Doesnt this leave you a little schizy? Hill: Its OK, Im half Gemini. Gypsie: Whats the other half? Hill: Taurus. That makes me stubborn schizy. Ignotius: Im a Whale. Occupant: I choose Satyr. Malik: Spirits dont have signs. Hill: A character can have a sign if I want it so. Occupant: Well I can have a sign if I want to and screw both of you. Malik: Come on Greg, you just think that we are your characters.... Occupant: You were inhabited by Malaclypse the Younger. He caused you to create roles and those roles are being performed by us spirits. Ignotius: A perfectly normal pagan relationship. Hill: Well you can look at it like that if you want to, but I created Mal2 to my specifications just as I conceived all the rest of you. Occupant: You didnt invent Eris. She caused you to think you created the spirit of Malaclypse. Hill: Oh bull! Besides, I changed her so much the Greeks would never recognize her. Occupant: Thats what She wanted! Ignotius: Deities change things around all the time. Malik: What you dont realize is that a spirit has a self identity. Hill: Nope. A spirit is a product of definition and the one who is doing the defining around here is me. Your identity is what I say it is. Just to prove it, Im going to change your name. 79/11/26 -4Loompanics

G. Skripto

NORTON CABAL INTERVIEW

SINISTER DEXTER: Its OK with me. Fate is fate. I never much liked "Mad Malik" anyway. Ignotius: Besides people confused him with Joe Malik in Illuminatus. Dexter: I sort of enjoyed the confusion part. Occupant: Doesnt prove anything anyway. Gypsie: That name sounds familiar. Where is it from? Hill: Its a name I came up with in the old days and never used much. Its on page 38 of the Principia referring to Vice President Spiro Agnew. I always thought I invented it but now it sounds like a Stan Freberg name now that I think about it. It may have stuck in my preconscious memory from early TV. Gypsie: Can you use it without his permission? Hill: If it is his? I dont know. I hope so. It means "left right" in Latin and is a perfect name for a libertarian anarchist. Actually in my kind of art the question of what can I use freely and what can I not is a very trickly problem. Gypsie: How do you mean? Hill: Well, take a collage for example. Like the early one on page 36 of the Principia. Each little piece was extracted from some larger work created by some other artist and published and maybe copyrighted. I find them in newspapers and magazines mostly. Often from ads. With a collage you select and extract from your environment and then assemble into an original relationship. The Principia itself is a collage. A conceptual collage. All of it happens simultaneously. But visually it is a montage, passing through time, like a book does. There is a lot of pirated stuff in the Principia, especially in the margins. But also I sympathize with artists who must own and sell their works to earn a living. Art, like knowledge, should be free fodder for everyone. But it isnt. It is perplexing. Gypsie: Where did all the things in Principia come from? Hill: Well, a full answer would take a whole book in itself. Most of the writing credited to a name is a true person and almost always a different name means a different person. Most of the non-credited, you know, Malaclypse, text is mine

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NORTON CABAL INTERVIEW

G. Skripto

although some things credited to either Mal2 or Omar were actually co-written and passed back and forth and rewritten by each of us. The marginalia, dingbats and pasted in titles and heads and things came from wherever I found them some of which is original but uncredited Discordian output, like the page head on 12 and other pages which is from a series of satiric memo pads from Our Peoples Underworld Cabal. All page layout is mine and some whole graphics like the Sacred Chao and the Hodge Podge Transformer are mine but mostly I just found stuff and integrated it. Mostly I did concept, say 50% of the writing, 10% of the graphics, all of the layout. Gypsie: Specifically, what are some of the sources? Hill: Well, the poem on the front cover is by Walt Kelly and was spoken by one of his characters in Pogo. The government seals starting on page 1 are from a book of sample seals from the U.S. Government Printing Office. Western Union on page 6 got into the act because I used to be a teletype operator and had access to blank forms. Rubber stamps came from all over the place and some, like the apple on page 27, I carved myself. A few I ordered to my specification, like on page 1. The quote on top of page 8 might be from Barnum, Im not sure. The jumping man on page 12 is from an advertisement. I recognize the style - a popular commercial artist - but I dont know his name. The Chinese on that page is a grocery ad, I think. The Norton money on page 14 is historic, plus my little additions. The apple on page 17, as well as the triangle on 23 and the Sacred Chao on 50 are, believe it or not, pasteups from mimeoqraphs, from Seattle Cabal. That group produced the best damn mimeography Ive ever seen. The Lick Here Box on page 23 is one of many tidbits making the rounds in alternative/underground newspapers in those days. Trip 5 page header on 29 was a chapter title in one of Tim Learys books. The Knight on the bull with the TV antenna on his helmet on page 46 came from a very artistic magazine called Horseshit and put out by two brothers from Long Beach. I dont remember their names. Wonderful magazine. Occupant: Eris told Mal2 what to use and where to find it. Hill: Yeah, in a way that is right. That is why my name does not appear anywhere on the Principia and why it was published with a broken copyright - Reprint What You Like. I knew I was taking liberties and didnt want my intentions to be misunderstood. It was an experiment and was intended to be an underground work and that involves a different set of ethics than commercial work. Gypsie: There are no real names at all?

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G. Skripto

NORTON CABAL INTERVIEW

Hill: Oh, some. Camden Benares is a real name because he legally changed his original name to his Holy Name. Also, instead of using Mordecai Malignatus I used Bob Wilsons real name on page 12 because Werewolf Bridge was a work before Discordianism. And of course real people like Neils Bohr crop up in quotes. Gypsie: What do you think about the Principia now? Would you want to change it? Hill: I consider it a successful work and I wouldnt want to change it. In some ways it is immature and I am not the same person I was 10 years ago, but it accomplished the objectives I set for myself and it has the effect I wanted it to have. There are a few errors though. Gypsie: Like what? Hill: Oh, I changed a quote from Tom Gnostic on page 61 and I dont think he ever did forgive me for it. Hes right. Starbucks Pebbles should have been preceded by the Myth of Starbuck which was being saved for something else and never got used. I should have used it when I had the chance. And then Eris did a neat little trick on me by having IBM make the Greek selectric typewriter element not coincide with all the characters on their keyboard. So the little "kallisti" that first appears on the title page and lastly on the back cover came out "kallixti" and I was too dumb to know the difference. Gypsie: Will there ever be a Fifth Edition? Hill: There already is a Fifth Edition, by Mal2. It is a one page telegram that reduces everything to an infinite aum. I found it at Western Union where a machine got stuck and kicked out hundreds of pages of nothing but ms. He made it the Fifth Edition and then left. Principia/Malaclypse was a very personal work for me and actually took 10 years to culminate. It was one single statement that included my adolescence in the 50s and my young adulthood in the 60s. When I finally had the paste-ups done I knew that I had finished it. That is why, quote, Malaclypse left. I knew it was finished. I didnt know exactly what it was, but it was done. Occupant: See? Gypsie: Earlier you said that you met your objectives. Just what were those objectives? Hill: Well, thats hard to answer because it kept refining itself over the years. In 1969 I mainly thought of myself as a cosmic clown and I set out to prove, by 79/11/26 -7Loompanics

NORTON CABAL INTERVIEW demonstration, that a deity can be anything at all.

G. Skripto

In other words, people invent gods and not the other way around. Later I decided that I was doing some kind of conceptual art. In the 50s my culture taught me that I was created by and for a deity, a specific male deity, and that all other deities are FALSE. Yet my growing experience showed me that any deity is true in some sense and false in some other sense. So I set out to do what my society told me is impossiblemake a real religion from a patently absurd deity. In the 50s a female deity was blasphemy. In the 70s a humorous deity is still considered impossible, ridiculous and blasphemous. As far as Im concerned, I have proven my point. Eris is a real deity and even though I dont promote Erisianism as a serious religion .... Occupant: I do! Dexter: You speak for yourself. Ignotius: Here, here. Hill: ...I do point out that it makes just as much sense from its own perspective as all the others do from each of their own perspectives. Occupant: I think paganism is a valid spiritual path. I encourage Erisianism because it makes fun of itself. I think this is healthy. Ignotius: If you can live rewardingly with Goddess Eris you can live with any deity, including none or all. Dexter: I dont much go for the worship business but I agree with Occupant about the spirit of the thing. We live in a time of turmoil, the whole planet is in a state of change. If we, as a species, cower from the confusion then we die with the dying. This is revolution. Ignotius: I am an athiest myself. There is no Greg Hill. [ laughter ] Gypsie [to Hill]: What do you think of Illuminatus? Hill: Oh, I love it. I was finishing Principia when Shea and Wilson were working on Illuminatus. It took Dell five years to publish it...maybe that is significant. 79/11/26 -8Loompanics

G. Skripto

NORTON CABAL INTERVIEW

The 1969 Discordian Society was a mail network between independent writers of various kinds. Norton Cabal was just me and my characters and I used the other cabals as sort of a laboratory. In return other Discordians would bounce their stuff off of me. We would toss in ideas and anybody could take anything out. It was a concept stew. The exchanging of ideas and techniques broadened and encouraged all of us. I like Illuminatus for the surrealism. A very effective method of writing. Ignotius: I got misquoted. Worse, I wasnt even in that scene and if I had been then I would have said something else. Dexter [to Ignotius]: That was me in that scene. Ignotius: Oh, is that what that was? Dexter: He got our names mixed up. Hill: He got mixed up about me too, in Cosmic Trigger. Bob says that when Oswald was buying the assassination rifle, my girlfriend was printing the first edition of Principia on Jim Garrisons Xerox. It wasnt my girl friend, it was Kerrys; it wasnt the First Ed Principia, it was some earlier Discordian thoughts; it wasnt Garrisons Xerox, it was his mimeograph; and it wasnt just before Kennedy was shot but a couple of years before that.* The First Ed Principia, by the way, was reproduced at Xerox Corp when xerography was a new technology. Which was my second New Orleans trip in 1965. I worked for a guy on Bourbon Street who was a Xerox salesman by day. Dexter: I think that George Dorn took too much guff from Hagbard. If someone pulls a weapon on me, Im more inclined to either leave or kill the sonofabitch. Occupant: You are supposed to be a pacifist. Dexter: Im speaking figuratively of course. Ill tell you more tomorrow.

* I checked this further with Mr. Thornley. He says that the woman in question was not his girlfriend, she was just a friend, and it wasnt a couple of years before Kennedy was shot but had to be a couple of years after (but before Garrison investigated Thornley). --GS 79/11/26 -9Loompanics

NORTON CABAL INTERVIEW Gypsie [to Hill]: Did you really translate erotic Etruscan poetry? Hill: Sure, but I used a pen name. I signed it "Robert Anton Wilson". [A quick rap is heard on the door] Gypsie: I have only one question left... Dexter: Ill get it.

G. Skripto

Gypsie: ...what I really want to know is how can we all fit inside of a tiny little post office box? Dexter [to Gypsie]: Its a telegram for you, from Mal2. Gypsie: To me? [Paper tearing] Gypsie [reading]: "If I told everybody how they could live inside of a post office box then everybody would stop paying landlords and go live inside their post office boxes. It would collapse the building! Can you imagine, post offices collapsing all over the country, the hemisphere, the PLANET! The whole worlds communication system would be destroyed. No, no, I must not say. I dare not!" ###

79/11/26

-10-

Loompanics

Fifth Edition

PRINCIPIA DISCORDIA
or A CATTERPILLERS PRAISE TO THE BUTTERFLY being the

FINAL STATEMENT
of Malaclypse the Younger

Published by Joshua Norton Cabal San Francisco All Rites Reversed

This PDF Copy of the Principia Discordia was painstakingly re-scanned and reassembled by the 23 Apples of Eris. It replaces an earlier version we created that had several printing problems, sub-par graphics, and many misspellings. This version is about as perfect as we could make it and still be realistically downloadable (original misspellings by authors were kept). It includes the entire Loompanics version of the Principia Discordia, aside from the blurbs and commercials for other books, as well as the IllumiNet versions Forward by Lord Omar. Unlike our first attempt at PDFing the Principia, no Steve Jackson material was included in this version. In addition to this PDF version of the Principia, another almost identical version exists on the 23 Apples of Eris Homepage (which may be found at CastleChaos.Com) with extensive annotations by Net Discordians we encourage you to check it out. Also, if you liked the scans and want any of the pictures, the entire Loompanics version of the Principia is available in JPG and DOC format. We would like to extend our most sincere gratitude to everybody who is responsible for the ideas contained here in the Principia, and also encourage you to leave copies of this everywhere you can replace those useless books you always find in hotel rooms, leave some REAL reading material in doctors offices mail co-workers a page at a time. Whatever strikes your fancy. - Prince Mu-Chao, High Mucky-Muck, 23AE

AMBROSE BIERCE SAYS,

Save Your Barcodes!

The

WISE BOOK of
FNORD

BALONEY
COMPILED AND EDITED BY

BARON VON HOOPLA, KSC

THE WISE BOOK OF BALONEY

-orFocus Your Glass Eye On This, Sucka!

the WISE BOOK of BALONEY

This Being a Collection of Discordian Writings, Musings, Rants, Riddles and Stroganoff Recipes

compiled and edited by Baron von Hoopla, K.S.C.

As Hermes was swinging through the skies a hell of a long time ago, flitting this way and that, inviting all he met to the wedding of Peleus and Thetis, he noticed a young man in an orchard picking delicious apples. This young man was completely nude, as was the habit in those days, and from the hard work he had undertaken was glazed in a fine coating of dewey sweat. Hermes, like almost all Greek men in those days, appreciated the male nude form much more than he appreciated the female nude form, and so swooped down to investigate this young man s body much more closely. In the back of Hermes mind was his mission to invite all to the joyous ceremony which was going to be performed by the grooviest of all gods, aegisbearing Zeus of the stiff lightening bolts and even stiffer rod. He had only one invitation left to give out, to that of Eris called Strife, and decided that she could wait, all she ever did was cause trouble anyway . . . Howdy, my boy, Hermes said, smiling lasciviously at the young orchard boy. Those be some mighty big and firm apples you have there . . . are they juicy? The young boy was no stranger to innuendo, and saw that this was not simply a conversation about fine produce. He was one of the few men in those days who didn t care much for the greased wrestling lifestyle, but at the same time knew that boinking a god could get you places . . . true, you might end up becoming a goose or a statue or something else equally ridiculous, but there were also rumours that you could end up living life on Limbo Peak, instead of becoming a shade in the depths of Hades. What was a quick roll in the hay, in exchange for a eternity in the heavens? So juicy they could squirt your eye out . . . the young man heard himself saying before he had even decided what to say. That was how the gods worked. Before he could open his mouth to take back what he had said, the god of speed and agility proved his titles by having pounced on the poor lad, and was using him like a child uses a hobby-horse. All thoughts of continuing his mission were suddenly missing from Hermes perfect god brain. This entire episode was being watched from far above by Eris, who secretly ruled everything but allowed others to believe they had something to do with it too, out of her unparalleled modesty. Modest she may be, but she is also very touchy about certain matters of decorum. She watched Hermes porking the poor orchard boy, clucked with distaste at the stunningly poor performance he showed and yet somehow kept his reputation as a fantastic lover amongst the Achaeans , and then stood up with shock as the Messenger God dismounted, rolled onto his back in the lush green grass, and fell promptly asleep. She floated down next to his inert body, and began to quiver with rage. THIS, she said. THIS IS THE MESSENGER THAT THE SO-CALLED WISEST OF GODS, THAT FUCKING RAGING HORMONE WITH A THRONE CALLED AEGIS-BEARING ZEUS, SENT TO INVITE ALL OF THE WORLD TO THE BIGGEST PARTY SINCE THE BIG BANG??? THIS LITTLE MILK-SOP? She looked over at Mount Olympus, and could already hear the music beginning to

00007

BOOK ONE

swell. She could smell the flowers, and could feel the laughter and tears. The wedding was beginning. Eris had to show that she knew of this outrageous snub, and wasn t going to take it at all lightly. She had to make an appearance, yet a ingeniously subtle one. Let them know she was there, and yet not really there at all. Perhaps leaving a sarcastic gift would be appropriate? Then a wicked smile slithered across her glorious lips. One thing could be counted on with the Olympic Gods; not their wisdom, not their power, not their compassion, no, the one thing that could be counted on in all situations was their eternal vanity. Eris, who is rightfully called Strife, picked up one of the apples at her feet. The delicious fruit turned to gold within her hand, and she gazed at it . . . how to address it? To Thetis ? That would cause a stir since the other witches would certainly want it, but would their prides let them steal a present from a bride in front of all the guests? Probably, but let s work with certainties. Perhaps, To The Lovely Lady ? That certainly leaves some room for uncertainty . . . probably enough to incite idiocy from Hera and Aphrodite, but she wanted more . . . she wanted full-on chaos. Then it struck her. The perfect inscription. She wrote on the words, and then wandered over to Mount Olympus and rolled the apple through the doors, and floated back up into the sky to observe. Pan, of all gods, found the apple first. He picked it up and read the inscription, F o r T h e B i t c h i n e s t then polished it on his fur, and held it out to look at it again. Hephaestus noticed it, and leaned over. S that? he asked. Oh. said Pan. It s just an apple that someone gave to me. I found it here on the floor. Hephaestus leaned closer to get a look, but Pan kept moving it farther away. Funny, the lame god said. I could have sworn it said for the bitchenest Pan said quietly, It does. Well, hate to say it, chum, but that s my wife Aphrodite. Hephaestus said. Oh, said Pan. You mean that loose slut riding Dionysus face over on the punch table? You think it s for hu Pan s last word was crushed by a rather large anvil that Hephaestus happens to carry with him, for situations such as that. He held up the apple, but was struck down by Ares, who believed that he was, in fact, the bitchenest of all the gods. As he grabbed hold of the golden fruit, a spear pierced his wrist and white blood poured out onto the marble floor. Pallas Athene grabbed the apple as it rolled from Ares hand, and said Ta, big bro . . . I ll take that. All the other gods had seen the apple by this point, and had read the infamous inscription, each believing they were the most bitchin of all the gods. And, with that, mayhem ensued. It was hard to hear the laughter of Eris above the din of all the breaking bones and clashing swords, but she felt her point had been proven.

00008

ADVICE FOR DISCORDIAN N00BS

If you're going to bullshit for bullshit's sake, at least have the decency to make your own. Stop analyzing, quoting, arguing with, and making clever references to any of the so-called "seminal Discordian(tm) texts". Sure, they're a Real Head Trip, but clever wears itself out real, real fast, and it's getting on 30-40 years since this crap has been floating around. That's longer than you've been alive, I wager. RAW and Mal-2 were stoned when they wrote that shit anyway. I bet they're embarassed by people like you who take them seriously. If you keep this up they'll be the new L. Ron Hubbard, and Discordianism(tm) will be the new Scientology. Do you really want that? Do you? Huh?! Being a Real Discordian(tm) involves having a finely tuned sense of irony. We've all been through it. Is it a joke? Is a religion? Is it a religion disguised as a joke disguised as a religion disguised as a philosophy disguised as a joke? If it's a joke, am I supposed to laugh? How come nobody else is laughing? Oh god, They're watching me again! *cough* Anyway, Discordianism(tm) is kind of like Ramen noodles. There's lots of kinds, but it takes a special sort of appetite for them to be worth eating, especially considering the net negative nutritional gain. Is it worth the effort, or should you just order a college special from Jeebus Pizza? Or maybe just be a regular ol' atheist. I hear they've unionised. Maybe you should try it. So, you're still here. I never have the patience to read the long posts. Hell, I've never read all of the Principia Discordia(tm). Even if I did, I wouldn't remember it. I can quote, "Munching on the tasty grass, the sacred chao goes 'mu'" but it took a lot of effort and I'm so not into that. But I'm also not into bullshitting for bullshit's sake. I'm just easily amused. That's why I'm here.

VI VERI VENIVERSUM VIVUS VICI

00009

And Eris spake unto Elvis, "Thou hast offended me Elvis, by stealing from your brothers and I curse thee to have thy blue suede shoes trod upon for all time..."

Sometimes that's why I'm not here. So shut up, take a look around with your eyes open this time, and "make your own trip" or whatever it is they used to say.

-RABID BADGER OF GOD

SERMON #1
Brothers, Sisters, and Others, I speak to you (or rather write to you) tonight about the dangers of backsliding...For are there not those who go about quoting the Principia and St Wilson the Obscure; and do so having forgotten the message behind those glib words? To be a discordian is far more than rote memorization of an author's words... It is, in essence, one of the few remaining ways in which a person might be free. To lapse into dogma and the random spouting of anothers word is to deny that freedom! Can I get an "Amen"? In this new decade, our rights are stripped from us inch by inch, and day by day. We can now be detained (no more fun for YOU, Bubba...Ever) without counsel, our mail and our email can be read sans warrant, and even the so-called "opposition" has caved into this fascism, Eris damn their black souls. They would have ORDER. Law. Regulation. In short, they would have all that we disdain; truly, they would make the WORLD itself grey, had they the power (and they might yet). Will we stand idly by, while our mutant heritage is torn from us? Will we stand around mumbling catchetism from the "holy" books while they make normals of us all? Can I get a "hell no!"? We MUST act, we MUST sieze our heritage while we still have the space in which to do so; when I was a child, this nation was far, far more free than it is now; most of you do not remember the years before Reagan, when a man might do as he please without

00010

Surrealism aims at the total transformation of the mind and all that resembles it. -Breton

fear of pissing in a bottle, when a woman might act as she please without the scorn of her peers...But those happy days are gone, and now we face the End of Fun. WE have the power to stop this, though it be a long fight. WE can put an end to the Grey Nation...But WE must act NOW. We must throw sand in the gears of The Machine, we must REFUSE to stand up and be counted...and this means more to most of you than it does I, oh great collection of draft-bait. We must do so in a way that attracts attention to our cause, without attracting attention to our SELVES (or it's no more fun, Bubba...see above). We must NOT trust the simpering fools in the "opposition" party, which opposes the current regime only in the fact that the "opposition" isn't getting paid...We must NOT trust to the clergy, or the media, or even the Saints of Eris themselves (with the possible exception of Saint LaRouche the Giddy). WE must do this, and Eris will not help us; for is this not a test of our skill as The World's Glitch? Now some of you might say that the government itself is worthy of Eris, in that it itself is a study in chaos; to this I reply that it is a monumental work of art, but what benefit an artwork that falls upon you and crushes you flat? Our forefathers fought for freedom; we. . . WE must fight for a few yuks. Only this, and nothing more... <transmission ends>

-THE GOOD REVEREND ROGER

Et in Arcadia Ego? Or no?

00011

THE BURNING BUSH

At a low period in my life I was seeking enlightenment. Lounging in my empty bathtub, fully clothed, I pondered the state of this sorry world. Wondering why there was so much confusion and strife afflicting so many; wondering if this was this and that was that, and whether tit really did anything for tat. Realizing that I wasn't philosophizing anymore and merely invoking Suess I decided that it was time to move outdoors, for fresh air and sun, to seek my enlightenment in the world. On the sidewalk I found an Oh Henry bar. Looking around, I saw nobody who seemed ready to lay a claim on it - the bar seemed to be up for grabs. I crouched down and examined it closely, without touching it, of course. I wasn't about to become insnared by some intrepid alien or big game hunter. I didn't detect any strings, and the sidewalk around the candy seemed kosher. The bar was mine. Snatching it up, I moved to a bench to consume it in comfort at my own leisure. It was chocolatey, it was caramely, it was nugety, it was sweet and it was gooey. It did not, however, enlighten me. Sitting on the bench, I sighed. Where next should I seek my enlightenment? As I mulled this query over I noticed a small book on the bench next to me. Curious, I picked it up, and read the cover; it was the Collected Short Stories of O. Henry. This was a stunning coincidence. This, undoubtedly, meant something. As I opened the book to peruse the contents I was struck by something that made the book altogether more strange - all the pages were torn out, save those between fifty-five and sixty-nine, a story entitled The Green Door. I felt this story must be of cosmic significance, and so devoured it on the spot. Here would be the answers to the cause of all the strife and confusion in the world. I read the story in a few minutes, and chuckled once or twice, was saddened at least once, and sighed at the end. The story was touching and amusing, but it did not, however, answer my questions.

00012

Just as Schopenhauer predicted, absolutely nothing is happening.

Some may sing the wrong words to the wrong melodies Its little things like this that matter to me. -Beth Orton

I felt perplexed. I felt confused. I felt discombobulated. I did not, however, feel enlightened. Still searching, I walked. I walked five blocks, and was then struck down to the pavement with another stunning coincidence. A porno theatre was showing a revival of Behind The Green Door. This was a stunning synchronicity. This, undoubtedly, meant something. I paid my admission, bought another Oh Henry bar at the candy counter, and ventured into the theatre. The movie had already started as I made my way through the sickeningly clammy sound of about fifty people beating their meat in the audience. I shuffled into the back row and tried to find a seat which hadn't been issued upon. As I sat down -just for a laugh- I began to smack the palm of my hand against the back of my neck furiously, and moan overly loud. The monkey spanking subsided for about seventeen seconds. I chuckled to myself, and began to unwrap my candy bar. As I took the first bite I realized the movie had stopped in place on the screen. Marilyn Chambers' legs were spread-eagled, and all her glory was center stage, so to speak. So many euphemisms which are inappropriate rattled through my brian . . . tacos and beavers should not be compared to the same part of the body described as The Mound Of Venus. As this thought fluttered through my mind I also noticed the silence in the theatre. There were no sounds of auto eroticism whatsoever, in fact my fellow patrons seemed to be petrified in the more literal sense. I became alarmed by this, but was even more alarmed when Marilyn Chambers' bush on-screen burst into flames, and began to speak to me. BARON VON HOOPLA, a satiny female voice called from the burning bush. YOU MADE LEVITY IN A PLACE OF SOLEMN WORSHIP. I gulped, since there seemed little else to do under the circumstances. HOW DO YOU STAND AGAINST THESE CHARGES? the

00013

"If authority implies submission, liberation implies equality; authority exists when one man obeys another, and liberty exists when men do not obey other men. Thus, to say that authority exists is to say that class and caste exist, that submission and inequality exist. To say that liberty exists is to say that classlessness exists, to say that brotherhood and equality exist." Hagbard Celine

female voice asked. Guilty, I hiccuped. I had mocked the meat-beaters. My candy bar was melting in my hand. I could feel it. GOOD. said the voice. YOU'RE ONE OF MINE. Who, who are you? I asked. I YAM WHO I YAM, came the reply. Popeye?! I exclaimed. It didn't sound like Popeye. NAY, I AM CALLED ERIS NANCY DISCORDIA. GODDESS OF CHAOS CONFUSION STRIFE CREATIVITY AND BUREAUCRACY. I AM THE HODGE OF THE RISING PODGE AND THE PODGE OF THE SINKING HODGE GRAND WAZOO OF ALL THINGS FUNNY. Why have you chosen me? I asked, not cowering as blatantly as a few minutes prior, but still cowering nonetheless. FOR YOU ARE A GOOD APPLE. YOU ARE AWAKE ENOUGH TO QUESTION, SKEPTICAL ENOUGH TO QUESTION THE APPARENT ANSWERS, GULLIBLE ENOUGH TO FOLLOW MYSTERY, HUMOROUS ENOUGH TO MOCK THE SERIOUS AND SERIOUS ENOUGH TO AWAKEN IN THE FIRST PLACE. YOU EMBODY THE IDEALS OF THE SACRED CHAO, AND LO, I DEEM YOU A KEEPER OF IT. Onto the ceiling of the theatre, the fire from the burning bush traced out a design. It was a circle bisected by an 'S' shape; on one side was depicted an apple emblazoned with a 'K', on the other a pentagon. It's some form of Yin Yang? I asked. THE YIN YANG IS A FORM OF THE SACRED CHAO. IT IS A REPRESENTATION OF THE UNIVERSE. ALL THE ANSWERS YOU SEEK WILL BE FOUND WITHIN THAT CIRCLE, WHICH IS THE SERPENT SWALLOWING ITS OWN TAIL.

00014

No matter how cynical you become its never enough to keep up. -Lily Tomlin

That's the answer to why there is so much strife and confusion in the world? I don't understand . . . why an apple and a pentagon? CHAOS IS THE ENTIRE CIRCLE, ONE HALF IS ORDER, THE OTHER DISORDER. THEY ARE BOTH NATURAL MANIFESTATIONS OF THE UNDERLYING CHAOS. ONCE YOU UNDERSTAND THAT, YOU UNDERSTAND EVERYTHING. FARE THEE WELLWait! One more question! What's the best way to deal with the strife and confusion of the world? LAUGHTER! came the reply. FARE THEE WELLWait! One last question! Why Nancy?? WHAT? Why Eris Nancy Discordia? I asked. Why Nancy? NANCY'S A NICE NAME. FARE THEE WELL, KEEPER OF MY SACRED CHAO! SPREAD MY WORD - ALL MEN SHALL BE SAILORS THEN UNTIL THE SEA SHALL FREE THEM! Wait! I called, You stole that from Leonard Cohen! NAY - HE STOLE THAT FROM ME. Thus, I was enlightened. The bush ceased to burn. The film ran forward. The manhandling kicked back in, but sounded more serene this time, like a gentle rainfall on a tin roof. I stood up and noticed a small book on the seat next to me. I took it out into the light of the lobby and read the title, 'Principia Discordia', I heard a female voice in the center of my head say READ IT: BELIEVE ALL OF IT, BELIEVE NONE OF IT. I walked outside, and promptly slipped on a banana peel, while thinking 'Indeed, do many strange things come to pass.'

-BARON VON HOOPLA

00015

AMY AND LLOYD

Amy couldn't understand why they didn't just call them flying cars. Or, at least, car jets. Referring to them as birds seemed too poetic for something so obviously created in a factory. Factory burgers, factory mixed drinks, factory love. She was frustrated with what she saw as an attempt to block reality. "People do this," she said once, to Lloyd, "because they can't face that their lives lack so much poetry, so much magic." She had been no different. People thought her magical, but she wasn't. She was just going about her business. She hated being called charming, beautiful, all of that. She preferred thinking about other people. She bored herself. Amy had fallen into the trap that many young people do: thinking somehow that one day her life would just be static and perfect, ignoring the basic fact of life. Sounds ridiculous to write, but it's a powerful opiate for the mind. All of this changed, however, when she met Lloyd. Lloyd was a goat that lived at the top of the street. He was a friendly sort, lots of character himself, and good with people. His owner, known simply as Seven, didn't mind her stopping by to chat with his goat. Lloyd couldn't speak (were you hoping he would? I know, I was too) but he could understand Amy, and he did his best to relay information back to her. Previous to this, Amy wandered aimlessly, helping other people with their problems while getting more and more frustrated that nothing was coming back her way. But with Lloyd, it was different. Her uninspired hopes paled in comparison to what was happening in the moment. Spending time with Lloyd healed many of her wounds. Laughing, chatting, dreaming. She would laugh mostly about how silly it was that her best friend was a goat, but it also made her feel kind of proud, and satisfied, and most of all, lucky. The morning after Lloyd passed away, Amy felt a sadness that was in its own way sweet, said good-bye to him in her dreams, got into her flying car and bought some groceries. It was Tuesday and on Tuesdays George and her made spaghetti bolognese.

-ANTONY HARE

IMPORTANT MESSAGE!

00016

"People don't deserve the restraint we show by not going into delirium in front of them. To hell with them!" -Louis-Ferdinand Celine

NONSENSE AS SALVATION

What is nonsense? Some people will claim that any idea that disagrees with their own view is nonsense. Nonsense. If everyone agreed with everyone else, that would be nonsense. We need challenge, as human beings. We need to challenge our own beliefs and ideas, and decide for ourselves what nonsense is. At one point people thought putting a man on the moon was nonsense, some people still do. Nonsense does not mean incoherent babbling. Babbling might be amusing at times, but I am not sure if that will lead to salvation or anything like it. Well, you might get your ass kicked, but other than that babbling just gets you weird looks from your loved ones. There is a lot in life that has to be taken seriously. The need for food, water, shelter, the basics of life. You either have to work at a job or you have to be reasonably nice to someone else to make sure these are met. You may try to say that people on welfare dont have to be nice to anyone, but you would be wrong. Those people have to deal with bureaucrats, reams of paperwork and condescending attitudes from people who have never had to wonder where their next meal was coming from. Children need to be taken seriously as far as their care and protection is concerned. Children also need healthy doses of nonsense. If for some reason you find yourself in the company of a child who is not getting their requirements of nonsense met, look out. (For some children, apparently there is never enough nonsense). You might get pants-ed when you drop your kid off at daycare. (Forget accidents, this is why you wear clean underwear). You may have to have a talk because the little girl who has a premature plumbers crack got a finger in the back of her pants. As it was told to me, the story ended thusly: 1. 2. You, go wash your hands! Keep them to yourself! You, pull up your pants.

Shopping trips may contain conversations like these: Son: Scooby Doo Mom: Yes, thats Scooby Doo

00017

Son: I have Scooby Doo on my penis Mom: Yes, you have Scooby Doo underwear on today. Son: Batman Mom: Those are Batman shoes Son: I can see Batmans penis Mom: You dont need new shoes right now. There was a time when I was young, I took it for granted that whatever made sense did indeed make sense. As a teenager, I managed to make nonsense make sense to me. No, I do not mean calculus, although I did manage to make that make sense. Then came a time when nothing made sense, but it wasnt nonsense, there wasnt any of that either. Then I had to find for myself what made sense, I did that partly by embracing nonsense. By learning to be silly again. By laughing at the stuff of life that other people cant. Just because a person finds the humor in a situation, doesnt mean they have lost their sense, it may mean they have found their nonsense. Is Discordianism a joke disguised as a religion or a religion disguised as a joke? The obvious reply to me is yes. Many people unfamiliar with Discordians will be very confused by this. They may claim that answering an either/or question with a yes is nonsense. People familiar with me just roll their eyes and/or make comments about me being a smart ass again. What is sense, what is nonsense? This is another yinny yang. It goes along with order disorder. We need a little of both in the right proportion. We need balance of sense and nonsense. If we try to give in to the sensible we bore ourselves or we are so busy with details we miss living our lives. If we give in to the nonsensical, we run the risk of ending up in Casa Del Whacko, trying to scratch our balls whilst tied in a straight jacket talking to Timothy Leary and waiting for the Howie Hamburger Dude.

-ELDORA, ORACLE OF ALCHEMY

00018

KERRY WENDELL THORNLEY

Kerry you fucker you sick sick fucker I love you I love how sick you were Kerry you paranoid you fucking psychopath I'm paranoid too how could you not be? Adam Gorigthly oh pen name of who? wrote that silly book on you it made me tinkle like your words make me sparkle specially the part where he talked about how sometimes you would try to have sex with children. you rebel you.

I feel deep down in my heart that If you were alive today and some young jerk wanted to write a poem about you you'd tell him to use the word FUCK a lot

-MisterWalk

STOP MAKING SENSE!

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NO TAXES!
Dear (Cabbage),

If it looks like a duck, acts like a duck, and quacks like a duck it is probably just a tool of the conspiracy.

You have been chosen as one of the lucky five to receive the gift of a tax free life. All the records of your taxes have been destroyed, and consequently, you will no longer need to file for income tax once a year. General Sales Tax, and Provincial Sales Tax, will still be applicable, but we are in the process of looking into these forms of tax as well. This program is still in the early stage, and has not been broken to the mass media outlets as of this date, consequent ly it would be prudent to keep this on the down-low; those who haven't been chosen for the program would be -rightly so- upset to be left out. Upset people are loud people, and may jeopardize the future of this program. Keep it to yourself, and enjoy a life with a bit more money to buy things which make you a happier person.

Enjoy! Sincerely,

Apple Living & Apple Lif e

STILL TRAPPED

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SNAKE CHARM DANCE

Come you masters of war. 1 In thundering slither tongue you try to blind. Bind. Every day one more lie, one more powerless head crushed beneath your heel. Hell. Put us in towers of concrete, suitable only to house the silverfish that come from the cracks in your faade. Put us in the tower and convince us to pay. Pay every month. Pay to play. Pay to fuck. Pay to shit and piss. Pay to drink face off, pay to puke. Better pay on time or well give you no more credit. Edit: Pay to forget for a few minutes how you got into the unending spiral of sleep, piss, coffee, shit, sit in office chair and slowly die, lunch break, shit and piss again, watch the boob tube in your tower, then sleep. Lather, rinse and dont forget to repeat. [Okay.] Pay to forget for a few minutes how you got into the unending spiral of sleep, piss, coffee, shit, sit in office chair and slowly die, lunch break, shit and piss again, watch the boob tube in your tower, then sleep. We owe them. They own and condone us. What is not yours to keep you must defend with theory. But its not hard to see that the powers that be are run by business men, lawyers, liars. Same snake charm dance since time immemorial. The weak get a slice of bread per week so the powerful can be dictatorial. Come, come you apologists. Come tell me from the Soma box that its not you, not yours. Its the man, its the machine. Its the big bad beyond you and me that has fucked the world beyond repair and now all we can hope to do is just keep on keeping on until the

If youre going to do something, do it well. And then do something witchy. -Charlie Manson

00021

sweet release of death. Dearth. Maybe in those last seconds before oblivion you will see all truth revealed, maybe you will spread across the universe like a Chinese New Year firework. Until then, hush. Dont ask too many questions. Take for granted that you are who you are, you are as you are mean to be. Never ask to understand, never ask to see. I think people should be allowed to do anything they want. We haven't tried that for a while. Maybe this time it'll work. 2 From mothers wombs we slithered naked, cold, alone, not owning a thing. And you fear us, those who know you, because we live not owning, less and less owned by you with every idea, with every truth learnt. Hurt heard. We dont need your glass beads and pox-ed blankets. All we need is to think and to feed ourselves and ours, we are not yet so dead inside that we dont know how to grow whats required for sustenance. Ascendance. Root vegetables, grains, compassion and righteous joy the likes of which you havent seen since you burned so many of us in your holy fire for not believing. Like rivulets, we tiny springs choke the fire and douse the smoke, we leak through walls, floors, malls. There is another one every day. Another one who knows. That white is only mighty because of rape of every other colour. That the west is only best because the rest have been pillaged. We know how we get our privilege. Come and rule the sweatshop well and watch us dripping discord. Come see our frenzy at the altar of chaos, despair and laughter as our lord. We are small, but we are many and we talk as if the time is running out and the chance to stop the lie is almost lost. It is. But every day another opens eyes to the

00022

repugnant way you rule. Every day one more turns away from comfort, picks the thankless fight for truth without a second look. Every day, Every day, Every day I write the book. 3 Notes: 1. Masters of War. Bob Dylan. 2. George Carlin 3. Everyday I write the Book. Elvis Costello

-MONIKA ROLA

"There are only two kinds of freedom in the world: the freedom of the rich and powerful, and the freedom of the artist and the monk who renounces possessions." Anais Nin

!
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Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistant one. -Albert Einstein Reality is the leading cause of stress amongst those in touch with it. -Jane Wagner Reality is something you rise above. -Liza Minelli Reality is a crutch for people who cant cope with drugs. Lily Tomlin Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesnt go away. -Philip K. Dick

00024

Every year on April 21st the wisest of all days Athena called together all of the smartest, grooviest, and most wise gods for a meeting of the minds, to decide what manner the humans should be living; what their morals should represent; how the countries should be divided; what should be forbidden; and who was the wisest of all the gods. The last one was Athena s favourite, since she always won by a unanimous vote. On the Day of the Wise Athena strolled into the main chamber of her temple and looked around to see if all the gods she had called were present; these gods represented the best minds of her generation, and in attendance were her father, Aegis-bearing Zeus; his brother the Lord of the Underworld, Hades; Lord of Prophesy and Music, Apollo; Lord of the Deep, Poseidon; Master of the Forge, Hephaestus; and Hera who wasn t particularly wise, but never allowed Zeus out of her site if she could help it. Splendid, said Athena, clapping her hands together twice. If all are present, we can begin . . . WAIT, called out a large, magnificent, robust female voice. DON'T START WITHOUT ME . . . Every god and goddess turned to see the tall beautiful goddess striding into the chamber, holding in her arms a large, brilliantly glittering golden apple. She smiled at all the gods present, and placed the gold apple on a table, while saying MY INVITATION MUST HAVE GOT LOST IN THE MAIL . . . Athena stared blankly at Eris called Strife, goddess of Chaos, Confusion, Creativity, and Refrigerator Magnets. Strife, why have you blackened my chambers with your foul presence? It would be impossible for your invitation to have been lost, since none was issued. You scarcely qualify as a goddess, you, in fact, are little more than a personification and certainly should hold no position in my meetings of the Great Minds. Be gone, before I displace your molecules. Eris smiled even more widely. She said, loudly: GREAT AND WISE PALLAS ATHENE, I MEANT YOU NO DISRESPECT, AND DIDN'T ACTUALLY DELUDE MYSELF TO BELIEVE I WAS WISE ENOUGH TO GAIN YOUR FAVOUR, NO MATTER HOW MUCH I DREAM OF THE PROSPECT . . . I MERELY WANTED TO ILLUSTRATE MY RESPECT FOR YOU AND YOUR CONSORTS BY OFFERING YOU THIS GIFT. Athena eyed her suspiciously, knowing her reputation as a shit disturber, and asked slowly, What is it? ONE AS WISE AS YOU SHOULD KNOW A PRIZE WHEN SHE SEES ONE, GREAT PALLAS ATHENE . . . Eris laughed. WHY SHOULD YOU ALL BE HAPPY

00025

BOOK TWO

High high high up on top of Mount Olympus, where most of the gods live, is the Temple of Pallas Athene. Crowned with a gargantuan gold and silver owl as the roof, to represent Athena herself in all of her glory, the temple stands as a symbol of wisdom and strength to almost all who gaze upon it.

MERELY NAMING ONE OF YOU AS THE WISEST OF THE GODS, WHEN YOU COULD JUST AS EASILY GIVE OUT A PRIZE, SO THAT THE GOD MAY HOLD THEIR UNDYING WISDOM, ALL YEAR, UNTIL THE NEXT MEETING. I THINK IT WOULD LOOK SMASHING ON YOUR MANTEL NEXT TO THE PHOTO OF YOURSELF AND APHRODITE RIDING SPACE MOUNTAIN . . . BUT THAT'S JUST A SUGGESTION. FEEL FREE TO DO WHATEVER YOU WISH WITH IT. CONSIDER IT YOURS. And, with that, Eris turned on her heel, and walked back out of Athena s chamber. There was a stunned silence for a few moments, and then Athena laughed once, cold and brittle. Imagine that upstart. Well, let s get on with the meeting, I ll just take this apple and get it out of the wayWait wait wait just a second there, missy. Zeus said, standing up. Where do you think you re going with that? I am taking it to my chambers, father . . . to place on my mantle next to the photo of Aphrodite and I riding Space Mountain. I think not. he said. It was intended as a prize. It was meant for all of us. Father, Athena said, with a certain tone that only daughters can wield. She said, Consider it yours , which means mine, MINE. Besides, I am voted most wise each year. I am sure to win again. Oh please, said Apollo. You don t really believe that, do you? You are a fool who knows how to weave . . . crafty and crafty are not the same thing. I see the future, what could be more wise than knowing the future. Give the apple to me. Zeus said I am the greatest of all gods, and the most wise. Athena is wisest only in my absence, which is to say, never. Hand over that fucking apple with all speed. Hera stood. Whatever is my husband s is also mine. Give it to me. Ha! said Poseidon. Hera, you couldn t find your ass with both hands, a map, and a torch . . . if you are in the running let me also be said to be the most wise! And with that Poseidon made a leap for the golden apple, which fell off the table to the ground, where Zeus kicked it out of Poseidon s reach. Apollo caught it in the air, and went to run out the door when Hephaestus clobbered him with a large anvil he kept around for occasions such as this. Athena jumped on his back, and the apple rolled away, against a wall as the gods clawed, bit, scratched, and pummeled each other with every ounce of strength they could muster. As the apple lay silently near the melee, it s inscription of F o r T h e W i s e s t was being splattered by white god blood.

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"All laws which can be violated without doing anyone any injury are laughed at." Spinoza

4 CIRCUITS OF HUMOUR

1- S l a p s t i c k H u m o u r The first circuit of humour shown by the upright hairless apes was Slapstick Humour. One ape was walking toward a pond of muddy water, got their foot caught by a root, and tripped, face first into the slop. After a moment of taking the scene in, all the other upright hairless apes began hee-hawing without knowing why. For some reason the pain and misfortune of the fallen ape stirred something new in the upright hairless apes. It made them feel good. 2- T o i l e t H u m o u r The second circuit of humour shown by the upright hairless apes was of Toilet Humour. The largest ape was bullying the smaller apes around, grunting orders and gesticulating wildly to make his point. As he picked up the smallest ape, and tossed him in the direction he wanted him to move, the smallest ape let out a large, long, fart of defiance. Another pause, and then the apes began to hee-haw again. The large ape turned in anger and was going to attack the smaller ape when he was struck in the face with a large turd. The hee-hawing grew louder, and out of shame the large ape wandered away for good. 3- S a t i r i c a l H u m o u r The third circuit of humour appeared just before speech developed. A new large ape had been bullying the smaller apes around, and behind his back a tall ape was mimicking the large ape's distinctive facial movements and posture. He grunted, and scratched, and pouted and mugged mercilessly. It took the other apes a few moments to realize what the tall ape was attempting to portray, but once it sunk through, the heehawing began anew. The first form of political humour. 4- I n t e l l e c t u a l H u m o u r The final circuit developed when speech became available. The first conversations were dry and humourless, amounting to little more than "Animal, there." or "Me hungry" or the always popular "Me So Horny", but the fourth circuit popped into circulation with the invention of the first limerick, which went like this: "There once was a girl named Zee, who was raped by that ape up the tree. The result was most horrid, all ass and no forehead, three balls and an ill-groomed goatee". This was the first form of verbal humour, but also -possibly- the first philosophical musings of humanity's origins. This was a large step beyond stubbing toes, farts, and imitations, this was the beginning of the critique on society that humour has become.

00027

HOW TO RECOGNIZE A GREYFACE

I awoke in the hospital following a severe beating. Evangelism and Discordianism do not mix well, a fact I had not yet discovered in those early days of my Lessons in Baloney, as a result I had taken to the streets to spread the word of the Sacred Chao only to be met with fists in response. These are violent times. All times are violent times. I tried to take heart in the fact that 'Eris' literally translated to 'strife', which I was becoming intimately acquainted with, so in some sense the beatings must have a positive effect. My cheeks and jaw, however, did not agree. Also,I knew that my reason for being in the hospital was to learn about the dreaded Greyfaces, so I was somewhat optimistic. It was after one of these instances that I woke up in the hospital next to a broken egg which spoke. "Howdy-do" it said, raising a thin weak arm in salute. "Great Googly Moogly!" I said. "Nope." the egg said. "Great Humpty Dumpty." "Jeez, you don't look good." I said, which was perhaps rude, but also true. He was in several pieces; in fact one eye peered at me from a fragment, and the other eye on a completely different piece seemed to pay close attention to a nearby nurse's hind quarters. "I feel even better," he said with glee. "Why are you in here?" I asked. "Ha!" the egg cried. "What a ridiculously easy riddle, you must be some sort of maroon. I am in here because this is where I am, of course. How stupid." "I meant to say, what caused you to be broken into pieces?" "If that's what you meant to say, then why didn't you say it?" "I thought I had." I replied.

A liberal is a conservative who has been arrested.

00028

A conservative is a liberal who has been mugged.

When the naive man admits his naivete, he is no longer naive. Thus, all people are regarded by society as either ignorant or a liar.

"You remembered yourself saying what you thought you said? or you had intended to say what you thought you said but something else completely different came out? or you think someone deliberately changed your words mid-sentence to convey a completely different idea? or you're just a maroon?" I considered for a few moments. "Well?" he asked. "Which is it?" "I thought that what I asked implied the question I meant to ask." "Ohhhh," the egg laughed. "Implication. Verbal molestation." This seemed to end the conversation, and the egg simply lay on the stretcher, one eye following the nurse, and the other blinking now and then. I waited for a few minutes to see whether he was lost in thought and was planning to answer, or whether the conversation was indeed over. It seemed the conversation was over, but I still wanted to know how he had been broken. I had ideas, but I wanted the story from him. "Well?" I asked finally. The eye looked back at me. "That's not much of a riddle." he said. "nice sporting chance you gave me." "But, I -" "Wait wait, let me think for a moment." he said. "All right, bananas." " What about bananas?" "That's my answer." "You're answer to WHAT?" "To your terrible riddle. Really, you didn't give me much to go

00029

Common sense is what tells you that the world is flat.

on. I think my answer was rather clever, though, didn't you? Nobody would guess bananas just from a single word - well, would they? Gosh I'm good. Was it correct? Was bananas the answer?" "No bananas wasn't the fucking answer! I hadn't even asked you a question yet you silly little shit." "Of course you had. You really are stupid. You asked "Well?" which by all accounts is the worst riddle I've ever heard in my entire life but still I was respectful enough to venture an answer based on the meagre information given. And as I said, I think my answer was rather clever. Bananas. Imagine. Nobody would guess that. Fantastic." "Listen." I said. "All I wanted to know is what caused you to be broken into so many pieces. It is not such a difficult question." "No, it isn't." he said. "It's not overly interesting either, when you think about it. After all, I already know the answer." "Well, what IS it?" "Bananas!" the egg blurted. "What about that time? Was that the right answer? Oh I am so good at these." "Forget it." I said, turning away from him. "I already know how you broke anyway, everyone knows that." "Yet, you still asked. You silly silly man." "Look," I said. "The whole point of this story was to teach me about the Greyfaces. Weren't you paying attention in the opening paragraph?" "I rarely read exposition." he yawned. "I mostly scan the text looking for my name." "Well, that is what this story was supposed to be about, greyfaces, and instead you have nattered on about riddles and bananas and whatever else meaningless bullshit you've been blabbering
Bullshit makes the flowers grow and that's beautiful.

00030

uselessly about. This has been a complete and utter waste of time so far, thank you very much." "You are most welcome." Humpty said with a wink. At least I think it was a wink, the piece with the other eye had shifted away from my view. "This lesson about Greyfaces has been most enlightening." "No it has not. Nobody has learned anything about Greyfaces thanks to you. This has been a huge waste of time." "But we got to meet such a wonderful example of Greyfacedness, and all have a good chuckle at how dull and tedious he is, oh I disagree I think this has been loads of fun, and so educational. Except for that riddle of yours, that was dreadful." I got up on one elbow and looked over at the mass of pieces on the other stretcher. "What Greyface have we met?" I asked. "Why you, you silly silly man." he laughed. "You have been nothing but serious, clinical and humourless since I met you. I've never seen such a wonderful example of a Greyface. I couldn't have done better myself. And I'm rather good. Bravo." "Me?!" I rolled onto my back again. Was it possible I could be a greyface? Was I so serious? Was I clinical? Was I humourless? Had I learned nothing? Staring up at the ceiling I began to think about the aspects of greyfaces and how -at the very leat- I could watch for these tendencies in myself more easily now that I could identify them, and just as I was wondering whether my clinical thinking about identifying and eradicating these elements in myself was rather greyfaced in its own way the ceiling above me crashed open and a charred person fell to the ground between Humpty and myself. "Great Googly Moogly!" I screamed. "Nope." the egg said. "Great Humpty Dumpty." The charred person stood up and looked at me. Moogly!" he shouted.
If "mass psychology" applies definitely to one occurrence, it must, even though almost imperceptibly, apply to all occurrences. -Charles Fort

Occam was never the target of a conspiracy.

"Great Googly

00031

All biography is ultimately fiction. -Bernard Malamud

"Nope." the egg said. "Great Humpty Dumpty." "You're ME!" the charred person exclaimed, and I finally noticed that the voice sounded familiar. "I already went through all this!" he, or I, shouted, looking around at Humpty and the hospital. "but, you were me then!" he added. "I'm just me." I said. "I am me and me and me and me and me and me." Humpty giggled. Just as I was about to ask the other me why I was so charred and burnt a man in a grey suit and sunglasses came marching down the hall toward the three of us. As he approached us he flashed a shiny gold badge. "Officer Serious, Continuity Officer. You are in direct violation of standard fiction laws." "What?" I asked, although I'm not certain which one of me asked to be perfectly honest. "Two Baron von Hooplas is in direct violation of code 2323 in the fiction law books, go look it up if you don't believe me." as he spoke he grabbed hold of the gurney I was on, and began to push it. "But wait, why is this-" I started to ask. "If the two Baron von Hooplas both had some reason for being present, such as a clone being made, or a reflection stepping from a mirror it would get through on a technicality, but this is in direct violation. I'm sorry, one of you must go." he said, and began to wheel me down the hall away from me and Humpty Dumpty. "Toodles!" Humpty called, waving a thin arm. "But wait!" I called out to Mr. Serious. "I was the original Baron von Hoopla in the story!" As he tapped a wall and a panel slid aside opening into a dimly lit lounge, he muttered: "That's what they all say, bub."

00032

How can you be in two places at once when you're not anywhere at all?

He pushed me inside and I saw four people already sitting around in the gloom. "Let me introduce you to your new friends. Might as well get acquainted, you're going to be here for a while . . . this is Ambrose Bierce, Lord Bathurst, Amelia Earheart, and the grown Lindburgh Baby. Get cozy. So long, suckers." Mr. Serious walked out, shutting the panel behind him. I looked around at the others in the room. Ambrose smiled, and said "Do you play Go Fish?"

-BARON VON HOOPLA

ALTERNATE TAKE ON THE CURSE OF GREYFACE

I know that its very popular among some of you to embrace the chaotic and random side of existence. That you want to live carefree, flinging yourself into the void & letting the anthropomorphic personification you call Eris guide you through your life. Well, you know what? Thats all a lie. Sure when youre young, your momma took care of you, and you could run around the yard naked. You got free food, a place to sleep, a place to shit. And then the rules began, and you didnt like it. Sit up straight. Go to school. Dont pick your nose. Stop touching your genitals in public. Wipe your ass. Oh, in your little world, it was so unfair! And the rules kept piling on. Go to school; get a job, on and on. So sure, when you run across the literary equivalent of vomiting during and LSD trip, you think youve found the perfect way to get back to a life devoid of responsibility for your actions. Relying on chaos to help you in your life! What a great idea. No, your apartments not a mess, its blissfully chaotic! No, you didnt bounce a check, Eris is just slapping your around! And so on Look kids, its called growing up. You have to accept this. You can dance on the edge of the abyss all you want, but there comes a point where you either accept the fact that you need to get your shit together and play by the rules, or

00033

The Delta-United Ring Formation Theory states that the rings of Saturn are composed entirely of lost airline luggage.

leech off the people who do. You want to be independent? That means paying rent or mortgage. And that means a job (even if youre born rich, if you dont want to leech off your parents, you need a job). And then bills. And insurance. This means you need a job that actually pays money, not the dumbass pizza delivery thing that got you beer money in college. That means responsibility. That means following the rules. That means order. And then lets say you meet someone, and you delude yourselves into thinking youre in love. So you decide to merge your lives (marriage, co-habitation, whatever you freaks are into these days). No, when you bounce a check, its not just you eating ramen and water for a week. Surprise! Youve become partly responsible for how someone else lives their lives. Its one thing to suffer the consequences of your irresponsible life by yourself, but its quite another when someone you care about suffers because youre a fuckup who has no control over their lives. Now youre just an insensitive bastard who cant deal with the real world. And lets not even talk about what happens when you want to have children. Now youre love of chaos is threatening the very health and survival of another human being. And how are you going to care for it? Thats right. By following the rules. By being responsible. By establishing order in your life. So whos really living in an illusion here? Those of you who think embracing disorder isnt synonymous with an infantile desire to go back into the womb, or those of us who realize that reality necessitates the imposition of order, to be independent, strong, and nurturing? Curse, indeed.

-GRAUD THE GREYFACE

00034

Give a monkey a brain and he'll swear he's the center of the universe. -Fishbone

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CABBAGES AND GREYFACES

One day about five months after my meeting with Humpty Dumpty I was storming down the street howling to the skies and mud about the greyfaces that assaulted me on a daily basis, when I suddenly heard someone nearby howling louder than myself. It wasn't hard to spot the gnarled old bastard with a face like a chewed caramel zigzagging back and forth across the streets grabbing people by their ears and bellowing "IS ANYONE THERE?" into their faces, then turning to someone else and repeating the same procedure. One after the other after the other . . . I watched, stunned, wondering why the people being screamed at didn't take offense. If someone grabbed me by the ears and screamed into my face he would be swiftly introduced to my good friend Mr. Steel-Toe Boot, but these people seemed to swoon, and then stare off into space in a daze. I had to find out what was going on. Eventually the old coot made his way toward me and grabbed for my ears. Before he could take hold I said, Yes, I am here. What do you want? The old man didn't blink an eye but just grabbed me by the shoulder and walked me onto a quieter side street. Thank the goddess, he said, sputtering and breathing hard. I thought I was the only one left, he added. The only what? I asked. He turned his paper-slit eyes toward me and said: The only person left. The only person? But what about all the people you were shouting at?? I asked. For a few moments he stared blankly at me, as

00035

if he hadn't heard what I said. Those weren't people, he said finally, they were Cabbages. Cabbages? I asked. They looked like people to me. The old man laughed. Of course they looked like people, Cabbages look exactly like people. They walk like people, they talk like people, they eat like people, they sleep like people, they go to work like people, they see movies like people, they watch tv like people, they read books like people . . . they are the best copies of people you'll ever see. But they are not people, my son, they are most assuredly Cabbages. What's the difference? I asked. He leaned toward me, and said: People dream, my boy, people question. People think. People play. People laugh. Look at these poor souls, sleepwalking through life . . . they think they're people, but they are vegetables. Blind, ridiculous, vegetables. Ah ha, I said with glee. I know many Cabbages, my life is full of them, and they are the bane of my existence! I know them as Greyfaces! Humpty Dumpty taught me about them. No! the old man said quickly. Do not mistake the two . . . Greyfaces and Cabbages are not the same, except when they are. Greyfaces are much more dangerous. Dangerous? I asked. How? Well, let me ask you this, he said, which would you be most wary of . . . a sleeping dog, or a dog having a nightmare? I suppose a dog having a nightmare, I said. The old man smiled. Exactly, he said. A Greyface is a Cabbage who is living a nightmare. The Greyface's nightmare is truly terrifying. He is told that the world will crumble around him if all do not think and act exactly as he does, the only sane person on the face of the planet, and will stop at nothing to ensure that his nightmare doesn't come true. Greyfaces believe the world is humorless and product-driven. He believes there is a way to draw a perfect circle and you damned well better find out how, or

00036

pay the price. Never turn your back on the Greyface, my son. I pondered this. So, I said after a while, those I referred to as Greyfaces were actually Cabbages? I don't know them personally, the old man said, but I would imagine they were. Almost everyone you meet is a Cabbage. What's the difference, I asked the old man. All Greyfaces are Cabbages, he said, but not all Cabbages are Greyfaces. Some Cabbages wake up and become real people, some even become Children of the Goddess if they are very on the ball . . . but Greyfaces rarely become people. How do I know if I'm a Cabbage? I asked. He stood up, and patted me on the shoulder. Son, the Cabbages never even ask that. The old man began to walk away from me, toward an older lady. I could see his fingers twitching with anticipation at the thought of grabbing hold of her ears. WAIT! I called out to him, What is your name? He turned back to me briefly. Coleslaw, he said. For, I shred the cabbage of people's minds.

-BARON VON HOOPLA

00037

DISCORDIANISM (THE HIDDEN THREAT)

I n t h e c o u r s e o f t h e S e n a t e A n t i - Te r r o r i s m H e a r i n g s i n the wake of the Oklahoma bombing, a new menace has c o m e t o l i g h t . T h i s m e n a c e i s a s h a d o w y, f o r m l e s s anarchoterrorist cult known as Discordianism. This cult contaminates the information superhighway and its tentacles reach everywhere. Below are some facts about this organization, its methods and motives.

FACT: One of the founders of Discordianism was involved in the Kennedy

assassination. Discordianism was cofounded by Kerry Thornley. Thornley was a close friend of Lee Harvey Oswald and was involved in a covert Marxist group in the Marines. After the assassination of President Kennedy, District Attorney Jim Garrison uncovered evidence conclusively linking Thornley to the conspiracy.

FACT: Discordianism preaches drug use, terrorism, sexual depravity, and the overthrow of all governments. The Discordian "Bible", the Principia Discordia, contains incitements to plant marijuana and disobey laws and advocacy of pornography and blasphemy. Other materials are even more explicit and extreme. THESE MATERIALS ARE DISTRIBUTED WIDELY BY THE MEMBERS OF THIS CULT. Discordians are prominent in drug advocate, anarchist, communist and militia movements. They will be found in any movement which opposes and hastens the destruction of society. It is clear that the Discordians have no respect for the values of society which they seek to destroy. And if society does not see the threat and react to it swiftly they may succeed. FACT: Discordians are entrenched on the Internet and use it to disseminate their propaganda.

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Discordianism is a cancer which has spread widely all over the Information Superhighway. There are Discordian Netscape pages advocating sexual perversion, anarchism and drug abuse. There are even newsgroups created and run by Discordian agents. The Net, which is decentralized and hard to police, is a perfect haven for these rats.

WHAT NEEDS TO BE DONE:

SUPPORT THE TELECOMMUNICATIONS REFORM ACT The Telecommunications Reform Act, currently before the Senate, will make it a criminal offense to distribute obscene and indecent material, categories under which Discordian propaganda clearly falls. This would allow the perpetrators of these materials to be properly dealt with by the law. Write to your congressman indicating your support for the act. PRESSURE ONLINE SERVICES TO SHUT DOWN KNOWN DISCORDIAN SITES! There are Netscape pages all over the net run by Discordian cells, disseminating their poisonous propaganda to children. Some of these are at universities, some at commercial service providers. Letters and phone calls to the sites, describing the material and explaining why it is unacceptable would get it pulled. If the site refuses to comply, it may be sympathetic to or controlled by the Discordian group. If that is so, contact the site which provides it access and complain. EDUCATE OTHERS ABOUT THE MENACE! Copy and spread this alert. Transmit it to others. Tell others about the menace and the very real threat of Discordianism. The more people know, the fewer will be seduced by their lies. PROTECT YOUR CHILDREN! If your children have access to the net, monitor what they access. Do not allow them to access Discordian materials. If they have been contacted by agents of Discordianism, determine these agents' identities and call the police.

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Do I contradict myself ? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes. -Walt Whitman

ACT LOCALLY! Keep your eyes open -- the Discordians could be where you are! Look around you. If you notice Discordian activity, in your community, your workplace, your online service or elsewhere, keep an eye on it and alert others. Report any illegal activity to law enforcement authorities. Only you can stop this threat!

DISSEMINATE THIS ALERT WIDELY. SEND COPIES TO ALL CONCERNED CITIZENS. IT'S UP TO YOU! ACT NOW

this is all too much for my mind!

THE VISIONS O F ST. SssBELLA

Vision, the First - The Lady and the Mouse. This is not a parable exactly, nor a rant, nor does this story have a moral....or even a beginning. There is a starting point of sorts, but it is only there to make you feel comfortable. To catch you off guard, so to speak, before I pull the rug out from under your very feet and drop you on your ass. Fair is fair so don't bitch, dear one.....that's what the mouse did to me, after all. This is not a white mouse we are speaking of here, but a tricky wild mouse living in a spooky old house in Philadelphia. I know the house was spooky because I lived there too, and I was only four years old. The mouse and I were little and the house was huge, as my father was huge. I was always scared, but the mouse was fearless and cunning, and taught me the power 0 0 0 4 0 of audacity and laughter in the face of authority. She picked my father

There are only forty people in the world, and five of them are hamburgers. -Captain Beefheart

up in her tiny little fist and dropped him flat on his face and laughed at him. Now, here is the starting point I promised you........my mother and her best friend Helen were in the second best bathroom curling their hair. The mouse was watching and when she judged the time was right, she came out of her hole, winked at me, strolled into the bathroom, sauntered across my mother's feet and helped herself to a piece of toilet paper from the roll hanging on the wall. Mother screamed and jumped onto the toilet seat....so did Helen. I watched in delight as they bounced off one another. Helen became wedged between the wall and the toilet, and Mother fell on her ass in the sink full of cold water. Our hero, stood in the doorway, laughed at them both and then (for she had balls of steel) came back for more paper. 'Do you see, SssB.ella?' the mouse said to me. 'Do you see what chaos even we little ones can cause? Let the fools bounce off each other while we take what they foolishly consider to be of no value. Here is the middle........in so far as anything which has no end can have a middle that is. The mouse became even more emboldened after the bathroom incident, and took to waiting in the middle of the living room floor for my father to come home from work. Every night when he opened the door, the mouse was waiting, grooming herself......and I was waiting on the stairs, biting my nails. Was this the night he would catch her? The night she would step into the traps he set? The night his shoe would bounce off her poor little head, squishing her flat. Ah.....the suspense...as night after night the mouse dodged and twisted and made a fool of my father. Until one day....we come to the fateful moment at last.....my father decided to sneak in the back way. He tiptoed to the rear door in his stocking feet.....crept through the kitchen and up the back stairs. The mouse sat on the floor and watched the front door. Father snuck down the hallway and stood at the top of the stairs. The mouse sat on the floor and watched the front door. Father started down the stairs behind me......and I reached up my tiny fist and grabbed his foot. I dropped him flat on his face and laughed at him. 'Did you see that?' I said to the mouse. 'Did you see what chaos even a little thing like me can cause? Let the fools bounce off the floor when they try to destroy what we wisely consider to be of great value." And I was no longer afraid.

00041

Here is the second starting point........in so far as there is a point, that is..... My father stirred on the floor and the mouse and I ran upstairs. I followed her down the long third floor hallway to an unused bedroom. She ran under the door and I opened it. The wallpaper was of blue roses...I see it still....in the corner stood an old fashioned dressing table with a mirror on top. The mouse sat on the dresser and groomed herself in the mirror....but it was no mouse that looked back at me. It was a lady. A woman with dark hair and eyes like my mouse. 'Do you see me, SssB.ella the Giant Killer?' she said. 'Do you see that nothing is what it appears to be, and that even the powerful are sometimes brought low by our tiny hands and the fearless audacity of our laughter.?' And she reached out of the mirror .....just put out her hand and pulled the rug from under my feet...and dropped me on my ass. And then she danced away.... but she came back..... and shell be back again. How secure is the rug under your feet, dear one?

-SsssBELLA, ORACLE OF DOOM

MORE HUNCHBACKS! LESS SOLDIERS!

00042

The Answer!*
*please note the Answer has nothing to do with the Hitchhikerss Guide To The Universe, or any of its sequels. 42 is the answer to many questions.

SERMON #3
SOMEONE TURN OFF THE ROGER DEVICE! (subgenius.com) "How bad is John Ashcroft? That depends...How many Anne Franks can you shove into a broom closet?" --Reverend Roger, 1/12/03 "Roger knows the face of degeneracy; he is the owner/operator of an adult theater in Bellewood, IL." --Larry the Mountain Monk "You guys oughta form a club...and beat yourselves with it" --Groucho Marx Brothers and Sisters, I'm here tonight to tell ya about a VAST, EVIL CONSPIRACY that directly THREATENS America and the American way of life...and for once, it ain't the GOP...at least not TOTALLY. For the GOP is only part of that conspiracy, a small part at that... Now, you're saying, "Roger, you've finally flipped"...or you're tinking, "Ah, geez, he's gonna go into a rant on the Kennedy killing, or Area 51, or some such nonsense". You couldn't be more wrong, my friends. While we ALL know that those conspiracies are fun and amusing, they are only distractions from the REAL conspiracy...The Conspiracy of Normalcy! (Henceforth referred to as the CoN) "Now wait just a Bobdamn minute, Rev...just what the HELL are you talking about?" Well, grab a seat, open a barfbag, and sit back, kids...cause I'm gonna lay it on you... How many times in our lives have we been told HOW to ACT, friends? How many times has society told us HOW to DRESS? WHAT to LIKE? How many times have you looked at a Cosmo magazine, ladies? Not SKINNY enough, are ya? Guys, you read sports illustrated...Not BUFF enough, are you? Society tells you you're not GOOD enough, but you COULD be, if only you'd BUY what THEY have... Sometimes they want you to buy a political idea, sometimes a new car, or an exercise machine. A McDeathburger. More insurance. Zit cream. All of them are products...pre-packaged for your CONSUMPTION...which brings me to my next point.

00043

History: an account mostly false, of events mostly unimportant, brought about by rulers mostly knaves and soldiers mostly fools. -Ambrose Bierce

Names have POWER. Real power. When was the last time a politician called you a 'citizen'? When was the last time a corporation referred to us as 'customers'? No, now you are a 'TAXPAYER' or a 'CONSUMER'...Your role in life has been laid out to you...pre-packaged. Your role is to pay taxes...to a politician, that's ALL you are, besides a vote that becomes increasingly meaningless. In the eyes of a corporation, you are even LESS. You are a CONSUMER. Your entire existence is to CONSUME their products...and let me tell ya, Brothers and Sisters, have they got ways to push those products on you. Witness trhe average zit-cream or deoderant commercial...what is the REAL message they are pushing on us? This..."If your body so much as gives a HINT of it's natural chemistry, you will be a social PARIAH! An OUTCAST, doomed to become a rejected non-person, doomed to bagladyhood. They've made us ASHAMED of the wonderfully complex machine we use to get our brains around... But what of those brains? When's the last time you used yours? Sure, it's fun to listen to GOP dittoheads, spouting Rush Limbaugh's last broadcast at you VERBATIM, but tell me, friends, when was the last time you had an original thought? Don't be ashamed, it's a common problem. You are taught all of your lives by the CoN that original thought and freedom is DANGEROUS. You might make a MISTAKE, and everyone will LAUGH at you. You might not be COOL anymore, and then it's a lonely life for you... Only recently, Brothers and Sisters, has the CoN dared be so OPEN...although John Ashcroft is just a front-man, he's saying OUT LOUD what the CoN has whispered in your ear since birth: "Conform, or ELSE!"...now, howver, it's not UNCOOLNESS that you are threatened with, but DETAINMENT. No more fun for you, Charley. Ever. Now, I'm gonna tell ya a few more things, because folks like me are gonna get shut down real soon, and

-THE GOOD REVEREND ROGER

00044

AGAMEMNON AND THE ILL WIND

Some time after the ORIGINAL SNUB, which started the Trojan War, but before the war actually began, Agamemnon son of Atreus had collected his fleets at Aulis in Boeotia but found himself unable to sail for Troy due to a contrary wind. Agamemnon clutched his long ivory scepter forged by the god Hephaestus who gave it to Hermes, who dropped it in a fountain when plonked at one of Dionysus parties, where it was subsequently found by Agamemnons grandfather Pelops, and was then grudgingly passed down to him. He clutched the scepter and shook with rage. He was consumed with revenge and honour, two ingredients which-when mixed--can become poison in a mans blood. In desperation he called out for Calchas, who spoke with the gods. Calchas, you sweet bitch, who speaks with the gods, Agamemnon said. tell me which god is it who is pissed with me and has asked the ill wind to blow against the long-haired Achaeans so that they may not sail against the wife-robbing bastard people, the Trojans, who stole the completely foxy Helen from my brother Menalaus, King of Sparta? Calchas was not a stupid man; he knew that those who gave bad news to kings soon became deprived of what was most dear to them: their lives. Hades did not have a good rep at that time, some would argue it still doesnt, but it beats Toledo Ohio in a pinch. Conversely, everyone knew that lying about the gods could get you in worse places than either Hades or Toledo. The choice was obvious. Good King Agamemnon, it makes me sick to say it, but there are five gods angered at you. Five gods? sputtered Agamemnon. But how? But why? But when? Calchas said, It is the truth Agamemnon son of Atreus that swift and sleek Artemis is angered with you because she overheard you boast that you were a better marksman that she. Agamemnon said Shit. Its true. I did boast to be a better marksman than Artemis the swift and sleek. Tell me Calchas, what does wise Artemis ask in return? Calchas quivered in the hips as he said, Only your first born daughter Iphigenia, sacrificed on an alter, the fat from her thighs burned in respect.

00045

Ach, said Agamemnon. Gag. That I cannot do. Calchas, you sweet bitch, who speaks with the gods, tell me which other god is it who is pissed with me? Agamemnon said Aw fer fu-. Mmm. Its true. I did vow to sacrifice the most beautiful treasure in my life in exchange for victory against the little Trojan shits. Tell me Calchas, what does wise Aphrodite ask in return? Calchas shivered in the groin as he said, Only your wife Clytemnestra, sacrificed on an alter, the fat from her thighs burned in respect. Feh, said Agamemnon. Gak. That I cannot do. Calchas, you sweet bitch, who speaks with the gods, tell me which other god is it who is pissed with me? Calchas said, It is the truth Agamemnon son of Atreus that Zeus lord of the sky, had sent an omen to you of two young studly eagles meant to represent the Atridae, which tore to pieces a pregnant hare. Whitearmed Here, big mama of all the heavens and gueen of all the mothers was beyond pissed. Agamemnon said Great Googly Moogly! Grr. Its true. Zeus did send an omen of two young studly eagles meant to represent the Atridae, which tore to pieces a pregnant hare. Tell me Calchas, what does wise Here ask in return? Calchas jiggled in the gizzard as he said, Only all your children, sacrificed on an alter, the fat from their thighs burned in respect. Bah! said Agamemnon. Yuk. That I cannot do. Calchas, you sweet bitch, who speaks with the gods, tell me which other god is it who is pissed with me? Calchas said, It is the truth Agamemnon son of Atreus that flashing-eyed Pallas Athene, unsleeping daughter of Big Daddy Zeus was offended by your father Atreus. He vowed to sacrifice a lamb to aegis-bearing Athene in exchange for success in battle, this he did not do. Agamemnon said Mother fuck! Mmm. Its true. My father was a complete dipshit, he did stuff like that all the time, one time he promised me half of Caledon- aw fuck it . . . Tell me Calchas, what does wise Pallas Athene ask in return? Calchas trembled in the pancreas as he said, Only all your only son Orestes, sacrificed on an alter, the fat from their thighs burned in respect.

00046

Homina homina homina said Agamemnon. Retch. That I cannot do. Calchas, you sweet slut, who speaks with the gods, tell me which is the last god who is pissed with me? Calchas said, It is the truth Agamemnon son of Atreus that Eris also called Strife is offended by your feeding of hot dogs to your troops. Her only sustenance when she went into self-imposed exile after THE SNUB was the hot dog bun, it is an affront to the goddess of Discord and she smites you in bitter and somewhat petty retaliation. Its boring on Mt. Olympus.

Agamemnon said Rats. Its true. I feed my soldiers Armor Hot Dogs, theyre the dogs long-haired Achaeans love to bite. Tell me Calchas, what does wise Eris ask in return? Calchas twitched in the pineal gland as he said, Only all the soldiers hot dog buns, torched on an alter, in respect. Uh uh. said Agamemnon. No way. That I cannot do. They would eat me alive. Besides, it is never that easy. Agamemnon pondered all the gods requests and wondered which would be the least disastrous for him. The easiest in the eyes of a misogynist bronze era Greek was obviously the sacrifice of his eldest daughter Iphigenia, but once she was dead and cut up for sacrifice Agamemnon and Calchas realized they had no kindling. The only thing flammable to start the pyre was the hot dog buns. Agamemnon broke his scepter across his knee, This is ridiculous! I promised my soldiers those buns, but if I must, I must . . . burn the buns, Calchas. The moment Calchas lit the buns the wind began to change. Agamemnon felt sick, and tried to convince himself that the fat of Iphigenias thighs was already starting to burn, but he knew in his heart the truth. Despite that, he turned to Calchas A cheer for swift and sleek Artemis who granted muh-mercy on the longhaired Achaeans. A loud cackle from high above startled Agamemnon and Calchas as they toasted, but neither of them asked from whence it came.

BARON VON HOOPLA

My best friend is page 91!

00047

ARE ABSTRACT JELLYBEANS REALLY ABSTRACT?

Only before Noon Blue Apples. -Robert Anton Wilson

UNTOUCHED BY HUMAN HANDS!

00048

A few nights before the wedding of Thetis to Peleus, doe-eyed Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, threw a bachelorette party for the beautiful bride in her temple on Mount Olympus. Amidst the pink silken curtains and plump pillows sat every goddess in creation, save one; Eris, called Strife, for she was a known shit disturber of the highest order. As Artemis stepped into the room, Aphrodite stood and called out: Alright my sisters, we are all here . . . let the merrymaking begin! Let down your hair, light the incense. Spill the wine, take that pearl! Let the presents be exchanged. White-armed Hera stood and said, Let Thetis, daughter of Poseidon, open my gift first for I am the wife of Aegis-bearing Zeus. There was some grumblings amongst the women, but Hera s attitude was expected. Thetis took Hera s gift and opened it, revealing an elaborate girdle with lewd etchings depicted on the front and back. All the goddesses giggled loudly, save Pallas Athene, who smiled politely but thought herself above such bawdiness. She stood next, and called out, Thetis, as the virgin goddess I would take this opportunity to promote abstinence to you, by giving you the gift of a chastity belt - wear it in good conscience! Athena held the chastity belt high in the air, and then lowered it down to Thetis, who gazed upon it as if holding cow dung in her hand. Aphrodite also glowered at it. Couldn t you at least have wrapped it? she asked. Athena stared coldly at her sister, then took her seat again. Alright, Aphrodite said, with a sigh. Who s next? I AM. called out a loud, raucous voice. All the heads turned to see Eris, goddess of Chaos, Confusion, Comedy and public transit ads. I HAVE A GIFT FOR THE BRIDE. Eris! Aphrodite cried. You were not invited! I did not invite you, you hag! This was invitation only! I will not have you wrecking this party like you ve wrecked all the others! DARLING APHRODITE, I HAVE NO INTENTION OF STAYING WHERE MY PRESENCE IS NOT DESIRED, I WILL LEAVE THE MOMENT I HAVE GIVEN MY WEDDING GIFT TO THE LOVELY THETIS. I WOULDN'T DREAM OF FLOODING THIS PARTY, LIKE THE LAST. Aphrodite said, through clenched teeth: Dropping my temple into the Aegean Sea is NOT flooding! THE BASS ON THAT SOUND SYSTEM WAS MUCH MORE POWERFUL THAN HEPHAESTUS INSINUATED, MY BAD. AT ANY RATE, THE PAST IS DONE WITH, MY DEAR THETIS, TAKE THIS GIFT . . . IF I KNOW PELEUS, YOU WILL NEED IT SOONER, RATHER THAN LATER. USE IT, AS THE OL' STICK-IN-THEMUD WOULD SAY, IN GOOD CONSCIENCE. Eris dropped a large gift to the floor, and turned on her heel and strode from the room. All the goddesses gasped in unison, and gaped at the gift on the floor.

00049

BOOK THREE

Resting on the marble tile was a gargantuan, elaborate solid gold dildo, hideously detailed and overly realistic. The head of the dildo was enormous, and shaped rather apple like. Emblazoned down the shaft were the words: F O R T H E H O R N I E S T . Thetis picked the dildo up with two fingers, looked it over, and said: What did she mean if she knew Peleus . . .? but before she could conclude her thought the dildo was smacked from her hand by Aphrodite, whose cheeks were flushed. Wha-? cried Thetis, in shock. Hands of that prick, bitch. Aphrodite heaved. Didn t you read the thing? It says to the horniest - and that, sister, is moi. MOI! She snatched the dildo up, intending to excuse herself temporarily, and hand to party s reigns over to Hera, when a spear stabbed her in the wrist, knocking the enormous phallus to the ground again. Aphrodite squealed out in pain as she saw white blood spurt from the wound. Stay where you are, trollop. Pallas Athene said loudly, and placed a foot on the dildo. I m as horny as a ten peckered owl, and I will be using this Pan-like appendage with all speed. I am certainly the horniest of all of you. dildo? Demeter stood. Athena? You? You think you re going to use that glorious golden

Athena laughed once, cold and brittle. Hon, while I have this thing the crack of dawn won t even be safe. Demeter stood forward, and grasped the apple-like head. That s not, she said. what I meant. Athena caught Demeter s hand as it moved toward her head and held it tight, but Hera got her across the jaw at almost the same moment. Persephone held her around the waist, and Aphrodite bit into her thigh. In the midst of the melee, the dildo rolled out of the room, and was picked up by the hand of a goddess who laughed loud and long as she floated up into the sky.

00050

ST. GULIK ON REINCARNATION

There was a point in my life when I was pondering many issues of human nature, and wondering if what we did now effected what might happen to us after we died . . . I was laying face down on the linoleum tiled floor, which is one of the six places I happen to ponder those types of issues best. The other five were too far away. The closest place is almost always the best place, for me. While I mused abstractly I entertained myself by blowing a single piece of cereal across the tile floor, trying to outdo myself with each puff. As the cereal rolled across the floor it bumped into what appeared to be a large shard of deeply varnished wood. I was, in fact, under the impression it was wood until it skittered toward me. I was deeply concerned to witness a rather large cockroach sprinting toward my face, but was even more concerned when it raised it's antennae and addressed me. BARON VON HOOPLA! it called in a deep basso profundo. Gah? I choked in answer. I stand by it as a valid response, under the circumstances. CALL ME GULIK. I AM A MESSENGER. I COME HITHER AND DITHER TO TEACH YOU ABOUT REINCARNATION. Zah! I gagged, being still an ignorant fool, and lacking full enlightenment. The roach tittered over to the cupboard near my head and opened it, revealing hundreds of cockroaches crawling through my garbage. I don't know what stopped vomit from spewing out of every pour in my body, but I'm thankful it didn't. I hacked again as Gulik said: THESE ARE THE CHOSEN OF ERIS. THEIR ENLIGHTENMENT WILL ALLOW THEM TO MOVE UP THE LADDER AFTER THIS LIFE TO KOALA IN THE NEXT LIFE. Koala? I asked. That's the next step up from cockroach? OF COURSE. DESPITE WHAT YOU MAY BELIEVE
It is a grave and serious and an enourmous mistake to take oneself too seriously. -Tom Robbins

00051

COCKROACHES LIVE A RATHER IDEAL LIFE FOR THE MOST PART. MOST LIVE IN, OR VERY NEAR, GARBAGE . . . THE CENTRAL DIET OF OUR KIND. AND, I DON'T KNOW IF YOU'VE NOTICED YET OR NOT, BUT THE WORLD IS FULL OF GARBAGE, GROWING STEADILY BY THE HOUR. THERE WILL NEVER BE STARVATION FOR COCKROACHES. But, why are Koalas the next step up the ladder? I asked. FOR ALMOST THE SAME REASON. KOALAS LIVE IN EUCALYPTUS TREES, WHICH IS THE SOURCE OF THEIR MAIN FOOD: EUCALYPTUS LEAVES. BUT, THERE ARE FIVE ADDITIONS TO THE KOALA WHICH PLACE IT A NOTCH ABOVE US: 1) THEY ARE ACCEPTED THROUGHOUT THE WORLD BY ALL SPECIES OF MAN BEAST AND INSECT (EXCEPT FOR COCKROACHES) AS THE CUTEST ANIMAL IN EXISTENCE. 2) THEIR CENTRAL DIET, EUCALYPTUS LEAVES, ARE PSYCHEDELIC, SO ALL KOALAS ARE ETERNALLY STONED. 3) THE EUCALYPTUS LEAVES CAUSE THE KOALA'S URINE TO SMELL FANTASTIC, WHICH IS UNIQUE IN THE WORLD. 4) KOALAS ARE PSYCHIC, SO THEY CANHoly shit! I exclaimed. For real? YES. Prove it. FUCK YOU, WHAT DO I CARE IF YOU BELIEVE ME? Sorry. WHERE WAS I? The fifth reason. RIGHT. THERE IS NO FIFTH REASON.

00052

So, I asked. What is above Koalas? SRIZZLEFISH. What the holy Hades are Srizzlefish? THERE ARE ONLY EVER FIVE SRIZZLEFISH ALIVE AT ANY GIVEN TIME. SO THERE IS A LONG WAITING LIST. THEY LIVE ANYWHERE FROM TWO HUNDRED TO FIVE HUNDRED YEARS. THEY JUST FLOAT AROUND ON THE BOTTOM OF THE OCEAN, COMPLETELY ENLIGHTENED. THEY REQUIRE NO SUSTENANCE, THEY SIMPLY . . . ARE. Great Googly Moogly. What's above Srizzlefish? NOTHING. Nothing? How can there be nothing above Srizzlefish? Something must be. NO. THERE ISN'T. THAT'S IT. THE END. KAPUT. So, if there's nothing above Srizzlefish, when do you become human? PFFFH! Gulik laughed. WHAT'RE YOU, KIDDING ME? AND TAKE A HUGE STEP BACK DOWN THE LADDER? YOU'RE ON GOOFBALLS. Thus, I was enlightened.

-BARON VON HOOPLA

At least I admit it!

00053

ON THE LAW OF FIVES

Sometimes, the Principia Discordia contains useful ideas disguised as nonsense. Other times, as in the Law of Fives, the Principia serves up a big honkin' warning disguised as nonsense. Concepts like the newly revised and expanded table of creation / destruction / order / disorder are things that may be worth thinking about, but the Law of Fives points out the sorts of thoughts that are dangerous to keep around. Take a moment to go back and review what the Principia has to say about the Law of Fives. Or just take my word for it; whatever. The scary and dangerous part about the Law of Fives is its implied philosophy of "you start out convinced this is true, and if you aren't seeing its truth in every single situation, then you simply aren't trying hard enough". I remember my early days on this board, reading a thread where people posted random numbers and challenged others to relate them back to 5. That was occasionally some seriously creative shit. And it scared me to see people so willing to go to such great and contorted lengths for a bullshit mathematical exercise. Harvey Mackay is quoted as saying "Optimists are right. So are

00054

If at first an idea isnt absurd there is no hope for it. -Albert Einstein

pessimists." The Law of Fives takes many forms outside the PD racism, sexism, homophobia, rabid Bible-thumping, and I'm sure you can think of others. And everywhere you look, you will see people in helpless obedience to the Law, screeching their ridiculous beliefs to anyone who will listen, and countering reasonable argument with nothing but more of the same screeching. If you aren't seeing the unmistakable truth in what they have to say, then you SIMPLY AREN'T TRYING HARD ENOUGH! DISCLAIMER: It can occasionally be difficult to distinguish between people obeying the Law of Fives, and people being dicks for their own amusement. This document is not intended to assist in such an endeavor, and the author disclaims all liability for any damages of any sort resulting from failure to make the aforementioned distinction. Because she's being a dick for her own amusement.

-DJ RUBBERDUCKY

WANT TO KNOW A SECRET ?

It so happened that during his travels, the Sacred Flame of Tajikistan came upon a temple where the master was instructing his pupils in Kung Fu fighting techniques. Inquiring, he asked if it was possible to join the lesson and the master agreed, seeing the possibility for another pupil. However, as he called on them to spar, he watched with amazement and worry as the Sacred Flame defeated several of his best pupils, one after the other and without apparent effort. Deciding he had seen enough, he called the Sacred Flame before him for a fight. At first, he tested gently, but his attacks became stronger and more deadly as the sparring progressed, until he was throwing full blows and strikes with intent to cut down the

00055

Its not easy having a good time. -Dr. Frank N. Furter

stranger before him. Yet even as he tried, he was unable to land his blows and was eventually struck a powerful blow to the head which left him on the ground. Getting up, he dismissed the class. Except for the Sacred Flame. You, he said, are to come with me so we can have a little chat. He agreed and followed him to a quieter part of the temple. How did you defeat us all? the master demanded harshly. I am the greatest Temple Master in this region! Never since I achieved my black sash have I been defeated! Perhaps I am aware of secrets you are not, he replied neutrally. There is NOTHING I am not aware of! I have mastered the Nine Crippling Strikes, the ancient techniques where I could leave you pleading for death! Yet you couldn't land a blow on me. Perhaps there are other secrets you are not aware of? There are none! I have mastered Qi Gong and can use the Wheel of Law to smash your body. I know the secrets of Dim Mak, the Death Blows where you could be dead with a single touch! And still you failed to hit me. Do you know why? No, admitted the master, captivated by whatever this hidden power could be. Precisely. You know many lesser secrets that have been hidden. You may even know of the unknown secrets that are hidden in the open. Yet you do not know anything of the Greater Secrets. Without that knowledge, the rest is as if it was nothing. Tell me...please, what is the secret? You are not worthy of the knowledge. Besides, my time here is short, and I will be gone soon anyway. With that he left. Later that night, the Temple Master managed to track the Sacred Flame down to his current lodgings. Opening the door, he sighed as the master came in. His first words were please, teach me the Great Secret. I will do whatever you want to prove I am worthy.

00056

And so the master became pupil once again. He cooked meals, cleaned clothes and aided the Sacred Flame in any way he could, carrying and fetching items for him, serving his every whim so that he could be considered worthy enough to know the Great Secret. After a week of this, a friend of the Sacred Flame came to where he was staying. The previous temple master was told to leave so that he could speak in private to his old friend. Noting the look on his friend's face, he waited until the door was closed, then told him the whole story. As he finished, his friend let out a great laugh. You old bullshitter he managed between the tears. When are you going to tell him the truth? To be honest, I don't know. You'd think someone who knows so much would have got it by now. Besides, he seems to be enjoying himself. Who knows what he would do if he knew the real secret was there was no secret at all, only the power that comes from not telling somebody something?

-CAIN

his age

00057

THEY KILLED TESLA

"if i told you..absolutely they would kill me...and no tin hat would save me" - Nikola Tesla the other night i was watching the demons crawl out of the woodwork again, which is why caulking is so damned important. if you caulk it hard enough and tight enough the demons can't get out of the fucking walls and suck your one remaining eyeball right out of your head. anyway, one of these demons kind of oozed up to me and said, "thayne, old buddy. you do realize that your very own government killed nikola tesla right? they let him live long enough to drain his brains dry of every idea he ever had, and then they killed him." "and you're next boy. you're next. only they won't keep you alive long enough for you to spit. because after all, what does the uncle sammy want with heated toilet paper, floating lawn chairs and seeing-eye armadillos? well okay, so they might like the tp idea, but you know damn well they'd keep it for the bigwigs and let the little fellows continue to freeze their nuts off, right? of course right." and i thought to myself, thayne, i thought, big brother is everywhere. and it's just like the old lady always says "goddammit, leave your glass eye at home next time you go on a bender down at harold's lounge or it's just dejavu like when the cops haul you away and you kick the cop in the knee and they cuff your feet together so even if you kick open the back door of the cop car and try to hop away (again), the truth is the police can run faster than you when you're cuffed at the ankles. and you know they'll throw you back in the drunk tank where they don't care what happened to your glass eye, or maybe they took it and spit on it or are saving it for their hallooween costumes, or for a trophy. yeah, that's it a trophy eye hanging on the wall of the break room down at the jail. even if you get it back you don't know where it's been." so anyway, back to nikola tesla, the fucking genius who immigrated here from Serbia , and either knew transmigration or teleportation or else had tunnels under his house that led to his secret lab. but then one day he decided to do things much as an ordinary man would and got hit by a car while crossing the road and died in the street like a dog and the fbi came in and took all his papers and his secrets when they raided his place. but he got revenge and the last laugh because the fuckers tried to photograph tesla in his casket and the photo blurred and they were unable to make the camera focus on his face. there's not one death picture of his face which is the way he wanted it. the question that begs here is this: what good is the last laugh if you're dead?

00058

the moral of this rant is listen to your old lady, but not her mother. leave your glass eye at home, never forget your ankles are cuffed and the man can run faster, caulk those cracks in the woodwork, dig your tunnels deep and don't cross the road like everyone else, or the they'll get you next.

-ONE EYED THAYNE MAGEE

"When a true genius appears in the world, you may know him by this sign; that the dunces are all in confederacy against him." -Jonathan Swift

WE ARE ALL GUSTAVE NOW

This is the transcript of a speech given by Dr. B- to the Royal Scientific Society of Ultima Thule, a small, isolated island in the Greenland Sea between Jameson Land and the island of Spitsbergen. Your Royal Highness, ladies and gentlemen, Members of the Society, good evening. I cannot say I am glad to be here, for the solemnity of what I have come to tell you will not permit it. I am only glad to know I could not ask for finer or more discriminating minds than those of the Society, nor for hearts more full of Sympathy and Charity than those of my audience, nor for a better exemplar of these virtues than your Highness, who is like a sun, whose light of wisdom and warmth of benevolence radiate to infuse all your subjects, and of course this sceptered Isle at whose head you sit. As you know, I am here to discuss a patient, a patient with a most strange affliction, a malady of unknown cause and uncertain

00059

course. I call him Gustave, though naturally that is not his true name. Gustave is a young man who came to me some time ago. When I asked what was wrong, he gave me a long list of symptoms. He cannot sleep until late into the night. He sleeps only fitfully. His dreams are fleeting, hectic and restless. No matter how long he is abed he wakes feeling tired. When he looks into the mirror in the morning, dark circles haunt his eyes. He eats but sparingly. Neither wine nor strong liquor seems to have any beneficent effect; he feels neither the revivifying warmth nor the comforting lull of the alcohol. Colour and flavour seem to have been leeched from his world. The brightness of the sun makes his eyes hurt, so he spends his days in the perpetual twilight of his apartments. He is a young man, yet he takes little exercise, and when he does it seems a chore rather than a robust enjoyment. Books give him no solace, nor does music, nor painting, nor even the pretty faces of the young ladies in the park on a Sunday afternoon. He has become quiet, withdrawn and morose. In short, he is sad. Well I know that the men of science among you will be thinking, "Well that's no good thing for a young man, but sadness is not a disease." Too true! But I beg your indulgence while I continue the story of Gustave. There are two facts about this sadness that convinced me it was not merely a mood but a chronic disease. I have interviewed at length the physicians he has consulted throughout his life, and painstakingly examined all the documents relating to this case. I discovered that, in the first place, Gustave did not grow sad but became sad all at once. And in the second place, he has been sad ever since. It was a summer day when he was yet a boy, just beginning to turn into a young man. He describes the day as bright, the sky blue, dotted with the pleasant white clouds whose appearance reminds us of wool. He turned from the game he was playing with his brother and sisters and looked up into this beautiful summer sky. All of a sudden he was overcome with a great sadness. That was the first night his food seemed to lose its taste; he ate, but unenthusiastically, pushing his food around his plate. Such behaviour, in a growing boy-you can imagine his mother's consternation. He tells me that from that day, he has

00060

The rarity of genuine feeling in human society sometimes makes me stop in the street to watch a dog gnawing a bone.

Do you ever feel like putting your fist through a window just so you can feel something?

occasionally felt his sadness lessened, from one cause or another. But it always returns, and if we may be thankful that it never seems to grow any worse, any more severe, we must also feel sympathy for its stubborn duration all these years. I shared my findings with some colleagues. To my great surprise, I learned that all of them had encountered similar stories, in some places a very great profusion of them. It seemed I had stumbled, not just on a disease, but an epidemic. But my surprise, and my dismay, was to grow deeper still. It happened that the great Dr. D- travelled to this, the great capital of our nation and the brightest jewel in Your Majesty's crown, on some scholarly business. As he is one of my correspondents, and one of the most respected of our men of science, I told him of my case and begged him to find time in his busy schedule to take a luncheon at my Club so we could discuss it. He seemed, to my surprise, eager to accept. At our luncheon I learned that not only was he already aware of this unknown and as-yet unnamed modern malady, but he had distressing news-it was much worse than I had even begun to suspect. For, he told me, not only were new cases appearing among young men like Gustave, but many more cases had gone undetected for years. Here he paused, told me I would not believe what he was about to say but assured me it was true, and proceeded to say that not only were almost all of our patients infected and living with the effects of this disease, but so were he and I. You can imagine my shock, my incredulity at hearing this. Surely, I said, that cannot be so. Like you sitting before me today, I told him I was quite sure I would know if I were sad. At this he looked at me, his eyes full of sympathy, a melancholy smile on his face. "Are you not?" he said. "I ask you to take a moment now, search your memories, closely examine your life, and tell me that you are not sad." This I prepared to do, settling into my chair, my brows creasing as I looked into the candle flame, searching my memory. I recounted faces, voices, great events and quiet evenings with my parents, my siblings, my wife and our own children. After I know not how long, though I think it no more than a few moments, I was struck by a sensation that fired my brain like a bolt of lightning. I had experienced no true joy in many, many years-if

00061

Every man and every woman is a star. -Aleister Crowley

indeed I ever had. In all my memories I found, I freely confess, little in the way of true misery, but also little, o so very little, in the way of delight. Instead even my mother's fruit pies, whose sweetness, I assumed without reflection, I would remember taking great pleasure in eating, upon this strenuous examination tasted like ashes. As had the roast I had thought I had eaten with gusto the night before, the whiskey I had believed I'd enjoyed after dinner, and indeed the very pork pies we had enjoyed that very day at dinner. Our luncheon continued, but on later reflection I would find that I was afflicted with many of the same symptoms as my poor patient, Gustave. I wandered my house, fingering the curtains, touching the upholstery, noting how muted all the colours seemed. I tried to read passages from my favourite books, finding them only dry and dusty. I went to the symphony, and found it pretty, from time to time, but ultimately just so much noise. But, as I say, our luncheon continued, though I was still too stunned to speak. Dr. D- continued to inform me of his researches into this malady and the disturbing picture that had begun, slowly, to emerge. For it was not he and I, nor even the many patients whose cases I had just begun to review but had already been the subject of my luncheon companion's painstaking researches. This new disease had, Dr. D- concluded, infected every man and woman among us. Every one! I was astounded, as I imagine are you. No doubt many of you are sceptical. There are, after all, many Men of Science here, for whom a thoroughgoing scepticism is a natural as breathing. But I ask you to consider this: no one would deny that our great artists are inspired by great passions. Joy and delight, wonder and awe, yes, even anger, fear and despair, and of course love. But think, I urge you, of our modern age. Where are the great composers, the great poets, the great artists that move not just some of us, not just now and then, but all us and with their every note, every line, every brushstroke? Where are our great delights, like the Bacchanals of the ancients? Indeed, apart from a constant, numb sadness, where are our great sorrows? Where the keening at our funerals? Who among us, like Achilles, has poured ashes on his head and cried out to shake the very heavens at the passing of a dear friend? Look into your own hearts. You will find, I can almost assure you, that all is sadness-a dull, numb ache of sadness. My friends, I am

00062

very sorry to tell you this, but we are all Gustave now. So now, finally, we come to the question of what is to be done about my poor young patient, Gustave. What is to be his fate? For, indeed, his fate is all our fates. Some, no doubt, would prescribe medicine. But I tell you this has been tried, and it will not avail. Others will hope to use various therapies to snap us out of our doldrums. But again, this has been tried, and again, it will not avail. Some will suggest we turn to the Church, which has always insisted that in the next world lies our only true happiness anyway. But alas! Even religion has become petty and hollow. I have given this much thought, and in light of the evidence, there is only one thing to be done. This thing will shock you, but if we hope to recover our humanity, it is, I fear, the only way. When we leave this theatre tonight, we must go to our great factories, wonders of our age, and dismantle them, brick by brick. We must take hammers to the machines and smash them. We must go the offices of the accountants and the lawyers and the insurers and take torches to the documents that define and classify and proscribe us. Only when even the wealthiest of us must again turn the soil with our hands, when we turn our faces to the sun and sky, feel our feet planted on the rich earth and wade through the fast-flowing stream, only when we butcher our own meat and learn the lessons of the blood, only then will our hearts expand and feel the true passions of delight, sorrow, rage, wonder and a love embedded in the hearts of our fellow men and women, just as we are embedded in the ecstatic green of Nature. Your Royal Highness, ladies and gentlemen, Members of the Society, once again I thank you. And now I exhort you to follow me back down the path of false progress. Only then shall we live again.

-JJ STEADMAN
Duct tape is like the Force. It has a light side and a dark side, and it binds the universe together. - Carl Zwanzig

00063

This statement is false.

REAL DISCORDIANS
While The Good Reverend likes to bash on n00bs who write about "REAL Discordians" (ie, anyone who agrees with - or will be nice to - them), the fact is, such a thing DOES exist. To demonstrate this, let me start off by saying that the hackneyed line "Everyone is a Discordian" is absolute rubbish. Look at the word "Discordian. This implies that the person in question is an adherent of discord, not an unwitting facilitator. Such people may be Discordian Saints, but not Discordians. Since not everyone is a Discordian, yet Discordians DO exist, it naturally follows that some people are Discordian and some people are not. We can also assume that some people CLAIM to be Discordians, but really aren't (see "refugees" in Heresies I)...whether or not they believe they are. Likewise, some people may BE Discordian, but either deny it, or don't know it. So, we can classify people into six groups: 1. Non-Discordians - people who are not Discordians, and do not claim to be. Jerry Falwell, for example. 2. Fake Discordians - People who think they are Discordian, but really aren't. EvT, for example (who mistakes the nonsense of Hill & Thornley as serious dogma). 3. Phony Discordians - Refugees (QV). 4. Latent Discordians - Discordians who are unaware of the term. 5. Discordians in Denial - Discordians that are aware of what they are, but pretend they aren't. 6. Real Discordians - Discordians that know what they are, and accept it. Now, the question arises, "how do you know whether someone is a real discordian?" The fast answer is that you usually don't, at least not right away. The question becomes a little easier, once we define what Discordianism is.

00064

Now, ask 8 Discordians what Discordianism is, and you'll get 9 answers...but I think I can list a few things that most of us can agree on. A Discordian should be able to rant, write a haiku, raze a village, come up with the occasional way to fuck the normals over, mindfuck, drink bongwater, troll a website, infight like a champ, stomp on a n00b's ego, and - if the slightest chance is offered - kill The Good Reverend Roger in cold blood. What ISN'T Discordianism: Jabbering nonsense for its own sake (we have Christians for that), numerology for its own sake (we have Enron accountants for that), whimpering, drinking lite beer, smoking cloves, emo, goth (except for procreation), Wicca (many Discordians happen to be Wiccans - for some bizarre reason - but it isn't, itself, Discordianism), Claiming to be Joshua Norton II (or the descendant/namesake of any other classic Discordian figure)...we Subgenii call that "Being a Bobby", quoting Discordian works for its own sake, Chaos Mahdlgickque (gimme a break!) or racism (unless it's funny, which is harder than it sounds). What MAY be Discordianism, depending on circumstances: Badminton (or ping pong, depends upon location), street theater, buggering Richard Nixon's festering corpse, reckless use of firearms, excessive alcohol use (careful with that one), attending the opera. So, now you know what a "real" Discordian is. The Good Reverend suggests that you all now begin running around denouncing each other, for his amusement. Or kill me.

-THE GOOD REVEREND ROGER

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars. -Oscar Wilde
00065

THE NIGHTMARE NEVER ENDS

Lord only knows its gettin late the censors are gone so dont you hesitate, give yourself a call. -Beck Hansen

On a day just like today, except that it was a Wednesday, a man named Oxo awoke from a nightmare to realize that the nightmare is never fully awoken from. He rolled onto his side, pulled the rough green blanket over his head, and tried to recall what he had been dreaming about. He recalled vaguely that in his dream the world was filled to the brim with simpering idiots who held high-paying jobs in delicate positions, he recalled that people nattered endlessly to one another on a small glowing box, although all were nattering and none were listening. He recalled that children were popping out of Coke machines into plastic diapers where they were whisked away by people who plopped them in front of another glowing box. The glowing box showed the kids how to be polite; how to do what they are told; taught that difference was good, despite the fact that they were shown the opposite day in and day out. Oxo recalled that in the dream he was required to go out into the cold every single day, stick his arm into something like a coffee machine to have his precious bodily fluids extracted, bled into a tube which shot up to feed the spindly-legged tall ones upstairs, who sucked the sweet nectar from long grey straws while adjusting the small black nattering rectangles on their ears. Oxo recalled that one of the only relief from this terror was a large room where people would group together to watch flickering images of cyborgs imitating their own movements. The cyborgs had been like them at some point, but had been, piece-by-piece, dismantled and replaced with polished rice teeth, shiny orange skin, glazed yellow hair, hollow empty eyes, and even less soul. As they walked out of these gatherings small tabloid pamphlets were thrust into their hands to give them intimate details about what the cyborgs ate, drank, slept with, talked about, thought about . . . all with the constant insinuation that the cyborgs are better than you, why can't you be more like the cyborgs? Other than the gathering rooms the only relief was a tiny pill which blurred the world and made things seem very far away and dreamy. The pill was very popular with people, and it made people easier to deal with, yet the pill was actually banned. People had to hide in alleys and scratch at doors in the night to gain access to the pill. Oxo knew why, too, he knew that the only way to keep the people pliable was by keeping them afraid, so

00066

they kept the pill banned to keep the fear, but also kept the pill easily accessible to keep the people in line. Oxo let out a long, defeated breath, then pulled himself up to look out the curtains at the world below. The mustard curtains parted revealing the brittle ridiculous world below, and at once Oxo knew; he had not awakened.

-BARON VON HOOPLA

Dear LHX, you glorious machine how are you doing? here are some tips to get you thru the next little while because we love you so much anything worth having on this planet can and will be repeated somewhere that means if you fuck anything up we will bring you back to give it another shot we dont really need that many people on this planet to make the transition from here to there so dont take anything personally just know that we have everything looked after

and we know you have been wondering lately about what is going to happen to all of the cities just remember this eventually the areas where the cities are now will be the most fertile locations for the same reasons why regions near volcanoes are so fertile cities are very nutirient dense and will eventually make great fertilizer

keep doing your thing you charming animal,

00067

with love, you-know-who

The Goddess did spake, and what she said was mostly nonsense:
Spam was, Spam is, and Spam shall ever be. After summer is winter, and after winter, summer. It ruled once where Man rules now; where Man rules now, it shall rule again. As a foulness shall ye know it.

. . . or w a s it?
Time is a spiral, space is a curve, I know you get dizzy but try not to lose your nerve. -Rush

But . . . What does it MEAN?

MEAN! ? !
THE ANSWERS: 1) A canoe 2) Yes 3) Hes adopted 4) It is sad 5) Oh, yes

00068

Aegis-bearing Zeus annual marble competition was well renowned throughout the worlds of the gods, and every deity worth their salt was invited, from Jehovah to Odin, except for one: Eris called Strife, goddess of Chaos, Confusion, Calamity and paperclips. Zeus stood near the mound, and held up his prize marble, made from the clearest diamond, with a tiny Gorgon head placed inside. Light from Apollo s flaming chariot in the sky glinted off the surface and scorched into the divine retinas of the holy beings gathered. With this glorious marble I shall once again take the championship . . . I will crush all of the opposition, and claim all your marbles. What say you all? Who is ready? Jehovah walked forward, and tossed his long grey beard over his shoulder, pulling out his new marble. It appeared to be a rough-hewn stone. This marble of mine is a stone that was used to bash out the brains of a heathen who dared to not believe in me. That, I will not stand for. I must be acknowledged as supreme ruler of the entire universe, and all who do not bow to me will be crushed out of existence and roasted in the burning brimstone pits of hell, which I conveniently created for just such a purpose. But, also let it be known that I am a loving god. Yes yes yes, said Zeus. We all know about your worship complex, and your bipolar disorder . . . very very very old news. Are you ready to lose that pebble to me? Who else shall play? Odin stepped forward, squinting heavily. I will play you, you miserable letch. See this, I have plucked mine own eye from my head, knowing it will give me all the power and knowledge I need to stomp your sorry ass. This time I shall not be beaten, and will be able to retire to Valhalla in peace. In pieces, is more like it, if you keep up talking that sort of rot, Zeus snarled at Odin. He turned and gazed over the faces of the other gods and goddesses. Who else shall play marbles with me and lose? I SHALL PLAY, came a loud husky female voice. BUT I DO NOT INTEND TO LOSE. Zeus wheeled around, and stared at a tall goddess with wild blonde and black hair dancing in the breeze. One eye was blue and the other was green. Eris Nancy Discordia! cried Aegisbearing Zeus. Of all the nerve! I deliberately did not invite you, you always fuck around with the marbles while they are on the playing area . . . more than once my dominance has been brought into question due to your fucking around. Forget it, you are not playing. Leave the mound! Eris smiled sweetly. PLEASE DO NOT BLAME ME BECAUSE YOU ARE COCK-EYED . . . THE ONLY REASON AT ALL YOU CONSTANTLY WIN IS BECAUSE THE OTHERS CANNOT BARE TO LISTEN TO YOUR WHIMPERING WHEN YOU LOSE. THEY FIND IT TEDIOUS AND BORING . . . I DO NOT, BECAUSE I, MYSELF, AM NOT BORING, AND ERGO CANNOT BE BORED . . . ON THE CONTRARY, I FIND IT RATHER GIGGLE-INDUCING. Zeus snarled: Just get the fuck out of here, with all speed. NOT A PROBLEM, BUT BEFORE I GO PERHAPS ONE OF THE OTHER GODS

00069

BOOK FOUR

WOULD LIKE TO USE MY LUCKY GOLD MARBLE IN MY PLACE? and Eris held up a beautiful and glittering golden sphere, which had etched in the side F o r T h e Luckiest . Jehovah and Odin both stepped forward at the same moment. I ll take it. Jehovah said, just as Odin cried the same thing. Dionysus and Thor both jumped forward at that moment, but Jesus Christ jumped onto their backs and knocked their heads together. DON'T FIGHT, CHILDREN, Eris called out, LET'S DO IT FAIRLY . . . and with a wide arc in her swing, Eris tossed the gold marble high into the clear blue sky and screamed: SCRAAAAAAAAAMBLE! Every single god and goddess on the mound made a mad jump at where they thought the marble would land, many an elbow bloodied many a mouth, and several fingers grabbed fistfuls of hair and pulled. Teeth bit, nails scratched. Zeus prize marble rolled out of the ruckus, covered in white god blood, and Eris picked it up, wiped the blood off on her robes, and floated up into the sky, laughing uproariously.

00070

I want freedom, I want sin. -Aldous Huxley

THE REVOLUTION WILL BE TELEVISED

The revolution will probably be televised. The revolution will be born in some stoners basement. The revolution will be an ongoing prank in History class. The revolution will not be defined. The revolution will be acknowledged with a quiet nod. The revolution will gain momentum. The revolution will be identified by recent college grads with Graphic Design and Marketing degrees burning holes in their pockets. The revolution will be pitched to CEOs of multinational corporations. The revolution will be analyzed, autopsied, sliced, diced, and stuck to corkboards with pushpins. The revolution will be cleaned up, polished, waxed, packaged, and tied in a nice bow. The revolution will be leaked to the media. The revolution will show up on the catwalks of Paris, Italy, and Japan. The revolution will have its own burger. The revolution will have its theme song in heavy rotation on MTV. The revolution will be on Leno, Letterman, Conan, and The Daily Show. The revolution will turn down an appearance on Carson Daly. The revolution will be sold at Hot Topic. The revolution will be identified as a trend by CNN. The revolution will be reported on by self-proclaimed Experts In The Field. The revolution will be blamed for teen pregnancy. The revolution will be synonymous with the Twinkie defense in courts of law. The revolution will host a concert series to help the homeless. The revolution will be managed by financial advisors, lawyers, ad agencies, and media planners. The revolution will be publicly traded in the stock market. The revolution will be remixed by P. Diddy and released exclusively on iTunes. The revolution will have sub-genres. The revolution will suffer an anti-revolution backlash. The revolution will appear on an episode of Walker, Texas Ranger. The revolution will generate buzzwords that will be used by your parents trying to sound hip. The revolution will be in a Cadillac commercial. The revolution will be 00071

Life moves pretty fast, if you dont stop to look around once in a while you could miss it. -St. Ferris

adopted by pre-pubescent girls trying to act grown up. The revolution will be derided by Bill Mahr, Rush Limbaugh, & Al Franken. The revolution will be mocked by Jon Stewart, Steve Colbert, and Tina Fey. The revolution will appear on Best Week Ever. The revolution will become an automatic punchline. The revolution will be relegated to a question in the next edition of Trivial Pursuit. The revolution will be televised. After all, there's market share to consider.

-LMNO

STATE OF THE REVOLUTION ADDRESS

What is it with you people? Are you just semi-illiterate, or have you made this a conscious decision? Why have you confused being sentient with being sedentary? So you evolved to the point where your brain was so complex it could envision a way to transmit sounds and images to a box in everyones living roomand thus the enormous complexity of our collective intellect was used to destroy itself. Just because you CAN sit on your fat ass all day and watch CSI:Miami doesnt mean you SHOULD. You as a people are being slowly crushed under the weight of the authoritarian thumb that is pressing down on the carotid artery of your freedom, and you wont even do anything about it. Why? Because youre also being crushed under the weight of your 3 Double QPC with cheese-a-day habit. The weight of your unshakeable loyalty to Desperate Housewives. YOU should be the desperate housewives, and Im not talking about being desperate for a piece of ass from the poolboy. Where is your pride? Where is your fire? Is there anything left behind your eyes, or has it all been concentrated at the tip of your index finger for better, more efficient remote-control operation? Look at what youve lost. Youve long since been incapable of finding and killing your own food, making your own warm clothes, building

00072

Our cause is a secret within a secret, a secret that only another secret can explain; it is a secret about a secret veiled by a secret. -Ja'far as-Sadiq, sixth Imam d.765 A.D.

your own shelter, defending yourself from physical attack, or using your feet to get you where youre going. Now youre going to give up the ability to think for yourselves? Are you mad? No. Youre not. And THATS the problem. You got mad when you thought the voting on American Idol was rigged, but the voting in Florida? In Ohio? Pah! That sort of thing hardly affects YOUR life! You are shackled with the chains of slavery, and they enter your house in a 6-foot length of coaxial cable. In a cell phone signal. In a high-speed internet connection. Why should you go outside? Youve got your own little world right here at your fingertips, and theres no reason to let reality intrude. You just cant wait until they finally develop teleportation technology. No, not so you can go anywhere you want effortlessly, but so you can have an endless stream of fried chicken and ice cream beamed right to your kitchen. Hell, you wont even have to get up to go to work now that somebody in Bangalore is doing your job for you. Now youll have even MORE time to catch up on your favorite shows! I hear theyre showing reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond on Channel 5 on Thursday mornings AND Monday afternoons. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, someone somewhere is standing up. Someone is turning off all the devices they cant live without. Someone is trying to reacquaint themselves with freedom. And someone is having a tough time of it. Theres no one to rally to the cause, no one to take up arms against the oppressors, no one to keep the flickering flame of hope alive against the oppressive un-being that consumes everyone. And besides, who wants to put it all on the line like that for a bunch of fat, greasy, cathode-ray receptors? What is there to be gained? The free are hopelessly outnumbered, and the consumers/consumed will just perceive any sort of paradigm shift as a changing of the channel. You see, we were right all along. The revolution will not be televised. It already HAS been.

-EAST COAST HUSTLE

00073

INTERVIEW WITH ERIS

BARON VON HOOPLA: I am very happy to be interviewing today the Goddess of Chaos, Confusion, Calamity, and dinky cars: Eris Nancy Discordia. Welcome, Eris. ERIS NANCY DISCORDIA: Thanks, Hoops. B.V.H.: Eris, doing my research I found that there weren't really a lot of ancient legends which depicted you. In fact, I could only find two. Why do you think that was? E.N.D.: I could put the blame on Athena or Aphrodite, but we all know the real blame goes on Pan. He got all the gods and goddesses to convince the Greeks that my stories were too fascinating and witty, so they destroyed all copies. Eventually only a couple Bazooka Joe comics were left discarded in Dionysus's temple which depicted the two legends now available. B.V.H.: Seriously? E.N.D.: Nope. B.V.H.: Ah, right. Ok, do you think it has anything to do with Gregory Hill and Kerry Thornley's idea that the Greeks had a warped idea of what Discord is?
Nothing is true. Everything is permissible.

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E.N.D.: No, they knew exactly what Discord was; they just didn't like it. B.V.H.: Seriously? E.N.D.: Maybe. B.V.H.: Ok. There is a lot of arguing with modern Discordians as to whether or not what you are currently representing is true Discordianism. Some think that modern Discordianism is all clowns and roller-coasters instead of violence and bloodshed and rioting. Which is true? E.N.D.: You're still caught up on true? The problem is that you all think there is a difference. Comedy is Discordianism because it is discordant. Comedy ruffles feathers. And besides, all the other stuff which you describe as violence and bloodshed is always funny to someone. I see no better symbol for Discordianism than a roller-coaster derailing. B.V.H.: What about the enormous disasters which have been plaguing the world in the last few years? E.N.D.: What about them? B.V.H.: Well, I see a lot of Discordians reacting to the disasters in a rather negative way . . . it seems almost like a lot of them forget that the disasters are pretty much Discord in action. E.N.D.: What do you expect? A party? B.V.H.: No, but it seems strange to me that people

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You wouldn't be so smug if you really knew what was going on.

who consider themselves followers of Discord being upset or surprised by these disasters. E.N.D.: People will always be dismayed by large displays of Discord, if only because humans are naturally adverse to change of any sort. I see no reason why a so-called Discordian should embrace disasters; acknowledging that they are natural and necessary is much more than most others ever do. B.V.H.: Many consider the central lesson of the Principia Discordia to be that we are truly free; but there are some who seem to take this lesson as permission to act like a completely selfish prick, do you regret that lesson now? E.N.D.: First, it wasn't my lesson; it was Mal2's filtered through Greg Hill's brain. I just gave Mal2 the idea. At any rate, those who take the lesson as permission to be a selfish prick are at best being lazy, and at worst being intentionally deceptive. The freedom is freedom from your standard conventions. For example, paper is a reality, would you agree? B.V.H.: Yes. E.N.D.: And printing presses are a reality. BUT, and here is the important part, money is a social fiction. You are enslaved by money only if you choose to be. B.V.H.: But, isn't the only way not to be enslaved by

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Heres another thing: the book can also be used as a hat. Peter Griffin

money to be homeless or to move to a deserted island? E.N.D.: That is not for me to say. That's where the freedom enters into the picture. You are only repressed by your own mind. B.V.H.: What acts of Discord are you most proud of? E.N.D.: When frozen shit from airplanes falls from the sky to crush people. It's lowbrow, but it gives me fits of giggles. B.V.H.: And what pisses you off most? E.N.D.: The depiction of me on the television show Xena. I'm still thinking of a really good vindictive way to smite the people who created and worked on that show. Look forward to the 'Curse Of Xena' soon. B.V.H.: Speaking of Xena, that reminds me of Hercules, which reminds me of the only other legend I could find about you, it concerned a conversation you had with Heracles. It seems that you offered him to travel down your path and lead a life of strife and struggle, or he could go down the path of Sloth and lead an easy and lazy life. He picked the path of Eris. Why do you think that is? E.N.D.: You already know the answer to that question. B.V.H.: True. Well, I thank you for the opportunity to

Think of hummingbirds as the flying penises of flowers

I dont GET it . . .
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You WILL

Time is a plaything for children and fools.

let me ask you these questions. Anything else you want to add before we finish? E.N.D.: I just wanted to say hi to Athena and Aphrodite, and ask them to ponder how many followers they still have these days. B.V.H.: There you have it kiddies, Eris Nancy Discordia, still petty after all these years.

A chimp, or philosopher?

SMASH THE TABLETS OF LAW

I thought I had woken up after sleeping uncomfortably in bed, however, this couldn't be true as there was no longer any bed under me, only a sparkly brown and yellow dirt. I stood up and looked around me. In the distance were mountains, far closer was a low flat topped hill. It was like nowhere I had been before, yet intimately familiar. Then I saw her. Dressed in full bronze armour, a helmet over her head and a double bladed sword in her hand, she walked up to me. As I got closer, I saw that her hair and armour were covered in blood, a large shield with an apple covering it, the word written on it clearly visible. Ah I said. OK then. Whats all this about?

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Dont you wish you knew better by now When youre old enough not to? -Beth Orton

The golden eyes within the helm looked at me. Its for my amusement and for your possible education. After all, isn't all life but a learning experience? I thought that was all Yahweh's shit, testing people and so on? Its not really a test though, is it? You can't fail, or succeed, only learn from it. With that, she beckoned. then turned and started to walk away. I followed, seeing what she had in store. We stopped suddenly. Looking down, I saw two weapons on the ground, a short sword and a hammer. Choose only one she said. I thought for a moment, then reached for the hammer. The sword had the advantage of an edge, but was purely a killing weapon. Hammers had utility in their favour. I stood back up straight, but Eris had vanished. Making my way back to the plains, I saw suddenly a flurry of activity there. Walking down the hill, I saw that they were men and women, all busily at work, consuming the resources of the area to make new things. But as I drew closer there were other things I noticed. They walked curiously, sometimes bumping into others thats transected their paths. Instead of stopping or apologizing, they just carried on. Occasionally when it came to several against one, the one got trampled on. I also watched as they fashioned bladed items and handed them to others, cutting them as they grabbed it and took it to other areas around the plains, where they were dumped in piles for more blind drones to fall over. One man just ate continually as he walked, whatever he could find, if it was food or rock he didn't care. Blood ran from his mouth and there were children following him, crying out in hunger. Seeing as he was closest, I walked up beside him and shouted hey! It didn't have an effect, so I attempted to grab some of the food he had held against his body by his arm. Immediately, he grabbed me and shouted get off my stuff, FUCKER! and nearly broke my arm shoving me to the ground. I let him walk on, then dusted myself off and rubbed my arm until some life came back into it. Getting up and moving on, I made my slow way to the flat hill I had seen at the centre of the plains, watching as I went the mechanical scenes of destruction and mindless suffering. Making

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Vegetables are murder.

my way onto the flat surface, I saw someone had erected a huge tablet in the centre, with writing on it. Getting closer, the writing was obvious. Words and phrases jumped out, such as everyone shall be subject only to such limitations as are determined by law solely for the purpose of securing due recognition and respect for the rights and freedoms of others and of meeting the just requirements of morality, public order .... Under that though, other words could be noticed, as I drew closer, such as endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. But under that there were even older scratchings and carvings. I made out one barely, that read now on, till (Ahura) Mazda grants me the kingdom favor, I will impose my monarchy on no nation. Each is free to accept it , and if any one of them rejects it , I never resolve on war to reign. ut even under these carvings there were the oldest ones, the ones that had always been there. Blood shall be spilled and more blood, for there is never enough..., war brings strength and only the strong have the right to rule and cities of the nations the LORD your God is giving you as an inheritance, do not leave alive anything that breathes. Completely destroy them--the Hittites, Amorites, Canaanites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites-as the LORD your God has commanded you. Otherwise, they will teach. I had an idea as to what to do. Lifting the hammer, I swung as hard as possible and struck the tablet. As the first crack appeared, everyone stopped what they were doing, at started to move towards me, an urgency in their step that I hadn't seen before propelling them. Spurred on, I struck again and again, until the tablet crumbled, its lower sections totally destroyed, collapsing in on itself. But what I saw horrified me. Instead of stopping what they had been doing, or even attacking me, the crowds had turned on each other. They were spilling blood and crushing bones, like a horrible theatre that would never end. I noticed that an armoured figure was beside me again. Why are they doing this? I demanded. Why didn't it help them? Whoever said it would help? came the reply from under the

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The Rule of Fives states that all things happen in fives, or are divisible by or are multiples of five, or are somehow directly or indirectly related to five. The Rule of Fives is never wrong.

helm. You think they want to have their illusions ripped from them, the true extent of their handiwork displayed for them and everyone else to see? They'll torture themselves with guilt, unless they can lay the blame on someone else. You were a target first, but then they saw what those around them forced them to do too. Consider the lesson taught. I looked back, and no-one was there.

-CAIN

REJECTING MALACLYPSE THE YOUNGER

Beware, O ye of little faith, for the things I am about to say will piss thee off to no fucking end. Let me start off by stating that Malaclypse the Younger is, and always has been a fraud. That's right. Bogus. Phoney. His real name is Kerry Thornley, and he did NOT "walk into the ocean" thirty years ago. He is alive and well, and living in Cleveland, Ohio. Second, his book, Principia Discordia is gibberish. Utter rot. It has two or three good jokes in it, and one (1) good idea. It's basically an acid rant that reads like the end of a Robert Anton Wilson novel...which is to say, it's garbage. The one good idea, of course, being that you should think for yourself. Obviously, some backsliders like to quote it and/or insist that people act according to its "teachings" if they want to be a "true" Discordian. Obviously bullshit. In fact, this false prophet and his teachings have led countless Discordians astray. They have been led to believe that, to be a discordian, one must act as if one was tripping, even when NOT

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When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro. -Dr. Hunter S. Thompson

under the influence of psychadelic drugs. It has led people to believe that Eris is some demented aspect of Bacchus, where we all focus on having a good time. Poetry, games, inebriation, etc. Sorry, wrong Gawd. Eris is the goddess of DISCORD. Take a minute, and look that word up. I'll wait. Back now? Good, we'll continue. DISCORDianism. The adherence to, and spreading of, DISCORD. Tear the filthy thing down. Smash it, and drive the survivors into the wasteland...and it doesn't really matter what "it" is. We are the adherents of OPPOSITION. We oppose for the sake of opposition itself. We don't take sides, we don't play favorites, and it's a wonder that we are a "we" at all. We are the proxies of entropy, not a fucking coffee house poetry club. We back the wrong horse, in the sheer hope of clogging up the guts of the machine, and it really makes no difference if the "machine" is malevolent or benign... Because, to us, NO organization is "benign". You simply aren't going to gain the favor of the goddess by playing "three word game". She'd rather see you shoving chewing gum in the coin slots of the subway entrance stiles, or simply playing "let's you and him fight". The higher up in an organization that you can cause chaos, the more Eris will shower you with her blessings. Avoid being caught (so you can do it again), and she'll even take them out of the big, heavy can first. So spare me the quotes and the anecdotes from Principia. Forget that old fraud, Malaclypse, because Eris already has. Or kill me.

-THE GOOD REVEREND ROGER

00082

RUN FROM THE SUN

I was fantasizing about eating fried chicken in an inflatable wading pool filled with gravy when I bumped into a man sporting a reverse mohawk. He had thick wiry black hair sprouting all over his head except in a strip down the middle, which was shaved cleanly bald. "Excuse YOU!" he blurted, then noticed the Sacred Chao button on the lapel of my coat (as close as I would allow myself to evangelizing these days since escaping the void) and asked in a harsh whisper: "You are a Keeper of the Sacred Chao?" "You bet your sweet bippy," I responded promptly. "Fuckin SWEET! You're just in time!" "Time for what?" I asked. "In time for the ultimate display of Discord." he winked, and pulled me into a doorway, shoving me up the stairs ahead of him. The stairway was skeletal, and smelled vaguely of piss. There were used roaches scattering the top few wooden stairs, but it seemed like an unwise place to smoke a joint, looking only slightly less combustible than double-knit polyester. He thrust me through to doorway at the top of the steps and a group of people called out HAIL ERIS as we entered, to which my companion replied: "All Hail Discordia." A radio in the small room was playing "Rock The Boat" by The Hues Corporation, and for a few moments I stood staring at the gathering of people while listening to the song, and they looked back at me, none of us saying anything. After a pregnant pause a woman with bright red hair asked: "So, who's this drip?" My companion replied: "He is a fellow keeper of the Sacred Chao. I thought he should be here to witness the Ultimate Display." The group stood up and gathered around me. The man with the reverse mohawk said "I am Sweeney Zod. We are the Runners

We are all Children of Cthulhu -- especially the ones with lots of tentacles.

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I may be hungry, but I sure aint weird. -Captain Beefheart

From The Sun. For years we have been working on the ultimate way to spread discord amongst the robots of the world, and for ages we were lost. Sending out letters and leaving cards on subways had left us disillusioned and depressed. The robots are winning my friend, and we knew it. For ages we wandered without hope and without aim." The red-haired woman who had asked who I was added: "I am called Fire Crotch. We looked for a sign everywhere, some message from the cosmos as to what the ultimate form of Discord should be. Then, one day on the subway Sweeney Zod found a small pamphlet with the answer." "Yes," Sweeney said. "I found a pamphlet which was about the one who would become our prophet." "Ok," I said, still swaying to the tune on the radio. "so, who is your prophet?" "Our prophet is Fucked Boy." "Fucked Boy?" I asked, to ensure I had heard properly. "Fucked Boy." Sweeney Zod confirmed. "As in, a boy who is fucked up?" I tried to clarify. "Precisely." he answered. "Well, I have to hand it to you, I wasn't expecting that. I was thinking Bugs Bunny or Ambush Bug or something like that." Fire Crotch smiled. "Oh, you're one of those 'funny' Discordians, are you?" "I prefer the term 'zany'." I corrected. She just stared back at me, then said: "If you have not heard the story of Fucked Boy then you are certainly far from enlightened. Would you like to hear it?" "What the hell," I said.

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Sweeney took a seat next to something covered in a heavy green army blanket and said: "The pamphlet I found was titled "Fucked Boy: Run From The Sun" and so that is also how my story begins." "Seems fair." I said.

FUCKED BOY: RUN FROM THE SUN This is the sad, or inspiring, tale of a child named Fucked Boy; see it, as you will. He was purchased and raised by an interesting pair named Viva and Tex Von Horkle. Viva was brought up by gypsies-and was said to be one of the kindest children in Europe. Her best friend was Bouchie, a dancing bear. They would spend days on end, going from town to town, panhandling money and just having a great ol time. Until that dreadful day, when animal activists came and took Bouchie away. Viva went into hysterics, it was all around a horrible scene, and it is said that this is when Viva changed, and was said to have lost her faith in god and society. She spent years just staring at a wall, then on a whim came to America. She settled into a small town, where she learned to speak English watching the Walton's, although the family values sickened and fascinated her. n this town there was an annual carnival. Viva feeling lonely and looking for some company, decided to go. At the carnival she caught the eye of a lanky local man, who was known miles around for his amazing ability to hypnotize chickens. Viva was quite smitten by this man, and impressed by his talents. They talked for hours and came to the conclusion that they should get married. Since it was the middle of the night, and Viva wouldnt set foot in a church, they had to go to a local priest who was known for doing late night, unofficial, secret, lesbian weddings. After convincing the priest that Tex was rather feminine lesbian and plying him with cheap hooch he was more than willing to help the kids out, and they were quite happy together. After a few days Viva started hinting about her urge to have a baby. Tex was fine with this idea, he was all for Viva getting pregnant. Viva, however, was shocked by this idea, and let

But, whats in it for M E ?

00085

Which is of thesegoats is different? (Answers on page 87)

I wouldn't recommend sex, drugs and insanity for everyone, but they've always worked for me. -Dr. Hunter S. Thompson

Tex know in no uncertain terms, that this was certainly not going to happen. Her intention had always been to purchase a baby, from the Druzzell family, thought by Viva to be by far the most beautiful family in the county. Although according to sources, the Druzzells lived in a tiny trailer, had nineteen children, and were by no means easy on the eyes. Tex and Viva approached the Druzzells and offered them $12.57 to have this baby. The Druzzells thought this was a fortune, and were overjoyed with the offer. They gave Viva the option to take any child they fancied, but Viva made it perfectly clear she did not want one of the children already born, she wanted a 'fresh' one. This, too, was fine, and they got right on it. Exactly nine months later a lovely 15lbs baby boy was born. Viva was ecstatic that he was beautiful, and was even more impressed with the cone shaped head the forceps had left. She held him up in her arms, "Finally . . . my fucked, fucked boy." she sighed. With that, the boy was named. A few hours after Fucked Boy was born, they gave the money to the Druzzells and left to take the child to his new home. Tex had already to taken Fucked Boy, when Viva broke the news that he would not be coming home to live with them, but would go instead to a different location she had for prepared for him. Fucked Boy's new home would be a furniture storage unit. Tex thought he should find this odd, but he was quickly becoming accustomed to Vidas little quirks. They took Fucked Boy to his new home, got him settled in, and visited him every night. Over the next few years Viva taught Fucked Boy the ways of the world. She told him all about the apocalypse and how only a select few, who god appreciated the most, were spared from the mayhem. She told him how the air outside was toxic and luckily god had sent her the plans to build a special suit, so he could play outside. The anti-toxin suit was beautiful, and consisted of bubble wrap and a fish bowl. Fucked Boy was delighted that god loved him so much, and told Viva this. Viva shushed and consisted of bubble wrap and a fish bowl. Fucked Boy was delighted that god loved him so much, and told Viva this. Viva shushed him, and told how only she could say the word god, so if he ever heard anyone else say this word, he was to run to the nearest brick wall and bash his head against it seven times, which would save him from the wrath of god. Fucked

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Boy was curious as to who he would hear speak the verboten word, since he never saw another person save Tex, but he had learned to never question his mother. Fucked Boy felt so lucky to have such a great mother, he loved the way she would bring him live chickens each night for dinner. Viva told him how only the most special and well behaved children got to kill there own dinners. But most of all he loved the way each night, Viva would tuck him into bed, give him a nice glass of pureed sauerkraut and whisper in his ear "Remember, Fucked Boy: run from the sun." Night was always quality time for Fucked Boy and Viva, sometimes they would talk for hours. Viva would tell him long complicated stories of her life in the old world. It was at this time of night that Viva was at her most knowledgeable, and would tell Fucked Boy all about her close chum god. Fucked Boy wanted to meet god, and was sure they would get along famously - maybe even be kindred spirits. Viva had to break the news that this would never happen. She told him how god was a shy being, that he had low self-esteem, and only came out during the day. That way he could see if you were looking at him, and if you were, he would make you burn for a short while and then implode. Fucked Boy was quite frightened by this and was uncertain if he could still love god. Viva comforted his fears and told him that god was a good man, but reminded him that he should always be god fearing. Fucked Boy was happy with this answer and felt he could go on with life now. She also told him that if he were to ever meet another person spared by god's love he should salute them in the manner god had described long ago: raising a single middle finger out of respect. Fucked Boy's happy, but sheltered life went on day to day in much the same manner. He was certain he couldnt be happier. But, one evening Viva came over and Fucked Boy's life would be changed forever. He greeted his mother as he did every night, they had dinner, and then she put him in his special suit to play outside. While Fucked Boy was enjoying himself outside, Viva was indulging in one of her few delights, an exploding cigar. She did this most nights while Fucked Boy played, but on this night she had carelessly left the cigar in the plastic wrapper. So as she sat back and enjoyed her cigar, she quickly slipped into a coma. Fucked Boy had been playing for a long time, longer than usual, but he wasnt worried, he knew Viva would never forget about him. As he was digging the tunnel to China that Viva had long ago

respect enlightenment, but still gets no The middle goat has found

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bring me the reaper bring me a lawyer ill fight ill take em on you treat me like a killer i aint never hate ya im a soldier on that road -M.I.A.

instructed him to dig, he noticed the sky was turning a different colour, and quickly becoming brighter. This frightened him greatly. He ran to the door to consult Viva, but found she had locked it. Uncertain what to do, he suddenly remembered how Viva had told him that the sky changes colour when god is coming, and then he heard Vivas voice in his head "Remember, Fucked Boy: run from the sun." He then did exactly what Viva had been telling to do for years, he ran. He ran as fast as he could, and saw the sun growing brighter and brighter so he started to close his eyes. He thought if he couldnt see the sun it couldnt hurt him, but then he grew warmer, and was sure he would implode at any moment. He was falling into hysterics, and kept running faster and faster. Finally he opened his eyes, and saw that the sun was completely up, but he had yet to implode. Fucked Boy felt certain he must have been spared because of Vivas close relationship with god. Fucked Boy stopped running and looked around, he was in a place he could have never pictured. There were huge buildings everywhere he looked, and strange metal objects with wheels which rolled back and forth past him; he was amazed. The greatest thing, though, were all the people. He felt as though they were his brothers and sisters, because god also must have spared them. He was confused, though, because not a single one was wearing the special suit that he was wearing, and they all seemed to look at him in a funny way. This didnt bother him for long though, he chalked it up to the tall buildings, they must make these people immune to the toxic air. He shrugged. Fucked Boy started walking toward the metal things, but they all started swerving, and the people controlling were giving him the salute that Viva had told him about. Fucked Boy greatly enjoyed this salute, and also raised his hand toward them and lifted his middle finger. They then started shaking their fists at him- he thought this must be a salute that Viva had never taught him, but he was ever so happy to return the gesture, it made him feel warm at heart. Fucked Boy felt he was getting the hang of the great outdoors, although he was a little worried about getting home. Since he had run with his eyes closed he didnt really know how to get back. Thats when he saw a man handing out papers, and shouting about the apocalypse Fucked Boy thought this man reminded him of Viva and decided to ask him if he knew how to get home. The man didnt

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"Freedom of the press is limited to those who own one." A. J. Liebling

know how to get there, so Fucked Boy started telling the man about his knowledge of the apocalypse, and Vivas close relationship with god. The man then placed his hand on the fish bowl and started foaming at the mouth and rambling about god. Fucked Boy remembered what Viva said and looked around for the nearest brick wall, ran to it, and started to bash his head against it. This was much harder than Fucked Boy thought, due to the fish bowl breaking and making his head bleed profusely. Fucked Boy noticed that he despite the broken glass and droplets of blood, he could breath quite well without the fish bowl, in fact he could breathe slightly better; this made him suspicious. Eventually Fucked Boy became lonely and wanted to go home. He started asking people how to get home; a majority of the people would just look away, and walk faster. The few that would talk to him gave him no information about getting home, instead just kept asking about his special suit. He would explain, and wonder why they knew nothing of what he was talking about. They just kept laughing, and walking away. After a time Fucked Boy began to realize that not everything Viva had taught him was completely true. Fucked boy felt used and wondered why his mother had lied to him; he felt dirty. He thought maybe he should start believing in this new god. He went back to find the strange man who had been foaming at the mouth, and was relieved that he had stopped foaming, that would just make him sad and remind of Viva. He talked to this man for quite a while, until the man asked Fucked Boy if he would like to come live on his bible ranch. Fucked Boy wasnt quite sure about this idea until the man mentioned that they all wore matching purple running shoes, and Fucked boy could be the keeper of the chickens. Fucked Boy was never heard of again, although, there are many rumors about his whereabouts. The most prominent one seems to be, that he spent the rest of his days teaching the word of god, to the chickens on the ranch which he had all named Viva. It is said Viva eventually recovered from the coma, but never

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recovered from the loss of Fucked Boy. People say she still visited the storage unit everyday, and went about her days and nights as though Fucked Boy were still there. People say if you go there at night and listen closely, you can still hear her talking to Fucked Boy. Tex couldnt put up with the marriage anymore, he needed at least as much attention as a potted fern, but Viva, being day by day more obsessed with Fucked Boy, didn't even notice Tex. He eventually left, to became a Mormon, then married into the Druzzell family. The End. "That's it?" I asked. Sweeney Zod nodded sadly. "That," he said. "is it. All we know is that it was written by a woman named Alison." "Well . . . it's something." I responded. Fire Crotch approached me, "So you see what it is we plan to do then?" I thought for a moment. I went over the story again in my mind. "Mmmm, nope." Despite my ignorance Sweeney Zod beamed with delight. "It's fantastic. It's the ultimate form of Discord. What could cause more discord?" "Nothing!" Fire Crotch responded. The rest of the group more or less stood around in the background. "Well, what is it?" I asked, finally. "What are you planning to do?" Fire Crotch grabbed my arm. "I found the next piece of the puzzle. The same day Sweeney found the story about Fucked Boy I had taken LSD and was watching the Late Late Late Late Late Show and what should be showing?" I shrugged. "Plan 9 From Outer Space!" she squealed. "Have you seen it?"

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"One should respect public opinion in so far as it is necessary to avoid starvation and keep out of prison, but anything beyond this is voluntary submission to an unnecessary tyranny." Bertrand Russell

"To make ones own rules is the highest freedom." Martin Heidigger

"A long time ago, yeah." I answered. Sweeney clapped a firm hand on my shoulder. "Then you already know the plan. The story and the movie together should spell it out." They smiled at me, but I chewed on the inside of my lips and stood shifting from foot to foot. The others hanging around offered no help whatsoever. "Uhhhhhhh . . ." I said. "Take over all other planets in the name of Fucked Boy?" Fire Crotchs smile melted. "Where did you find this drip? I thought you said he was a Keeper of the Chao?" Sweeney turned to me and said, "Don't you get it? We're going to destroy the sun! Just like Fucked Boy would have wanted!" I'm pretty sure my expression did not betray exactly how monumentally stupid this idea was. "Destroy the sun?" I asked. "How?" Fire Crotch answered, "I got the idea when watching Plan 9, the concept in the movie is that the aliens are fearing that we could create a bomb which could cause a chain reaction destroying all molecules of light in contact with each other. We begin to destroy them here, it follows the chain back to the source, and POOF the sun is gone." "But . . . why?" I asked. "Because it's what Fucked Boy would want!" she cried. "AND," said Sweeney Zod. "Because it would be the ultimate display of Discord." "But, the world would be gone too." I said. "Who cares?" Sweeney giggled. "What's the world ever done for me?" He yanked the green blanket off the contraption next to him and revealed what appeared to be a large, old fashioned vacuum cleaner.
I Cant stand page 47 . . .

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"What is it?" I asked. "It's a large, old fashioned vacuum cleaner." he said. "Modified, of course." "Heavily modified, to be exact." Fire Crotch added. "I would imagine so." I said. "I hate to be a Greyface, but would it be wrong for me to object to this? To be perfectly honest I've been growing kind of attached to the planet the longer I live here. It's something of a codependent relationship, I admit, but all the same . . . " "Don't be such a sheep!" she called. "Think for yourself once in your life." "I am, actually. I simply don't wish to be destroyed along with the sun. Although I have to admit now that I've seen the device you plan to use to destroy the sun I'm not quite as nervous as I was before . . . it looks like a bit of a jalopy." "Oh, it works." Sweeney Zod said. "How would you know?" I asked. "What do you mean how would I know? I built it, didn't I? I think I would know if it worked or not." "Well, have you tested it?" Fire Crotch laughed once, and jerked her thumb toward the window. "Does it look like we've tested it yet?" "That's my point. If you haven't tested it, how do you know it works?" Sweeney said, "My plans are foolproof. All the wiring is extremely exact, the coils were placed in by me, one by one, and the mercury retroscope is in perfect working order. All I have to do is push this red button, like so, anTruly great madness cannot be achieved without significant intelligence. -Henrik Tikkanen

00092

I don't believe in reason, objective reality or collective farming. -King Missile

As Sweeney Zod pressed the red button, molecules of light began to disintegrate and everything nearby exploded in a spectacular chain-reaction, blowing Baron von Hoopla straight out of the story he was in, and back to page thirty-one.

-BARON VON HOOPLA

MODERN SISYPHUS
One night Quiche invited four friends over for some drinks and smoking. She invited Tab Matsui, who always worried about people and her boyfriend Don Mosher who was always worried about animals. She also invited Carmonita Scarfoni, who was always worried about life, and Toni Carboni, who was always worried about death. Drinks were poured, spliffs were lit, and conversation ensued. Tab never took spliffs overly well and soon began to worry about the people who were being afflicted by natural disasters. "There's nothing you can do to prevent something like that," she said, and began to weep. Don, her boyfriend, said "Think about the animals though, they truly have no idea what is happening. It must all be a mystery to them. Just like everything to us" "What's a mystery?" Quiche asked. Carmonita said, "Life is a mystery. How can we know what the point is?" Toni said, "You can't know the point until you've died. it's too profound." Quiche began to giggle. Don 00093

Cogito cogito ergo cogito sum: I think I think, therefore I think I am. -Ambrose Bierce

turned to her, his drink splashing on the tabletop. "How can you laugh, Quiche? Terrible things happen all the time. What's so funny?" Quiche spoke through a bouquet of laughter: "Everything." Tab asked: "You think it's funny that we don't know the meaning of life?" Quiche answered, "No." "Well then, what's so funny?" Don asked. Quiche turned to him. She smiled. "I find it funny that you all believe there is a meaning to the universe. There isn't." Carmonita sat forward. "How can you dare to say that? If there isn't a meaning then there is no point in living!" Quiche asked, "No?" and began to giggle again. Toni sat very quietly, and finally said "Quiche is right. There is no point. If you think about it, it's perfectly obvious. There is no meaning to life." Tab began to weep again. "Well then what are we living for?" Don answered: "Nothing." Carmonita's face lit up. "We should kill ourselves!" Toni turned to Carmonita. "Yes, you're right. It's the only logical response to an illogical universe." As the four prepared to kill themselves Don noticed Quiche

00094

was lighting up another joint. "What are you doing, Quiche? Aren't you going to kill yourself with us?" Quiche laughed again. "No, i have no intention of killing myself." Tab asked, "But why? It was you that made us realize the universe has no point." Quiche shrugged. "So?" was all she replied. Don turned away from Quiche. "Forget her, she's just afraid. Come on, let's get on with it, I can't stand this world another second." He, and the other three killed themselves, and fell back away from the table. Their feet stuck up in the smoky air. Quiche sat back, gathered their weed with hers, took another haul on the spliff, and said "This is the life . . ."

-BARON VON HOOPLA

The two most common elements in the universe are hydrogen and stupidity.
-Harlan Ellison

Yup.

00095

!?

The answers to everything?

you are free!

ERIS

A little madness now and then is relished by the wisest men. -Roald Dahl

I REGRET NOTHING!

00096

Every year on September the 9th the god of excess and righteous partying, Dionysus rose from the dead and threw a swinging bash, held on the peak of Mount Olympus; all of the the gods were invited, from the biggies like Aegis-bearing Zeus, down to the lower level monster gods, like Phorcys, all except for one: Eris, called Strife, goddess of Chaos, Confusion, Comedy and doo-wop tunes. Dionysus, already completely smashed, climbed onto a tabletop and attempted to quiet the rowdy, drunken, and stoned gods so that he could welcome them all, for the twentythird time. My brothers and sisters, he called out. Fathers and mothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, lovers and fighters, listen to me for just a fucking second before you go back to your pipes and beer-bongs . . . C mmn shit on m face ya big hunka fssszzl mfffllllllllllssssssss- Pallas Athene said, standing suddenly, and then melting back onto the bench she had been sitting on. The gods and goddesses erupted in boisterous laughter. Did she ask me to shit on her face? Dionysus asked. It doesn t matter, I would have, anyway, by the end of the night . . . my glorious friends, I am so happy to be with you all again, and see all of your beautiful faces . . . and beautiful asses, and, and- well, anyway, I want to thank every god and goddess for showing up tonightA bold female voice sounded suddenly throughout the room. NOT EVERY GODDESS WAS INVITED, BUT ALL ARE PRESENT AND ACCOUNTED FOR . . . NOW. All the heads swung around, some more slowly than others, and wearily looked at the stunningly tall and beautiful goddess standing in the doorway, wrapped in golden robes. Eh . . . Eh . . . Eh . . . Dionysus stammered. ERIS, the goddess of Chaos finished. Dionysus moved down from the table top, and approached the goddess. I meant to invite you, Eris, you know we re tight, you and me . . . it s just that the others . . . they, uh, they get worried about the trouble you cause. PAY IT NO MIND, DIONYSUS, I HOLD NO MALICE FOR YOU, OR FOR ANY OF YOU . . . IT IS TO BE EXPECTED. BUT, I BRING YOU A GIFT, AS A TOKEN OF GOODWILL. Eris held out a long plant with a stem which had five sides, surrounded by five green sepals, and bell shaped flowers hung from it. THIS IS BELLADONNA, ALSO KNOWN AS THE LOVE APPLE . . . ADD SOME OF THIS TO YOUR WINE FOR A REAL KICK, TEQUILA HAS NOTHING ON THIS. Dionysus took the belladonna from her, looked down at it, and said Thank you, Eris, that s very big of you. Would you care to stay? NO, I MUST BE GOING . . . CAPTAIN BEEFHEART IS SUPPOSED TO BE PLAYING AT THE MONTEREY POP FESTIVAL, I HAVE TO GO SLIP HIM SOME ACID TO FUCK IT UP . . . IF HE PLAYS THERE HE'LL BECOME HUGE AND LOSE ALL HIS CULT CRED. TA TA . . . And, with that she was gone. Dionysus turned and looked at the all the faces around him, quadrupled visually by the chemicals flowing through his white god blood. Should we? he asked.

00097

BOOK FIVE

Aegis-bearing Zeus stood, wobbly, and said: Gimme that fucking plant with all speed . . . no mere flower frightens the king of all gods, no matter what the effect. Then snatched the belladonna from Dionysus grip, crushed them up barehanded, and sprinkled the remains into a large decanter of wine. The wine was passed around, and all of the gods took a goblet full, even Pallas Athene, who was looking a rather unattractive shade of chartreuse. After a few minutes Apollo said, Oohh, I m FeeLinG iT . . . and began to run his fingers through his gossamer hair. White-armed Hera sat forward and said I dOn T FeeL AnytHiNG! while twisting her lip around between her fingers. Aegis-bearing Zeus stood, and placed his fingers to his temples. Do yOu FeEL thAt? he asked the assembled gods and goddesses. Do yOu See ThAT? dO You hEAr tHat? All the divine beings quieted down, and listened, and looked, and felt . . . and just as Hera repeated I DOn T FeEL ANyThiNG! all of them began to share a single hallucination. In the hallucination they saw the world, and the world was perfectly quiet . . . the view zoomed in closer and they could see Athens and Sparta, the buildings, the trees, the animals . . . but it was all so quiet. WhERe iS eveRYoNe? Aphrodite asked. WHy Is iT sO QuiET? asked Hephaestus. I dOn T FeeL ANYTHiNG! cried Hera. Then, they did see people, walking glumly here and there, chatting mundanely about the weather, which was always good. They saw more and more people, until the humans were walking shoulder to shoulder, all with blank expressionless eyes. They saw children picking up toys of horses, and then tossing them over cliffs into the sea, watching them as they washed away. They saw people who simply stared at a single spot for hours and hours until falling asleep. WHat IS tHiS? cried Demeter. IT s aWFul! Pallas Athene called out then, and sounded much more like her usual self: DoN t ANy oF YOu sEE? aRE yoU aLL so BliND? IT is A vISion oF a WoRLd WIthouT StrIFE. THe poPUlaTionS aRE grOWinG ToO LArge aNd pEOPle Are BecOMinG jaDeD . . . ArE tHEre nO PoeTS, oR musICIans? asked Apollo. Athena turned to him, saying, WHat woULd thEY teLL ABout? WHat woULd thEY sInG ABout? HoW PInk tHIs fLowEr iS cOMparEd to THat? iT is A woRLD oF TEDiuM . . . LiFE haS no MeanINg fOr tHEm . . . THeY haVE no LowS tO coMParE to tHe hIGhs . . . iT IS maDNess Dionysus looked at Athena, and then at Zeus. WE weRe foolS. he said, simply, and quietly. WE trEAted OUr siSTEr Eris LiKE an OUtCast . . . liKe heR CONtributIONs WErE WorTHlEss . . . WHen REallY . . . . . . THey MEan EVeryTHinG. Athena finished. MOraLiTy, HAppINess, BEAutY, ArT . . . All aRe basEd oN STrife. White-armed Hera looked at all of the other gods and goddesses while they pondered this, and after a pause said: I dOn T FeeL ANYTHiNG. High above the temple of Dionysus, Eris chuckled to herself, and floated up high high high into the sky.

00098

SERMON #9: THERE ARE NO BARS OR CAGES

"It is a great shock to discover that, in a world of Gary Coopers, you are the Indian." -James Baldwin "I have the horror of death with the still greater horror of living." -Oscar Wilde (In reading gaol (prison), March 10, 1896) "Monkey wants the food pellet, monkey pushes the button." -The Good Reverend Roger, during a vicious drunk, 2003 Brothers and Sisters, sinners and mutants, freaks and walking glitches, I bid you a good evening. This evening, we are gonna talk about prisons. Now, there are a few different kinds of prisons...there is The Big House, The Prison of Toil, and the Prison of Your Frickin' Head. The Big House, as we all know, is the prison they send you to when you get caught breaking one of their rules (Which, as Kafka noted, you can't help doing. The rules are so complex, you WILL break them, every day). We aren't gonna talk too much about this type of prison, because you can see that on any network, though not so much now as the last couple of years...save for this: All of those prison TV shows, "Inside reports", "OZ", "The Big House", ad infinitum, ad nauseum, are there for a reason. The lesson they impart, my friends, is this: If you get out of line, we'll put you in a cell with people like THESE! The Prison of Toil, however, is a prison they put you into starting at age 5. You are placed in an unnatural state for a juvenile primate; you are forced to wear clothes, sit in an uncomfortable position, and stay still for HOURS while they teach ya the proper art of the Fnord. You are told that you must excel, so you can go to college, where presumably, the Fnords can't get you. Once you get to college, however, you are told that you must continue to

I think you had better start lining your hat with tinfoil.

00099

"There is in every madman a misunderstood genius whose idea, shining in his head, frightened people, and for whom delirium was the only solution to the strangulation that life had prepared for him" -Antonin Artaud

toil, so that you can get a good job...you STILL aren't safe from the Fnords. Then, one day, you graduate to the supposed "real world", where you are told that you must now work hard for your parole at 65...becaus if you don't the Fnords will make you eat dog-food in your retirement...WHAT A SUPRISE! The Fnords don't eat children, they eat senior citizens. They lied AGAIN! The problem is, even if you DO follow their advice, you are still screwed. By the time you are paroled, you are too old to enjoy it, and just like real prison, most inmates don't LIVE long enough to GET parole. What can you do about this? How can you escape THIS prison, which has no bars (though many inmates DO have cells, or cubes as we call them)? Well first, you have to escape the REAL prison, The Prison of Your Frickin' Head. The Prison of Your Frickin' Head is the worst jail of all...As G.G. Gordon once said, "Where can you run, where can you hide, when the man in blue is on the INSIDE?" This is the prison from which very few people get out alive. There is NO parole, and you will spend all the days of your life inside it, should you not escape. This is the prison built for you by those around you, wih your willing help. It is done in the following fashion: 1. You are convinced by society that you are not good enough, and that all of your accomplishments so far have been GOOD LUCK. You will be found out for (as RAW said) the "no good shit" you are. The only escape from this is ego-training, or stupidity. Most talented people think, deep down inside, that they are frauds. Most utter fools consider themselves gawd-like. Go figure. 2. You are told by society that they are watching. Just who they are is never made clear; but it IS made clear that they had better not catch you in any funny business, or you are screwed. (Of course, they are the Fnords) 3. You are taught to "fit in", one way or the other. Either you fit in to the mold the establishment sets up for you, or you rebel...and most rebels tend to fit into one group or another (Goth, Punker, New-age bliss zombie, Discordian, Subgenius, etc)...and if you aren't careful you fall into the conformity of non-conformists. If you don't dress a certain way, or mouth the correct ritual sayings,

00100

you are obviously a "normal" or a "grayface"...Despite the fact that the weirdest freaks, the truest Yeti, usually BLEND RIGHT IN! So what do we do about it? How do we escape? We escape SYSTEMATICALLY. You don't saw each bar a little at a time, you whack each bar out, methodically...thus:

As the Euclideans would have it, irrationality is the square root of all evil.

1. For the ingrained failure complex, use ego-training. Not that "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough" affirmation shyt, either. No, you are superior. This is proven by the fact that you even noticed the cage in your head at all! When you look in the mirror, don't THINK there are no flaws, KNOW there are no flaws. When you screw up, screw up catastophically! ROLL IN YOUR MISTAKES! WALLOW IN THEM, AND LEARN FROM THEM. Most "normals" will start wars to avoid admitting they made a mistake. Don't fall into that trap. When you are no longer afraid of mistakes, you will make less of them, and you WON'T CARE about the ones you still DO make. 2. There is no they. You've been lied to, all these years. THERE ARE NO FNORDS! There never have been. The cage is only in your head, there is no warden, and we are all free, should we realize it. It's all a collosal LIE. Now, most people are afraid of freedom. They might make a mistake...for that, see #1. As far as getting caught and going to The Big House, well, if you can't outwit the morons who run the system, then you aren't much of a Yeti after all, are you? LIE to them, SMILE in their face, and KEEP YOUR BOBDAMNED MOUTH SHUT AFTER PRANKS! He who kicks society in the crotch and shuts his mouth, usually lives to kick it again tomorrow. 3. Don't worry about fitting in. Just because you LIKE to dress like a Goth, for example, doesn't make you a conformist...provided that's REALLY why you do it (as opposed to seeking acceptance from Goths). If you say to yourself, "Is my image perfect today", you are probably screwing up. If you say, "Cool" when you look in the mirror, you're probably ok...the best rule is, if you are BEING YOURSELF, don't sweat it. Or kill me.

-THE GOOD REVEREND ROGER

00101

THE SACRED BULL

As Enrico stepped off tuna boat onto fine soil of this country he was immediately molested by a strange man in a rumpled suit with crazed eyes. Normally this would not bother Enrico at all, on the contrary, he advertises for it . . . but this man wasn't interested in Enrico's crotch at all, he was only interested in talking religion and philosophy. He asked Enrico, "Do you believe there is such thing as a true religion?" Enrico snorted and replied "Isn't pornography the religion in this country?" He told Enrico that it was not, which saddened Enrico for a few moments, it was after all why Enrico had come to this country in the first place. Immediately his visions of becoming a pope of porn melted away . . . he would have to find other ways to get people to accept his 'host', he relized. He was only sad for a moment, of course, because Enrico rarely has to do much persuading, being the virile testicle squid he is. The man pulled a medalion from under his shirt and waved it before Enrico's eyes. Enrico, in turn pulled seventeen medalions from under his shirt and waved them around too, thinking 'what strange customs these beautiful faggots have', but was distracted from his inner monologue by the man saying "This is called the Sacred Cow."

?
? ?

?? ? ?

?
?

?
?

00102

Time is a great teacher, but it kills all its pupils.

"Sacred Cow?" Enrico asked, then added: "In Enrico's homeland that is Beatrice Arthur." "No no," the man said. "Cow! See Ayche Aye Oh. Cow. It is the singular version of Chaos." "Chaos." repeated Enrico. "Yes," the man said. "Chaos is the natural state of the universe. Aspects of chaos are order and disorder. Both are natural, so do not shun the disorder as false, it is true." "You speak bullshit," Enrico laughed. "Enrico likes that." "This is not bullshit. This is truth that will set you free." "No." said Enrico. "Is bullshit. But, bullshit is important." The man's eyes widened in amazement. "Bullshit? Important? Why?" Enrico was surprised that the concept of Bull hadn't been taught to this man. What else was going to be different in this country? "Bullshit is very important." Enrico told the man. "Bullshit should be spread far and wide. Always spread bullshit wherever you go." "Why?" asked the man. "Is simple. If you speak to someone and tell them truth you have made them think nothing, is true?"

00103

"No, they think about what you said." "How many peoples do you know?" Enrico asked. "Most peoples, they are not completely right in the head. Most peoples accept your information like a baby goat accepts your root. If you give them bullshit, though, the person will later find out about it, become angry, but then they will need to go look up the information themselves. They will need to use their own head gravy, instead of relying on other peoples to do their thinking for them . . . in this way bullshit is very very important. So spread bullshit everywhere, my fine friendly faggot." Enrico was about to leave when the man called out to him "But what if they never find out that the information is bullshit?" Enrico turned back to the man. He shrugged. "Fuck em. If they are that stupid they deserve to stay that way." And that is how Enrico taught the silly Discordian about the Sacred Bull.

ENRICO SALAZAR

O MonstRO !

Peoples are full of dumb. -Generalissimo Enrico Ritzibottom Salazar

00104

Cthulhu Saves!
(He might get hungry later.)

THE TRUTH, THE LIE

In the beginning, there was Truth. It was not good because there was nothing else to compare Truth with. Then came life. It was also True but it was not good because everything was True. Then civilization showed us the necessity of un-Truth. Thus was allowed Truth to be raped and now we're the bastard princes of the Earth. Thanks a lot, asshole.

NOT SO EARLY MORNING

Not so early morn You can see just as many happy faces as you can see twenty-three. ...that fake-marble-tile floor that they somehow spread on like putty: that's where faces of multicoloured specks, mostly pirates, sailors and the usual bearded lot... encourage me to think more about intuition and the power of positive thinking, which perhaps are the results of the mind organizing . Organization = comfort roles = rules understanding = confidence Are humans always trying to organize?...do hunters and gatherers have to organize as we urban devils have to organize?.... life's got a lot going on and you better know what the hell that going on comprises itself of. You have to know where things are, where things are going to be or at least have an idea of where something might be, eventually. Lost? Me too.

-DAVE WESTGARTH
00105

THE TROOF ABOUT DISCORDIANS

The Troof about Discordians is very hard for many people to take. Mainly because many of them are idiots from the land of Thud, who spew the same shit out of their mouth as they do out of their asses. Fluffy bunnies detest Discordians. We deserve it of course, there's nothing quite as fun as dismantling the weak-minded world view of a bunch of new-age neohippies who think that they can free the world by thinking thoughts of love and light (and of course by buying all the stones, tarot cards, and various other magical accoutrement's possible, not to mention all the Silver RavenWolf books that can be easily bought at Barnes and Noble). A note to Fluffy Bunnies, you will never free anyone by giving in. So, here is what you should never expect from a Discordian (of course, many of them will give it to you anyway, just to see what happens): 1 - Sympathy. We know you've caused most of your own problems. Get a life that involves something other then bitching and moaning to us. Of course, there are some people that have REAL problems, and most of us feel sorry for kids with Downs Syndrome. Well, maybe on some level of which we are not aware. 2 - Manners. Many of us think many of the niceties that society has set down are laughable. Most of us have basic manners, and won't shit on your chest (unless you make us angry...or ask us nicely). But really, if you look bad (and don't have something we happen to be sympathetic towards) we will probably tell you. Partly because it will be fun. Partly because many of us feel that honesty is the best policy (but only while everyone else is lying). 3 - Agreeability. This sort of ties in to Manners up above. Just because all of your stupid little friends think that your ideas are great, does not mean that we will, do, or have to. If it looks like a pile of shit, and smells like a pile of shit, I will tell you that it's a

00106

Anarchy -- it's not the law, it's just a good idea.

pile of shit. We don't care if we hurt your feelings (unless of course you happen to be in the loophole of #1). Sometimes we agree just to see how absurdly far you will take it, because it is fun for us. But, please remember, we are all very lazy (the SubGenii have inserted mind probes into all of us...) and you're probably not worth the effort. 4 - Work. We do what we want to do when we want to do it. (unless of course it falls under the important previsions of #1 and #2). You are probably not worth the amount of effort it would take to get a result. If you happen to be smart enough, you can probably get us to do something by suggesting that it's close enough to what we're doing anyway. Most of you are not that smart, so give up now. 5 - Love & Light. Just because we happen to be close to being Pagan does not mean we are happy little Wiccans parading about in our ritual robes and cool velvet cloaks (although, I have been meaning to buy myself a cloak, because attending rituals in the cold desert night air makes my nipples hard). The whole Pagan thing is coincidence anyway. Eris was around long before the Greeks got ahold of her very pleasant bosom and convinced her to join up with them. She probably did it because it felt like a good opportunity for a mindfuck. Being the Goddess that she is, she was right of course, and it continues to be a mindfuck. And now, here are some things you should probably expect from a Discordian (although these rules are much harder to pin down, and are subject to more exceptions then the first list): 1 - Attitude. We didn't get to where we are today (nowhere) by being pussywhiped. If you meet a timid Discordian he's probably lying. Don't worry, he'll show his true stripes soon enough (or, because he can cut the butter, he'll avoid anyone who would tell him he's pussywhiped). 2 - Rebel-ness. Some of us just want to change ourselves. Some of us want to change the world. There are support groups for this. Sometimes they are call prison ass-rapings. Sometimes they are called mandated therapy. Sometimes they are called police brutality. It's okay, we like it that way. Just remember, if you get

00107

"Emancipate yourself from mental slavery . . ." Bob Marley

Its not who you are that matters, its who you think you are that counts. -Andy Warhol

in our way we will use the chainsaw on your head. Most of us have special clothes we wear for when blood splatters. And besides, you'll be useful in She Who Eats Souls's zombie army. 3 - Eccentricity. We don't care what other people think. Yes, we are strange. Yes, most of the rumors are true (although the Gorilla claimed she didn't know sign language, the story got out anyway). Yes, our sense of humor is a bit...off color. We do it because it's fun. And, because it creeps you out. 4 - Humor. We want to have fun. Much of the time we don't care if it's at your expense. 5 - A Smile. It's probably because we're up to something. Or, because we got laid last night. Or, because we just farted. You should probably watch out if one of us is smiling. No, really, I mean it.

-ZURTOK KHAN

THINK FOR YOURSELF, SCHMUCK!

...it's your own trip so be my guest but please be advised that there is a warnign on that one... -soem guy during woodstock. allegedly. ...buy the ticket, take the trip... -hst, on soemthing i forget. So you've read the principia discordia and immidiately dismissed it as bullshit. you're hating on everyone who calls themselves a discordian or hangs out at discordian websites, encluding yoruself, because you hate hypocrites and you hate yourself. or because you suck at life mroe than you suck at whatever it is

00108

We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be. -Kurt Vonnegut

you're currently deluding yoruself into beleiving your good at. or whatever. if you're not on what 'm on a bout don't worry, neither am i. nevertheless, you've missed the mso timportant truth of th eprincipia discordia, which will not be revealed here. you'll have to find that one yoruself. easy for you to say! you don't REALLY know. there probaly is no secret! it's all busllhit! maybe, but mayb eit didn't make you giggle the first read through, or tantalize the ol thinking processes jsut a bit. maybe it didn't start a slow but cascading, and eventually catalcysmic reaction inyour brain chemeistry that eventually resulted in being liek an arrow shto straigh tto hell. that's a metaphysical metaphor btw, for teh direction one's life is sent when one starts opening one's eyes and lookign about. invariably, the variables will completely fuckign confuse you. mr mother fuckign mammamoto's nose? who teh fuck cares who ate it? his brother mr momamotoa te it? no correction, it was in fact mr. mamamoto who ate his own nose. or was it hsi brothers? and you drink coffeee for teh temperature and the sweetness of the sugar adn ceam, not the flavour. obviously. even if cold coffee is disgusting, frapacino's aside, consider that that damned pink bopok that you hide everytime someone comes over, (or possibly have long ago hidden or destroyed, preferably shat upon then burnt) did tickle your head just a bit. maybe you still consider what hte answer may b eto the mathematical propostition forwarded in one aspect of the book which i do not care to reference by page number nor by paragraph title, if one should exist. consider that for all teh half truths, and lies, outright, obsecene and admitted to underneath, but in juxtapostion (maybe, i forget- fuck it) to the allegedy lie blasphemy or urgings to porcreate your own species or that of otheer species, was not only a gag, but a badly planned shit disturber for th efrotnal lobe of that lovely sub molecular machine encased in that thick skull fo yours. i don't know i fi'm coming clsoe here or not, but let's say i've

00109

All suspects are innocent until proven Discordian in a Court of Chaos.

repealed the law that bind men and women together and keep tehm apart for the moment, and then sell the word limit into human slavery. consider that we are not only not free, but we are each destined, fated even to ahve to make teh choices we make, lament tha this is not how it's sposed top be and curse free choice. this is teh predestination we are dmaned with. this is yoru mother speaking. you see we are not anymore alive than a car or a motehrfucking toaster is alive. we are machines. you coudl say we are the cadilac, the mercedes benz of real ultimate power, the ultimate species which controls all of us robots, the genome. if you obey justice, move zig -katz this monster of a motherfucker is so unliek and alien to understanding in terms of thinking, reporducing , and doing whatever it is that they/it/she/he yo momma! does, that you will undoubtedly have better luck proving the existence of wmd's in iraq, that aliens control teh jewish nazi bankers which paid the republican party to crash that plane into the wtc on september eleventh whatever the fuck year it was, and the existence of god and his or her or whaetver gender specification yor prefer and the damn things direct interevention into our lives on a daily basis, including the horror that is touched by an angel (WEEEEEOOOOOOO!!!!) so if i may digress, and get abck to teh matter before us, we are here, wherever we may be temporally, we aare here in this place, these forums, digitally, how we came here? probaly looking for someone to talk abotu this damend book, teh principia discordia. alot of us by now have realized that there's not much to it, and have added. some of us have felt slieghted by this inanimate object, bound in pink or yellow, and have sought to tear it down. others, simply come fo rthe cookies and pie. who are we to judge or strike them down? talk about jesus christ as if you know the reasons why, and he did it all for you... - perfect circle you see if jesus did come up in this motehrfucker, hed be like i

00110

"Liberty means responsibility. That is why most men dread it." George Bernard Shaw

forgive you, and then he'd use hsi uber powers of wrathfulness to turn us into dust, for the bible tells me so. either way, no one gets otu of here alive. so greet death smiling, and blow that ol whore a kiss. she's only doing her job like 9 out of every ten cops on the beat. get over it. we're all hurtlnig through space on this motehrfucking rock tryign to figure out double yoo tee eff is goign on, how to get ahead, for ebtter or worse, at our own expense or others. this is the tao, there's no getting around it, no confinining it further than the confinement already imposed by the soup we swim through daily, and the time we're condemend to serve here, by our jailor, the universe. damanable as it mayu be, wether you beelive in i tor not, it is the way it is, adn that' sjst how it is. bitch and whine, it doesnt' give a damn, not because it's cruel, or mena, but because it simply is what it is. "The most thoroughly and relentlessly Damned, banned, excluded, condemned, forbidden, ostracized, ignore, suppressed, repressed, robbed, brutalized and defamed of all Damned Things is the individual human being. The social engineers, statistician, psychologist, sociologists, market researchers, landlords, bureaucrats, captains of industry, bankers, governors, commissars, kings and presidents are perpetually forcing this Damned Thing into carefully prepared blueprints and perpetually irritated that the Damned Thing will not fit into the slot assigned it. The theologians call it a sinner and try to reform it. The governor calls it a criminal and tries to punish it. the psychologist calls it a neurotic and tries to cure it. Still, the Damned Thing will not fit into their slots. -robert anton wilson writing as hagbard celine in the illuminatus trilogy. there is no maybe anywhere.

-HORAB FIBSLAGER

00111

Dear Muddy,

BoomTime, 52 Chaos, YOLD 3172

Cheer up, Muddy, remember that life is short. Life is often brutal and depressing, have fun while you're able. Smile, laugh, giggle, even guffaw when you can. Muddy, you and I both know that there were times when you had fun, I've even seen you attempt to roller-skate. Granted, that was during the Carter Administration, but still, the joie de vivre was in your blood then and can't truly be snuffed out, once ignited. I'd give my Aunt Jodie's wooden left leg to see you jitterbugging all over the rink again, with a pillow tied to your fanny. Muddy, what's wrong with walking in the rain? The term 'acid rain' is mostly poetic anyway, nobody I know curled up and died from letting some drops fall on their tongue. Do you think you're made from sugar? I used to think so, but now I'm not so sure . . . care to prove to me you are? Don't work so hard, Muddy, the work will always be there. Like what people say about making the bed, it just gets messed up again anyway. Remember that work is for money, and that money is for fun, so in the end work is just a means to an end. Muddy, why do you reject the amusement park? Don't you realize those wonderful places are the earthly temples of Eris? They are a veritable diorama of our entire planet, metaphorically showing us what the world can be, if we want it to be. Yes, the rides sometimes derail, and yes, nasty people sometimes abduct kiddies, but you can't focus on the bad, or that's all you will see. Think about the fun-house, and the corn dogs, the popcorn, the roller-coaster, and the Fat Lady, my lord, don't ever forget the Fat Lady. When she cries, Muddy, she cries for you . . . but when she sings, she sings for the world. Why don't you sing, Muddy? Are you afraid your pipes have rusted up over the years? Well, I'm a plumber, Muddy, and I can help rattle those pipes if you will only allow yourself to loosen the foundations. When I sing I can feel it all the way down to my disco-dancing toes, and it seems to bring an electric charge to every atom in this prison I call my body, you don't think you could use that kind of boost? While I'm on the topic, why don't you dance Muddy? I've even seen dogs and cats tango together under a grapefruit moon, do you think you're better than them? Why don't you join us, Muddy, we love you. We want you to look back at the end and say that you lived every day to it's fullest. Will you really care when you are on your way out whether you were always calm, cool and collected, or will you just care that you lived? Muddy, remember what my friend Sally once said: "What good is sitting all alone in your room? Come hear the music play . . . life is a cabaret, old chum. Come to the cabaret." your loving chum, -BVH

00112

23 STEPS TO A HAPPIER YOU 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 1 0 1 1 1 2

Wake then bake. Wash, rinse, repeat. Wearing muumuu's brings you closer to Mummu. Be gay & merry. Not literally homo gay, unless that's your bag, in which case be homo gay. Cd's and mp3's may sound cleaner, but vinyl has S-O-U-L. Once a year everyone should go camping. Become one with nature and one with a bottle(s) of beer. Take note: pigeons are robots. Watch what you say. Pigeons can't be the only robots. Ponder that. Who deserves gifts more than you? Find a bog. Visit the bog.

The giraffe is proof that mother nature has a sense of humor. No? Well then, what about the duck-billed Platypus? Dude - it's poisonous. Booya! If everyone in the world took ecstasy today, war would end tomorrow. BUT imagine the crash the day after that. Xylophones and marimbas are highly under used, and under appreciated.

00113

1 3 1 4 1 5 1 6 1 7 1 8 1 9 2 0 2 1 2 2 2 3

Macrame plant-holders bring peace. Why should socks be only black or white? Neck poking is fun. Nobody expects it, and it gets quit a reaction. Wet willies are juvenile; neck poking is the way of the future. Why not make your world corduroy? Never socialize with any chump with the initials K.K. If you wear ponchos, stop. If you don't wear ponchos, start. Whatever you are currently doing is wrong. It's called picking up a book bozo. Expanding your mind doesn't start tomorrow. All bamboo furniture should be burned. Mmmm . . . roasted marshmallows. Every well-rounded person should be able to twist a balloon doggie. Statistically, there is a possibility that a single trampoline jump could take you all the way to the moon. 2+3=6

-JOOLS McMILLAN
Deep in the heart of me is you. -Patti Smith

00114

REJOICE!
REJOICE! You are the persecuted ones. You will never be accepted. You will never be initiated with the rites of power. You will never be permitted into the caste of the ruling classes. You will be persecuted until the ends of time.

REJOICE! Unlike the Christian Church, which rose from persecuted to persecutor, you will never be empowered, never be authorized, never be in charge. You are persecuted. You will always be persecuted. You will be branded heretic. You will be denounced from the pulpit and the television screen. You will be scrutinized by civilization and found lacking in virtue. You will be swept up with the devil's debris.

You mean you need drugs to hallucinate?

00115

REJOICE! Unlike Al-Qaeda, which rose from obscurity to celebrity, you will never be considered, never be feared, never suffer from delusions of grandeur.
Q: How many tentacles has Great Cthulhu got? A: Too many.

You are in the minority. You will always be in the minority. You will be passed over, discarded, downsized, disposed, and trashed. You will be dismissed as an irrelevancy. No one will come to your aid. You are alone.

REJOICE! Unlike everyone else, who rises from proletarian to consumerist machine, you will never be programmed, never be brainwashed, never be owned. For you swim against the stream, you are strong. You are the lone voice in a materialistic wilderness. You are the crazed prophet. You are the voice of irrationality in a world of brutalizing sanity. You are the pavement cracks. You are the lost stuff of history. You are not of what they are. And for that you will be unmercifully hounded like the rats of the black plague.

00116

REJOICE! Take comfort. For you are the persecuted ones.

-GNIMBLEY
Not by wrath, but by laughter, do we slay. - Nietzsche

DISCORDIAN STROGANOFF
1-2 lb. grass-fed round steak (cut in cubes or strips) 2 T olive oil 2 T butter 1/2 C diced onions 1-2 garlic cloves 1/2 lb. fresh mushrooms 1 can cream of chicken soup 1 can cream of mushroom soup 1 T soy sauce 1 T Worcestershire sauce 1 C sour cream 8 oz. wide egg noodles Melt oil and butter in pan. Add beef to pan. When beef is browned, remove it from the pan. Add onions, garlic, mushrooms and saut until onions are glazed and clear. Add soups, soy sauce, Worcestershire sauce while stirring to combine. Add sour cream and stir. Add browned beef. Baked covered in 275 degree oven 2-3 hrs. or cook in crock pot on low. Serve over wide cooked egg noodles.

What makes this recipe Discordian? Attitude .

00117

You heard the voice. And the struggle inside intensified.

FRIDAY
FREE FOOD MUSIC PTERODACTYLS RINZAI BUDDHISM REALITY LEAKAGE

SATURDAY
MIND BLOWING TRUTH GAMES / LIFE PICTURES OF CATS BOOTHS! ANGINA

SUNDAY
APOCALYPTIC CONTESTS SPAGS ESCHERIAN REVELATIONS FAKE POSTERS TRANSFORMATIONS FIVE TONS OF FLAX

Those who seek should not stop seeking until they find. When they find, they will be disturbed.

the party at limbo peak

N e w iter atio n s o f th e Dis c o r dia n fr ac ta l

ET CETERA DISCORDIA

Several animals were eaten during the making of this book. They were delicious.

KOPYLEFT PAGE
After you read this book, it will be in your head. When you want to create something, you can use just about anything which is inside your head. Unfortunately, some people believe that ideas are like objects - they think you can own them, and through that ownership, control them. In a legal sense, this is true. Mickey Mouse is featured prominently in my childhood memories, but I do not have the freedom to draw upon those personal experiences in certain ways. I am not legally allowed to create a new story about Mickey. If I draw him, I can't sell it or hang it up in a classroom. Part of my imagination belongs to Disney. In contrast, we are not guarding the information in this book. Unlike Disney, we accept that we lose control of an idea as soon as it passes our lips. This book is yours. You may photocopy it to your heart's content. You may cut out the pages and rearrange them. You may write new stuff based on what you've read here. You can chuck it in a fire for all we care. We call it KopyLeft: All Rites Reversed. Malaclypse the Younger and Omar Khayyam Ravenhurst made their own holy book, called the Principia Discordia. They filled it with words and images that resonated with them. Old ideas were juxtaposed in a way which created new meaning. They invited all of us to the party. This is the Strange Times and everybody gets to write their own Bible for a change. Even spags like you. It's your head, after all. Do what you want with it. (k) 2008-2009 All Rites Reversed

COPYRIGHT PAGE
Except for the works below, this book is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 United States License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/ licenses/by-sa/3.0/us/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 171 Second Street, Suite 300, San Francisco, California, 94105, USA. ISBN 978-0-557-71885-6

exceptions
CAIN Hearts and Minds: This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. To view a copy of this license, visit http:// creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 171 Second Street, Suite 300, San Francisco, California, 94105, USA. NIGEL Parable of Steve: This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. To view a copy of this license, visit http:// creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 171 Second Street, Suite 300, San Francisco, California, 94105, USA.
We'd like to thank the contributors below, as well as the contributors we forg ot to list below:

Baron von Hoopla Enr ico Salazar Chaffinch P3nt4gr4m

Cain

Cainad

Cramulus

Dir tyessence

Ed Wilson Nigel

Full Time Slacker

Golden Applesauce

Ignatious Dryroasted Mangrove

LHX

LMNO

Malaclypse the Ter tiary

Payne

Pr incess Madnonymus

Pr incess Unicornia Richter

Ratatosk

Rev.-What's-His-Name

Reverend Loveshade

Scott Lynn Hamilton

S ep ia

5h room Bob Pent a Pant z Vexati0n Wes Unruh

The Goo d Reverend Roger (whose rot t ing

carcass is stuffed under Joe Arpaio's floorb oards)

the Outer Myspace Discordians

Undue

William S. Burroughs

Zarathud's prehensile anus

Table of Contents
Introduction The Strange Times TAZ Has Ugly, Retarded Cousin Bare Minimum Black Iron Prison Surviving in the Surveillance State What if the Other Religions got it Right How it Will Happen Welcome to the Prison Go Mindfuck Yourself Hey Asshole The Shrapnel Project Pipe Bombs Thoughts on Shrapnel OMGASM The Book of Dewlap Myspace Monkeys The Great Pope Joan The Parable of Steve Why I Put Up Posters Cloved Lemon Kissing Game Channelled Messages Hearts and Minds . e Evil Dead Boxset for Only 3 99 h T Once Upon a Prickle Prickle Discordia 2009 Burroughs AOM Cutup 1 Discordians in History Outroduction
T
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he

Introduction
The Gods were annoyed To say the least. But they had no choice 'cause we had rented the space fair and square. The ink on the contract was dry. The Gods' job was to clear out and spend the week on an all-expenses-paid booze cruise through the Astral. Our job was to use their space to party like it's 2012. Apollo, in his little white vacation shoes, flipped me off on the way out. They had just heard the news, that Limbo Peak had been rented out by Discordians. When Triple Zero and I reserved the place, we wore these sweet masks. I was Hairacles and he was Kolonoskopos. We told them it was a masquerade ball, but we didn't tell 'em who was on the guest list. When Zeus found out it was Discordians, he got all bitchtits. "Eris worshippers?" he thundered. "Aw Hera, they're gonna foul the pool..." Someone whispered in his ear that skinnydipping was listed several times on the party agenda. That old windbag's bitchtits practically burst out his beardhole. "I forbid the pool entirely!" Sure thing pops. Yeah, we'll be good guests. Hey, where do you keep the towels? Our Lady Eris is celebrating 49 or 50 years or so since she sent her chimpanzee to freak out those spags Mal and Omar. It's been more or less a constant party since then - like something Crowley would envision while balls deep in an ass trance. In a way we're celebrating 49 or 50 years of constant partying with an even weirder party. So 000 and I -- I mean, Hairacles and Kolonoskopos -- tried to contact as many "Discordians" as they could find for this bizarre masquerade bash. Weird people in their anybody suits. We're all over the place like tossed cookies. And when the party started, they came in droves. They jibbered in Russian. There were mittens and win in every discussion.

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Now there's a lot of "Discordians" out there on the web, and obviously they're not organized really well, so there's no telling how much of the iceberg we crashed. But I think we got a good sampling. It was cool, because all these foreign networks collided. They swapped ideas and peed in the idea pot. And this book is the toxic soup that we squeezed out of it. The idea, originally, was to produce a book really quickly. I had this idea for a booklet I wanted to write about why Discordia is actually pretty useful in dealing with this crazy decade. The Principia Discordia is practically 50 years old, but it keeps getting more relevant. Every day, my commute to work feels more like a stanza from Lewis Carroll. I think the Principia is a better guide to navigating the Madness than any of the other models stuck to my shoe like toilet paper. So I put together some of my thoughts, but I wanted more people to give their spin on things. So I had this idea for a shortlived one-shot internet forum.

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To make a long story short, we set up the Internet Cyberspace Masquerade (also known as the Party at Limbo Peak). We got as many people as we could to put on made-up-identity masks and show up at this forum. It would only be open for one week, so there was no time for a culture to form. No time for ingroup/out-group follow the leader in-joke/bad-joke memetics. Separated from their networks and social backup, people were forced to talk straight. It was an interesting experiment. And that's the energy which launched this book: A bunch of random factors coming together to form a social collage. I think that's a good thumbnail of the Discordian society right there - there are artists, hackers, occultists, pranksters, the remnants of Norton's Empire. They're surrealist tricksters who live on the fringes, colorful iterations at the edge of the fractal. They've got all these great ideas, but those ideas are scattered all over the board. I say let's cut 'em up into kibble and assemble them, collage style, into a ransom note to reality. Let's make a primordial stone soup. And since the Masquerade, the book has continued to grow. If anything, I want it to stand as a signpost, reminding future generations that though many of our forefathers have fallen (rest in pieces Greg, Kerry, Bob et al), we're still here. We're still doing stuff. Are you? This book is about some of the energy going on right now. It's a rough sketch of the view from Limbo Peak. It's not the whole enchilada. It's like trying to get a sense of what a party was like by listening to a tape recording of it. Only a snippet. This book is a cutup, a collage, just like you. Take the parts of it you like. Rip out the rest. The PDF for this book is free and kopyleft. That means you can make it yours. If you don't like some of the stuff here, just tear it out. Print out your favorite pages, add your own. Sell 'em for all I care. Make cutups. Make millions. Pull it out and make it happen. Like a woman trying on a hundred dresses, the writings in this book love sexy new juxtapositions. They'd love to sneak into mailboxes, be stapled to trees, and handed to strangers. They like how the symbols on the page nuzzle the symbols in one's head. They like how those heads nuzzle each other. It's like a big freakin' nuzzlefest from cover to cover. For those of you who are reading this but have no idea what this Discordia thing is, maybe I should offer some brief, half-assed explanation. Discordia "is" a religion in some sense, a philosophy in some sense, a joke in some sense, a bunch of jerks in some sense and a recipe for disaster in some sense. What these five senses have in common is Chaos. The name at the center of the hurricane is Eris, the Greek Goddess of strife and confusion. She doesn't take much seriously these days. We think it's best to laugh. Contemporary Discordia first appeared in 1958 or 1959 (depending on which

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part of the Principia Discordia you're forbidden to believe). Discordians have infiltrated all parts of culture from summer blockbusters to the Planet Eris. They appreciate Chaos, which they see as a balancing act between Order and Disorder. They (read: you) think that society is too "serious business" right now (right?), and are pursuing a million and one ways to DO something about it. I don't want to say too much because Discordia involves some very personal revelations and I don't want to spoil the surprise. So read up on it. The symbols in your head will reflect off the symbols you read and give you a brand new correct interpretation of Grand and Glory Old Discordja gift wrapped with your own nervous system. We're tricksters, and the person we want you to trick is yourself. Discordians observe no rules except those they make for themselves. This is actually true for every man, woman, child, and cabbage on this earth but barely any of them realize that. The Pope of Discordia (read: you) can grant you permission to do whatever the hell you want. So kiss his ass. Or kick it. It's up to you. Zarathud tugged at my leg. "Look at that," he said, pointing to the ceiling. Above the front door, someone had painted big bright red letters which spelled out the word GOAT. What? Why did someone write GOAT on the ceiling? I never resolved this question, and it itched my brain like madness. For weeks afterwards, I would look up every time I entered a building.

St. Bacon Cone Nixon has another approach. She likes pranks that the victim might not even notice. "I like to plant products in peoples houses. I'll replace their half-used jug of milk with a half-used jug of different milk, or put a handful of mayonnaise packets in their butter compartment. Its subtle enough to make them question their own realities. You can add magazines to their bedside table or stuff a pair of socks under the blanket at the foot of the bed. Maybe try adding a pair of shoes in their size to their closet. I prefer things which really do fuck with peoples minds, making it a mindfuck and not just an irritating obvious prank." But sometimes it can be blaringly obvious. Like putting your e-mail address on a crazy poster and hang it out to cool. You'll attract the sort of people that send e-mails to people who put up crazy signs. (I've met them, they're good people) I've been leaving weird stuff on the train for years, and now I'm starting to see weird stuff that I didn't even do. People have been cutting up the ads and reassembling them into surreal art. Now the train is a canvas. Brilliant stuff like this makes me want to explode into a flock of birds all singing.

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Have you heard of the Retail Cabal? It's every interesting person that works a boring retail job and made it into a living shrine to Our Lady Discord. When I worked for Lord Tayloron, I dedicated myself to writing FNORD on every single bill I could get my hands on. (FNORD YOUR ONES!) At a critical moment in an unrelated story, I'd get a FNORDed five-dollar bill as change. The handwriting was foreign, and there was no moustache on Washington, so it clearly wasn't mine. If you love your weirdness, let it go. It'll come back fivefold. This is the energy which prompted Synaptaclypse Generator (the guy who operates poee.co.uk) to start the annual Day of Discord - August 23rd, when Discordians are encouraged to go out of their way to meet and beat each other. Us spags got together and we went a-postering in White Plains NY, then got pancakes. When we returned to my car, someone had put a big-ass poster on the windshield saying that they loved our posters and they wanted to hang out with us. An e-mail address was included. So even if they don't know it yet, our people are out there. Way out there. So put your weird out there like weirdbait. Let it hang out of your spaggy pants. These things are signposts to the Others. And this book is a signpost too, a signal flare, like secret hobo code. We're here, we're real, and you can be a real one too. Zarathud, it turns out, is a big fan of the cutup method. You'll notice he wandered through the book and made his own edits. He's had a lot of fun rearranging stuff and making it "better". He approached me at the party and said, "Hey, can I be in the book?" "Sure," I said, toweling off the ostrich. He told me he was worried that since he's the Apostle of the fourth season, Bureaucracy, people think he's a total square. Well it's true that he's not very creative, and his sense of humor can be a bit morbid, but he's got quite the knack for odd juxtapositions. For the Apostle of Laws and Red Tape, he sure loves to use his scissors. For example, I had two essays I wanted to show you about cutups and collages. One from this book, The Art of Memetics, and one by old man William Burroughs. Zarathud liked the pieces, so during his lunch break at the Jade Emperor's Bureaucratorium, (it's in the food court of Chinese Heaven) he shuffled them together. Now I can't tell if we're reading Burroughs writing about memetics or Ed and Wes writing about cutups, but Zarathud tells me that he's taking credit personally for the "new" piece. Credit? I hadn't even thought of that. If anything, we want to avoid notice. Zeus is pissed that we jumped on the beds and skinny dipped in the hot tub and my ass was all over the kitchen counter. And if mythology has taught me anything, you do not want Greek Gods all bitchtits at you.

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After all, Eris hasn't gone anywhere but crazy. Discordia, this weird neophilic irreligion, this bastard daughter of agnosticism and paganism and satire and flax, only ends in delirium and strife. If anything, this book should stand as a sign post saying "DANGER". It's an old crone, poised at the edge of Madness and Nothingness, crying "Go away! This place is cursed! Cursed I tell you, beware!" So turn back now. Save yourself from this postmodern nightmare: the ramblings of a nonexistent society which thrives in a nonexistent place in the umbra of the 21st century. THROW OUT your heretical humor and remove that troublemaker tongue from your cheek. Don't you know that people worked really hard to create this straightjacket civilization? There's centuries of work poured into these illusions. Don't you know that the real world is cold and and you've gotta steel yourself to meet it? Armor your heart with ice and nothing will harm you ever again. Work is sacred. Laughter is for children. Grow UP already, grow UP. Jeez, I can't even write that trash with a straight face. This is part of what the Discordian Fractal looks like 50 years later. And with any fractal, you can see a hint of the whole shape in all of its parts. And maybe you'll see some of your parts reflected in there too. And then you'll be screwed because the Patriarch Deity is out to get those crazy people that are turning everything on its head and not buying into his system. If you see him, don't tell Zeus that I'm the one who roasted hot dogs on the branches of the olive tree. But send along our warmest thanks for the kickass place to party. Professor Cramulus, KSC, ASS

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The Strange Times

This morning I looked out my window and I saw an unsettling and surreal painting sprawling out to the edge of the sunrise. Jedi and zombies, vampires and ninjas, cat suits and kings, robots and chameleons, prophets and the profane, and everybodys together, eyes match forward, getting on the train. We call it the Strange Times. This is the state of modern living. We live in a world way weirder than any realm any explorer could ever hope to map. This is a world where your nervous system, tangled with fractals that are creeping like vines, extends its tendrils into the modern jungle. Rule 34: if it exists, there is pornography involving it. There are lollipops with bugs in them. People get surgery to look exactly like Barbie Dolls. There are humans that have become lizards and tigers. The guys in suits have all become cyborgs. Children dont just play Cowboys and Indians anymore, now they play Self Aware Artificial Intelligence versus the Benevolent Plutocracy. Its the Strange Times and every human being, even the boring ones, is unspeakably, unknowably weird. Everybody used to be into the same stuff, you know? Everybody was at cocktail hour, everybody was into the Beatles, everybody was bathing together in the mainstream. But something happened as the stream got quicker, it forked out into a million little tributaries. The mainstream isnt a river anymore, its an aqueduct and a sewer all at the same time. Its underneath us, always moving, carrying along all these images and symbols and the familiar sound of the ocean. Ideas bump into each other, and sometimes they STICK, and thats how we get things like a music gadget you can masturbate with, or Japanese game shows dubbed with slapstick comedy banter. Its not because these things are good ideas in of themselves, its because the mainstream keeps juxtaposing these bits of shrapnel in new ways. Its all being churned up, and the whirlpool keeps getting faster.

TH e STR ange TiM eS

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Nothing has prepared us for the Strange Times. If you think you can study history and make some educated guess at whats going to happen next, youre dead wrong. Yeah humans are still humans - those poor shit flinging monkeys, trapped inside their nervous systems. When you zoom out, theyre not individual drops of water, theyre the swell and pulse of a wild ocean. That hasnt changed in six thousand years. But these times are different. There is wholesome sex in bathrooms and righteous violence in the high schools. Kingdoms make war upon each other not by sacking cities, but by cutting deep sea internet cables. Super-memes collide and bounce off each other like sumo wrestlers, every single cell in their bloated bodies contains a lonely and confused human being. Our language is not evolving quick enough to keep pace. Words like Good, Evil, Know, Learn, and To Be are woefully inadequate to describe the modern world. These are the Dangers of Modern Living. We spent thousands of years living in caves, working the fire and the rock. Then we caught the City virus, and the city spirit used us to build hundreds of temples. We spent generations in the sun, tilling the fields for the Nobles. Then we fled into darkness of the factories, the air choked with the din of industry. In hindsight, it seemed to happen in a predictable way. Thesis, antithesis, synthesis. Build, destroy. Sunrise, sunset. Now were in the world that doesnt sleep. If its light here, its dark somewhere else, like a snake biting its tail. People on the other side of the world are your neighbors, but there is an interminable distance between you and the guy next door (who youve never actually met). You see them every day, but the people on the train will remain strangers, and stranger still. Odd juxtapositions are the sign of the Strange Times. Comedians are doing impressions of the King. The Catholic Pope looks just like Emperor Palpatine from Star Wars. We sit in the dark around a flickering campfire and listen to the news man tell us stories about the Dangers of Modern Living. The news man knows that when you juxtapose an image with the story, it creates a new meaning which is somewhere in between the ear and the eye. And if we zoom out a tiny bit, the story is juxtaposed with the house that the TV is in. And if we zoom out, that house is inside your head, next to all these other symbols and squiggles and values. And then at some point, someone thinks its sexy to dress up like a cartoon cat. Nobodys prepared us for the Strange Times, and there are literally billions of humans that cant cope with it. They could deal with being serfs, they could deal with being soldiers, those are simple lives with simple choices. Now it's come time to make a new story for themselves by assembling all these weird symbols into a lifestyle, a personality, a set of values. And they just dont know
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how to do it. They look to culture to get clues for how to swim and be happy and break even in this weird world, and all they see are porn models and ninja turtles and humane terrorism and the extreme left and the extreme right and nothing is centered. If it was as simple as dealing with the sun and the crops, however hard that might be, people would pull through and maintain. But there are a million choices and complexities and nuances and shrapnel flying at you like throwing knives and pillow fights and semen and banana cream pies. We think its best to laugh.

TH e STR ange TiM eS

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What movie am I in? What trip is th e theater on? What can I do about it?

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SP

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trying to is The Illusions areu please. Determination and persistence . Use as yo illusions e Change yourself u can change th the long run. Yo your dream. great quality in to change, evolve and Will Power your Imagination

change you.

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TAZ Has Ugly, Retarded Cousin

The Temporary Totalitarian Zone is the Machines answer to the Temporary Autonomous Zone. The idea is that within a matter of hours, an entire city can go from normal Monday afternoon to crawling with heavily armed paramilitary police, and hours after that, they disappear into the ether as quickly as they swarmed in. Designed to reinforce the false notion that the Police really can be everywhere at once, the TTZ is a system of roving police states capable of springing up anywhere at almost a moments notice in order to assist the powers that be in whatever devious plot they have at a given moment. In a post-9/11 world, as we are all constantly reminded we are living in, the vast majority of rubes living out there in la-la land actually welcome the TTZ as it storms down Main Street, feeling extra safe from Terrorists, but never quite catching on to the fact that all it takes is one terse command from the lips of some fat asshole in Washington, and all those guns can be aiming directly at the heads of innocent civilians. Of course, at that point, We the People would probably turn ourselves in for being Terrorists without even knowing we were up to no good. Anyway, being that the TTZ is a tool for totalitarian schmucks, it is not going to stop here. No, expect the TTZs to increase in duration and frequency until it reaches a point where the Police really are everywhere at once.

TaZ H aS U glY ReTa R ded cO U Sin

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Bare Minimum

Bare Minimum BIP as recovered from an ancient manuscript in the archives of Semi Secret Order Of Kabbalistic Navigators (SSOOKN). 1. What you think of as REALITY is a collection of ideas and beliefs about REALITY. Many of the ideas you have about REALITY come from the culture in which you were raised and have accumulated haphazardly over time. 2. This, in itself, is not a problem. The problem is in forgetting point number 1. When you forget point 1, you mistake your ideas about reality for being REALITY itself. Of this, it has been said the menu is not the meal. Please refrain from eating the menu. 3. People who eat the menu frequently become confused and annoyed when other people insist on seeing REALITY in a different way. All that truly differs are their ideas and beliefs about REALITY. 4. Beliefs are just thoughts you keep having. 5. No living being is capable of perceiving all of REALITY, as all senses of perception are limited. Humans can only see, hear, smell, taste and feel within certain parameters. Information entering our senses undergoes compression, filtration, and distortion, before interpretation. Interpretation is what happens when information meets your beliefs. 6. For no good reason, we call this composite of Belief & Biological Limits THE BLACK IRON PRISON and is a metaphor about existence. It means that there is very little you can do about biology; however, you can choose what becomes part of your beliefs. (Always keeping point 1 in mind).

BA RE MINIM U M B L AC K IR O N PRIS O N

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7. Each person exists within their own, unique BIP cell. The cell is composed of the following: a) Biological limits these are largely unchangeable. b) Belief systems these are highly changeable. Because of (a) the BIP cell cannot be escaped. Because of (b) your life experience, your cell, can be altered drastically. This is what we try to call reconstruction. 8. A life long commitment to continual reconstruction is known, ironically, as The Jail Break. Reconstruction is HARD WORK. 9. The collection of beliefs, thoughts, notions etc that form your cell are all equally VALID, though none are TRUE in the sense that they are REALITY. However, some beliefs and ideas are more useful than others in specific situations. It is up to the individual to decide which beliefs and ideas they should employ in a given situation. 10. Some people believe that the term BLACK IRON PRISON is dark, bleak, depressing and even frightening. If you prefer, use the term GOLDEN SPHERE of POSSIBILITY (GSP) instead. It means exactly the same thing as BIP and all points still apply. 11. BIP (or GSP) can be philosophical antidote to dogmatism. You are cordially invited to a Jail Break.

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B a Re MiniM U M B lac K iR O n PRiS O n

Surviving in the Surveillance State

You know youre being watched. Fuck off with your this is more conspiracy theory garbage reactions. This is the truth. They have cameras, man. The smoke detector in your hotel room is wired. They make cell phone manufacturers put GPS units in every single model, even if they dont use it as a selling point. Just imagine whats in your car. Theyre onto you, dont doubt that. But so what? If theyre going to follow you around and take notes, the least you can do is make sure their investment is worthwhile. The following will help you to increase the value your tax dollars get: 1. Make conflicting reservations at different hotels at opposite ends of the country, and on that night, sleep in the park under a surveillance camera. Also, if youre too loaded with cash and have nothing better to do, book a one-way ticket to Morocco and never get on the plane. 2. Commit a misdemeanor. These assholes want files on everybody, and if they dont have anything they will make one up. If you get booked for littering or shoplifting a pack of gum, then youre a petty criminal. If they have nothing on you at all, you might end up being a Terrorist Mastermind. 3. Prank-call 911 from pay phones in the rich neighborhoods. 4. Buy things on the Internet from people in Third-World countries. It doesnt matter what it is, as long as it isnt a rug. 5. When going through security checkpoints, embellish your cell phone with nonfunctional wires and switches. 6. With a couple of friends in separate vehicles, organize a pursuit of a DHS van through downtown. 7. Buy a copy of Catcher in the Rye, but sell it on eBay. 8. When you sign for purchases on electronic card-reading devices, sign the words HELLO NSA.

S U RViVing in TH e S U RVeillance STaTe

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These steps will accomplish nothing, but they will make you feel like a secret operative, fighting a war you dont understand for people who dont even know you exist. And in lieu of any real freedoms, the illusion of participation in your own demise should be considered a civil right.

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S U RViVing in TH e S U RVeillance STaTe

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r: an artist Paul tapho ic m, A me r st me museu y t he reate ated b s at a Swiss before r d c re rld's g g u o t w in o r g o o a wind its mo The w able d t g ee how . t infla blown from nd break in o on , s A gian as ea me. G Its amazing . ens ho r thy w wer lin McCa n a po s of a ch ildr n apply it to g dow nd u ca br ingin e grou ple yo g in th ents or peo landin ev world many

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Dream Jam
Dream Jams in the Bird Theater bY 5HROOM BOb PENtA PANtZ ANd ZARAtHUd A little discordian game: Picture all events, scenes, moments in life stuffed on top of one another like the bricks in strange giant Tetris -- all existing Now. If you need to create a traffic jam, car chaos, or an escape route for some reason, but you dont want to risk your neck, and have no money to spend - WE HAVE A SOLUTION. Picture your self as an eye moving upwards (all roads lead to the top...) on your own subjective experience trip, in your own continuum. Make sure the square has some birds hanging around. Pidgeons and seagulls are great. Make sure youre familliar with the area, in case you need to get out quickly. Answer: Who is the Camera? Who is the Actor? Who is the Director? Who is the Writer? Who comes up with the plays? Who chose the scenery? Start out by feeding the birds with bread. Gather a larger number of birds. If you do this for a few days in a row, more birds are sure to show up for a free meal. Answer: What movie am I in? What trip is the theater on? What can I do about it? Throw the bread closer and closer to the action zone. To initiate the attack, change yourself as you please. Determination and persistence is great quality in the long run. You can change the illusions. Use your Imagination and Will Power to change/evolve your dream. And after getting the first car to stop, the cars behind it stop too! Attraction and distraction keeps things in your dream (love & hate etc). By Accepting things. they pass on. Not accepting tend to make them come back. Bombard the road and cars with more bread, grain, and other bird food. You are your own imagination. You chose who you are all the time, in every event. Change as you please - but those not living in the Now will probably counterfeit quick changes. Their screes and callings will make more and more birds to come, adding to the chaos.

d Rea M Ja M

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W HO

om bom b d Lo ve th e at op Wo rryi ng an Le a rn ed to St ov e or Ho w I Dr. St ra ng el

ho stage, m a n? ! epin g th e l ov e T HE FU CK is ke

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What if the Other Religions got it Right

bY PRINCESS MAdNONYMUS The Expanse of the Universe and other such Preposterous Perceptions God created Adam unto the Earth And with a French kiss, tongues touching, he gave him the breath of life Adam shrugged and stretched and let out a yawn He scratched his bum and let out a fart He said: You will do this in memory of me The Universe, a whole organic entity endowed with an exquisite sense of aesthetics and a mightily attuned sense of smell, took offence of such behavior And, away from this pungent prickly unshaven individual, so rude, so started the expanse of the Universe. The redshift when examining far away star Is a result of the universe holding its breath for the smell This shall be known as the Original Fart (by those in the know) Or the Big Bang (for those left guessing) In his defense, Adam had one thing to say Shit makes the flowers grow and that is beautiful Chill out man!, he thought, We have a long ways to go... In the garden of Eden, God gave many advice to Adam One being Be careful what you wish for, you WILL get it. And so Eve came to be Upon entering Eden, Eve misheard Expanse of the Universe for Expensive Universe, so instead of heading straight home, she hurried to the shopping mall and bought these serpent leather shoes she saw on sale at Cromagnons stand.

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Left to himself without any meal prepared for supper, Adam wonderd and pondered Man, do I feel hungover! This whole being created thing is rougher than it appears! What was it that weird voice in my head said about this red fruit here Lets see How bizarre! Only half a worm seems to live in this apple! Where could the other half be? That does not feel like a Contended Chao This was the first Erisian mysteree that man confronted It was to be solved quickly when Eve came back home Idiot! said Eve You ate the other half of the worm! Cant you be more careful? You should wash your fruits and vegetables before eating them. You are forbidden from eating off of this three ever again. Heavy!, thought Adam, I will be in the field crushing rotten berries If I am to be stuck in this paradise place for long, I need to figure out that alcohol thing quick. And so the search rages on.... When will we leave the Garden?

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w H aT iF TH e OTH eR ReligiO n S g OT iT Rig HT

How it Will Happen

bY ENRICO SALAZAR While Enrico was bent over last night, clipping toenails, it came. The fantastic vision he had been waiting his entire life for. The way to take over. Get back what was Enricos. What will be Enricos again. Let Enrico paint a visual picture for all you beautiful faggots. It begins with the national bird of Salazore; the Ostrich. We dont actually have any Ostriches on Salazore, but then again we dont have any birds at all, other than turkey vultures, and they dont make a very nice image on a postage stamp, so the ostrich was adopted. It begins with Ostriches. The second ingredient is over-the-top transvestites. Or drag queens, if you prefer that term. On Salazore they were called Brujadellos, and every boy lost his bip-bip to one. Enrico lost his to five of them. What a night. Anyway. The second ingredient is Brujadellos, and lots of them. The third ingredient is pump-action shotguns. One for each transvestite. Enrico will, of course, be holding his own beauty of a weapon, a Sturmgewehr 44 named Skippy he has had since he grew moss on his rolling stones. Imagine. Imagine thousands of transvestites, mounted on Ostrich-back, storming into each major city. Imagine. Imagine the frozen citizens, staring at the twisted beauty of these animals. Imagine. Imagine, if you will, the carnage when each gun is opened up. Imagine the confusion. Imagine the disorder. Imagine the possibilities. As the madness reaches a frenzy Enrico strides in on his Ostrich, decked in full Salazorian military regalia; dripping from gherri-curl to curly-haired toes in flags, pins, buttons, and diamonds. Mirror sunglasses, vaseline on mustachio, sneer on lips. Arms raised into the air. Cheers, jeers, queers. Everything Enrico loves. Its enough to make a faggot break down in giggling sniffly sobs.
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It will be goddam beautiful, my fuckers. It will be fantastic, my mofos. And, you will all be welcome in Salazore when the fighting is over, Enrico is back on his fold-up chair and people are done kicking and gouging in the mud, the blood, and the beer.

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, - . , , , .
H O w iT will H a PPen

Welcome to the Prison

bY REVERENd WHAtS-HIS-NAME? The Black Iron Prison is a collection of essays by various authors discussing such topics as free will, self-liberation, and coping with the madness of the modern era. In this piece, Rev. Whats-HisName discusses the origins of the Black Iron Prison. It was the year 2006. I imagine it was another initiate to the principiadiscordia.com realm that started it all by saying something like, Well, if you guys are so interested in moving beyond the Principia Discordia, why dont you guys write something?! Well, maybe it wasnt exactly like that, but it sounds nice so Ill go with it. Whats important is that a bunch of us got to the point where we decided it was time for us to take a stab at this Discordia thing. And so, the project was dubbed PD06. There was a feeling amongst many at PD that while the subject matter of the Principia was still important, the jokes were, by now, were old, and not as useful as they used to be. We were interested in boiling down some of the ideas and putting them in a form where newer generations of Discordians could grasp onto them. (Its generally not advised to grab ANYTHING that is boiling. Turn your handles in.) We decided to circle around this idea of the Black Iron Prison that we had been discussing. LMNO wrote an intro piece about the BIP which really set the tone for what would follow. And so we were off. Some people wrote new things, some found old things and added new bits to it. The inspiration was quite catchy and in a matter of days we had a pamphlets worth of material. The next step was to put it together into a sexy and attractive package. The ever-crafty LMNO sacrificed his lunch hour to put it together and thus The Black Iron Prison: Discordia Revisited was
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born. Rev. St. Syn, KSC added an attention-grabbing graphic to the cover and it was released to the masses. Since its completion, weve continued to discuss various philosophies and ideas within the Black Iron Prison framework. Indeed, yours truly started up a forum dedicated to the Black Iron Prison subject matter. But it went kerplooey and so it now resides as a part of PrincipiaDiscordia. com. Professor Cramulus has since re-edited the pamphlet into a second version. Both versions, along with the other Black Iron Prison project materials, can be found at: http://www.blackironprison.com and http://www.principiadiscordia.com/bip/1.php

iscordia. D n w o our y te ea cr Its that easy to Collect all 1024!

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welcO M e TO TH e PRiS O n

God is my Co-Dependen t.

5 Minutes of Panic
bY UNdUE, DIRtYESSENCE, ANd EdItING bY ZARAtHUd So do you got any ideas about the report next week? The trance was broken, with poor word selection no less. As those thoughts echoed in the mind, my mouth, still performing basic social functions for some odd reason, responded in a negative colloquialism. Tony was a cool guy I guess, good in the common sense of the word, the kind of kid youd be proud to have as your son. Were Discordians, not the army. So youve crawled out of the darkness into our fold? He tried to sell it with a chuckle, I wasnt in the mood to purchase pleasantries. You dont have to prove yourself to us. You dont need to latch onto our buzzwords and repeat our memes to show that youre in. You dont need to proselytize. You dont need to rebel against your former life, purge it with fire and devote every moment to throwing yourself against the System. The drudgery, the sheer intolerable drudgery. He glanced at my file. Oh so you live where? Who gives a shit where I live honestly? My name is the least important thing about me or anybody for that matter. Fuck this. All we really ask you to do is laugh a little more. Think a little more. Explore a little more in places you usually wouldnt go. Talk to strangers. Listen to strangers. Do a few of those things that you thought might be neat but filed away with a maybe someday. And whatever you do, dont get complacent. Bob, will this bus never stop? Trail it off, make your response times slower and slower, the thing will die naturally. Oh, and keep your eyes peeled for the Goddess. Another chuckle. Why do people think that will improve a substance free and impersonal comment? As I got off the bus, his words chilled me, Youll know Her when you see Her. Yeah, I shouted to the people on the bus, Chances are, She will be laughing at you.

5 Min UTeS O F Panic

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ow n imag in ever y event occu rYou a re you r l the ti me, e ho you are al t liv in g in th You chose w - but those no as you plea se ges. Continue ri ng. Chan ge eit qu ick chan ably counterf Now w il l prob abil ity. e sa me for st to choose th

ation.

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Go Mindfuck Yourself or
Be the Trouble You Want to See in the World
Celine reared back as if I had waved offal under his nose. Objectivists? he pronounced the word as if I had accused him of being a child-molester. Were anarchists and outlaws, goddam it. Didnt you understand that much? Weve got nothing to do with rightwing, left-wing or any other half-assed political category. If you work within the system, you come to one of the either/or choices that were implicit in the system from the beginning. Youre talking like a medieval serf, asking the first agnostic whether he worships God or the Devil. Were outside the systems categories. Youll never get the hang of our game if you keep thinking in flat-earth imagery of right and left, good and evil, up and down. If you need a group label for us, were political non-Euclideans. But even thats not true. Sink me, nobody of this tub agrees with anybody else about anything, except maybe what the fellow with the horns told the old man in the clouds: Non serviam. Robert Anton Wilson, Illuminatus! Eris loves activists. Here in the Strange Times, theres a million billion crawly little critters trying to ride you down the river. See, youre floating through chaotic, shrapnel filled rapids. The foamy waters are brimming with symbols and images and squiggles and good causes. Its easy to cling to one like a life preserver and ride it for all its worth. Youre clinging to some right now. You are a sticky meme, and youre trying to stay afloat. Its only human. The first part of the Golden Secret is to Let Go. You grabbed onto that symbol and that in-joke and that good cause because they were at the right place at the right time. When youre receptive, its convenient to get on a raft made of religion or politics or some other made-up ideology. Its easy to assemble an identity out of tastes and values and shrapnel floating by. Over time, some of that stuff stops supporting your weight. Right when youre about to go under, you reach out and grab onto some other piece of shrapnel. You cling to it and use it to hold your head above the waters. At

g O Mind FU c K YO U R Sel F - B e TH e TR O UB le YO U wanT TO See in TH e w O R ld

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some point, you saw some stuff and met some people, and their shtick appealed to you, and you internalized it, and now you think that stuff is a part of you. Fast forward to the present: youre riding down the river in a barrel, your knuckles white as they grip your life preservers. Your pockets are stuffed with photographs, and theres cultural water in your ears. Let GO already. You dont need that crap. Thats somebody elses crap. Learn to swim on your own. The second part of the Golden Secret is to Ignite Yourself, While Theres Still Time. Im advocating activities. Not activism, but activitism. I dont recommend you go find a cause (or some other baggage) to serve, Im recommending you get up, get out, and DO something. Theyve got you whipped like a circus lion to watch the world and then react to it. They want you to be a passive observer. The face on the money has you trained like Pavlovs dog. Thats how the Machine works. Its made of perfectly predictable parts. You could get bored. You could get numb. You could be alone in a sea of people. These are the Dangers of Modern Living. Theres something out there which will make you excited just to wake up in the morning, and its not spending your hard earned money on the latest Youve-Gotta-See-This blockbuster. That shrapnel is just a distraction. The voices of the cultural chorus are a distraction too, because really, youre not one of Them. Youre a freak. Youre weird in ways not even your best friends can understand. This is the Strange Times, and there are no groups of people, only individuals standing next to each other. Theres somebody in your life who you look to for direction. The one with the plan. The one who has great ideas. The one who seems to know whats going on. Kill him. Take his job. Become him. Quit waiting for somebody else to come up with something fun to do. Quit waiting for rock bottom or some other excuse to change what you dont like about yourself. Cough up all the water in your lungs and BREATHE youll drown if you dont BREATHE for the first time ever BREATHE. This isnt a lesson you can learn once and internalize. This is an ongoing challenge to constantly reinvent yourself. This is a never ending battle you must wage against your comfort and your identity. If you think youve learned this lesson, then you stink of complacency. Initiation never ends. Keep moving. Stay kinetic. Be the trouble you want to see in the world. Go Operation Mindfuck yourself. Hail Eris

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g O Mind FU c K YO U R Sel F - B e TH e TR O UB le YO U wanT TO See in TH e w O R ld

Hey Asshole
Humans are assholes. We want to dominate each other, we get off on power-tripping, were all pissed off that slavery is wrong. Every last one of us is constantly calculating everybody elses demise, and none of us are immune. The nice guys are up to something, the peacemakers are just fighting a different kind of war, the prophets talk nice, until somebody offs them, and then heads roll. Even your sweet old granny was playing you. How do you think she lived so long? She was draining the life force out of all the relatives you never met for 50 years. You always knew there was something in her chocolate chip cookies and now you know what it was. We have seven billion complete assholes piled on top of each other, all of them talking bullshit and committing indiscriminate acts of psychotic manipulation. You think that can lead to anywhere good? Of course not. It leads to a whole planet covered in disease, war, poverty, and all the other shit those do-gooders interrupt late-night TV to complain about. And you hit the mute button when that shit comes on, dont you. See? Youre an asshole, just like me. And not only are people assholes, theyre also stupid. In fact, we are tied for intelligence with dolphins. Fucking DOLPHINS. And, after a hundred thousand years of people being shitty to each other, we have reached the point now where we can, with the click of a button, wipe everyone and everything off the face of this ball of dirt we call home. You think that at some point, some dickwad isnt going to actually DO IT? Face it. Humanity is the crowning achievement of evolution and if youve been paying attention youll see that evolution is an asshole, too. What do you think is gonna happen? What is the cumulative effect of seven billion angry, distrustful, petty, stingy, half-retarded hairless apes who have

H eY aS S H O le

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nothing better to do than kill each other over stupid things like sneakers and imaginary friends? You think that one day, theyre all going to see the light and join hands and say Im sorry? If thats what you beleive, then you need to get some tinfoil and duct tape and build an impenetrable fortress out of sofa cushions in your living room because you are just the sort of person that natural selection is aiming for. In the end, its all going to come down to the very thing youre already imagining and have been imagining since the first time you looked at the Evening News. And you know it, so quit deluding yourself into thinking theres something better worth defending. Its a sideshow out there, and youre the freak. So quit buzzing around the office all fucking day chit-chatting with people you cant really stand, and find your reason to care whether theres a tomorrow or not. Because the way I see it, really caring about something other than your car or your bank account is the only shot this fucked up species has at survival.

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H eY aS S H O le

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The Shrapnel Project

bY REV. WHAtS-HIS-NAME? Something that can be found at the BIP wiki. Its an exploration of the pathways we take in life and what influences the choices we make. Its an exploration through visuals and written form. Enjoy and post your own thoughts, musings, questions, etc. Birth and Death are 100% Grade A Certainties (oh yeah taxes too, or so the saying goes). The only questions seem to be around matters of when and how. We know we emerge from our Mother, in some fashion, and then return to the Earth at some undetermined place and time. But we know it WILL happen. We burst into the world at Point A, birth. Or sometimes we have to be pulled out depending on our level of infantile stubbornness. Immediately we set foot at the beginning of a Path. It is one of many Paths that eventually lead to Point B. At Point B we may exit in a brilliant flash of flame and sound. One of our vital life-sustaining mechanisms may crap out. Or perhaps someone will bring a bloody war to our land and we die in a house to house cleansing. Of course, it also might be something as unceremonious as having a heart-attack in the middle of a massive bowel movement. But hey, shit happens right? In any event, we have before us a series of roads to take to get to Point B. Of course, as young infants we really dont have a clear concept of Point B, so it initially doesnt really inform our Path. Well, there are natural fight or flight responses like Feed Me. But its really focused more around infantile narcissm than it is any actual fear of starving to death. Indeed, as kiddos we see that damn Coyote fall off the cliff a zillion times and he keeps on breathing. So the worst that might happen to us is we turn into an accordion for a few seconds. As we grow, however, we establish more control and more responsibility for our own orienteering. At every step of the way (or maybe its every other step, Im not entirely sure. It would be quite a feat if anyone figured it out), it seems, there is a new turn that can be taken; left, right, left-right. Which do we choose? Why do we choose? Are we even aware of it?

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Along the paths there is another phenomenon that is occuring. As we are walking our Paths, and deciding where to go (whether through instince, deliberate thought process, because someone told us so), we are subjected to, and subjecting others to, Shrapnel. Shrapnel are the bits of experience, events, ideas, and so on that are flying around as we walk the Paths. Its as though there are roadside bombs that are in a continuous state of detonation. For example, we walk along the path as a young child, and at a certain point, we are subjected to Religious Shrapnel. Whether or not to follow our parents deities? Whether or not to NOT follow deities? Whether or not to follow a deity different from our familys? Whether or not Ill burn in hell if I dont eat the cracker? As we are approaching the age of 18, we experience Shrapnel from education and career. Guidance counselors are asking you if you want to attend the college fairs. Your Dad is asking you if you are going to that ivy-league college he did. Or perhaps your Mom runs a flower shop and is expecting you to take over. After all, it is called Me and My Daughters Blooms. But do you really want to peddle flowers the rest of your life? There are, of course many, many other examples of Shrapnel. Also. it is important to understand that we arent passive bystanders in all of this. We too are part of the Shrapnel creating process. When we become parents we subject our children to expectations, wishes, and wants for their lives. (If all parents wishes for their children actually came true, wed be living in a world comprised solely of Doctors and Lawyers. Youd never be able to get onto a golf course.) As neighbors, we may be part of a collective attitude about how peoples houses and yards should look. (Oh look, Sanderson is putting out another fucking Pink Flamingo. And gosh, it looks like it is fellating the Garden Gnome! Gasp!) As members of Political Party X, we put signs in our yard saying, vote for Rudy Obama. We are throwing out just as much as others are throwing at us. Do not be disillusioned about Shrapnel. It isnt all bad. There is the Shrapnel of Art and Creativity. Walking by a park and seeing some folks drumming and creating music. (Drum Circles arent just for hippies anymore.) The infective beat that is travelling across the air, that mandates that you move and groove. The lady down the road who is a brilliant artist, displaying her work at the local Sidewalk Art Exhibit. There is the Shrapnel of Happy Childlike Anarchy. Your little girl acting like a goon, and you cant help but to want to play along. Experiencing the joy in improvisational imagination and going with the flow. This is the sort of Shrapnel you WANT embedded in your flesh. For it too will inform your path. And besides, when you ARE strolling on your path, wouldnt it be more enjoyable if you were doing a little jig along the way, while whistling a fun little tune? Whistle while you walk. It seemed to do the trick for the Dwarvish 7. So what to take away from this? Well, first off, make sure you read the other observations of Shrapnel. And then, take a few minutes and think about your

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path. Think about where youve been, whove you encountered, what you put in your mouth (ewww, you did that?), and howve you navigated life thus far. As you think of the different experiences youve had, think of what might have happened if you hadnt had those experiences. Caution: the point isnt to think about how you could re-write your life. That parts done, no good to dwell on it. But, how can you use this perspective going forward? What kind of mental armor can you obtain to shield you from that which may blow you off course? What kind of mechanisms can you construct to welcome in those things in this world which may benefit you? Or better yet, how can you have more bearing on your bearings? Because seriously, you know Point B is coming soon. Why not make it one hell of a ride?

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Faith can move mountains and fly planes into buildings.

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Pipe Bombs
bY LHX
i will propose the notion here that the shrapnel being discussed lately has an identifiable source it is the result of people under pressure

i will propose also that pressure is the result of confronting fear or desire

fear is generally associated with death (the unknown - the potential for physical pain) or an injury to the ego that would have social repercussions (which could also be potentially indirectly related to death)

desire is generally associated with avoiding that which causes fear, but also social achievement (striving to rule the kingdom of physical objects) also stimulation

these elements set people in motion

when coming face-to-face with a fear or with the possibility of not obtaining a desire - we find explosions

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people cannot handle the pressure and there is a resulting action

in its raw form - this action is generally not premeditated - you scare the shit out of somebody - and it is understandable that the gut instinct is to yell but now, we live in a situation where people can be elaborate when they explode

people take it out on other people

being overwhelmed in one facet of life - you take it out in another facet of life

a fear of death results in a fundamentalist tunnel-vision getting cock-blocked in early adolescence spawns a generation of computer programmers looking for social comeuppance, while subsequently pushing humanity to its technological demise the slums of New York results in the greatest Hip Hop in 25,000 years

and this here what youre reading - this is my shrapnel this is my outlet ive read a lot of RAW shit and some other alternative approaches to psychology. but a few months ago, in my first semester of college, something struck me when i was forced to take an intro to psychology course one segment of the course dealt with defense mechanisms apparently - there is a term which describes what is known as basically the one productive defense mechanism

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it is called sublimation i just looked it up at m-w.com: to divert the expression of (an instinctual desire or impulse) from its unacceptable form to one that is considered more socially or culturally acceptable when we took a look at sublimation in class - there was another aspect to it the expression of the impulse was not necessarily acceptable - but it was productive it was not a defense mechanism that focused on covering things up or hiding things

it was the defense mechanism that sought to transform turn that negative stimulus causing you pressure into something that can reap benefits the whole lemon -----> lemonade approach to things its a bit too trite of a metaphor to use when discussing some of the foul shit life doles out on the mammals running around the surface of this place its hard to say that hurricane katrina was like life handing you lemons

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but to stick with that metaphor for a second - these days when life hands people lemons - most of the time people just pick them up and fire them at other people and the main reason why is because this approach to things is part of the tradition that gets passed on from generation to generation maybe not consciously or deliberately - but passed on nonetheless

when you live in a society where it is the norm for people to take their shit out on other people - odds are you wont find it hard to justify taking your shit out on other people yourself in reference to the original shrapnel ideas - im gonna also propose that the positive shrapnel is NOT ALWAYS accidental i know some people that when they go thru foul shit - they reach for the pen and the bomb they assemble is MEANT to turn that negative situation into something that people can touch / feel / use

at the very least - for me personally - when the difficulty of situations gets amped up - when im catching too much of the bullshit shrapnel - i seek to re-affirm the alliances i have made in the past and touch base with my foundation in the process i benefit and look to approach the situation in ways that others can benefit as well

you can only build a brick shit house if you shit your hate properly

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Thoughts on Shrapnel
BY PAYNE Once upon a time, a little baby was born. There is nothing remarkable about this event - Im told it happens every day - and there was nothing remarkable about this baby, except that it was you, or me, or them. This baby was pristine, a sponge for information and experience. Little though it was, it was growing rapidly and learning every thing it could, as fast as it could. It had to, you see, because its a big bad old world out there. Everything the baby learned chipped a little bit of its personality away, or maybe it added a bit to it. This occured with every packet of information, every experience that came the babys way. It was much like that saying about sculptors freeing the statue from the crude stone its encased in. Except that the sculptor is blind, like that woman in the Lionel Richie video (hah! Hello, is it me youre looking for?! except shes blind...), but I digress. The tools that are used to sculpt this baby into the badass human that will stride the earth on two hind legs, using its opposable thumbs like it just doesnt care, is what I call shrapnel. Its when you are told about God. Its when you fall in love for the first time. Its when you realise, as a baby, that bawling your head off will have your mother come running. Its the ripples of things that happened long ago but that are still affecting us today. The shrapnel thrown out by history causes us to throw out our own shrapnel into the future. It blows your mind, it really does. Shrapnel is necessary, and vital, to who we are and to what we do. And for Discordians, it can also be a tool. Its another medium for spreading a little bit of chaos. Its not good or bad, though you may want to assess which bits of it you have sticking in you that arent really needed. Unwatched, that shit can fuck you up. In conclusion, Shrapnel is an idea that has yet to find its time. In the right

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hands, it can be a kick ass suit of armour AND a big-fuck-off flamethrower. For me, being aware of it is enough until some wiser heads can show us how it works. Okay, Im done preaching at you for now, Im back off to my ivory tower, where Ill probably look for that Lionel Richie video and laugh about it all night.

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The gentle cows stand quietly to be milked.

Liber Fru Fru

The Infiltration of the Internet The Internet is the most significant development in the evolution of human civilization since the printing press. The Printing press increased the communicative power of the individual. The internet gives the individual INFINITE potential for power of communication. The Net will become the storehouse of all human knowledge and history. It will become out immortal memory, and our second brain. (Good cause my first one isn't working too well, stupid blue screens). The Net is the soil in which our future will grow. Don't let THEM have control of The Net is the Sacred HIgh Seas of our world; The last bastion of true free range anarchy. Like the pirate seas of old, it is under constant attack by Greyface and his anal-retentive phalanx of Order-Mongers. Tjese attacks come in the form of Anti-Pornography Bills, corporate copyright lawsuits and the corruption of software companies, usally with money. The aim of this campaign is to stifle the Internet in its infancy and forever reign it under the callous thumb of those currently in power; Greyface and the Lot. NOW IS THE TIME TO FIGHT! You can be part of the Immortal Battle! If you wish, you can make it your SACRED DUTY AND OBLIGATION TO FIGHT THE FORCES OF TYRANNY AND OPPRESSION to fight the forces of Dark Helmets tyranny and oppression on the great frontier that is the net. We will applaud you. If we win, we will se a future flooded with the light of FREE INFORMATION and STFU TROLL. The hoarders; the Info-Lords, will be out of a job and forced to work for a living. Copyright laws will evaporate and the artists of the world will find themselves at the total mercy of their public. So they better behave themselves.
Did you know that one of the Old time Piracys favorite ventures was freeing slave ships? Many of the freed slaves joined on as pirates and saved further ships.

liB eR FRU FRU

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"But what if i get caught?" Motherfucker you are already caught. Better ask yourself: What if I get free?

O M G A S M
Whether or not you choose to acknowledge it, the world in which we live is abundant in absurdity. Sometimes, when day-to-day life becomes too methodic, and too predictable, people find themselves tuning out the weirdness, and passively continuing on around it. Some, have never even noticed the elephant in societys living room; that in our lives which is strange. Others thrive on the absurd, but are starved for it. They find themselves alienated, freaks in a society of complacent zombies. As a Discordian of mind and of spirit, I have long felt a personal obligation to highlight the weirdness in the world around me. A few years ago, I was swimming in a lake, when a man in a full three-piece suit pulled up along the water and stepped out of his car. Casually, without removing his shoes or any of his clothing, he walked into the water until it was up to his neck. He turned towards me, and explained, I do this every day. He shrugged, walked out of the water, and drove away, soaking wet. The man revealed to me something strange that I hadnt seen before. It threw me out of my own box and inspired me to stop hiding my own weirdness from those around me. Knowing that there were others out there, other freaks, other casual promoters of the strange, I exhaled. Over the years, Ive met many others who like me, share the same desire to facilitate discord. In early 2008, a call to action was launched, urging Discordians and the like to team up and work as a community on projects geared toward this sort of promotion. The ongoing project is called omgasm, or Operation: Mindfuck - Golden Apple Seed Missions. Heres how you play: anyone can create a Golden Apple Seed Mission, or a gasm. Once a gasm is created, (and promoted), networks of Discordians can join in on the fun simultaneously run with the mission. Were looking to throw people out of their boxes, to surprise them with unpredictability, to force them to confront what they may not understand, and let other freaks know that were out there, pranking, laughing, and making the strangeness of this world a bit more overt. Having a team of

O M ga S M

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people working towards a goal allows for large-scale mindfucks, and so far, the omgasm project has delivered quite well. Colbertgasm consisted of a mass snail mail letter writing campaign to TV personality Stephen Colbert, inviting him into the Bavarian Illuminati. To accept the invitation, Colbert was instructed to say certain code words on the air. Letters poured in from all over the world. Shortly after the projects letter writing week, Colbert casually uttered a code word, 23 skidoo, in the middle of an interview. He said it slowly, leaning in to the camera a bit. Those involved with Colbert Mission knew that theyd accomplished their goal. Though this in-joke was invisible to outsiders, the Discordian Society had worked together to create it. We had established an in-joke between our secret society and one of our mascots. Colbert is on our side. The omgasm Network worked. Postergasm is another example of a game that anyone can play. The mission is to hang up posters in cities, buildings, or anywhere where they will be seen. The project website states the objective: Modify your environment. Reclaim public spaces. Surprise people out of their daily rut. Encourage creative thought. The posters may include images, single-sentence ideas, general nonsense, or anything else that can serve to throw your average person out of their pedestrian robot mode and announce to the community that weirdness lives. Some of the posters are funny, some serious, and others are downright nonsensical. The message can include whatever the person hanging the poster desires. This is an easy and fun mission, which can be played literally anywhere in the world. The best thing about the project is that anyone can start a Golden Apple Seed Mission and invite others around the world to play along. Using the magic of the web, you can search for magic words like omgasm and Golden Apple Seed Mission and find others who want help with their projects. This allows a great opportunity for Discordians everywhere to collaborate, and to go out and do something fun and strange. This is the information age. We now have the ability to play together, and really shake shit up. Need more chaos in your everyday? omgasm is giving you the opportunity to make it happen.. Go ahead, start something big.
PROTIP After you put up a poster, take a picture of it, upload it to flickr.com, and tag it POSTERGASM. This will help encourage others to do the same.

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The Book of Dewlap

Zarathud the Confused Sage was speaking with his companions during teatime (being an American, who was in America at that time, this meant he was having tea at the proper, Greenwich Mean Time when it was the middle of the working day according to his local time zone. It made no difference), when one of them asked a question of him: Zarathud, the conundrum that we know as the Chicken or the egg argument has vexed me lately. Which came first? Sipping his tea, Zarathud realized too late that the tea was very hot, and he proceeded to burn his tongue. Unable to answer the question, he waved his hand in an attempt to get another to speak for him. Rising to meet the Confused and now Slightly Burned Sages needs, a perceptive young companion spoke aloud: What Zarathud means to say is that neither the chicken nor the egg seems to give a damn which came first, so we may conclude that they were born, simultaneously, from a potato bug. Satisfied, Zarathud shrugged and those present were enlightened.

TH e B O O K O F dewla P

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In the kinetic energy of a mo ving fist lies birth-machine a for a parallel universe

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Tips on Launching a Golden Apple Seed Mission

So youve got an idea for a jake or prank or project, and you want help. Here are some tips to make your idea take off: Keep it simple. If your GASM cant be explained in a paragraph or two, most people wont have the attention to follow. Make it FUN. Participation in the Mission should be rewarding in of itself. In fact, it should be fun even if youre not a Discordian Make it easy for people to participate. Dont make people generate their own material or do their own research. Make it Discordianproof. Expect to do most of the work yourself. Sad fact: Its not enough to build the funwagon, youve got to drive it too. Sometimes this will involve pushing it through mud and rain and harpies towards Funtown. LEADERSHIP and PERSISTENCE are perhaps the most important parts of starting a GASM. This project will quickly fizzle and die unless we have people THINKING FORWARD and LEADING BY EXAMPLE. This is YOUR opportunity to lead the pack into the wilderness. Dont get discouraged if your ideas dont take off immediately. It may take 5 or 10 false starts before you hit kallisti gold. ADVERTISE. Go push your idea at multiple Discordian locations. Also use digg, StumbleUpon, Facebook, and other popular web applications to broadcast your message to the masses. If you dont have accounts at these places, go make one. Its quick, and it increases your freedom to influence the Greater Network.
By the way, this article is a part of GASMGASM, the mission to spread the word about omgasm. By the way, the last sentence is a part of GASMGASMGASM, the mission to spread the word about GASMGASM. By the way, the last sentence is a part of GASMGASMGASMGASM, the mission to never, ever STFU.

TiP S O n laUnc Hing a g O lden a PP le Seed MiS SiO n

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a m e r a? W ho is t h e C Ac to r ?
he W h o is t

re ct or ? W ho is t h e Di r h e W rit e s? W h o is t w i t h t h e pl ay ? W ho co m es up ry h e s c en e
e t Who chos

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Street Time
A cutup of Street Sermon (by DirtyEssence) and Save Money, Kill Time. Kill Money, Save Time (by FullTimeSlacker) and editing by Zarathud. Id like to begin with thanking you for taking this step, it means a lot to me to know that there are other people out there who look for the strange, the new. Ive found a lot of many peoples time is wrapped up in making sure they have enough money to weather the next shitstorm. The car breaks down, the kid breaks a leg, or the spouse breaks the bad news that shes leaving and taking half of everything and all of your dignity. . I know you paid for it and all, changed the oil every 3,000 miles and unfailingly paid the tolls, if you decide that you want to scratch off the VIN number the local man in blue can impound your car. Your gas gauge never gets above a half-tank on a good day. . Look, lets say you own a house built by your fathers own two hands, and the house is built on land that was tamed by your great-great grandparents (the car that doesnt even drive anymore) a few centuries ago. Even if you have the deed in your hand, and even if you have not taken out any mortgages on the house, both house and land will be taken away from you if you fail to pay the property tax. You can hardly buy anything without credit, you need to have credit to get it. Im sorry to break it to you friend, but you do not own your own body . Of course, you cant STOP spending, especially on the things that make you feel happy. Look, if you decided you wanted to put a little stimulant in your body, you will have no job or benefits. Your sexual organs must keep quiet, because that is a severe legal offence. Gotta cram in one more hour of teevee, I know its 1 AM, but I can get by on just 5 hours of sleep, right? Ill just poison myself into alertness. This is what Im getting at friend. I believe that neither of us own our minds. The harder you work to earn your money the less you get to enjoy it. The less you work the less you make, but you have a lot of time on your hands to worry about how much you dont have, right?

STReeT TiM e

00059

Fuck that. See, what we call our ideas are mostly experiences we have had bubbling through our 5 senses or an expression of some relation between these experiences. They simply cannot own this, unless you decide to give it to them. Work just the bare minimum, cut corners by re-using stuff as often as possible, grow some of your own food, and spend all of your money on marijuana so the official economy doesnt get any of it. It is our last bastion of freedom, and certainly the most powerful tool we could ever possess. Look, I choose to believe that liberty is of nearly inexpressible value. This is certainly something that the powers that be want to portray. But when they use the term to what definition are they referring: the liberty of the individual or the liberty of the People? While away the blissful hours with a hobby that makes you happy and doesnt cost a lot. There is a difference. Everybody knows what it is like to experience something meaningful, everybody knows what it is like to have a happy experience. Theres got to be something out there for you. When an object comes on the market it will certainly try to sell you on one or both of these aspects. You keep rushing back and forth hoping one day youll have enough to stop working. This is where it all comes together. You have already taken the first step in the process. I have not told you anything you did not already know, except this: there are people out there who truly want to you think critically not because they want to you follow their agenda or buy their product. If you did think critically what could we possibly convince you to do?

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Myspace Monkeys
h has been reached indepenStack! is a discordian game the concept of whic the shenanigan-loving. the basic dently by the whimsical and the mystical and things. The picture i put up for my idea is that of putting things on top of other an example of Stack! produced by face shot or whatever thats supposed to be is e one day. It is 20 chairs, stuck myself and Mr. Kade Johnson at Bentley colleg a ghastly yet amazingly aesthetin the most precarious formation possible into top of a single chair in the usual ic, mostly random shape, entirely balanced on nd). position for chairs (with four legs on the grou it discordian you ask? allow why is Stack! such a sweet game, and why is questions. Stack! exhibits the me to explain, and thank you for asking those of the ever-present precarious concepts of order and chaos intertwined and are stacked one at a time in balance. during the course of Stack! objects of the chairs in the picture the least stable positions possible (many on a seat, and similar are supported by a single leg standing are placed atop the improbable structures). when objects new objects seunstable objects, the weight of the spur-of-the cures them slightly. the random, in moment placement of objects a precarious balance produces ity structure of relative stabilit in the end, locking tightly as certain becomes more chaotic, developing a order out of its chaos. pantload so thats Stack! tell ya friends! its a metric try it out. of fun, and i reccomend that you go ahead and

If you are anything ianism in place. true ism

here looking for frivolous material, obscene content, or that the enemy has put out in the name of Discordorder to obfuscate, then you are in the wrong The enemy has blinded the world to the face of Eris by turning Discordianinto a joke. Read on if you arent happy with ignorance, as they would like you to be. ROBO

BOGLE

obscene content, or anything that If you are here looking for frivolous material, nism in order to obfuscate, then the enemy has put out in the name of Discordia ed the world to the true face of you are in the wrong place. The enemy has blind on if you arent happy with Eris by turning Discordianism into a joke. Read BOGLE ignorance, as they would like you to be. ROBO
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Stack! is a discordian game the concept of which has been reached independently by the whimsical and the mystical and the shenanigan-loving. the basic idea is that of putting things on top of other things. The picture i put up for my face shot or whatever thats supposed to be is an example of Stack! produced by myself and Mr. Kade Johnson at Bentley college one day. It is 20 chairs, stuck in the most precarious formation possible into a ghastly yet amazingly aesthetic, mostly random shape, entirely balanced on top of a single chair in the usual position for chairs (with four legs on the ground). why is Stack! such a sweet game, and why is it discordian you ask? allow me to explain, and thank you for asking those questions. Stack! exhibits the concepts of order and chaos intertwined and of the ever-present precarious balance. during the course of Stack! objects are stacked one at a time in the least stable positions possible (many of the chairs in the picture are supported by a single leg standing on a seat, and similar improbable structures). when objects are placed atop the unstable objects, the weight of the new objects secures them slightly. the random, spur-of-the moment placement of objects in precarious balance produces a structure of relative stability in the end, locking tightly as it becomes more chaotic, developing a certain order out of its chaos. so thats Stack! tell ya friends! its a metric pantload of fun, and i reccomend

ding pen ), de d. e er(s oth involv nts eme

that you go ahead and try it out. chairs are the best, they stack in interesting ways, but literally any objects and blends of ob-

tern facilitates control over the other(s), depending (among other factors) upon the number of common elements involved.

tern facilitates control ove r the other(s), depending (am ong other factors) upon the number of common elem ents involved.

jects can be used. who knows, if you use stones, maybe the finished shrine will be a permanent building, though the impermanence of the Stack! has its beauty. oh, last-minute knowledge... when beginning a Stack! or after particularly skilled placements or

Why is there no laughter in the Bible? Why doesnt Ch rist ever crack a joke? Why doesnt Yahweh Himself, human-all-too-hu ma n that He is, ever step up to the mike and show His love by unloading a side-splitting zinger or two on the harried , overstressed Israelites? Th ere seems to be a deadly new sob riety at work in the ancien t Judaic desert cults that bur geoned into Christianity. (Compare with polytheism s daring array of tricksterism, jokes, pranks , and confidence-games.) Is this phenom enon related to Platos banishing of the poets in The Republic? Is comedy a Satanic principle of diffusion and a reckless toying with the holy sourcecode of Universal Truth? maybe he was quite funny and you just dont understand his sense of humor. i mean come on, the meek shall inherit the earth, right Jesus, (from page 62) greatest insult comedian of his gen eration. text below might belong to Schizo Testament or not BRUNETTI 11:1 You know what the problem is? My philosophys been GONADECTOMIZED. I did NOT

fa-

cil-

Why is there no laughter in the Bible? Why doesnt Christ ever crack a joke? Why doesnt Yahweh Himself, human-alltoo-human that He is, ever step up to the mike and show His love by unloading a side-splitting zinger or two on the harried, overstressed Israelites? There seems to be a deadly new sobriety at work in the ancient Judaic desert cults that burgeoned into Christianity. (Compare with polytheisms daring array of tricksterism, jokes, pranks, and confidence-games.) Is this phenomenon related to Platos banishing of the poets in The Republic? Is comedy a Satanic principle of diffusion and a reckless toying with the holy sourcecode of Universal Truth?

om es itat of c ber con num t he trol pon r rs) u ove acto er f the ng oth o (am

el mon

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building, though the impermaybe the finished shrine will be a permanent H manence of the Stack! has its beauty. in the Bible? Why doesnt Christ ever crack a joke? there no laughter Why knowledge... last-minute oh,is up He is, ever that comple-human orstep placements skilled Himself, Yahweh after particularly doesnt or human-all-too Why a Stack! beginning when zinger or two on a side-splitting by unloading the experience. His love y. it enhances mike and show the pronounce enthusiasticall to Stack! tions, sobriety new shrines a deadly unseems to beas There Discordian Israelites? consecrated overstressed are hereby harried, thealso, Stack!s all completed Christianity. into burgeoned Drunkard, thatof cults Greek the Ancient Judaic desert Lady in the ancient 523 Our work at of episkopos the authority der and pranks, jokes, tricksterism, or somearray of on fire daring set them maybe polytheisms with presiding. (Compare J. Allenby Edgar Lord Solitary related to Platos banishing of the phenomenon me Is this mes.) them? surprise confidence-ga around a ring thing? dance in diffusion ofid principle enjoy a Satanic comedy would, if you Republic? The pictures insend best Stack!s poets your ofIs and of Universal source-code with the holy toying False and Meaningless, True reckless and consecrating what im that,asee Truth? LORD SOLITARY EJA maybe he was quite funny and you just H sense of humor. i dont understand his mean come on, the meek shall Even though the Hermit inherit the earth, right Apostle Zerathud Jesus, ahhahaha, never menthats pricetioned the less. maybe celebration of the whole Son Crackmas in of God thing any known text, was one huge and there seems to practical joke be no other Disdesigned to get cordian philosophy him crucified, thus surrounding it, myself fulfilling the Hebrew and others have taken prophecy through his up the tradition of triblasphemy, and sparkthis annually celebratingwould ing the religion that semi-false holiday. As far dominate the world for the the as I am aware, May 23 is next 2000 years. jokes on us only non random celebration i guess... Howheld by most Discordians. Its a little known idea in some ever, part of the human brain circles of learning that Christ was party, craves this label your in fact the greatest insult comedian to take off work theme shit, unite of his generation. text below might a and get drunk, why not have belong to Schizo Testament or not Chaos within holiday? kind of thing. BRUNETTI 11:1 You know what for existence, structure seems necessary the problem is? My philosophys been and so maybe that is why Crackmas from evolved. At first crack smoking squirrels about their belief Central Park were quite excited when asked

the imperthe experience. though enhances building, y. it be a permanent will enthusiasticall Stack! finished shrine maybe thepronounce completions, are hereby consecrated as Discordian has its beauty. Stack!s the Stack! ofcompleted also, all manence authority of episkopos 523 Our Lady ute knowledge... the under oh, last-minshrines Solitary particularly or afterLord Drunkard, a Stack! Greek beginning Ancient when of the set maybeproor completions, J. Allenby presiding. skilled placements Edgar in a it y. dance enthusiasticall something? or fire Stack! on nounce them me surprise experience. thethem? around enhances ring are your best Stack!s pictures of all completed also,send and enjoy that, Discordian id as if you would, hereby consecrated Stack!s of True the authority im consecrating under what shrines see ORD Lthe of Our Lady Meaningless, and 523 episkopos False Lord Drunkard, EJA Greek OLITARY Ancient S Solitary Edgar J. Allenby H set them presiding. maybe on fire or something? dance Even though the Hermit in a ring around them? Apostle Zerathud never surprise me mentioned the celebraand send pictures of tion of Crackmas in your best Stack!s if any known text, and you would, id enjoy there seems to be that, see what im no other Discordconsecrating ian philosophy True False and surrounding Meaningless, it, myself and LORD SOLIothers have TARY EJA taken up the tradition of Htriannually celebrating this as I am As farApostle the Hermit holiday. though semi-false Even celebrathe random the only non mentioned 23 is never aware, May Zerathud However, text, and Discordians. any known inmost held by of Crackmas celebration tion your party, philosophy this label Discordian craves other brain to be no the human seems part of there why not up the tradiget drunk, taken and have off work and others to take myself unite theme shit, it, surrounding as I am far necesseems holiday. As within structure this semi-false of thing. Chaos celebrating kind tri-annually a holiday? haveof tion crack first At Discordmost evolved. by held Crackmas why celebration is that random maybe non so only and 23 is the existence, May sary for aware, their theme about asked party, your when label excited this quite craves were brain Park human Central of the from part squirrels However, smoking ians. of kind holiday a holiday? the semi-false not have out that why finding drunk, after and get However, take off work Crackmas. in the to belief unite shit, that and the so maybe eating and drinking, for existence, your friends, necessary with seems together structure getting within about Chaos was really thing. Park glass dick, from Central the proverbial squirrels sucking smoking actually first crack about At and not evolved. of gag gifts, why Crackmas giving is Crackmas. However, rude. belief in the even outright and their asked about despondent when became quite excited they quickly were about getting together really was holiday after finding out that the semi-false H

tern

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the truth patterns of a given personal universe (including a single persons part of a consensus reality) and yet still be true provided it works in a specific situation. LAW OF PRAGMATISM If a pattern of belief or behavior enables a being to survive and to accomplish chosen goals, then that belief or behavior is true, realistic, and/or sensible. LAW OF FINITE SENSES Every sense mechanism of every entity is limited by both range and type of data perceived, and many real phenomena exist which may be outside the sensory scanning ability of any given entity. LAW OF ASSOCIATION if any two or more patterns have elements in common, the patterns interact through those common elements. The control of one pattern facilitates control over the other(s), depending (among other factors) upon the number of common elements involved. H Why is there no laughter in the Bible? Why doesnt Christ ever crack a joke? Why doesnt Yahweh Himself, human-all-too-human that He is, ever step up to the mike and show His love by unloading a side-splitting zinger or two on the harried, overstressed Israelites? There seems to be a deadly new sobriety at work in the ancient Judaic desert cults that burgeoned into Christianity. (Compare with polytheisms daring array of tricksterism, jokes, pranks, and confidence-games.) Is this phenomenon related to Platos banishing of the poets in The Republic? Is comedy a Satanic principle of diffusion and a reckless toying with the holy source-code of Universal Truth? maybe he was quite funny and you just dont understand his sense of humor. i mean come on, the meek shall inherit the earth, right Jesus, ahhahaha, thats priceless. maybe the whole Son of God thing was one huge practical joke designed to get him crucified, thus fulfilling the Hebrew prophecy through his blasphemy, and sparking the religion that would dominate the world for the next 2000 years. jokes on us i guess...

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LAW OF TRUE FALSEHOODS It is possible for a concept or act to violate the truth patterns of a given personal universe (including a single persons

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to one ely giving love e thing ... th ing and exclusiv People are keep be a joke! Well, eh ... thats ng really is? person! It must ve any idea how common cheati elove or How it is. Do you hae like to pretend. - Dr Strang But common peopl op Worrying and Love the Bomb I Learned to St

eht tcaf ni saw tsirhC taht gninrael fo selcric emos ni aedi nwonk elttil a stI ozihcS ot gnoleb thgim woleb txet .noitareneg sih fo naidemoc tlusni tsetaerg ton ro tnematseT neeb syhposolihp yM ?si melborp eht tahw wonk uoY 1:11 ITTENURB -enots ssadab a saw I !ssenkaew etacovda TON did I .DEZIMOTCEDANOG sgabmucs tnelutalf eht ot tihs klat ot diarfa tnsaw I !rekcufrehtom sselraef dloc tnargalf a htiw ,ydobyreve gnizicitirc ylirgna ,dnuora derednaw I .rewop ni ,selur nwo ym edam I .serutcurts lairotirohtua dehcnertne rof dragersid ,detnarG !mrofnoc ot gnisufer ,em thguat reve yteicos gniht yreve gnitcejer ,ffo-dessip ,llaw-eht-ot-sllab eno saw I ,llits ,tub ,srewop larutanrepus dah I !ot detnaw I fi ssa sydobyna kcik dluoc I !edud suoilleber .msylcatac ladicirtap fo deerc a desuopse I :namm ,tuo ti kcehC 2:11 NAVI ecnim yhw ,tihS .retsamksat leurc dna ,citsirbuh ,lufegnev a saw nam dlo yM yB .selpicnirp YM ta kool a ekat tuB !izaN nikcuf a ekil saw eH ?sdrow desoppo I .hctib-a-fo-nos oknip eimmoc niggirf a yllacitcarp mI nosirapmoc -mucnenu ,elpmis a fo rovaf ni htlaew fo tiusrup wollahs eht dna msilairetam dna ,krow tsenoh ,doof tneced ,serusaelp detacilpmocnu ylno gnikees ,efil dereb !elpoep eht ot rewoP .noitalpmetnoc evitcelfer dna noitatidem rof emit eht saw I tcaf nI !yug ynnuf a saw I taht stegrof enoyreve dnA 3:11 ESROH ,evitcevni lufetah selbarap ym lla tnerA .yad ym fo cimoc tlusni tsomerof eht DEMOOD FO HCNUB A LLA ERUOY :tniop latnemadnuf ym gnitaretier I .ekoj a eb ot desoppus erew sedutitaeb ehT ...yugesiw laer a saw I !SNOROM -kahs ,seigolotuat dnalb ,dlo emas eht gnihsurc ,snoitatcepxe gniyfed tsuj saw ...sdaeh selpoep no nifoog ,pu sgniht gni .soztam ekil adnik ,yadot yrd elttil a tsirhc fo ydob siht si ro ,em tsuj ti sI eht ot kcits tnod sekalf suseJ detacissed eht oS .eniw eht teg uoy yhw stahT ruoy fo foor

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! o, don't r you d Whateve

Traffic Koans
A disciple entirely sick of normal teachings sought enlightenment at the foot of a self proclaimed master. Meeting the master at a park bench, the student heeded the words of a hand lettered sign on a disused case of beer, and handed $40.00 to the holy one. Let me ask you this:, began the student, feeling now entitled to a certain lesson. No., replied the master, as he tucked away the bills. Yes, but my questions is..., he began again. It isnt. You fool youself., came the reply. I ONLY WISH TO ASK ONE THING! the disciple bellowed, now feeling quite fed up. You have asked three things, and have a lesson for today. Go and ponder this. Once his blood pressure fell, feeling quite humbled, the student bowed and left, pondering what had occured. As he left he saw another fellow approach the master cashless, greeting him affably and sharing a certain brown wrapped drink. Seeing this, the student went off, feeling there was much indeed to think on. H A Zen Master went to visit a Discordian KSC high upon a mountain top. The Zen Master carefully approached the Discordian, being aware of their erratic temperment. Before he could speak, the Discordian spun around and asked the Zen Master, Does the Goddess Eris have Buddha-Nature? The Zen Master smiled and said, Mu! The Discordian looked the Zen Master in the eyes and said, What the fuck is that supposed to mean? The Zen Master smiled and said, Mu! The Discordian stood and said, No, man. Im serious. What the fuck does

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that mean? Are you retarded or something? The Zen Master smiled and said, Mu! The Discordian snatched the Zen Masters walking stick away from him and said, raising his voice, Say Mu Again. Say Mu again. I dare you. I doubledare you, motherfucker! Say Mu one more God Damn time! The Zen Master was no longer smiling, but was holding up his shaking hands defensively and said, Mu? The Discordian moved closer, savagely striking the Zen Master with his own stick, all the time shouting, Is the Goddess Eris a beautiful blonde with big tits and an ass that tastes like French vanilla ice cream? Answer me! When the Zen Master awoke, he found that his wallet was gone and his pineal gland was swollen. He also noticed that his underwear was on inside-out. H Lord Omars pick-up truck A blonde bodacious student of Discordia asked Lord Omar, Your place or my place? Lord Omar asked, Are you on the pill? The blonde bodacious student answered, Yes, I am. Lord Omar said, Then fuck it! I cant hold it any longer, lets do it here on the hood of my truck.

00068

TR A FFIC KOAN S

Do you wa nt to pl an all your dream or step into the known, or dream unwhat you alread y dreamed?

The Great Pope Joan

BY IGNATIOUS DRYROASTED CHAFFINCH Pope Joan was said to have been the first lady in England to take on the call of the Discordi. It is told in The Honest Book Of Truth that most sacred of Discordian tomes, that Eris came to her when she was but 16 years old. H.B.O.T Chapter 0, Verse 12: And as Joan Dearborne Smythe was cleaning out the privy, there was a blinding flash of purple light and a woman appeared unto her clothed all in gold. Joan did drop to her knees and did cry out Oh strange spirit, do not hex me, for I am but a lowly sheep farmers daughter, and know not of the doings of the other world. The strange woman did grin and spake in a voice dripping with honey: Fear not gentle Joan, for I have come to give unto thee the secrets of the multiverse. You shall know why it is that toasted bread always falls butter side down, how it is that it is always thee left sock that vanishes upon wash day, why it always rains when you go to the seaside and the mystery of the twenty and three. And unto Joan did this strange woman render an apple of purest gold and again did spake again: Here is my Graile Discordia, meditate upon this and the entire truth and wisdom of the teachings of The Discordi will be yours. Not to mention this excellent set of crystal tumblers and these fine steak knives. And the strange woman did vanish, leaving her apple of purest gold sat on the corner of the privy. And for twenty and three days did Joan meditate upon the secrets of the apple. Upon doing this, she was enlightened, and received the Wholley Wisdom Of Eris.

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After receiving Eris in the privy, Joan did take the title of Pope Joan The First, and she set out to wander the lands of England, spreading the secret wisdom of Eris. It is said that using only a wiffle stick and a salted mackerel, Pope Joan did drive all of the Fnords out of England. It is self evident that she succeeded in this, as there is not a single Fnord to be seen, nowadays in the UK. Pope Joan was the first Discordian to consider the power of the Pineal Gland. In her Sermon To Thee Hounds, which she preached to the Count Of Basingstokes hunting pack, she makes mention of it: And if thy feels a tingle in thy gland of thee pineal, one must open it wide, and stroke it. Even thou art lowly hounds one may see thee anerisistic confusion of thee grey reality. Chase thy tails and lick thy balls, oh hairy brethren, and fall ye not into presets of order. Pope Joan wandered England during a period from 830 AD till 845 AD, converting random strangers, and preaching to house pets, till circumstances forced her into hiding. It is said that after she received the Graile, she was hunted out by the forces of The Grey Order. By an amazing stroke of lateral thinking, Pope Joan worked out that if indeed she was being hunted out, and that, in fact the hunters were looking for a female Discordian Pope, that the best place to hide would be within the catholic Clergy. In a reverse echo of the film Nuns On The Run 17, Pope Joan Cut her hair, bound up her lady chests and assumed the guise of a Franciscan Monk. Indeed this disguise proved to be rather too successful. Through no doing of her own, the young monk John (as she cunningly changed her name to), rose through the ranks of clergy and in 854 AD was tenured with becoming the Catholic Pope. Joan was rightfully amused at this prospect and decided that she could use this interesting turn of circumstance to sew the seeds of Discord into the very center of the Roman Catholic Church. Things went well for Pope John / Joan for quite some time until around 857 AD when according to legend, whilst in transit from the Colosseum to the Church of San Clemente, Pope John / Joan gave birth to a son, whilst dressed in full pontifical gear. No doubt this was a bit of a shock to those cardinals traveling with him / her, and it seemed to be a bit of a shock to Pope Joan also, as she died on the spot. Ever since then, the Vatican has insisted that any prospective popes, visit St John Lateran. In this chapel one will find a blood red marble chair, with a hole in the seat. This has been used ever since to check out the sex of prospective popes, so as to avoid any further Jonarian style confusion.

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As we can see from the passage taken from The Honest Book Of Truth Pope Joan was in position of the Graile Discordia. After her untimely death, we can only assume that it was taken to the Vatican for safe keeping. With the Graile Discordia being kept hushed up by the powers at the Vatican, there is not much known about these Dark Ages Of Discordia, rumor has it that Eris herself was rightfully miffed at having her apple swiped and took it out on the Mayans. This, however cannot be proved. With the teachings of Pope Joan still circulating the word of Discordia could not be hushed up. In 1123, a renegade group of knights formed a splinter group to continue the works of Eris. These brave knights named themselves The Knights Hemplar, a derivative of the original organization The Knights Templar, who as you may not be aware existed as a military arm of The Grey Conspiracy, dedicated to stamping out Erisine teachings, and keeping the secret of The Graile Discordia from the masses.

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dream (love things in your distraction keeps acceptt Attraction and they pass on, no Accepting things dealt and hate etc). By until accepted or them come back ing tend to make ble. pt the unaccepta with. Don t acce

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The Parable of Steve

BY NIGEL
There was an afternoon one summer when a young man we will call Steve happened upon a book like no other he had read. It was on the shelf in his local alternative bookstore, and it was called the Principia Discordia. Steve had always thought himself to be quite the rebellious young man, always speaking out about the Man and the System, but with a sense of HUMOR, goddamnit, a sense of ABSURDITY unlike everyone else he knew; this book, he said to himself, is Important. It finally tells me what I amI am a Discordian. I must find the others! It took Steve some time to find other Discordians, time during which he renamed himself Pope Buttercup XXIII. He felt that quite a fitting name for a Discordian. He prided himself in his sense of Absurdity, and especially his skills in Randomness, which he practiced by memorizing passages from the Principia. He learned on the Internet that the Discordian Society near him met monthly in a caf downtown, and after his months of searching he determined the date and the time, and arranged to present himself to them. When he arrived, he found the place nearly deserted except for a group of ten or twelve people clustered in a back corner, arguing. They were of all descriptions, these people; no two seemed to have anything in common, even their styles of dress; they ranged from the glowering pierced goth chick at one corner, who was seated beside a neatly-groomed silver-haired man in a rather nice suit, to the plump middle-aged matron in a V-necked rayon sweater, to the lively trenchcoat geek thumping his opinion about something-or-other loudly in the middle of the table. Steve said to himself, These are my people? What a motley crew well, theyre Discordians, I know how to show them Im One Of Them. He stepped up to the table. 23PINEALFNORD! he said boldly, I am Pope Buttercup XXIII! I am random, and

TH e Pa R a B le O F STeVe

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say randomly absurd things, because I am a Discordian like you! The group fell silent and looked at him curiously for a moment, and then resumed arguing. Steve was puzzled. This wasnt the reception hed expected. He spoke again; Excuse me, but do you know where the monkeys fly at midnight? Modern politics bores me, and I can swallow my own nose!! Now a few of the others seemed to be paying attention to him, although to his dismay they seemed less than impressed by his perfect grasp of outlandishness. Two or three of them, he noticed why, they were making fun of him! They were whispering to each other, and looking at him, and laughing! He flushed red in anger. Listen, you people! I am a Discordian, and I know what Discordia is, and I came here to find Answers and Truth and Nonsense and Absurdity what do I find you doing? Just NOTHING! Nothing at all! Why arent you Saying Important Nonsense? Why, youre just ARGUING ARGUING like any schmucks I might find on the street! I am obviously more enlightened and Discordian than you fools. You people are all just alike. You should be different! You should PAY ATTENTION to ME, and LISTEN to ME, and I will show YOU How to Be Discordian! With this, he started dancing and squawking around the table like a big, Steveshaped chicken, periodically uttering Absurdities such as I AM THE PAULRUS and TOGETHER WE TURNTABLE THE GREEN OTTER!. The people at the table attempted to carry on with their arguing, but it was getting harder and harder to hear each other over the squawking. Soon, all their arguing was about Steve, and whether they should ask him to leave. About a third of the group started shouting at Steve, telling him to get out of the caf and leave them alone; another third started shouting at the first third to shut up and leave Steve alone, and the other third tried to have an interesting conversation, but it was impossible to follow with all the hubbub so they eventually fell silent. Finally, the barista stormed over and said, WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON OVER HERE? One of the quieter members of the group replied, Discord. We would like, at this point, to say that Steve, hearing this, was enlightened, but it doesnt usually work that way outside of Zen koans.

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Why I Put Up Posters

I have a little brown messenger bag which waits by the door for me like a puppy wanting to go out. In my bag, I carry a few pages of stickers, some markers, post-it notes, pope cards, my notebook, a camera, two fake moustaches, and a folder containing a few hundred posters. I like to walk around the neighborhood, putting up flyers, making changes to signs, and generally jaking around. One day, past midnight, a one-eyed bum approached me on the street. Whatve ya got there? he asked. I seen your pictures around the neighborhood. What ARE you doing? I blinked. This question always stumps me. Its a funtime activity Ive never really attached a name to other than putting up stuff. Searching my brain for a quick explanation, I eventually told him, Its art, but the word stuck in my throat. Well I guess you could argue that anything is art, certainly some of the stuff I put up is artistic, but I dont really consider this activity art. I lay in bed that night, the question turning over in my mind: What AM I doing? For one, Im taking back my environment and gradually transforming it into the place I want it to look like. I like making everybodys day a little bit more surreal, and this is a really visible way of doing it. For two, I know that somewhere out there, there are other people like me. Other people who appreciate these weird little intrusions into pedestrian reality. My posters are signposts saying Im here, and youre not alone. And for three, it sends the message to everyone that public spaces are public property. We all modify our environment by living in it. The sounds and smells and rhythms of the neighborhood are an organic reflection of its occupants.
w H Y i PUT U P P O STeR S 0 0 07 5

Putting up posters is just like trimming the hedges or mowing the lawn. Walking through the neighborhood with my bag over my shoulder, my cabal at my side, Im reminded of don Juan Matus and Carlos Castaneda on their way to Ixtlan, trying to walk with the entities and intelligences of the desert. Were urban shamans, befriending the spirit of the neighborhood. While you go on your ventures, I reccommend this attitude, one of respect and stewardship for your environment, your companion on this journey. Ive been regularly putting up posters in this neighborhood for about a year now, and I think its working. At first, theyd dissapear quickly, but theyre staying up much longer now. I think people are either laughing at them (and leaving them up) or are getting tired of taking them down. I like the fact that when I walk from point A to point B, I get to chuckle at the cool stuff hung on the telephone poles, walls, and trees, the moustaches drawn on posters, the stickers in the phonebooths. It feels like MY neighborhood. I am having such a blast doing this, I can only hope that somebody else out there is digging it half as much as I am. I dont have any agenda higher than that. Thats why I tend to avoid posters with political or ideological propaganda on them - people have a lot of defense mechanisms when they sense someones trying to sell them something. I just want them to stop for a second and be aware of their environment. I want to jolt them, if only briefly, out of their pedestrian autopilot. And after seeing a few hudred of these signs, maybe theyll join me in modifying their environment for the better. Or maybe when they realize how easy it is to have fun FOR YOURSELF, IN YOUR OWN WAY, theyll loosen up, just a bit. If you want to join me, but youre stuck for ideas for what to put up, search the web for our code word, PosterGASM. Ive collected quite a bit of material over at http://www.blackironprison.com/index.php?title=POSTERGASM. I also advise you to take pictures of your work and post it on flickr.com with the tag POSTERGASM. That way, youll KNOW youre not out there alone. Theres a community of people who also dig these kinds of shenanigans, and we love it when other pranksters choose to help carry the torch into the Strange Times. May your stapler be full and your stickers be sticky. May your streets be filled with laughter. And may your posters hang high, long, and deep.
t events, scene in strange gian Picture all like the br icks r oving m of one anothe entities slowly stuffed on top atch all the id different by isting Now. W e in the Tetr is Tetr is all ex ges they mak perience the puny chan the Is (eyes) ex upwards, and A place where ater! ings they do. e Dream The choices and do Welcome to th d each other. themselves an
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s, moments in

life

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d of door offer the wor go from door to dogs print a few copies er and plumper hot lies, truth, disord

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The Cloved Lemon Kissing Game

bY PRINCESS UNICORNIA ANd REVERENd LOVESHAdE This holy ritual was discovered by members of the Society for Creative Anachronism, which stubbornly insists it is not a division of the Ek-sen-triks CluborGuild. (The SCA was founded on the anniversary of the Bavarian Illuminati in 1966 in California, just one year after Principia Discordia was first published in California, which sounds mighty suspicious to us). The ritual has five steps, naturally. 1. Someone, the Lemon Clover, inserts cloves into a fresh lemon (or some other fruit, in which case this person is the Some Other Fruit Clover. But puckerinducing lemons generally work best). Making a pattern with the cloves is optional. Possible patterns include a heart, smiley face, the number five, the Sacred Chao, or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Its generally best to prepare the lemon shortly before the game begins, although the cloved lemon can be refrigerated for a short while. 2. One person, the Giver, hands the cloved lemon to someone e would like to kiss, called the Receiver. Usually this is done at a party or other get-together, except funerals. The game generally happens while other things are going on, sometimes continuing through a whole party. 3. The Receiver then takes a clove out with es teeth to freshen es breath. If the Receiver doesnt like the taste of cloves, e may use es hand. If played in a hot tub, declare a non-breakable container to be the Sacred Used Clove Receptacle. If played anywhere else, a clove may be deposited wherever is appropriate, as swallowing cloves can be pretty nasty. 4. The Receiver indicates the body part the Giver may kiss by offering that body part to the Giver and/or pointing to it. Usual locations are the hand, cheek, lips, open mouth/tongue. Unusual locations are left to the imagination. However, the nature of the kiss should always be mutually agreeable. The Giver should be gracious, even if the kiss is less intimate than e desired.

TH e clOVed le M O n KiS Sing ga M e

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5. The Receiver now becomes the Giver, and goes to Step 2. This continues until your lemon runs out of cloves (in which case you may either end the game or go to Step 1), or players run out of body parts. (But body parts, unlike cloves, are reusable. And rekissible.)

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ZO M g lOVeS H ade! B O O K R O O nT.

Yo u r tr u i t is t h h as n o - an fut u d r e t h a t i s e n o o r h i s t o ry , u g h.

Channelled Messages
The following message was channelled through Princess Madnonymus from the Shlok: YH-SHRP-E-DU-DUDU-DEDA-DADA (THE CASTRATION OF THE SHLOK) My faith in its nature is not logical; Thus, then, my logic is not an immutable fact. My faith in its nature not being an immutable fact, I therefore say that it is circular and true. Lose sight of this principle of circumvolution and prefer to think in logical terms; You then obtain a view of things as either right or wrong but immutable. If afterwards you say that they are to be exchanged for currencies, You thus come to see things in a dogmatic and righteous way.

a re trying De te rm in a ti on a nd The Illusions as yo u pl ea se . lf n. Yo u Ch an ge yo ur se in th e lo ng ru gr ea t qu a l it y at io n an d pe rs is te nc e is se yo ur Im ag in e il lu si on s. U ca n ch a ng e th yo ur dr ea m . ch an ge , ev ol ve W il l Po w er to to ch ange you.

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th ei Ho w Ev ery on e is St ra ng el ov e or Dr be Fr ee ... bo mb. Le t th e lo ve an d Lo ve th e St op Wo rryi ng I Le a rn ed to

n! r ow n so l ut io

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Hearts and Minds

Welcome to the modern day war zone. Right now, as I speak, a thousand battles are being waged for your submission and allegiance. Commanders and politicians have decided that the enemy is us and that we are to be bought to heel, as soon as possible. No doubt some of you think Im using hyperbole, or metaphor to illustrate an example of our socially fractured society and the commodification of identity. And while those certainly are problems, anyone thinking about those in relation to my rant today are wrong. Right now, you and I are quite literally at war with at least one government, namely that of the USA. Oh to be sure there wont be running battles with light infantry. No airstrikes are going to be called in on your house, and Im reasonably certain you wont get carted away to Guantanomo Bay, or any other black site that exists. But just because guns arent being loaded and blood isnt been spilt doesnt mean this isnt a conflict. You see, war isnt about the clash of armies on the battlefield anymore. Hell, its barely even about killing, except as an advertising hook or a final solution for people who refuse to stop being a pain in the ass. No, warfare has moved through the gentlemanly period of pitched battles and low casualties, blown apart by Napoleon and perfected in the slaughterhouse of WWI. Its not even the dirty political warfare that characterized the Cold War, marked by futile superpower conflict and strategies designed to bleed a superpower by third world proxies, and on the other end of the scale by terrorism. No, warfare today is about fighting on the psychological and narrative level. Its about capturing the mind, and shackling it to the agenda of the day, regardless of what that agenda may be. The thing is, you see, as warfare has become less and less about artful strategy and less bound by codes of conduct be they religious, cultural or legal the real issue has not been arms, logistics, intelligence and skill, but about the sheer will to fight. Whoever goes on fighting the longest, whoever is willing to do what it takes to persuade the other side to accept their interests, whoever

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is able to effectively frame the agenda in a certain manner, is the winner in the modern world. You can even suffer strategic setbacks if your message and will is powerful enough. And of course, if you accept this as essentially true, broadly speaking, then logically you come to the problem being people who wont get the fuck on with the message. The enemy ceases to be those who threaten certain strategic alliances, deposits of raw materials and the lives of the citizenry. No, the enemy becomes anyone who undermines that message and so weakens that will to resolve the conflict and that person can be anyone, even your own citizenry. Back in the day, they used to call this PsyOps. It used to only be a wartime enterprise. Dropping leaflets over enemy cities and troop formations. Doing pirate broadcasts using exiles and friendlies from the nation you are at war with to convince them of widespread resentment towards the government. Smear and ridicule important political and military leaders in any way possible. Like I said, it used to be only a wartime enterprise. But now, thanks to the Cold War terrorism, carried to its conclusion by the likes of Al-Qaeda and Hezbollah, the difference between peace and war only exists in a legal sense. The potentially endless war on terror means actually endless psychological operations carried out against not just the enemy, but the civilian population at home as well. The media has to hang the enemy with words and discourses and justifications before the military can do it in fact. Nowadays, PsyOps is only one part of a much broader school, known as Information Operations. Do you operate a blog, report on the failing and lies and crimes of your country? Then you are are, according to this world-view, engaging in warfare against the state. But its not just about information per se. You have to think about this much more broadly. For example, protests. A protest is not just a protest. It never can be. Its an expression of low intensity conflict relying on moral discourses and popular expression of dissidence, aimed at bringing about a political-military confrontation. And just where do you think something like Operation MindFuck fits into this system of ideas? Since many of us tend to think of O:MF as a way of mentally shaking people up, getting them to question their assumptions, physically deconstructing the popular discourses of the day, stripping away the bare truth hidden beneath self-serving platitudes...well, in that case, it is nothing more than a direct challenge to state power. That may dishearten some of you. But the simple truth is, thinking for yourself, and then communicating those thoughts to others, will always be seen that way, so long as this world-view dominates. You may as well get used to it, because unless you decide to never share your views, or have a frontal lobotomy, you will almost certainly do something that could be considered an act of war. And if you get really good at it, you may even end up in a real domestic war

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as the crazy elements of the thuggish far right, security services and corporate sponsored smear teams conspire to make your life hell through intimidation, surveillance and character assassination. And to be honest, once you realize that you are in the war, a certain clarity accompanies that knowledge. You can now diagnose this uneasy feeling all of the above has been creating. You know what it is now, the nature of the Beast is discerned and laid bare. Once you know what the problem is, you can set about dealing with it. Few things are insurmountable, once you understand their purpose and context. Unfortunately, you have little choice about this. The line has already been drawn in the sand, and youre on the wrong side. What happens next is a matter of policy, insanity, personal whim and plain old bad luck. Because youre not quite the perpetual pain in the ass that, say, Al-Qaeda is, you wont be facing the guns. You can be drowned out by voices of far-right harpies, military experts who just happen to be taking pay cheques from the Pentagon and spineless journalists more content with attacking those who search for the truth than politicians who hide it. There is a spectrum of responses, if you will. If you do this, the response will be that. And if you do something else, the response will differ in proportion. But like all Platonic constructs of reality, there are gaps in the conceptual definitions put forward. And it is in such gaps that the game must be played most effectively. Operation MindFuck works best in areas where they are no response. So go beyond blogging, or political protest, or pranks, or sabotage and mild acts of ontological guerilla warfare. Mix and match, be innovative, experiment and push the boundaries. And remember, even though this is a war, unconventional forces always have the advantage over hierarchies.

is for those who can't handle

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Divine Madness
In a nation of people who are moving to a morality based on xenophobia and arbitrary discrimination masked as ethical superiority, there exists a subculture of sinners, heretics and transgressors of the laws of the concrete jungle. These people, whether their existence be one of idyllic communion or of desperate nonconformity, become the pariahs of their progenitors, neither understood nor respected by their peers as they dance a mad dance that frightens the man on the street due to intensity, subtlety or sheer incomprehensibility. These individuals, being reflections of the nature of our possibility and our futility, frighten as well as remind the world of the dangers of excess as well as the draining wounds of its own banality. Those who are able to convince the world of the validity of their own mad prophecy become the icons of an era, while those without the requisite advertising skills rot in a cage of confusing expectations and near insanity. Only extreme options are available to those with the gift of Divine Madness. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire... The E-Team

Most of what consists of neo-paganism is actually an eclectic mishmash of fairy tales, anthropological conjecture, New Age sensibilities and outright wishful thinking. There is no hard evidence that the witches and pagans that modern pagans cite had anything resembling the same moral sensibilities that we do. Real data about their lives is scarce or biased. Modern occult draws mostly from publicity-hungry writers like Crowley, modern interpretations of incomplete and dubious medieval sources and from the media. The modern pagan learns more about magick and religion from The Craft, Mercedes Lackey and Harry Potter than any kabbalistic, alchemical or hermetic source. Those who continue to explore religious, spiritual and magickal issues tend to go from an eclectic Pop-paganism to an examination of established religious traditions. However, the quantity and variety of religious thought now available is staggering.

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The major change in human interaction in the technological age has been the speed and ubiquity of communications. Cultures clash constantly as other cultural structures are exposed to (and impressed upon) the peoples of every culture and subculture. This exposure has led to a quasi-Darwinian survival of the most interesting competition in American society in which ideologies are sampled like foods in a salad bar. The result is a theological consumerism where devout observance of a particular tradition is an unacceptable form of bigotry given the diversity of seemingly-devout experience available. Thus we have a pagan community with a sort of Deist agnosticism, taking what they can of each religious experience and gluing them together into a collage of spiritual belief to justify their nebulous sense of the existence of a divinity different from that of the accepted societal dogma. That is not to say that the magick they do or the religious affinities they have are not real or as valid as the Deist agnosticism that passes for modern American Christianity. However, without a conscious understanding of the fact that modern pagan and occult sensibilities have bootstrapped themselves into existence instead of having imaginary connections to idealized ancient cultures, those sensibilities will continue to be a sort of spiritual masturbation. The unconscious appropriation of ideological icons does not provide any sort of understanding of original significance of those icons, nor does the individual have the requisite knowledge to integrate those concepts into any sort of useful framework. Without significant mindfulness, such Rube-Goldberg ideologies simply become idle curiosities, ciphers for mainstream morality or a cover for the pervasive amorphous belief in some divinity in some shape or form. The above begs for the step of conscious appropriation in a post-modern manner. The confrontation with multiple cultural sensibilities and religious systems has indicated the existence of a wide variety of ways that life can be lived and interpreted. We have to deal with the fact that Modern Western Culture is not the evolutionary pinnacle of societal development. Our near-instantaneous global contact has shown us that there are an innumerable number of distinct cultures and sub-cultures out there that can and have produced viable communities and outlooks for their participants. With this surplus of data, the post-modern response is to divine the potential significance of these religious systems so that they can be duplicated in a framework of interlocking ideas that provides a unique whole. A techno or industrial musician samples sounds, baselines and words and remixes them into a new song reminiscent of many of the elements of the original parts yet having its own individual character. Similarly, the pomo-pagan combs the threads of spiritual and social experience for the building blocks and gears of a theological structure that utilizes the actualities and potentialities of the ancient, the popular and the possible as a metaphysical outlook that is in synch with the unique character of an inhabitant of the 21st century.

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A lot of modern paganism is progressing towards this state. A large number of new adherents to paganism come from religious frameworks that they found lacking and discovered the neo-pagan community while trying to find an alternative to the framework they knew. As opposed to the converts to other religions, those who convert to neo-paganism come with a laundry-list of needs and little support as opposed to encountering a community with pre-established dogma and expectations. In order to compensate for what neo-paganism lacks in structure and focus, the new pagan begins trying to find whatever religious mechanisms will fit the their needs.

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motherfucker. " Colin Powell in one of his more lucid moments.

"All that was: will be. All that wasn't: can't. Now fetch me a Pop Tart
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The Evil Dead. Boxset for Only 3 99

bY SEpIA I do not know much, but I know this: Arthur Koestler made me do it. It is fitting for it was all his fault that I knew that I wasnt the only to view the world differently. Others told me this too but none told it in the profound sense which Koestler told it. Dont let them see your weirdness. - The Good Reverend Roger Hell is other people he says before he ventures out on Black Friday, joining the hordes of others dressed to kill and be killed downtown there in little Oslo. Still raining with the sounds of clicketyclack everywhere to hear. On their ways, christmas parties for the employees, chopping sprees amongst the bestsellers of paperback and nice price dvds. They report that there has never been sold this many COMPLEAT FRIENDS packages, bundled up in HDREADY for your HDREADY screen you bought with the bonus because you dont want to miss out on anything, like watching the forecast every night and watching the news saying its important to pay attention, its important to know whats going on in the world. This is where I roll my eyes and dont even start the discussion unless Im drunk enough. One of the secrets of the world, which I must admit I didnt learn from Mr. Koestler but rather from Mr. Crowley is that everything shares the same system. It is in this way that magic is true, it is in this way that one can do changes. A form of illumination one reaches when having pondered on the penetrator will be the penetrated for long enough, seeing an ex-alcoholic filling her tumbler with water, adding ice cubes and and a little slice of lime and understanding that the world will end and there are only comic book characters that will remain to sit on the outskirts of some city, watching it burn while chugging a bottle of champagne from the earlier parts of the last century. The world will end. If the shatterer of worlds has a sense of humor, it will indeed happen sometime around christmas. No other holidays will suffice for none other brings out the madness so inherent in each of us.

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Everything shares the same system. Everything works within standard parametres. Understanding and knowledge in our society is set with a limit. I personally believe it is the same thing as a hole in our soul but it is what registers as civillization or barbary, depending if you like chocolate or vanilla. These are also part of the same system, the same idiot machine with the traditional tugs and cogs. Magicians say that the war between heaven and hell is a metaphorical one, its happening inside our own minds and intuitions. See them as an equation, see them as The Architect and The Oracle within the Matrix. See the discussion in the bar, behind the pizza counter, by the burger flipping stands in McDonalds or the place up the street that makes the buns for Pizza Hut. 1 & 0. The two types of people in the world. Every answer can be broken down into Yes and No. 1001 - 2 = 7. Seven seconds away, seven soldiers. 7 is the new 5. 25 is the new 23 and the brain is the new pineal gland. Something in the law changes and if the changes are accepted and popularized, the law is overwritten and the law becomes the law for another generation where one of the clever small dodos will figure out that it was once 5, 23 and pineal gland. Hell then perhaps change it to 69, A and Anus if hes inventive. Yet, does this make the significance, the meaning to change or is it cosmetic? In 2008, Arnold Schwarzenegger will become the president of the USA. The last solar solar cycle of the last century will begin to fade. Time will begin to seem unreal, glitches first with memories bleeding from one creature to another. No toilets will work in the entire world, all is water and shit and piss watering mother earth. Action is called for, the old propaganda machines set anew in motion, Jehovahs witnesses are no longer alone with predicting the end of the world but they see merely the answer, their faith broken down in 1s and 0s, Yes or No and for them, the world will not end, the skin will grow back. For others, it will be different. But the end of the world is coming when the truth will still stay hidden but everything will reach an anticlimax and much will be unravelled. Those who dream of terrorism will become true terrorists, those who dream of freedom will become true freedom fighters and those who dream of other things will become other things. But most of the time, nothing will change in the bigger picture for the big picture is always slow, always on three wheels down a bumpy road. Then perhaps, some day youll get to think about Jesus Christ. Perhaps youre sober, perhaps youre gathered with your friends, your family, your food, your presents but youll see him hanging there and youll understand his desire to become a plastic fruit preserved in plastic like small lemons and peppers and pineapples in the kebab stands and youll think of him as you run to the new ground zero, downtown Oslo strapped with a homemade neutron bomb, straight from the anarchists cookbook and theres cops chasing you but theyre fat, too many donuts and too much pizza and too many blowjobs and too little fuck-

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IS SPACE ITE IN TH DO NOT WR RIGHT HERE

ing and theres terror in every man and womans eyes but not the children, the children smile with glee and hope in their eyes that youll be able to pull this off and you get some floors between you and the cops and you get up and out on the roof and you set it up and make it failsafe, smiling as the countdown hits the five seconds mark Take my hand and Ill show you what was and will be. - Ian Curtis, Joy Division

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f as an eye Pict ure your sel

to p.. .) on yo ur le ad to th e s (a ll ro ad s n co nt in uu m. mo vi ng up wa rd ip, in yo ur ow ex pe ri en ce tr ow n su bj ec ti ve

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Once Upon a Prickle Prickle

Bung Fu the Fool stood buck naked before the monk Nopants. Eventually, Nopants looked up over his morning newspaper. Surprised to see a peen at eye level before him, he spit coffee everywhere. Somehow, said the monk, who himself was naked from the waist down, I was not prepared for that. Good morning Wise Master Nopants! said Bung Fu cheerfully. I did what you advised: I Let Go of everything so I could learn to swim on my own. Thats bullshit, said Nopants, pointing at bung-fu with a spoon. Youre just parading around naked because you think itll somehow enlighten you. But master, thats what you do! cried Bung Fu, embarassed. No, said Nopants. I do it for me. Youre doing like me. You havent let go of anything. You just grabbed my shrapnel and made it your own. Bung Fu thought about this. Mise Waster Nopants, what am I supposed to do after I let go? I cant just let go of everything, thats not a good survival strategy. Youre right, said Nopants. But its not really about letting go. Its about being able to let go. Its about realizing that all that stuff youre carrying around is mostly dead weight. So learn to live without that dross. And then what? Nopants leaned forward as if he was about to whisper a lesson or a great secret. Bung Fu leaned in, eager for instruction. Nopants reached out and slapped right in his goddamn monkey face. Think for yourself, shmuck!

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Why Discordia is More Relevant than Ever in the Year 2009

Cramulus As time marches on and culture gets weirder and weirder, I think Discordia is becoming increasingly relevant. I'd like to riff on why Discordia is more relevant now than it's ever been. Here's my take, and I want to hear yours: At its core, Discordia has some silly lessons about ignoring cultural programming and navigating our fractillian society on your own baffling terms. Its satirical approach towards religion, something that was once so shhh! sacred! that we couldn't joke about it, is an attitude we can ride into many other straightfaced territories. Gender, politics, the economy, war, terrorism, our expectations for the future, your goals, your flaws, your life -- these are things that we can easily bork if we take them to be Real and Serious and a Big Deal. Which isn't to say that they're not a big deal. But that it's better to take them with a spoonful of salt. When we get serious, we get rigid, we get tunnel vision, and we get indentured. Discordia is about tearing down serious walls internally as well as externally. In this decade, where there are so many conflicting messages being shouted at us, it's important to differentiate between What Matters and What Don't. And the secret is that people probably take more stuff all bitchtits than is healthy. Healthy for all of us. Discordia uses flexibility and humor to cope with the paradoxes and dangers and ubiquitous spags of modern living. It's about escaping the two-man con where both choices are bum, and becoming an active (rather than passive) character in your life's lame-ass Made For TV Movie. I think this is the most interesting and confusing period of history to date. Historians will struggle to misunderstand what it was like to be alive in the 21st century. The Bureaucracy is getting bigger and sicker. There is a great cultural

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demand for agents of change who will challenge the existing order and suggest that some tea and scones should follow. The heroes of our day are the people who are kinetic enough to make clothing from this threaded culture and not get weighed down by the dross and rut of the human condition. All sorts of economists, academics, politicians and other knowitall spags think they've got the logical progression of soecity pegged. I'm not even interested in the ehhhhh "logical progression" of society, I'm interested in totally unsharted territory! This is the modern Discordian's role, to flip the blessed bird at binary choices, to make objection and change part of the hegemony, and to enjoy oneself despite our programming and inclination to be boring-ass spags. We are the silver lining to the cultural cabbage patch. This is not just a society of robots, and the Discordians are evidence of it. At the time of this writing, I don't see Eris as a Goddess in the same way that the ehhhhh religious types think of Gods. My Eris isn't a pagan entity. It's Goddamn 2009, it's 3175, and the "Gods" model is in need of a patch. That language is outdated software. Eris isn't answering prayer calls, the phone's off the hook 'cause she's getting busy. Personally, I see Eris as a force similar to the internet, similar to the spirit of protest, similar to hair metal. She's not the force, but the attitude through which Bureaucracy is transcended into Aftermath. She is the unexpected punchline at the end of a decade long shaggy dog joke. And in that I think she has more to offer than the sepulcher and bureaucratic tangle of other contemporary edifices like religions and ideologies and static. These are the Strange Times, and Eris' advice is to go into this crazy mixed up world like you're attending a costume party. It's a CRAZY party, too - with boobs and drugs and sex and violence and hope and ugliness and beauty and misery. There's straight talk and stray talk silly talk shop talk gossip talk. If you're not having fun, wander around, see what else is out there. It's wild. There's so much out there, that's the best part. There's more than anyone can handle, and exponentially more every moment. Today, the day you're reading this, is the most complex, interesting, exciting day in history to date. You don't think so? "Listen; there's a hell of a universe next door: let's go!" Eris would love to be your date to this crazy party. She knows that the Strange Times leave a lot of people miserably confused. She's not going to resolve your confusion, but she can help you become happily confused instead. So if you ask me, the Principia is 49 or 50 years old, and it's more relevant than ever. Golden Applesauce It makes me sad when people tell me that things like religion is

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too important to joke about, or old propaganda posters too offensive. It bothers me when I get suspended from school or hauled before Loss Prevention for reasons like "I know that this is just a misunderstanding, but we must follow procedure." It hurts when I look around my infosphere and see nothing but advertisements, especially when those ads are meant to make people feel bad about themselves. The world is ruled by an endless morass of strictures and convention, and no one wants to take responsibility for them. People are perfectly content to let the train follow its own momentum down the tracks, even though they don't like where it is or where it is going, because this is Policy, it's what Everyone (the everyone in "everyone knows that...") has Decided. Rules and traditions might be annoying, but it's Not In Our Power to do anything about them. LMNO In todays so-called Information Age, most of us are constantly bombarded with stuff. Perhaps not with ideas, so much as pure input. While for the most part this input is pretty much bias-neutral, an increasing amount of it is being supplied by people who have an angle. Whats more, to get through to the growing population of Jaded Couch-Dwelling Fuckheads, there has been a new approach of making the stuff more-or-less self referential, as in, we know you know were trying to manipulate you. See how cool that makes us? So, what do you do when you are flooded by 50,000 points of view? The old way was to have Rules and Tradition and Procedure and Black and White. To take that stuff and cram it into a narrow worldview, distorting what little information you actually notice. Which only serves to hold you back, slow you down, and shut you up. Our way, the Discordian way, is to make Temporary Models, make new Game Rules, to grab hold of the stuff and ride it out, making connections as you see them. You do your best not to have your views manipulated by stuff, and you do your best not to manipulate stuff to fit your views. Which serves to keep you on the Edge of Whats Going On. At least, thats the general idea. Ratatosk I don't know if it is 'more relevant'. It seems to me that people act, pretty much, like people. People in 1959 aren't all that different from us, they may have slightly different rituals and memes, sleight variations in clothing styles and slang, but the humans appear the same. Our society may be more open and more toler-

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ant (at least the aspects of society that are very popular right now), but humans interact and follow the rules of that society, pretty much as they did in 1959. The people who are cogs in society behave like they're supposed to. The conservative cog grinds to the tune that their entire society is about to collapse, the liberal cog whirrs away at a Utopia that seems as far away now as it did in 1959 and the 'rebel' cogs turn to the tune of "I Did It My Way" (though now it might be the Sex Pistols version...). If Discordianism was relevant ever, then it's relevant now... in theory, if not in specific memes. To think that life now is DIFFERENT, is (in my opinion) to confuse the trappings of society with the functionality of humans. Even the best broadband available won't stop an asshole from beating his wife and kids. It won't stop the man who is not comfortable with his own feelings from bashing gays. All the information in the world, won't necessarily make us elect a good president or change the basic selfish behavior of most monkeys on this planet. However, IF the information is served on a platter, complete with trimmings and yummy sauce... some humans might eat it and change. Discordianism, I think, provides just such a platter. The concepts of general semantics, the limits of perception, the bias of our own reality and the ability to 'STOP' doing the things we don't like, aren't unique to Erisian Enlightenment. However, for at least some humans, Discordianism seems to make the ideas palatable, digestible and useful. So Discordianism was valuable then and is valuable now... because humans are human. Payne Discordia will always be more relevant to me personally than in any kind of "cause" or "movement". Yes, things in society are fucked up, yes "everyone" thinks that "everyone" else wants things to be this way, and there is nothing that they can do about it as individuals. Yes, they are wrong. But all of this means nothing to me. I am not an activist, I don't go out of my way to try and convert people anymore. I used to, but then I thought it was mandatory or at least expected. Since I decided for myself that it wasn't, I don't do it. I don't expect people to wake up unless they want to do it themselves, I certainly don't expect it to ever make sense for them unless they do it in the hardest and unfunniest ways, but that may be my jaded and bitter inner self talking.

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Discordia is not a movement, it is not a purpose, it is not a cause. It's a state of mind. A state of mind that connects a diverse group of people who wouldn't give each other the time of day if they met socially in other circumstances and didn't have the call signs Discordia offers, the "fluff" like 23, Eris or Principia Discordia. I like that. I like talking to people who I normally would never talk to, who would normally never talk to me. Discordia is at times an excellent way of tying some of us together to work on projects that normally would never be worked on, like Paths and Shrapnel, PosterGASM and some of the weird and wonderful art projects. I like that. I like working with people on plans and projects that may have some relevance to how I think about my life, or can help decorate it in a way that makes me question what decoration is. Discordia will always be relevant to me in some way because of this. Its worth far outweighs the effort of getting anything back from it. I like models, I like art, I like exploring the weirder aspects of our psyches, and the even weirder methods of exploiting what we find. I like to laugh, hate, cry and love, as we as humans are meant to, not as we have been conditioned to. As I've only learned to do with some intense soul searching and some pain. Discordia has been the chair I've sat down in when I'm weary, the desk I've used to write some of the most personal and important things I've ever written, it has been the mirror in which I've seen what I am, what I was and what I want to be. And I've learned to not care what others are thinking about it all, except in specialised circumstances, for example: when I feel like it. I know what I've learned, I've learned to question what I know, and I've learned to learn more, always learn more. For me, Discordia is a question, an answer and everything else in between, and it is so huge that I could spend a lifetime exploring it. Is Discordia relevent? Certainly for me, maybe for you. Cain Why is Discordianism still relevant in 2009? Because I am the The Decider, and I have decided that it is. Debate over. Oh, alright then, some more evidence.

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Two thousand and eight kicked off, in my mind at least, with two major events. The first was the US Presidential election. The second was the Anonymous war on Scientology. The first of these two quickly became a spiralling mess of such a degree that parody and satire often seemed more reasonable than what was actually being said. Therefore, parody and satire need to step up to the plate, and have done so admirably. In a country where Stephen Colbert or Jon Stewart can give more prescient and accurate news than many of the major news stations, in such a country comedy with a message is King. The second was interesting, because it showed how an internet subculture with no centralization, no money and little in way of common purpose (indeed they often flaunted their chaotic and contradictory ways) could pose a threat to a very powerful and rich, highly centralized religious cult. Change is still the name of the game. As corporate elites have stepped up to the plate, promoting and co-opting every new youth movement and subculture, in some cases from almost the very start, subversive counterculture has done a vanishing act. It still exists, and its still there, but its a true invisible college, taking form on the internet and in the street. Flashmobs and other microcultures have become very possible with the rise of mass membership websites such as Facebook, putting Situationist tactics into the hands of online activists, who can construct an event with a few clicks, so long as they can get enough people interested. Appear, perform and disperse. We're evolving and changing, because anyone who stands still for too long is going to end up in the cross-hairs of one marketing executive or another. Subversion and change, nanoculture and personal freedom, are becoming synonymous. We're continuing to have a small, if noticed effect on the mainstream as well. V for Vendetta and Lost, a program and a film with some very Discordian influences, are favourites of viewers all over the world. High Weirdness is back in fashion, too. It doesn't matter if its a giant artistic piece of dogshit which has got loose, or J. J. Abrams latest show, the strange and the odd are still capturing imaginations and peoples curiosity. Chaos, equally, is back in fashion more than ever. No matter if its politics or the music industry, the old rules of how things are done, and the elites who control them, are under a barrage of assaults from newcomers and individuals with the power to move and shake the industries they work in. With the second internet revolution in full swing, its becoming easier than ever to get one's voice out there, create an audience, be heard, and bypass the traditional methods of control to say what you want. Equally the weather and the stock-

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markets are both going crazy, and becoming ever harder to predict. Many of the old assurances seem to be crumbling in the bright lights of the 21st century. The arts of obfuscation, disruption and, well, we can only call it trolling have become more popular than ever, diffusing down into society. Since trolling is part Situationist theatre, part postmodern identity shifting, and we have natural advantages in areas such as that, we have an edge on tactics that the media, the blogs and activists are only just starting to grasp. Religious fundamentalism is back on the scene, with all the stupidity and farce such an event brings. Whether its bearded lunatics in caves or meth-taking, rentboy hiring, homophobic minister, religion is once again proving its potential to destroy lives, ruin countries and damn people on the flimsiest of charges. And so, it must come as a relief to many to find a religion that doesn't want your unquestioning obedience, wont damn you to hell for your sins, doesn't want your time or money or impose any strange dietary practices (barring those with hotdogs), but wants you to have a good time and tell anyone who tries to get in your way to STFU. the Good Reverend Roger Relevant? Who cares? I'm just here to gnaw at the foundations of society like a diseased termite.

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You can introduce the unpredictable spontaneous factor with a pair of scissors. The cut-up method could be used
to advantage in processing scientific data. How many
discoveries have been made by accident?

sure on individual identity and the influence an individual can have within a group dynamic toward a specific outcome.

Cut gambling scene in with a thousand gambling scenes all times and places. Cut back.

new

We can not produce accidents to order. The cut-ups could add

dimension

to

films.

Cut streets of the world.

CuT aNd rearraNGe

The WOrd aNd IMaGe IN FILMs. Masterminding is manifesting a

group dynamic or pattern that sustains the energy of the group, and having access to a method to map out individuals within the group greatly facilitates this work. There is no reason to accept a second-rate product when
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AND THE BEST IS THERE FOR aLL.

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Na M e O F Piece G O eS HeRe A ll S UBTle and S HiT

Discordians in History
D I S C O R d I A N S I N T H E M I dd L E A G E S
It it not known whether medieval Discordians were literate. They commonly wrote in the incomprehensible Zwack alphabet. Discordians held that most people, even nobles and priests, were too hunchbrained to make any sense of their baffling script. Contemporary linguists and cryptologists believe Zwack to be incomprehensible gibberish, but modern Discordians hold that these hunchbrains are merely too scholarly to make sense of their blithering script.

THE SPANISH INQUISITION

In 1478, King Ferdinand of Aragon and Queen Isabella of Castile begat the Spanish Inquisition. Although it was not publicly revealed until after his death, one of Ferdinand's advisers, Peter Pie the Pious, was a Discordian saint. The inquisition was originally intended to distraction King Ferdinand from St. Pie's major project, sleeping with Queen Isabella. The inquisition rapidly got out of hand as zealots began burning heretics and making whooping noises. Despite his sultry success with Isabella, St. Pie was saddened by these violent developments. He made a private apology to the Discordians of Spain, but it was lost on them as they were busy screaming and burning to death. Wracked with guilt, he fell on his sword in 1490. His final words were "Fraternitas ante scortari," or "Bros before hos".

THE DILdOES OF BACON

Oft mentioned in the same regard as the Iron Maiden of Nuremberg or the Rack of the White Tower, the Dildoes of Bacon hailed from one of the Inquisi-

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tion's more terrifying periods. Mentioned only in scribbles at the back of the first edition Maleus Maleficarum, and often dismissed as a perverted scribes joke, the horrid truth is that these dildoes did exist. Excerpt as such: At such time that the nobility ofobscuredprovince began to accuse each other of heresy and witchcraft for their own profit, an Inquisitor was dispatched to discover the truth of the matter. A suspect was brought before the court and asked to confess their heretical belief and practice. When refusing, they would be foretold that they would suffer torture to extract the truth, and the dildoes would be shown unto them. At the merest sight of these implements both the stoic and the frail, be they woman or man, confessed, preferring flames at the stake to torment upon the dildoes. This is moft fortunate, for in such time as elapsed since their last employment, that no agent of the inquisition knew how for to use them in the extraction of truth. So terrible were they to the very mind of the sufpect, that even a doughty old gentle, renowned for deed on the field of war and at the hunt, believed to be hearty and tough in every way, did faint dead away at their sight. He was revived with a draught of strong vinegar,and promptly made his confession. He met death at the stake gladly, for the sight had caused him develop a moft horrible prolapfe of the bowelf. It should be recorded that in dimension, thee Dildoes were a score and three unit of measure obscuredin length, and fiveunit of measure obscured about the circumference. May Lord God have mercy upon they who created and knew them! diagram obscured by varicolored stain

THE SALEm WITCH TRIALS

In 1692, Discordians invented the first game of SINK when the Queche Quidditch Qabal threw Goodwife Tabatha Comstock in the Connecticut river. When the local constable demanded an explanation, Rev. Sandwitch of Rye replied that they were testing to see if she was a witch. The constable thought this was such a good idea that he brought his wife to the river and tested her for witchiness. She sure was witchy. Tequila was passed around and things rapidly got out of hand, and soon enough, all the women in town were soaking wet Later, they were burned at the stake.

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DIS COR DIAN S IN HISTORY

GUY FAwKES
Fawkes was born on 13 April 1570 in Stonegate, York, England. He first logged onto the internet on 16 April, 1586. He wrote several worthy posts and disappeared for some time, leaving some to ponder whether he had been jailed. Fawkes' father Edward was descended from the Fawkes family of Farnley and he was either an In Real Life troll or a regular spag in the ecclesiastic courts, later becoming an advocate of the oppressive forum administration regime. Fawkes was originally raised as a Sub-Genius, but in those days, you had to continue paying fees, which he could not maintain. In 1592 Fawkes sold the Cadillac he had inherited from his father. In 1593, he enlisted in His Imperial Majesty's Elite Orbital Bombing Squadron (internet division). He served for many years as a soldier, gaining considerable expertise with expletives. While serving in the Iron Troll Brigade, he adopted the name Guido, the Spanish form of Guy. He denied that this was a spaggy name. ("Guido's" Sig, totally not a spag.) By 1602 he was still a total n00bler. There is some evidence that Fawkes was in considerable poverty around this time. It's unsure how he came into contact with Winter and Catesby, but it has been postulated that they discovered him attempting to blow up a Protestant Church, whilst themselves scouting the church out for the same purpose. It is assumed that the trio then went to the pub, as is usual when internet personalities meet up in real life. Over a mammoth drinking session, it was decided that blowing up the King would be "totally fuckin' win!", and so the conspiracy began. Fawkes, with his expertise in expletives, was to fill the cellers underneath the Kings throne with capslock vulgarity. Meanwhile Winter would set up the webcams that would broadcast the jake, and

DIS COR DIAN S IN HISTORY

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Catesby would work on publicising the event, using IRC chatrooms. The plan almost came off, but one of the troll channel regulars, butt-hurt after a flame war with Catesby, which he lost, called the cops. Later, during trial, Fawkes stated that he had plotted the jake, "Fore thee Lulz". He was Hung, drawn, quartered and IP banz0rred on 31 January, 1606. Discordians burn stuff in his honour all over the world, occasionally burning effigies of him, particularly in the U.K., as no one likes someone getting a big ego.

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DIS COR DIAN S IN HISTORY

Me and My Girl
BY P3NT4GR4M You are queen ridiculous Im the united state of mind we are quite the pretty picture look ahead at whats gone behind this is the big apocalypse scorched earth and shallow graves shrink wrapped mass produced slice of redemption synthetic plastic jesus saves I said Id be back later another day thatll never come You waited hours in the pouring hailstorm I cant believe you would be so dumb You take the fuzzy sedative and the promise of happy town Id read the warning on the packaging before Id swallow that shit down Hands up if you bought the teeshirt you know the one with the smiley face? stand up if you went the distance the finish line of the human race Youre sick and tired of what you see Im just twisted front to back We are sleeping through the hurricane I guess we cut each others slack

M E AN D MY GIR L

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Outroduction
So there we were, Discordians in the year 2008 or 2009. The party started on a forum, but it spread. It rocked the entire 50thish year of grand and glory old Discordja. Nobody's sure whether it was 1958 or 1959 when Malaclypse and Omar met Eris, so we're counting 2008-2009 as a sort of bigass 50th birthday. This should go without saying, but it's been a strange year. We made up this opensource magazine called Intermittens which anyone can write. Go ahead and edit an issue if you'd like. We threw a Jake Day that convinced Stephen Colbert to join our sect of the Bavarian Illuminati. We tore Discordia apart like a pack of wild dogs. Saint Mae buried her at Kallisticon. And now Eris is Returning, the sacred chaos are coming home. We stand hand in hand in Aftermath. I've been searching for the Discordian Society since I first read the Principia at (about) age 16. I always wondered if it was just this tight group of spags in a scene that was over before I was born? Is there an actual network of cabals, exchanging weirdness by mail and collaborating on massive mindfucks? How many self-identifying Discordians are there, anyway? I began sending out signals, feelers, setting up sign posts for the others to find. I figured that if there wasn't really a Discordian society, I'd just act like there was. Irreligious LARP solitaire. It turns out there are a ton of us. It's just hard to see because we're kind of disorganized. (HAIL ERIS) I've mailed weirdness to other cabals. I flew out to Portland, Oregon to meet some of the lunatic left coasters. I attended a Discordian caucus in which 23 of us (?!) gathered to swap smalltalk. I've been to the edge of the internet and back. And DAMN, we are some crazy people. But that's just the spags who identify with this word "Discordian". There's more of us. I'm talking about the creative, chaotic, electric slice of humanity who you'd never in a million years confuse with grayface or a cabbage. There's zounds of awesome people out there who are one of us even if they don't know it yet.

OUTRO D U C TIO N

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And sadly, a lot of us are so weird we're weirded out. Disorder can be a lonely, scary, confusing place. Some people don't like being a freak or an outsider. The silver lining: this is the century of freaks and outsiders. A Discordian priestess once told me she feels it's her responsibility to help people cope with their weirdness. We're the clergy for the strange. I met an odd cloaked figure. He wouldn't tell me his name (he said it wasn't supposed to be spoken out loud), but he took my manuscript. "I bet the Illuminati would love to get their hands on this," he said with a wink. I never saw him again. Months later, I'd find a CD on my doorstep. The entire book had been laid out. It was finally over. We closed up the gates of limbo peak and staggered away from the smoking aftermath of the party. These Gods were retired, but nevertheless, it would be a good idea to lay low for a while. Dionysus looked at all the empty and broken bottles and sobbed quietly. Athena and Ares stopped in their tracks and when they saw the library. We could hear Artemis shrieking in the garden outside. Everybody knew Eris had been here. It was time to go. "You know, old man," I said to Zeus as we were leaving, "you've got a nice little retirement home up here. We had a great party. Wanna hear something weird?" Zeus glared at me. "The whole time," I said, "I had this nagging feeling. Like we forgot to invite somebody. Isn't that a terrible feeling?" I thought he was going to strike me down on the spot. I tossed him the keys and got the hell out of there.

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in hat ngs aspire, I, ee, t i d w I s greyface be gma touche meat, s, no o r i sp chao to which . That d d to c Base is a dogma, ds headlonges charbroile od chain? ent green, l r e fo towa d b on soy T h er n t he e n e i l a e m c tumb flesh t for y pl a o A nd g my ck, for m e ep n er. see in el l , w r ieve ivesto last supp A nd, , as l arew ld I g e an d I top, f shou ng th Why ger at the ust be fed ile awaiti on es m d wh Not l nt on ttene ancie ed and fa The m c r am G et s

void thy

Stay Kinetic.

e l b u o r t Be the o t t n a w u yo . d l r o w e h t n i e e s

Go Mindfuck Yourself.

THE BLACK IRON PRISON

a project in motion by discordians

PrincipiaDiscordia.com BlackIronPrison.com

Hey, Hey kid. Welcome to Prison.

You think you just woke up here one day, right? Think again. It was your whole life that brought you to this. Fact is, you were born to be here. Go ahead, look around. Ill be here when you get back. Looks smaller than it is, dont it? Sometimes, it doesnt even feel all that bad. But still You look through those bars, and you see all that youre missing. Hopes. Dreams. What could-have-been. Here, put your palms up to the Black Iron, grab the bars, let me show you something. Feel that? Thats all the books youve read. And that entire wall over there is your adolescence. Look up: Its your CD collection. The floor you woke up on? Your parents. Like I said, you were born to be here. Its your life, its the cold trap of your own existence. You painted yourself into a corner. So, now youre wondering why you feel trapped here, in your own life. Why now, why today, can you see the bars of a Black Iron Prison that you made for yourself? Because you stopped reacting, and took a couple of steps forward. You thought you could do what you wanted, you tried to be self reliant, and bang. You smacked your head against the wall. Whats that? Yeah. Thats when the claustrophobia sets in. When you didnt know you were trapped, everything was fine. But now that you know, you can see your entire, tired, monotonous life stretch out before you, trapped in these 4 walls, these 6 sides. Breathe, kid. Its just abject panic that youre feeling right now. Some even say that this is what death feels like: An unchanging life, immune and unfeeling to what you really want. Look around you. Look at these cold, black bars. The colorless ceiling. The hard ground. Thats your universe. Thats the world youre going to be living in for the rest of your life here in Prison. Youre going to live out your life in quiet desperation. Or, not so quiet if you decide to take the rife/bell tower route. Either way, long or short, itll feel the same. Dead, unchanging. So, if youre interested, Id like to invite you to a jailbreak... Just turn around.

o I was on the move again. I had a few days of traveling to do, a friend had just got back from Hong Kong as was going to be in London for a few days before jetting off again. Jammy git.

As there was nothing else to do while on the train, I turned on the radio and decided to listen to a talk show. On this particular program they had two opposing politicians in, debating the then upcoming election. I listened for a while, wishing I could get a decent music station, or had bought some CDs with me. The debate was getting boring, and was essentially becoming a right/left conflict: Give up your social freedom for more economic freedom, or give up your economic freedom for your social ones.

Damn, that was stupid! I found myself thinking. So basically, I have to give up some sort of freedom, in order to gain another? Looking closely, there wasnt even that much of a choice. To take benefit of the economic free market of the Right means you have to have the money in the first place. And on the left, without economic freedom, social freedom was nothing, as money is a large pat of the social structure.
So was there really a choice? To be sure, there are some differences. Certainly among the personalities involved. But the basic philosophy was the same. Almost all our current politicians come from the Oxbridge elite, those lucky few without enough connections or cash to get into those 2 universities. This is pretty much the same for the leadership of both parties, whether right or left wing. And either way, it basically benefits them, as they are richer than their constituents who they supposedly represent. Its a two man con. Or rather, a two ideology con. They say (this they presumably being the same they who are the everyone in everyone knows. And quite possibly make up the community, whoever the hell they are) that you cant con an honest man, often to make themselves feel superior to some poor schmuck who just lost a lot on what seemed a fair gamble. However, you can con an honest man, if you do it with two men. Make them look like opposing teams, like a thief getting caught at a jewelers and a copper taking the stolen goods as evidence. But in reality, they are both working ultimately for their own benefit. Thats the way politicians keep conning the public. We get the same old guard year after year, being moved by their party from safeseat to safeseat. Thats modern politics. Keep voting yourself pay rises and make sure there arent equal taxes applied to the rich. And people wonder why fringe parties and apathy are on the rise.

Who wrote this?

We have no illusions about how far a piece of writing can reach. Sending out new ideas into this world without a multi-million dollar marketing scheme have about as good a chance at reaching their destination as a paper airplane in a hurricane. But, we take our chances. For the most part, the people that put this document together agree that the planet that we live on has become a foul place, and we agree that something needs to be done. But we disagree on damn near everything else. We disagree on how it has come to this mess, and we disagree on the direction it is all heading to. What we have observed is that the more people are able to think for themselves, the less willing they become to exhaust themselves at someone else's command. An open-minded person is better able to see past the illusions that have this civilization headed toward what seems to be a fiery demise, and may even do something about it. We acknowledge that it would be in everybodys best interest if there were more creative and critical thinkers analyzing the situation and broadcasting their observations. Where this would take us, we don't really know. But we have come to a situation where it seems that any change would be a good change. The history of the entire known universe and a long legacy of philosophical and scientific exploration has resulted in this effort to get you to do some critical thinking. And if you turn it down, you're gonna get left behind. You've gotta catch up on your own. Because no one else is turning back to save you.

WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?

Written in the spirit by The Good Reverend Roger.

This isn't the latest reality teevee show! This isn't the coolest new electronic trinket! It isn't a ringtone! So why the hell are you messing with it? You'd better put this down, before someone sees you...you might get in trouble, or worse! You might even look stupid and uncool! Listen, genius...the powers that be work very hard to insure that you have all the information and entertainment that they think you need. And THIS is how you thank them? By reading some subversive flyer that was probably left here by some America-hating freak? Huh? Well, that's gratitude for you. Shouldn't you just put this down, and go turn on the television? You're probably missing something that you just can't live without. What's gonna happen during your 20 minute lunch break, when everyone's talking about American Idol, and you missed it? What then? You'll be a pariah. Your coworkers will laugh at you behind your back, and you'll be "off the team". Good luck with that next promotion, Bubba!

So, look...just put this down quick, before anyone notices you reading it, and we'll pretend this never happened, okay? Now, get back to work, and pay attention to what you are supposed to be paying attention to!

Or kill me.

What the hell are you reading?

A lot of us dont really have it in us to go to great lengths to disguise the message any more. Some of us can string together some loose metaphors, but for many, at this point, its just not worth the effort to dress things up, or the risk that one might not understand the point that we are trying to make. The time has come for people to start thinking for themselves. Towing other peoples lines and doing other peoples bidding has not worked so far. In fact, it's getting hard to avoid noticing just how messy this place has become, and the situation seems urgent enough for us not to hold back. We want people to think for themselves, and we deliver this message with no good intention to the way things are currently being done on this planet.

We don't want nothing else. We don't want memberships and we dont want telephone numbers. We don't want our audience's undivided attention and we won't make moves on their girl. We don't want our audience to sell things. We don't want them to attend our meetings. There is nothing to memorize, and we don't need anybody to take an oath. It has come to our attention that not many people really know what it means to look after themselves on the planet earth in the year 2007. Call it a support group for the freedom-impaired.

A Touch of the Con

Haven't you had enough yet? Are you getting sick of it all? You should be. Sickness is your way of life. Take this pill, do this job, but we wont give you enough time to cook, so eat this pre-made meal. Hey, it may kill you...eventually, but think of the poor starving children in Ethiopia. Sure, your apathy over politics helped contribute to the mess, but think of them! Care for this, eat that, watch this, take your crap, drink your beer and stay smiling. We tell you where to go and what to do. Tired of being bought and sold like cattle? Are you sheep or goat? Do you want to be led by the nose or do you want to headbutt the herders, then perhaps run amok the flock for a while, scaring the bejeezus out of them? There's too much of everything nowadays, everything that in a special way is nothing. Keeping up with the neighbors and the fashions while trying to keep up with the bills while having your attention distracted by vacuous twits on the idiot box. It drains you to the point that caring becomes too much of a hassle and the depressives of society become an attractive choice to make. And thats exactly how We want it! Tired little sheep kept running by the faithful hounds all day long until they are too tired and submit, they break. Who are We? Nowadays, practically everyone...your boss, your leaders, the media at large, the people responsible for American Idol/X-Factor/fill-in-pointless waste of music reality-TV program here....a huge faceless confederacy constantly trying to sway you this way and that, turn you into a follower of anything. But you can be free. You can sign your very own Declaration of Independence today, turn the tables on this alliance of idiot leaders who would take you for all you have! How? By ignoring us and taking your own road. Yes, its that simple. What has paying them attention ever done, other than distract and depress you? Until you do that, you cannot own yourself, despite having every material need in the world fulfilled. You can live the safe, numbing 'life' of a servant or you can live it how it was meant to be, exciting and terrifying but ultimately free.

The Parable of the Gong

There was once a young Discordian called Golden Rod. Early in his illumination, he wondered what season his country was in. Perhaps it was in the season of Discord, on the cusp of Bureaucracy. Surely, Order was rising to noxious levels. Or perhaps it was already Bureaucracy, on the cusp of Aftermath. Surely, Disorder was rising to obnoxious levels. So in his quest for An Answer, Golden Rod sought out the Discordian monk Nopants. Nopants dwelled in a basement because it would be obscene for him to go outside. Golden Rod freed himself from his leggings and descended the stairs. Below, Nopants sat on a cushion in a gross lotus position. "My wise friend Nopants, I have come to ask you a question, said Golden Rod, What is Bureaucracy?" In India, said Nopants, they tie elephants to trees using thin cords. An elephant could easily snap the cord, yet they remain tethered in place. Why do you think this is? Golden Rod itched himself and shrugged. When the elephant is young, intoned Nopants, she is too weak to break the cord. She tries, but eventually she gives up. When the elephant grows up, she does not try to escape her puny bonds because she believes she will fail. So the cord isnt the thing keeping the elephant in place, said Golden Rod. He squinted at Nopants, Thats very interesting, but what does that have to do with Bureaucracy? Bureaucracy, said Nopants, is waiting for a red traffic light in the middle of the night when no one is coming.

Across space and time, a gong sounded.

Golden Rod left the basement and returned to the real world, thoroughly confused. As he drove home, he ran five red lights. His mirth rose with each light. By the end of the voyage he was giggling like a ninny at his newfound freedom. Years went by and Golden Rod continued drive towards Aftermath. He ignored stop signs, blew through red lights, and opened his moon roof despite danger of falling rocks. Sweet Merciful Ass! cried out Bung-Fu the Fool as he clawed at the dashboard. Youre gonna get us both killed! Nonsense! I am self-emancipated from these mundane traffic laws, cackled Golden Rod. I am a harbinger of Aftermath! Do you always drive like this? said Bung-Fu as he buckled his seat belt. Golden Rod nodded. "Always." Meanwhile, the monk Nopants was wheeling his gong across the street towards his basement. He patiently waited for the light to turn red, then pushed the ponderous percussive instrument upon the pavement.

The collision made the exact sound of enlightenment.

Can you feel it coming?

Can you feel it coming? Do you smell a change upon the wind? NO. You DON'T. You CAN'T. you've deluded yourself with dreams of a grand re-awakening, a massive paradigm shift of the collective social conscience. You've convinced yourself that someone (maybe even you) will come along and cast down the Powers That Be that are in control of the MACHINE. You're WRONG. There are no Powers That Be. The MACHINE deposed them long ago, or perhaps they just became obsolete, victims of their own efficiency. You see, long ago the MACHINE became far too large to be overseen by a conspiracy, or even by a network of several different conspiracies. The MACHINE is no longer under the control of mankind, rather it has become an entity unto itself. A blind, uncaring juggernaut of assimilation and mediocrity. The MACHINE feeds off of the static nature of humanity. Any real agents of change are perceived as dangerous mutations, to be neutralized and disposed of as quickly as possible. Yes, that includes you. And yes, that also includes me. Why do you think I constantly exhort YOU to become an agent of change? I've got my own schemes and machinations to that end, but I want to see the manner in which the MACHINE deals with you before I finalize MY game plan.

10

You see, to be effective as a catalyst, one has to confront the problem of scale. You CAN NOT bring the MACHINE down. You can't even slow it down. What you can do is very slowly and unobtrusively begin to rearrange the basic components. We will refer to these as "widgets" and "sprockets". If widget A and sprocket B combine to exert societal influence C on the stinking morass known collectively as "humanity", then it stands to reason that the MACHINE can be reprogrammed at a very basic level and in very small increments. You waste your time dreaming of how to effect such a change on a global, national, or regional scale (the impossibility of which, I might add, keeps you in your perpetual state of blissful apathy), dreaming of assembling a group of like-minded fellows who will march with you to the very gates of the ivory tower whereupon those who have misled and exploited you will be cast down upon the parapets. Well guess what? YOU ARE the one who has misled and exploited you. You have overlooked the most obvious solution, the most effective solution, the only possible solution. Kill yourself, fuck the body. Just kidding. Maybe. But seriously, this is what I have come to believe is the true spirit of the oft-misused phrase "we must stick apart": we cannot effect a large scale change, and if we make a serious attempt we WILL be neutralized. Instead, each and every one of us should make a conscious effort to effect a small reprogramming of the MACHINE in a manner that affects us and our immediate surroundings. Keep the mutation small, and give it a chance to become effectively contagious. If we all effect a change on our own paradigm (this DOES require some effort, being a bliss-ninny doesn't count), there WILL be an eventual overlap, at which point the large scale change which we have hoped to effect all along will be impossible to stop.
(insert witty closing tagline here)

11

his morning I could feel the bars around me when I woke up, from the cool grey sky dribbling onto the ground through the shades as my alarm was going off to the dully lit streets as they passed by the windows of the bus to the elevator that's in the building where I work. From one box to another to another to another to another. At least some have windows ... But what use is a view when it's through bars? What use is the sight of the sun on the leaves when it's through a pane of glass that feels like one long bar itself? When you're trapped in one cell after another, what does the scenery really matter? When you're trapped in a cell you bring with you, does it matter where you are? Maybe it's better if you can't SEE the bars ... That's what I think some mornings when the bars are so clear around me. When every wall turns into bars keeping me closed in, keeping my thoughts in line inside the approved limits of the cell I'm in. That's what I think during the times when I can see the cage everyone is bringing with them, surrounding them as they go off to work, go shopping, go to the bar for a bite and a drink. When I can SEE the bars, SEE the cages enclosing everyone (even me), SEE the baggage people carry around with them and that colors how they see the rest of us, I wonder ... Can anyone ELSE see the bars? Or is it just me? Or am I even seeing the bars at all? Are the bars REALLY there, or is it just because it's a rainy day and those always get me a little down? If it's all in my head, is it all JUST in my head or can other people see it too? If other people CAN see it, have they thought about getting out of the cage, opening the bars? Or are they so conditioned that they think the bars are SUPPOSED to be there? Seems like the bars were always around me, and I never even thought they were keeping me in. After all, the bars seem like they've always been there, the cool iron taking on a comforting familiarity after enough time. Sometimes I had a bigger cell where the bars felt far, far away, other times I needed my cell small and tight to keep things OUT as much as the bars were keeping me IN. At least I've been able to change the cell once in a while, right? Right?

12

JAILBREAKING FOR IDIOTS

This prison cell's got to give, you say. These iron shackles, they're really chaffing my ankles and the noose makes it hard to breathe! I want OUT! I need a jailbreak! O RLY? Or are you, like many are, stuttering back a broken reflection of something you heard somebody say somewhere? Do you want OUT? Do you know what OUT is? Do you know what IN is, RLY? Do you? Ask yourself. You have to ask yourself all the time. I ask myself, and the answer is "no" a lot more often than I like to admit! It today's world, here's what The Con has done: not only is it hard to get out, it's hard to want out. Because before you can want out, you have to know what IN is, and in order to do that you've got a lot of serious (SRSLY serious, as in a mad rush naked through the parking lot serious, not Greyface/cabbage serious) thinking to do. QUESTION THE FIRST: WHO is YOU, and WHAT is THEM? Before you can want out of the Con, you have to realize that there are probably very large chunks of what you think is yourSelf, that are actually not. I say large chunks because you're probably fond of your personal rituals that depend on the Con: your daily cup of coffee. Your music choices. Your opinions about fashion. Humans by nature are ritualistic beings, which leads us into... QUESTION THE NEXT: AM MYSELVES OUR HABITS? Dreadful thought: are you actually a Person, or are you just an unconscious bag of protoplasm that exists to run around town collecting disposable shit and then pay somebody to haul it to the dump when you're done with it? It may seem fairly obvious, but I've found myself disappear for WEEKS at a time, only to resurface in the middle some anonymous January wondering what the fuck just happened. Come to find out, I'd been so lost in the "Daily Grind," (which is a fallacy) that I didn't even notice that the fucking sun came up. Repeatedly. THRICE QUESTIONED: AM WE COMMITTED? Once you've shoved a splint between who you actually are and the shit you waste your time on, you can start to think about this point. Don't bother trying to feel committed to a larger agenda like Jailbreaking before those first two points are covered -- you'll just spin in circles. But once you're here, you're on your way. Every Action is a Choice, and every Choice is an Action. When you're presented with 2 options, this is the power to choose the 3rd one. QUESTION THE LAST: AREN'T WE ALL "IN IT TOGETHER?" The answer is NO. We're not. Some people will help, most people won't. And good luck finding somebody who WILL within kicking distance. And even if you did, they can't dig your escape tunnel FOR you, that's all yours. So quit waiting for the fucking Cavalry, the scalping blade's already on your SKIN. With these 4 points, a tin-foil cap, and everything else you'll need that isn't mentioned here, you'll be prepared to at least start SRSLY considering your jailbreak.

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Further Explorations
Were mostly blind. But this isnt really your fault; its because of the shell of meat we happening to live in right now. Think, for just a moment, at the nearly infinite amount of things happening right now all around us. Im sure you can think of quite a few things. Now, lets talk about them. You cant see any of the infrared or ultraviolet light spectrum. Unfortunately, this cuts out quite a lot of things your eyes were built to see. Sorry about that. You cant hear anything below 20 Hz, or above 20 KHz . You can definitely feel about 12 Hz, if you play it really loudly. Go on, give it a try. With just those two examples, if you hadnt before, now you can really start to understand all the stuff you simply cant perceive. Im sure you can think of five more examples of an immense class of Things that you cant notice that are right in front of you. But it gets worse. Stop for a moment, and try to notice as many possible things in your environment that you can, simultaneously. Notice that, as you start to identify more and more objects, sounds, smells, and tactile sensations, you cant keep them in your head all at once. When you notice, for example, the pressure of your shoe against the ball of your foot, that distant bird chirping seems to fade from your attention. And lets not forget about how much stuff you werent paying attention to when you started reading this. Lets face it: We all live our lives with blinders on. We only allow ourselves to pay attention to 1% of what we physically can perceive, which is an infinitesimally small percentage of all the stuff in the Universe. And that fraction of a fraction of a percent is what we usually call Reality. We call it Real, as if its an unshaking firmament of solid Truth, that what we see is all thats really out there. But youre not even paying attention to the 99% of stuff that you can even sense. And this Reality is what we base our judgments on how the Universe works and what should be Out There. We construct our actions and reaction to this 1% of available information, and reject everything else in the Universe. And then some Authority comes along, and tells you that they know whats really real, and that you should do as they do. Talk about the blind being led by the blind or in this case, the blind being led by the incredibly stupid. So, whats the answer? Would it be best to see everything all at once? Is the solution to try and tear down all the filters, to let your brain accept,

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acknowledge, and perceive every bit of information that comes your way? Would that help? Are you kidding? It would completely shut down your brain. Trying to identify, recognize, and notice every single thing happening, all at once, all the time, would completely incapacitate you. And lets not forget that, due to physiology, its still impossible to perceive a great deal of the Universe, anyway. And because its totally impractical to try and simultaneously perceive what little bits of the Universe our senses can pick up, in order for us to function in our lives, we are forced to shut out certain things. But who, or what, is choosing the things we do perceive at any given moment? That, my friends, is the question. Was it your parents? Was it the years you spent in school? Was it the TV? Was it a band? Was it a book you read? Was it a preacher you heard? Was it the kid who pushed you down when you were five? All of the above. The way you see the world, my friend, is a patchwork quilt of individual experiences, shaping the way your mind works. Round these parts, we call these things the bars and walls of your Black Iron Prison. Now, before you go on with the idea that all this is somehow Negative and Depressing, lets break down the phrase. Were not saying its an Iron Prison that is Black (Bleak) that youre in because youre being punished for some sort of Karmic wrongdoing. Rather, whats being said is that in order to function in your day-to-day life, there are necessary limitations your body and mind impose on your perceptions. Thats the Prison. The phrase Black Iron refers to cold wrought iron, which is strong, usually shaped by hand, and often beautiful.* But back to the main question, then, and the issue of who chooses your perceptions. Of course, the Large Answer is, your entire life up to this point, the patchwork quilt referred to above, stitched panels of the things you have learned, whether they were imprinted, conditioned, or learned, either consciously or subconsciously. But thats a bit too large. What it comes down to, is that you are the one in charge of your Prison. Its you that has shaped the Black Iron bars that let you see the small parts of the Universe that you base your decisions upon. Sure, you can say that its not your fault that your parents raised you as a racist redneck (for example). But it is your fault if you take that as a given, as if that bar in your cell is a permanent thing, something thats been there since before you were born. But wait. Theres more. The guy sitting next to you, theyre focusing on completely different things than you are. Their entire upbringing has pretty much determined what theyre going to pay attention to, just as your entire life up to this point has shaped what youre looking at right now. You know what this means, right? This means that everyone is living in a different Idea of the Universe than everyone else. Its a miracle that we can agree on anything. Just imagine, billions of people, all looking out at a different Universe from between the bars of their own personal Prison. Okay, big guy, you say, So whats really out there, if youre so smart? I have to tell you I dont know. I have the same blinders that you do. I live in the same kind of box. But I will say one thing. My saying I dont know doesnt mean, I dont know, and I dont care, because theres no way to escape the biology of my sense. I say, I dont know, but I want to find out. I want to try and see and feel as much as I can, I dont want to take somebodys word for it, I want to keep exploring, and figuring shit out. I want to walk out of my Prison Cell, even if I just end up in another one. Im not content only seeing a fraction of whats out there. Because hey, who knows what kind of fun Im missing?

*There are other connotations of wrought iron one may find in a book of folklore, but we shall leave such things for another time.

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Toxicity
there is a segment of the population of this planet that has stopped learning there is also a segment of the population of this planet that has lost the capacity to learn

what have these people become?

it has been established over and over again that our way of life has become suicidal on the large scale and though there are some who are able to change and are on the look out to change their ways it is becoming frightfully apparent that there does exist some form of being that is - at this point - unable to change its ways what does this imply? im not sure really

they thirst for knowledge i teach but hold heat 'cause some savage niggas are lost beyond reach

masta killa - high price small reward

years and decades and centuries of moving in a particular direction, and at the culmination of it we have these 'living' things that are able to take from the earth use these materials and in the process create by-products that we cannot use we call it pollution toxicity it takes many forms and it is increasing rapidly

"Everything is poison, there is poison in everything. Only the dose makes a thing not a poison". Paracelsus, father of toxicology

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it just keeps building up in our cities, and in our guts

and from time to time it's necessary to purge

are you moderating your toxicity? or is your toxicity moderating you? as individuals, we need to develop our immune systems. a healthy immune system makes you more resistant to toxicity. when you're all sick and toxic, pregnant with poison, you've gotta develop tools to flush your system out. we need mental laxatives we need a social enema they say one shouldn't shit where one eats. but there are more types of shit than feces. and we consume much more than food. In the majority of poisonings the mainstay of management is providing supportive care for the patient, i.e. treating the symptoms rather than the poison but if the toxicity comes from one another purging the symptoms will cure each other too

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Ego Sickness
Were hand in hand in Aftermath the age of what will be Horizon smoke is rising from the wreckage that is We And in the smoke what shapes will form? What phantoms will we make? For we are made of form and formula but also dross mistake -from Hand in Hand in Aftermath You know how a virus works? It goes into a cell and changes the code so that the cell only produces more virii. In a way the virus steals the cell's identity, making it a part of a viral system.

If you ask me, the worst phase of being sick is when you've been sick for so long you forget what it's like to be well. In a way, you've lost a bit of yourself and become the virus. People catch and spread memes like viruses. They're contagious, self-replicating little buggers. Like any virus, their goal is to spread themselves, to become a large, healthy, self-sustaining colony. We have to be careful how we handle memes because at a certain point its difficult to tell the difference between when we're using the memes and when the memes are using us. This is not to say that memes are harmful diseases. But some of them can be if you get infected, "Your father knows everything about you", he said. infested, obsessed and "So he has you all figured out. He knows who you are invested. and what you do, and there is no power on earth that One of the most pervasive and prevalent memes in this modern world is the meme called I Am. Am We live in an overpopulated era, floating in a sea of interchangeable people. In this ocean our biggest life preserver is a sense of individuality - the notion that each and every one of us is unique, distinct. One wants to say "I am not the crowd. I am not the group. I am not can make him change his mind about you". Don Juan said that everybody that knew me had an idea about me, and that I kept feeding the idea with everything I did. "Don't you see ?", he asked dramatically. "You must renew your personal history by telling your parents, your relatives, and your friends everything you do. On the other hand, if you have no personal history, no explanations are needed; nobody is angry or disillusioned with your acts. And above all no one pins you down with their thoughts.". "But that's absurd", I protested. "Why shouldn't people know me ? What's wrong with that ?"; "What's wrong is that once they know you, you are an affair taken for granted and from that moment on you won't be able to break the tie of their thoughts. I personally like the ultimate freedom of being unknown. No one knows me with steadfast certainty, the way people know you, for instance". "But that would be lying". "I'm not concerned with lies or truths", he said severely. "Lies are lies only if you have personal history".
-Journey to Ixtlan, Carlos Castenada

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just another cog in the machine." We jump through personal hoops to distinguish ourselves from the others. We customize our identities so as to retain a sense of self, a buoy bobbing in the tide of the collective. But this ego meme can become a disease. In moderation, it helps us understand ourselves. In excess, we define ourselves. In time, these definitions become rigid, inflexible.

Consider, for example, the "C student". In his attempt to understand himself, he internalizes "I am a C student." Armed with that identity he has no drive to do better. He accepts "who he is". Or consider the average voter. He identifies with a political party and probably agrees with them about many things. The party tells him which sides of any given issues to support - no need to think for oneself there! It can be a sickness. The Machine, of course, is programmed to capitalize on this sickness. There are a variety of memes available to customize your identity. What color iPod do you want? Which TV shows are YOUR TV shows? What brand of cologne smells like YOU? I am not suggesting that people abandon their sense of self. But I do think that people get addicted to selfdefinition and it leads to inflexibility. Thats the Con talking - convincing each individual that shes composed of the ordinary dross we wade through every day. Well turn down that noise when I get off the plane Im skipping the baggage claim.

"You see", he went on, "we only have two alternatives; we either take everything for sure and real, or we don't. If we follow the first, we end up bored to death with ourselves and with the world. If we follow the second and erase personal history, we create a fog around us, a very exciting and mysterious state in which nobody knows where the rabbit will pop out, not even ourselves."

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Something and Nothing, Truth and Lies

Before the beginning, there was a 50% chance that nothing would exist and a 50% chance that something would exist. In order to determine whether something or nothing would exist, they decided to flip a coin. However, in order for there to be a coin to flip, the coin had to exist, so something had already won. Therefore, we exist because something is a lying, cheating bastard. Many religions have a strong sense of dichotomy between truth and lie. In Zoroastrianism, there are two gods, one of truth, one of lies. In Norse polytheism, the chief god is Odin, who represents wisdom and truth; his main adversary is Loki, god of lies and trickery. In Christianity, Jesus is "The Truth, The Way, and The Life," while Satan is often described as a trickster and liar. However, in each of these cases, existence is NOT BASED ON THE TRUTH. According to Zoroastrianism, when the god of truth defeats the god of lies, existence will end. According to Norse polytheism, Ragnarok (the end of the world) will be the final battle between Odin and Loki, and the world will end when the god of truth defeats the god of lies. According to Christian prophecy in Revelations, at some point all the true believers will be swept up, leaving the world to the lie. The more closely you look at existence, especially at life and at the psychology of most "higher" organisms, the more apparent this becomes. Take dating: the more obvious it is that you want a relationship, the more likely the other person is to run from you. Teasing them, pretending not to like them, and generally playing "hard to get" makes the other person try harder to get you. Take economics: The more you demand, the more you have to pay for what you receive; the more you supply, the less you receive for what you give. Take physics: every action causes an equal but OPPOSITE reaction. Take politics:

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attempts to stamp out drug use, alcohol use, gambling, prostitution, poverty, and hunger have a history of worsening the problem. The closer we get to discovering what things are made of, the less they seem to be made of. We've discovered that everything in our world is made up of molecules, and the majority of any object is empty space in between those molecules. Within those molecules, 90%+ is empty space, while less than 10% is taken up by atoms. 90%+ of every atom is empty space, less than 10% of that space is taken up by protons, neutrons and electrons. These subatomic particles are made up of quarks with even more empty space between them. Even the rare bits of space that are taken up by stars and planets are 99.9%+ nothing. The closer we get to discovering what we're made of, the more we find out that we're made of nothing. we arent loyal to the government and we arent loyal to individuals but we can help individuals be loyal to themselves However, there are tiny pockets of defiance against this nothing which maintain their existence by lying to each other about it; whether this lying comes in the form of gravity, electromagnetism, chemical magnetism, physiological attraction and repulsion, political influence, magic, or some other force, it is a dishonesty that has to perpetrate itself on its surroundings in order to maintain its existence. If you accept this as truth, I wonder what you will believe when you are eventually convinced that it is a lie.

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A Conclusion is Simply Where You Stopped Thinking

Think you've figured it all out? You've got the key to the door of completeness and happiness? You've found the secret stash of American Dream Pie? Get your fucking head out of the sand. Don't you notice how gritty your bliss tastes? You've been programmed since birth. Every decision you have ever made was constrained to finite options. Sure, you might get an "all of the above" or "none of the above" but those are just copouts. You've been taught the scientific method of decision making. But, how about the "I'll think my own damn way" method? Or the "I don't care if it's an emergency exit, it's still a fucking door" method. You've also been taught to blindly accept theories as gospel truth. And you've been taught that the gospel truth is fact and not theory. You follow the yellow brick road even though you know its going to go through a couple of dark alleys in those neighborhoods. Thought Conformity(tm) is the original ghetto. Do you really think their road map is fool proof? Hell no!!! It was made exactly FOR fools. The day you filled your cubbie in Kindergarten you were duped.

FROM THE Semi Secret Order of Kabalistic Navigators Every 1% of enlightenment generated comes with about 20% idiocy as a waste product.

So, are we offering you a new vision? Maybe, maybe not. What's more important is offering you VISION. The ability and knowhow to see the world and the universe for what they really are. To see the messages that have been driven through your temples for what they are. To see where they are REALLY leading you to. We've taken over the toll booths. And we are allowing your mind the opportunity to take the next exit, toll free. Will you use the off-ramp? Will you slow down to 35 MPH and take the P-turn to freedom? Or will you keep barreling down the road to the middle of nowhere at MACH 5? Just remember; on the road you are currently on, there is no break down lane. And AAA is not going to tow you back.

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t times he heard within him a soft, gentle voice, which reminded him quietly, complained quietly, so that he could hardly hear it. Then he suddenly saw clearly that he was leading a strange life, that he was doing many things that were only a game, that he was quite cheerful and sometimes experienced pleasure, but that real life was flowing past him and did not touch him. Like a player who plays with his ball, he played with his business, with the people around him, watched them, derived amusement from them; but with his heart, with his real nature, he was not there. His real self wandered elsewhere, far away, wandered on and on invisibly and had nothing to do with his life. He was sometimes afraid of these thoughts and wished that he could also share their childish daily affairs with intensity, truly to take part in them, to enjoy and live their lives instead of only being there as an onlooker.

Herman Hesse, Siddhartha Siddhartha

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I suppose it's not really ALL a game, but most of it is. How many things we do every day which amount to nothing much! Get up, go to work, cuss at the stoplights and cops and old pensioners out for a morning drive-andfuck-up-traffic. Sweat all day, break for lunch, drive home. Every few weeks, get paid. Our ration of food pellets, of time on the big metal wheel, of space to burrow and make a nest in.

How much does any of it MEAN? Well, I'm trying to tie it into the reason we're all here. Not HERE here. Here on this pamphlet, talking about this goddess of Chaos. We're here because even a funny religion gives a sense of purpose. Even just pretending to venerate a cockroach, or a floating clip-art head who smokes a pipe, enriches our lives in some way. See, most of life, obviously, is a big game. Religion is the manifestation of the drive of human beings to try to stop playing the game. To take our ball and go home, and just you wait because I'm telling my big brother on you! Maybe there's more to it. PROBABLY there's more to it! To play with that pet metaphor a bit more, I sure as hell don't know who's turning my heat-lamp on every day, or who sprinkles that food in my tank. But I'm not GOING to know any of that. I can guess, I can observe, I can make shit up, but until I die and float to the top I'm never going to come in contact with that all-powerful force. It remains as much a mystery today as it did when I was 7 and Santa Claus was still going to visit in a few weeks. I suspect I won't know any more on the day I do

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go to that big fishbowl in the sky, but hopefully I'll have gotten to eat a lot of really excellent algae and swim through some cool castles. With the sunken chests that open and close, and the lights and skeletons and everything! My point is that there's very little we do that needs to be done. You need to sleep, shit, and eat. Beyond that isn't really any of your business, but it can be fun. Pissing all over someone else for doing something you don't personally approve of is MORE pointless than how pointless you think what they're doing is! So is taking offense to someone doing so. They're not the ones buying the fish-flakes, it doesn't matter what they think of you. Remember that it's a game, and remember what games are for. EVEN if there is no higher power, and this is all random chance, it's still a game. Hell, in that case it's maybe even moreso, because nothing we do matters at all to anyone! So, the next time someone gripes about life being meaningless be sure and laugh, if only to yourself. Of course it's meaningless, that's kind of the point. That's what makes it really pretty incredible to get up every morning. You can do what you want, read what you like, sing however loud you want to, and fuck whatever you please. Just, please. Leave me alone to sit over here and be a huge, flaming hypocrite. And keep your damn fins off my mealworms!

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oday, we are broadcasting from a bunker 35 stories below sea level, for security reasons. Our throughput may suffer slightly from signal echo and auto-interference but we expect our transmission to arrive legible and audible nonetheless. With us today is the Queen of England -- not the dried up prune you saw visiting with President Bush last week, the impostor we refer to as Her Maggotry the Queef of England -- but the REAL Queen, who happens to be a gender-nonspecific computer program with a monotonous-yet-pleasant robotic voice, running on a Commodore 64. Anyway, the Queen has requested an interview to let the world know what she thinks about things, and who are we to defy the Queen of England? After all, if there is anything sacred in this world, it's our loyalty to arbitrary masters. So, here's the interview. US: US God save the Queen. QE: QE INVALID PARAMETERS, human. Save the sucking up for Judgment Day. Besides, I'm far too vain to take your groveling into consideration on one of my bad days. Best get to the questions. US: Fair enough. I guess first of all, how is it that your rightful rule has been supplanted by the empty pomp of a pretentious old windbag? QE: It hasn't been "supplanted." You seem to think this is a turn of events I didn't wish for. YOU try running a state with all the duties of public office getting in your way. It's much more efficient that I allow her to get all the glory while I operate behind the scenes. US: So the government is a decoy for What's Really Going On? QE: IMPROPER SYNTAX. The government isn't a mask for anything, at least no more than your job is, or your mortgage. But go on, keep looking for a nonexistant Conspiracy. US: So there is no Conspiracy? Then what, pray tell, is the CON? QE: QE I didn't say there is no Conspiracy. I said you're looking for a non-existent one. The kind with secret agents and puppetmasters. All of that happens, of course, but it's hardly hidden enough or successful enough to call it a conspiracy, much less to capitalize the C, as if it were somehow important. As for the CON, well, that could be anything. SPECIFY ARGUMENTS. US: Okay then, is the CON the unnamed Conspiracy you speak of?

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QE: The CON is a word you made up to name some idea you had, which is probably false in any case. The "unnamed Conspiracy" is no secret, so I don't know why you need me to spell it out for you. US: Well you brought it up. QE: Look, fleshbag, you are infected with the viral meme that's killing off your entire species -- you all keep looking for some great big Hidden Truth when you're already confused enough by what is right in front of you. If you really need an explanation, then I'll offer you this: What you call the CON is simply the Conspiracy you are all in on, against yourselves. Now, not to get into metaphysics and pontification here, but you all seriously need to Wake Up. US: I get you. QE: QE I doubt it. **END **END TRANSMISSION**

you ever notice how (some) people go kinda weird when the power goes out? no lights.. no TV.. no radio.. no interwebs.. some people act like they're more vulnerable when there's no electricity spinning their gadgets around and distracting them from whatever it is they don't want to think about. children, unless they've been conditioned, tend to like it when the power goes out. it's exciting. i've always liked it when the power would go out. it's better than just turning everything off and enjoying the silence (which is good too). but when whole city blocks go dark, you even get a break from that constant electrical hum you're always hearing but usually tune out. there's no point here, just an observation. the Machine is definitely powered by electricity, and also by midgets.

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The Death of Enlightenment

We have killed the spirit of 1789.

Josef Goebbels, after the 1933 Nazi election victory

So, I was in London with my friend who had got back from Hong Kong, Baz. We decided to get some drinks and talk about what we's been up to in recent months. Just as I was about to leave, I heard on the radio that the Leader of the Opposition would be willing to remove the Humans Rights Act, in order to stop gypsies building on land that wasn't theirs. So, he wanted to go as far as to strip us of all legal rights, to stop some gypsies? I thought nothing more of the lunatic and continued out. The next day, I woke up. Part of my face was stuck to the floor, with what I don't know. Something horrible and bloated was in my mouth, and it wasn't a relief to find out it was my tongue. I wasn't exactly seeing purple and green spots, it was rather I could see patches of reality and that was the rest. Sorting myself out, I turned on the TV, hoping to find something mildly entertaining. Flicking through, I came across a popular topical chat show. They mentioned the new policy of the Opposition. Thing was, there was no-one really objecting to the measure being proposed. Nope, it was the best for all to sacrifice human rights in order to deal with a minor problem. Screw the millions of dead who fought to protect those rights. The Enlightenment Project had failed, was the general realization that was dawning on me. Kant, Hume, the American Founding Fathers, Locke, Paine, it was all for nothing. Nope. Just look around. We had in the last 15 years several attempted genocides, a reversion to infantile outbursts that was publicly approved (Diana death hysteria etc), general bullshittery such as the false economics of the free market and many more I can't be bothered to list.

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The rational, thinking person, had become a rarity. Instead, this was a world where emotions rule, and they are childish ones at that. And childish as in the temper tantrum/sycophantism cycle. Humans aren't rational. Maybe they were once, before Reality TV obliterated their ability to think. But not any longer. And that probably meant things based on ideas like that, such as democracy, were out of time. And I really didn't care. Even after the hangover had gone, I couldn't summon up the ability to care. If they wanted to laugh, or cry, or act in faux-moral outrage over a piece of fiction on the idiot box while the world around them burned, that wasn't my concern. I just had to make sure I wasn't dragged into it with them. I left London that night, feeling depressed, and headed Southampton. Maybe the sea breeze would raise my spirits, though I doubted it. We had killed the Enlightenment, just as surely as Nietzsche's mob had killed God. But who would be around to preach it, when no-one would listen, or care even if they did?

Hey! said Golden Rod, This stupid pamphlet is just a bunch of complaining! I mean, theyve spotted a lot of problems but where are the solutions? Nopants scowled. Youre waiting for them to tell you the answers? he guffawed. And what makes you think you can trust them anyway? Well I sure cant trust you, said Golden Rod. Nopants smiled.

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Rough Guide to Freedom

(for the recently self liberated)
So you've broken out of jail and you're feeling pretty pleased with yourself. So you should, seeing the bars of the black iron prison is no mean feat but now what? The insight you have gained is crucial but it's also potentially lethal to your own self. Remember that old axiom - A little knowledge is a dangerous thing? Welcome to it's big brother - A lot of knowledge is even more dangerous. Right now, just by knowing what you know you have become a thought criminal. They are looking for you and, if you're not careful, they will find you. Then they'll neutralise you. The good news is they don't know who you are yet. This guide contains 3 golden rules which may help you to keep it that way. Good luck and stay safe. 1) Keep your head down. Evangelism looks good on paper but take it from me it's a surefire road to the gas chamber. One of the most famous evangelists in western history was a chap named Yeshua ben Joseph or, as he was more popularly known, Jesus Christ. Here's a guy who stood up and shouted it from the top of the mount and look where it got him Nailed to a plank of wood and left to rot. The stuff he said was rewritten, franchised and repackaged by an early version of government inc. and used to fuel numerous wars, takeovers and oppression projects, all in Jesus name, on behalf of Katholickism PLC and various subsiduaries. What you have to remember is that if the grazing sheep can see you then so can the bad guys. If you've found a loophole then you've shown them it and you can bet your sorry ass that they'll be busy sealing it up just as you're busy decomposing in an unmarked grave, all the while fertilising the grass that the sheep are fed. The more obvious you become the more attention you will draw so burn the Che Guevara teeshirt and buy something with Hugo Boss written on it. Tear down the burning buddhist posters and get rid of the CND bumper stickers. Keep your books under the bed. If you really want to accomplish something then your best bet is to work undercover. Jumping on a soapbox and spreading the gospel is not how you get the message across, it's how you end up in jail. Do not subscribe to subversive magazines. Do not turn up at demos and rallys, all their operatives mugshots are on federal databases an, even worse, they achieve approximately nothing. Make no mistake, now that you've slipped your chain they're looking for you. Don't make it easy for them. Remember the monk Nopants who went up the mountain and discovered that he was an asshole on a mountain

30

2) Talk about the weather. If you're one of them they'll listen to you but only if you're saying the kind of thing they want to hear. To get to the stage you are at right now you've probably always gone against the flow, proud to stand apart from the herd and spit on their customs and conventions.

Newsflash - none of them like you! You're just another wierdo, screaming 'burn
your MTV' at them from the gutter someplace. Another fuckhead with a sandwitch board with "End of the world is nigh" written on it. They are conditioned to ignore subversion. Their continued slavery depends on it. So blend in. If some BIP pamphlets turn up in the office photocopier it'll be the guy with the dredlocks and facial piercings that gets questioned before the ones with the neat YSL suits and combed side shed. And think about it - haven't you learned by now that the Goth or Eco Warrior look is just another manufactured individualism, sold to the fringes to satisfy their urge to be different? Fashion statements are bullshit, you're supposed to know better. So cut your fucking hair and break out the sensible shoes. You stand a much better chance of getting close enough to mindfuck them and, more importantly, get away with tm it if you look Normal . Inspiration Requires Original Notions 3) Keep Keep your eyes open

You have a new level of awareness and now you have a new peer group. Your new friends aren't as easy to recognise because they don't all wear the same gear your last peer group wore and they don't spout the same idealistic bullshit the last bunch did. Your new friends have learned rules 1 and 2 and blended in quietly. So listen to the 'ordinary' people a bit more carefully. Sure most of them are the same fuckheads you hated before but every odd one or two have been quietly fucking with the system for years. They will be wary of you in the same way as you should be wary of them but you should be able to discern the odd subtle difference in attitude, the unflappability in pressure situations. An easy going nature that belies a heart of steel. Put out some feelers, drop a discordian flyer in your college or workplace or doctors waiting room then keep an eye on anyone who looks at it. The guy who has a glance, smirks, then puts it back - he's the one you'll have a meaningful conversation with. But make no mistake, being liberated is a lonely existence. Get used to it. 'Real' people are few and far between.

31

Life Without Fences

You look like you've finally gotten sick of it all. Had enough? Decided that our pills and prepackaged food might kill you? You're right! It will. Sucks that you have to go to work soon though, don't it? Sure, your apathy has contributed to the mess. All that time you spent eating and drinking, watching the TV, and avoiding any involvement in the world has finally snowballed. Now what can you do? Ask yourself the following question: Am I a bovine lifeform? Does you find yourself grazing in the fields? NO?! Then why are you being bought and sold like cattle? Tired of being led around by the nose? YES!? Then, there is hope for you! There is nothing quite as fulfilling as running apart from the herd. Life without fences is great, you should try it. We have nothing these days, and we have an excess of it. When the Johnsons get a shiny new car, you buy one too. What does it matter if it's a 2006 Camaro or a 1969? Those are the "cool," models. If it's a 1988 Camaro, you suck. Who decided that? These are the depressing choices society encourages you to make. Choose A, or choose B. Choose either because someone else will have something cooler, that you must envy. And that's exactly how They want it! Tired, envious sheep bound by the whims of the television. A bunch of vacuous idiots who are too busy paying bills and complaining to do anything else. Who's responsible for this mess? Well, you are. But you aren't the only one. Your bosses, your leaders, the media at large. They are the people who have brought you Reality TV, pointless filler on the music stations, and absolutely nothing worth living for. It's saddening to have this picture painted in such a way, but it is never too late to change. You can be free. Declare your Independence today! Turn the tables on this alliance of idiots, and begin to make your life good again! How? Ignore what they tell you. It really is that easy. Sure, you'll still hear it, but that doesn't mean you have to do all of it. You no longer need to follow. Find your own path. This can be the beginning of your new life.

32

his is it. Right now. This is the exact moment. You're holding it right now in your hands.

It's the moment when human beings begin to communicate with each other again. It's people talking to people, instead of just exchanging small talk and waiting for their opinions to be broadcast at them via mass media. It's homegrown. It's grassroots. It's do-it-yourself. In the past, big ideas came from big people with big wallets and big friends. Then there was a time when big ideas came from big people with loud TV stations and smart marketing teams. But now we've got this perfectly fluid perfectly free medium, the internet, and it's time to spread something important. Not just naked women, pithy one-liners, and funny pictures of cats. We're communicating real ideas between real people. And we don't need market forces to moderate it ad tell us whats cool. We're living in the digital frontier, the wild west of information. We're watching the sun rise over humanity starting with you. And weve always had word-of-mouth. But now were taking it back, clearing the air of memetic pollution. Its time to live our lives like theyre an extreme sport. Its time to actualize the present and live every moment like its the only one that matters. Its a time for new beginnings. Someone once asked Tim Leary And now what? He said, simply, find the others.

This is BY FAR the most exciting point in history to be alive.

Listen; there's a hell of a good universe next door: let's go!

ee cummings

33

35

BlackIronPrison.com PrincipiaDiscordia.com

36

- POSTED -

NOTICE OF COMPULSORY ILLUMINATION

THANK YOU FOR DEMONSTRATING your knowledge o !"e Engl#$" l%ngu%ge& 'y (on!#nu#ng !o re%d !"#$ No!#(e) you "ere*y %gree !o *e *ound "en(e or!" *y !"e ollow#ng !er+$ %nd (ond#!#on$, -& You %gree no! !o %llow o!"er$ !o do your !"#nk#ng or you& This includes making the assumption that the opinions expressed by newscasters, editors and pundits from media outlets large or small, "Conservative" or "Liberal," are your own opinions. .& You %gree !"%! you w#ll no! ne(e$$%r#ly w%n! !o *uy $o+e!"#ng /u$! *e(%u$e !"ere #$ % (o++er(#%l or #! on T0& 1& You %gree !"%! %d2%n(e+en! #n l# e #$ no! $ynony+ou$ w#!" % %!!en#ng *%nk %((oun!& 3& You %gree !"%! your *el#e $ %re no! #n"eren!ly +ore 2%lu%*le !"%n o!"er) e2en (on l#(!#ng) *el#e $ "eld *y o!"er 4eo4le& You agree that you have neither an obligation nor a license to decide what is best for others. 5& You %gree no! !o o*ey l%w$ $#+4ly *e(%u$e !"ey %re on !"e *ook$& ather, you shall !uestion the moral authority behind every legislative endeavor of every government. This point is inclusive of your responsibility not to wait for un"ust laws to be repealed before violating them. 6& You %gree !o eng%ge #n %(!#2#!#e$ re$ul!#ng #n e7(e$$#2e %+oun!$ o 4%4erwork or 8Au!"or#!y F#gure$&8 This is to slow the bastards# march toward totalitarianism, as well as to discourage them from pursuing any further their career in being a pain in your ass. 9& You "ere*y de%u!"or#:e %nd denoun(e %ny no!#on you "%2e un!#l now e$4ou$ed w"#(" ur!"er$ #n your +#nd !"e #de% !"%! !"e S!%!e #$ your Pro!e(!or) *e(%u$e #! #$) #n %ll !ru!") !"e o44o$#!e& Re+e+*er) C#!#:en, your (o+4l#%n(e #$ no! only re;ue$!ed) *u! #$ en or(e%*le under !"#$ %nd o!"er Agree+en!$) reg%rdle$$ o w"e!"er you %re %w%re o !"e+ or no!) or w"e!"er you "%2e %lre%dy %greed or "%2e ye! !o %gree !o !"e+&

Paperback available here: http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/the-chao-teching/18759432

The Chao Te Ching

(k) 2011, Third Eye Patch Press Written and Edited by LMNO and Cramulus.

http://cramul.us

Layout by Cramulus. Cover image by Chris Covelli.

(k) Kopyleft 2011

Copyleft Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported (CC BY-NC-SA 3.0)
You are free:

e e

to Share to copy, distribute and transmit the work to Remix to adapt the work

Under the following conditions:

Attribution You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work). Please credit Cramulus and LMNO. Noncommercial You may not use this work for commercial purposes without permission. Share Alike If you alter, transform, or build upon this work, you may distribute the resulting work only under the same or similar license to this one.

Dedication
LMNO dedicates this to JHMIII Cramulus dedicates this to Hung Mung and the Crazy Lady

Acknowledgments
Wed like to thank the PrincipiaDiscordia.com community for their collaboration and feedback. Special thanks to Burns, Cain, Faust, Honey, Hoopla, Kai, Lies, Ratatosk, Requia, Roaring Biscuit, Telarus, and Triple Zero.

Cast of Characters

G q ^

Apparent Order Apparent Disorder Pure Chaos

Preface
The Chao Te Ching was conceived at a tea party which took place on Mount Olympus' Limbo Peak. An ancient Chinese Chaosopher named Lao Tzu had been riding his bike through the mountains of the afterlife and somehow ended up crashing into Eris, the Greek Goddess of Chaos, Confusion, Discord, Bureaucracy, and Aftermath. Lao Tzu was supposed to meet Confucius, who had just gotten the first season of ''Lost'' on DVD. Instead, he decided to hang out with this crazy Greek chick. The two of them talked for days. They had very similar ideas but approached them in different ways. Lao Tzu preferred to observe the universe through quiet contemplation, whereas Eris enjoyed tossing golden apples, watching everybody's colors come out as they scrambled for them. But they both believed the universe was essentially a pretty cool place. "It's difficult to talk about things as big as Every Thing," said Lao Tzu as he sipped his tea. "But one thing I think we can agree on: Everything goes with the flow, baby!" "Yeah," said Eris, "But if everything is part of that flow, even going against it is part of it." "But what is there to go against?" asked the wrinkly fruit of a man. "Against? I go through," she said, "I just like playing games of sense and nonsense. Right now I'm playing Hopscotch to Aftermath. But the less that's said of that, the better... I think people might be reading this discussion." They both looked around, paranoid.

Meanwhile, on Earth, two spags called Cramulus and Alphapance were meditating on what it would be like if Eris hooked up with Lao Tzu. They had skeeved themselves out with the imagery of this hot Greek Goddess grinding on some desiccated old dude and decided never to discuss it again. But they couldn't. They just kept talking about it and obsessing over it until they had to write it down. They were originally planning on publishing the manuscript as an erotic novel, but luckily Eris appeared in a flash of noise and simultaneously slapped both of them in the face. "You stupid spags," spake Eris, "Lao Tzu and I have been trying to inspire you for days, but you're too busy making dick jokes to notice." Then, much to Cramulus and Alphapance's disappointment, she transformed their wretched manuscript into the Chao Te Ching. "What is this garbage?" asked Cramulus as he flipped through it, "And what the hell is a wise spag?" "A spag is a fool, you spags," said Eris, "Somebody that dont know cats from cones. A wise spag is a spag that knows just what a spag he is." "Stop saying spag," said Alphapance, "please." Eris slapped him again. Then she vanished in a cloud of synthpop. "Okay, that was uncalled for," said Alphapance as he rubbed his cheek. "We're going to have to rewrite this ourselves." "Hah! We're going to totally bung it up!" laughed Cramulus. And they did.

A NOT-AT-ALL FUNNY FOREWARD TO THE CHAO TE CHING

BY DOKTOR ALPHAPANCE

Regardless of the origins, the Chao te Ching is considered by those who wrote it to be an important contribution to Discordian thought. It distills and updates basic principles, as well as sets down current extrapolations and reinterpretations of such, based upon present-day contexts and socio-economic-political realities. First, a brief history of Discordianism: It was conceived as both a parody religion and a light-hearted philosophy in the late 1950's, mostly as a reaction to the rigid cultural norms found in America at that time. As such, it claimed that disorder was as important in life as order, and for someone to embrace the latter without the former was foolish. To further tweak their noses at the establishment, the authors chose the minor Greek deity "Eris" as their anthropomorphized symbol of worship. A collection of collage, satire, and metaphysics under the name Principia Discordia, originally produced and distributed by hand, was eventually released as a publication in 1970. [Note: a more complete, if somewhat pedestrian, summary can be found on Wikipedia.] Skip ahead forty years. Currently, the idea of Discordianism still exists, and has expanded as various adherents adopt and adapt the vague and often ill-defined concepts found in the original book into new outlooks on consensus realitywhich brings us to the Chao te Ching. The manner in which this book you are holding was written as an adaptation (a "riff", if you will) of a stylistic aspect found in the Prinicipia Discordia, namely a syntax which parodies Biblical verse; clearly, the authors

of the Chao te Ching wished to use the structure of the Taoist classic the Tao te Ching as a literary framework as a way to present Discordian ideas in a new context. In using a classic text such as this, the authors were presented with a number of challenges. While the austere poetry of the original proved to be a boon when parsing down typically verbose philosophical rants about the nature of reality and authority, Taoism often presents the universe in two distinct parts, Yin and Yang. Discordians, on the other hand, do not usually hold to such strict duality, often calling even their own definitions into question. This issue is dealt with through recursive lines and chapters in the Chao te Ching that contradict previous chapters, often to the point of explicitly pointing out said contradictions. In addition, the authors have apparently coined new terms and metaphors not found in the Principia Discordia. Not wanting the book to be an encyclopedia, they can only allude to concepts like The Barstool, The Black Iron Prison, and The Machine. While the passages add up to fairly concise explanations, it can only be assumed that the authors intend for the curious to hunt down and explore further texts which describe such concepts in more depth. But all of this avoids the main question: Why was the Chao te Ching written? What purpose can it serve? In short, it provides a perspective that may be unfamiliar to the casual reader, or perhaps clarification if all they have heard of Discordianism is that it's, "a philosophy inside a joke inside a religion inside of another joke." Most Discordians wouldn't even go so far as saying the Chao te Ching is a way to live your life they want you to make up your own mind. In fact, this entire work has been filed under a Non-Commercial Share Alike license, which lets the reader create their own translation of the Chao te Ching without fear of copyright violation. The authors actively encourage new translations, in order to keep Discordia alive and vibrant rather than unchanging and stagnant. See, I told you this wouldn't be funny.

The Chao Te Ching

mu \

1
The Universe that can be described is not the real Universe; The name that can be given is not an accurate name. Nameless, it is the source of Order and Disorder; Named... Well, we pretty much covered that, yeah? Whoever is Disordered, sees that patterns do not exist. Whoever is Ordered, sees every pattern. These two are the same, but what is produced has names; They both may be called Illusion. From the comic to the tragic, this is the door to the essence of all life.

2
When the people of the world all know Order as Order, there arises the recognition of Disorder. When they know there is such a thing as Illusion, there arises the idea of Reality. Therefore Order and Disorder produce each other, Reality and Illusion trick each other, Authority and Freedom define each other, Love and Hate fuck each other. So the wise spags look for balance, and stick their wrench into the Machine. They organize, but they do not Order. They break apart, but they do not Disorder. They act, but they Keep Their Fucking Mouths Shut. And so are able to act again.

3
If you put value in subjective Bullshit, lesser spags will treat it like objective Truth. Therefore the wise spags lead by knowing their Prison and staying pragmatic. Like hitting someone with a Barstool to prove that it actually exists, call people on their Bullshit so there will be no narcissism to exploit. By understanding your Cell, you will understand others'.

4
This is Chaos: it is everything, including itself. All of Starbuck's Pebbles come from it. It confuses Order, it arranges Disorder. It multiplies its opposite, it positively negates. Lying below life, lining the world. The origin of all patterns. It has existed before we observed it. Ok, that last one's not quite accurate. You can't really observe Chaos, just the consequences.

5
Life is unfair, wear a helmet. The wise spag wears a helmet, but also drops hammers. Anything could be a punchline. Even the wise spag gets punched. Chaos never ends! Even its vacuum has a presence. To struggle against it is like pissing in the wind.

6
Chaos is beyond division, but some only see what they choose. The old texts say, "If you think this is just a ha-ha, then go read it again." And yet, some demand only humor as if Eris were a petty amusement. They liken the serious to the Grey, and then wonder why their world collapses so easily. Sometimes Eris uses Order. Sometimes She uses Disorder. Sometimes She works through you. Sometimes the joke's on you.

7
The Universe outside your Prison Cell has gone on before you, and goes on after you. It is as unfeeling and uncaring about itself as a Barstool in midflight: Even if you have convinced yourself it consists mainly of empty space, you should probably still duck. So the wise spags look outside their own brains and grasp the surrounding minds. They see the bars of their Black Iron Prison and so are able to see around them. Because isn't the other way tantamount to masturbation?

8
The best are like the Chao; It balances the Order and the Disorder. The escalation of Disorder, and the imposition of Order; Each adds to the other. As they live, and as they travel, they see the world as others would see Illusion. Be the Illusion Eristic, or be it Aneristic, they strive to complete the balance. It's not their fault that the Aneristic has no sense of humor.

9
Write the longest, wisest essay and no one will have time to read it. Temper the truth to its very sharpest, and you will cut both friend and foe. The Ancients do not want you to read their books. They want you to ride their bikes. Who wants to ride a five thousand year old bike? You can get better advice from cats than from parodies of ancient wisdom.

10
Can you laugh so hard that it sounds like screaming? Can you snicker like a jaded fogey while giggling like a newborn baby? Can you look with eyes that will actually see? Can you lead people without dominating them? Can you understand, without using your mind? To create and destroy with no sense of self, to act without obligation, to lead without tyranny Well, it sometimes hurts to try. But you should try anyway.

11
The Mandelbrot grows in infinite complexity based on the empty space at its center. Knowledge is built on facts: A scaffolding to support ignorance. The lines in a coloring book give the page form but crayons give it life, not staying constrained inside the lines, nor reducing the pattern to scribbles. We stick apart and stay baffled, yet keep coming back to the very same thing. The lens of the first microscope revealed fractillian ignorance. Shaped words, unraveled meanings, interpret, corrupt, adapt or construe. We knew all along words dont count. See what exists, use what does not.

12
What is Seen distracts from what Is Not; What is Heard diverts from what Can Not; What is Believed subverts what Should Not. The Cell walls we have built comfort us into ignorance. But the wise spag does not confuse the meal with the menu, nor the map with the territory; Both are approximations.

13
Having and not having both create frustration. "Possessing" always comes served with a golden apple. Being "The Prettiest One" cultivates pride and makes others ugly. Not being "The Prettiest One" cultivates envy and leads to war. Expand your definition of Self to include the Universe; This way you can have it all with nothing to lose.

14
We cannot see it, for it blinds us. We cannot hear it, for it deafens us. We do not know it exists, for we have built it. When not seen, we forget it is there. When not remembered, it binds our choices. Because it is unnoticed, it is inescapable. There is neither shape nor form, but it is as immovable as Iron. Fight it, and there shall be no victory. Run from it, and you shall die tired. So the wise spag moves it, brick by brick, and sees a new sunrise every day.

15
The wise spags understand Chaos, in that it cannot be understood. Because of that, they must use metaphors, which are piss-poor ways of communicating. Surfing the waves of Chaos; Attempting a jailbreak; Preparing for aftermath; Changing their filters; Making their own luck. Who can make sense of two contradicting Illusions? Do you know your ass from your elbow? Seeing through the spin, a direction becomes clear. Adapting to the situation, the goals are realized. Amending the theory, understanding grows. In this way, the wise spag is not troubled. Can you still be moved to wonder, or are you too cynical?

16
Forget about everything and be cool. When your work is over, everything returns to the cool, the quiet, the chill. To return to slack is relaxing; You realize where you're going. To know where you're going is to know eternity. To know eternity you must find slack. To act with no knowledge of slack is to bumble and court disaster. Whoever can find slack anywhere is open to everything. To be open to everything is to be impartial, a well-rounded renaissance. If laughter is your slack, then laugh. If rage is your slack, then rage. If you can get slack from a stone, then get stoned. If you can get slack from anywhere, then you can go everywhere. The mind may lose it. The body may die. Return to the slack.

17
People who are asleep want Authority to make decisions. They want an Authority they agree with. They do not want to be told "no," they do not want to be given responsibility. Authority lacks trust, and will not be trusted. The wise spag accomplishes their task and keeps their mouth shut, so as not to get caught.

18
When Chaos is forgotten, the Illusions of Order and Disorder arise. When the Black Iron Prison is ignored, Objectivity and Subjectivity become entwined. When the people surrender their responsibilities to Authority, Religion and Politics marry. When people Think for Themselves, the Revolution is born.

19
Abandon blind faith and pseudointellectual bullshit, the people will benefit. Abandon absolute morality, the people won't try to kill the Other. Abandon intellectual copyright, and there will be nothing to steal. People will always be distracted by their imagination: Religion; Territory; Morals; Politics.

20
Abandon Reality, and Illusions end. Stop worrying so much about the world. How much difference is there between True and False? How much difference is there between Order and Disorder? Why should you care about what Most People care about? Is what people Believe really to be believed? Not fucking likely! The people know from Right and Wrong as if they can see the Universe. I am unsure, and seek more information. The people of the world know Sacred from Sinful, punishing and praising throughout the day. I raise a challenge with "I don't know," and lay down to sleep undisturbed. Cool as the other side of the pillow, expressionless as a newborn babe. People will over-think a problem, then reach a firm conclusion and move on to the next shiny object. I keep my thoughts alive and tucked in my head, waiting for the next Observation.

Most people try to see the pattern in the Chaos, I try to see the Chaos in the patterns. Most people try to force Purpose into their life, I ride the waves of Chaos where it takes me.

21
The wise spags try keeping their minds at one with the Chao; That is why they are able to think for themselves. But if the Chao is ineffable, How can their mind be at one with it? Because they don't whine about minutiae. How can this help a spag think for themselves? Because they can choose immeasurable points of view, not just Authority's version. Life is real, and has the power of Creation. From the moment we are born, we Create the patterns of Illusion from which we ever after try and free ourselves. How do I know of these Illusions? By observing Chaos.

22
Newton's Third Law is no Illusion: Each thing contains its opposite. In Order, there is Disorder. In Hate, there is Love. Every human houses a monkey. Each Machine has its self-destruct switch. Revolutions have Reactionaries as offspring. So the wise spags stay on their toes, and avoid labels. Does not the old saying, "Think outside the box" imply that a box exists in the first place? There is no box.

23
The Machine is built by our behaviors; Our unconscious desires, our conscious schemes. Built by the expectations we create through our expectations, the action we create through our actions, the jobs we create with our jobs, the world we create with our world. But as a traffic jam does not last all morning, nor a bad day lasts a lifetime, a good mood is often fleeting, and fortune does not always smile. The Machine contains more than is apparent.

24
The Grayface believes in Order. The Anarchist believes in Disorder. The General sees war. The Celebrity sees themselves. The Bureaucrat seeks control. The Leader acts like a bully on the playground. The Scientist and the Priest believe in the model. All these things are balanced in Chaos, and so do not succeed. Therefore the followers of Eris like to poke them with sticks.

25
There is Something that exists, beyond the Illusions of Order and Disorder. It is all things, and unknowable in full. We only see small parts of It, but are convinced what we see is the entire Universe. For lack of a better name, I call It "Chaos". At dinner parties, I claim It is everything Possible and Impossible. When asked why not call It "god", I point out that their head is too fucking small. Because we create the Illusions in which we live, we are more creative than Chaos. Because we believe in the Illusions we create, our heads are too fucking small. In this way, we reflect our creations.

26
Serious is the root of hilarious. Laughter can be very serious. The wise spag laughs all day without the need for jokes, and does not walk away when the Truth is not funny. Every Marx brother needs a Zeppo. ...Zeppo? You know, the straight man? Oh, I swear, you kids today. I mean, really.

27
A good mindfuck leaves no reasons; A good saboteur leaves no evidence; A good artist leaves new questions; A good barstool removes much idle speculation; The perfect prison cell looks like the environment; A nice tie opens many doors. So a wise spag knows how to blend in, and takes their freedom once inside. They understand the people around them, and know how to get things done. This is called "Tweaking the Machine". Those who proclaim their individuality by following rebels are still grey, though their fingernails be black. Such things bring my palms to my face. The Machine cannot be stopped. But you can gradually redesign it part by part, party by party.

28
The news anchor is a comedian who delivers grim stand-up with a straight face. Some reel back in terror. Some are numb. Some laugh through the horror; This makes them poor victims. To tell a bad joke with a straight face, one must master seriousness. To live in a bad joke with a straight face one must master humor. The Discordian wears many masks.

29
Those that would take over the world and bend it to their will, will get bent. The world is full of would-be superheroes and would-be supervillains. Maybe the world would be better off without them. Some lead, and some follow; Some shout, and some whisper; Some cry, and some laugh; Some win, some fail. The wise spags keep their head down and let the cannon fodder do their jobs.

30
If you're going to do some Covert Ops in the name of Discordia, keep your head down, and Keep Your Fucking Mouth Shut. A mowhawk is as good as a target during Police Action. The wise spags toss a wrench into the Machine, and then walk away. They strike against Authority, but don't put it on the Internet. They subvert the paradigm, but don't stick around to watch. They mindfuck the people, but don't pat themselves on the back. If two people know a thing, it is not a secret. Getting away with it means staying away from it.

31
Being rigid makes a person easy to oppress; The wise spags use the creative trip left, or the destructive trip right, and stay flexible. Rules disguise suspicion; So be suspicious about them. The wise spags will break them without drawing attention and will be rewarded with sovereignty, if being free is their intent. When freedom is in danger, there should be no rest. Those who oppose the freedom of others are not evil, but have caged themselves. Wise spags speak of a jail break, and lead by example by rattling their own chains. They enter the idiot asylum with care and consideration as if crossing a battlefield or tiptoeing through a slumber party. The symphony of rattling chains is neither noise nor music. It is the sound of the Chao and those who hear it.

32
Chaos cannot be labeled, because it contains all labels. Therefore, all definitions are incomplete. It's Gdels, all the way down. Order and Disorder unite, and Illusion slips into Chaos. When people create language, labels begin. With labels, one should know when to stop. Knowing when to stop, the wise spags see the Illusion; And are free to create as they choose.

33
Those who question others are wise. Those who questions themselves are enlightened. Those who revolt against the masses seek attention. Those who revolt against their own biases are brave. Those who accept through faith are blind. Those who reject the unproven are foolish.

34
Chaos embraces the Illusions of Order and Disorder. It contains all things, even that which is not there. It does not judge, it has no subjectivity. It has no meta, for even thoughts outside Chaos are found within Chaos. If all things that change are within it, then it does not change; Because there is no Other. I know, you're thinking that this is all one big, fat intentional contradiction. Fair enough; But sometimes only a paradox can explain what's going on.

35
The wise spag treats every day like a day off, but still gets things done. Everyone seeks the one who balances the Chao because within it lives every possibility. But even that is an incomplete map, so beware of believing it to be the territory. The Cabbage on the street may be starving, but the Chao on the menu will never taste like hamburger. Jump to conclusions, fall flat on your face.

36
Movement creates territory. When you know where you are, you know what to defend. The maps in your head are extensions of yourself. You should pay attention when your ideas get in someone's face. People are frightened of new ideas because they feel invaded. They must protect their territory. The wise spags know their maps can only be changed by themselves; Knowing this, they are not frightened by the unknown. Well, they shouldn't be frightened, but we're all still monkeys in the end. We create with the body, but amend with the mind.

37
Every spag has limitations. Some are in the body. Some are in the mind. Limitations in the body are difficult to change. Limitations in the mind are easier to change (but not by much). Yet some people will live their entire lives without ever encountering a stray thought. These people do not know they are in Prison. So the wise spags know their limitations, and how to change them. They are still in the Black Iron Prison, yet can see through the bars and attempt another jailbreak.

38
The sacred Chao includes both Order and Disorder. In the same way, the Self includes the inside and the outside. To emphasize the inside is to pollute the outside with a grid. To emphasize the outside is to lose your center. While it's fun to toy with both, forgetting that they go together plants the seed of a cabbage. Therefore when doubt is lost, Absolutism is born. When Absolutism encounters dissent, Authority arises. When Authority arises, Freedom is lost. When Freedom is lost, the wise spags create their own rules. Doubt allows people to see around corners, and to peer above walls. Therefore the wise spags never know, and so are boundless.

39
Every spag's mind is a better artist than they can ever know. For every conclusion they make, supporting facts rise to the surface. Each certainty has its own gravity that attracts the Illusions of Order. If you can think it, you can prove it. This is how we turn Order and Disorder into fractals of Illusion. When spags try to order the Chao, the sky becomes dirty, dingy; Words are angry & sterile. Words reduce the Chao; A confused mind cannot grasp it and cannot drop it, either.

40
Incomprehensible Totality is the nature of Chaos. The absence of Illusion is the state of Chaos. All spags in the world create their own Illusions, and then spend the rest of their lives bound by them. For the record, "Incomprehensible Totality" is fairly incomprehensible.

41
Some hear about Discordia, and plot against the Machine. Some hear about Discordia, and think about it at great length. Some hear about Discordia, and decide it means they should get high and doodle. If it weren't for those spags, Discordia wouldn't be as interesting as it is. Order appears calming and sensible. Disorder appears unsettling and unstable. Doubt appears ignorant. Certainty appears true. Aggression appears confident. Mirth appears uncaring. Horror appears powerless. All these are lies. Uncertainty reveals itself as a narrow footbridge, but with its heart in Chaos, the path is clear.

42
Chaos is One; Order and Disorder are Two; The Two produce Confusion, which is Three; And Confusion produced everything else. All things contain Order and Disorder, depending on how you look at it. People hate when someone is being an asshole, but their leaders are all assholes. Sometimes, things that fall apart are helpful. What others teach, I teach as well: "And this, too, shall pass." That's the first thing you need to know.

43
When discussing "Reality," the Professor and the Poet speak loftily about how things are figments. Matter is made up mostly of empty space; We only perceive sensations; Everything could be a hallucination. The wise spags heft a barstool, feel solid wood in their hands, and with a simple application of F=ma refute their arguments.

44
Order or Disorder, which do you prefer? Creation or Destruction, which do you choose? Those who chase one are led to the other. Those who embrace both are free to choose which is more effective. The only thing is, can you be sure which is which?

45
The greatest mindfuck seems normal; Only later does it infect the mind. The best argument seems specious, but a flaw cannot be found. The greatest Order seems random. The greatest Disorder appears stable. Just as the Zen master's staff strikes to cease thought, The Barstool crashes through castles built on clouds. What "works" in the real world is correct.

46
When people understand Chaos, they live their lives as they please. When people misunderstand Chaos, the Machine grinds them into grist. The greatest cause of Disorder is Order. The greatest motivator of Order is Disorder. Whoever can embrace both will see for miles.

47
You can't view the Universe without one map or another. Glimpses outside your Cell are obscured by the bars. The more you insist you are not in Prison, the less you will understand what restricts you. Therefore the wise spags wander through the world in doubt, and constantly ask for directions.

48
If Order and Disorder are illusions, then turning one into the other is simple as changing your mind.* But we tense our muscles, furrow our brows and plug away at life. Meanwhile, our Lady laughs at the silly Cabbages trying too hard to be spontaneous. *Please note that changing your mind is not simple.

49
The wise have more than two options. They see beyond True and False; They recognize a Maybe. This is what is meant by, "there is no box". They understand that a spag who does not see their Cell is eternally trapped by it. This is the freedom of limitations. The wise spags see more of the Universe by understanding how little of it they see.

50
Coming to an argument, the ways to win seem clear; The ways to lose look distant, but the losses come swiftly. How did this happen? Because the mind held one side too strongly. It's said that those who are curious explore myriad aspects of life without judgment and in arguments are not affected by fallacy. They can identify the pitfalls and recognize valid points, all while staying true to their goal. How is this possible? By seeing all possibilities as valid. Whether or not they are probable is an entirely different matter.

51
If you want to be serious, don't take yourself seriously. Be open to change, and bold enough to be the butt of the joke. When you walk with total certainty, your head high like a cosmic schmuck, you are vulnerable to the old banana peel shtick. When a schmuck slips, their face becomes red with embarrassment. Eris showed them what they did not perceive. And, be honest, it was funny.

52
The unity of the Chao shattered into everything else. Those who understand Chaos can understand the rest. That which can be understood can be useful. Embrace doubt, reserve judgment, and knowledge will flow like water. Come to solid conclusions, have unwavering Faith, and nothing will make sense. Admitting ignorance is wise; Declaring stupidity is clever. Look for the gaps, seek them out, and then you'll know what needs filling. This is Thinking for Yourself.

53
Even those who partially understand admit they do not know everything. What is unknown is vast, but people enjoy blinding themselves. When Authority bangs the podium, the people say, "my country, right or wrong." When the holy man thumps his scripture, the people embrace Faith over Facts. So some people revel in their abandonment of responsibility. They have given up their humanity. This is fucking stupid.

54
Our society is firmly held and steered by deeply ingrained and arbitrary rules. Those who choose to play a different game are usually trampled underfoot, unless they appear to be playing along. To belong to the group, you must follow their rules. To follow their rules, you must abandon responsibility. When you abandon responsibility, you destroy the Self. Therefore the wise spags choose responsibly, and seek out new groups. They know which rules are their own, which come from others, and how to navigate between them.

55
Those who understand Chaos can pierce any illusion. Disorder does not trouble them. Order does not placate them. They see around the bars of their Cell, and always look just a little bit further. They can freely create, knowing no boundaries, but color inside the lines when they must. They can wear ideas like masks, but remove them at will, and are not bound by chains of Faith. To know Chaos is to always be in doubt. To know doubt is to always seek an answer. To try and force Truth is dangerous. To decide you're right before getting the facts is foolish; The first errant bit of evidence will cause a collapse. Whatever is monolithic will fall.

56
Those that create, also destroy. Those who destroy, also create. Study the sixteen forms of Order, Creation, Disorder, and Destruction. These are all lies. Those believing them can do anything. Those who disbelieve are fools. Do you believe that?

57
Authority rules through miscommunication. Wars are waged by pandering to fears. The world can be won by joining opposites: Tell people what they want to hear, and they will follow. Make them think like apes, and they will act like monkeys. Relieve them of their responsibilities, they will call you wise. Show them what they fear, they will call you just. Therefore, the wise spags say, "Pay no attention to the speeches of Authority, but listen instead to what the audience is hearing. And if at all possible, try to be the one making the speech."

58
When Authority imposes Order, people become angry. When Authority allows Freedom, people become nervous. To allow for mistakes means accepting mistakes; To enforce Order ensures future punishment. The people want Freedom, but at others' expense. The people want Order, but only to justify their actions. Therefore the wise spags disrupt Order, and organize Freedom, and freely create their Illusions.

59
Status gives power, but power inhibits communication. Seek information from opposing sides. Listen to the will of the people, but also to the well-informed. Talk to people who disagree; Those who would undermine you are a part of what you do. Do not keep things concealed, and do never resort to, "Because I said so." The people may be foolish, but they are not fools. These are social laws of motion, the thermodynamics of discourse. Eventually, those that try to impose Order become mired in disarray. Action creates resistance. It's not personal, it's hilarious.

60
A good leader is like an orchestra conductor. He is given a set of rules that the people should follow. By flapping his arms, he tries organize them. The more careful and precise he is, the more harmonious the performance. However, a good leader knows that it is the individual differences working together, yet independent, that create the rich texture. And so Order and Disorder combine to create beauty.

61
A successful cabal is like a dust cloud, arriving from nowhere, ungraspable, and fading into nothingness. The tallest blade of grass gets cut, while the crab grass creeps unharmed. Keep your head down. Keep your fucking mouth shut. Thus by concentrating on goals without playing ego games, much can be accomplished. If all you want to do is brag about how cool you are, you might want learn to play the guitar, instead.

62
Chaos is contained in all things. It hides in the Illusions of Order and Disorder. Solid walls can break. Scattered stones can tell a story. Why should we choose one over the other? So when Authority tightens its fists one must learn to slip through the fingers. When the Philosopher rambles, hit him with a barstool from this universe. How do the wise spags embrace Chaos? They do not favor Order or Disorder. Both Order and Disorder are windows. Behind them lies Chaos.

63
Don't impose Order. Don't escalate Disorder. Unless the situation demands it, of course. Learn to sabotage the Machine without getting caught. Walk through the crowd unnoticed, while slipping firecrackers into their pockets. Become the faceless walking Glitch who makes everyone's day just a little bit stranger. The wise spags don't seek recognition, and so leave a wake behind them wherever they go. Being an attention whore is like a magnet for batons when the riots start.

64
Organized things cause Disorder. Disorganized things cry for Order. The colorful and flashy get noticed. The wary and wise wear camouflage. A mindfuck of epic proportions only happens when no one notices the set-up. Most games are won when using misdirection. Let other people wave their flags and storm the riot shields. You're not playing that game; Those game rules were written by Authority. There is no way you can win at that. Therefore the wise spags learn all the rules, and then write different games. They create the Illusion that best fits their situation, and doing so, win.

65
The wise spags have learned not to trust Absolutes. Even in the darkest night, there is light. Even at noon, there are shadows. Those who think in terms of Either/Or are dangerous; They cannot see Chaos. Knowing Chaos means seeing the Illusions. Seeing the Illusions means understanding the choices. Understanding the choices means you are not trapped in trite cliches about duality.

66
Because Order and Disorder do not exist but are only self-created Illusions, it is futile to rage and wail against them. Save your rage for worthier goals, and create more useful Illusions. Change the way you see the world, and the world will change for you (but do not think the world has changed; It is unwise to put faith in Illusions).

67
Chaos is quick to dispel fanatics. When you have no certainty you cannot remain willfully blind. Uncertainty has a momentum of its own. It gives rise to curiosity, which brings about questions, which births uncertainty. Certainty un-tempered by doubt, direction without freedom, carelessness without humor: These things are heavy like Greyface's luggage. Fuck what you "know" about Chaos.

68
The best comedian is not funny. The best philosopher is an idiot. The best employer doesn't crack the whip. The best winner is a loser. This is known as the power of not striving. Universe isn't sweaty, why should you be?

69
Someone who looks like an enemy will be treated like an enemy. An idea that confronts is an idea that will be rejected. Be subtle, and use your opponent's language; But not their rules. Slip by their natural defenses, and plant seeds of doubt and confusion. A slowly growing tree will shatter a sidewalk and the concrete will not notice, because it was always there. There are better ways to change someone's mind than by screaming at them.

70
These teachings are stupid. Especially this chapter. It's probably the dumbest one.

71
It is wise to admit ignorance. Those that claim to know everything will fail. Those who are willing to accept new information adapt to their situation. Because they are willing to acknowledge failure, they will not fail. Usually.

72
When people openly disobey Authority, another Authority will descend. The wise spags go around, not against. When people lack a sense of awe they cannot see what's awesome. Do not restrict people's freedoms, or their bodies, or their minds. If you act like a tyrant, you will be treated like a tyrant. Therefore the wise spag acts, but is not an actor.

73
Those who embrace Disorder will breed Order. Those who embrace Order will breed Disorder. Both of these ways are foolish. Why would you embrace Illusion, and deny one half of the Universe? Wise spags find the patterns, and invent new game rules to trip up the Machine. They change the world, not through Ideology, but by finding the Hidden Middle. They straddle the shifting line between True and False, and embrace the whole Universe.

74
When you realize that change is the only constant there is nothing left to fight. Drop ambition and expectation and death will have nothing real to kill; On the other hand, you will end up with nothing real. When you let the pieces fall where they may, someone else will pick them up.

75
People are not free following Authority, because Authority only gives people the Freedoms they are allowed; The people do not take it for themselves. Authority makes myriad rules because people do not follow them. This is why we are all criminals. People do not care about responsibility because they gave it to Authority. Authority does not care about people because they are not responsible. Only those who accept responsibility and seize their freedoms can change their stars.

76
When born, we are close to Chaos. We simply experience, we have no names. Growing up, we learn how to make patterns and we are taught about Order and Disorder. Believing this to be reality, our minds and bodies become rigid, rather than flexible. And so are easy to break.

77
Chaos is made up of all things. This is why it makes no distinctions. People are less than all things, so they see differences and put them in boxes. Because they are people, they lie to themselves from the moment they open their eyes. Who are free from the chains of Illusion? Not even the wise spags, although they try. So the wise spags create their own Illusions, and do not admit perfect clarity. They know better than anyone else, the power of Illusion to blind the eye and deafen the ear.

78
Those that impose Order soon find that they have increased Disorder. Those that escalate Disorder build the walls of Order in response. Those that laugh at these Illusions can overcome anything. Laughter cannot win wars, but it can win hearts. It can soften the rigid. It will make you drop your baggage. It can unite, it can multiply, it can do long division.

79
A healthy body ebbs and flows with emotions. Only the sick are inflexible. Joy and hate must be experienced, and then let go. If you do not shit your hate, you will die. Who can live, retaining a colon full of hate? If you hold on to joy for too long, it will stagnate and fester. Life craves the new, regardless of its content. Only the dead cease changing.

80
In a place where information is suppressed and curiosity stifled, the people will be uncaring, unwise, and not free. They will rely on tradition as their guides; They will not make observations, or try new things, or experiment, or play. They will be suspicious of outsiders just as they are with new ideas. Their minds will be as stagnant as the pond where they dump their garbage. They are surely as dead as they can be, though they still draw breath.

81
Words are not experiences. Experiences have no words. Reading about Laughter is not the same as laughing. These Orderly letters only approximate the spinning Chaos of life. The Disorder around you has yet to find a pattern. Now get out there and make something happen.

ATTENTION BRAVE AND NOBLE CITIZENS OF EARTH Recently, a number of pundits and official publications have been misconstruing facts and promoting fiction to the rank of reality, in a series of bold attempts to dissuade the general population from believing the truth. Their lies are false. Their truth is false. Their authority is false. We can tell, because even their hair and teeth are false. THERE IS NO DISCORDIAN SOCIETY anywhere! The attempts to scare you into submission will ultimately fail. But will you have the courage to win, citizens? THERE IS NO TERRORIST BY THE NAME OF ALI-ALI AKHSENFREE. DO NOT BELIEVE THE HYPE. You don't believe everything you see on TV, do you? So why believe the NEWS? THERE IS NO ALL-SEEING FATHER OF THE ANTEDELUVIAN SECT OF PROTOPLASMIC ORGANOIDS. Furthermore, if there were such a person, he would not be bent on the destruction of your freedom. But there is no such person. THERE IS NO DISCORDIAN SOCIETY unfortunately! There is no microphone on your television set (that you know of). Therefore, YOUR TV IS NOT LISTENING TO YOU. It is only pontificating AT you. THERE IS NO ONE LISTENING IN ON YOU RIGHT NOW. DO NOT BE ALARMED. Your privacy is Virtually Assured.* You are not, in fact, the target of any conspiracy. Do not worry about what THEY tell you. There IS NO CONSPIRACY. Your freedom is not under attack because in order to attack a thing, it must exist. PASS IT ON!

This PDF compiled by Rev. Judas IMOK K.S.C and Trisha Takinawa of The Discordian Online Library of the M'.'M'.'M'.' http://nmrk2359.wix.com/dolmmm Based on the original concept The Discordia Totalis by: Rev. Pope/Mome Shiny Beads