27-11-2010, 11:06 AM
I had hopes of an interesting discussion on this subject which interests me, but this sadly didn’t materialize. What did materialize reminded me more of a “seance evening” in a Victorian parlour where tables would inexplicably lift, disembodied rapping's would be heard and combined hands would shoot around the table as though a group of people were stirring ectoplasm in a giant invisible pudding bowl.
After having dimmed the lights, the medium Dawson voided all thoughts from his mind, and voluntarily opened himself up to channel beings from other dimensions - notably the EF. This usually resulted in lower forms of life manifesting through the technique of automatic writing, often resulting in nonsense and vulgarity. But sometimes a truly evil spirit would intrude; heads would be twisted, vomit projected outwards, eyes bulged and “you old sack of shit” spewed forth from the possessed medium’s mouth.
But every now and then (three times) he would channel a superior being from the Royal Australian Navy’s far flung outpost on the distant star system Zeta Reticula, namely the Jackanapes of Jabberwocky, the Slick Sleuth of Zeta, the Mountebank of Moon Fakery, the Cosmic Clown of Constellations.... I give you Lt. Evan-Clouseau (and traveling companion, his donkey “Brain”).
With murmurs of “ooohhh” and aaahhh”, from the audience, a great juggling of facts and figures would take place, to be followed by their miraculous rearrangement into patterns of logic too advanced for human minds to comprehend.
Thaumaturgic tyres would drive over inch deep dust and leave no trail. The channelled Majesty of Mumbo-Jumbo would explain how the special “NASA man” tyres were designed to act as a “flour-sieve dusting over their own tracks” as they went so as to leave no record of their passing - presumably to avoid detection by hostile bushmen, injun’s, aborigines and other natives of the moon. But sadly for we simple mortals, NASA man hadn’t had quite enough time to perfect the planned “flubber” for the soles of the Astronauts boots, so they left their tracks in the dust in the time honoured fashion (watch your backs for incoming boomerangs and arrows boys!).
You know how sometimes “if you ever ride a push-bike/motorbike/car on dirt tracks you probably would’ve noticed that sometimes you leave an imprint behind you, but a lot of the time you don’t”. “Lack of tracks will occur in some locations.”
Actually Evan, I haven’t noticed that happening when boot tracks are left. Must be the flour-sieve dusting thaumaturgic tyre phenomenon exclusive to Zeta Reticuli.
Say hello to Donkey for me.
Now fuck off! - and don’t ever try to sneakily intrude here again using your dumb-ass cats-paws.
After having dimmed the lights, the medium Dawson voided all thoughts from his mind, and voluntarily opened himself up to channel beings from other dimensions - notably the EF. This usually resulted in lower forms of life manifesting through the technique of automatic writing, often resulting in nonsense and vulgarity. But sometimes a truly evil spirit would intrude; heads would be twisted, vomit projected outwards, eyes bulged and “you old sack of shit” spewed forth from the possessed medium’s mouth.
But every now and then (three times) he would channel a superior being from the Royal Australian Navy’s far flung outpost on the distant star system Zeta Reticula, namely the Jackanapes of Jabberwocky, the Slick Sleuth of Zeta, the Mountebank of Moon Fakery, the Cosmic Clown of Constellations.... I give you Lt. Evan-Clouseau (and traveling companion, his donkey “Brain”).
With murmurs of “ooohhh” and aaahhh”, from the audience, a great juggling of facts and figures would take place, to be followed by their miraculous rearrangement into patterns of logic too advanced for human minds to comprehend.
Thaumaturgic tyres would drive over inch deep dust and leave no trail. The channelled Majesty of Mumbo-Jumbo would explain how the special “NASA man” tyres were designed to act as a “flour-sieve dusting over their own tracks” as they went so as to leave no record of their passing - presumably to avoid detection by hostile bushmen, injun’s, aborigines and other natives of the moon. But sadly for we simple mortals, NASA man hadn’t had quite enough time to perfect the planned “flubber” for the soles of the Astronauts boots, so they left their tracks in the dust in the time honoured fashion (watch your backs for incoming boomerangs and arrows boys!).
You know how sometimes “if you ever ride a push-bike/motorbike/car on dirt tracks you probably would’ve noticed that sometimes you leave an imprint behind you, but a lot of the time you don’t”. “Lack of tracks will occur in some locations.”
Actually Evan, I haven’t noticed that happening when boot tracks are left. Must be the flour-sieve dusting thaumaturgic tyre phenomenon exclusive to Zeta Reticuli.
Say hello to Donkey for me.
Now fuck off! - and don’t ever try to sneakily intrude here again using your dumb-ass cats-paws.
The shadow is a moral problem that challenges the whole ego-personality, for no one can become conscious of the shadow without considerable moral effort. To become conscious of it involves recognizing the dark aspects of the personality as present and real. This act is the essential condition for any kind of self-knowledge.
Carl Jung - Aion (1951). CW 9, Part II: P.14