You Wanna Tell Me Again...

... how this is done by two guys with rope and some boards in one night?

Almost Camping Season!

...there's always a good reason to go...

Blink. Life. Blink.

...well I guess I could write.
Something we seem to never have time for anymore.
Never have unction for anymore.
Never have passion for anymore.
But those are all lies.

So here we are, dear reader, dear writer.
Been a while hasn’t it?
What shall we talk about it?
The future? The past? The ever expanding present?

I’m not sure.

There are times in life, moments really, when you realize how quickly it is passing.

Those are usually unfun moments...
Because otherwise, time would be “flying” wouldn’t it?

So what does that mean?

“Life is passing.”

Is life precious because of its fleeting nature?
Is life precious because of its beauty?
Because of its pain?
Because life is an indivisible mix of both beauty and pain?

What’s the point?
What are we really working so hard for here?
Do you really think it’s to secure your place in the afterlife?
That all your loves and secrets will be protected and preserved once your heart stops and the brain’s electrical signature dwindles to nothing?

In the face of the great unknown, the great unknowing... life looks pretty bleak doesn’t it?

So what keeps us going?
What keeps us questing and questioning?

Is it merely millions of years of instinct... that provides a false sense of providence, of a conjured spiritual identity... so that we can be buoyed by baseless belief in an existence larger than the confines of our flesh?

Whoa, serious questions there.

And no answer to them can be silly.

The truth, as truth in a baby-fed bubble like the brain can be is: the answer doesn’t matter.

Who answers, probably matters the most.

Consciousness is a slippery fish.
A shape, a shadow that yet reflects light, beneath the mental water, refracted and flickering.

Are we the fish?
Are we the lake?
Are we the observer at the water’s edge?
A pretty good set up for Ego, Id, and SuperEgo there.

We are the world awake.
The universe, its material and energetic parts, awake.

I don’t want to Dis the rocks here, but how much does a rock think about?
Just what mental burdens does it have to deal with?

We are but rocks (material) energized (electricity converted from TacoBell).
Organic machines resting on mineral stilts run by straps of connective contracting tissue.
And then there’s the ‘Us’, the ‘Me’, aka consciousness.

Awake.

Awake that it’s awake.
The alarm clock constantly going off... you’re awake, I’m me! you’re awake, I’m me! you’re awake, I’m me!

It’s funny.
Or rather, we think everything is funny.
We deal with the complex, conflicting observations of the universe around us with the tool of irony.
Something is, and not is.
A paradox of meaning... ergo, the HAHA!

So what’s the point?
What’s the answer?
What is salvation and the consequence of ambient faith??

Letting the riddle continue;
Flying diligently by the seat of one’s pants
Riding the joke of the universe to its invisible natural conclusion;

11:11 AM

It’s like when you throw a baseball.

Your mind and body calculate millions of times as you grip it, crank your arm, spot your target.
But once you let it go
That’s the sweet spot of life.
Giving up contact, for a bit
Being the ball, the ball’s influence, seeing the impact
Releasing your actions from yourself
Dissociating your choices from your existence for sanity’s sake
Not taking yourself too seriously!

We’re all responsible for ourselves, whether we know it or not.
Responsible for how the ball is thrown
But to have thrown it.. and observe it flying separate from you,
is relief.

And this repeats non-identically with every tick of the clock, with every cc of blood we pump through us.

The “truth” is the universe/life/existence is but information,
An utterly complex system of information
Interacting... as you the writing reader, and I writer reading are interacting.

And we can’t hold it all
Can’t be responsible for all of it
It’s rather difficult to dicuss
Aka, philosophy

Life is goofy.
It’s a hilarious mix of order and chaos.
The mix tickles the brain like soda pop tickling your nose.
There, yet not there.
When definitions lack all definition...
All that’s left is, Wonder.


And so this essay has succeeded.
I have answered no important questions, directed no dire actions, implored no lofty considerations.
And so have answered a questioning sense, directed a focused motionlessness, implored the parts to see the whole seeing the parts.

Blink. Life. Blink.

Give Us An Analogy George!

Thought I'd post an excerpt from my man, George Ure...
on the subject of the why our money system is blowing.

Just to make the discussion of unsound money and how the scam works really clear in academic terms, suppose we set up a closed multi-agent system with two players. (Sound's Ivy League'ish, huh?).

Each has $10 dollars. No more money can be created. None.

Agent 1 has a piece of land, Agent 2 has a shovel.

Now, Agent 1 borrows the shovel from Agent 2 at an agreed value of $5 and an interest rate of 50% per day. Agent 1 then uses the borrowed $5 shovel to put in a garden. He puts in magnificent magic beans that grow overnight. $5 worth of beans, in fact. The next day, he wants to sell the crop to Agent 2 for $5.

Before the sale, Agent 1 has: His original $10, a $5 shovel and $5 worth of beans. ($20 total) But he owes $5 for the shovel and $2.50 of interest.

But here's where it gets dicey: The banksters would argue that creation of a crop 'creates value' and therefore more money should be printed and poured into the system. "What wrong with that?" you wonder?

If we agree to the fiat money scam, the part which none of the banksters ever answer (it's sleight of hand, you see) is to answer the question where do we 'inject' the money?

Do we allow Agent 2 to print it up so he can buy the beans?

That would give Agent 2 "Free money", right, and the only thing he's done is printed money!!!

Well, that's exactly how the global fractional reserve banking scam works. Agent 2 is allowed to (wink wink, nudge nudge) constantly printing up money on the excuse that it's needed to offset the 'value created' by all this magic bean farming.

But, why isn't the farmer printing up money? I mean, he's doing the value creation, right? "Oh no!" scream the banksters. "He's got the value of his beans and besides Agent 2 needs to be able to buy beans for food! It's a social necessity!"

See how the bankster spin works? In the evnd, all of us (Agent 1-types who produce value) accept the notiong that Agent-2 types (banksters) have some right to print up paper money and thus over time end up in total control of the economic system.

They live in a scared spitless state, hoping no one will wake up to the sleight of hand about where money is 'injected' into the system. "We need to inject money to offset the value of the crop" is their argument., Well, horse puckey.

I've had lots of economic wizards try to explain why Agent 2 should be allowed to print up money for just lending his shovel and how Agent 2 isn't engaging in sleight of hand by claming the right to print money!

Here's the real deal: In a closed economic system the land and shovel have equal value, and Agent 1 borrows the shovel for his whole $10, leaving him with a shovel, land and no cash while Agent 2 has $20 and nothing else. When the crop comes in Agent 1 sells half to Agent 2 for $10 and retains ownership of the shovel. In this way, the producers over time roll into control of the non-producers.

This outlines the threat posed by sound in stark relief. In order for the non-producers to get the upper hand, they must be the sole proprietors of the printing press. By what Right!!???!!!???

Nevertheless, this is exactly what's going on in the world today. It's why government must grow, purchasing power must be watered down, and the producers power crushed. We're all renting shovels and letting the non-producers print money. This has only one inevitable outcome. You lose the house and your job and you get hoodwinked out of all of your life's work because the Agent-2 types have a grand scam going.

There, don't you feel better now?