Chapter Five:  The Variable Incipiency
Conversation with eM on the Variable Incipiency
An excerpt from Chapter IV, " My Reality is youir Delusion."
from
Life and Times of Wotan: Diaries and Letters From the Crib

It was a warm day that spring, as I recall.  The garden at La Casa Monastery was lush with the promise of fertility, fruit, flowers, and farm
fresh vegetables.  The scent of citrus blossoms filled the air with their rich fragrance, and the bees and other pollinating insects were
industriously buzzing about their assignments, collecting pollen and enjoying their bountiful intercourse with the blossoms. ‘eM and I had spent a
leisurely pleasant morning, free from the usual tiresome responsibilities of our station in life. We had dined at a secluded table set beside the pole
bean trellis,  on a broth of warm chicken stock sprinkled with an assortment of finely diced vegetables, zucchini, blue potato, yellow and red
tomato and rice because eM had no teeth and was still recovering from the painful extractions.  A copy of ‘eM’s “Elegant Mathematics” which
had only recently been published, was nearby, and my own “Autobiography of Cripple Critical Math” was soon to follow.  As to exactly how ‘it’
happened, I can only report how it seemed to me.  A rather untidy pile of banana skins in all stages of deterioration lay in a planter nearby, under
the overarching limbs of a dwarf nectarine tree.  I recall ‘eM speculating that the gardener Ickanus was up to his old tricks, probably
experimenting with some new fertilizer fad. A formidable flotilla of hundreds of fruit flies was feeding with polite but responsible frenzy upon
this blackened mess of molecules at the time, although they were not bothering us. I believe it was I who looked over at eM and, clearing my
throat, said "eM, eM." eM then looked at me and with the oddest expression on his face and said: "Do you actually mean to imply that pile of
crud is “Molecular Money?”  And the next thing I knew eM was scrawling a formula on the table cloth with a felt tip pen.

It read:         “Economy over economics = money market {rate} times calories squared”   

And as we now know, it was that astonishing formulation which later gives birth to what has been referred to in all the economic journals as
‘the variable incipiency,’ the awesome moment when “all that had gone before would soon be entirely swept away…”  

Within weeks of our conversation, Brother Mysticus at the PWA published his seminal treatise, “On the Economy and Environment of Bugs,"
which laid out the essential definitions and calculations of LEVERAGE [Literally Everything Has Value, Even RAGE]. At that point we
understood the decimal value of a single calorie, and the full implications of a caloric bank account. If bugs could do it, why couldn’t we?

Then “TODD” at Tidbit picked up the gauntlet and published
“Theories on Domestication of Decimals,” culminating in the invention of the
DDT or “digital decimal terminal,”  the implant that tabulates body resources, calculates calories ingested, digested, stored, and utilized for
energy needs. The implant’s wi-fi capabilities provided O. Olaf at $Run and $Rhythm with the graphical data necessary to his calculations. Soon,
his Health and Fitness Spas began to organize the treadmill parties which proved electricity could be produced economically by anyone willing to
‘pump up’ pennies on a StarTrak treadmill or bike.  The electricity generated by leg power alone in any gym on the planet could be collected,
stored, bundled and sold on the open market, and the proceeds deposited in individual accounts at TWAT:  Tribal Waters and Tokens, a
subsidiary of ABBOT: Amalgamated Brotherhood Bank of Trust.  Then came “Bank Your Rage with U.S. (for Real Estate Bargains)” because
even backyard dirt now had value on the molecular money market exchanges operated by the New York financial arm of “Universal Stuff” and
the west coast financial wing of  “It’s All Good: In-greed-ience R US.”

Next, marketing of the “Treadmill Tracker, The Crackerjack Calculator” was so successful that in the first year alone over $27 billion dollars
changed hands in the NYSE financial markets. And that was just seed money for RATT (Replicator and Transporter Technologies), TIT
(Transportal Innovations Terminals), BIRD (Binary Institute: Research and Development) and BATH ( Basic Algorithms [for] The Home).

The astonishing technological breakthrough manifested by the programmable RATT 21, the first molecular oven, made the culinary arts almost
obsolete overnight.  Any diet, meal, dish, desert, condiment, cookie, beverage, bean or bacon that had been, was, or ever would be, was now at
the fingertips of anyone who could afford the oven. Common garden dirt, dung, dog food, dead leaves, garbage, trash—anything with molecular
content—could be shoveled into a convenient exterior hopper, and transformed by transporter algorithms into delicious, nutritious food and
beverages.  Distilled illusions had now become reality…

But that was not the end. The McCullough Corporation, the company that had produced Ickanus’s McCullough chipper shredder, had carefully
followed all technological trends associated with the above chain saw of events.  And their revolutionary “Spider House” was eventually capable
of counting everything.  Since everything with molecular content had value-- the very dust particles in the air, the scab on your nose, the
contents of your garage, even the timbers themselves, the nails, the drywall, grass clippings, used Kleenex, old clothing, rags, granny’s own
false teeth--everything represented “cash or food” so who really needed to work any longer? Not me, not you, not anybody at all (and that was a
big problem for B.U.S.H.)

The initial revolutionary line of spider houses designed by the architectural firm of Graven ‘n Images dazzled the eye (as well as the
pocketbook), but rapid innovations soon brought the condo price down considerably. Never before could the average American purchase almost
total economic freedom from the ‘system’ through the acquisition of a modest home.  If one factored in just the expenses associated with
energy, food, clothing, shoes, drugs, medications, and booze, it became crystal clear.  Investing in a spider house, although expensive, was no
more expensive than living in a conventional home with no budget and labor saving devices built in.  Since ‘everything’ was recyclable, the
spider home’s built in replicators could supply food for the kitchen and blankets for the bedroom, toiletries for the bathroom and tools for the
garage; you name it and you got it. Trips to the market? Gone! Shopping Centers? Gone! Gas stations? Gone! Drugstores? Gone!  Mass
Marketing? Gone! Health Spas and Gyms? Gone! Bloomingdales, Costco, Ralphs, Sears, Mervins, Target, Neiman Marcus, Wal-Mart, Wall
Greens, all one after another gone, gone, gone.  Then even jewelry could be replicated, and watches, and crystal goblets, and bars of precious
metals, if the ingredients were available. It was a staggering, almost incomprehensible chain saw series of events, grinding up everyone and
everything in its path. Whole industries were born, flourished and died in a matter of weeks…to be replaced by more comprehensive, better
organized, cheaper means of production, with product lines catering to the desires of those who promoted instantaneous fetishes and fads.
Anyone still following the news was bombarded with new deals, spin-offs, leveraged buyouts, vulture investments, bottom feeding, and hostile
takeovers.  Drag n Drop, which developed and manufactured a new cough drop in the form of a dragon, was swallowed whole by MAMBA,
(Muscle and Membrane) which no less than a month later was digested by MAM i.e. (Medications and Medicinals International Exchange). Then
MAM i.e. went down under the guns of DRIP (Death Rays in Progress) organized under the umbrella of the new financial syndicate MOBB
(Membership of Blue Bulls, Bears, Balls, Bats, and Billy Goat Butts). While the trembling civilized world watched with deepening degrees of
astonishment, shock, awe and wonder, the ponderous drum crescendo of events led to the formation of Motions Unlimited, the holding
company for MO Motorized, the public travel and transportation systems that harnessed transporter technologies and applied them to public
transit.  Suddenly, most trains, planes, buses, passenger cars, bicycles, and taxi’s were obsolete.  

And out of this maelstrom of turbulence arose fantastic wealth and its concomitant (economic power) which manifested itself in the creation of
fabulous estates and palaces, inhabited by 21st century tycoons and their multi-lateral families, concubines, cooks, and legion upon legion of
employees responsible for the maintenance of intellects vast and cool, cunning and calculating, carnivorous and omnipotent, with egos like gods
issuing edicts from mountain tops, all molecules recycled, stored, banked, bean counted and blessed.  House of Ike,  House of Hung Hong,  
House of Milton The Cracker King whose estates manufactured and marketed ‘Soil Ant Green,’   House of  TnT,  House eM,  House of
MOOM,  House of Jimmie,  House Mysticus,  House of  Woton,  Imperial House Corrino,  House of  Toltec Huemac,  House Vulva,  House
Albóndiga (Meatball), House of Ratt TiT and Bird Bath,  House of  TWAT,  House Wackr, House Psycho of Symbolust,  House Spielberg of
DOOM,  SPIDER HOUSE,  CIDER HOUSE of Insiders,  House of the 12 Blue Balls,  House of GORE,   House of GULP,  House Crassius,
House of Shylock Chan, House of Bush ‘n Saud,  House of Hook, House of Catrina Aldonza Teresa Habaniero Y Yolanda (sometimes the House
of Hot and Saucy) how the list grew ever more gargantuan, with pantagruelian pontification.

For some, then, it came as no surprise when new hordes of alien inferiors began to wade ashore, across borders, from everywhere, whence and
when.  If you thought about it, why not? Nobody really had to work any longer, what with the bread and beef handouts sponsored by political
parties of every coloration and stripe.  Bribery simply became like, well, a new form of social security, an investment really, and an indication
that somebody somewhere else had a tiny bit of your best interest at heart.  What did your crummy vote matter anymore anyhow to you? One
man, one vote_ simply ridiculous when you knew every board of every bank, insurance company, brokerage house, financial establishment,
medical institution, HMO, University, industrial concern, oil monopoly, and energy player could buy anybody, anything, any service, any time it
pleased? When running for office now cost $240 billion dollars even in a local election? Who were they trying to kid?  

And since almost everybody could already replicate most of the necessities (at least here in the U.S.) nobody else could really sell anything much
at all as a result, unless it was something new. You see, what you had to do was get your hands on something [or somebody] nobody else could
make because they didn’t know how it worked in the first place. It was also about that time when social services became KING.  What good
was any glove, bat or baseball you ever wanted, if you still couldn’t hit the long ball?  Yes, you could buy the muscle power and the frame for it,
but you couldn’t buy the talent you needed to go with it.  Anybody could bulk up with biceps, a beautiful bust line, huge hips, long legs, and
webbed feet if you wanted, but nobody had yet figured out a way to provide the inherited virtuosity to fill out the package.  You couldn’t just
order up Beethoven’s musical ability, tap dancing by Sammy, or tennis talent like Pancho Gonzales or Roger the Riveter Federer. Furthermore,
since very few middle class people needed to work any longer, the big corporations couldn’t dangle a crummy paycheck in front of you, just so
you could feed the old lady and the kids.  That left people with genuine talent in the driver’s seat, sitting beside the usual politically and socially
advantaged. You simply had to find some way to appeal to people who already had most of what they needed, or you couldn’t stay in business.
And just imagine all the tax write offs you would lose as a result?  It was a veritable crying shame! The result of all these connected trends was--
almost instantaneous
oddness.

Furthermore, even though everybody’s dirt had value, everybody didn’t own the same quality or amount of dirt. The average jug head still
couldn’t compete with, for example, the combine that owned Canadian Shale Sands: Oil Depositors, The Royal family at Triple S [Saudi Silicon
Sandwich], Peruvian Atacama Actualities [PA3] or Cairo Sahara’s Holy Sensations.  Rocky Mountain Rackets and Pacific Ocean Seafoods:
Flora and Fauna were similarly simply off the economic scaly where the typical Mo and Joe was concerned.  But don’t forget, although any
bimbo could still blow you off the road, if you really wanted good bimbo you had to pay for the tail with talents….         
Notwithstanding the above, the weights and measures boys (bean counters) with marginal
mathematical talent have reached the following conclusions with respect to the recycle project.

A single fresh banana skin on average (taking into account local atmospheric pressure, sea level,
and humidity) weighs around three (3) ounces.  Thus two skins a day totals to six (6) ounces,
times 365 (the number of days in a year) equals seven hundred and thirty (730) ounces of skin...

Now since a pound (1 lb.) is equal to sixteen ounces (16 oz.) it follows with exacting mathematical
rigor that a year's supply of banana skins would weigh 138.88 pounds.  Clearly, for several years
now, a great untapped resource of recyclable banana bits has been slipping through our fingers here
at La Casa, if you can follow the drift of this bean counter logic which has reverberated throughout
the community committee infrastructure with astonishing rapidity.  

The second photo shows fresh banana skins added to a test bin, while the third photo shows the
same bin at third stage degradation of banana skins after three weeks of exposure to high humidity,
a factor only recently taken into account in our base calculations. Note the Persian melon sprouts
cannibalizing on the bounty of the banana bits, clear evidence of the potential for increased
abundance which our statistical boys are sure to suggest...

This photo is a piece of natural eye candy taken from above, looking into the ultimate recycle
center, where the final stages of processing occur. Here, a rich mixture of fungus, flies, worms,
unidentified bugs and other slimy creatures is busily at work reducing collected kitchen scraps to
marketable by-products which will eventually be sprinkled around the backyard. Turning this pile of
putrid potential over with a shovel provides some of the most spectacular pieces of evidence to
support our theory that the goin’ bananas project is almost certain to be a remarkable agribusiness
and financial success.  
It has been our practice here at La Casa to consume ripe bananas daily in the morning with our tea and
coffee. Years have gone by with no change to this daily regimen.  However, clever mathematical
calculations have come to light recently, culminating in the formation of a new policy with respect to
this official practice (i.e. two bananas daily for 365 days = 730 banana skins.) Acting upon the
expressed mandate of the La Casa Committee for recycling and Consumption (of all edible
comestibles, and their non-consumable by-products) the chief gardener was directed to recycle two
banana skins daily for a period of one year, taking into account a count of all subsequent production
data and figures for crops, rotated or otherwise.  Naturally, the point being to evaluate what effect the
recycle project has upon the crop data collected by the Committee On Status: Analytic Systems
(cosas).  All required paperwork was completed in triplicate and forwarded to LA CASA Labor
Auxiliary: Capitol and Services Administration in order to facilitate collection of bribes demanded by
migrant labor forces and Union Yocals, those rounded up and assigned their respective duties
accordingly  (i.e. according to level of education attained in primary school).   
   "Going Bananas"
by Padre Flem Ickanus,  Horticultural Consultant, La Casa Sanitarium
March 07 Quarterly Edition
One of many Test Composting Bins at
La Casa Experimental Gardens
Conversation with eM:
Excerpt from Chapter V, “Let Me Feel You Up: My Cup Runneth Over”
from  
Life and Times of Woton: Diaries and Letters From the Crib

No arena of human endeavor has ever escaped the tenacious tentacles of human bondage we know to be sprung from the spring of man’s
primal procreative instincts.  When ‘it’ suddenly happened, there was simply no way to keep sex and sexual activities out of it. Indeed, some
already have concluded that were it not for the ongoing evolutionary fundamentals of the world wide sex industry, the meager economies in
several minor countries would simply have suffered a virtual collapse. No amount of encyclopedic stationary would suffice to capture the totality
of this sectarian sexuality, thus the following brief recollections reflect a mere scrape of the respectable surface so to speak.  And, since a hint
of the activities of the pornographic motion pictures industries will be dealt with elsewhere, here we must be satisfied with a constructive
restriction to the major players and their prurient partners.  

First came the obvious bottom feeders such as House of Piggy's Ham and Hocks and the still popular Dr.
Head at Growl sLAND (Greater
Regional Howl, Olaf’s Water Lilies, Satyr Ladies and Nympho’s Delightful). And who could forget Sal at Slack Attack [Slick Ladies’
Attractions] whose motto was “Shack up with us when you need to get it up, get over it, or get on with it.”  TUSH [Tramps U Shag] and TWIT
[Twat in Transit} both soon countered with offers to provide service delivered right at your front door, literally.  An unfavorable culture wide
rise in contagious medical complications was countered by S-Wise at Wobble Wooly [“Sex Without Immediate Side Effects”].  House of Sultry
Slattern [HOSS]  jumped on the publishing band wagon with its new uptown culture magazines: “SAL [Sex and Leisure], SUCKer [Sex Under
Cooking Circumstances], and SLIT Woman’s Fashions Mag8Muffy  [Satyr Ladies in Training].  Their motto: “You simply must stay and flow
with the current!”  Other trade magazines quickly sprang up with both banged out hard copy and internet sites. Sphigmoid Partners in Progress,
originally a medical devices manufacturer of sphincters and sphygmomanometers, quickly morphed itself into the murkier sectors of the
business, while AL at Islands of Langerhans (“Hear our specialties”) swallowed up most of the kinky call clinics and centers, through a series of
murderous mergers and acquisitions.  

Soon, “Cookie” [“Cool Cunt Immediately”] and “Bi-Sexual Mag Ma Nifty” were available at all the corner news stands of any metropolitan city
east of the Mississippi. The west was largely under the critically fractious control of Bander-snatch EsQ, and the nefarious Gentleman’s Club
known as Chicks UT B-Pit, “Chuck’s Uptight Chicks: Best Pussy in Town.”   As most of the mom and pop internet sites that tried to drum up
body business were either busted up, broken down, or driven out of town, here will be mentioned only the Ebony Gorillas and Ivory Godzilla’s
of WeCOON FFFF [West Coast Offices of Neutron’s Fictive Factors Fiction Factory], which moved with astonishing speed to provide an array
of services no one else had ever dreamed of stream lining, with telemetrics, and temporal warp speed.  In fact their line of tumescent tinker toys
remains to this day one of the most successful business ventures ever to rise to the level of over a trillion dollars in average annual sales.  No
‘customer’ any longer ever needed to feel embarrassment or the slightest inadequacy due to the size of their sexual equipment, its erectile status,
performance, or function.  Any size you wanted, any length, thickness, coloration, accoutrement or transistorized battery powered ‘kick it up a
notch’ appendage was now readily available along with the wardrobe alterations to accommodate the package.  In a sense the sky was no longer
the limit, if you know what I mean, and there were plenty of people willing to jack up their ego and id [ergonomic gonadal ordnance: implosive
device].      
Conversation with eM:
Excerpt from Chapter VI, "In Fashions, Ontogeny Always Recapitulates Phylogeny,"  
from Life and Times of Wotan: Diaries and Letters From the Crib

Clearly, if you have the slightest sense of fashion awareness, you already know that nothing has really changed very much over the time span of
the Homo referred to rather casually as 'sapient'. Since you are born with two arms and two legs attached to a torso, with an endoskeleton
consisting of a spinal column upon whose upper terminus is attached a skull, with an internal cavity, an associated brain pan, a lower mandible
and an external auditory meatus (two actually), there are only a few basic patterns which may be utilized for the purpose of protecting your
offspring from the elements. Naturally, you could do the job with just a few animal skins--some rabbit fur, deer hide, a few feathers for
effect--but much of what passes for 'fashion' is merely a mathematical variation on patterns first laid out using materials similar to the above.
The word 'fashion' itself comes down to us from Latin (via Old French and Medieval English) and means simply "the make, form or shape of a
thing." Now, as in a great many activities engaged in by the descendants of those upright hominids who first climbed down out of the trees and
began to exploit the resources of the grassy savannas, men and women as a species are almost never satisfied for any prolonged period with
what they have to wear, and are therefore incessantly preoccupied with trying to find something different, something special; especially
something that sets them off from the rest of the crowd of Neanderthals and Cro-Magnons they happen to be hanging out with at the moment.
This propensity for attracting attention undoubtedly occupied the efforts of both of the sexes, without question, for thousands of years and lead
to an enormous amount of activity on the part of those in the tribe who could master the intricacies of sinew and bone awl, or as we know them
today, a needle and thread. If cornered then, we must, perforce, concede that although nothing in fashion is ever truly new, it is in the best
interest of most of us to pretend that it is and to defend that argumentative position to the death. Thus, with this thought in mind, I proceed,
somewhat mincingly, to explore the world of fashion in the mode
rn sense.

After the great 'it' happened and the ordinary dude could acquire his basic duds for a few shovels full of his back yard, a very desperate
economic depression in the former fashions industries led to wholesale and retail riots in the garment and textile sectors of the 'old economy'
world wide. Needless to say, cotton farmers and cotton pickers everywhere were forced to practice extreme forms of diet in their daily lives, to
mention just a few of the peripheral consequences. But as usual, out of the ashes of the old c.o. {coronary onslaught} rose the Phoenix of the
new. And it began with one unique VIPl [very implacable personality] who saw vip2 "Vastly Improved Possibilities," and founded the fashion
house now known everywhere on the planet as House of Jimmie [et. al.]. And since every body else was spending all their time simply trying to
catch up, here we shall be primarily concerned with what it was that set Jimmie's house head 'n shoulders above all the rest. Again, let me
explain.

The people who have all the
extra money are the people who dictate the fashions. Let's be clear about that, so we can assign them the symbol
'eM.' Also, just to keep things simple, we will assign the notion of fashions the symbol 'Fuss.' It follows then that the fuss over fashions is
largely the product of 'all the money' times 'all the fuss' right? Well, that seemingly simple equation was first nailed down (upon a cross of gold)
by none other than Jimmie the Hutt, founder, CEO, Chairman of the Board and sole stock holder of House of Jimmie.

Of course Jimmie the Hutt couldn't do it all himself, so he enlisted and organized all his brightest relatives to administer the projects. Together,
the seven initial members of the board began to acquire resources and build the single greatest fashion empire known to man. And it all began
with the subsidiary now called VISIONS (Visible Ions, a division of G4) Glimmering Gowns from Glorious Galore. But before the dust of this
incredible dust up had even begun to settle, along came Jimmie's second subsidiary, VIZIONS (Virtual Zions) The Jewish Fashion House of
Heba Frantic with its Viziers, the invisible brassieres and other undergarments that beggared the imagination of all but the retarded few. From
there it was but a short jump to Hopps, House of Poncho's Panties, and Gepettoe's Falsettos, which specialized in cod pieces with candy flavors
(and their famous motto: You can lick me naked).Then, anyone with the correct amount of cash could acquire the flawless line of vegetable
based creams and love lotions marketed by Viggie et.Vags, or the incredibly lightweight but sparkling, florescent nasal jewelry, nose plugs, lip
rings, piercings or implants from Rhinoplastic Primal Processes. To add to the fuss of the ongoing veritable revolution in progress, came
Chubaca's Cholula Saucy, where one could acquire the latest IWows by GiGi who capitalized upon the rush to display one's pubis, with a series
of cleverly designed formal gowns and an informal line of apparel by Brown Freud, the lounge lizard himself. Of the some 200 subsidiaries that
remain to be unmentioned, let me end this brief accolade with a few words about DT's (Dentures Trustworthy) and the inexpressibly ineffable
line of products and services available at M n M's (Madonna Makeovers: "Total Ellen's toenails, tattoos, and ladida" [eyes, lips, labia, ears, nose
and nostrils]. No woman had any excuse whatsoever any longer. Whatever your problem was, House of Jimmie had an answer just for you and
you and you. Anything you wanted, anywhere you wanted it, remove it, replace it, enlarge it, reduce it, and that is absolutely "No Shit!"
from Life and Times of Wotan: Diaries and Letters From the Crib

Thus was the condition of society changed for everyone.  As you now know, no one really needed to work any longer once they had acquired
the proper essentials (a spider house equipped with all the latest fabrication or replicator technology).  Typically that would have been reason
enough for the great masses of middle class humanity to kick back and forget the nine to five grind, the crummy assembly line, the tedium, the
boredom and the stultifying inanity of the ‘previous reality’.   Release from their daily routines, however, proved not to be the ultimate Nirvana
(paradise) for everyone.  No!  For shortly after the celebrating ended, after the drunken parties, pot orgies, debaucheries, and 40 day binges
were wrung from their systems, the average Joe and his current Jane awoke to the fact that leisure itself posed an entirely new constellation of
problems.  When I really don’t have to do much of anything, just what is it that I do want to do?  You see, any action or activity repeated too
often, over and over again, in itself soon becomes relentlessly boring.  “I know,” you say to yourself, “but geez, just let me find out for
myself!”  And that is exactly what happened.

Soon, millions and millions of average middle class citizens began to realize that having it all (almost all that is) at their fingertips—what you
wanted to wear, eat, drink, smoke, inhale, inject, or diddle—was not the answer to the riddle of existence.  Oh, it wasn’t all bad; don’t get me
wrong.  Nobody really wanted to go back to the old system no matter how bored he got.  But, well, something was certainly missing, a spark,
that thrill, kick, buzz, a sudden feeling of anticipation or excitement, had suddenly been struck from the system.  That old song “I get no kicks
from Champaign…” was a well lamented refrain heard daily on the radio (yes, radio survived because it was still basically useful).  After they
had fed the kids and completed the other rather modest household chores, people just couldn’t seem to figure out what they really cared about.  
Most had no hobbies about which they were passionate, did not really enjoy reading, study, research, or serious learning about anything new.  In
fact that ‘stuff’ was what they had enjoyed being able to forget all about…until oddly, whether you believe it or not, the suicide rate eventually
began to go up.

Two years after ‘it’ happened, the number of self-inflicted gunshot wounds to the head had skyrocketed by 243%.  Automobile accidents
caused by excessive speeding, running signals, ignoring common roadside warnings, and ‘driving under the influence of everything’ (literally
potted on pills, drugs, alcohol, battery acid etc. all at the same time)  increased 423%.  People hung themselves from light posts, bridges, train
trestles, their dining room chandeliers and the trees in their front yard.  They took poison, slashed their wrists and throats, impaled themselves
on wrought iron fences, leaped from high places, and in general took their lives in ways that both staggered the senses and challenged the
imagination of survivors to comprehend.  Then they began to kill each other.

“He was just so ugly!”  “She was a bum roll in the hay…”  I didn’t like the way his teeth stuck out under his upper lip!”  “The fucker was a
born shithead.”  “He cut me off, he pissed me off, he ran me off, he ripped me off, he jacked me off…”  “She never shut up.”  “She wouldn’t
give head…”  “She was always late.”  “She snored.”   ‘He smelled, you know, wrong.”  Whatever it was, it was apparently enough to set
somebody off.  And the murderous rage lasted for over three years.  By then, just about everybody who had been unable to adapt had been
simply eliminated, terminated, exterminated, ambushed, bush whacked, or otherwise attacked, blasted, bludgeoned, garroted, waylaid, or
dismembered…

Of course, during this unspeakable yet remarkable period of mayhem, those who were merely bystanders began to have serious doubts about the
future.  I mean, you naturally began to wonder if you yourself were going to make it.  And there was still that perplexing problem to solve: what
is it that I really want to do?  What do I really care about doing after I have done what little I really have to do?  You see, it just doesn’t take
much of your time to shovel a few pounds of backyard dirt into the replicator hopper.  And you can only spend so much time changing outfits,
playing Canasta, and yacking with the neighbors.  Besides, can you really trust the neighbors?  (Freddie across the street seemed a little wild-
eyed yesterday, don’t you think?)

They say that “Nature abhors a vacuum.”  [One reason why ‘they’ never identify themselves is because they hope to avoid the usual intellectual
repercussions.] Of the many individual interpretations for this pithy dictum, it seems obvious that nature is generally willing to ignore any aspect
of the environment that might prove hostile or onerous to life.  (It is said that blue green algae not only grow but actually thrive in the coolant
waters surrounding the core of a nuclear reactor.)  Because nature has always suffered from this cold, calculating and obviously indifferent
tendency, it came to pass that the void created by the rise in the suicide/homicide rate was gradually filled by humans who had not only survived
the atrocities spoken of above but who had actually learned to thrive in the evolving environment.

“Ars longa, vita brevis.”    ART [is] long, life [is]short.

Before ‘it happened,’ the life career of an artist was in many ways unsatisfactory.  Only a few achieved the recognition that provided a decent
income while most labored in the vineyard of their craft without the world paying attention one way or the other.  Most artists typically struggled
to earn even the barest of essentials for survival, unable even to sell their handiwork let alone earn from it a decent income.  They relied on other
odd jobs, often of a low and unsavory nature, to support their passion for the arts.  The new reality, however, changed all that.  You see, it was
their desire to create, their tendency to push aside all other considerations in order to pursue their passion, which made artists as a class more
suited to the new realities of life.  They knew what they cared about; it was that simple.  
Freed from the shackles of a system that ignored them,
given the luxuries of self sustainment granted by the new
economy, they shoveled dirt like everyone else.  But
when the replicator hopper was filled, they could pursue
their wildest dreams.  Never before in the history of
humankind had so many been given the extraordinary
benefits (free time and lunch) once granted only to the
few, the rich and the incredibly wealthy.  The artist
Porfirio T. DotGravey, (a Master in the digital pointillist
medium of the Post Outsider Non-Ism Movement) has
captured in the paintings here what he calls the essence
of the life of an artist before and after ‘it.’ At left, the
grim visage of an art ghoul gagged by desperation and
about to consume its own tail is replaced by the cosmic
egg cracked open, its iridescent star burst of possibility
revealed.



Dateline: Irvine City Hall

Garment Tycoon Winds up Ratted out by the Cops

District Attorney for the City of Irvine Sylvester S. Whorthless today announced the arrest of Jimmie the Abominable for failure to pay sales and
income taxes on illicit profits from the sale of ‘black market voodoo fetish paraphernalia’. One of seven brothers reputed to be the disputed
owners of House of the Seven Jimmies, a subsidiary of Jimmie’s Publication Enterprises, Jimmie the Abominable was taken into custody early
this morning at his posh Malibo Beach home, after authorities had established a criminal connection between the suspect and two renegade police
officers assigned to the Irvine Highway Patrol.  Apparently, the two officers, Detectives Rudy and Rapid Randy Panky, now under indictment as
well, were operating a clandestine ‘evidence for sale’ operation after pilfering from the evidence locker for the Highway Patrol in Irvine.  The
indictment against Jimmie alleges that he knowingly foisted off bogus and essentially worthless trinkets as authentic voodoo fetishes to the two
policemen, both of whom were duped by the fakes, who then sold the items to patients at a local sanitarium for filthy lucre or clandestine sexual
favors.  The two officers had gained access to the sanitarium as a result of an earlier investigation into the death of the institution’s chief
gardener, Brother Flem Ickanus.  

Jimmie the Abominable achieved an international reputation in the world of fashion through his association with Jimmie Walkabout, whose one-
legged jumpsuits created a veritable storm of professional envy among the fashion houses of the Balkans and Eastern Europe.  Jimmie the A.s
expertise lay, however, in the meticulous production of custom fitted cockhorns, carved out of wood, stone, ivory or jade, and guaranteed to
perform over a lifetime of conspicuous public display.  His line of fashionable codpieces simply broke the mold where conservative bulge was
concerned, and collectors to this day engage in international bidding wars whenever one of his diamond and ruby studded coital creations is
placed upon the auction market.  Those in the know have speculated that Jimmie the Abominable grew tired of life in the shadow of his more
successful younger brother (i.e. Jimmie Walkabout) and used his carving skills and considerable social connections to pursue other avenues of
income.  Jimmie’s lawyer, Manual O’Kelly Gaspardin, who has litigated for House of Jimmie on numerous occasions, has asserted publicly that,
far from being ‘worthless trinkets,’ Jimmie’s fetishes rise to the level of masterful pieces, the proof for which is obvious to anyone with the
intelligence above a goat.  Indeed, according to Gaspardin, Jimmie’s “Evil Woman Fetish Series,” for example (now in the exclusive possession
of House of Ike) was fought over by several bidders, including none other than Dr. Ronald Yeager, Curator for the Getty Museum Foundation
and Trust.  The Panky’s claim to have been ‘duped by Jimmie’ is “officious poppycock from those seeking to avoid prosecution for their own
duplicitous machinations” (lawyer talk for the fact that the Panky’s were selling Jimmie’s fetishes to hapless patients at La Casa whose mental
state made them easy targets for the graft.  As to the accusation that Jimmie failed to pay taxes on the profits from his sale of fetishes,
Gaspardin is quoted as replying:  “I assure you I’m going to enjoy making fools of these peckerwoods in court.”          
                                           Newsletter On-Line

Sotheby’s Announces Dotty Fetish on Sale to the Highest Bidder
by freelance writer E. Ike

The prestigious fine arts auction house, Sotheby’s Unlimited, has recently announced it intends to present at auction one of the finest works of
Master Sculptor Odd Jim Dotty,  a rising phenomenon in the International Trade in Fetish Fashions.  Dotty’s ‘inspirations,’ as they are often
referred to by collectors, have captured the minds, hearts, and pocket books of a hoard of international devotees whose incessant clamor for his
work has reached a new height of cacophonous yowling even by the standards of a common back yard cat fight.   Seen here in two views taken
for the pre-auction exhibit, it is clear that Dotty spares no effort in his quest to identify and skewer those aspects of the female anomie which he
feels compelled to excoriate.  Dotty’s Fetishes appeal with a directness and clarity often absent in the genre due to the fact that his creative
process begins with the selection of a very particular piece of wood.  To Dotty, it is not so much the carving that matters [although it obviously
matters] as the dot painting which is added after the sculpting is completed.   

















As you can see in his latest creation, Dotty mingles a fine sense of posture and proportion with an exquisite appreciation for anatomical detail.  
These attributes are then coupled with extraordinary imagery, dotting, and superb line drawing.  It is this blend of elements, this conceptual
clarity, which gives Dotty’s fetishes (and his paintings) the attention his work so richly deserves. Notice the placement of the left arm and its
grace as it steadies the deadly load the Evil Woman carries upon her back, while the right arm dangles down as if crippled or malformed.  She
herself is divided by a darkened line which diverges to become a bodice below her staring, enigmatic frown.   The bags under her eyes, the
witchy eyebrows, the coarseness of the nose and mouth, combined with the laughing skulls—all these particulars meant to convey to us the
price she has paid for her relentless effort to survive…if not to dominate and prevail…  
What really sets Dotty’s effort
apart is the meticulous
placement of thousands of tiny
dots to form an image so
refined as to boggle the mind
of those whose eye hand
coordination remains at the
level of a plumber’s assistant.
From:                Brother Crassius Granddicularis, La Casa Capital and Services Administration
To:                    Brother Mysticus, Corresponding Secretary, PWA
Subject:            Apologia for I.T.

Dear Brother Mysticus,

It is my sad responsibility to inform you of an egregious case of identity theft our organization has detected with respect to the IT Project
known as SD 109.  As you know, the Shared Dimension (sometimes humorously referred to as the ‘Shared Delusion’) project provided in house
computer terminals and internet access to a range of patient residents here at La Casa, among whom were patients housed in the megalomania
wards of the high security wing known as the M-Complex.  While there has been some improvement in the general physical condition of those
patients participating in the project, this has not been the case with the patient identified as Pardot Kines Spielberg (Planetologist of Doom).  Dr.
Niels Nailer, Deputy Superintendent of Impatient Services and Division Manager at Cryptic (responsible for monitoring all egressive and
ingressive patient electronic communications) has reported to me that his bio-logic filters (some sort of technical jargon for hard-wired
surveillance software) have only recently identified a pattern of ingenious protocols which allowed the above named patient to “pose” as it were
as if he were actually you. Naturally, we here at La Casa Capital and Services Administration are simply devastated by the embarrassment this
discovery has caused, and we are working assiduously with all affected parties to repair the nefarious consequences of this despicable betrayal
of trust.  

If you would be so kind as to review your email for the past year or so, we would be especially interested to know of any unusual or bizarre
correspondence you have received that might shed light upon our efforts to correct the historical record.  We have substantial reason to believe
Pardot Kines’ has used your identity to promote invidious comparisons and insidious misunderstandings among his adversaries in the M-
Complex.

As to the particulars, apparently, Pardot Kines developed an algorithm that reprogrammed Nailer’s bio-logic filters into accepting the designation
eM as an appropriate ‘shadow alias’ for M (your own personal bio-filter graphic) and thus Kines was able to ‘pose’ as you in critical
correspondence with others.  This was apparently possible because Kines had learned somehow that the surveillance devices used at La Casa to
monitor the M-Complex patient activities in their private cubicles were programmed to respond to patient aliases, in order to keep the audio input
consistent with the visual record.  Otherwise, nobody would have been able to tell which patient persona was ‘in control’ at any given moment.  
I am told that Kines was fanatically consistent in his impersonation of you, even to the extent of emulating your body language, personal
mannerisms, and voice quality.  Those who have analyzed the surveillance video records for Kines’ cubicle all agree that Kines applied make-up,
clothing, and other theatrical aids in modifying his appearance to resemble you.  So successful was he in this regard that Kines eventually
interacted with other patients in the exercise yard, gardener’s compound and M-wing refectory, without being recognized as Kines, so polished
and confident was he of his blatant identity theft.  

It is also clear, now that we know of his chicanery, that Kines had, for all practical purposes, assumed your identity in order to promote his
hypothetical authorial career. You see, Kines was laboring under the preposterous misapprehension that he was somehow composing a science
fiction novel with the, in my opinion, amusing title “Conversations with eM on the Variable Incipiency.”  This drivel, a copy of which can be
made available to you upon request, rests upon an assumption so uncritical in its invocation as to warrant your utmost admonition.  Bolting
together the barest bones of mechanical claptrap, including a chipper shredder, some pumps and piping, and other primitive gismos, Kines
assumed his readers would accept the premise that an entirely new technology and economy rises out of the ashes of the old, due to a few
remarkable inventions, the ideas for which he obviously stole from old episodes of the sci-fi serial “Startrek.”  Furthermore, little of the basic
material in this manuscript appears to have been original with Kines himself.  Much of the ideational verbiage, conceptual puns, and acronymical
word play were contributed by the patient known as Woton, whose padded cell lies adjacent to Kines’ own in the M-Complex. Obviously the
two were co-accomplices in the shoddy enterprise, and we have taken steps to terminate their interactions with extreme prejudice…Whether this
policy will result in an efficacious outcome for the innocent as well as the abused is anyone’s guess.

Needless to say, the extent of this ‘conspiracy of dunces’ remains to be fully fathomed and I am sure there will be other ‘revelations’ of an
unsavory nature to follow.  May I say, however, that although we here at La Casa remain dedicated to the axiom that “We can have it both
ways…” there does appear now to be some warranted uncertainty about the accuracy and historical implications of this dictum (i.e. reductio ad
absurdum).

Sincerely,

Brother Crassius   
Southey's Both Advertises and Disclaims Long Awaited Garage Sale
Notice to all bidders on Items from the “Collected Works of Garage School Artists”
Southey’s, the auctioneer, its employees, or representatives disavow any legal responsibility for pre-auction claims, news, reports, rumors etc.,
both published and otherwise, as to the true monetary value of the items for sale here to the highest bidder. The disclaimer (below) is offered
merely as information compiled by others, and the auctioneer assumes no responsibility for its veracity whatsoever.  

                           
 The Garage School, Its Neo-Primitives and Non-Isms

It has long been suspected that genius is often not so much a benefit as a curse. Truly gifted individuals frequently experience acute despair,
depression and suicidal tendencies as a by-product of their otherwise exceptional abilities. Historically, they have cut off their ears, mutilated
their genitals, chopped off fingers and hands, and exterminated themselves by any grisly means at hand.  They have blown their brains out with
revolvers and shotguns, poisoned themselves, abused themselves including with alcohol, overdosed on drugs, walked into airplane propellers,
hung themselves and committed hari kari to name just a few. Nor does their intelligence protect them from the more serious mental problems.  
But recently it has come to the attention of mental health authorities that a particular school of Southern California artists who practice their
profession out of the family garage (?) may have tilted with the statistics in relatively new and unsuspected ways. Some indication of the
symptoms these individuals exhibit can be gleaned from the following.

In “Mental Health Disorders and the Garage School” [Artsy Fartsy Online, June 2007] the reputed neuro-pathologist, Dr. J., Psychocrat of
Symbolust remarked that “members of this movement are prone to dissociation, often resulting in multiple personality, selective amnesia, and
fugue states.” AKA Khan, Executive Editor for Artsy Fartsy, noted in introductory remarks made before an unveiling of a Dotty painting at the
Zen Baptist Mystic Positivism facility in Van Nuys that Odd Jim “suffers from various psychological ailments…” including a sexual aversion, of
all things, to poison ivy.  Dotty is extremely withdrawn and reclusive, is known to eat only infrequently, never answers his email, and his
psychic confusion extends to the interplanetary level as he is apparently unaware of whether he has or is his own brother, a degree of
uncertainty that has perplexed a long list of Freudian Psychologist who have been called upon to treat him over the years. It is rumored that
Dotty occasionally abuses himself while he works, and that he has an uncontrollable passion for cheap red wine which he swigs right out of the
bottle.

Another case in point is that of Ace Turner (the minimalist painter Ugh Toad) who suffers from recurring symptoms of a bizarre malady
recently identified as ‘Borscht belt-o-mania,’ a condition so rare as to be considered one of a kind by the American Psychiatric Association.  
Toad’s minimalist images themselves, recently exhibited on the internet, leave little doubt about the deranged intellect that resides within the
tortured corpse he claims to inhabit. And his mistress, GULP, the Apache Attaché, has only recently been released from an asylum in Irvine
where she was treated for multiple problems including drug and alcohol addiction, dissociative personality disorder (the delusion that she was an
Aztec concubine skilled in the sexual practices of the Court of the Aztec King, Nezahualcoyotl, Tlatoani of Texcoco) to name just a few.  Her
autobiography, “Memoirs of an American Slut,” published by Simon and Shyster, is said to exhibit the full range of Garage School literary
aberrations (exaggerated hysterical iconoclasm mingled with aw shucks metaphors and preposterous antics).

The bizarro award, however, may rightfully belong to the sculptor and author who calls himself Eucalyptus Ike, whose real name is, of course,
P.T. Gravey, a certified lunatic who has spent the last thirty years of his life in and out of mental institutions where he has become a legend in
the annals of schizoid schizophrenia, having now morphed himself into over 37 known personalities existing inside his hairy cranium with little
awareness of each other.
Indeed, Gravey’s symptoms both stagger the imagination and render useless the adjectives of English. Gravey’s
identities range from the benign to the impossible, from the pedantic to the angelic, the phlegmatic to the blood curdling, and the silly to the grave.

The psychiatric literature surrounding his aberrant behaviors alone now fills several volumes. It is therefore hard to imagine anyone ever taking
him or his writings seriously.
Continue
Interaction with other fields

Neurolinguistics is closely related to the field of psycholinguistics, which seeks to elucidate
the cognitive mechanisms of language by employing the traditional techniques of
experimental psychology; today, psycholinguistic and neurolinguistic theories often inform
one another, and there is much collaboration between the two fields .Much work in
neurolinguistics involves testing and evaluating theories put forth by psycholinguists and
theoretical linguists. In general, theoretical linguists propose models to explain the structure
of language and how language information is organized
; psycholinguists propose models
and algorithms to explain how language information is processed in the mind, and
neurolinguists analyze brain activity to infer how biological structures (such as neurons)
carry out those psycholinguistic processing algorithms. For example, experiments in
sentence processing have used the ELAN, N400, and P600 brain responses to examine how
physiological brain responses reflect the different predictions of sentence processing models
put forth by psycholinguists, such as Janet Fodor and Lyn Frazier's "serial" model, and
Theo Vosse and Gerard Kempen's "Unification model." Neurolinguists can also make new
predictions about the structure and organization of language based on insights about the
physiology of the brain, by "generalizing from the knowledge of neurological structures to

language structure."






C
O
R
P
U
S

C
A
L
L
O
S
U
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Surface of the human brain, with Brodmann
areas numbered (Wikipedia)
An image of neural pathways in the brain taken
using diffusion tensor imaging (Wikipedia)
Neurolinguistics

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia




Neurolinguistics is the study of the neural mechanisms in the human brain that control the
comprehension, production, and acquisition of language. As an interdisciplinary field,
neurolinguistics draws methodology and theory from fields such as neuroscience,
linguistics, cognitive science, neurobiology, communication disorders, neuropsychology,
and computer science. Researchers are drawn to the field from a variety of backgrounds,
bringing along a variety of experimental techniques as well as widely varying theoretical
perspectives. Much work in neurolinguistics is informed by models in psycholinguistics and
theoretical linguistics, and is focused on investigating how the brain can implement the
processes that theoretical and psycholinguistics propose are necessary in producing and
comprehending language. Neurolinguists study the physiological mechanisms by which the
brain processes information related to language, and evaluate linguistic and psycholinguistic
theories, using aphasiology, brain imaging, electrophysiology, and computer modeling.
Brain–computer interface

A brain–computer interface (BCI), sometimes called a direct neural interface or a brain–machine interface, is a direct communication pathway
between a brain and an external device. BCIs are often aimed at assisting, augmenting or repairing human cognitive or sensory-motor functions.
Research on BCIs began in the 1970s at the University of California Los Angeles (UCLA) under a grant from the National Science Foundation,
followed by a contract from DARPA. The papers published after this research also mark the first appearance of the expression brain–computer
interface in scientific literature. The field of BCI has since advanced mostly toward neuroprosthetics applications that aim at restoring damaged
hearing, sight and movement. Thanks to the remarkable cortical plasticity of the brain, signals from implanted prostheses can, after adaptation,
be handled by the brain like natural sensor or effector channels. Following years of animal experimentation, the first neuroprosthetic devices

implanted in humans appeared in the mid-nineties.

Computational neuroscience

Computational neuroscience is the study of brain function in terms of the information procesing properties of the structures that make up the
nervous system. It is an interdisciplinary science that links the diverse fields of neuroscience, cognitive science and psychology with electrical
engineering, computer science, mathematics and physics.
Computational neuroscience is somewhat distinct from psychological connectionism
and theories of learning from disciplines such as machine learning, neural networks and statistical learning theory in that it emphasizes
descriptions of functional and biologically realistic neurons (and neural systems) and their physiology and dynamics. These models capture the
essential features of the biological system at multiple spatial-temporal scales, from membrane currents, protein and chemical coupling to network
oscillations, columnar and topographic architecture and learning and memory. These computational models are used to frame hypotheses that
can be directly tested by current or future biological and/or psychological experiments. Currently, the field is undergoing a rapid expansion.
There are many software packages, such as GENESIS and NEURON, that allow rapid and systematic in silico modeling of realistic neurons.
Blue Brain, a project founded by Henry Markram from the École Polytechnique Fédérale de Lausanne, aims to construct a biophysically detailed
simulation of a cortical column on the Blue Gene supercomputer.



Imaging genetics

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Imaging genetics refers to the use of anatomical or physiological imaging technologies as phenotypic assays to evaluate genetic variation.
Scientists that first used the term imaging genetics were interested in how genes influence psychopathology and used functional neuroimaging to
investigate genes that are expressed in the brain (neuroimaging genetics). The University of California, Irvine hosts an annual conference in
January called the International Imaging Genetics Conference. This international symposium is held to assess the state of the art in the various
established fields of genetics and imaging, and to facilitate the transdisciplinary fusion needed to optimize the development of the emerging field
of Imaging Genetics. Upcoming conference details and the archives of past conferences can be found at the website [www.imaginggenetics.uci.
edu].

Molecular cellular cognition

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Molecular cellular cognition (MCC) is that branch of neuroscience that deals with the study of cognitive processes with approaches that integrate
molecular, cellular and behavioral mechanisms. Key goals of MCC studies include the derivation of molecular and cellular explanations of
cognitive processes, as well as finding mechanisms and treatments for cognitive disorders. Although closely connected with behavioral genetics,
MCC emphasizes the integration of molecular and cellular explanations of behaviour, instead of focusing on the connections between genes and
behavior. Unlike cognitive neuroscience, which historically has focused on the connection between human brain systems and behavior, the field
of MCC has used model organisms, such as mice, to study how molecular (ie. receptor, kinase activation, phosphatase regulation), intra-cellular
(i.e. dendritic processes), and inter-cellular processes (i.e. synaptic plasticity; network representations such as place fields) modulate cognitive
function. Methods employed in MCC include (but are not limited to) transgenic organisms (i.e. mice), viral vectors, pharmacology, in vitro and
in vivo electrophysiology, optogenetics, in vivo imaging, and behavioral analysis. Modeling is becoming an essential component of the field
because of the complexity of the multilevel data generated.

Neurometrics

Neurometrics is the science of measuring the underlying organization of the brain's electrical activity. Certain brainwave frequencies are
associated with general psychological processes. EEGs are used to measure the brain waves. According to E. Roy John, the pioneer in the field
of Neurometrics, Neurometrics is "a method of quantitiative EEG that provides a precise, reproducible estimate of the deviation of an individual
record from normal. This computer analysis makes it possible to detect and quantify abnormal brain organization, giving a quantatitive definition
of the severity of brain disease, and to identify subgroups of pathophysiological abnormalitites within groups of patients with similar clinical
symptoms. Reliable and meaningful results require an adequate amount of good quality raw data, correlated with age, transformed for Gaussian
distributions, and corrected for intercorrelations among measures. Neurometric analysis is able to detect consistent patterns of abnormalities in
patients with subtle cognitive dysfunctions and psychiatric disorders. These analyses may also prove useful in determining therapy and
monitoring its efficacy." (John, E. Roy. "Principles of Neurometrics." In American Journal of EEG Technology 1990. 30:251-266.)
upheavals, to name but a few, have, as you know, over the ages reduced the historical, archeological, stratigraphic and oceanic record to little
more than a few measly details upon which we of the present period are utterly dependent for our theoretical understanding of the ancients.
Nowhere, however, is our perspective as clouded as in our attempts to fathom the nuances of the metaphorical complexities of the language
known as ancient English.  A case in point concerns a digital rendering of the animalcule you see depicted here.  Originally designated as the
great ass of Baby-lion [Babylon], this apparently tiny herbivorous quadruped had survived for millions of years in modest numbers up until the
atomic catastrophes of the later part of the 21st century. Yet we know almost nothing about its relationship with the primitive humans of the
period.  Our only real clue, until recently, with the exception of this image, was the bi-nomial appellation [great ass] used by primitive English
speakers to refer to the creature itself.  Thus we are compelled to ask, why did the ancients refer to it as “great ass”? This question has
reverberated, through mouth to mouth resuscitation, down the hallowed halls and corridors of academia for untold generations. Take my word
for it. (Sounds of chuckling followed by a profound hacking cough, leading to spitting gobs of bloody phlegm.) The question, of course, would
be, of itself, and on the surface, of little historical value were it not for the fact that the term “great ass” has now been determined to occur in at
least two other ancient English texts which have aroused within the scholarly breast a deeply moving and intellectually intoxicated response.
Discovered in 6062 EGAD following excavations of collapsed salt caves in pre-dynamic U-Tah, an exceedingly rare compact disc was found to
contain brief records for the same historical period. Then, after close to 100 years of litigious litigation over the legal copyright to its contents, a
tedious examination of its digital remains in 6159 EGAD revealed a second startling (one might even be tempted to say bizarre) referent for the
term. Now generally referred to as the great ass of U-Tah,  this once closely guarded academic secret was eve
ntually released to the general
public
.
Slide One
Remarkables from the Lightweight Ligatures of Meldrick the Regurgitator
Taken from his “Universal Pity Diaries,” Chapter Six:  “Confounded Arcane Retrospectives”

The Date:        February 10, 6272 EGAD
Place:                Amerindo sub-Continent, Institute for the Study of Pre-dynamic Curiosities,  
Babelopolis Omniversity Depot of Archeo-Linguistics, Cogi-torium 2722
Time:                After lunch at a symposium held to celebrate the Tabernacle of Lingual Tribulations  
Interface:        An unexpurgated lecture
on tape (with slides) expressed in pre-dynamic English
(Sound track begins with someone blowing a nose filled with a gluey and viscous
substance…and then the clearing of a throat filled [apparently] with coagulated mucous)

Ancient history is rife with perplexing issues that have baffled the scholarly world for uncertain
millennia. For over two thousand years, for example, the most highly trained professionals in
fields as diverse as anatomy, animal science, cultural anthropology, evolutionary biology,
genetics, semantics, linguistics, lexicostatistics and optics have examined, theorized and debated
the significance of a modest collection of photographic data that somehow survived the
onslaught of the colossus of the cataclysmic ages. Atomic warfare, mass specie exterminations,
awesome continental weather catastrophes and unprecedented interplanetary and geomorphic
Naturally, there exists a considerable range of opinion about the form and nature of ancient languages and the
complex network of their referential and symbolic associations. Although we are quick to comprehend the obvious
relation between, say, the word ‘salt’ and the substance we sprinkle over our lettuce salad, we are not so fortunate
with respect to the complexities of abstract relationships such as the term ‘great ass’ presents for our review.  
Thus we are obligated to ask just what is it about these two divergent images that would cause the speakers of
ancient English to see
even a minimal iota of commonality?  Perhaps, then, you can understand why our very
brightest linguistic theorists have struggled with this enigma for more than a score of years.  Some have argued,
without merit in my opinion, that great
-ass-number-one is merely the evolutionary predecessor to great-ass-
number-two, that evolutionary biology might have turned a sow’s ear into a silk purse, so to speak. Others have
been quick to point out that the time span between the two occurrences does not allow for the evolutionary
changes in quadr
apedal bovine skeletal structure to have occurred. Nor could the forelimbs have evolved so
drastically in so sho
rt a period. Although the obvious hair loss exhibited by great ass no 2 might be explained by a
number of conditions associated with a change of diet, there is no explanation to account for why hair would be
retained in just a tender patch and on the head.  Furthermore, none of the extant theories is able to account in any
way for the third instance of the bi-nomial found on the disc.
Slide 1: First Great Ass of Babylon
Slide 2: Great Ass of U-tah
Shocked as they were by the occurrence of the U-tah great ass, you can imagine the reaction of the researchers
when they stumbled upon the next image. Labeled simply 'great ass wipe', this pre-dynamic image has baffled as
well as astonished (with undiminished frequency) every researcher who has attempted to explain the occurrence.

Literally no one, as of the present, has offered the slightest clue to
account for this bizarre concurrence of
events.  Whatever the ancients were thinking (they were undoubtedly going it alone in the universe of rational
discourse)
,  it is now suspected that this quality of irrationality alone, this confused state of intellection
confounded upon an inability to define coherent linguistic relationships, led ineluctably to their eventual demise.  
(Sounds of someone making a
Herculean attempt again to clear a tablespoon size wad of coagulated mucous from
his throat…). Yet, the above examples in no way exhaust the evidence for the phenomenon here under
examination as the following slides will undoubted reveal.   
Slide 3: great ass wipe
As you can see, there does not appear to be any rhyme or reason for such categorical confusions as are represented by these rather telling
examples. Apparently, the very basis of language application, including the agreements upon which meanings ultimately came to rest, was
stretched to the limit and then beyond by those who had unfortunately suffered the debilitating mental consequences of their species disastrous
environmental habits…

The tape ends with a wracking fit of applause interspersed with nose blowing, spitting and a final harsh guttural cough…
For reasons which specialists at this juncture can not easily explain, the ancients referred to the following items as indicated.
Both these were identified as cans,
Technically, those who have studied the curious onomastical behavior of the ancients now refer to the types of confusion exhibited by the
following examples as “signo-plastic-sign-a-sitis,” a semantic malady or condition which may have been the result of the general collapse of
civilization due to the series of catastrophes itemized above. Whatever the case, nevertheless, there appears to have occurred a general blurring
of the categorical boundaries surrounding the referential applications for a host of exceedingly common terms. Unfortunately, time constraints
agreed to by all speakers at the symposium will not allow us to consider more than a few of the most egregious examples.
while these were referred to as jugs.
but these were called melons,
and these were both knockers...
Curiously, here we have two sets of  balls...
And finally we are presented with three strange dicks...
two bushes,
and two pussies.
Conversations in the first true voices
Chapter Two: The Eyes of Mysticus; The Ears of Ike

To:        Dr. James Leon Mysticus, Chancellor, Graduate Division, University of California Los Angeles

From:            Gustav Leopold Tantalus, Administrative Treasurer, La Casa Sanitarium, Irvine
Subject:   Some Literary Effects of P.T. Gravey
Date:              November 20, 2003

Dear Sir:
As a board member and administrative treasurer of the La Casa Sanitarium, it is my responsibility to oversee legal matters of a financial nature
associated with the death of patients in the care of the facility. Since you are listed as one of the literary heirs in the will of one P.T. Gravey, it is
my sad duty to inform you of the passing of the patient, and to forward to you those of his effects for which legal title you have inherited
according to stipulation 27 of  Mr. Gravey’s last will and testament.

In the attached enclosure you will find the legal paperwork for the receipt of two documents (1) a manuscript Mr. Gravey was apparently
working on identified as the first tentative draft of “Letters from the Asylum,” which consists apparently of the first six or so chapters and (2) a
fragment in the form of a single chapter of a second manuscript which Mr. Gravey was also composing before his demise, apparently in
collaboration with another patient named E. Ike.  If you would be so kind as to read and sign the receipt, I will forward the documents by Fed
Ex Courier with instructions to return with the signed receipt.  I must also point out that I have been informed by the Gravey family lawyer, a
Mr. Manual O’Kelly Gaspardin, Attorney at Law, not to comply with stipulation 27 as the family intends to contest the legality of this particular
transfer of ownership, the details of which were stipulated in the list of Mr. Gravey’s last wishes. However, as I have not yet received a formal
court order to stay the transfer, I am proceeding in a timely manner in accordance with Mr. Gravey’s behest.

I understand, as well, through third party correspondence, that you are on the verge of retirement as Chancellor of the graduate division of the
university, and was wondering if you might consider accepting a position as Chief Psychiatrist and Chairman of the Board here at La Casa. A
generous stipend and well appointed living quarters on the sanitarium campus, along with a gardener, valet, butler, and limmo service are
included in the packaged offer as are excellent medical and dental services of the highest quality. If this offer is within the realm of your
retirement concerns, I and the other members of the board look forward to offering you the position.      

Yours truly,
G. L. Tantalus  

Mysticus was slightly miffed and somewhat baffled by the correspondence from the board at La Casa.  The letter Tantalus had written clearly
revealed that someone within the Office of the Chancellor had leaked highly confidential information about his impending retirement without his
express permission. That was a troubling development he would have to get to the bottom of.  There were already several confidential offers on
the table, and he was at this point reluctant to consider any of them until the full range of possibilities had been made clear to him. He had no
intention of rushing into any new position without a thorough review of all the particulars.  It was not a question of income or salary; he was
already very well off by any standard except that of the very, very rich. He could afford to take his time, spend some time traveling if he chose,
there were still a few places in the world he had not visited or seen in one capacity or another, whether traveling officially for the university or as
a private citizen with G.  Their recent trip to Ecuador came immediately to mind.  It had been a marvelous three weeks, ten days in the Andes
Mountains at altitudes of twelve to fourteen thousand feet, thirteen days in a sub-tropical rain forest and a week in the Amazon, in spite of the
heat, humidity and insects. They had seen close up over four hundred species of birds, Anaconda, Fer de Lance and vine snakes, five types of
monkies, giant river otters and innumerable tropical insects. One black ant, he recalled, was over an inch long and was said to have the most
painful bite in the animal kingdom. Perhaps he should release a few of those around the office…

Still, there was something very appealing about the Tantalus offer, above and beyond the living arrangements.The sanitarium was well located in
Southern Orange County, had extensive grounds, impeccable credentials, a world class staff, and generous backing both from the state and
federal government. Furthermore, it was a modern facility in every sense of the word. Its wards were well staffed, living and care facilities for
the patients were far above the norm for state supported institutions across the nation and its outlying grounds were devoted to ranching and
agricultural pursuits that were the envy of sanitariums throughout the civilized world. Then, there was also the variety of patients themselves.
Some of the most interesting cases in the history of aberrant behavior were known to be in custody there. Yes, some very interesting cases
indeed.

Mysticus shifted his position in the padded leather chair behind his exquisite mahogany desk. There had been only a few calls that morning, and
few appointments as well, to interrupt the reverie of his thoughts.  It had been a while since his professional duties had allowed him the luxury of
contemplating how he might spend his retirement years. This business about the university’s funding, and the disputes and maneuverings among
the various graduate departments, for the largest pieces of the endowment pie, remained a constant source of irritation and agitation to someone
with his responsibilities.  It would be a relief to leave it all to his replacement when the time came.

Deliberately abandoning this train of thought, he turned his attention to the red tabbed folder lying on his desk. It had been there since the day
before when it had been delivered by courier. He knew P.T. Gravey, naturally. Gravey had been one of his patients for several years when he
was in private practice, before he had accepted full time tenure as a professor at the university. In fact, probably very few people, including his
own family members, knew Gravey as well as Mysticus did. He had spent countless hours with Gravey in both professional and social
circumstances; they had even traveled together on long trips by vehicle, visiting national forests and campgrounds all across the west.  
Moreover, they had maintained a casual literary relationship by exchanging letters via email for well over the past ten years.
He wondered what Ike was up to, letting Gravey go under like that…

From Memoirs of Little Milton (The Cracker King)

He would emasculate as many adjectives as necessary to get at the truth, even blunder on to public territory and slaughter about 35 adverbs if he
needed to warm up.  He was the genuine “butcher” of language--which everyone expected--and he knew it; it fact that was merely a part of his
plan.  Infect as many minds as possible…that sort of thing. Anyway, it was his fate to be reasonably good at it. By the age of sixty he had
perpetrated a long list of verbal atrocities in his quest for an infamous destiny.  So, what did it matter to pretend to commit one more? His
literary crimes embraced a penchant for the petty, the slippery, the ambiguous narrative filled with misdirection, even devious at times, and
certainly cruel. But, how could you tell the story his way in any other way? Everything must be allowed, sacrificed, ground up into bits and re-
assembled or the entire project was going to be a disappointment; and nobody, absolutely nobody around here, wanted to experience the
consequences of that…Gravey could be a veritable demon in order to get his way…

Of course his vision was dire, ugly, unimaginably destructive,  evil on a cosmic scale. What else would you expect? This was not going to be a
charming little walk in the park, for anyone…I knew him well enough to know what was on his mind…If words have so little power, why is
Colonel Sanders so popular? (It isn’t his chicken which tastes like breaded cardboard.)  Everybody knew Gravey was a master of words, a
wordsmith of the first order; if Gravey set his mind to it, there was no stopping him, no stopping him at all.  He would devote every minute of
every hour of every day in a relentless quest to achieve his purpose, whatever it took, and no matter who got in his way…

It was not difficult for me, however, to decipher his purpose, what he intended to do, next…I’d read his dictionary several times until I was
thoroughly acquainted with its devious design. No matter how many times he broke the plot up into smaller and smaller pieces a careful reader
could re-assemble the splintered parts to ascertain their implications and chilling effects. Take, for example, the following entry from “Lucifer’s
Lexicon of the dark Design.”   

Dis-novels  [Received Standard Eng-fish] Of, related to or characterized by, those literary forms of the novel once common to the literature and
literary endeavors of literate souls in Hell and Limbo before the final decades of the 19th century. Of the dictionary or encyclopedic novels or
any of the lost genre forms practiced before the period of the Grand Purgation and Reorganization of Dis, before the study of literature and
literacy in general began its perilous decline, in the period following the dis-banding (1854) of the University of Dis at Dis-Paris, and before the
deliberate debasement of Dis-Spiranto worked its debilitating effects upon the articulate castes of the ruling plutocratic orders of devils.  
Specifically the lost genre forms such as the EGO, Allegorical Epics of Genetic Origination, the categorical forms of the Cons Clandestined
Destiny of the West, as well as the Gospels, Homiletic Forms, and Formulas of Soul Speculative Dream Powers and Visions, the Saga Songs of
Seminal Sadness, the Oracular and Tentacular Truth Sermons of Visionary Purpose, and the Jargon Passionate Crypto-Apostolic Novels of the
Anti-Christ and the Rapisto Priests.  

Yes, it was all there if you had the eyes to see it. And now Gravey had enlisted Ike to facilitate the process. And God only knew how many
others have been lured into the scheme by the two of them. I must pay careful attention in the commissary and the rectory, and specifically to
whom these two speak over the coming months…otherwise I’m never going to be able to see it coming…he thought.

Notes from Milton’s Diary posted a few days later:
Those ego-centrics whose cognitive functions remain trapped in intellectual dead zones are quick to refuse any necessity to adapt to a new
evolutionary construct, a new interpretation of ‘reality.’  They seek not to adjust to the demands of survival but to dither, to procrastinate, to
avoid hard choices, to deny the self-evident. They embrace that which they know instead of  that which they do not know, since what they do
not know they fear. Resistance to adaptations required by cultural anomalies, economic disasters, social upheavals, is therefore commonplace
among those who suffer this type of adaptational rigor mortis. Their thoughts do not resemble the horizontal and perpendicular juggernaut of a
Tong’s cognitive functions, no nothing like that at all. They will say “What is this crap? What is this horrible mishmash of disconnected
balderdash? What idiot wrote this colossally silly tripe? This fool’s rant?  It has no workable plot. It merely putters around introducing one
scatterbrained character and one silly idea after another. Thus they will be distracted, thrown off the scent, mis-directed into blind alleys, down
footpaths leading nowhere, befuddled by red herrings, irrelevancies, trivial anecdotes and all the rest. They will not see the fine thread spun right
there under their nose, the noose being tied, the net being deployed, the whole web itself until it is far too late…

Tong Myths from the Diary of Sweet Water Silke, Creche Mother of the Plaster Cave.

“Notes on the Voices of the Five Primary Ancestors”

Some old Tong believed that the hive itself never really existed. All those old stories about the desert, the old rock carvings, statues and
memorials, it was all just a bunch of hooey manufactured to deceive the authorities [the Ick] who ran the government and controlled the local
military forces at the time. Nobody really ever knew for sure, they said. Because nobody ever found it or reported they did, in spite of all the
efforts to root out the source of the so called malignant ‘genetic infestation’. Instead, they believed, the hive was simply a metaphor for
something else, something vast and deep inside even the old Ick themselves. They said it was like some kind of deep well, hidden for some
reason, even from the Tong, where the water was pure and sweet to the taste if only one could manage to reach it.  It’s odd, don’t you think,
when a Tong himself doesn’t know when he’s only half right…



Mysticus wasn’t sure himself exactly when he finally made up his mind to take on the position at La Casa.  He had spent most of the summer
of 2004 up in the mountains an hour and a half or so north of his home in Westwood, near the University.  He and G. had purchased a
luxuriously appointed house on about an acre of land with a creek running right beside the property. It was a prime location at 7600 feet even
when you took into account the surrounding area.  Pine Mountain homes, even small A-frame cabins, were keenly sought after by those who
visited the area. More than a few faculty and staff members at the university owned homes there as well. It was convenient because of the short
drive, and the services available locally made it a natural choice for retirees who could afford the very best. A couple of months spent in this
majestic solitude had been just what Mysticus needed to wash away most of the professional concerns that had dogged him as Chancellor for
the last several years.  

Of course, he had no intention of turning the appointment at La Casa into anything remotely approaching drudgery.  He would have a clinical
staff of four immediate supervisors to handle most of the grunt work, leaving him ample time and opportunities to explore his personal interests,
those peculiar patients he had been reading so much about. Perhaps he would even take time to socialize with Ike, see what the old fart was up
to. He’d have to be careful, he knew that…no sense in slipping back into one of Ike’s games, unless you were prepared to pay the piper…if you
know what I mean…



Ike was tickled pink and absolutely delighted when he learned near the end of the summer that Mysticus would soon be in a position to influence
events at the sanitarium. The announcement of his acceptance of the position of Chairman of the Board was received with considerable
enthusiasm by most of the members of the professional staff as well. Indeed, at least seven other residents of the M-ward had been introduced
at one time or other to Mysticus, or knew him as a result of hands on psychiatric treatment or because he had been a consultant on their case.
Even Little Milton knew Mysticus, although he was still afraid of him, which was about par for the course. Little Milton was afraid of almost
everyone…because he was, obviously, an extremely paranoid schizophrenic. It was important to smile all the while when you were talking to
him. But, in spite of his ‘deficiencies’ he could be very useful to have around.

For one thing he was an excellent typist, something that wasn’t always easy to come by when you needed it. Put fifteen pages of hand written
text on note paper in front of him, on one of his good days, and he would bang away on an old Selectric for about an hour with almost letter
perfect precision. Furthermore, he was an excellent speller and a gifted poet as well. Even Gravey recognized that. In fact, Gravey had
incorporated some of Milton’s critical suggestions for the Prologue to the Ninth Canto of his epic poem and even gave him credit for the lines:  

“In Memorial and Mortal, Milton’s Song Crossed o’er the portal sign.
Dedicated and Immortal Canto IX

Here Little Milton of the Brine will sing a song down Dante’s line.
Delusions of significance and sign, illusions of munificence and wine,
Hisss paranoid frenetic song sings of the ages right and wrong
Of blasphemy and nature’s gong,
The poisoned pen of ages of polluted men,
The poison slow, the poisons grow…
Now sour the cream of mortal and poetic flower,
The hour is passed, so near the last of things…”

Clearly, there it was in boldface print just as it had appeared in the first edition. The only difference was the deceptive reference to “the Brine.”  
But what is brine but ‘salt’ mixed with water. And what is Little Milton’s pen name? “Milton the Cracker King.” And what kind of cracker was
he said to be the King of? Yes, that’s right, ‘saltine crackers.’ So there you have it. Gravey had capitalized on Little Milton’s paranoia and his
typing skills in order to prepare the final version of the manuscript…As I said before, everybody knew Gravey could be a real prick when he felt
he needed to get his way…

Anyone who knew Mysticus would have known that the office of the previous chairman of the board was unsatisfactory. Even at 1600 square
feet it was simply far too small to meet his needs. Its furnishings were not the problem in so far as they went. There was a large oblong table of
highly polished Redwood with four massive lathe turned legs to support its considerable weight.  Ten comfortable padded leather chairs
surrounded it, four on each of its gradually curved sides and one each at the oblong ends. Its top was over five inches thick, heavily sculpted all
around the edge. It was impressive, no doubt about that. There was a matching desk with a high-back padded leather chair set before two
expansive windows looking out over the grounds and gardens at the sanitarium from behind the Administration Building. Its walls were covered
with panels of the finest dark mahogany he had ever seen; the crown moldings at the ceiling and floor strips were all of the same material and
quality. A thick rug stretching everywhere wall to wall in a lightly patterned earth tone brown completed the setting. It was well lighted, there
were tasteful paintings on three of the walls, and near the rear of the room opposite the desk was a door leading into a bathroom complete with a
shower stall and everything else you would expect. The problem was there was simply nowhere near enough shelving for books. And even if
you were willing to tear out fifty year old expensive mahogany panels, there was still no sensible way to add the number of bookshelves that
were needed unless you decided to fill up the room itself.

The solution was, of course, about what you would expect if you were as gifted an administrator as Mysticus. This would simply be the first of
his two separate offices. It would serve his needs for most of the informal boardroom functions, and for any interactions with his immediate
staff, other administrators or the public. His second office, one much larger, would be his private domain, away from the hustle and bustle of
the busy central administration complex. For that function he had selected an entire wing on the second floor of the retreat, which was even
now undergoing renovation prior to his final approval and ensconcment.  

You really had to hand it to Mysticus. He was as gifted an administrator as he was a psychiatrist. You did not rise to the highest level of
authority within the graduate division of a major university without having learned a thing or two about human nature. And Mysticus knew far
far more than most. To begin with, he had an extraordinary set of blue eyes. His depth perception and all aspects of his visual field amplitude
were simply off the scale. In fact his eyes had almost twice the number of rods and cones compared to the norm and in some respects more
closely resembled those of reptiles, which share many common ocular features with birds, including hawks and eagles. To say he had the eyes
of an eagle was, therefore, no mere exaggeration.

Mysticus was also what you might call a megalo-graphophile; he was not only a collector of books, including rare books, he was a voracious
reader to put it mildly.  His idea of a pleasant evening following an excellent meal graced with a fine red wine was to retire to his study and read
three to four books, one right after the other. The phrase ‘speed reader,’ however, did not technically apply to him. Speed reading is a technique
for increasing the reading comprehension of those who, by whatever criteria of measurement, want to read faster without loss of
comprehension than what they are presently capable of.  The average reader processes about 200 words per minute. Psychologists and
educational specialists working on the visual acuity question devised the tachistoscope which is a machine designed to flash images at varying
rates on a screen. The experiment started with large pictures of aircraft being displayed. The images were gradually reduced in size and the
flashing-rate was increased. They found that, with training, an average person could identify minute images of different planes when flashed on
the screen for only one five-hundredth of a second. The results had implications for reading. Eventually, with practice, average reading speed
could be doubled to about 400 words per minute. Improvements were made by improving visual processing by means of a variety of pacing
techniques, by eliminating sub-vocalizations and so forth.

It was not until the late 1950s that a portable, reliable and 'handy' device would be developed as a tool for increasing reading speed. The
researcher was a school-teacher named Evelyn Wood. She was committed to understanding why some people were naturally faster at reading
than others and was trying to force herself to read quickly. Apparently, while brushing off the pages of a book she had thrown down in
frustration, she discovered the sweeping motion of her hand across the page caught the attention of her eyes, and helped them move more
smoothly over the page. She then used the hand as a pacer, and called it the "Wood Method," which was renamed “Reading Dynamics” in 1958.
It was she who coined the term "speed reading.”

None of this, however, applied to Mysticus, because he had always been able to devour up to four books in a little under three hours. Consider,
for example, the Grove Press paperback version of Erich Fromm’s “The Forgotten Language,” a typical sized book of some 210 pages, with
about 250 words per page, for a total of 52,500 words all together. Four books of the same size, then, would equal 220,000 words. Since three
hours contain 180 minutes, divide that into 220,000 and you get about 1165 words per minute. That will give you some idea of what the eyes of
Mysticus could do, even under casual circumstances, a light read after dinner. To carry the math a step further, suppose Mysticus spent 300
evenings in the course of a year reading just three books a night, and did not read at any other time of the day. That would still mean he read 900
books a year or 9000 over a ten year period. Unfortunately, that ill-informed estimate would still leave you far under the mark.

When the day came for Mysticus to begin moving his effects into the schloss at La Casa, two fully loaded eighteen wheeler moving vans arrived
with nothing else onboard but books.

Furthermore, without putting too exaggerated an emphasis upon it, those volumes were extraordinarily broad in their reach and depth. Consider
only the field of anthropology for example. The modern discipline had evolved from a great many diverse human enterprises including fossil
hunting, primatology, paleontology, ethnology, philology, etymology, genetics, regional analysis, history, philosophy, and religious studies.
Contemporary American universities tend to divide it into four sub-fields: social or cultural anthropology, archeology, linguistic anthropology,
and physical or biological anthropology.  Of course, each of these fields is further sub-divided with some overlap naturally occurring between
them.  For example, cultural anthropology is further subdivided into ethnography and ethnology, concerned with patterns of kinship, economic
and political organization, laws, material culture, technology, infrastructure, gender relations, childrearing, myth, symbols, sports, food,
nutrition, games, festivals, and language. Linguistic anthropology, on the other hand, deals with language across time and space, the social uses
of language, and the relations between language and culture. It applies linguistic methodologies to questions concerning anthropological
problems. Linguistic anthropologists often draw upon the resources of related fields, including but not limited to semiotics, pragmatics,
sociolinguistics, and discourse and narrative analysis. Linguistic anthropology is itself divided into subfields including descriptive linguistics,
historical linguistics, structural linguistics, ethnolinguistics and sociolinguistics.  Naturally similar observations about the fields of art, history,
science, mathematics, and literature could also be made. As Chancellor of graduate studies programs at the University of California at Los
Angeles, Mysticus not only knew the division and department heads overseeing all such programs, he was also more or less generally familiar
with these disciplines as well. That simply went with the territory.

The point is in his professional library, and not counting the two homes he maintained, which were themselves filled to the stuffing point with
books, Mysticus had assembled over the course of his professional career some three-hundred thousand volumes on just about any topic you
might care to mention, and he was adding another two thousand books a year as well. He was also a rather fine painter and wood carver,
although it is too early at this point to get into that...

Ike, on the other hand, was not a particularly fast reader. In fact, he didn’t care very much at all one way or the other about how fast he could
read. Furthermore, he often deliberately practiced sub-vocalization and slowed down his reading to less than ten or so words a minute, although
he could read at about two-hundred and fifty if he were hard pressed. Ike was far more interested in the sound and flavor of words. He was also
quite preoccupied with how and what words meant.  You could say then that he was far more of an ear person than he was an eye.

There are, generally speaking, two ways that words convey meaning. A word may have a denotative meaning as well as a connotative one. In
other words, a word may have a set of explicit or well defined dictionary meanings as well as the capacity to arouse, suggest or convey
associative ‘overtones.’   The word ‘mother’ for example denotes “female parent,” but can evoke or connote notions of ‘love,’ ‘care,’ or
‘tenderness.’  Words also have a variety of other properties, depending upon the language under examination. Aside from their orthographic
form, their shape in a system of writing (such as Japanese or Arabic) they are composed of bundles of sounds and other phonetic properties
(stress, tone, aspiration, affrication etc.) which can be described in highly technical terms that do not need to concern us here. Suffice to say the
sounds of words were themselves absolutely fascinating to Ike. Especially when they were spun together with meaning in some unusual way.
Any trained musician, in fact anybody who enjoys music, knows that notes (sounds) in a musical composition are capable of yielding nuances of
melody that have an especially powerful effect upon the human mind. Joy, grief, pain, sadness, exaltation, any human emotion you can imagine,
seems to have a musical equivalent.  Play the music right and you can arouse such emotions in the human breast. String words together in a
similar manner and you can achieve the same effects.

Naturally, I assume the reader is familiar with all of this. But how many try to apply it?
Let’s try an experiment. Listen for a moment to the sounds in the word ‘Smilodon.’ Close your eyes and repeat the word to yourself silently a
few times; emphasize it until the syllables roll around in your head, like echoes off some distant timeless landscape. Does the image of the big cat
come to mind? That awesome, tawny, heavily muscled Sabre-toothed cat? Smilodon, Smil-a-don, a-don, -dawn, the Sabre Toothed Tiger, Ti-
ger, ger, ger, ger. What happens to the image when you see the ‘dawn’ and hear the –ger, -ger, -ger of the word tiger?
Now try Pithe-can-thropus erect-us (-us-us-us).  [Java Man is the name given to fossils discovered in 1891 on the banks of the Solo River in
East Java, Indonesia, one of the first known specimens of Homo erectus, discovered by Eugène Dubois, who gave it the scientific name
Pithecanthropus erectus, derived from Greek and Latin roots meaning upright ape-man.]

Now try putting the two together, as in “Smilodon greets Pithecanthropus erectus.”  Let that image roll around in your head for a while, as you
savor it…say, at dawn. If the experiment is a success, you will begin to understand why Ike wasn’t much interested in speed reading.

The private office maintained for Mysticus on the second floor of the schloss was slightly larger than the dimensions of a basketball court. If
fact its original floor space had once served that very purpose.

Anyone who visited the retreat at La Casa passed over a stone bridge constructed of two arches spanning a narrow body of water in front of the
castle. It was a picturesque setting reminiscent of a medieval moat surrounded by leafy foliage, graceful ferns, a few trees, mostly pines, and
high grasses spotted with occasional flower beds.  You entered the schloss itself by passing through two massive oak doors hung on thick iron
cantilevered hinges, decorated with elaborate grid-work.  The main lobby was austere in furnishings, and dominated by a huge fireplace before
which were arranged several dark leather couches and chairs set to form three sides of a square with the open side facing the fireplace. Heavy
oak tables with discrete lighting separated the room into four additional open enclaves where the seating allowed for small parties of people to
conduct private conversations. The walls were bare, consisting of huge wooden beams rising to an impressive vaulted ceiling, interspersed with
thick granite stones bonded tightly together with a dark mortar. Three arched portals led off the main lobby to a network of hallways. A single
flight of stone stairs wound its way up the south wall to a turreted balcony overlooking the room below.  Beyond the balcony was a recessed
alcove concealing the entrance to an elevator which ferried visitors to the floors above…and below.

Mysticus had taken the time to design his private suite of offices with care.  There were sleeping quarters, bathing facilities, a steam room, an
efficient kitchen with an adjoining pantry and plenty of storage space. The main office was, of course, surrounded by built in bookshelves from
floor to ceiling. Ladders on rollers provided access to the highest levels of books up to eighteen feet above the floor. There were close to
150,000 volumes in this room alone. A 15 foot long desk sat near the end of the room farthest from the main entrance. On it were two laptop
computers and three large screen monitors for displaying pages from a mainframe computer housed in a separate room. A large screen television
monitor was attached to the wall to the right of the desk. There was a leather couch opposite two large armchairs separated by an elaborately
carved coffee table with an inlaid glass top. Below the glass was a carved tableau in teak and camphor wood depicting an oceanic voyage;
islanders in a sea going outrigger canoe about to embark upon an uninhabited, palm fringed tropical island. An occasional wood carving stood in
enigmatic isolation here and there. Two were actually quite large…

Controlled central heating and air conditioning maintained a constant temperature of seventy-two degrees throughout this entire installation. Four
people could live for a period of six months here without ever having to leave for any reason whatsoever, unless there were, say, an immediate
serious medical emergency. And even that contingency could be ameliorated by the excellent medical staff available 24 hours a day at the
sanitarium.

Meals were provided anywhere in the schloss by the commissary, on a 24 hour basis. The retreat maintained a staff of fifteen who were
responsible for every aspect of the culinary service. Most of the food supply, with the exception of wines and spirits, was either grown or raised
somewhere on the sanitarium grounds. Vegetables were picked fresh daily.  The castle even maintained its own abattoir for slaughtering pigs,
cattle, chickens, the occasional turkey, goat etc.  Menus were printed a week in advance, but a variety of sandwiches, soups, and other simple
meals were always available, and were no more than a phone call away.
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E/e = MM rC2