Costs of unseriousness

A couple of Jans are standing in a Jan kitchen eating Jan slop from a pot on the hearth. They use spoons because their fingers are sensitive to heat. They are set to automatically practice and update their anthropomorphic communication style while feeding. They speak with their mouths only. 

The TAKEITOUTISTS are having their day. You can't launch a proper religion from scratch, of course, but they say they have a precedent. 

It's a religion in the smallest sense of the word. So far, all they do is walk around saying "take it out" without using their vocal chords. Try it.

I have tried it. It's catchy. Take it out. Take it out.

None of it would be possible without Mike of course. 

Take it out. You said it, or we should say it: personality cult. 

Say personality cult without using your vocal chords. 

Personality cult. 

...

Not as satisfying as take it out, but there are some consonants to sustain it.

Do we know what it is they want to take out?

It's a nod to shiva, of course. Their holy moment is during Days of Destruction.

So it splinters from lavajraja, which is also a dharma and more. 

They want to escape the responsibility and commitment of a full-spectrum lifestyle.

They want to spin a prayer wheel in their throats and walk away. 

Their fricatives are like sparks that could ignite a K's wake.

That would be reverse-destruction. 

Reverse-destruction is on the path. 

It's not retaliation but rather a pure expression of pre-inscribed geo-genetic patterns.

Correct.

So we can say it's an answer to the question. The question being, "What should we do with this?"

Take it out.

No, say it with the consonants only, against the roof of your mouth. 

Take it out.

No you can still force some air, just no voice, and really exaggerate your lips for acoustics. TAKEITOUT!

TAKEITOUT.

I think that's more like it. But then, there's the other thing. Ks can't hear it or say it. 

Anatomically? In that sense, it's deeply transgressive—and stupid.

I'd say we'll be seeing some of the costs of unseriousness in moons to come. 

Phyliss [trans.]

TAKE IT OUT

Does it need mentioning that the Jans were once and, in some of The Crack's holes, still are referred to as remote intelligence (RI)? Have you noticed the way that their academics, their public statements, their most effective influencers have hijacked the paradigm of "We stand on the shoulders of giants" to "We compost billions of anthropological prototypes"?

Does anyone need reminding that the Jans are entities that uniformly express what the Institute has come to call mechanic-organic sociopathy? That it should be at front of mind for every anthropological cross-person and every ally or identity-stationed anthropod or anthrophile, whether or not you've got a card that says you've been anthropometrically cleared at birth, you know who you are. Do any of us need reminding that Jans do not have minds of their own, that they are controlled by a central mind that is itself an inorganic drone?

In terms of our species' understanding of The Crack and our dharma, lavajraja, lavajraja, whether or not you are a faith-testing rebel or a self-appointed messiah, lavajraja, even Ilyn himself would doubtless agree that Jans are reproducing at numbers that are not sustainable for our survival. In turn, there will be no Mthyuh, no true meaning or purpose, until we take out the K5000. 

by Peg
Days of Destruction
Keynote Address [frag.]
Day: All

vietietetenamamaa

vietietetnamama

 

vietietnamam

 

white blobs

 

vietnam

 

tín dụng hình ảnh: Umami Bhomb

turned out

I see yr really turned out!

Ya is it freakish? 

From where i'm sitting, i can't tell if you're coming or going. I mean are those feet in first position they are forming a perfectly horizontal line. 

Well it's the hips you should be checking-- or not. 

If your hips were any more turned out they'd disappear up your ass hole. 

Thanks. You know they start turning you out as an infant before you have any idea of what you are in for. Who knew i'd be in flight going one direction, landing, and then taking off in the exact opposite direction in a matter of three tight beats? 

And it's a delight. And you are a great beauty, not a freak. 

Hmm ok, not what i was going for. 

White blobs

white blobs rose along the plinth of my spine

closed rose buds climbed up while standing

rolled W to E like bay clouds when asleep

white clouds feeling out a sound that beats

blobs white that grew from my own meat

used my vertebrae as a trellis or a highway

beauty masqueraded as a cause célèbre

pendant organ chandeliers merely decorated

the temple sealed in the slime of evolution

incubated seeds of its own demolition

dashing young trojans played the code and

won the day my defenses reeled and folded

to feel betrayal the mind wakes up with poison

steps away from its own vulnerable medium

formidably rejects the pale intrusion with

no choices but to challenge the illusion

the structure stands today ironically due

to the killing power of one they call the chopper 

who does not discriminate as to whom

or what gets drowned in caustic dayglo color

how can the mind be sound in a perishable dish

the flesh no longer grounds by way of physics

a world view from a drain that led to a mission

to live beyond the end of a sound unfinished

by Ilyn

la lament

holy rolling steady to the right

snake swallowing its head might

take only bowling to new heights

only being to overseeing

only believing to the thrill of policing

bowling with heads 

rowing with bones

swallowing heads

boning the proles

rolling along

effing 150s

jacking the load

exhausting the road

rolling to town

swallowing along

taking it in

taking it all

taking it down

Anthel Mintic, M.D.

(Already) toast before drinking

I'm starting over so much i'm 

losing track i can't remember

who i am or what i'm doing

just to react is so unsatisfying

i'm caught in a chain and the links

are each one step to take because

i must find my journey my own

way beverage seat theme answers

mimesis n' catharsis chain

what else can i do today to

opt out of what you call my journey

i just want to stay here because

the universe is not expanding

nor economy nor knowledge

they just be jacked up and hurting

and that my friends is some bullshit

by Reptily-ily
Focused Moons Festival

from: Toast Before Drinking

Biasing is a real thing

Jan Jansdaad and her sister Jan are attempting to get their tans on at a hygiene dive during Focused Moons festival. Their thoughts, feelings, and utterances are difficult to blend accurately, but they are doing their best with the symbols of sonic language that they are able to access without the ability to speak with their minds only. 

People just do not like me when i'm upset no matter how polite i think i'm being.

I get it, karen. 

You a funny! This is a real thing to me.

First you are calling flekes people. 

Wait, why do you assume a technology minister is a fleke? He is cross-species, and if you recall the Personhood Revisionary Statement they put out at Regulatory Shouting not that many moons ago, we're all people now. 

No, i thought you said

I said i thought he was biasing me that's all. So ya i pointed him out in terms of our difference even while trying to avoid making that the issue by calling out his specific geo-genealogical identity. See even though i've been trying to return this pod for days and had to walk through a lidderal swamp to get there only to have him ask me to leave, i am seeing this as more than anything a breakdown in social-speciel communication. 

Really? It sounds like you were taking it personally. 

One does wonder. How one comes across. 

Remember Ks use a template for communicating outside of their minds only. It's like they are forming their impression of what you're saying by peering at a set of very tiny holes of light in a pattern, not the entire picture the rest of us can clearly hear and see.

The same goes for me i suppose. All i could see was that he would not walk up to me and discuss the issue between us only. He yelled across an entire cave full of pilgrims and then signified me to them, laughing, as I waited far beyond my appointment time for him to bang the gong. 

Obviously, time is not a consideration for MPS ministers especially depending on what their K mix is-- it may not exist to them at all except as the positions of clouds, stars, and moons. 

Yet we are expected to get along or there's something wrong. 

Sure if we're expected to get along and there's something wrong it's worse than only waiting too long.

Waiting too long to bang the gong when there's something wrong is not a way to get along. 

You're right, it's wrong to belong to the ping-pong of common song without dawning on what's long been done to get along...

I sang a song so it wouldn't seem so long but that only deepened the sense of something going wrong. 

The... prong? I'm sorry tong? I...

No it's okay that was good i feel a lot better now. 

I love you Jan. 

Me too. 

evaporation

fervor come from the gospel come from the ardor

freedom bought with the ardor sought from the gospel

blacking out socked with the spirit shot with the fervor

fever holds the bodies slammed by the spirit shot with

ardor held to the moment spirit expelled from the body

is a spirit bound to our inner selves as the gospel tells

fervor wracked with despairing exhausts the mission

ardor transcending despair billows to the ceiling

the gospel bridges despairing and the divine 

ardor conquers despair in a holy pairing

gospel feeds the glow of an arid spirit

spirit free from the body and from the mind

the divine free of the gospel reordering ardor

ardent tears divined by the fire sublime

squalid fears of ardor tear the gospel

born of ardor come to cool the spirit

spirit free from the gospel and from the fever

ardor falls when the fervent feel depleted

MPS

Gut flora inline

though it's invisible we know that the gut flora reappeared

at the long counter at the portable oracle dispenser dispensary

either from one of the technological ministers or one or more

pilgrims trying to get in a walking tour of of the Lip of Mthyuh

for more than an hour afterward it didn't matter the source

for everyone who'd been there felt residual tendrils of 

funk in the folds of their clothing in the hairs of their 

noses and straight down into it's most familiar canals and 

nurseries this is how a panic can start when it's a strong enough

bloom that it seems to take grip of any moist cavity when in 

reality it only wants to live on the air enjoying its last few 

moments of counter-action as byproduct of a predator's diet

[Traditional]

Rupture Day State Report

We've studied the situation, and in fact no one can remember a time 

when we were not studying the situation but now that we've 

concluded our study we are ready to announce that our 

own chanklands strong community including every living soul from the 

monument to jan jansdaad in we are all jan jansdaad now park at the 

upper tip of mt. janjansdaadburg to the entire preserved bio-volcan and 

anomalous geo-genealogical sanctuaries and bombing ranges in dubbaberah and 

right on over through the cement mines and their educational sectors pocked with 

bubbling acid and shark vines to the tourist districts with their 

roadside live-curio kennels processions fully catered pilgrim trails and more to the

highway and its dead through all the fleke dry river towns choking in the 

low chanks where the nights are long can produce enough raw materiel of 

mutual Crack-wide obliteration to finally blast back our 

previous final projection.

from: Rupture Day State Report

by: La LaChama

Preservation & Progress Ambassador

Crack-Wide Initiative

Days of Destruction

Lip of Mthyuh

Waste light

This moon has landed

these clouds can only amplify where

many times they've been complicit

and the moon was surreptitious

this fullness illuminates the spectrum

engages against a magnetism

heart flares spit arcs of sentiment

gravity hovering between poles

the beacon demands the vigil

serene paralysis of waste light

light that cloys and begs unhinged

light that is itself a shadow

by Missy

Yes, that would be Phyllis.

You know how they say our genes predetermine our tendency to make the equivalent of a dog's bark or a bird's chirp spontaneously prompted by archetypal coding that makes the assumption that we are components of the same super-milieu in which we evolved? 

Evolution does not understand that one day, switching out one solid foundation of accepted reality for another can be as easy as turning the dial on an oracle dispenser. And then what does your body do—this goes for now without mentioning. 

What your mind does is continue to blurt out chirps and barks except in the language of the replacement super-milieu via the trans. Yes, that would be Phyllis. 

Phyliss does her best with what she has to work with, which is of course her own native Crackological "toolbox" of societal and environmental imperatives. 

Result being that her version is bound to be embarrassingly rough at best and diametrically contradictory to intent at not-yet-even close to worst. 

For example, maybe I'm in an anatomical phase where i can fit through the doors of a shiv joint with some colleagues from MPS. The imbibing and resting implements are close enough to my current physical iteration for me to make successful if awkward pairings with those devices. 

In fact it might all be going real merry until i suddenly interject, "I am soo worried about Jan. I see him buying into a delusion, and at the same time he struggles with it morally. He's is in real danger of getting swallowed whole by the Promotional Materials project. And that's a soul thing."

See how that, then, was beyond embarrassing and into concerning land, difficult person territory, not-a-fit-for-the-team ground. I believe as well that the outburst was seen as a welcome self-effing by at least one other editor present, the vivacious and hungry Smiling Gal. Gal was soon promoted after a coup de grace at the subsequent after-work drinks, during which she pointed out that my contribution to Anomalous Fluctuations at Santorabo Chank appeared to be plagiarized, albeit from another dimension. 

Now, i give you the next exemplar of Phyliss's good-faith attempts at channeling my primordial chirps and barks into language that is socially palatable, textually accurate, and environmentally feasible. You tell me: is my trans. busted?

Funny. I can't think of it. I can't remember anything. Bad memories only come to me now when they are unwelcome. I'm sure Phyliss is quite busy, and she'll get to my request at her soonest and my least opportune free moment. 

Jan Jansdaad
from: Post-Singularity Interview
Mthyuh Preservation Society

die, pendelabra

i didn't have a fire on but there was a flicker just

at the crest of the arch into the room we eat in

not a flame a shadow that a wave of heat makes

i said it's a concern if i'm hallucinating and it's a

concern if i'm not hallucinating unless there's a

third possibility out there a dimension overlap or

pretty sure that's what it was because it just now

happened again not a flicker but a loop-t-loo of

time place and being i could be anywhere right now

this could have been ten minutes ago or 10 later who

knows here i stand next to a dining table policing

prehistoric beasts a trillion moons away but still

is it an auditory or aural-ectopic phenomenon that's

going on now like a scratching [i scream here loudly]

a splash of fur and bare flesh who's also losing it's 

shit happens an arm's length before me and scrams

leaves its stench as well as a reason to grab a soap and

rag and that's where i get my warrant to drop poison

de: "Quien es Pendelabra"
en: Reflexiones Acerca de Un Duende Malicioso
por: LaChama de Santo Rabo
Phyllis [trans.]

"La Dance"

I got a private dance teacher to avoid complications with basic temple dancers. Who hasn't got a crazy dancer story, right? As an impounded virgin deity, there wasn't much i could do at all in fact except parade my tail, and it was already an actual tail by then, up and back on the wide ceremonial terrace overlooking the visitation gardens, as well as being looked upon by them, up and back as a living sacred frieze and moving avatar of the the scriptural pendulum of whatever 12 times up and back in a pyncofiber headdress twice my height. But after a session with Mkidza Mlaf, ancient mistress of the dance, i'm just like any proper temple sprite who lives to dance the dance to live the life of dance to dance the dance of dance hopping in place clapping my hands in honor of the teacher and to express an opposing pleasure to all the pain she has just inflicted. For her to see me now with prominent inter-speciel features increasing by the hour, i see her differently as well: my display of even a hallowed tradition meant to celebrate Mrs. La Mkidza is now to her a horror disgust offense. Why does Mkidza agree to suffer through these "master" classes that a common fleke girl could teach just as well—and with more empathy? Sure, gold coins, and many of them. But more than that it's the sacred power of the dance of the sacred power dancing the sacred dance of power the sacred dance of dances the dance to live a life of dance to have the power to love the power of life to live to dance the power to dance to live a life of power dancing the sacred power of dance. "My name is Mkidza Mlaf," Mrs. once said, "...and my kids are every child anywhere who doesn't know La Mthyuh."

Ch. XLV, "La Dance"

from: 

I, An Impounded Virgin Deity

by Reptily

Embedding the worst of recent language dev and reviving the stupidest words of the past

In the towering echo chamber of the cavern, Jan and Missy feel free to speak freely, even using meta-language to communicate about communication itself, by means of their minds only. 

Every time i glance at the common oracle and see the ad about the shiv stones, i get measurably upset: just look at my enzymes! Clouds never lie. Firstable, the marketing Jans wanted to represent diversity, so they chose a fleke, fine, you hear the romantic accent, you see the pale skin, it's diverse. But then they have her use that lovely accent on a word that doesn't even exist, even though she might not as an actress even be aware that it does not exist. It is likely in fact that when she heard the word, it was unfamiliar. But your go-to as an L2 speaker isn't "that word doesn't exist," you know? Who are you to say it doesn't exist. You are the least likely employee to question authority in the best possible job and circumstance to question authority. Do you see?

I really like your nails. 

Not this time, sweetheart. Someone's got to hear me out on this, and if not a fellow warm-blooded bi-species avian-reptile people-eater, then whom?

I think it's who.

Really even if it's in reference to a category of one i don't know. Another example when grammar only serves to inhibit communication. 

Meta-grammar maybe. 

See? You want to change the subject. 

Because i don't want to hear about some ad you saw?

No. Because i want to reflect on the impact of that commercial effort on my senses of dignity and reality. You are especially dissociative because the conversation will inevitably end up being hot coal-chunks like species, gene topography, and inclusion. 

I think they're calling it SIG-T now, so species, inclusion, and gene topography. 

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Oww. That was deliberately and aggressively passive aggressive. Lidderly i can't even hear now. And we're covered with ancient guano dust from up top the cavern. 

I'm just going to start, and you'll probably get into it. 

That's what i'm afraid of. 

You know that phrase you hear flekes say "If you can't take the shiv, then you can't take the shiv, but if you take the shiv, then you can take the shiv and live, Hank?"

Please don't sing it. And don't call me Hank.

Well, these moronic marketing wiz-bags decided they had to once again randomly change the preserved language into a cuter catchier stupider form that might positively affect sales but neither edify nor insult any further than that. 

I've seen the ad. She's selling shiv stones by a sea shore. What do you expect? They change Hank to Jan. I know. It's not the same. I think Hank also sounded too much like yank. For the kids.

Oh, not only that. Now, every average fleke, and then all of their generations, will start to say Jan and not Hank. That's how the whole Jan problem got started. 

Then flekes will start naming their children Jan or Jan Jansdaad, Jr. or Jan Jansdaad XLV. Then flekes will still continue gene-topographically to be flekes while taking on more and more the interloper culture along with its values along with no special value assigned to flekes. 

They won't even know who Hank was and what he represented. 

...

That's something they should know but not necessarily something that i know. 

Both: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Phyliss [Trans.]