Monthly Archives: February 2012

Transcendent Memo

So there you sit—seeing everything and believing in nothing. Are you so brash to think yourself Masterful? Ah, my friend, you are but a student. An apt one, but one who has not been truly tested. The time has come to move on.

Within you are exponential worlds of energy. Increasing themselves into an Eternal Law. There they spin—triangulated by Three and carried off by the Breath of God.

You’ve been there. You’ve seen that gateway into Possibility. You have the key, opened the Way and yet you remain frozen at the threshold of transcendence. What fears paralyze you, intrepid traveler, that you cannot step into the great unknown? Don’t you hear your adventurous heart pounding its longing into your brain? And still you hesitate?

There is nothing to fear. Protection is with you in your travels. You have been armed and prayers invigorate you. And still you hesitate?

Revel in your discomfort. For it is there that amusement begins. In that place control is revealed for the petty illusion it is and the doors of Truth are finally opened. Now step through and be who you are.

Daily PK Dick-isms

Ever thought to yourself, “Life seems…fake. Scripted. Planned out by a sadistic jackass hiding behind an invisible Veil”? Philip did. His whole world was an illusion layered with complexities like an onion (or an ogre).

“This brings to my mind my strange and eerie feeling that my novels are gradually coming true. At first I laughed about this, as if it was only a sort of small matter but over the years it seems to me that by subtle but real degrees the world has come to resemble a PKD novel; or, put another way, subjectively I sense my actual world as resembling the kind of typical universe which I used to merely create as fiction, and which I left, often happily, when I was done writing.

Other people have mentioned this too, the feeling that more and more they are living in a PKD novel. And several freaks have even accused me of bringing on the modern world by my novels.”

–Philip K. Dick. The Exegesis pp. 12 and 13.

This Just In! Reason Behind High Gas Prices Revealed

In these trying times, we get all kinds of excuses for things being the way they are. Gas prices are no exception. And every time there is an increase in gas prices, there’s an increase of bullshit to excuse it.

“More demand in developing countries”, “natural disasters”, and “political unrest” are three of the most popular reasons tossed around in a variety of ways. But here at TJI we take our journalistic integrity seriously. Which is why my editor told me to get to the bottom of the matter or die trying.

Using secret journalist ninja techniques (consuming copious amounts of grain alcohol and cavorting with dancing naked women), I coaxed the truth from a top U.S. Government Official. Here’s the rundown of our conversation.

TJI: What’s really going on with gasoline prices?

US: I like your style boy. I’m gonna give it to you straight.

TJI: I’d appreciate that.

US: Robots.

TJI: I’m sorry, did you say ‘robots’?

US: I did. Giant robots. See, all the world leaders are huge fans of Voltron and Battle Tech. Betcha didn’t know that, did you? It’s all we talk about at UN meetings anymore.

TJI: Where are these giant robots? I surely haven’t seen any driving down the Interstate lately.

US: They’re in space. More specifically, they’re on the moon. S’why we really cancelled the NASA program. We needed the spare parts. It’s also the real reason behind the rash of satellites “crashing to earth” lately. NASA junk never could hold together.

TJI: What do you do with these giant robots on the moon?

US: What do you think we do with them? We fight with them! Jesus, boy! What part of Voltron and Battletech didn’t you get?

TJI: And these robots use gasoline?

US: More than you’d believe. Enough to make you shit yourself right here if you knew how much. I mean, in one of the Mechs is an engine equivalent to around 20 diesel engines. You can burn through enough gas to fuel a small country for a month. And that’s just in one round.

TJI: Do you think it’s a little irresponsible to be wasting our dwindling natural resources goofing around and fighting space robots?

US: Us personally? No. But our publicists thought it might not go over well with the general masses. So we had the eggheads in one of our Think Tanks drum up some legitimate sounding excuses. And there you have it.

Exactly. There you have it. Giant government space robots. So next time you’re smoldering over asinine prices at the gas pump, you can thank Anime for its part in the collapse of the global economy.

Philip K. Dick-isms

Philip K. Dick. The “K” should stand for Kooky. Because he was, at the very least, kooky. I’ve been reading the Exegesis lately and am beginning to wonder if he was also inspired. In this new type of post, I’ll be taking interesting tidbits from the Exegesis and posting them for your pondering pleasure. Enjoy!

“I long ago conceived of each person living in his own world or idios kosmos, so I can conceive without difficulty of the Kingdom of God having come for some genuinely, but still being invisible–not yet manifested to them–to others.

I therefore never need to ask, Why did God go away? Or, When will He return? When will the Kingdom come? I have no reason to believe He ever went away. But we did fall away from perception of (communication with) Him, the great dialog, which must be based, for obvious reasons, on perceptual and cognitive awareness that He is actually present.

So, what I’ve done (supra) is chance the question from, How come I could experience God? to the question, How come other people can’t [experience God -J.]?”

–Philip K. Dick, The Exegesis p. 166

Knowledge, Wisdom and God’s Grace

Accumulation of knowledge doesn’t lead to realization of purpose. Knowledge equals information. And information is as fleeting and expressive as our universal reality. Similarly, wisdom leads only to superficial understanding when applied to the external world. Fulfillment or purpose are only achieved when wisdom and knowledge are applied to internal understanding. To understand all of reality is impossible. Though we possess part of the Mind of God, we are NOT the Mind. Humanity is limited in understanding by our physical bodies and our fall into imperfect creation. This is why the human collective is so important. We are all connected on a spiritual level.

The Mind of God lives in all of us—not just a few chosen ones. Christ was the Living Word—the Logos. He was the spirit of God manifest. He came to awaken the pieces of the Mind within us all. The Living Word triggers our Divine Fractals into awakening. This is salvation. And once awakened, the Divine can never be put back to rest. This is God’s Grace. His gift.

Divine Fractals and the Mind of God further explores some of these concepts.

The Devil and Tom Jones Scene 3

Scene 1

Scene 2


Enter Suit wearing a dark suit and glasses, carrying a briefcase. He sits down next to the writer guy at the bar. He orders a blended scotch and examines the writer guy before speaking.

Suit: The camel is spitting.

Marvin: Excuse me?

Suit: (looks around then leans in closer) The camel is spitting.

Marvin: (matter of fact. More of a statement than a question.) Huh.

Suit: Excuse me?

Marvin: Does it know?

Suit: Know what?

Marvin: That it’s spitting.

Suit: I would assume so. Why would it spit without being aware of it?

Marvin: That’s what I’m saying! Why, indeed!

Suit: I’m sorry. I don’t follow.

Marvin: That’s cuz you’re a leader man! A leader! The big question is, are you a leader for Truth and Justice-or for the other stuff?

Suit: Which is?

Marvin: Deception and Disney.

Suit: Ah.

Marvin: Excuse me?

Suit: I’ve obviously run into the wrong gent. I’ll be on my way. Pardon.

Marvin: You can pardon me all you want, pal! But the mouse! He won’t be pardoned.

Fade out on him and back up on Sigmund and Missy.

Missy: It’s not that it’s nothing. It’s obviously something.

Sigmund: What something is it? (He picks up his drink and swirls the ice around in the glass) An…unreal something?

Missy: It can’t be a completely unreal something. We’re obviously here. I can plainly utilize my senses to construct my surroundings.

Sigmund: Mmhm. But?

Missy: But there is a detachment to it all. Like I’m watching a movie or something.

Sigmund: (Sets glass down) Ha! Exactly what I’m saying. It’s real, but in that fake Hollywood sense.

Missy: Right. So what then?

Sigmund: See, the trick is to take it at face value. It seems quasi-real, like some big studio blockbuster production complete with amazing special effects. That’s how you’re supposed to take it, because it is a big studio production…a divine one. And when the curtain falls or the credits roll, what are you left with? A bunch of blind fools milling around in the dark trying to find the doorway back outside. That is what life really is.

Missy: You’re saying life is a bunch of people caught up in some movie that God directed? And that we all end up stumbling around in a dark room, bumping into each other without ever really realizing it, in some half desperate attempt to reconnect with a light outside we can vaguely remember?

Sigmund: That’s precisely what I mean.

Missy: So what’s the point then?

Sigmund: Of what?

Missy: Life.

Sigmund: (Sighs and picks up his drink and swirls the ice around in the glass. Will the unwashed masses ever learn?) Life isn’t pointed. It’s more rounded. Circular. Cyclical. Points denote linear natures. A beginning and an end…or something to hurt someone with. But life doesn’t end…it just progresses.

Missy: I need to pee.

She exits and Suit sneaks over all covertly and sits across from Sigmund.

Suit: The camel is spitting.

Sigmund: Of course it is. (Notices Suit’s drink) Is that a scotch?

Suit: Yes, why?

Sigmund: Because I’ve been dryer than a dehydrated camel for quite a spell now and could really do with another drink. Unfortunately, the waitress is being chatted up by that inept fellow who has her cornered at the bar. So, what I’m saying is: I’ll give you 5 bucks for yours. (he reaches for his wallet and then stops) By the by, is that a blended or single malt?

Suit: Blended.

Sigmund: Savage bastard. I’ll thank you to leave my table now.

Suit exits. Fade back up on Marvin.

Marvin: So you sit and sit and sit and wait and wait and wait like this disconnected spirit who can’t let go of one place so it can move on to another, higher, one. A place that is most likely newer and more exciting than anything you’ve ever imagined or experienced before. But you just CAN’T LET GO! Nietzsche said that when virtue sleeps it gets up more refreshed. I wonder if that works for inspiration as well…

Fade out on him and up on Devil and Second.

Devil: Look. Honestly-

Second: Yeah, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.

Devil: What?

Second: That honesty business. Honestly I’m not sure I like it.

Devil: Like what?

Second: Being “Second.” I mean really, what kind of name is “Second.”

Devil: It’s a lovely name.

Second: It’s bullshit. You’re just saying that.

Devil: That’s not true! Those are words that cut deep.

Second: I thought we were being honest.

Devil: We were? I thought we were talking about you being Second.

Second: Jackass! How dare you call me that!

Devil: What the hell are you talking about? It’s your name.

Second: It’s a symbol of oppression and I reject it. Do you hear that? I REJECT YOUR OPPRESSION! (beat as second collects herself) From now on call me Marvelous Machismo, that’ll throw ‘em off.

Devil: No, that sounds too much like a sandwich with cheese and mayonnaise.

Second: You’re absolutely right. (thinks) Biscuit!

Devil: Biscuit?

Second: Biscuit.

Devil: Why Biscuit?

Second: It’s neutral. Doesn’t set something apart from another thing and compare them. It just tastes good with jelly.

Devil: So, that’s all you want? Is to taste good with jelly? That’s all the ambition you have?

Second: I could have less…

Devil: True, true, you very well could. Biscuit huh?

Second: Yes.

Devil: Alright.(Turns toward audience) Hi. Can I get everyone’s attention please! Yeah, um, Second is hereby to be referred to as Biscuit from now until forevermore, amen. Thank you and go about your business.

Biscuit: Wow! That feels so much better. I feel like a new person, like-

Devil: A delicious, soft, flaky pastry that simply melts in ones mouth when mixed with just the right amount of butter and blackberry jam?

Biscuit: (suspiciously) You want to eat me don’t you?

Devil: Maybe just a little.

Biscuit: Well forget it. You can’t.

Devil: And why not?

Biscuit: Because being eaten is a tool the oppressors use. They eat the weak to become stronger. I REJECT YOUR CANNIBALISTIC AND OPPRESSIVE TENDENCIES!

Devil: You really are taking the fun out of this.

Biscuit: Out of what?

Devil: Out of the whole honesty thing. I mean, what use is honesty if we can’t use it to our advantage later?

Biscuit: That’s a bit selfish don’t you think?

Devil: Just being honest.

Biscuit: Is that so? I think I might have liked you better if you lied all the time. At least then it’d be weakly entertaining and not so—

Devil: honest?

Biscuit: I was gonna say asinine but it’s whatever.

Devil: Owch. That hurts.

Biscuit: What’s wrong? Did you fall off a cliff?

Devil: No, no. Nothing like that. But, are you always so honest?

Biscuit: Yeah, it kinda sucks. Doesn’t have near the charm I thought it would.

Devil: I still think you’re jealous.

Biscuit: Of what?

Devil: Because I’m El Numero Uno. Light It Up Lou. And you…you’re Biscuit.

Biscuit: Bullshit. What’s so great about being first? You had to do all that work to get to be First and then what happens? You have to spend the rest of your time being paranoid that someone else will become First and you will gasp become second, or even third. Me? I’m just Biscuit. All I have to worry about is the proper consistency of jam. My life is infinitely better than yours.

Devil: You just keep telling yourself that, dough baby.

Biscuit: See what being first does? Name calling, how low is that? But I must remind myself that you can’t help it. You’re first and being first means you are the oppressor.

Devil: You are an infuriating little pastry.

Biscuit: Well you are a pompous concept.

Devil: Honestly?

Biscuit: Honestly.

Marvin is simply sitting patiently, he doesn’t look at his watch but observes the people passing with a disinterested curiosity. Biscuit approaches his side of the bar and is talking with him as she attempts to get the bartender’s attention.

Biscuit: What are you doing?

Marvin: Waiting for someone.

Biscuit: Who?

Marvin: Not sure. I just figured that I’d know ‘er when I saw ‘er. (beat) Do you walk up to people you’ve never met and harass them often?

Biscuit: No, I don’t do this often. The only time I do this is when I feel oddly compelled to do things against my nature. Sometimes I think my life is scripted. (beat) You’ve got to be fucking with me, though.

Marvin: (In all seriousness) Why would I do that?

Biscuit: Because, do you honestly expect people to believe that you are sitting here patiently waiting for a woman whom you’ve never seen or met that may or may not show up?

Marvin: Hm. I guess I’ve never thought about the effect my sitting would have on others. And I haven’t even figured in the dramatic life changes that can come from seeing a lone man sitting on a barstool and the ultimately tragic consequences it could cause to the innocent passerby. (beat) O.K. I’ve thought about it. And I’ve decided that it doesn’t matter.

Biscuit: It doesn’t matter?

Marvin: Well, maybe its not that it doesn’t matter so much as I just don’t care.

Biscuit: How could you not care about something like that?

Marvin: It’s amazingly easy. (Whispers) I’m doing it right now.

Biscuit: Don’t you think that’s a bit self absorbed of you?

Marvin: Oh, now that stings. Stings bad, worst than bees even.

Biscuit: It should. Being selfish is the problem with the male gender. A woman’s needs always come second to your own. All guys ever think about is sex, beer and football.

Marvin: Don’t forget NASCAR. Real men dig motor oil. And just because I don’t care about the effect my sitting has on the laity doesn’t necessarily mean I don’t care about people, especially women, on other, more intimate levels. Your overgeneralization is not only demeaning but condescending as well. Shame on you. You have become what you hate so much.

Biscuit: What’s that exactly?

Marvin: Male-minded. (beat) I gotta go. That looks like the woman I’m here to meet.

Biscuit: How do you know?

Marvin: Maybe I know because for a instant our eyes met and exchanged a thousand love stories and tasted the idea of honey-dipped fantasies…then again, she could just have a nice ass. (Shrugs) Either way, I’m out. Good talking. (Exits as if trying to catch up with the next true love of his lifetime).

Biscuit: Yeah, Good talking…


My ode to narcissism. Enjoy!

I am a social miscreant of the highest order.
I am a seeker of Truth and chaser of Dreams.
I am not a sheeple,
a corporate robot,
or a Ken Doll.
I am a brilliant star
and an esoteric shadow.
I am the inexplicable type of sexy that people have forgotten the word for.
I manipulate energies and destroy preconceptions.
I am order
I am chaos
I’m the vision you never knew you had.


She mocks me. Her infectious radiance saturates my nerves and I can’t help but be overcome by her golden luminescence. She is a beacon–a lighthouse in the storm. But brave mariners must be wary. She is surrounded by rocky shores desiring to claim hearts for their mistress. At those moments, she becomes a siren luring men to their doom with an irresistible beauty. But still I seek on.

Her purity is an assassin lurking in the shadows of my heart. It waits—it contemplates—it negotiates with my own secret society of mental Judases. Plotting death by verbal intercourse. Scheming my undoing with a righetous vehemence. I am a doomed man in an iron mask. Locked away in my prison of luxury and beauty. I want for nothing but freedom but remain a captive in velvet chains. My every desire catered to through the tiny spaces between cold, iron bars. If I could, I’d plummet from these horrid heights and shatter on the rocky crags below. But I can no more step off that precipice than I can deny the silken sighs that scream at me from across unfathomable voids.

What’s My Motivation?

I was talking with a good friend last night. We were discussing the American Dream. Back in the day, the American Dream is what people worked to achieve. The well-paying job they’d never lose, nice house, car, etc. is what motivated Americans to thrive. We became the greatest superpower in modern history because of it. The American Dream inspired and motivated people to create and push ever forward. It is what attracted the best and brightest from around the world. The American Dream was what made America a shining beacon.

But the American Dream was illusory or at best, temporary. Now that the bottom has fallen out from under our old motivation, what’s left? What drives America now? What keeps us inspired and motivated? What instills that need to create and achieve? The need for iThings and big T.V’s? The desire to sign your life over to your choice of corporation or government institution? Maybe our motivation lies in an overwhelming desire to sink into debt?

I’m thinking…..

And thinking….

And thinking….

And the answer is…nothing. There is literally nothing pure left to motivate us.

And that, friends, is why I’m living for a Renaissance.

Rage Against the Juice 3: Vampires and Minotaurs, A Love Story

Nord Juice? Find out what started it all in Part One

What’s up with the frog named Pappy? That’s crazy! Read that in Part Two.

Never mind the indignities visited upon him at the docks when he tried to hire a ship. Never mind the humiliations and dispersions on his character he suffered at the Carriage Express when he tried to secure passage over land. Never mind that ended up walking (walking!) over the craggy Muerto Mountains and to the costal town of Fileep. Never mind that he was beset upon by bandits, wild animals, orcs and the occasional berserker unicorn on his journey. Never mind that he conquered each and every one of these obstacles (adding to his swarm of zombie minions in the process) without flinching once in the face of overwhelming odds. None of these things were half as annoying to the Mighty Morass as the situation he found himself in since his arrival in Fileep and subsequent meeting with Raphael Esperanza (sigh) who, as it turns out, had been ensorcelled.

Where once was a dashing rogue, now stood an over-muscled, stinking minotaur. Oddly, his eyes burned red and he spoke with the lisp of someone who recently grew a new set of teeth.

“Are you a vampire too?” asked the Mighty Morass, consumed in complete fascination at the magical monstrosity sitting across from him.

“Yes,” sighed Raphael, “As if this disgusting bull-man body wasn’t bad enough. I was also cursed with Vampiretus Blood Suckulus.”

“Amazing,” murmured the wizard and leaned across the table for a closer look only to be batted away by Raphael.

“Head shots are ten coins. What is it you want?”

“Well, to be honest, I wished vengeance on you for Nord Juicing an entire population of unstable lunatics. But any vengeance I could’ve wished has been outdone. So now, I’d just like my barbarian Unstuck, if you don’t mind.”

“Ribbit,” croaked Pappy in reminder.

“Oh yeah. And I’d like you to autograph a head shot.”

“Unstick your barbarian AND an autographed head shot? “ said Esperanza and snorted. “That will cost you a princely sum.”

“The Mighty Morass does not pay for favors! People do his bidding out of fear!”

“Yeah. Maybe a century ago. But now you’re just another spindly old coot who talks to frogs.”

Anger churned in Morass’s gut and he felt his magic rising. So did Raphael.

“You better squelch that right now,” warned the bullish rogue. “Or I’m taking the head shot off the table.”
Morass swallowed his rage and belched a plume of smoke.

“Now, to business. It just so happens that the answer to both our problems lies in the same place.”

“Ribbit?” croaked Pappy hopefully

“I doubt he means Tampa. Now shut up!” Morass returned his attention to the vampire minotaur. “Please, continue. You were saying?”

“I was saying, I can’t Unstick the Stuck. I was supplied with a special concoction by the Sisters of Silent Sheltons. They placed this curse on me and only they can remove it.”

“You crossed the Shelton Sisters?” Morass couldn’t help but be a bit impressed. Not that that ragtag group of glorified nuns could’ve challenged his supreme power, but for a run-of-the-mill thief like Esperanza, it was a moderate accomplishment.

“Not them, per se, but one of their daughters. I…showed her the wonders on the opposite end of the spectrum from Chastity. Needless to say, here I am.”

“You bagged one of the Daugthers of the Dirgeful Daughtries?” Now Morass was impressed.
Despite his condition, Raphael’s bullman frame beamed with pride. “I did. And I did it again…and again…and one more time to round things out. It was that last round that did me in. We were discovered and I made a dash for the window, carrying my clothes in a bundle. Somehow I lost a sock which they used to curse me.”

“That old black magic,” said Morass dryly. “It’s so passé.”

“I don’t care what it looks like. Get the Infernal Contract the Sisters signed against me and I’ll give you what you ask.”

Morass thought long and hard. He wasn’t used to “making deals”. Deals always meant he was getting a shorter end of the stick than he wanted. And Morass hated short sticks. But the necromancer smelled something other than bullshit from Raphael. The cursed man reeked of desperation. And desperation was Morass’s favorite cologne. If he did reclaim the Infernal Contract for Raphael, he could swindle much more out of the thief than an Unstuck barbarian and a blurry head shot. Something like this could catapult him back into legendary status. Uttering his name could once again send waves of awe and terror through entire countries. Yes, this could all be worth it…

“I’ll do it.”

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