We are the Gaian shit

[RonnySimulacrum]

Story time. We come up with these things and need somewhere post them, so here it is, why i do not know. This is a story, not my take on life. Some emphases has been lost in the conversion, very sorry, hope it still makes some sense.

All bullshit that follows is copyright to Jonathan Carmichael/shaman-australis etc, 2002.

We are the Gaian shit

You are I and I am you

2:27 PM coffee coffee, presenting complete semblance, apply myself, apply myself.

Evolve-develop-enlarge-maturation-progression-expansion-increase

Human-anthropoid-fleshly-mortal-natural-individual-mortal-soul-(Archaic Woman)

Paradise-city of God-heavenly kingdom-utopia-garden of Eden-celestial

Babel-Where it is said an ancient tower was attempted with the propose of reaching the

heavens and confounding of language occurred.

Gaia-gaea-earth goddess

Power-authority-dominance-supremacy-prerogative-right-forcefulness

Knowledge-judgment-information-consciousness-enlightenment-science-erudite

Capitalism-free enterprise-laissez faire-private ownership-world class

Marxism-

Truth-authentic-natural-pure-legitimate-unerringly-veraciously-correct

Art-aptitude-knowledge-mastery-astuteness-trickery-virtuosity

Copy-facsimile-fake-replicate-transcription-emulate-simulate

Drone-buzz-intone-monotonously-murmuring

Babel-confused mixture of sounds-confusion-disorder-pandemonium

Cynicism-misanthropy-disbelief-sardonicism-pessimism

Nihilism-agnosticism-nothingness-denial-disorder-terrorism or revolutionary

Machinery-apparatus-instrument-appliance-automation-robot-zombie

Revolutionary-insurrectionary-mutineer-rebel-subversive-avant-garde-fundamental

Freedom-privilege-autonomy-deliverance-release-liberty-unconstraint

Data-information-input-statistics-dope-documents-facts-materials

Cybernetics-

Technognostic-

Posthuman-

Eschatology-

Transend-exist above and independent of the universe-pre-eminent-ascendancy-sublime

Apocalyptic-ominous-oracular-revelational-prophetic-vatic-portentous-doom

4:35 PM the end of slavery is approaching for the day

I get in my door about six, that fuck in the apartment next door just gave me that look again. Sit down, contemplate my next move that is obviously related to food.

Buy it, cook it, not eat, go to a friend’s house and eat their mother’s cooking.

Someone is at the door, I can hear them marauding out the front of my apartment, the door is open, I shout and Mr. History enters.

He sits on the couch, reaches in his bag and pulls out his mix bowl, scissors and a bag of Chiba.

Well, a three-course meal has arrived for someone. Mr. History always effects me but never really addresses me directly.

Chop, chop, chop, burp, chop.

I will take this slight interruption and delay to intelligence as an opportunity to recite a parable.

Ok, well I live in some shitty part of Melbourne in a three-story apartment block that is always on the verge of collapsing or becoming a public health crisis. The residents all have some kind of ducted heating unit that is linked and does not heat or cool but simply blows, no matter what the temperature. Now we also have a notice board on the bottom floor for complaints and suggestions, not that there is any serious statement on it just;

FUCK YOU ALL

BOB your hair is so shit and you better stop seeing my wife or you are existence zero.

Aids is what the Christian refer to as Karma

S11-M1

“God came for you, love him and receive eternal life”. Obviously this notice reads something like this after a day, “God came on you, fuck him and receive eternal fellatio”.

Anyway there is one complaint that keeps getting posted that reads “Miss Sheffield can you please stop burning your eggs at 6: 45 in the morning, we can all smell it through the air vents”. So, my point is that the smells from one apartment get filtered in to all the other apartments.

Chop… chop.

So what I am interested in is the fact that Mr. History has been smoking cones in my apartment three times a week and no one complains. I am curious about this. Now to me the smell has become a coat of paint on the walls and it ceases to affect me, but it travels straight into the duct and on into the other apartments. Why does no one complain? Eggs are not contraband. Well I assert that all these old fogies, single mums and hermits enjoy their satanic fix. It serves the purpose of there weekly insurrection, they just have to turn a blind eye and let others do the ‘wrong things’. They enjoy it, knowing that it reflects their wrong doings by not making it a conscious problem. Lying back on the couch reconstructing their own hippie hey day, or dream they are a policeman trying to solve the case of the mysterious drug user in the mist. Mr. History’s hobby is an insightful mystery that allows all the residents in the apartment block to take on another personality. They gain gratification and escape through the dream machine that Mr. History creates/incites. It is their exile from television, where they can rediscover conscious dreaming, travelling through vistas of mystic thought. Explore their internal landscape. Avert their daily suppression. The suppression by things like television, which controlled and dictated their, so called escape. Your Oz is programmed. Multi-national media corporations dictate the light in the box. They only give a shit about getting you to buy shit that you can’t use, and can’t fit on top of the other shit you don’t use.

Chop… chop… the bong is under the tap

So this I believe is why the cops are never kicking down my door. Mr. History provides all these people with a chance to remember or construct a life outside the walls that they are so often entrapped in.

Even if they have jobs this is a city, a city of walls.

Mr. History passes me a bong … and I blow the stagnant smoke straight up into the vent.

I did have a television, and I did like to turn it on sometimes. Until some fuck once said, “you know, I can fix the problem with the colour”, and low and behold the revelation arrived…it never worked again.

Mr. History asserts that all of reality is a simulation and if he wished he could turn me into a piece of cheese.

Obviously it is not that easy I say, or you would never be dry and smoking shit Chiba here 24/7. But rather be doing lines of cocaine in a field with your Playstation 2™ surrounded by naked woman.

Well, back to my food. I would like to cook something but I have no recipes. I watch people slaving over a meal, sometimes these cooks think they are fucking artists. I wish I were right now too.

Smoke drifts up to the vent

Oh, I lie, I have one recipe that my ex-girlfriend left on the fridge as told me “she was never coming back and I should seek counseling for my unexplainable social psychosis”.

The recipe reads;

RECIPE TO ENLIGHTEMENT IN THE MODERN WORLD

10 PARTS UN-QUESTIONABLE LOVE

AQUIRE A CAT (note: I had a cat once and it just followed me around all day waiting for me to propose to it)

A LITLE DRUG USE TO SUPRESS THE EGO

RESPECT FOR NATURE

SPACE FOR THE SOUL TO DEVELOP

FRENDSHIP TO STIMILATE THE INNER BEING

BOOKS TO DEVELOP THE INTELLECT

EXERCISE

GIVING ALL YOU HAVE TO OTHERS (note: how the fuck do I keep or feed my cat if I have to give it away)

PLANT A TREE ONCE A YEAR

OWN CRYSTALS TO WARD OFF EVIL VIBES

ONLY EAT MEAT WHEN YOUR MOTHER COOK’S IT FOR YOU (polite respect, I think)

If I could cook this shit I most definitely could not stomach it.

Mr. History is so stoned now he is talking to himself as usual. I have noted that the bong is a source of empowerment to a lot of people, not the Chiba but the bong, it is a stand in microphone. The subject just feels that they can fill the room with ‘their’ conversation of the most obscure themes. They just sit there with the bong in one hand, lighter in the other and talk utter shit. This can occur for up to twenty minutes until someone says “shut the fuck up and pull your cone”.

Mr. History is doing this right now, but I am used to it. It is what he does. He is “My Television and others fleeting freedom”. Like I said, he never really talks to me but to some hypothetical collective conscience that it appears, he believes, is publishing his every word for Uni students to analyze for it’s ‘obvious’ brilliance.

I’m sure that you have guessed that Mr. History is unemployed. He once had a job packing shelves at Safeway, but they fired him when they found him masturbating in the cold freezer. Why do I put up with him? Well he has never insulted me, never threatened me and he of course provides all the drugs. His pastime is to talk absolute shit, and since I know this, I believe it to be the basis of most friendships. Neither partner understands that they are just both talking shit, but when one does the friendship ends or one partner becomes the others’ subject. Therefore, I do not really believe I have a basis to throw Mr. History out of my life...yet anyway.

Listen to Mr. History for just one second, it is essential to listen to your history now and then anyway;

Darren and me were just siting on the car at the station selling drugs

to girls and boy in the public school system.

(Though it is obviously the parents of these responsible teenagers that are paying for their habits)

When two beautiful fluff girls emerged from the platform and came straight up to us. Covered in fluff from head to toe with little tails, their faces were covered in sparkles and they where both carrying E cases. ‘Hello my young friend, I said. They blushed and just gave us a flyer. Darren lit a cigarette for one of the girls, then they just winked and walked back down the platform towards the train, tails wagging.

It was not until about 10 O’clock at night after my nose had ripped a few points of speed, and my lungs a couple of billys that I found the flyer in my pocket. It read;

Join the ascension

Performances by:

DJ Transcendence, Alien Mushroom and morph-Data0110Elf001

Location: Top of Mount Donabuang

Check in at 12:30am

Departure at 3am

(Passport required)

Sometime later we were heading down towards the forest, the cold, dark abyss. Or one could say; the night was dark and stormy and we were in the thick of it. Anyway there were white lines disappearing under the car and white lines disappearing off my own reflection.

As we approached the top of the mountain the roadway became lined with fluorescent lights and fluff, it was like a fucking runway. This continued for about 3 km till we got to a parking lot and a barricade. There were people everywhere lined up, wandering aimlessly and dancing in the trees. This was a rave, but was it? Danny had a weird feeling, and I had almost hollowed out my mind just trying to drive to this altitude. So we get out with our passports and line up with the other members of the UV tinsel fluff race. You could hear Psy-Trance music emanating from the top of the mountain some 2 km away.

Someone behind me says “this is not a dress rehearsal”. We get to the barricade where they are checking passports and the guy gives us a funny look. The penetrating type that gives you Goosebumps all the way through to your soul. “First timers” I say and give him my passport. He looks it over and stamps it with something. “Open up” he says and puts a pill in my mouth. Noticing my distress, he comments; “you will need this, interstellar travel can be a rough ride”. So we are in, we are in, into where?

We got to the top of the hill and I was relieved to see it was just a rave, dancing, drums, fire twirling and mass drug use. Good fucking beats, gooooooood-fucking beats. Danny goes to the dance floor to boogie and I find a log where I can see the activity of the mass collective and sit starring at the stars.

The stars, the stars that night seemed all to near.

Fuck, the shit the man on the gateway gave me started to kick in, really kick in. I could see the fluff girls were dancing in the crowd. There was a tower for people to look out over the distant city, it was coated with a gold robe, that went all the way up the stairwell.

So I am on this log just starring out over a mass of moving bodies and I am starting to really lose my mind, blurred vision, too many fucking lights moving in every direction. I start to sort of dissolve back into the log and just let the beats reverberate through my mind. Slowly I am feeling myself fading, fade, faddddddddddd…dddddde.

The last thing I remember was the stars moving in on me, lights dancing in my mind and lots of people walking up the tower, lines of them. Like a queue for a rock concert or cattle standing in line at the slaughter yards. Then it all went away, I slid through myself and must have passed out on the log.

I awake the next day, in my car. Everything was gone, all the fluff monsters and all their cars and lights where gone. There was only Danny and I in my car. There were tourists starting to emerge to go on bush walks and setting up for picnics. All had departed, dissipated

Well, you can see what I have to deal with. The microphone is well and truly plugged in.

Wholeness

I wanted to talk a little here about wealth and unemployment. Every day I pass Centrelink on the way to work and see smack heads, single mums and innocent looking Christian types lined up to put in that piece of paper that is covered with lies from the Government and the bearer of the form. Now they are standing there with their last half empty pack of cigarettes, one dollar and torn clothes. They have the biggest frowns on their faces, as if a big dollop of bird shit just landed on them. They line the streets telling themselves they are the victims of a social holocaust. Well, Fuck them I say, all the people with jobs are worse, don’t get me wrong, and this is why; We, us the white people, with shit running through our veins. We, represent the top 3 percent of the socioeconomic ladder. We eat and shit capital, and then recycle it and eat it again. I know no one that has not eaten in more than 24 hours unless it is some political statement about the rest of the world that they really do not give a shit about anyway. We do not have the land mines we make in our streets, the guns we make on our shoulders. We sell our plutonium for Governments to hide behind. So you people with your house in the suburbs with a big fence and a big electronic gate, keep hiding from the problems you help create. You waiting for the train with no reason to get on other than it is warm and has the destination you lack. WE, US, YOU remind yourself that you are still richer than 97% of world, and all you can do is whinge. We, the white shit, are not as poor as we think we are. We are the mothers of the evil that we wish to ignore.

is

Oh shit the kettle is boiling over. Mr. History is reading Cosmo out loud.

Cyber-sex is healthy, and why

Look like this

Watch this

He must do this...or he is out

It is normal to gain pleasure from things like that

Buy this

Apply this twice daily

Eat this, not that

Spotlight on success

Oh the trope of popular intelligence, I smell a thought coming on;

found

Where are we headed, what social engine is driving us forward? What is the West attempting to assert in it’s own bedazzled self-constructed brilliance? God doesn’t know where the end of the line is anymore. What do we do with all this constructed capital and apparently valuable knowledge? God has fled the train of evolution and who or what is controlling it now, one dare not ask. If our ideological beliefs and assorted knowledge are at the forefront of human progress, as the majority of us believe (out of necessity), I eagerly plead with you to reassess this idea of progress. To where, at what point are we going to suddenly go, yes we understand we have led the world into a utopian land of understanding. We have ruined the environment and the earth to find out that it must have equaled this….”?”. The ‘truth’ my friend, IS this crusade for truth and knowledge, this western progress is a delusion of destruction. We the white, the colonizers, the savers, the constructors of meaning, the dictators, are we so nice, with innocent intentions. Understand every day you are a part of a matrix, which seeks to propagate a truth that is of the most destructive kind. We say that we do not hurt others, well think again.

…….Yes learn to think again.

We are evolving

We are moving forward

We are gaining the information we need;

The data of death, the voice of an end

Caffeine in my brain, work me harder baby

I cook some toast… Eat Vegemite™ our foreign owned nationality.

Mr. History is on the Internet now, downloading his consciousness. Then he is uploading his DNA to a representative of the ‘multinational conglomerate of discursive oppression. PTY LTD’, who send him an E-email that reads;

You are of no use to us

We estimate that you will die of a heart attack at age 49

“Have a nice day”

Mr. history is screaming as he receives techno-erotic pleasure from a Wetware virus. He believes that the virus is planning to propagate his son, to penetrate and crash the Microsoft web page. He will probably take down “Hotmail” while he is there.

in

You think I am preaching to you, don’t you, well maybe so, or maybe not. What I am sick of is all these fucking people, who are just inert, inflexible, static. I will not just sit here and “BuzzLikeAFridge”. I am sick to death of all this inaction. We have deliberately abolished our history so we can just have a state of sterile passivity. Everyday is made to feel the same, every year to have the same value. No history, no future one big flat line __________________________________________________________ I am not going to be like all of you “detuned radio[‘s]”, you are all just television static. Stand up, say something, get out of your stagnant repetition and stick up your hand. Yes, tell me I am preaching, tell me why, tell me something, just don’t sound like that constant drone any more, the one you know is there but forgot about, choose to forget about. Escape your SIMULACRUM. We have already simulated the apocalypse, lived it, dreamed it. Well it is upon us. Silence, emptiness inert time. Let us move on from our own ideological inflexibility and cultural repetition, break out, scream, and program your own future. Stop being the subject of hegemonic oppression, and be constructive, proactive. Aware, conscious, anti-semblance, awakened.

fragments

…Yes learn to think again

[This message has been edited by RonnySimulacrum (edited 10 November 2002).]

[RonnySimulacrum]

Part 2

All bullshit that follows is copyright to Jonathan Carmichael/shaman-australis etc, 2002.

IS THIS NATURAL SELECTION

In exactly the same place, some time in the future in the same parallel universe.

NOTE: The notice board in the lobby now reads as follows:

FUCK YOU ALL

BOB you are my wife

Aids is what the Christian refer to as Justice

S11-Afghanistan-

“God came on you, fuck him and receive eternal fellatio...Women need not apply”.

“Miss Sheffield can you please stop burning your eggs”

Mr. History puts down his GameBoy and picks up his bong

Well I have had some time to think about how all of this shit that surrounds us may have come about. So I wrote a poem and left it in my toilet for no one to see.

Don’t they get it?

We are the great Gaian shit

Yes we are, and that is all we are

All these people and their fucked up ideas

All forms of religion and 'science' have it backwards.

All the animals, all the plants, all of the organisms in the world throughout time

have absorbed elements from their environment and secreted them in some form.

From a dolphin down to an amoeba...they absorb, consume ...excrete, expel, shit.

Everyone tells himself or herself that we, ‘humans’ are the peak of evolution.

That mankind is the pinnacle of nature, that we are the chosen and we are somehow superior to the rest of the environment.

That we are the only sentient and conscious being in the universe.

The cutting edge of genetic evolution.

Bull fucking shit, they have it all wrong, we are what the great Gaian mother has rejected, excreted, WE ARE THE GREAT GAIA'N SHIT. The parasite.

We are the only organism that needs to speak–judge–catalog-understand

The rest of the environment is relatively speaking silent, and tranquil.

They gives and then takes equally, each individual organism is geared towards an exchange that maintains stability in the system.

The organism is connected in a big intersecting process, but we are very different, we know that but we are unable to admit that this is because WE are the rejected.

We are just the shit of the universe, a shit that may come in different flavors but we are all just nature’s shit, pleading for respect, praying with words that flood our constructed world of disorder..............we are one big bog, the bog of entropy.

We think we have lost something and try in our life to reclaim it, but the truth is that it is pushing us away, those spirits or gods as we call them are pushing us through their digestive system...we are rearing owe head out of the arse-end of the colon.

It is quite obvious to me at this point as I watch my newly acquired television that someone has activated an economically motivated ‘apocalypse media virus’. How has this occurred and how does it function you may ask. My theory is something to this effect;

Int. Pentagon. Basement. Day

Deep below the pentagon. A dark room with only a dim red light, a massive rectangular table, a map of the world with some darts in it. Four figures surround the table, one on each side.

Man with no Face.

We need something to kick start our economy that is not expanding

Dwarf 1

We could go to war with a another nation, that ought to get the $$$$$’s flowing

Man with no Face

Yes I think that is as good idea, but I think they may be on to that one.

Dwarf 2

Well we could blow something up on our side of the fence and then head off and invade some other poor, economically depraved country. Placing the blame for our destruction on someone else and their inferior beliefs.

Man with no Face

Getting there man. There are a few places in our very fine and FREE country that could do with a make over.

Green Man with Cigar

I have one for us, it’s a real goody.

Man with no Face

Well? Out with it boy or you will never get your ‘flux capacitor’ back.

Green Man with Cigar

We could just simulate an attack on ourselves and go blow the fuck out of some shitty nation with one of those really stupid religions and the people would assume that it is the end and go and buy all those irrelevant fetish goods we produce in the name of freedom. The economy ought to be back on track in weeks.

Dwarf 2

That wouldn’t work smartly, they could check and see if we actually destroyed something in our own country.

Man with no Face

The Little one has a good point Mr. Let me go home.

Green Man with Cigar

The solution is simple, just destroy someplace people would never want to go, or could not confirm due to reasons of national security, for example; right here, the Pentagon.

Man with no Face

Hell, they never did work out that Sadam Hussain was just some guy on welfare we paid to take a lot of pictures of did they?

Dwarf 1

No. Your Facelessness.

Dwarf 2

The plan has merit, but who is today’s enemy?

The Man with no Face picks up a dart from the table and throws it at a map of the world on the wall.

Green man with Cigar

Bingo, who did we hit?

Dwarf 2

Hawaii

Man with no Face

That is no good, the war will be over in a day. Your turn Mr. Let me go home.

Mr. Let me go home picks up a dart and throws it at the map

Dwarf 1

Looks like it landed in the right part of the map.

Dwarf 2 pulls his chair out and moves it over to the wall with the map on it and jumps up on the chair.

Green man with Cigar

Well what is it?

Man with no face

Spit it out, we are losing money by the minute, son.

Dwarf 2

It looks good, just let me get the dart out...Afghanistan it is.

The man with no face turns to Mr. let me go home

Man with no Face

Jolly good shot old chap. Now get those boys over at ‘Might and Magic’ onto the explosions and the rest will be history.

If we aren’t selling enough commodities by the end of the month due to paranoia and patriotism then we can always add a bit of bio terrorism into the mix, or think about throwing another dart.

Dwarf 1

So are we actually going to blow up the Afghani’s, in reality

Man with no face

The answer to that my friend is irrelevant

Shrieks of haunting laughter echo out the room.

Green man with Cigar

Ah Sir! I have one last question.

Man with no face

Yes what is that?

Green man with Cigar

When do I get to go home?

Man with no face

I have told you a hundred times, when we finish de-engineering your ship.

Green man with Cigar

Yes, I have heard that for 50 years now, but who the hell is going to put it back together for me? Can you tell me that?

CUT TO

Cause and effect...I tell you

Just imagine you could turn your life into a movie, an image, the currency of the postmodern masses. I think I will end my story this way, it is the cool thing to do nowadays isn’t it?

Int. Melbourne. Centrelink office. Day

There is a big queue of people lined up to hand in their forms. The lady behind the desk screams “next” in a drone voice. Lucifer wearing a lovely pin stripe suit steps up from the head of the queue and hand his form to the lady.

Lucifer

Ahh.. I was told that I was not allowed to move to a district that has a lower unemployment rating than the one I was currently living in.

Lady

Yes that is true sir, unless you can prove it is for real employment reasons. For example you have acquired some paying part time work in the region.

Lucifer

I was thinking about moving home where there is no employment, no stability and absolutely no system. And the only guiding principle is entropy.

Lady

I am very regretful to inform your sir, that if you where to do this Centrelink would discontinue your payment.

Lucifer reaches into his pocket and withdraws a half empty pack of Marlboro Reds and lighting one up with his Zippo he walks out of Centrelink blowing smoke at all the pregnant women that stand in line.

Int. Melbourne. Three-story apartment block. Day.

Mr. History looks over at his friend who is eating a Four-and-Twenty-Pie ™ and starring down at the cars going past on the street below. Then Mr. History slowly tilts his head up and blows smoke up into the vent. Our protagonist look up from the window and turns to Mr. History.

Protagonist

I imagine there is an UN-‘free’ world somewhere, where people could discuss things freely.

FADE TO BLACK

[RonnySimulacrum]

I know it is to fucking long;

But if you did read it, your comments would be appreciated

Thanks

[waterdragon]

i read it and it's too fuckin long, and you're a freak and we should get together one day for sacrament 'testing'. and i found it thought provoking and cynical(i,too do a good cynical) in parts. there y'are.

[gomaos]

Yeah it's good, it's never too long, you can always read it twice or more often,

carry on, man...

[This message has been edited by gomaos (edited 13 November 2002).]

[RonnySimulacrum]

Thank gomaos. Have you got another story for us or are you out of condoms---are i mean paper.

[gomaos]

Hmmm.....could prolly dig up something...most of all I wished I'd write something new...but that muse doesn't kiss me any more...bitch...

[RonnySimulacrum]

That is life?....what is the fucking time 508am...shit i should get a job?

[RonnySimulacrum]

We should collect some short stores/mad Babel into a book?

[gomaos]

I agree, but how do we go about it?

[RonnySimulacrum]

I think there is a lot of people running around this and site like it that do a lot of interesting things, Write music, stores, filmmakers, pictures/art and the like. There is also some of them that know (or are) music producers, editors and publishers. So all we have to do is get their attention and get the fillers out there and it may happen. I have only been on this site for 8 moths or so and I have read some cool stuff so If we dig back a bite I thing we could fill a book. So to have a 100 page book with art and stuff would not be that hard. If we all pledge to by the book and they publisher knows that they will get say 200 sales from us a lone then we may just get owe selves out there. If places like Polyester Book and the Herbal Highs shops said yes we would stock a book written by Australian psychedelic heads then it probably would happen.

O is there already one out there? Anyone know?

[gomaos]

Sounds real good to me!

Wonder what the chief thinks about this...

Torsten?

Or is he not interested?

Torsten what happened to the book with tripping exoeriences and the one about salvia?

[RonnySimulacrum]

Do not think many people make it down to this part of the site.

That is very unfortunate

Art is life-----and-----Life is art

May be we just have to do something that people will like..........But then it probably would not be Art.

[Torsten]

I see my contribution to that idea as mainly in this site. So,as soon as I get more time I will put some effort into the content of this site rather than just the tech side of things.

The salvia book is on indefinite hold. I need to breathe.

[Guest reville]

Originally posted by Torsten:

I need to breathe.

You do

[gomaos]

Originally posted by RonnySimulacrum:

Art is life-----and-----Life is art

May be we just have to do something that people will like..........But then it probably would not be Art

Well if I knew how to do that I'd probably be rich.

Looks like it's up to ourselves, Ronny S.

Would there be any other people possibly interested in such a project?

[RonnySimulacrum]

Not shore how feasible it is with just too people?

But we could possible start something like “The Australian Online journal of psychedelic inspired and associated art”

Would be a lot of work. People could come and post stuff....ect.-------from this, if the works are good and we get lots of submissions we could produce a book of stores, pictures, poetry music and the like.

Or something like this anyway.

What you think??????anyone?????

[RonnySimulacrum]

Cat got your tongue gomaos

[This message has been edited by RonnySimulacrum (edited 10 December 2002).]

[Yeti101]

Ronny, well done man, that was excellent. Trippy, cynical, with brilliant pace and breathless rythym. Written in a way that my creative writing tutor at uni would hate. Which is good, because I disagree with almost everything he said about style.

Yeah I'd be up for getting stuff in a book or online journal or whatever. I'd contribute, but it really depends what kind of material is wanted.

[gomaos]

Originally posted by RonnySimulacrum:

Cat got your tongue gomaos

Not really, I just thought that most of the things you were proposing, are already being done: Here.

Should you want to start something seperate, I'd be part of it, if you'd wanted me to.....

[RonnySimulacrum]

Thanks for your encouraging comments YETI101. Put a smile on my face. And hope to see you post something for us to read soon.

Gomaos; I meet a guy up at the eclipse festival that is trying to get something in to print very similar to what we have been speaking about....Lets see how he goes about it and how it terns out, and or if he sales any.

[RonnySimulacrum]

I had an interesting two hour discussion the other day with Rak Razam about psychedelic litterateur as fictional genera. He had seemed to have had a bit of success getting his works published. He implied he had found his markets in the overseas Science Fiction Online magazines. We both seemed two be essentially trying to do the same thing, that is writhing psychedelic works and trying to get them out in to culture. We also both felt that SF was the best place to try and do this. May be next time I see him I will ask if he knows any one else that may be of use to all us Ethnoheads writers.

[gomaos]

Originally posted by RonnySimulacrum:

Gomaos; I meet a guy up at the eclipse festival that is trying to get something in to print very similar to what we have been speaking about....Lets see how he goes about it and how it terns out, and or if he sales any.

Just wondering if Anything came off it...?

[RonnySimulacrum]

NO

Now ALL of that just seams like a distant DREAM