supreme pontiff 4gets mararthon, papacy
Complete with helicopter rescue. A model for us all.
#a1 *AUDIO* *IMAGE* *LINK* *NM* *VIDEO* 4GET MARARTHON 8FTB AGM Aleph One BS Campaign Celebrities CLIQUE CLIQUE NOTES Co-Op Community Commentary Crude Drawings Declassified Documents ESB Fanfic Fat Sam Flame War Forbidden HFS Hotmodal House of Luck HR INFINITYS I WAS TOO LAZY TO PUT THIS IN A CATEGORY Jokes JUICE JUICEcast JUICEMAN LEET KREW Lists loch Logs Lua meta (meta is the best word ever) Misc. Categories Mnet Music News nits ONE WAY OSH PARADIGM SHIFT People Periodical Pfhorums Policy POTM qoou Serious SERVE MEAT Simplici7y Sites Spirit of the Age Stats Stories The Essentials Theory The Prisoner Typography VISUAL MODE Warhampster Where the Twist Flops अ
Complete with helicopter rescue. A model for us all.
The Proud Pilot ADD N TO X enters his steam driven space ship to much applause and the fanfare of the massed marching drum machines of NASA. His mission: to enter the Black Hole and make contact with the SINGULARITY.
Proud as MIAMI VICE, ADD N TO X sets the controls to the heart of the Hole, leaving earth in a hail of chrome sparks and black rubber arrows of smoke.
She looks back at earth from her porthole, everything looks pink and green. He thinks of his family who live in the plastic countryside. His wife and children have pylon hairstyles and all their trees are mathematical. She pictures them riding flame horse generators as the sun shines through the trees and the entertainment balloons play their favourite music. ADD N TO X pulls the churchill rubber bung from the aperture cut into her carbon teeth saying out loud “MUSIC IS DUST ON THE POOR.” She then invades her face with an extended digit. Remembering the zeppelin of information telling him the future is only greater invention in response to greater extremes.
Looking out into space, his manicured whiskers flood a myriad colours emitting from the port hole. He knows there is no such thing as the past, or the future, there is only the present. That is to say the only thing not pre-recorded in a pre-recorded universe is the pre-recording itself which is to say any recording that contains a random factor.
Ascot, her on board computer and random friend draws his attention to the scopophilic gaze form the millions on earth watching his great quest, by gently tapping on the thumbnail sketch of the kings moth surmounted on his fine aviation helmet made from waxy equations and bark. ASCOT reminds him that embedded within this experiment is the voyeurism of the audience longing to see physical breakdown; the nemesis of creation; for the Pilot ADD N TO X is acting on a silent stage unable to contact, but only to be contacted which leaves ADD N TO X at the mercy of the viewer. She looks at the trophy mounted on his control panel, it is inscribed “TO THE FUTURE’S GREATEST COSTUMER.” ADD N TO X realises he is the final product in the hands of the audience, merely a cipher in a machine world, her body held tightly in place by tiny silver clamps yet before him her cabin lies the sun. ADD N TO X looks closer and sees the little Black Rocks in the sun. He checks his instrumentation a fluid series of volumes, 101 tri-form and the rushing of air.
Ascot replies, “NO! You can see little black rocks in the sun.” ADD N TO X activates the dual defence structure, biting down hard on her cigar. She thinks of all the beautiful yes sirs in their structured plastic units watching back on earth.
Meanwhile, back on earth a picture of a tiny space ship endlessly turning a perfect circle in the void of space has not made interesting nocto-vision. After days of the same thing the plug was pulled to empty the screen leaving ADD N TO X to drain off the Pop Ocean.
Suddenly, without warning the FERMI-DIRAC DISTRIBUTION FUNCTION fails him. The cockpit fills up with the sound of armies of metal headed electric insects battering their way through flesh.
ADD N TO X has entered the black hole. ASCOT confirms, “You have entered the black hole.” He feels drunk on folding time while ascot sings the NATIONAL ANTHEM FOR A COUNTRY THAT HAS FIVE MINUTES TO EXIST. Everywhere there is exploding starts. Copper leaves burst through the cabin walls. Ants and termites blister and burn as the velvet parachute melts.
ADD N TO X thinks skyscrapers are crushing him. He looks at her hands, they are a mile long on the head of a pin. His capsule oscillates all at once, butter and glass, steel and grass. He is aware of every nut and bolt as her ship shits coal in agony. ADD N TO X feels his body become pure light that gives off a pervasive and featureless odour. He thinks of Leather and Lace and it is in this moment she is AVANT HARD, he is abbreviating into intensity. There are no special effects. Everywhere is electricity. His flesh and bones dissolve, She is a ShockWAVE RIDER on the blast from the vast police thing of noise that splits addntox into all of his individual atoms. ADD N TO X is the special effect and in her disorder there is liberation from the filaments that were once nerve endings. He is aware in all her million parts that he is GOD and God is electricity and the SINGULARITY has added his n to her x to create the perfect musical note of a cymbal.
Jean Duvergier de Hauranne
For each of us, the aim of the law is to annihilate ourselves and make ourselves enter, through virtue, into the nothingness that pertains to us by nature and out of which we have been drawn by THE LORD’S overwhelming power.
There is thus initially a double nihility, a double nihil, and subsequently a double aspect of nihilism: the one being to a certain extent positive, the other pure negativity. There is a nihil a quo omnia fiunt, a nihility from which all things come. This is the nihility of the divine Absolute, superior to being and to thought. And there is a nihil a quo nihil fit, a nihility from which nothing comes and into which everything tends to fall back in abysm.
Now the attainment of Nibbana comes in two stages, the two referred to as the two elements of Nibbana. One is the Nibbana element with the residue remaining. The other the Nibbana element without the residue remaining. The element of Nibbana with residue remaining is the state of Nibbana attained by the arahant (?the 4mer mararthoner) in this present life. Namely, the extinction of greed (?mapmaking), hatred (?netplay) and ignorance (?advocacy) and of all other defilements. The residue that remains in the arahant is the five aggregates [feeling, perception, mental formations, consciousness, pfhorums account] that constitute his present life individuality, the psycho-physical organism produced from the past life. Upon attainment of Nibbana his body and mind continue until the end of the life span.
The second stage of the attainment of Nibbana is called the Nibbana element without a residue remaining. This is the element of Nibbana attained by an arahant with his passing away, with the breakup of his body, what we conventionally call death.
The passing away of an arahant is the final and complete passing out from existence. It does not lead to a new birth. In his own experience, the arahant sees only the cessation of a process, not the death of a self. The experience for him is without subjective significance, without reference to ‘me’ or ‘mine’. At this stage the residue of the five aggregates comes to an end.
Abbé de Saint-Cyran
The fastest way to get out of our afflictions is to take pleasure in remaining in them as long as it may please THE LORD to so ordain.
Philip K. Dick
“The Divine Machinery has a peculiar brutality to it,” she finished. “It isn’t romantic. It’s cruel; it really is.”
“Because there is so much at stake,” Elias said.
“What is at stake?” Rybys said.
“The universe exists because THE LORD remembers it,” Elias said. “If THE LORD forgets, the universe ceases.”
“Can he forget?” Rybys said.
“He has yet to forget,” Elias said elliptically.
Deliver us, LORD, from every Evil (Eternal, Red, Rubicon, Phoenix),
And grant us peace in our day.
Ian and Ingmar
… from CLIQUE (or me, at least), as communicated by David Foster Wallace, now printed on AGENT ORANGE.
I’ve tried several times to take this passage and adapt it to Mararthon, but it seems not just hopelessly hard but actually disrespectful to modify it. Still, I think it’s so important, so worth bringing to your attention, that I’d like to quote it verbatim below. It is the best account I have read in years of mentorship, fatherhood, and self-consolation in the face of failure, disability, and lost potential, moral acceptance and selfish anger, and the way all of these seep bruise-like into your everydays.
For once, this isn’t community commentary — there’s hardly an agent in this text other than the father, and hence no room for the Pfhorums — but it does inform you of some community context. Anyway, not everything is about you.
Here are a few phishing sites that have come to my attention as of late:
Please don’t get scammed. Stay safe and wait for pfhorums.com to return. Godspeed.
Wild rumors plague the fallen ESB.
Mild digging produces the following summary of 2007–2010, courtesy of Hamish:
(These years intentionally left blank. Seriously, nothing really happened.)
Thermoplyae was quick to add: “clique came, clique went.” Whether or not he meant anything especially profound, I believe this is the best of all possible summaries for the past three or four years. CLIQUE brought the void; CLIQUE was the void.
Just remember, persons, that the void is always somewhere.
Meanwhile, Treellama needs your help keeping the Meatserver Carnival running at 100%. I will make art for donors, should they so desire. You know you want it.
Here’s our progress on the $50 (five-year domain registration) project:
From the late master of loch, Jacques Derrida, came a work called The Post Card. Says the back of the book:
You were reading a somewhat retro loveletter, the last in history. But you have not yet received it. Yes, its lack or excess of address prepares it to fall into all hands: a post card, an open letter in which the secret appears, but indecipherably.
What does a post card want to say to you? On what conditions is it possible? Its destination traverses you, you no longer know who you are. At the very instant when from its address it interpellates, you, uniquely you, instead of reaching you it divides you or sets you aside, occasionally overlooks you. And you love and you do not love, it makes of you what you wish, it takes you, it leaves you, it gives you.
On the other side of the card, look, a proposition is made to you, S and p, Socrates and plato. For once the former seems to write, and with his other hand he is even scratching. But what is Plato doing with his outstretched finger in his back? While you occupy yourself with turning it around in every direction, it is the picture that turns you around like a letter, in advance it deciphers you, it preoccupies space, it procures your words and gestures, all the bodies that you believe you invent in order to determine its outline. You find yourself, you, yourself, on its path.
The thick support of the card, a book heavy and light, is also the specter of this scene, the analysis between Socrates and Plato, on the program of several others. Like the soothsayer, a “fortune-telling book” watches over and speculates on that-which-must-happen, on what it indeed might mean to happen, to arrive, to have to happen or arrive, to let or to make happen or arrive, to destine, to address, to send, to legate, to inherit, etc., if it all still signifies, between here and there, the near and the far, da und fort, the one or the other.
You situate the subject of the book: between the posts and the analytic movement, the pleasure principle and the history of telecommunications, the post card and the purloined letter, in a word the transference from Socrates to Freud, and beyond. This satire of epistolary literature had to be farci, stuffed with addresses, postal codes, crypted missives, anonymous letters, all of it confided to so many modes, genres, and tones. In it I also abuse dates, signatures, titles or references, language itself.