A fake poem by an non entity called Acryllic Figa

A fake poem by an non entity called Acryllic Figa

tsars like russian oligarchs
like white supremacist cop tasers
like bullydon boys in pork 
tie and blazars like a global air born disease 
Severe Global Airborn Rightwing Syndrome

sgars across the planet
tsars and czars and little zazen
little father men
busy character armourin’

in tsars we trust
and i hope you bust
free from such tyranny
of we

to me you see the we
is the tribe of all around the world
humanity, the gene pool fool

we domesticated primates
with a god complexity
all together born of a mother
mates buddies sharing ecstasy
of blood flesh bones and skin
same same where begin
or bigend to mend

breathing together in
a masked conspiracy we blend days
the task: get from out the hell basket
mask and anti-mask it
in art and out art crafted

uplift the message of you to us
to me to them and to all
address the good people with general
assembly with put on a slight texan drawl

ladies and gentleman
i speak to the clique’ clearly upon
the tissue of otherness
that which is not me not mine to wine on
seems foreign to me like

phantom energy to teach me
about we to mean me and the others see
the other ‘me’s’ wrapped in TV series

on wide screen watch me’s
an old set of theories
that stereotype ‘me’s’
mixed up with beery sneer ideology

fictional ‘them’s’ and made up ‘me’s’
by screen writer devils and the
analytica sleaze
ad monster men 

well mark these tears
in coming years better learn
to know yourself dears
and get real cozy with you’re inner ears
me you and them shifting plural gears
and try to understand cuz’ 
it might take yonks

you and me maybe not so different after all
each tense about the other
often a squabble sometimes a brawl

similarity and difference hence me
and you to me to mean you as all humanity
the cosmos and everything
under the sun correspond
without within above below
beside the next beyond

you there in the mirror mask
with my face on it let me ask
where did you get my voice
the imitation games bond
nearly spooked myself

you and me or ‘I’ and ‘we’ for want
of better terms
to flip the coin and the perhaps
open a can or worms
heads or tales tribes or tribe
plural or singular
you get the vibe
plural brings choice and reason
the many the mixed the all in betwixt
unhinged unfixed and the difference again
and so on eventually with
flux the doors flap the cards are dealt

a choice of more than two
non-binary that’ll do
a verb cooks to progress
to accept the new data
broad and wide varied yes mate

the difference engine runs the differdance
evolution standing innovation
ability utility stability and levity
for personal identity
in quantity and quality crisis

divisions categories things in time
the men with little hands wave us
back to the bronze age with slime
little heart small brain big head
the great hoarders

with walls and borders
banks tanks gangs and
midnight marauders
and the tsar in me and the
tsar in you
security comes with maturity
pull down thy vanity

it maybe the anti-tsar in you that
dictates that as true
but who to blame who to same
who whoming who?

how to distinguish the others
by name birth sex age race
the tsar in you like Tony the tiger
brings out a certitude
a truly fictional comic enemy

to retribalize to trail blaze unfazed
picking up history of the new tribe daze
walk the maze of history
with a ragbag of poetry
astro black mythology and Yussef’s

what complex of origins fossils and maps
which gene pool ocean
what train which tracks
to binner bouter-space
I’ll see you there to turn tsars
into stars and space into mental

gently astonish
we all become one
and outlaw the bomb
my tribe our tribe stop
the punishment
gravity pulls its historical point closer
but this hysterical joint jives
with my flow i will not utter his name
no lets just go

to the PR architects of doom
stunt men and supporters of the balloon
i pour whisky on your forehead
put acid in your salad cream and
jelly in your bassoon
trash machine messages to you
and a note to myself
know thyself know the others
do not be afraid to come out
from under the covers
come out come out
wherever you are
this is a message for banker
king MP tsar
we tsars too so don’t tell us
what to do

word to the wise to the
women to the poor you
are the majority
and you own the authority
to open or close your own backdoor
spectacles testicles
brandy reefer we think perpendicular
to the left/right griefer

to divide with pride in one side
not the other you dig sister
feel me brother
the other is a brother from another mother
stop hating and stop with whatever
be clever

play the game to tame sameness
unearth difference honour presence
being here in another’s shoes
cruise in the walking blues
running back with clues
past me’s and past you’s
in your ear and in your eye

out this coded substitute i try
to split identity with senses sense
up your nose and out your ass
this little rhyme
with no pretence we humans share
same sense organs grinding
the same hardware finding
manufacturing code hatchings
same lab or factory block
perhaps a different road some different rocks

equal and opposite others mode
only the software differs a toad is a toad
we are one family of individuals
so division of biological sameness
begins to slouch toward the heart
and minds of the people

divisive PR operations build on
precisely these divisive data fields
stalking us divisively
the psychological dead-visions
departministry of propaganda goose
lies and deceit

infected by sgars syndrome
cambridge analytica
a weaponized language machine
designed by artists stolen by masked
military industrial endtertainment

a thin line right here—dear reader—i feel ya’
this writing is an open invitation tweet
me a turnfable technician
on a mission to gain a laugh on my feet
a paragraph with rare groove
make it new and make it

move by fluke or chance or crook
or no such luck look me in eye
tell us your tales tell em’ all

once and for all on the wall
in the hall scrawl: in anti-masks
we lie, next to the bar
everyman and everywomen
is a tsar

for Bob.

—Steve Fly

Day Off - T4QS

A Note on Christmas and being 2016 by Steve Fly

So, i really do sincerely hope each and every one of you out there, reading and not-reading this, find whatever meaning you are looking for this holiday. Today, i thought for a moment on the tram...'man...i must be a Christian after all, no matter what i call myself (model agnostic) by the amount of good thoughts and strong memories i have of Christmas, almost every one since being about 4 years old. The highlight of the year for so many many years, the presents, family, food, laughs, drinks, friends. Plus, i feel compelled to address everybody, like a speech at a massive dinner table. And keep up the good cheer. Putting the stark reality outside the front doorstep aside for a day, homelessness, refugee crisis, war, lies. No, today is a slightly bland merry old time, a day when we count our blessings (you see i can’t help but invoke religious terms today) and give thanks to whatever it is we each feel we wish to pay our respect. Jesus and/or Santa i rekon, if you think about it. But not many say so explicitly.  

We celebrate the birth of Jesus, like it or not, who went on to become the Jesus Christ, a popular figure in western cultures and who seems largely misunderstood to this day, due to interfering belief-systems and the inability to comprehend metaphor in religious and mythical texts and scriptures. So merry Christmas everybody, to mean, wake up to the birth of your own new saviour and muse, the birth of a new inner compass, a loving caring force inside which simply encourages you to be nice and helpful and to share. The birthing is like a filling up with stuff, including the chaos of what comes forth. I hope you quickly get over any difficulty in the beginning of making it new. Happy new year.

I have probably said and written some awful things about Christianity, sometimes with a similar fury to the likes of Christopher Hitchens, yet without his clarity and forceful fact based assault. (sorely missed in commentary today) I have said and written less about Islam and Judaism, but hold them in similar contempt as Christianity, very broadly speaking.
The abrahamic religions, as echoed by Timothy Leary, have been responsible for some of the worst trips this planet has ever known. Yet, having tasted the magic and mysticism connected to some other spiritual practices, strains of Buddhism, Taoism and Thelema, i feel that there are some parts to all religions that can be illuminating and informative, if your open to try new things, like simply new thoughts. It seems to me that to claim to BE an atheist rejects consciousness BEING itself…yourself. Theism can be fun and some gods can be exciting and helpful guides, at least, for me. Just because the large majority of theists may seem like zombie followers of some foreign doctrine or other, does not mean others are not progressive, intelligent and rational humans.      

To refine the idea further, belief itself, weather it be in the form of religious fundamentalism or materialist fundamentalism, leads to similar bad trips. However, i think parallel thinking about these prickly subjects can help bring about a peace for all man kind. You know, like the lyric from the Christmas carol, peace on earth, good will to all man and womenkind. As Bob used to say ‘if you can’t achieve tolerance at least attempt courtesy’ This Christmas, why not try to make a big effort to understand things you might not believe in. Suspend your disbelief, and present it like a fairy on a tree top.

Only the most ignorant and deluded hermit could not see that the coming years will be challenging for all around the world humanity, and closer to home for the disunited kingdom and disunited states of America, and of Europe. To remind yourself every day of all the trouble in the world can be damaging and unnecessarily, the world is not your problem. The animal and human torture, the terrorism, bombings, invasions and drone strikes, the beating and rapes, killings and daylight robbery are not your problem. Keeping a level head while others may loose it around you will be a daily challenge in a hyper-connected world. I sincerely wish you good luck with that, and i hope you can remember to remember. Violence is psychically self-defeating. Being nice to others is psychically self-affirming. What is there to understand? Just do it. 

This is the nice part of the Santa Claus story, the surprise and free gifts delivered, good behaviour and being nice to others is rewarded with presents and surprise prizes. So best wishes, all-around-the-world-humanity, and have a good day.

--Steve Fly




Skyswimmer & KFC - Two Stories For Sam and George Harris


Knock Knock
—Who's there?
—Kenny who?
Kenny hear you.
Knock Knock Knock….

Kenny dashed out the school gate like a race horse, bolting home to begin the other race. The big race, maybe the biggest race ever. Today was race day, it was the skyswimmers final.

Kenny knocked on the door with a loud thump, he pushed the door open with his shoes already in hand, dodged under his mums legs and scampered up the stairs like a dog.
"Kenny! Kenny, how about you say hi before playing games. And what about dinner, it will be ready at 5.45 and you need to be showered as auntie eve is coming over to visit. Don't be late" Kenny's mum shouted up the stairs.

"Yeah mum" he said. His friends were all giggling into their microphone headsets. Both skyswimmer champions were being grilled by their parents at the same time, both had family things to do tonight, and the winner would probably the one who could deal with parents, as much as deal with the opponent.

"Take your marks, get set, BANG" said the high pitched American voice of the ref, and the race started.

Wearing his sky swimmer socks and his skyswimmer gloves, and his sky swimmer goggles Kenny dived in, a huge crowd whistling and screaming along the pool side. Lying on his bed, Kenny kicked his legs and rotated his arms and moved his head, he was off to a good start. Kenny kicked and at the end of the pool, instead of a wall there was no wall. The pool flowed out into the clouds. This was sky swimming.

Kenny felt his stomach turn over as he flew over the edge, the rushing of blue and white colours from the bottom of the pool turning to sky blue and cloud-white, all with a hint of yellow from the sun. Kenny kicked and paddled through the clouds, all the time neck and neck with his opponent. Two of the greatest sky swimmers in the world.

The race course had been designed especially for this final, and nobody, not even the referee had ever seen it all-at-once before, only a small part of it. Thomas and his opponent John were tested in their skills by this course, and they both followed a natural instinct to compete, pushing each other forwards, faster and faster.

The duo soared through 1000 foot high hoops made of orange foam, and flew under golden bridges and between the tallest building you could image. They kicked and paddled and bounced around the fun course, and there was only a teeny-weeny cats-whisker between them. It was a close race, and there were only three more levels to complete, and one of them involved landing back on the ground.
Kenny concentrated and then quickly dived down toward a big green field beneath him, a sound was drawing him closer. The two sky-swimmers noticed hundreds of children gathered to greet them, cheering and very surprised to see them. They landed gracefully together, like ducks on a lake, and they listened closely to their ear buds for further instructions, this was the last part of the race, the final challenge, the highest level, the last hurdle…the final minute of play.

The challenges were created, and voted on by the virtual audience who were tuned in using their phones and computers. Friends, and friends of friends, and friends of friends of friends made up some very silly things to do. The words came through Kenny’s headset, ask the kids for food, you must cook for them all, then you will be the champion sky-swimmer.
“Cook, cook, cook, cook…” voices chanted and cheered inside his headphones.

After the cook off, and the children had not died of food poisoning, Kenny and John ran out to the filed and leap into the air, kicking and paddling. And into the wide forrest they flew, spinning and diving like falcons, scraping the tree tops and skimming the waters, lake to forrest the falcons flew, in and out of huge cloud rings, between massive luminous poles. They zoomed up and up through the clouds and back toward the pool where they started.

John nudged Kenny with his shoulder, what he called the zombie body check, where you push all your weight into somebody else, but Joh didi it wrong, and ended up slowing himself down slightly. Kenny nudged ahead, reached for the poolside and just about pipped John at the post. Wow. He won by 0.25 of a second, wow, that’s less than a finger snap. Snap!

Kenny pulled off his goggles and jumped from his bed onto the bedroom floor. He bounced up and down like a football player celebrating a cup winning goal, his hands clasped. “yes, yes, yes, i won” he said to himself. “Yiiiiii whooooooo’.

“Kenny, keep the noise down, and stop playing plants versus zombie-ding-dongs, and come down. You’ve homework to finish for school”           


Knock Knock
—Who's there?
—Thomas who?
Thomas’t have knocked before
It was the day after Thomas celebrated his 5th birthday that he thought up a really good magic trick. He said:

"I want to open my own place” he said to his parents. 
"we’ll have fish-fingers, chips and lots of cake, erm, and some milk"
"Oh Thomas, haha, you’re funny" his dad said, 
"Dad. I’m serious. My friends want to as well. We call it Kids Food Club" Thomas said confidently, while bouncing up and down on the couch.
"Let's talk about it tomorrow Thomas, now it's time for ‘beddy’ boys. Up you go, monkey”

And so Thomas bounced across the floor and up the stairs, brushed his teeth, washed his hands and face, and put on his cloud-patterned pyjamas. Pidge-jah-mass, pi-dja-mass, pyja-mas, he said to himself staring up at the shinning stars on his bedroom ceiling. What kind of a word is that…

Thomas had a dream in which his parents and brother, and his relations were all fruits and vegetables. Yeah, it was funny. His mum was an apple, his grandad a carrot, his brother was a strange potato, and his dad a banana. His grandma was a strawberry. And they all jumped around on the front garden like small goats, squeaking. Thomas smiled and rolled over to begin another dream of goal keeping for England, but instead of a ball it was a planet he had to save. He made the most unbelievable, gymnastic moves to catch the world. He saved it over and over again. 

The next morning Thomas and his friends gathered at school to talk about Kids Food Club. They talked and talked about the menu, and new words for the food they would make, instead of cake they would make fake, instead of chips they would make ships, instead of fishfingers they would make ishfingers. That was Tim's suggestion, and he had just lost a front tooth in a hover board accident, so couldn't say his 'S' words properly. So he said "ishfingers" and everybody laughed, so ishfingers it is.

By the end of the day, the first menu for the Kids Food Club looked like this: Ships (Potato Chips), Qs (Peas), Fake (Cake), Ishfingers (fishfingers), Cow Juice (milk), Council Pop (water), Nuffin' (Low fat cake), Navy (Blueberry Sauce), Salladinns (Salad Sauce), Leg-Go (Lego brick breakfast cereals), Council Stew (Don't ask), Gangham (Ham and cheese Sandwich), Cows in bandages (Bacon wrapped burger) and Zomburger (Again, please don't ask)

That evening, after spelling homework, and maths homework, plus drawing homework, Thomas waited for a good time, usually after dinner, because thats when mum had done the cooking and cleaning, and dad was home and reading through Facebook on his phone. A good time, he thought.  

“The kid food club had our meeting today"
"oh, um, Thomas, thats great, so, how did it go..?" his mum asked
"good, we made a new menu, and i made up three things"
"Three. And your going to cook these three things? wow”
"Yes, we will ask Miss Baker tomorrow if she can help us.”
"Which things are you making Thomas?" His Dad asked, picking him up and twirling around the living room"
"Heee, Cows in bandages" Thomas squealed.
"Cows in bandages"
"Its like pigs in blankets, but cows, and instead of blankets…erm, bandages!”

Both parents looked at each other, and laughed so hard they both fell off the couch, rolling around on the floor like dogs rolling in dry summer grass. 
"My other food is ham and cheese sandwiches…Gangham Sandwiches" and with that, Thomas moonwalks across the carpet, smoothly moving into a crazy dance.

At this point Thomas and his parents and his brother were all laughing, howling like wolves, yelping like monkeys, gasping for breath, and lay out on the floor in a huddle like drunks.

The next morning Thomas got up earlier than usual, went down stairs and started filling his rucksack with ingredients. He stuffed the bag right up to the top with potatoes, flour, sugar, butter, chocolate, ham, milk, cheese, fish-fingers and peas. 

Thomas staggered out the house and put his bag in the car. “I’m ready” he shouted to his mum. She was very surprised to hear this from Thomas, who was usually leaping around in the lounge at this time of the morning, or watching Gigglebiz on the gogglebox.

At the school gate Thomas made a distraction by pointing out that the drainpipe on the side of the school was loose, and could fall and hurt somebody. So Thomas’s mum quickly led him to his class, without noticing his heavy bag, and she walked to the school office to warn them of the broken drainpipe. Thomas’s mum was very kind.

Thomas entered the cooking class with his huge heavy bag, and dropped it onto the table with a heavy thud. The class turned and looked with amazement at the wide variety of ingredients Thomas had carried. “It’s ishfingers time” Thomas said, and the class laughed. Miss Baker had to calm down the class.
“Right then Thomas, what have you got for us today?”
“Well….i…..”  bililililililing bililililililing billililililing

The school fire alarm sounded. All the children and teachers followers the fire-drill they had learn’t. Calmly making single file line, and then walking to the nearest exit, finally all gathering in the sports-field for the register, to check that everybody was present and safe. 

Standing in the middle of the filed, Thomas looked up into the sky and saw something strange zooming across the sky, zig-zagging in and out of the clouds. He squinted his eyes, and put his hand up in front of his face to shield the sun. He starred and starred, his mouth wide open in amazement.
“Look at that everybody, wow, a skyswimmer, it’s a sky swimmer”

Hundreds of eyes looked up at what Thomas had spotted. High above them two things were swimming through the sky, darting like red arrows, and spiralling through the clouds in odd formations.
“They are going to land here, look, look” a boy called James shouted.

The two figures swooped down and landed next to the group of teachers gathered on the field. They paused for a moment, as if they could hear voices in the distance.
“Hello, erm, we would like to eat, can we eat, please take us to your kitchen”
“What….what?” Mr Foggerty, the headteacher said. “You want to eat? erm…okay, this way please.”
Mr Foggerty led the two boys into the cooking area, and there on the table were the ingredients Thomas had left there earlier.
“Fishfingers” my favourite, Lenny said.
“ishfingers!” Thomas shouted, and everybody laughed.

And so the skyswimmers cooked up the strangest feast you could ever imagine, and told each other knock knock jokes. They made fake navy muffins and Council Stew washed down with wowow juice. Yum. Lenny and Don ran back out to the field and kicked off into the sky together, like migrating birds they disappeared into the clouds. The children cheered, and Miss Baker shed a tear. Thomas shrugged his shoulders, put his hands in his pockets and turned his face towards the bright sun. He started to think about what to cook up tomorrow for the Kids Food Club,  umm, maybe bald swimmers in sewage, he thought. That would be, pea-soup. Brilliant. Zompea Sirwoop.

Knock Knock
—Who's there?
—Danny who?
Danny hear you knocking mate.

Knock Knock
—Who's there?

—Figs who?
Figs the intercom will ya’


Fly By Night: Beatnik Youth
Steve The Fly is spotlighting the new vinyl release of John Sinclair’s Beatnik Youth album from IronMan Records in England, produced by Youth and featuring the late great Howard Marks on the opening cut, plus sides by Sonny Rollins, Sun Ra, the Miles Davis Sextet, Eddie Jefferson, Selah Ragab, and Johnny ‘Guitar’ Watson, and a closing cut from Sinclair’s Mohawk album in honor of the late great Lee Bridges—The Cannabis Poet.
The John Sinclair Foundation Presents
Steve The Fly, Sarwar Studios, Cross Keys, Wales, November 20, 2016 [SFBN-0186]
[01] John Sinclair & Beatnik Youth: War On Drugs featuring Howard Marks
[02] Sonny Rollins: Til There Was You
[03] Sun Ra: The Other Side Of Time
[04] John Sinclair & Beatnik Youth: Sitarrtha
[05] Miles Davis: Blue In Green
[06] John Sinclair & Beatnik Youth: Do It
[07] Eddie Jefferson: Come Along With Me
[08] John Sinclair & Beatnik Youth: Brilliant Corners
[09] Selah Ragab: Naveen
[10] Johnny ‘Guitar’ Watson: Gangster of Love
[11] John Sinclair: relaxin’ with lee
Produced by Steve “The Fly” Pratt for Radio Free Amsterdam
Post-production, editing & annotation by John Sinclair
Executive Producer: Sidney Daniels
Sponsored by Ceres Seeds & The Hempshopper, Amsterdam
Special thanks to Sarwar and to Mark Sampson for the Beatnik Youth vinyl
© 2016 Steve Pratt. Used with permission.


Fake News & Made Up Truth.

“Keep it unreal”—Mr. Scruff.
“Literature is news that stays news.”—Ez.

The question "is it real" and "is it true" reverberates throughout the global village, sounding all the more desperate and panicked to me, as we all grapple with our place in the village, our individual identity and cultural identity, race, and hyperconnected cultural backlash. The black mirror of 2016.   

I see fundamentalist materialism leading some once open-minded people down a concrete path to absolutism, and the dissolving of any critical method of analysis left. Some literally can't see the forrest for the trees. I feel that without some understanding of how our sensory nervous system operates, how humans tend to colour and edit perceptions, for the most part unconsciously, we will continue on a trajectory of global disinformation, lies, untruth and paranoia. Unless you take daily precautions and develop a sense for critical thinking, suspend your judgement, at least temporarily, the global village will have a tendency to seem full of fakes, snakes and events that do not fit your cagey convictions.  

We all produce a kind of fake news to ourselves and to others. But stay with me here, we decide to narrow down the infinite flux of being, the infinite possibilities, to a particular point/opinion. A story, a single event, a particular such and such. Which is fine, unless the language you are using implies that your story is the only story, the true story, the singular almighty perception of the all seeing "I". And it seems to me that alphabet cultures have a tendency to lead to such a confusing of levels of abstraction. Alphabet cultures are ripe for fake news and made up truth, hell a good lawyer can prove anything these days, and a good old crafty orator can capture the hearts minds, and gullibility, of a nation of voters.   

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted"--Hassan I Sabbah. 

Here so far i use the word "fake" in a different sense, in the sense that human perceptions are not pure absolute truth - they emerge tainted with bias and the limitations of your uniquely tuned sensory apparatus. (They is slightly faked) Sure, the truth is out there, or better yet the truth is in here, but forever diluted with untruth, perhaps in equal measure, in which case the wise remain open to new signals before deciding. Resolving the unknown with something as close to mathematical probability theory as possible. I sincerely hope we can move on from the two-valued duality of fundamentalist materialism, so as to see the complex array of truths and fakes together to compare, evaluate fairly and criticise constructively. 

To move outside of the linguistic cages we build for ourselves can prove difficult, especially when using the very language that imprisons you. However, to speak of matters outside of my own existential experience, i get the feeling that huge multinational corporations, think tanks and governments, cults and terrorists purposefully create untruthful fake news to further their specific agenda. Usually controlling, right-wing and fundamentalist in nature. The ever expanding toolkit of misdirection, trickery, and deception maybe in the hands of money madmen, plus a lot of money and funding to launch lies into the minds of the people, but the responsibility remains with the individual to question everything, to think for yourself and deduct what is real, and/or fake, true, and/or false. One look at the TV news in 2016 will prove the importance of doing your own research, and not swallowing the shit you are delivered every day in the pompous language of absolute certainty. The two way golden gate between political influence and corporate might seems wide open for business next year.

Satireday night fever
"You are been lied to"--Disinformation Company. 

Perhaps satire is like an art of faking truthing. You dig? The playful art of using language is a special way to imitate and simulate various truths and lies, in varying degrees, often prat-falling into humour. The important distinction here is the agenda of the Satirist/artist. Hitlers calculated chiefs of Nazi propaganda and disinformation, like Goebbles and Gehlen are operating on a different set of principles to Jonathan Swift, or James Joyce. This should be obvious on contact with their words. A fabricated news story which aims to dehumanise a race of people on behalf of a massive military industrial war machine, with the means to production--and global distribution--of said 'fake news' has proven to be toxic to humanity, dangerous, and 180 degrees opposite in effect to what the artist who fabricates the truth in a playful way, intends. One other distinguishing feature is the lack of critical, and especially self-critical thinking on behalf of the Nazis, and the playful multivalued self-questioning demonstrated by satirists and writers.  

Go ahead and read an issue of the Daily Mail, who incidentally supported the Nazis at one point in history, and compare it with an article from The Onion, or NewsThump, two satirical news sites. Some say both sites and their articles are 'fake news' but, we are speaking of two very different kinds of fake here, two levels of abstraction. The first a Nazi propaganda type of fake, lies to incite hatred, genocide, and closed mindedness with insular thinking. The second fakes are to make you laugh and to think outside of the usual field of meaning, perhaps consider somebody else's field of meaning. 

"F For Fake--Orson Welles. 

Lets not forget that ‘fake news’ of the Daily Mail variety, the kind of fake news associated with brain washing, pandering to social confusion and hatred, for the most part, seems to me a natural concern of intelligence agencies worldwide. John Cleese recently reminded me that Vladimir Putin was the ex head of the KGB, and used a technique to crush any opponents that included accusing the opposition of everything that you are doing yourself. I noticed a similarity here to clinical sociopaths, and the psychology of blame and denial. Once again we return to the biased self-reflection of disturbance cycling through every human nervous system. The difference, to me, is the difference between some who become psychologists, or artists, to try and break free the individual from the chains of absolutism and cognitive bias, and the Putin/CIA/Trump/Daily Mail types who use the knowledge of human stupidity in large groups, and neuro-psychological tools to create weapons. 

Weaponizing Neuro-science.  

“Everything is under control”—Robert Anton Wilson. 

Although Joyce was once referred to as a one man literary I.R.A, this metaphor does not imply Joyce wanted to inflict any physical harm with the kind of explosives and bullets used to invade Iraq and Afghanistan recently. Joyce was a pacifist. He used his art to turn the word around and point it back at those wishing to weaponize language. Everywhere you turn in poetry and literature you will find James Joyce starring you blank in the face. You could say he's eternally sticking a double barrelled shotgun in your mouth. Joyce weaponized neuro-science long before the spooks and advertisement men came to town, before L. Ron Hubbard and Dr. Ewen Cameron twisted the inner workings of neuro-psychology to their own sordid aims and objectives. Joyce gifts his reader and listener with a rainbow mirror, a eternally returning oracle, a ludic journey into language and the life of the mind helping to build new connections, and expand ones apprehension of the universe. His tricks are surprises build to try and gently awaken the reader to new levels of abstraction. Not to plant a road side bomb, or order in a drone strike on anything he doesn’t like or understand.  

Trickster Guru 

"The Book Of Lies: falsely so called--Aleister Crowley. 

The Trickster Guru brings us to another type of ‘fake news’, what might be defined as left leaning progressive anarchist ‘fake news’ or satire. The ability to bend the truth and repel the falsehoods long enough to inspire the initiate to become a self programer. A form of mind-cleansing and not so much brain-washing? The trickster guru like the stage magician, brings about a new open pathway, another menu of possibilities by using the same toolkit that the Daily Mail/CIA/KGB/Trump gangs use, except with a total difference of intent: to force one to think, not to sleep and blindly follow. Think! "there are no facts, only interpretations" wrote Nietzsche, learn to understand your own processes of interpretation, and dare to step into those of others.  

Fundamentalist right-wing materialism meets with radical fundamentalist religious fanaticism at the absolute truth. Simply, both favour unquestioning obedience and submission to a higher power (the state or god, the choice is yours) I can’t deny that to my mind, in December 2016, the right wing republicans of Trump, the Brexiteers, Le Pen, and the Dutch PVV are walking in similar patterns: denying experts, making demonstrably false statements, accusing the opposition of what they are doing themselves. Informed by cutting edge neurolinguistics and the latest philosophy of consciousness and advertising, these sociopaths are busy tricking anybody who is not them, any who do not think like they do, to join them, and trust them or else die at the hands of some foreign infidel. In the hands of these monsters ‘fake news’ becomes entertainment news, such as Fox news, and arguably ever single publication touched by Rupert Murdoch. Tabloid banality, the mind numbing low information content of stories in The Sun newspaper, running on Fox news, transported by Metro Newspapers, Gannet Media, CNN, AT5, The Daily Mail. Even more progressive papers such as the Guardian, Huffington post and New York Times constantly employ dualism and perpetrate binary traps.  

Due to the sheer repetition of this particular species of ‘fake news’, the billboard adds, the mobile phone ads, the TV, radio and newsagents ads, plastered on every possible piece of urban material like the skin of satan, the message, whatever it maybe, gets lodged into the minds of the people. The gyre does spin. Duality and division by way of binary programming, in/out right/wrong true/false black/white friend/foe real/fake, we are bombarded with binary choices, and often forced into one of two choices, which is no choice at all, in some sense. Polarization is fun for dualists, like cheering for the home team, your either with us, or against us. Cliche’. 

“You cannot shield yourselves too much against the jealousies and heartburnings which spring from these misrepresentations; they tend to render alien to each other those who ought to be bound together by fraternal affection,” —George Washington. 

True Conspiracy. 

“…causing a kind of fun-house effect that leaves the reader doubting everything, including real news”—Sabrina Tavernise, New York Times, 8/12/16 

The Wikileaks and Snowdon releases are ample evidence that many banking conspiracies and geopolitical conspiracies, were demonstrably true. The Panama papers for example blew the lid off a can of festering worms, showing how tentacles between banking intelligence and terrorism sprawl around the planet like the image of a giant Octopus enveloping the earth. A moving Cthulhu captured in full effect. Alex Jones calls himself a conspiracy theorist, Robert Anton Wilson was called and would accept the title of conspiracy theorist, but the difference, once again is a full 180 degrees. Most of the mainstream news can’t even get past the fact that there are progressive left-wing satirical conspiracy theorists, and conservative right-wing conspiracy theorists, all going at it like mad. Due to the glaring reality of right-wing conservative conspiracy theorists, like Alex Jones, and a worrying amount of characters in Trumps proposed cabinet, and Trump himself, the satirists, and not to mention the well researched and methodological studies of other left-wing conspiracy theorists, are gagged and smothered by the largely right-wing conservative owned means to production and distribution, globally speaking. Once again the neuro-linguistic toolkit has been used in different ways for different ends.  

Robert Anton Wilson demonstrates by example, with his scientific humanism, warm hearted skepticism or better yet zeteticism, and more than 15 published non-fiction books, that a conspiracy theorist can be just one hat of many, one hat of a multitude of hats. A neurological relativist hat and/or, a semantic hygienist hat, and/or a model agnostic hat, can help lead us to new vistas of discovery, to different angles of perception, not just fucking one, one monotheistic absolute truth. Are you mad. Open your eyes. Plus, like James Joyce succeeded in doing, uncle Bob can sure make the people chuckle a little bit too. Alex Jones is about as witty as a bag of peanut dust. 

I hope you will begin the struggle ahead to nullify and show to be false, these dangerous exaggerations and divisive strategies employed by the new word order. 

-Steve Fly 'Agaric 23' Pratt.
Amsterdam. 09/12/16

“…the "obscenity" is in the mind of the person passing judgements. It is, in Freudian terms, a projection, in which the mind imagines that its own contents are outside itself in the external universe; or, in semantic terms, a "confusion of the levels of abstraction," in which the mind's own machinery is identified with the non-mental things it is attempting to understand.—Robert Anton Wilson, Ishtar Rising. 

Resources and Sources and links of interest:


A trip up mount Snowdon

This photo montage and trip report is dedicated to my loving parents and their spirit for adventure. Both in their 70s now, this journey to the summit of mount Snowdon just yesterday was in celebration of 49 years of happy marriage. 49 years! a testament to love and understanding, so rare these days in relationships. Congratulations. Love, steve.