A friendly reminder from Robert Anton Wilson
A friendly reminder from Robert Anton Wilson
teafaerie writes about her experience of Chapel Perilous.
I’m writing a book. It’s almost done. Or so I tell people. Nobody but me can verify its existence, because I don’t seem to be able to share it with anyone. Yet. I’ve shown a few snippets of it to my husband, and to my best friend Seuss Dean with whom I can share almost anything, but in a way they are the most awkward audience for it because they both figure prominently in the narrative. So when people ask me what I’ve been working on, I just tell them that it’s a book about my experiences with psychedelics, flow arts, and polyamory. That’s usually enough to satisfy mere idle curiosity. If someone really presses me for information, I can sometimes be persuaded to divulge the working title: Playing With Fire – How I turned Chapel Perilous into the Flow Temple and Learned to Love God, the Devil, Myself, and Everyone Else.
[Robert Anton] Wilson laid out the basic instructions for Operation Mindfuck in a memo sent to several friends (including [Paul] Krassner). Participants were “to circulate all rumors contributed by other members,” and they were “to attribute all national calamities, assassinations or conspiracies to the other member-groups.” The one great risk, he cautioned, was that “the Establishment might be paranoid enough to believe some wild legend started by one of us and thereupon round up all of us for killing Abraham Lincoln.”
So they sent a letter on Bavarian Illuminati stationery to the Christian Anti-Communist Crusade, just to confirm that “we’ve taken over the Rock Music business.… Read the rest
Pope Bob, one of Disinfo’s Patron saints. Six years done and gone but no way forgotten. Spectacles, testicles, brandy, cigars — you’re all popes! via The Robert Anton Wilson Website
Wilson describes himself as a “guerilla ontologist,” signifying his intent to ATTACK language and knowledge the way terrorists ATTACK their targets: to jump out from the shadows for an unprovoked ATTACK, then slink back and hide behind a hearty belly-laugh. – Robert Sheaffer, The Skeptical Inquirer, Summer 1990
I had given a talk to the Irish Science-Fiction Society and the question period began.
“Do you believe in UFOs?” somebody asked.
“Yes, of course,” I answered.
The questioner, who looked quite young, then burst into a long speech, “proving” at least to his own satisfaction that all UFOs “really are” sun-dogs or heat inversions. When he finally ran down I simply replied,
“Well, we both agree that UFOs exist.
Ever since the tragedy at the Boston Marathon on Monday, I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea of karma. Several posts have called out the irony (or Orwellian Doublethink) of the US licking its wounds, while it inflicts similar wounds on innocent bystanders worldwide. Clusterbombs, murdered Afghan and Pakistani wedding parties, “collateral damage” to the civilian population in Iraq, to name a few. I am trying to resist the reductionist conditioning of my western brain that wants to distill the vast cultural complexities of “karma” into a dualist cause & effect dynamic. However, there seems to be something darkly significant to the recent trend of our own innocents being killed by our own citizens. Newtown, Aurora, Tucson, possibly Boston, etc. Anyway, this train of thought led me back to an old classic essay on karma from Robert Anton Wilson. Deepleaf Productions hosts a nice collection of RAW audio & text, and here is an excerpt from Cosmic Trigger:
A Lesson in Karma
Robert Anton Wilson
from Cosmic Trigger – The Final Secret of the Illuminati
Lao-Tse says (at least in Leary’s translation) that the Great Tao is most often found with parents who are willing to learn from their children.
The title to this piece is something that randomly popped into my head when I was Occult ganj-i-tating a few months back. I wrote it down on my Facebook page (friend me for strangeness) and ultimately just dismissed it as a funny song title idea until the next few weeks found me catching up on Mad Men. Of course! With weed laws loosening and legal weed a reality in my home state of Washington, we’re going to need some slick marketing copy to make this stuff the center of our economy (as it rightfully should be), and who better to do that than a chronically stoned super freak like me? “You’re Not a Monkey When You’re Stoned.” What a great tag line (pot marketing people, call me), but Christ, you really don’t need a hypnotic tag line to sell this stuff. As I’ve found out first hand as a small time dealer, shit basically sells itself.
Here’s why. Life is bullshit, pot can help! Man, that’s another great one. Someone should really hire my ass here because I could just keep going with these. But seriously, chances are, if you’re not among the supremely wealthy minority of privileged fucks running things, you probably have to work a day job that makes you want to blow your brains out a lot of the time. See, life is bullshit. I have no idea what the architects of this reality were thinking with all that, but the good news is that pot can take you far far away from everything, really fucking quick…
The title to this was something that was communicated to me while I was ganj-i-tating during the witching hour last Sunday Morning, accompanied by a feeling of supreme recognition. The movie they’re referring to is our lives. Friend me for magick updates on Facebook, this is the sort of odd shit that happens. Are cute pug puppy pictures coming soon? Of course they are.
The other week I decided that so as to stay away from the net a bit like I normally do on the weekends, I’d condense my psychic updates to a weekend edition entitled The Weekend in Sorcery. First weekend was interesting. The second was fucking bananas- (edited it a bit to post here, so keep that in mind, but otherwise, read on true believers):
Weekend of January 8-10, 2013 (year of the witch):
23 Ways to Tell You’ve Read Too Much Robert Anton Wilson:
1. You like to dine on golden apples and lasagna that has flown over Bologna.
2. You have Lawn Gnomes of Zurich out front on the porch.
3. You sign your name with “fnord” at the end.
5. You wish you were shorter so you could change your name to Markoff.
6. Is that a reefer I see in your hand? Yeah, I thought so.
7. You can say “sumbunall” without hesitating or blushing.
8. Whenever you put off cleaning for too long you get the feeling that dust bunnies are conspiring to use mind control on you.
9.… Read the rest
Maybe it was unintentionally watching the “Sterling drops LSD” episode of Mad Men on Robert Anton Wilson’s birthday, or maybe because after watching that I stumbled upon an acid themed Politically Incorrect Timothy Leary tribute from back in the 90’s featuring R.A.W. and David Cross (no shit)—but I thought maybe this week I’d delve into just what happens when I take what Terrence Mckenna would refer to as a heroic dose of western society’s pre-eminent super hallucinogen. This is the kind of thing that got me into the occult in the first place like a lot of other people, and it’s maybe a part of the reason that if I had to put a finger on where the sixties hippie movement went wrong a bit (aside from the whole government beating them the fuck down thing), it’d be that they, you know, did waaaaaaay too much acid. Not like a little bit too much.… Read the rest
To say that I have a complicated relationship with the writings of Robert Anton Wilson would be a bit of an understatement. Although I started reading his work in my early 20’s, I was never honestly that huge a superfan outside of the books Sex & Drugs (edited down from his original title of Sex, Drugs, and the Occult by his publisher – now re-released as Sex, Drugs, and Magick) and Cosmic Trigger I: Final Secret of the Illuminati. Yeah, strangely enough, the only other books I ever read by the guy were The Illuminatus Trilogy and Promethus Rising. Truthfully, I wasn’t even totally stoked on Illuminatus. Kind of thought it was structured almost intentionally lazily which gave him (and Robert Shea) the ability to write down whatever thoughts happened to pop into their heads while they were stoned with zero regard for structure. Because of that I would actually recommend the much more underrated DNA Cowboys Trilogy by Mick Farren if you’re into this sort of epic mindfuckery.… Read the rest