Denier of All Realities denies all reality irreality all alternate all make-believe and fantasy realities simulated phenomenological surreality quantum anti-reality modal emergent de res de dicto obliteration of all karmic matter diminished quasi meta and transcendental realities, and realty.
B. Moksha
from you i'm not taking this
i had your back and advanced
your line and on that my ass
but you give no sign don't speak
up for or to me where's that
sass that/ as a matter of fact
you egged me on even swooped
alongside on a night mish
poolside for the whole dish
i granted your almost every wish
maybe holding back that dymin
put me in the sitch they found me in
There was a very old queen name Brenda Friend an she would be out there asking pedestrians for a dollar.
I gave Miss Brenda a dollar an she toll me no, don't go that way. They's K's up in them trees I seenem.
I had been dancing my way home in the streets all the way up from a shivden in Dubbaberra. This was all mine and I could run even MPS know better than to check me.
I am slowing down in my stride and the sidewalk smelt sweet, a breeze, then some hooks are in my coat shoulders lifting me up. For a moment I could see from a level that I should not. Then he let me drop and swooped off like a clown with his crop all swole and bobbing the beak like a dolphin. The cismales think yor a plaything.
That's why I only walk or dance under low-hanging FOL wires when in the street. I should have listened to Brenda, but we can all learn.
I myself remember plopping down this end of The Crack.
I was a kitten in a birth sac.
What poked a hole was the beauty here.
I found a functioning society
paradise and horror side by side
infinite replenishment
We learned in order to survive
to keep our privileges close by
or risk adventure in the boundarylands
Not only do they shit on the community, and not only is it deliberate, but it is also clearly amusing to them personally because you can hear their cackle echoing in the clouds or bouncing off chanks. Why don't they go out to sea.
They do. We have to take the same precautions there. You're right. They crap wherever they want, and wherever they want is often a populated area, and yes, they think it's hilarious.
Our ancestors were wrong to put up with it for all those years.
You forget it was the other way around. K's were queen. We were their transition from hunting and gathering to farming and ranching, and they are the only reason we still even exist because some among them wanted to just keep eating unsustainably.
But now that they're in preserves, they've agreed to stop killing.
True, but we know that many flekes die each year working serving worshiping vacationing in close proximity to K's, and we do not have jurisdiction in those lands. The high chanks, although modern and popular with pilgrims and tourists, are governed entirely by the Mthyuh Preservation Society, a group that also holds an iron grip throughout the Greater Chanks Phenomena on all cultural missions and communications.
You refer to the Filter of Loathing.
I am afraid so. They could decide to simply switch it off.
Their religion, well, our religion would not exist without K's. They are living relics and so holy to the MPS and to the flekes as well.
Are you willing to challenge all of that to avoid a few hours of shoveling each year?
JAN: My levels of unfocused anger are making me a sitting duck for petty triggers, microaggressions, fear-fulfilling hallucinations.
JAN: What makes you say that?
JAN: I feel like lashing out at inanimate objects.
JAN: Oh like your husband?
JAN: Ha ya fer example or my pynco-brush or the rock I swallowed wrong or my slaves who cannot waft a frond to save their inanimate lives.
JAN: Did you say petty tigers? On the gizz-issue, I'd purge and start over. Gargle with seawater.
JAN: Ya you know what I think you got to the core. I said triggers. Now I know that my gizzard was the trigger for the anger.
JAN: What if I were a fear-fulfilling hallucination?
JAN: That term does not describe a being but a projection. Don't you think actual hallucinations give themselves away by being so obviously psychedelic? What if they were smarter than that?
JAN: If hallucinations were smarter than that as if they could be smart or dumb at all they would start crossing over into the realm of technology.
JAN: Ya that's why paranoia is so much more dangerous than a hallucination because it's all based on shiv that's real. Ya ick paranoia, ocd, that's what I don't want. So uncomfortable. A poorly-defined melting wall or ridiculous amphibious countenance staring from above those can be useful metaphors.
Trans. by Phyllis (embedded)
JAN:
Well they've got to realize that from the very first moment of our employment, they were setting us up as opponents. Not quote coworkers.
JAN'S BOSS JAN:
Yes, we had to draw straws. For seniority. We were starting the same day.
JAN:
We had to strategize. There weren't just two straws. There was a lidded grass basket.
JAN'S BOSS JAN:
The tips of seven straws were sticking out at just the same length.
JAN:
They were made of balsa wood. Guess they got them at the HR supply along with the psych kits.
JAN'S BOSS JAN:
The HR lady's palm was holding the basket, gently turning and lifting so that it seemed to hover in space.
JAN:
I went for the shiv on a plate after volca rule. Take the closest one.
JAN'S BOSS JAN:
Lost opportunity. You had first shot. I would have taken
JAN:
I know, the one closest to me in case the HR lady had rigged it that way.
JAN'S BOSS JAN:
That's not to say I didn't strategize. I mean
JAN:
Right, you're the boss now. Seems to fit you.
JAN'S BOSS JAN:
Do you think that bossships are for the bossy?
JAN:
Ya.
JAN'S BOSS JAN:
What is ambition: putting to best use your strongest gifts for the good of all or a coincidentally necessary expression of paranoia and contempt for humanity? That the nirvanic system needs quote leaders to tell the workers what to do and use pain and pleasure to bend them to Mthyuh's willhead.
JAN:
Or that each of them as well are ambitious and recognize other ambitious servants and honor them and serve honorably to honor the nirvanas and the will of Mthyuh. Yes, all of that.
JAN'S BOSS JAN:
That's good because sometimes I feel like an outlier, you know?
pathetic is the baseline the center our common nonvariable
this coming from both myopic and telescopic points of view
and thus my admonishment to all to live between the two
between as well oblivion and obliviousness
while getting consuming recreating and building
your smallness hopelessness are for my eyes alone
i will give you only strategically timed glimpses
if you ever find yourself overwhelmed with patheticness
know it's you and not me doing that to yourself
as the avatar of worthlessness i suck all of it
so what you're doing is ganking my stash of your shit
once i go into mthyuh you'll try and pray to give it back
but you'll realize it takes a long time for me to regenerate
and by then you'll have lost your pathetic mind
it was your baseline and you didn't trust me with it
it seemed like i was born dnr but i kept on waking
a hive or suspension of healing molecules buoyed
my cells did what only one immune system could not
do by itself
these were friendly robots with drone-like intentions
a frightening singularity of focus that lidderly
cut and skewered and sewed in service to their
own profession
some might say if it weren't them they'd prolly assume
what's most healing is the stripping and cleaving and
what's left will live interred in debt to pay for
re-ignition
that a done submission of spirit and character
rare deferment to the throbbing support structure
trembles in turn at the business end of an
org-tree mandate
but can they stop me before i commit again
to rampage on the place that brought me in
ghosts of my venom strangling the landscape
cries and sharp tears
by Ilyn
tiresome dreams redundant dreams
not being stoned the night
sees us seeking stupid bliss
hallucinations are standing by
anxious insight finally produces
granite roads leading to villages
my own anti-trans bias against
my own painted fingernails
intense gastric identity response
it's just ahead in the dark and
self-powers a familiar slog
seems to be moving toward the town
by Jan
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