Monday, September 20, 2010


Speaking of intermediate cases, in 1983 a car crash split me down the middle. I ceased to exist as one person and became three: the person who existed before the crash and the two half-entities resulting from the crash.

Even the brain split in two. Left brain person kept in contact with space aliens from Planet Blop. Right brain person received messages from Oogah and Oorsis, the Club Morono version of anthropomorphic creators of the universe and guardians of various cosmological systems or worlds.

It’s long been understood among fringe societies, outsider groups, practitioners of secret rituals, and  psychedelic visionaries that consensus reality is not the only one. Of course, we’re most familiar with consensus reality, propagated on talk shows, implied in the selection of films at multiplex cinemas and in the unspoken agreement of music chosen to be diffused as background in cafes, bars, stores, elevators, malls or just about wherever you go. Incidentally, this consensus reality has been endorsed by a wealthy elite who call the shots, who get special political representation and who insist on their right to be taxed as little as possible. They invest a lot into making sure that diffused culture remains as sedate, predictable and as harmless as possible.

OK, I was trying to say that other world systems may or may not be any better or worse than our own.

This truth came home to me during a long, routine jet plane trip a couple years ago. I gazed down from high altitude and the world below, subdivided into smaller worlds, interconnected by highways and filled with motor vehicles hurrying to get there. Body and soul clusters, biological situations involving consciousness, motels, hotels, rest stops, truck stops, gas bars, service oasis, plaza, mall, restaurant, snack spot, convenience store, satellites along the freeway for motorized corpuscles in motion. Ingest, fill up, exhaust, consume and pollute, forever leaving and forever arriving only to leave again. If a gold fish stops moving, it dies and plops to the bottom of the fish bowl. Maybe the other fish eat dead fish.

Imagine a string of worlds, aerial view to make highway grid vivid; jet plane view so the land looks like a road map. You can see traffic arteries and veins. Cities with ventricles, heavy traffic, pulsating metal, penetrates the pounding heart of the city through aortas. Standardized movement, how people get in and out of a car, how heads bob as an SUV goes over a bump, the dazed kind of stupor that dulls the mind as one spends hours in the automobile, gazing placidly, slightly doped on motion, noise and radiation, at the world going by. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy traveling around, taking the train, or going for a drive. It just struck me, how technology shapes posture and movement.

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