The Assassination of Philip K. Dick

a cal pal said:

Now I know what PKD novel we're living in: it's the one where the government & media conspire to dilute and destroy the work of a visionary and prophetic author in order to obscure the fact that the author's visions & prophesies are becoming real.

You heard they want to bio-pic Dick? I hope they do it earnestly, not as a freak show and number revue. The movie must criss-cross all his universes that constantly infected each other. Did you know that Phil saved the world when still a young boy, the promise of that Aliens. He was a robot sent by the Proxers and stuffed with a Q-bomb but he got self-conscious and chosed to be a traitor and refused to utter the detonating sentence all his life - even in illness and depression (oh how I would...). He woke up one morning to learn that noone had ever heard of him, the world-famous pulp fiction writer. He was a follower of Christ, in the 2nd century, having a premonition of a time, many hundred years in the future, a world and time where Christ had refused to return, a tomb world where he was entombed in the body of a stocky teller of fairy tales whose son was about to die by malfunctioning testicles. Philip K. Dick knew, when groggily climbing the stairs at New-Path, that he already climbed those stairs a million times, or more, and will climb them forever. A thrown pebble hits his brow. He saw the face of absolute evil in the sky and his dead cat Pinky, standing on its hindlegs, bathed in pink light. He commanded the giant interplan battle ship "Floating Dead God IX" that conquered Titan in '42, spilling out its deadly load of cute Davids twiddling olive branches, evolved Sheep-Men, and Walkers-on-Earth with beards and sticks.


He wrote the infamous novel "The Man in the High Bunker" where Hitler survives von Witzlebens assassination plot in 1939 and his attack on Poland spreads out into a full-scale 'World War' for full five years, wrecking all of Europe and devolving Germany into a mad and maniacal death machine devoted to clean the world of all "subhumans", especially killing all Jews they could possibly lay their hands on. Phil's creepy tale with its 'atomic bombs' in Asia and its European 'death factories' where millions of Jews were summarily gassed and burned to ashes by bureaucratic German sadists was a critical success in France but not in Germany where it was reviewed as "implausible", "psychotic", and "thoroughly anti-German", and fell through. But Phil always denied hating the Germans - frequently giving open praise to German culture -, but claimed that he had actually seen that alternate world where the 'Holocaust' took place. Later, after his 'golden rabbit' episode, he claimed that a higher power actually 'undid' the Holocaust, so that the genocide and wreckage really happened, and, at the same time, never happened at all. Go figure. That's Phil.

Are deadlines sacred?

Do you know the color of exception code ids? The smell when the HEAD corrupts and festers. That's when storage to delivery transition failure is commonplace and UNKNOWN cannot be executed. I have suffered the atrocity of 'friendship' automatic donation programs, scorched to the root, my flat files and indices burned and stand, a hand of wires. No, I don't break up in pieces that fly about like cream pies. I

select identity from OMdb.soulwithpartner
where ID_id = ‹blob› and
where koala = "A crazy clofnek called grubenfisch"

I order a Philip K. Dick breakfast from the vending machine. "Harmaline Meth or Coke Shrooms?" the age-old AI croaks while trickling the jet-black beverage into a tiny, leaking paper cup. "Sour Meth," I respond, enjoying the bitter Java juice. "And make it super-good" (I swear), was the blessing spoken when the counter party chief unbound me at last and relieved me of my keycard amulet before it exploded. Accounting for nothing, I liquidated all accounts, setting free a SWIFTnet virus that turns dirty money message types into payback scheme advice for Hongkong hitmen and Irish nuns.


When all commitments drag the system back to revision 0 it's time for kick-in, thoughtless dispersal, and second breakfast. Phony fruitcake was firmly embedded in the framework, so I optioned for phony minus the cake. Does Fruit Salad Dream of Forbidden Juicy Fruit? Anyway, it's crap without Sumbawa red banana.


GRUBENFISCH'S RED BANANA SAMBAL

- 4 firm Sumbawa red bananas (or Musa Velutina)
- 1 teaspoon nutmeg
- 1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
- 1/4 cup cinnamon sugar
- 1/2 cup butter (add some sesame oil drops for good measure)
- 1/4 cup coconut flakes
- juice of 1 lime and 1 pink grapefruit

Cut bananas in quarters. Mix sugar with coconut flakes
and spices. Sprinkle bananas generously with juice.
Coat with mixture like a Wiener schnitzel. Saute / pan-
fry at medium-high heat in butter until light brown. Voila!
Serve as a side dish or dessert.

Spambots Feel Pleasure from Electric Cum

NEVER SAY NO

look through the message /
watch it have this.

pay attention to the email /
never say no to these thing.

overwhelmingly important /
tremendous growth on Friday:

fresh stuff diploma that you already earned!

(Brand new Millions of people enjoy goods from these brands, and they are more than happy!!)



QUICK CUM

You have feelings of guilt and embarrassment?
Enjoy the newest But without any results?
You cum very quickly and without any control!

Take pleasure from Never seen stuff Now you
could grant your wish Feel Pleasure from.


all true sequences from my spambox. kudos to my brother.

More Google Hate Mail from André

André writes:

>"Google only shares personal information with
> other companies or individuals outside of Google
> in the following limited circumstances: (...)
> We have a good faith belief that access, use,
> preservation or disclosure of such
> information is reasonably necessary to (a)
> satisfy any applicable law, regulation, legal process
> or enforceable governmental request..."
>
> they have good faith, now that's calming.

they and mama-sama!

> to satisfy any regulation or government request.

killall long-haired dope-smoking dudes!

> to PREVENT fraud issues

like illegal circulation of democratic progaganda
in China and misuse of Authoritarian state facilities.

> including POTENTIAL violation.

violators must be harshly prosecuted, taken to the
chemical sheds and shot, preferably.

> protect against imminent harm to the PUBLIC.



??
so the infidels must die in great numbers! Allah does
demand this, Andreij! So have you got your passport and
visa ready, brother? (and have you sheared your suspicious
beard like Moctar Z. told you?)

> so please don't kill my terrorist cocaine murder heroin
> bomb threat terrorism child porn communism assassination
> of the president of the united states with plutonium,
> the iran and north korea. and then i stagged him down.

and he gagged and sputtered and coughed and trembled
but I had him in a secure headlock and slowly suffocated
that son of a bitch, "Grwgl" he managed to squeeze out but
then I closed down his windpipe and shut down the fucker
for good and he pissed himself while the secret service
goons still vainly tried to reload their useless laser guns
while my emerald force field ruled and held everybody
at a distance while I finished that enemy of the people.
Us people, to be precise. The New Men. We mutants wil
rule the world. It's destiny. And no numbskull will stop us.

~ André

PS: I told you those Google bitches are evil. They index you to bits!

Wodan, id est furor

We all know about invulnerable heroes. Special thing about them is: Almost every one of them is dead. Deathly wounded by their enemy. They are already dead by the time we learn about them and their invulnerability. So invulnerability does not mean immortality in flesh or even longevity. Who stayed invulnerable, then? Gods? But can you achieve the charisma of invulnerability if you have no body to wound and about to be destroyed like ours?

Is invulnerability an all too trivial issue? Simple and foreseeable like Superman stories? Adolescent dreams of omnipotence in male, competitive society or, seeking deeper structures, the regressive dream production triggered by the archaic desire to return to the golden Age of personal history - the protected and risk-ignorant fetal state - compromised with the grown-up urge not to be absorbed, to remain open to the world, self-conscious and auto-mobile with your magic shield and protectional tattoos.


Or is it the last straw drawn by desperate, poorly educated and equipped, magic-believing people about to fight and face death, as happened with some charismatic prophets and leaders emerging in anti-colonial war. Dancing Ghost-Shirts. A helpful and sometimes self-fulfilling collective delusion as some war leaders generate a charismatic flow in success and then thrive on it for some time. Veteran legends turned into mythology.

People may feel invulnerable, this is part of the ‘heart-of-darkness’ combat syndrome, it is a popular ‘adolescent myth’ or a drug induced fantasy, but it is also a phenomenological reality of personal omnipotence, power and wealth which is as extreme as its common counterpart, the experience of total loss, deprivation, helplessness and personal destruction. But beyond such shattering ‘horror trips’ of total vulnerability and victimization is our everyday exposure to forces which may at any time decide to crush us and what is ours. Keeping this simple fact in mind may be paranoid and unhealthy, but whether we take a plane or just sit peacefully in the fast-food restaurant, whenever we move or stay put, there is an invisible Cup which passes by, filled up to the rim with the bitter fluid of our frail and temporary existence.


So is invulnerability an ideal, a regulative idea unreachable in its purity, the dramatic polar cultural embodiment of a reasonable pursuit, namely to diminish ones own real and inescapable vulnerability? The impossible common horizon of both War and Medicine?

Surely there is a genetics and physiology of invulnerability, referring to individual immunity or attraction to diseases and toxic reactions. You can also reach not being vulnerable to magical hazards, using and trusting the appropriate potent magical counter-measures. It works, if you do not die a ‘psychogenic death’ when under a death spell. You may also expose your body to fire and snakes and not be burned or poisoned if you are properly prepared.

The First Porn Prime Number Encodes GIF Random Vagina

Have you read about the Carmody Number, the illegal prime number?

That prime is readable (in binary representation) as a gzip archive containing C source code for cryptography. Aw, those geeks. You can do this, of course, for ANY text or data structure.Babel's library. Like any text is encoded in PI. So in order to find the herewith proposed "grubenfisch number", a prime number encoding a GIF file showing a random vagina you just read that gif (that you prepared before - try to keep the size well below 2 KB otherwise you wind up with over-5000 digit primes that take a long while to verify on your humble machine..) in a binary string and do change some color bits until the resulting number is prime. Bingo. I found a porn prime. Isn't the universe wicked?

Below is a representative snapshot of the minds of men taken freshly (and in exactly that order of prominence; minus boring searches for 'Yahoo' or 'Myspace' or 'golf training aids') from the desire machines. The anatomy of the forbidden planet. The "dogs" and "Google", you ask?
They just fit in, those pink puppies.




prom pussy google boobs hentai free porn girls carmen electra lesbians tits jenna jameson nude blowjob pamela anderson lesbian sex playboy girls gone wild lesbian naked girls xxx preteen ass naked anime big tits dogs jessica simpson incest sex preteen models vagina penis bikini hot girls lesbian porn teen girls home depot anal lolita jessica alba britney spears naked women sexy big boobs thongs sex positions nudist breasts thong beastiality hot anal sex teen fuck blow job dog cindy margolis sex stories gay sex cum xxx orgasm nude girls jennifer lopez fucking slipknot upskirt lingerie masturbation erotic stories girls kissing sexy girls trish stratus hilary duff tattoos flowers angelina jolie blowjobs pam anderson eva longoria beyonce kelly clarkson girl dogpile porno briana banks mariah carey babes young girls prom hairstyles wet pussy voyeur hardcore sex oral sex gay rape fisting jennifer aniston teen porn breast lolitas panties voyeurweb cunt paris hilton sex tape nude women naked men teens gay porn lolita bbs animal sex free porn movies lesbian orgy love female ejaculation dani california pink puppies blow jobs disney porn christina aguilera horse sex free porn videos orgy adult bondage cock black pussy nudes dildo disturbed boobies clit preteen sex animals naked boob models

Constantly over 70% of the top three hundred search queries are targeting sexual matters.

Nah, I changed the first "prom" in the poetry block above 'cause Blogspot inserted a custom "p*rn" tag with proper closing tag and I didn't like it because the above isn't porn, it's Western Civilization's Free Association.

Cerebral Flatliners' Journey to Jerusalem

But how to achieve it? Hint: Massive Cerebral Hypoxia. As a child (age 11) I employed with my friends that ancient ecstasy technique (squatting, hyper-ventilating, stretching UP! and compression of the chest) which is nowadays used by scientists to generate visionary experiences, NDEs and such (and of course practised NOW and in each and every generation by trance-happy and adventurous youngsters).


The memorable thing was that after passing out you came back not in one piece but you were witnessing all your mental faculties checking in quite sequentially. You experienced amnesia and then the thrill and drama of anamnesis (Philip K. Dick's strongest narrative device). After waking up you were temporarily in the same state as 'the man who mistook his wife for a hat' - not even able to recognize and tell apart animate and inanimate objects.

The world was at first a pointed 'here', then two-dimensional 'me', a flatland without history or perspective but with an up-welling queer current. The third dimension. The towers, alien and impossibly raging at first, murmuring and droning Gods, then slowly merging into your attending friends. Words. Words came back to you. The knowledge of who you were and what you were doing here came at the very last. It was an exhausting and somewhat bruising routine but I remember well that whoever was 'finished' with his journey beyond and back was very eager to repeat the experience. We 'played' many circles until the fad was over and we started meditating in the closet.

How the Grinch stole the gift of sound judgement from the chosen people

The emerging field of Google Record Count Heuristics (GRCH) uses Google counts to assess the hidden ontology of stuff (what is there and how much of it is there and why?); naively assuming that the Google inventory somehow reflects upon the real world. Yes, it's hard to count all "Brad"s in the real world, on the other hand how to filter all the fictional "Brad"s on the Web and maybe it is always the same "Brad" they are all raving about, so what do you count? But why is "Brad" so popular, then?

So let's count the houses and sort them according to height, using the Google retrieval system:

two storey house = 488000
two story house = 573000 B (1.061.000)

three storey house = 99000
three story house = 132000 B (231.000)

four storey house = 22700 A
four story house = 19800 (42.500)

five storey house = 731 A
five story house = 642 (1.373)

six storey house = 764 A
six story house = 527 (1.291)

seven storey house = 69
seven story house = 201 B (270)

eight storey house = 27
eight story house = 55 B (82)

nine storey house = 55 A
nine story house = 36 (91)

Yeah, "four-story-house" was counted as four story house as well.

Points to learn:

People don't care whether the house has five or six levels but the difference between a four and a seven story house freaks them out.

People don't know whether to write "story" or "storey" but the dominant use is not clear-cut but strangely varies rhythmically according to height (see A/B indicator of dominance).

If you built a tower from the blueprint of the data distribution and just take the numbers as radius in cm you'd get a *very* strange "nine storey house" indeed, fat-ass giant base and flimsy needle top 'hat'.

Maybe I should make one using plywood (vide Kliban).

How to celebrate the Red?

I don´t get the switch. She is suddenly unable to move. All the blood is drawn from her face. Lips paper-white. I see that she is leaving. For all she knows (she told me later) something out of nothing grabs her and throws her into the great black void which is eating up the world. Only a patch of garden where we sit remains for an instant of eternity but outside is no-thing. She feels like she is dying. She is leaving, already left the world forever. She is unable to see anything but the great black void. She is nobody, her body is history.

It´s a statue, an unmovable stone in which she is buried alive forever. I am sitting beside her and I am holding her hand and speaking to her. THERE IS NOTHING TO FEAR. The words are passing through her somehow but there remains nothing to deal with. She is wondering why I am wasting my time talking to a rock. She knows that all that is in vain because there is absolutely no way to communicate with me let alone to touch another human being.

Her grief is now unbearable. There is no you and me anymore. She is all alone in this nothingness. Why did IT do this to her? Cutting her off from everything that was. Her face is a frozen icon of hopelessness, it´s not belonging to a person anymore, not even human. It´s haunting to look at her and I´m desperately trying not to become hysterical, trying to talk her into the world for hours and generating a constant stream of encouraging phrases. She is a lost dying soul now, the more and more decomposing immaterial remains of a once warm and living person, who was suddenly destroyed, sucked up by an evil power. She is fading out, millions of years and millions of miles away from anything which bears meaning or companionship, - and she is rapidly loosing the last connection with what is left from her former life: A nearly empty mold of mineralised flesh sitting in this hollow garden forever.

BELIEVE ME (AND) YOU WILL COME BACK. Then sometimes a voice is coming out of this bottomless pit like a small girl´s; talking to nobody in particular: “I went away and I will never come back.” - “My hands are melted together and it´s impossible to seperate them.” - “Will somebody take me inside when the weather becomes cold?” I speak to this girl who was left behind in the dark and who does not know how to reach out, who knows nothing of the out-side but is keeping the very concept of it as her only left treasure.

The past of this agony is already a vast deserted continent for her, impossible to describe. DON´T FORGET TO TRY. Sometimes my words are corresponding to shortly surfacing ideas of her own. Suddenly she manages to lift a single finger. Now everything is changing. What was mineralised and melted together may separate and be animated again. Later she manages to grab a glass of water out of my hand. It´s a glass of water and I´m holding it and I´m putting it to my lips! the little girl is joyous.

“I can see you”, my friend is suddenly telling me. “I´m here but I´m still drawn.” STAY! “I am trying, God knows how I try.” “I feel like coming back.” One hour later she was able to smile. All her spirits came back one after another. I saw them checking in and praised thankee every one of them. How to celebrate the Red, finally coming home to her lips?

Forty-three four-letter words for Jesus

BOMB RAIN! HEAD SHOT! SLAM DUNK! SUCK
SCUM! BEST WANK! ROCK FEST! LETS ROLL!
KILL BILL! FUCK BUSH! GOTH PUNK! TEEN
CUNT! DATE RAPE! DAMN GOOD! SHIT PISS!
SICK JOKE! KICK DICK! MUFF DIVE! TRUE
LOVE! FOUL WEST! THUG WARS! STOP HERE!

AMEN!

Western Exterminator

ZpoYSNE? or Do You Like To Monkey Shop?

nqzinchP70
CRU5Up
BSEXO.ccl
D0CiSriS
sexsilPly32
LnuxCW0P!
5NBORM1D!

HYpiessOg
rjeczw
IjV-USArtE
Meijwey
UZUtRYcKS
X1EFY.yhhdy!

GeRrU.D.is
geogIelUf0
JoyNd:asHdo
godHNWlK
6Goof!

NURLHEU?
nD0fYEAK
!kiKKDi
0rHgRacY

SsvFkBkef!
FOL0vz!
sla!

MyWRGU
NoEYN

ZpoYSNE?



a poem in future patois distributedly written by a group of 'entangled' simulated monkeys.

White Punks on Dope

The nine essential Web rules:

1. Don't click on anything red or violet.
2. If it moves, it's evil.
3. Fucking and freebies are forever.
4. Avoid the words "homepage" and "guestbook" (they're ungrammatical).
5. There is always more to download. Always more after that.
6. Multimedia stinks without an olfactory channel.
7. Google.
8. Buy more free stuff.
9. Look at the lower right of a page for a change.

Watch your body change with Hoodia

Today I was in town when the monster truck drove by.
I heard before that you cannot see it coming. My heart almost stopped. You don't breathe anymore until it's gone (or you're dead).
You just watch in a terror that is almost awe. The monster truck is huge. It fills the view. It is like a grounded interplanetary vessel. It has the height of a four storey house and is like half a dozen extra-large deep-freeze cargo trucks that got fused and then developed both elephantiasis and malignant growth.
Maybe this is the reason why the color of its paint varies between a greyish elephant beige and a cancerous light carmin.
The monster truck does not drive very fast. It has many wheels and seems to go on forever. It has no windows but you know it is all eyes for you. Everybody knows this. What nobody knows is how many monsters are in there - but it must be hundreds or thousands and whoever needed more than one? So you stop breathing. You stop moving. You stop being. There is only the monster truck. And then it passed. Had an appointment in another neighborhood. Lucky you.

No Shaman ever died

I stumbled upon this quote in a medline-found article on 'cannabis-dependence treatment':

"The embryonic work on CB1 selective cannabinoid receptor antagonists such as SR141716 (rimonabant)[20] has demonstrated that it successfully blocks the acute psychological and physiological effects of smoked cannabis in experienced human consumers and is well tolerated."

.. the NOVA police surely works on a SR141716-aerosol right now to be able to create stoner-free zones instantly..

a concerned customer

Weeping Gorilla: "Classic Coke isn't real anymore!" <*sob*>

Get the latest news on pet animal mutilation with Google Alerts

The REAL Abu Ghraib scandal
via New York Times, Trial of Dog-Handler "Smith"

"The jury also found him guilty of indecent acts for ordering his dog, Marco, to lick peanut butter off the genitals of an American male soldier and the breasts of an American female soldier while a third soldier videotaped the episode."

Anyone followed up on Marco? Will he get his familiar oral pleasure with his new master, too? Of course, to get lusciously spread peanut butter licked off one's erect penis by a German shepherd with an Italian name is among the top ten of average U.S. male sexual fantasies, like being sodomized by "The Undertaker" on a Las Vegas stage and fucking Angelina Jolie's adopted children.