Final Conclusions (Meldrick's Theory) concerning the impetus leading to the first primitive art
Sometime before the period of the domestication of plants, when the dawn people began to populate caves, it simply became obvious that too
much crap was accumulating around the campfire where people were trying to eat. So, to solve that problem, certain parts of the cave were
designated as the proper places to deposit one's "night soil" so it could be efficiently collected for distribution to local plants. At first (probably)
smell alone provided the vital stimuli to locate such a designated focal point. Still, however, the exact "pile" remained indeterminate, due to
much stepping around and over this and that. To facilitate the problem of locating the precise coordinates, people began to clear the contents of
their throat (spit) upon the walls of the cave adjacent to the do-do dot, so as to provide a visual aide to the young and hence less sophisticated
members of the tribe. Over time, this spit [sometimes filled with colorful loogies and chunky goobers] naturally began to accumulate and slide
down the walls of the cave, forming rivulets and random patterns. And there you have it. Spitting on the walls of caves to signify important
information eventually led to more and more complex signs, then drawings and so forth. And that is how the people of the dawn discovered
art...        
Ercerpt from The Brief History of Boxology: A Magic Primer for the Uninitiated
"It is said that the notion of the box was born in the image of a hollow log"
[a quote from "Three Fingered Sally, last surviving speaker of the PisPocket Tribe"]
Many modern practitioners of the art of Boxology admit they owe an enormous debt to the Pissqually people for
their marvelous box making skills. Following the designs originally conceived by Urine-Noggin, the traditional
PisKwaki box underwent little adaptation over the centuries with the exception of its outward design.

ELABORATE carving and native paint did, however, slowly evolve until later re-creations of Urine-Noggin's
boxes were embellished by wood workers from all three tribes, but especially among those of the PisPocket,
whose females were the cleverest in the manufacture or Urine-nation paint. Apparently, over the vast millennia ,
the art of paint making had been passed from PisPocket mother to daughter in an unbroken line from as far back
as the neolithic period when the first hunter gatherers of the Van Oozian people lurked about the forests and
savannas of ancient Van Nuys.  Ingredients for the original native paints, however, remain a mystery to this day
as no original art or woodworks of the early Pissqually have survived over the centuries due to the ravages of
fungi and other micro-organisms which thrive in the moist climate of  the Pisqually rain forests. Nevertheless, it
is suspected by some that one of the secrets of primitive Pissqually paint was the application of female body
fluids to the activity of paint production. Pissqually males may also have played an unwitting role in the
production process by depositing their semen to be harvested for one reason or another. If menstrual blood,
semen, and urine did play a decided role in the 'recipe' for Pissqually paint, as some have supposed, perhaps that
fact alone explains more than any other why the Pissqually term for paint is derived from the same root
(morpheme) as the prefix for the three tribes themselves. That is to say, the 'Piss' in Pissqually actually means
'paint.' Hence the term Pissqually means "People of the paint."     
According to Haida lore the Mother of all boxes was born in the innards of a
Great Sugar Pine which towered like an enormous erection overlooking the
Pacific Ocean for a thousand thousand years. There the Mother remained in
immortal isolation until the dawn of the first men, who for some peculiar
reason also emerged from a hollow box...Some said it was in the springtime
that the Mother emerged from the now fallen but hallowed carcass of the
Sugar Pine. Others believed the Mother was evicted from her nest by a greedy
male porcupine who wanted to use the hollow log for his own reproductive
purposes. Still others suspected the Mother was pierced repeatedly by a spiny
female porcupine in order to vacate a suitable den for the surly cubs she was
stuck with feeding because male porcupines don't stick around long after they
stick it to their females.  
Extracts from The Symbolustic Meta-Boxes of Ma-Pa
Buried for centuries were the few known facts and other details about the first Native American wood carver,
Urine-Noggin, whose life and exploits are now beginning to emerge from the pale of the past. How? Recent
archaeological digs in the marshy area surrounding Squaw Piss Creek in Northwest Oregon have revealed
numerous artifacts preserved in a peat bog, and these curiosities—carved bones, stone tools etc. —indicate a
group of primitive aboriginal Indians, believed to be descendants of the ancient Van Oozian people, migrated
north into these fog shrouded mountains in the early seventeenth century to escape the onslaught of ruthless
Mexican gold diggers, greedy loggers and Christian settlers bent on exterminating any form of life that was not
justified by the biblical prattling of their all too pious forebears. The few (actually just two) Pissqually speakers
who still live in the area today have also explained much about the nature of the tribe’s historical activities. Born
into the Missapissie Clan of the Pissqually Urine-nation, consisting of three tribes inhabiting the rugged interior
coastal mountains, Urine-Noggin was said to be marked at birth by a notoriously ugly disfigurement around his
nose and eyes. Kwakiutl legend has it that this defilement was responsible for the creation and adoption of
colorful tribal masks worn during religious ceremonies and other celebrations.  Here we see a Kwakiutl artist’s
rendering of Urine-Noggin and a replica of the first PisKwaki mask now in the possession of the CanUghian
Museum of Totemic Art in Portland, Oregon. [By the way, the PisKwaki, PisSocki, and the PisPocket were the
three tribes that made up the Urine-nation confederation.]

Among the many fascinating details that have come to light during the peat bog excavation was a walrus bone
inscribed with crude drawings showing Urine-Noggin’s first sketch (a plan actually) for the construction of a
four-sided box with a bottom, all of which were formed from a single plank of wood through the ingenious
application of heat and bending to form the necessary right angles (now referred to as the Pissqually bentwood
box). Seen below is a recreation of the decorations for that box by the Kwakiutl artist Holy Jimcrackie, who has
devoted much of his artistic career to reinventing Urine-Noggin's  ingenious wood working creations now
celebrated for their many technical breakthroughs. While most scholars now believe it was Urine-Noggin’s
deformity that led other members of the tribe to express their gratitude through the generosity of the first
historical Potlatch,  it was urine-Noggin who actually invented the Pissqually Potlatch box (i.e. a box in the form
of a pot with a bone swivel for a latch.  
Pl-ugh of Tobako's portrait of
Urine-Noggin
PisKwaki traditional mask of
Urine-Noggin
Urine-Noggin's Potlatch box
with a bone swivel latch...
The Pissqually believed their god Pequota-choc was the father of all the waters: the
rains, streams,  rivers,  oceans etc. Pequota-choc, indeed, was also responsible for
the fogs which helped to conceal the Pissqually from their enemies. Hence waters
or fluids in all their forms were sacred because they were a manifestation of the
God himself. As water was divine, so also was blood, urine, semen etc. This
naturally lead the tribe's religious figures--holy men and shamans--to concern
themselves with the uses their God intended for fluids. If fog was meant for
protection and concealment, what did the God intend for urine? Generally speaking,
the waters around the Pissqually sparkled with color (blues, yellows, and greens of
all shades), and even urine tended to be yellow while blood flowed always red.
Surely then, Pequota-choc meant the waters of life to be colorful, to add grace and
beauty to his creations. Thus the Pissqually devoted their keenest attention to the
colors of things, and the procurement and development of the basic materials for
paint.   
Image from a Scrimshaw
incised walrus tusk depicting
Urine-Noggin
Scrimshaw incised on sperm whale vertebra showing Pissqually females harvesting semen from unwitting but obviously willing males of the tribe.
This artifact not only provided the basis for Pl-ugh of Tobako's rendering of the inner lid of the First Mother's Box (see above) but also identifies
one potential source for Pissqually paint ingredients. Although, more in depth research will be required before this hypothesis finds acceptance
among the majority of scholars who devote their efforts to preserving the culture and values of Pacific Northwest Indians.  
The Editors of  Artsy Fartsy are proud to present this scholarly investigation
into the roots of the Garage Movement by E. Ike and Meldrick The
Regugitator, without whose efforts all this holy crap would have been lost...  
Thoughts on the Complex Structure of "Letters from the Asylum"
The roots of The Neo-Primitive Post-Outsider Non-Ism Movement (sometimes referred to simply as The Garage Movement) can be traced
without provocation as far back in time as the latter part of the old stone age [the neolithic] during which man developed polished stone tools,
metal, pottery, weaving, stock rearing and agriculture. There is no serious dispute about that whatsoever. Clearly, all the basic materials and
techniques for artistic expression were extant by the time mankind had tamed animals and domesticated plants. There is also no serious
disagreement among scholars that the range of man's first artistic endeavors and capabilities stretches far further into the past than that. For
example, the Blombos Cave in a limestone cliff on the Southern coast of South Africa is famous for 75,000-year-old pieces of ochre incised
with abstract designs, beads made from sea shells, and 80,000-year-old bone tools. "So what?" you say? And I reply, consider then that cultural
and linguistic anthropologists have long maintained that "Language is culture." Therefore, is it not also valid to conclude that "Art is culture" as
well? Let us no longer be morons about this. Let us admit that this too is obvious. And because that is the case, which no reasonable thinker
would care to dispute, it follows that art (and artistic endeavor) has at least as much to do with culture as does language. Now, since that is the
case, does it not follow that primitive art is at least as 'artistic' as so called 'modern art'? I mean, that is to say, if you boil it all down to the
basics, and eliminate all the silly opinions from those who simply want to sell you something 'modern' for a profit? If so, 'Art' does not lie
simply in the eye of the beholder, or some nervous art critic with an ax to grind. No! Instead,
Art is the universal, indisputable, irrefutable
product of man's imagination in his efforts to express his beliefs, aspirations, self-worth, individuality and connectivity to all the generations of
man. One might even go so far as to suggest that "art is a form of language and culture personified."

What then are we to make of those who claim to be Neo-Primitives? Of those who renounce Classicism, Cubism,  Expressionism,
Impressionism, Realism (especially Realism), Romanticism, Modernism, Regidivism, Recidivism and all the rest of the -isms put together?
Frankly, I am not always sure, but what I can say is "It's about time somebody besides the three of us tried to figured it out." Hence the need
for this ground breaking manifesto, this geezerfied examination of the current state of affairs and how it all seems to have come about. The road
back is filled with potholes, the way is often mired in mud and the murk of time, but the journey must begin somewhere. So let it be
here...Unfortunately, we are all going to have to go by a most round about way...      
Now, I suppose the intelligent and committed reader (for who else would still be reading this text?) is beginning to wonder at this point what any of
this has to do with anything besides boxes, let alone with thoughts on the complex structure of "Letters from the Asylum"? However, I am only
prepared to assert at this stage that "Rome was not built in a day," so you must simply be patient and enjoy the ride. After all, it isn't costing you
much except a little of your time and a smidgen of your brain power. And let's face it, you would not be exploring this  material if your own life
was filled with anything more interesting to do. Apparently you are as bored as the rest of humanity or you wouldn't be here in the first place. So I
repeat, why don't you just relax and let go of your usual judgmental habits...trust me...for even I don't quite know yet where we are headed. That's
what makes the journey so much fun for we simply have to discover what step to take next. Ah, but suddenly I have it!
Let us suppose for the moment that an otherwise staid and respectable
geezer (a patient actually, such as the one you see in the photo) in a
Quixotic state of mind decides he has discovered a cave under his old
neighborhood in Van Nuys. I know it sounds silly, but please bear with
me. Now, this geezer (patient) obviously has a very peculiar notion about
reality, but he is persistent in maintaining that the cave exists and that he
has actually spent a great deal of time exploring its "Labyrinthine Bowels
of Augury."  Furthermore, he maintains that during his perigrinations he
was armed with nothing more than a 'pointing bone' with which to
defend himself and a torch fashioned from some thaumaturgic
substance. Now, even though you have been exposed to this kind of
baloney before, on so many occasions that you can't even remember
how many (because you are a patient yourself) you decide to go along
with the delusion because you don't have anything better to do anyway.
Furthermore, since you have certain computer skills which need not
concern us here, you decide to provide the demented geezer with
photographic evidence to support his bizarre delusional state, in order to
see just what he might be prepared to claim next. So you send him a
copy of the photo you see to the left. It is of course actually a picture
of him taken at some point in the recent past, but you have used your
special skills to alter it by putting him in a cave, with an actual pointing
bone in his hand and supplying your idea of a thaumaturgic torch as well.
Furthermore, you throw in an inscrutable object to his right, to see how
he might react to that.   
A few days pass, and you awaken one morning to discover you should have given
him 'more to think about' so you rejigger the photo in order to throw in a cave man,
a dinosaur and a strange floating thing which doesn't even have a name although
you know that he will know what it is. Now, you wait a few more days, all the
while expecting that he will have to respond eventually, but he does not, much to
your disappointment, because you are now really getting into the  project and
making up all kinds of stuff to add on. I mean, he named the cave the Labyrinthine
Bowels of Augury, right? So you decide to provide some material that is consistent
with that line of reasoning. No point in wasting such a good idea, so you rummage
through your entire collecting of photographs covering a span of over forty years to
see what you can come up with. And the third photo is what you get.
Of course, every object in the third photo is
an actual object he will recognize because at
least five of them he carved and painted
himself. You have merely cut them out of
other photos, altered their dimensions and
superimposed them upon the first image to
the left. Still, he does not respond, so you
decide to drop the whole subject...and move
on. And that is what you do. Furthermore,
that process perhaps more than anything
else explains the basis for the complex
structure of all these remarkable "Letters
from an Asylum."
Constructing an episode for readers in the asylum: A case in point






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Chapter Thirteen: The F-Art of Boxology
The Southern Kwakiutl (Pissqually) Carver Urine-Noggin
Pisskwaki boxes attained a
reputation for excellence
unmatched by any of their
contemporaries as you can see
from the carved Haida box
below.
This photo (the so-called 'Infamous
Image 4746) is reprinted from another
publication titled  "Shit here...or else..."
For over a hundred years, modern anthro-apologists have remained perplexed about pre-modern behaviors thought to be associated with ancient
shrines called “Crop Houses.”  Aside from the obvious,what were these crop houses for and why were they built away from instead of beside
other houses? Hundreds of papers were written in the last century alone to account for the odd collection of facts gleaned from the meager
evidence available. Yet nobody really knew anything that anybody else didn’t, until recent excavations in ancient Van Nuys recovered the first
fully preserved crop house ever unearthed from a known barbarian tribal area. Seen here publicly for the first time, this remarkable edifice was
preserved intact by a thick layer of riverside mud baked and hardened during one of several great droughts following the retreat of the Wurm
(70,000–10,000 years ago) glaciation period. Sealed in its natural sarcophagus from the ravages of time and the weather, for over nine thousand
years, every detail of its astonishing architecture, trappings, functionality, and decor remained in what has been described as ‘unbelievably
perfect condition.’  What could it tell us about the human savages who constructed it?

Among the strange— some would say even bizarre—practices of pre-dynamic humans, the Cult of the Shit Eaters bears witness to the fact that
civic relations in pre-historic times were not entirely non-existent. Based on what we have learned from the site and a careful analysis of the two
figures you see in the illustration, apparently the primal situation and the parade of subsequent events can be described as something like the
following.

The Primal Situation
There came a time when the first Van Oozians discovered that the foul and mephitic substance oozing from their hairy posteriors was not
entirely useless. Prior to this discovery, the average human deposited his squat wherever and in any fashion he chose. Naturally, thousands of
savage tribesmen discharging their waste willy nilly upon the surface led to all manner of insidious consequences. Sooner or later, everybody
was stepping in, sitting on, or sleeping over everybody else’s doobies, loogies, puke, gisz, phlegm, cold wet piss and so forth.  Unfortunately,
you simply can’t imagine how indifferent the average savage was to these conditions. So more thousands of years passed. Eventually (read this
as even another hundred years after that) one of these savages began to notice something odd: a weed growing right from the spot where he
knew he had taken a dump the previous month (read ‘month’ as some indefinite period of time beforehand).

Being somewhat more intelligent than the other members of his tribe, this lowly human for some unexplainable reason began to suspect there
was a relationship between what he was poking into his mouth and munching on and what was oozing out daily from the other end. In fact, as
we now suspect, he finally became more or less sure of it. This ground breaking observation led to the necessity to invent a word for the ooze
[shit] in order for cogitation upon this discovery to proceed. After years of mind numbing pre-mental but premeditated tribal activity, someone
eventually formulated the following conclusion: “Shit = food!”  Obviously, at that point, everybody in the tribe thought he was a goner, but they
were willing to forgive him if he could prove his point. So they arranged to have members of the tribe known for ‘substantial bowl movements’
provide some ‘prime shit’ for this goof.  If he could eat it, or better yet, if he could survive on it, they promised to be convinced. Years later,
long after this goof died of severe malnutrition, it was discovered that the original formulation was not entirely correct [i.e. The terms of the
equation had been switched.]. The correct equation was “Food = shit!” not “Shit = food!”

And now that their mental activity had been clarified, the question was “What do we do with this new and exciting development?”  Or “How do
we capitalize upon the present value of this new information?”  You see, it was still not entirely clear what “Food = shit!” really meant, because
nobody could figure out how to apply this formula to the daily activities of the tribe. Something was missing; something had been forgotten
along the way, and that something was that first little
weed. To make a long story shorter, the first true human eventually concluded correctly
that “Everybody needs to shit right beside the weeds they eat!” And that was the beginning of the agricultural revolution…But the story does not
end there [unfortunately].

The problem was, as a group, these tribal pre-humans were not typically responsible enough to consistently meet their ‘new’ shitty obligations.
Too many people still took a shit wherever and whenever they felt like it.  Nor was there any consensus about which weeds to shit beside or eat.
That’s when things really began to get sticky. Finally, the tribal shaman “Urin Al” came up with a workable solution.

Urin Al’s Reasoning
“There must have been a reason why the gods inspired us geezers to associate food with shit. Perhaps the gods provide humans with food so
that humans can provide the gods with shit; Eureka, yes, that has to be it! So if we prepare a shrine for the gods, especially one that is suitable
for token offerings, everyone will shit where we want them to, and we can collect the offerings for distribution to the weeds! It’s perfect!” And
so that’s what they did…But even that was not the end of the story.

The Rise of Big Nose Spike
Gradually, over time, the shrine [crop house] evolved from a simple hole in the ground surrounded by the best weeds to more and more
elaborate and permanent installations. This effort, it is believed, can be credited to the second great shaman of the tribe known as Big Nose
Spike.  Big Nose is also thought to be responsible for a major discovery that improved the quality of the shit being distributed to the weeds. You
see, Big Nose had a naso-sensory apparatus that could distinguish the finest grade of shit you can imagine. In effect, he could also tell when the
stuff was cured just right for the taking. Under his administration, weed production was increased by well over fifty percent, an unheard of
technical breakthrough that allowed the Van Nusian tribe to more than triple its current population.  More savages, of course, meant more shit
[in Keynesian terms] and more shit meant better treatment from the gods, who were now enjoying all the benefits of the tribe’s agricultural
prosperity. Furthermore, the weeds were adapting to the increase in the shit supply, producing even more nutritional forms of craps, the whole
weed production process now being referred to euphamistically as “the crops.”

So breathtaking were the economic and cultural consequences of this refined agricultural activity that even the meanest savage Van Nusian
barbarian was eventually converted to the “faith.”  Crop Shrines soon dotted the surrounding countryside as far away as ancient Bare-bank and
old LaLe.  And to commemorate the rapid expansion of the new religion, effigies of the first order of priests—Urin Al and Big Nose Spike—
were carved by the finest tribal craftsmen and decorated with dots to symbolize the unprecedented capitulation of the surrounding tribal
populations. And that, pretty much, appears to be the end of the story, at least for the present…
On the origins of primitive art by Meldrick The Regurgitator
A great many incredibly dull and pointless observations have been
preserved in the so-called critical literature about art, so much so that it
appears any jabber wonk with access to a typewriter can find somebody
willing to print his preposterous theories, including those who have
speculated about the prehistoric artistic inclinations of the first pre-
humans. As there does not appear to be anyone who could know exactly
what was going on even 50,000 to 100,000 years in the past, with the
exception of the few who actually restrict themselves to a discussion of
cave drawings, bone etchings and the like, it would seem that any
attempt to explain the origin of man’s artistic endeavors is doomed to
fail, since no one really knows what Australopithecus or his cousins
thought about in the first place.  Granted we know a little about their
habitat, tools, weapons, migration patterns and the like, but
what was the
impetus that caused the first shambling creature to decorate the walls of
his filthy cave
with a concoction of primitive beetle juice or vegetable
paint? As the available “facts” provide no real basis for serious
speculation upon this topic, perhaps pure deduction and the opportunity
to indulge in a fastidious mess are the only methods that remain. Thus
we begin.
The Cult of the Shit Eaters
Big-nose Sp-ike and Urin-Al beside the Offerings Hole...
For reasons beyond the intelligence of this reporter, it has been established only recently that a colossal system of passages and caves--
discovered presumably by a team of amateur spelunkers--exists directly below that otherwise staid and respectable city. And that is only the
beginning of the curiosities. For it has also been suggested by none other than the infamous garment tycoon (Jimmie Walkabout, CEO of the
House of the Seven Jimmies), that this subterranean complex contains compelling evidence of the existence of
Austrodotticus, an anthropoid
ape man who once stalked the arid savannas of primal Van Nuys. Furthermore, according to Jimmie, Austrodottical customs and way of life are
depicted in a series of dot paintings on the cave walls which suggest this peculiar creature was plagued by a coven of females known as the
Sisterhood of Twigs, who ruled by means of ritual chants designed to humiliate and degrade their mates. If that were not enough to swallow,
Jimmie has released a photo of a partially exposed mural which he says shows Twiggy females in a primal scene conducting a ‘ceremonial
shitoff’ (which occurred apparently once a year and is believed to account for the enormous mounds of petrified shit which clog cave recesses
in some cases to a depth of over 18 inches.

Dubious as this claim may appear at first blush, we are assured of its authenticity by no less an authority that Eucalyptus Ike, amateur
proctologist, prehensile anthropologist, wacko historian, left wing art critic, rogue investor, sausage lexicographer, raunch raconteur, loose
lipped dipsomaniac, semantic distortionist and faux author of bilious gobbledygook for the bubonic bilge rag Artsy Fartsy, philandering bombast
and twaddle monger, despoiler of naïve virgins, and purveyor of great gobs of gelatinous goober, pillexated pond scum, and perpendicular and
donkey dick,  now also suspected to be Jimmie’s life-long demented sidekick at the La Casa Sanitarium. Consider the evidence! Seen here for
the first time in at least the last two hours is a dot painting which Jimmie claims was found beneath 12 inches of petrified shit in the cave
referred to as the ‘Primal Scene of the Sisterhood.’

It is alleged that this image was the ‘proxy target’ for a late stage shitoff after actual living females refused any longer to participate in the primal
ritual itself. Hence the layers of crap under which the image was discovered. But you ask (and quite rightly) why did the spelunking team under
Jimmie’s leadership scrape away the crap in the first place? Yes, that is a good question, no doubt about that. Unfortunately, here is Jimmie’s
answer.

“Austrodotticus guano is rich in vitamins and nutrients which plants are quick to assimilate.” You see, according to Jimmie, Austrodotticus had
acquired the skill to crap where he ate, thus providing the plants he devoured with the benefits of a richer soil. Over time, those plants adapted to
the increased nutrient levels and began to flower more than once a year (i.e. they evolved from annuals into perennials).The flowers, of course,
attracted more insects, which provided additional protein for Austrodotticus, whose brain pan began to increase in size as a result.

This evolutionary progress led to more promising and invaluable skill sets, including the talent to spit bug juice onto the walls of caves rather
than upon each other. This activity eventually led to contests and artistic endeavors of a primitive sort, which finally culminated in the practice of
cave painting. And there you have it…in a nutshell of course. So, knowing that all that guano was worth a lot of money, Jimmie contacted Mad
Mel at Roger’s Gardens in Rectal City with a proposal to market the guano as Swell sMel’s Fortified Fertilizer for the homeless gardener, in
order to raise enough cash to fund further excavations at the dig site. Put all that together and you have to admit it’s absolutely crazy but it’s also
kinda ingenious as well…      
Editor's note: we here at the Viewzine are still waiting for the compelling visual evidence surrounding the
following entry to emerge from the photo files of the re-doubtable Mr. Dotty...
Eureka!  Another Spectacular California Landmark…
By Dick Klicker
Ombudsman and Roving Reporter for
The Van Nuys Viewzine
Live in LA for over 30 years and you begin to think you’ve seen everything there is to see
with respect to the inanity of your fellow man in the big city. Then along comes a story that
establishes you are no more than an ill-informed pathetic midget whose knowledge of the
uncanny wiles of your neighbors rests on a par with a three toed sloth blissfully unaware he
is being digested in the belly of a giant anaconda. Undoubtedly, most Angelinos have heard
of the world famous La Brea Tar Pits which have yielded up thousands and thousands of
the perfectly preserved bones of ancient creatures, including dinosaurs, trapped in the
sticky ooze and preserved for eons of generations. Few, however, have ever been exposed
to another of Mother Nature’s natural wonders, which lies a few miles north in scenic Van
Nuys: I refer, of course, to the Van Nuys Shit Pits.
The Pisqually Box Creation Myth (narrated by E. Ike)

At first there was only the line...and the line was free...and that was good. But the line grew eventually strangely dissatisfied. Yes, it was free and
could go anywhere (up, down, left, right) but it had no purpose, no need to accomplish anything at all. And that was not so good.So the line began
to struggle with this question: which was better to have:  purpose or freedom? Clearly, purpose implied limits, deadlines, obligations, limitations,
all of which curtailed freedom. But freedom by its very definition meant meaninglessness. Clearly, to be free of every claim, obligation, hardship
and destination was merely linear emptiness without boundaries. And so the line spent many eons pondering this fundamental dilemma until one
day it decided to seek the advice of a new entity in the universe…the dot…who it knew had some experience with being connected….

Now, as you know, the dot almost never spends its life in solitary existence. The dot is, you see, very sociable and likes to hang out with old men
who are prone to accommodate that sort of nonsexual relationship. To the dot, then, eventually, the line posed its most perplexing problem. “Which
was better: to be free or to have purpose.” Of course, no solitary dot would ever presume to offer an opinion on such an important issue without
consulting with its most distant brethren. Thus the call to assemble the oldest and wisest of dots was dispatched to all the varieties of shapes and
sizes, angles, colors, and dimensions in order that the topic would receive the widest possible examination by those whose philanthropic expertise
was currently beyond question.

Eventually, after more eons of careful and meticulous analysis, disputation, and perspicuous exfoliation, it was agreed upon by a majority of the
dotties that 30 distinct committees of dots would assemble in thirty separate squares, all of which had impeccable credentials, and each of which
represented a respectable and sound pattern of advice to be made visual.  Centuries passed as the dots examined every conceivable pass and
impasse along the route of their intentionally mountainous analytical exfoliation until one day the Chief Dotty proclaimed “Stop that tricky shit—
enough is enough!”  And that was it.

Every conceivable pattern had already been considered, along with every conceivable alternative, every byway, folkway, freeway, expressway,
tributary, artery, waterway, every dribble, spatter, glob, chunk, hock, goober and sputter had been laid out, copied, multiplied, strained and sifted.
There was absolutely nothing left to do, but what did it all mean?

Finally, the Chief Dotty made a clear, pithy, and transparent formulation available. The line had obviously been confused from the very beginning.
There was no such thing as freedom, there never was and there never would be. You see, every line, regardless of its orientation, thickness, or
wobble had to go somewhere, anywhere or everywhere. Therefore, every line had a destination, albeit not one that was always obvious or apparent
to a parent. Moreover, since every line had to have some destination or point of termination, no line was ever absolutely free. It had all been merely
semantic confusion…Fortunately, out of that terrible age of random and meaningless obfuscation was born the box, in order to contain the fragile
lesson for all the future offspring of the lines and dots.
Barf and Vegetation Metaphors of the Van Oozian Tree Hugger Clan
By Meldrick The Regurgitator
Ugh of Garf, the First Van Oozian Barf  
The Historical Proto-language Perspective:
Central to much of what is considered important about Shit Eater religious beliefs is the notion first propagated by the early tribal shaman, Urin-
Al that the gods provided weeds for the shit eaters so that shit eaters could produce shit for the gods. In fact, prior to Urin-Al's teachings,
there was no word in the primitive shit eater dialect for any form of fecal material whatsoever. Apparently, the notion of taking a dump could
only be conveyed by squatting and grunting in an onomatopoetic way. The word “shit’ in the shit eater dialect first emerged from the pale of the
past in the dynasty of a singular personality now recognized as the barbarian Ugh of Garf, the very first Van Oozian Barf [Barf means poet in the
Tree Hugger dialect].  It is thought that Ugh of Garf was born in an Out House beside a stream running through the countryside near the ancient
village of Garf (which eventually became known as Bare Bank due to the hordes of pilgrims who squatted there to pay their respects to his
ministry.)  

From early childhood it was recognized that Ugh of Garf was a gifted barbarian because his squat was unusually odoriferous and colorful like
the floral display of well digested weeds. But even more significantly, it also tended to be pebble shaped, resembling a pattern of dots. Although
he was a notoriously lazy child— both slovenly in appearance as well as quite hairy—Ugh grew up eventually and took to travel as a means of
broadening his intellectual horizons. It is said that Ugh visited every crapper shrine within seven hundred miles of Garf, in order to study the
pattern of religious offerings deposited by barbarian females from every known angle, perspective and point of view  (i.e. from above, below,
between the legs etc.).  From this broad exposure to practical experience, Ugh ultimately made his first formal contribution to shit eater
etymology. He invented the word ‘sheee-it!”   And, building upon that monumental intellectual milestone, it was only a short step to becoming
the first oral historian and poet of the Shit Eating Tree Hugger Clan.

The Etymology of Barf:
Language practices among the shit eaters were notoriously primitive to say the least. Much early communication was accomplished merely by
body language, finger signs and pointing. A shit eater could always convey what he wanted by simply pointing at it and licking his lips, his
fingers or his prick. Nevertheless, slowly over the period of Ugh’s lifetime, the total number of actual shit eater words gradually began to
improve from six to ten to sixteen and so on until over 18 verbs, 47 nouns and 3 structural terms provided the necessary connections to convey
every important aspect of Shit Eater economy, religion and culture. Furthermore, the artifice of word invention was a powerful tool in itself for
expanding the influence of the shit eater state over an ever widening swath of territory. But what to call this unprecedented and entirely new
lingually creative activity?  

Ugh was intimately aware of the significance of religion in the formulation of the shit eater agricultural economy because ‘Eat, shit, weeds love
it!” could be found dotted upon the stone walls of any significant out house of worship in the state. Surely, if what came out the back end was
sacred, then what came out the front end must also be sacred to the gods. But what did come out the front end? Suddenly, it occurred to him:
“Why barf, of course!” And there you have it. Ugh had invented another word. And not just any old measly new word, but a word of
tremendous significance and power. You see, ‘barf’ was not only useful as a one syllable symbolic referent for speech itself, and the creation of
new forms of language. ‘Barf’ could be justified and juxtaposed to mean lots of other things as well. There was the obvious ‘great barf’ and the
sinister ‘black barf’ and ‘plain barf’ and the immaculate ‘god barf’. Why there seemed to be no end to the beneficial opportunities. There was
‘political barf,’  ‘religious barf,’ ‘educational barf,’ ‘bureaucratic barf,’ and all were obviously variant forms of the simple ‘barf’ [upchuck]
itself.  Clearly, ‘barf’ represented an absolutely exhilarating chain of variations to say the least.
The current state of knowledge with respect to early tribes of hunter gatherers on the arid
plains of prehistoric Van Nuys is undergoing rapid change due to a series of recent
archeological discoveries only now being made available to the general public. Much has
been learned about late hominid religious rites, agricultural developments, civic relations,
population growth and the spread of innovative architectural designs among these early
knuckle dragging pre-humans. Today, however, I hope to delve more deeply into certain
aspects, beliefs, religious practices, and verbalizations associated with another little known
group of early Van Oozians who were instrumental in the development of emergent forms
of speech, oral literature and primitive art. As you know, we have been made aware only
recently of wood carvings produced by Van Oozian pre-human savages to adorn the “out
houses” of the Shit Eater Cult. However, it is now clear from the archeological record that
the shit eaters also adorned their crapper shrines with primitive symbols thought to be
precursors to later forms of proto-Oozian graffiti, practices which led eventually to the
development of what are now referred to as Oozian Barf Sagas and Trickle Fungus Songs.
No amount of exaggeration could ever hope to convey the astonishing implications of Ugh’s
tremendous discovery. It was simply and completely ‘out of the barf park’ for the average shit
eater to convey. Nevertheless, Ugh felt he had to give it a try. So began his ministry. But it was not
until he took a "wife" that serious linguistic innovations began to appear on a regular basis.

“Twiggy” the pygmy was said to have been a very unusual female because her ‘flowers’ [menses]
were not only a vibrant red, they were speckled like the colors of a rainbow trout and smelled like
dead fish in an old boot. People [savages] actually walked for miles across the arid savannah just to
get a glimpse of her or smell her scat (which was collected and sold by Ugh to finance the
construction of his first ‘church.’)  Twiggy also had an exceptionally hairy crotch. In fact her
crotch was so hairy that it resembled a bush. This detail is significant because ‘bush’ during Ugh’s
ministry eventually became the generic term for any female’s snatch. This innovation, of course,
also led to other significant word formations.
Prior to Ugh’s “marriage” to Twiggy, there was no Shit Eater word either for a prick or an erection largely because neither had seemed very
important. It appears the reason for this was that Shit Eaters had not yet learned to associate ‘sex’ with ‘babies.’  There was, however, a Shit
Eater word for ‘gizz.’ It was simply called ‘sap juice.’ Now, Shit Eaters were known to practice only a limited number of positions for the sex
act. But one of those positions required a male to poke his prick into a female’s oral cavity in front of other members of the tribe in order to
announce his intention to ‘marry’ her. In effect, he was ‘pointing’ to her by this act, a practice which sometimes had very negative and painful
consequences, but not in the case of the arrangement between Twiggy and Ugh. The two, right from the get go, were very very heavily into it.
So into it in fact that Ugh invented the Shit Eater word for it: “Sap sucking.”  Eventually, of course, this activity led to additional Shit eater
words including the obvious ‘sap sucker,’ ‘sap swallower,’ ‘sap head,’ and ‘sap supper.’ From the point of view of the rise of the Tree Hugger
clan, however, Ugh’s coinage of a term for an erect prick [sapling] was demonstrably a much more significant event. Why, you ask? Because,
‘saps’ was already a word in the Shit Eater dialect for ‘tree.’ You see, now that trees, [saps] in general, were associated with the erections of
Shit Eaters, and most females of the tribe had become enthusiastic ‘sap suckers,’ getting your ‘sapling’ sucked regularly led to the rise in size of
the Tree Hugger clan, because no self-respecting Shit Eater wanted to be left out. Of course, there was for a while a series of transitional
phrases for both groups including ‘Shit Eating Sap Suckers,’ ‘Shit Eating Tree Huggers,’ and ‘Tree Sucking Shit Eaters.’ But this more or less
spontaneous set of alternatives was eventually reduced, by linguistic exfoliation, to the more homely but politically correct ‘Tree Hugger.’
Twiggy the pygmy
Origin Myths of the Box
by Odd Jim Dotty and Eucalyptus Ike
We here at Ike's Photosynthesis Lab suspected a hoax along the lines of Piltdown Man, but radiocarbon dating seems to verify it's from the new
stone age [babel babel babel]. Work is proceeding furiously on removing the thick crust of offal which covers the rest of the object, so the top
down view is all that you can see for now. Had to make an additional investment in acrylic paints recently in order to complete the restoration
process. It appears the entire surface of the object was crapped upon by someone able to exude rare colored bowl movements, hence the reference
to Twiggy's Flowers. Journey well as you are delivered from the humdrum of this shitty September heat...I certainly hope your archaeological
effort at The Pits will reward you with useful results.
Ike


Friday, September 9, 2011 11:24:32 PM
Eureka (See attached image_4746)        

Ike:
Will coincidental coincidence never cease? Excavations at the
Van Nuys Shit Pits have recently revealed an extensive system of underground
caverns with ancient
dot paintings on the walls. Given that we are still in the early stages of inspection and restoration nothing definitive can be
pro-offered at this time. One line of early speculation, however, is that we may have uncovered the legendary
'Primal Scene' of the 'Sisterhood
of Twigs'
--a group presumed by most to be mythical with no documentary basis in historical reality. If this is, in fact, compelling evidence of the
actual existence of the Sisterhood, it may shed significant light on early
Austrodoticus customs and way of life. One partially exposed panel can be
construed as a depiction of
"The Coven of the Elders' a highly select group of nagging women philosophers of the "I Stink Therefore I Am"
school. According to mythic tradition, their devotions focused on ritual chants which sought to ensure the systematic and total degradation of old
men. Once a year the old men were invited to the 'Primal Scene' where they were allowed to exact a small bit of revenge by engaging in a
ceremonial shitoff, Their goal was to besmear and defile the old mouthy/martyr hags with specially force fed fecal matter. Preparation involved
eating no less than 10 bean burritos and taking 5 times the recommended dose of a powerful laxative. The women were lined against the cave wall
and the old men backed up to them in a curious plodding dance, shooting their thin juicy nectar all the while. The excremental encrustations on the
cave walls average over 18 inches thick, suggesting that this site must have witnessed similar activity for many centuries. I have attached a small
partial section of one of the wall paintings for your observations and deductions.
Dotty

Tue, September 13, 2011 10:34:11 AM
spelunking & erectile mystery in the Bowels of Augury
Back Entrance to King 69's Palace (through Lord S-cat's Privy) Overlooking The Sacred Valley near Cuzco, Peru...
Critically Relevant Emails from the Files of the Eucalyptic Brotherhood

Wed, September 7, 2011, 8:39 AM
Subject: Twiggy's Flowers

Dotty,
My notion of time passing is so defective that I thought you had already sashayed down to Peru.
Presume you will be leaving shortly, but not before I send this email. Attached you will discover
a remarkable object looted from an ancient paleolithic cave near the Van Oozian dig. A cave in
resulted in all the artifacts being preserved in what must have been some kind of shrine/privy for
the ancients. No telling what you can expect nowadays. Anyway, some fool apparently defaced
the dotted relic by carving modern lettering into the surface before the authorities managed to
confiscate the piece.
Ike:
A couple of new developments here. Jimmie Walkabout has taken it upon himself
to fully explore the caverns which he has termed the
'Labyrinthine Bowels of
Augury'
. He seems to believe that they connect various numinous spots
including the spectral crop-cricle remains of the Woodbridge Spa, the
Astro-Mandala Port in Poker Flats, Goopy Grape Overlook, and the shallow
caves above the site of the 'Really Big Fire' in the Cottonwood Canyon environs
of Death Valley. Armed only with his
'Pointing Bone' and a torch fashioned of
some
thaumaturgic substance he claims to have invented with a child's
chemistry set he purchased at a Goodwill in Van Nuys, he has now explored
over 50 miles of 'the large intestine' section. In his first excursion he located
signs of Yorlik the Scrivener's ubiquitous scrawling "Yorlik was Here" with
occasional augmentations of his opprobrious outhouse posey (e.g., "Some people
come here to sit and think but I come here to shit and stink," and "Here I sit all
broken-hearted, came to shit and only farted.") Appropriate scientific analysis of
these findings is being initiated with efforts to confirm their authenticity and
accurately date when Yorlik may have been there. Meanwhile, Jimmie has
disappeared into the Bowels again and we are awaiting further word on possible
new discoveries. Another curious incident occurred in the restoration process of
the Sisterhood painting. One of the workmen dropped a tool and while retrieving
it happened to look back between his legs at the painting. He immediately had a
prodigious erection which persisted for over four hours. We know, of course,
from various hints in the mythic literature that the Sisterhood was fervid in their
usage of esoteric observational techniques and that the
'Inversion Posture' was
a mode employed to foil perceptual habituation tendencies and to "see again for
the first time." It is also known that the old men considered it a major ambition in
life to actually witness the Sisterhood assuming this posture. What this all means
is yet to be determined. Currently, we are kept quite busy trying to keep the other
workmen from pretending to drop their tools and sneaking a peek. Close
examination of the inverted painting has so far revealed no obvious stimulus
potential for cunning sexual arousal. Knowing your unique capacity for
discerning salacious possibilities I am forwarding recent photos for any insights
you may be able to provide.
Dotty
Sisterhood Painting on the wall of the cave of the
Labyrinthine Bowels of Augury
Inversion Posture of the Sisterhood Painting...
"It is absolutely imperative for everyone involved to realize that an out house is nothing more than a specialized type of box...."
'Sayings of the Norwalk Peacock'
The Haida Box, as narrated by Odd Jim Dotty)
Wed, September 14, 2011 11:59:38 AM
progress report

Dotty,
As you can see, restoration efforts on the artifact known as Twiggy's Flowers are proceeding at a
furious pace. We believe this is the case because the crusty caked on crap is responding to the latest high
tech goop remover available at Home Depot for $3.89 a jug. Approximately one third of the side wall of
the main stump (the main 'sap' in Tree Hugger slang, naturally) has now been restored to its original mint
condition through the efforts of Black Light Blackie, who has come out of retirement in order to study
the remarkable images we now believe represent the pantheon of early Van Oozian man.. It seems clear
as well that what we have here is some kind of super religious carving table that was decorated with
images of the Oozian Gods of fertility, creativity, imbecility, nobility, and general poopery, giving us
perhaps the first hint of the genesis of the Republican Party and the development of post proctical
Dotology. Naturally, we will be seeking the advice of experts, including yourself, to determine the full
extent of the significance of this religio-techno-craft-ic object before we make its discovery available to
the general public in general. Given your status as Profundis Professor of all things Dotistical, we are
especially interested in your own profane declarations vis a vis this abstruse curiosity. Hence we are
forwarding the two attached photos for your personal use and entertainment. Considering the evidence
available to us from the restoration effort as it stands today, it would appear the object is embellished
with 360 degrees of symbolustic barf, perhaps even holy barf from the hand of Ugh of Garf himself.
That the topmost surface of the thing was crapped on by no less a personality than Twiggy the Pygmy
herself appears to be simply indisputable. In closing, let us know if we can be of any help with the
interpretation process; naturally, we will be keeping you posted with the latest photos as the muck is
removed and the murky object begins to reveal the intimate details of its origin, purpose, etc. Best of luck
on your intended trip to Peru. But remember to be especially careful around anyone bearing gifts from
the Sendero Luminoso...
Ike
Introduction to The Nasal History of Boxology:

The reader has been prepared with the above brief but tantalizing details concerning Urine-Noggin and the Pissqually and Haida box traditions
for several reasons among the least of which is Aristotle's dictum in
The Poetics that effective tragedy should begin 'in medias res' (that is to
say 'in the middle of things' or the midst of the action) rather than at the beginning as in the commencement of an epic. Naturally, this advice is
prone to the production of suspense as the reader is not sure in what direction the plot of the play is headed. Since neither were we, it seemed
appropriate to adopt Aristotle's tactic for launching this Nozian dilemma.You see, the art of boxology did not arise from a single line of historical
events but rather from a complex intaglio of causes and effects largely hidden below the surface, the surface here being a reference both to the
archaeological record as well as the subconscious implications of early man's conscious artistic efforts.

Thus to explore the history of boxology, one is forced to take into account as many of the antecedent developments as are reasonable to a
thorough understanding of why early humans felt the necessity to create and then decorate boxes in the first place. Furthermore, what is it about
this complex exploration of very specific human behavior that appeals so engagingly to those who remain so fascinated by the subject?   For the
answers to these questions, it was obvious (to us) that only a multi-faceted exposition could ever hope to provide, in so short a space, the main
outlines leading up to this remarkable milestone along the path of man's evolutionary struggle for and against himself.

Thus, as it has been said that "From past to present, that which comes to be contains the smell of man's pure history," the author's have elected
to explore not only the mythology, archeology,  and technology of box making and development, but also the impetus for artistic behavior in the
first place. Furthermore, it is our expressed intention as well to offer something of the taste of intellectual fervor which accompanied our
intellectual pursuits. Pursuant to this final goal, a collection of brief but important electronic communications between the authors is here
appended for the entertainment and education of all interested parties. Naturally, it is our hope that the intimate details exposed in these
remarkable emails will secure for the careful reader a true and more fully embellished perspective upon what has become for both of us a most
passionate commitment to the future generation.     
Historical and anthropological discoveries often provide startling as well as mind
befuddling parallels between cultures across vast epochs of the stratigraphic,
epigraphic, endocentric and eccentric aspects of life. Take my word for it; things
can get really weird. Take for example the following material discovered recently
by the Turnerian Expedition to Peru, sponsored by the Van Nusian Historical
Society for the Preservation of Loopy Stuff.

Seen here is the back entrance to the Palace of King 69, last ruler of a long line
of descendants of the Dog Eater people. (See flowchart at right for related
details.) Curiously, it is reported that King 69 was so busy scheming upon and
eventually eating his bitches that he had no time for the administrative aspects of
his empire, which were entrusted to his more sanguinary and competent
confidante, the preeminent pre-Incan Lord S-cat. Of course none of this
marginalia would be of any interest whatsoever to the reader were it not for the
following details.   
Dotty,
Tentative analysis of the latest lab reports
indicates a strong possibility that the
relationaships indicated in the attached flow chart
represent the best available evidence of the theory
of descent into modern Christianity you
enunciated in earlier emails. Hope this clarifies
matters...Naturally I will be keeping you
informed of the loopyness as we proceed with
the investigation of the Labyrinthine Bowels of
Augery. Let me know if your
antiquated computer system is unable to "read"
the flow chart format for some odd reason. I can
take other steps (via the web site) to ensure you
are fully exposed to this radical evolutionary
speculation.

Your friend,
Meldrick The Regurgitator
Wed, September 14, 2011  2:24 PM
Preliminary Flowchart
Based upon the many excellent photographs taken by the Turnerian Field
Party, it now seems clear that the In-can Stinkum people, in general,
followed the same agricultural practices first developed by the Shit Eaters
and tree Huggers so long before. Furthermore, the Stinkum people also
produced clever and skillful artisans, among whom was Lord S-cat himself,
who recorded a wide range of both epigraphic and pictorial images upon the
walls of his private but capacious toilette. Indeed, it was Lord S-cat who
was the first artist we know of to combine luminescent materials with
pigment to produce fluorescent paint. Undoubtedly, he was a man to be
reckoned with in the Imperial hierarchy, because his palatial
accommodations were extraordinary even for Stinkum royalty. This may
have been the case due to certain priestly obligations he was required to
perform in order to placate, appease, and pay homage to the Stinkum Gods.
Among those arduous obligations was the priestly duty to offer his curds
(night soil) as a means of ensuring bountiful crops. Naturally, it was taken
as axiomatic that the more splendid the offering, the more grateful the Gods
would be. To this end, Stinkum royalty plugged their behinds with corn
cobs until the urge to relieve themselves was explosive to say the least.       
Privy Wall Painting of Lord S-cat and Stone Woman; note
the use of fluorescent paint for the background.
One of many massive chamber
pots found in Lord S-cat's toilette.
The good Lord's toilet facilities were enclosed beneath his private sleeping quarters, and featured at least 17 separate rooms connected by a
complex system of passageways, suggesting a natural cave was modified in order to create the complex.  Within this maze-like warren were
numerous bathing pools set in solid limestone and supplied with running water from an adjacent cistern; a ventilated sweat room or steam room
employing fire heated rocks, and numerous vessels cut from single blocks of marble as well as other vessel shaped cavities  for the collection of
body waste and fluids. It is suspected that Lord S-cat was required to 'deploy' his sacred offerings in different containers depending upon the
particular ceremony he was intent upon celebrating. The most prominent lavatory, however, was located near the center of the Labyrinth where a
colossal stone effigy of the Lord was situated.  Although its significance remains in dispute, it appears that this figure was meant to represent the
sacred consciousness expanding consequences of taking a really big shit.
Stone Effigy of Lord S-cat found in his Labyrinthine toilet...
Metaphors of the Box: a brief list
Consider the mail box, post office box,
jewelry box, strong box, bread box,
cereal box, sewing box, tackle box, tool
box, card board box, potlatch box, box
of crayons, pill box, flower box, snuff
box, box camera, box car, box board,
box coat, box elder, soap box, ice box,
shoe box, box kite, box lunch, box
office, box score, box seat, box spring,
box supper, box turtle, box boy, tinder
box, box berry and music box to name
just a few...and now we add the
Symbolustic Metabox...
The Memory Box
Imagine if you can how many memories are
contained within the brain of a single 70
year old human being. The very idea itself is
unfathomable because how could you ever
begin to count, let alone define what
constitutes a single memory? That moment
in the meadow, near the creek running
through it, looking back at the campsite in
Poker Flat, surrounded by the forest of tall
Pine trees, the smell of smoke from the
campfire, and the cooking bacon, the
excited laughter of the children, the air so
fresh and clean near the Buddha's eyelids,
the sparkling dew on the meadow plants
and skunk cabbage in the warm morning
sun. Such is the stuff of memory. But how
to capture it? How to express it? How to lay
it out in such a way as to reveal its rich
tapestry of sights and sounds, smells and
flavors, tastes and thoughts, textures,
surfaces, meanings...
As usual, more than a few were too timid even to offer an opinion or pretended not to notice, having been made suspicious by similar events that
resulted in no immediate advantage to anyone at all, let alone they themselves.“Who cares if it’s a box or not!” they opined silently. “I couldn’t care
less, ‘cause I don’t give a wooden rat’s ass one way or the other.” Although they were the least convinced of all. Then someone asked "What if it
is a box and somebody else discovers what's inside?" Perhaps it contains some rare object, something precious or a valuable curiosity to stimulate
its owner's imagination. Maybe it holds money, candy, jewelry, opiates, smoking tobacco, rare spices, dirty pictures…? But those theories were
perceived by most as merely amusing or silly since no one could be sure about it one way or the other. Maybe there were dirty pictures inside and
maybe there were not. How could you tell? Day after day the speculation was allowed to continue, until eventually, the very existence of the box
began to piss people off.  “Why doesn’t somebody just open it!” they insisted. Stop all the fooling around…we’re tired of the silly suspense. It’s
probably no big deal, just some idiot’s attempt to get the usual undeserved attention. Frankly it never did look much like a box to me in the first
place.” Nevertheless, the box was not opened because nobody could open it, because nobody could figure out how.   

As the days went by, those with little curiosity soon began to drift away, no longer preoccupied with the latest interruption in their meaningless and
indifferent lives. Others lost interest because their attention spans were next to non-existent. Still more grew belligerent, ranting about time wasted
on trifles, angry over the loss of their otherwise bogus aspirations. A few were indignant, claiming the entire episode was a public sham, a
disgrace, a baseless example of mediated puffery unworthy of the remaining lunatic fringe. “Screw it! I got better things to do with my time. I’m
not sitting around here any longer with the rest of you deadbeats. I’d rather be watching football on TV.” And that eventually seemed to become
the general consensus.  

Years passed without resolution of the initial questionable dilemma, until the box found its way (as most nondescript items eventually do) to a thrift
shop in Run Down Town (a suburb of greater Van Nuys).  It was called “Dotty’s Zen Baptist Mystic Positivism Facility,” although, again, nobody
seemed to know why. The box, battered and spattered with the grime of a lifetime of disuse, now bore the unmistakable signs of depression,
desuetude, and old age. There, it languished in ignominious complacency for months, on a dreary shelf near the crapper stalls (just beneath a snail’s
idea of a painting) until one day a derelict named O. J. Woody purchased it for use as a convenient ‘mobile toilet.’ Naturally, he suspected it was a
place to shit where there was no Buddha.

Oddly enough, it was no mere coincidence that this seedy character had no problem whatsoever in prying open the box. Although he was
undoubtedly surprised at what he discovered inside…It was filled to the brim with glass memory beads…and garden seeds…”What the fuzzy dick
is this?” he thought to himself. “How am I going to take a shit in this thing with all this useless crap inside?”  Absentmindedly, he picked up one of
the beads which seemed to be made from common brick; immediately, he was astonished to discover, the front panel of the box changed. (Yes,
you are supposed to assume the next photo is the change he saw.)
The F-Art of Boxed Anal-ogy:
A Cautionary Tale
Some said it was just a box and that was
all there was to it. Others were not so
sure. And there were those justifiably
skeptical, preferring to remain on the
fence until such muddy waters were
clarified and the time for professional
skinny dipping had passed. It might be a
box, but it was too early to tell, since no
one had managed to open it yet. Perhaps
it was merely a solid never designed to be
opened. A faux box so to speak….
Ike and Dotty's Joint Symbolustic Metabox
Little need be said about the movements of this shabby twit over the course of the next few hours. Needless to say, he engaged (as the urge
compelled him) in his typical daily activities including public urination, begging for leftovers, pan handling for small change, and scrounging
through an occasional dumpster for a change of underwear etc. (The 'shorts' he was wearing were filthy with grime and other unmentionable
substances and oddly bespeckled with multi-colored dots.) Eventually, he found himself in the tiny residential park which he thought of as his
temporary residence. [It should be  obvious that he was homeless.] There, he found a comfortable spot under a great sugar pine which had been
growing for well over a century. Its limbs had spread to form an erratic umbra of shade below, where a bench and drinking fountain had been
installed by the city several years before. There was no Jungle Jim, no swings, courts or peripheral attractions to lure the attention of children or
passersby.  It was ideal, in other words, for his two handed ononistic proclivities. He was, after all, ambidextrous, though he preferred his left hand
to his right because it felt like somebody else was actually doing it.

Settling in to a comfortable position on the bench, Woody unwrapped the blanket from around the box and placed it in his lap. Carefully he studied
the lid for a awhile and decided it was just decorated with a bunch of stupid dots like on his underwear. It made no sense whatsoever. “Maybe it
was deliberately meant to look like junk,” he thought. In any case, he reopened it and took out a kid’s marble which had some type of blurred
image inside. Instantly, the front panel of the box changed. “Holy shit!” The very image that was blurred inside the marble!
You can’t imagine his donkey dick reaction to this surprising turn of events.
For a brief period he was so flabbergasted that he couldn't concentrate,
honk or sneeze, let alone take a deep breath. Recovering eventually, his
besotted self began to suspect something. Was there a connection
somehow between a bead (and maybe a seed?) and the use you intended for
the box? Since he had thought to substitute it for a chamber pot, could that
have influenced what happened after he picked up that brick bead?  It was
truly a thorny but irresistible theory which he decided to test at the next
available opportunity (i.e. as soon as he could figure out what his next
opportunity would be…). So, tucking the box under an old blanket he used
to relieve himself in public, he secured it tightly within the crooked arch of
his left arm and ambled down the trash strewn alley behind Dotty’s Zen
Baptist facility toward the tiny park where he’d slept the night before.

Little did he know that under his 'public' blanket the heads on the box had
both begun to swell and glow…
Now, Woody had lived a simple life, had few needs and no real ambition, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t
recognize a good thing when he saw one. And this was clearly by anyone’s standard a very good thing…In fact it
was so good that Woody had to throw his blanket over his lap for a while so he could get down to business.
The Rise of the Tree Hugger Clan   
Continue to Chapter 14
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