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| User: | monde (4915)  |
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| monde's memory holes where stuff goes when it's done happening | |||||
| Name: | psychosahedron | ||||
| Website: | involution.org | ||||
| Location: | San Francisco, California, United States | ||||
| Birthdate: | 1965-07-22 | ||||
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| AOL IM: |  monde333 (Add Buddy, Send Message) | ||||
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| Bio: | About me? What about me? Greetings, dear curiosity-seeker...you are more than welcome to ask, but I warn you that by the time you get the answers, you'll more'n'likely wish you never had... I see you up there knocking to get into my underground hole. Come on in, careful with the falling gravel. Hope you dun' mind a long hike DOWN... Make a left ahead there, crouch down a little at first. Good. Go ahead, it's okay to pass through this tunnel now. Careful going down the next ladd--oh, perdition! almost forgot! Please, allow me to reach over your shoulder back here and...and deactivate my sanctum's security system. It's one of those snazzy new ones. Keeps people living in deeper-than-usual underground holes safe from all various and sundry marauders, including the other people living in the other underground holes about fifty, sixty klicks out from the hole you came here through. Gotta turn off the juice on this crazy thing. I'm telling you: it runs up a ghastly electricity bill if I forget to shut it off once in a while. [...Snick!...] OK, there. Now where was I? I am a...well, kooky sort of bird, and a noisy one at times...when I'm in manic aspect, anyway. I should point out that today's Monde weather report shows that a manic aspect is indicated - see that red globe you see on the ceiling glowing brightly? You caught me in up-phase, you lucky thing, you! You may thusly heed this warning, if you wish to avoid the imminent onslaught of loquacity, and its fierce, seemingly unending absurdity storms that may well drive you closer to the edge of batshit territory than desired. I am a bit non-social - the shrinks say "antisocial" but they don't value precision of language in the same way that I do. Let's just say I just don't spend much time with people these days. But when I do have folks over, I do try to be a good hostess. You DID come and ask to be brought here, into my home. And I answered, said Yes, I would take you there. As long as you understand that it was your own free choice. Your choice will now - as it always will - become your fate. So, why am I so...contemptuous, contumaceous, and condescending, to someone such as yourself - someone just drifting aimlessly by the journallish-bloggish sector of the Net and exploring a page that for once isn't covered with wall-to-wall anime characters, with writing that doesn't have a stupid 'lol' in every other sentence? Don't take it personally: I tend to look snobbish and snitty to everyone, even when not acting in that spirit. People tend to find that MOST of my realities fail to make a lick of sense to them...and so sometimes, folks get snitty with me about it. Inspiring, as often such snittiness does, return in-kind attitudes. That which DOES fall within the scope of their recognition presents as being some seriously wack-ass shit created by someone who must be nuts, bananas, crackers, fruit-loopy. That made me hungry. Want anything? Here's the nuts and crackers, served lovingly on my kitschy 1960s psychedelic kitchenware. The fruit loops are in the kitschy 1970s cereal bowl. The bananas are on top of the refrigerator, ripening to perfection. Here, I'll go get one. Excuse me, I have to get through here to the-- Jesus, you just leaped a foot in the air just now! My! but you're jumpy! You watch a lot of television, don't you? I abhor violence, you've nothing to fear from me. I hate pain: giving or receiving. I'm not weird like that: I'm weird like other stuff. Here's that banana. Potassium cools the nerves. I'm just a crazy old lady who's not really that old, YET, and who's just unnaturally fond of being crazy. I've got my queer little kicks, I have certain uhm, perversions...mostly having to do with the astounding things that can be done to minds by other minds. If you'd like, and even more importantly, if I want to, maybe I could show you exactly what I mean by this. I'll mess with the aub-aethyric currents in some pretty heavy ways but on the physical plane, I'm so mellow I could be a plant. I have no use for wreaking damage on any physical body: yours, mine, anyone's. Unless you inflict physical harm upon my person, or those of my loved ones, you simply need not worry unduly. Just as I need not worry unduly about you doing so, because you would not be able to, not down here. Any attack you were to make upon me would, in a hypothetical assault scenario, be made completely impossible the nanosecond after YOUR mind directed your body to commit the act. At the exact nanosecond right before your hand could make a move, the signal that would have brought it on within you would be...well, neutralized. A girl's got to look out for herself, after all. Just trust me - you don't want to cross through the wrong psionic vector when you're in this place. Don't ask - your subconscious will know what that means, and what's to avoid. You don't even have to think about it. So perhaps you shouldn't. You shout, exasperatedly: You're out of your god-damned rutabaga! WHAT is it with you? (What ISN'T IT would be a better question...) I just smile, almost not-quite-leering, thus aggravating you even furtherly - but yours is an aggravation shot clear through with a streak of something like the joy of becoming amused against your will. What's wrong with being amused? Aren't you glad you're not me? You know, I'm glad you're not me too. That would suck if you were. Being me is for me to do. Here, take some of my...refreshments. No, no, that one there doesn't go with the other one you just took. This one would be better. There ya go. Please...do make yourself at home. Daresay it's been a while since you've seen a place that's as neon-strobe ultravioletly-blacklighted as this...my subterranean demesne, this underground sanctum that curls around you all smoky, glowing and crystalline. Even a headshop would have to go a long way to match up to this. Go ahead and finish the rest of that. I'm fine. By the time that does its thing maybe I will start making more sense to you!! Ha ha. Or maybe, you will start making more sense...to me.  All rambunctiousness and gallimaufry aside: I'm not that much of a headcase. (Except, maybe, those times when I am.) I'm just another gonzo web-hack: a blithely blustery and blathersome blaster of odd blots of graphics or blittings of incomprehensible micro-texts on your screen and mine. A halfway-indecent hallucinographer...and a noise sculptress who is, in that field, still in the early stages of her education. I keep myself occupied with the processes of rendering hallucinated images into actuality, or spinning out threaded-together fictional characters, worlds and events into being. In other words, I'm busy playing God/dess...as wacko artists and fantasy writers always have done. You can help me, perhaps, by inspiring me with your own manifestations of your own inner wackos - and receive honorary God/dess status for doing it. Maybe you even already have done this for me, or with me...and you don't even know it yet. Wouldn't that be something? To continue: I don't do drugs - as often as I used to. I do maintain a fabulously, unfathomably intense love for them, particularly for those substances deemed psychedelic or entheogenic...and I have a personal affiliational sense for the myriad subcultures connected to drugs of controversy, i.e. the ones that actually make people feel good or interesting, or both. As one might guess, I have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to straightedge nonsense. If you're affiliated enough with any ridiculous "my-morals-must-be-your-morals" herd, I must make it very clear to you - eyes glaring with sharply glittering spangles of implied warning - that you are in the wrong place, mon frere, and I mean it, really. You don't want to have anything to do with me at all. The feeling is, I can assure you, quite mutual. Turn back, go home. I am not for you. I will eventually have you getting high just from having my name happen to accidentally cross through your thoughts NOTE: If you just don't use any drugs, that doesn't mean you are "straightedge". I am probably older than you. My days of wearing clothes in single-digit sizes are long behind me. I manage to not look all that harpy-like on some occasions, but there are other days, usually those occuring after occasions when I end up falling together not quite rightly, after one of my many flights through the interdimensional concourses ends in one of my less-than-perfect landings, when I look into a mirror and make a deeply disturbing quiet little noise that sounds much scarier than a scream or a Cathyesque "gaaaack!" It does seem my looks improve with my mood or self satisfaction, or if I have great sex that day. Goes to show. Something, anyway, though I'm not sure what it shows. I spend a lot of time wreaking lunatic webbistry upon the minds of unsuspecting web-walkers like yourself. I spend the rest of my time reading strange books and communing with my loved ones: my uncommon outlaw mate, and my thirteen year old orange tabby, Waa, named after the sound that she most likes to make. If this scrawly spasm of word-noise hasn't told you enough about me to satisfy your "must-have-all-data-possible" self, and you'd like to know more about me than anyone would likely ever care to, including ME...the complete, unexpurgated Dossier du Monde should give you what you want. It is part of my sprawlingly-overgrown, disordered and broken domain of a website, now in its eighth year of operation: Involution.org. In the meantime, I will show you a nice chunk of discrete spatiotemporality that I hope you'll enjoy. Just let me know when you've soaked up enough of my Ism, and when you will want to be going. I hope you find some smidgen of pleasure that will end up being worth the problem you have gotten yourself into, and that is this: you can now, of course, never be allowed to leave this little hole in the reality gridwork again. I know, it's terribly crass of me, but like I said before: I have to look out for myself. Don't try to leave on your own; I'm afraid I can't let you do that. You might already know too much, now...and so I'm dreadfully, terribly sorry, but we have to wipe out your mindprint memory of the day's events before I can set you free. Just in case you're affiliated with any of the...well, many individuals and groups whose interests don't quite dovetail with my own. I'm sure you understand... Right? I suggest that you stay put, don't go anywhere but nowhere, and don't bother trying anything unsmart. You'll need me to switch the widget on the neuro-erasure system to a position that will permit you to freely leave this little rabbit hole and still keep most of your brain. I'll be sure and leave you with all the other (mostly useless) clutter up there in your skull intact. And since even I can never quite remember which setting on this blasted thing is "stun" and which is "fry"...please don't distract me with fretting and fussing about this. So just relax: you're liable to to be here a while. Being that this is the case, you might want to watch my transformation into my Xenomorphic autoprojection mode: I shall turn before your very eyes into a transdimensional psychophage possessing a motile dendroform: a trunklike body with prehensile tendrils at base and apex, and an dodecahedral crystalline head resembling that possessed by certain viruses. Called Azuerza naarptikon, its inner consciousness is so inconceivably alien that experiencing it this far up close could probably flummox even some of the most dedicated devotees of the alien and bizarre enough to drive them to abject bewilderment.  | ||||
| Memories: | 4 entries | ||||
| Interests: | 144: "bob", 333, acid, addiction, alice cooper, altered states, anti-bush, barrington bayley, barrington hall, benzos, black light posters, brian eno, bruce sterling, cabaret voltaire, chaos, choronzon, cognitive liberty, coil, counterculture, current 93, debating with conservative idiots, dhalgren, diamanda galas, discordia, dissociatives, dmt, dr. seuss, drugs, earthquakes, eidolons, einstuerzende neubauten, electrostimulation, entheogens, erisian liberation front, erotic mind control, fl studio 4, front 242, genesis p-orridge, glossolalia, gong, h.p. lovecraft, hakim bey, hallucinogens, hallucinography, harlan ellison, headshops, hebephrenia, hentai, heroin stories, hyperspace daemons, hypnosis, illuminati, impossible geometry, incubi, insanity, intergender, interzone, jack chalker, jack womack, james tiptree jr., jim carroll, jim morrison, john barth, john brunner, junkies, killing joke, kurt vonnegut, late 1960s design styles, led zeppelin, libertarianism, linguistics, long-haired guys, lsd, lysergic acid diethylamide, mania, marijuana, memetics, meth, methadone, mindfuck, mushrooms, neal stephenson, neil gaiman, neologisms, neurosomatic metaprogramming, old school industrial, orange tabby cats, orgones, otherkin, pandemonium, paradigm sorcery, parallel universes, paraphernalia, perpendicular universes, phillip k. dick, photoshop filters, pills, pink floyd, poppy z. brite, power, psilocybin, psionics, psychedelia, psychedelics, psychic tv, psychotronics, r.u. sirius, rattlesnakes, reptiles, richard brautigan, robert anton wilson, rudy rucker, samuel r. delany, san francisco, satire, schizophrenic babble, self-referentiality, sfnet, shibumi, snakes, sound forge, speculative fiction, speed, steve aylett, storm constantine, subversion, sushi, tangerine dream, technomancy, tentacles, throbbing gristle, tom robbins, tool, transhumanism, tryptamines, tweakers, typography, vaughn bode, volcanos, wackos, weird creatures, william s. burroughs, xenophilia, zabriskie point. [Modify yours] | ||||
| Friends: | 132: 1351, 6th_sense, _dare, | ||||
| Account type: | Paid Account, previously an Early Adopter | ||||
