Incomprehensibly Super Conscious

Cool Jacket - Affirmed

The Man in the hat wants to share his affirmations with you, we understand the thrust of his concept but begin to question his understanding of how the affirmation process works...

 

Affirmations

I'm so damn good I can barely touch myself.
I know you are waiting for me. But I, ah...ahhh... Oh, here I am to your relief, I lost myself for a second in a cosmic cloud of incomprehensible coolness. I don't mean to brag, actually I'm quite modest about all my capabilities and my capacity for understanding the nuances of the cosmic stroke, the uncanny effortlessness of my undeniable super-consciousness and the like, it literally takes your breath away.

     Wait a minute. That didn't sound modest at all. Here, let me say this, I'm not modest, I'm honest! Honestly unbelievably brilliant. No brag, just fact. Hold. Pause. Still yourself. I hear a drip, a dripping faucet. Somewhere there is a leak, but it has no bearing on my overwhelming virtuosity, my meteoric expression of absolute magnificence and my ability to relate even still to the meekest
mole grabber or the most galactical of the cosmos shapers. They hear me and become silently amazed at my sayings, but then again, who doesn't? My graphite pencil penetrates the crevices of the paper, paper blessed by the presence of my mind-body-arm-hand. The stylus pulses a sense of creation - ergo genesis, I say, of thought - the paper bleeds. This makes the peoples bodies vibrate at frequencies you can only begin to comprehend. And that's just for starters. Tomorrow I'll tell you what I just might actually DO.
     Affirming Love, Peace and especially, Humility,
     TMITH
Looks like The Man in the Hat has gotten a little overly in touch with himself... I reckon from time to time one needs to pump oneself up.  A lot.

Deegan thinks he knows all, to humor him we let him insert the first module of his electronic writing course in the Cosmic..
Deegan's Free Writing Course - Module One:
Unlike the Man in the Hat my humility knows no bounds, that is why I release to you my own uncorrupted guide to writing - from which you will benefit more in mere seconds of exposure than you would if you spent years at granite filled non-sensical institutions such as Oxford or Cambridge. The prize you begin to conceive of is at your fingertips, even now before your eyes pierce the first letter you have been expanded...BEHOLD!
(My thanks to TMITH for writing my intro, he does have a way with words don't he?)

Module One:
Write, write and write some more! Then do it again and again and again, but this time you gotta feel it, with all your senses, it's gotta wriggle along the skin of the back of your hand, you gotta smell it like an inescapable odor, you have to see it light up the back of your eyeballs and bounce thru your skull, the whole inner core of it must penetrate you to your essentials.
     Now, make the reader feel the same! See, there's nothin' to it!

Next Week Module Two: Penetratin' to the Readers Essentials!

Wife No. 8 from Utah

 

 

"Everybody wants to be structureless, until it's time to eat."

-Reynard

 

 

 

White Port, Lemon Juice and Ayn Rand

Pound Your Own Metal


"Lagonda, 2nd State" - by Ken

There is only is.
The is that will be and the is that was, but is no longer.
Prepare yourself.
Prepare the is that may or may not follow.
Who are you to judge?
Prepare the is of the following moment.
Everything and nothing is left to chance.
You are only given one hammer to pound
the red hot metal that is your life,
thoughtful swings, thoughtful swings.
Never stop until the metal grows cold and your
grip is insufficient. Do not pound someone else's metal.
That is someone else's is.

The Man in the Hat says:
Sounds like metaphysical mumbo-jumbo to me!
Z-Zen says:
That is fine if it is your delight - loan me five bucks.
 

Rapid Sketch by TMITH

White Port, Lemon Juice and Ayn Rand

Deegan Speaks!

W-P-LJ really tastes good to me...makes a good good wine that
really makes you feel so fine... - from the Frank Zappa song "WPLJ"

The next time that guy on the street asks for a buck or two to buy some White Port and lemon juice
you should go all Ayn Rand* on his ass, telling him how he should master his own destiny and not wait for hand outs from the government or anybody else for that matter. Explain to him that if he feels he was unfairly taken advantage of or life dealt him a bad hand, he deserved it for not being bright enough to avoid it. Then tell him that if you were to give him a few bucks the next thing you know he would be asking you to fetch him fresh lemons to go with the fortified wine and and a crystal goblet to mix it in because he feels "entitled" to quality.
Now if he hasn't gotten up and beaten the shit out of you before you finish, I would figure he
deserved to listen to your 1850's style social consciousness - and had it coming.

*Ayn Rand per popular political demagoguery

"The hills are alive with the sound of music, and Nazi troop carriers..." excerpt from rejected first draft of Julie Andrews song from "The Sound of Music"

Interview Girl!



"Typical Early Evening Drive" by Ken

In order to make ends meet, we put our girl out on the street!
Our receptionist Sally was getting bored, so we sent her out to glean pieces of meat from the gristle on the streets.

(Sally) What is your name?
They call me H.G.
Why are you homeless?
I was getting stale. They told me I had to get out of my comfort zone.
This homeless thing seemed pretty damned uncomfortable, so I tried it.
I can tell you firsthand that I would rather be back where I was...well I'm not sure
I kind of like the abuse - sleeping on concrete and rags and the mental cases
I run into. It really is quite something.
Didn't you think they meant a job, or perhaps a relationship change?
I didn't think of that, I only thought "out of comfort", in that I have succeeded
especially.
Why don't you get another job?
Nobody wants to hire me because they think I'm nuts  - and I guess they are
right to a certain degree you know? Kind of like a galactic pancake.
Oh, I uh, see. What are you going to do next?
I'm training my fleas to attack people I don't like or who try to cheat me.
You got that five dollars? My fleas are very sensitive!
Here you go HG. You certainly aren't your average homeless guy. Good
luck in your future endeavors, however they may pan out.
God bless you interview lady. I feel your essence and I'll give it a squeeze.

Encounter with the imminent eminent street entertainer
"You can't be successful doing that shit!" I said to the man doing a little dance on the corner of State and Wabash. He said "Who are you to tell me the truth of my being, is it up to someone else to define my success? I said " You need to make real money by defining and refining your act, you are very good, yes you are, a sidewalk is not worthy of your talent." He replied directly "You kind sir do not really know how happy I am, nor do you know your own happiness". After he shared the wisdom of the ages I began to see. Then he asked me for fifty five dollars. I was taken aback. Then he explained that beyond all thoughts he still required sustenance on the material plane. I explained that I was a little short on cash, but there was a McDonalds across the street. He said "I don't eat that shit!" and departed from me.

The Man In The Hat says...
Less time has been spent
on a mind so bent
refocus yourself
and pay the rent

The remnant of KIR-ALON!

Welcome DEEGAN The short story salesman...
Deegan writes little stories and tells us how he feels about stuff. We grafted him into Cosmic so we wouldn't have to pay him for his writing. Look out for his column "How I'm feeling right NOW!" in future posts. We are delighted to include his story "Remnant... " in this weeks issue.


Study For Painting No. 6

The Remnant Of KIR-ALON
Those biscuit eating critters of  Kir-Alon are back, smoking fat cigars on the patio of the hotel Darmuth and annoying all the other guests with their late night revelries. With a never ending assortment of call girls and peacock-escorts going in and out of the six-suite floor seven along with an indecent amount of booze, champagne and beer - comparable to the amount the Shriners of Gath consume (even though the Shriners outnumber them four to one), at any rate they are here.
Beyond that and merely considering those facts among others, I ran into Weinbak-8 on the south staircase, he stumbling and blubbering, reeking of alcohol, insisting to talk to me about "The Comparative Analysis"! What? Comparative analysis? Of What?!! I said. "I must speak to you and no one else". With that Mr. Weinbak-8 pulled out a wad of cash that for me would be more than six months wages. He pushed it into my palm and said "Let us recline on the patio". I normally might have pushed him down the stairs but with the cash in my pocket I became much more tolerant of him and the odor of the alcohol became more reminiscent of a dear old over-drinking uncle or something.
     It was early morning and the two of us sat down on the lounge chairs all alone on the patio which smelled of beer spilled hours earlier. I became aware of a danger that far outstripped the tidy sum of money in my pocket. At that point I said "Here is your money, I'm out." He replied "It is far too late for that, no sense in even trying. Keep the cash in expectation of many many times more - and listen extremely carefully, unless you desire to forfeit your life." I then considered flinging him from the railing so he could analyze the impact speed of a body falling to the concrete from the eighth floor, but I held myself in check, because for the first time in many forgotten seasons I felt completely alive... He then began, "The comparative analysis of life as we know it and the laws of the universe"... Blah blah blah, ecetera, ecetera, ecetera... I then realized he was just talking excrement in huge quantities and wasting my very precious time. I said summarily; "I'm throwing your drunk ass off this patio - right now." As I approached him he pulled out a switchblade knife and gave me a fleshwound across the collarbone, if I had reacted any slower it would have been my neck and I'd be dead on the patio tiles in an egg shaped pool of blood. I said, "I was only trying to scare you!" He replied, "How was I to know?!!". During this short and lively conversation  I pulled out my Mac 10 and with what sounded like a short drum roll in a two bit bar, I sprayed Mr Weinbak-8, making a diagonal line across his torso. Hell, the only thing missing was a cymbal clash at the end of it. I didn't see a spirit depart from his body - but I knew his ass was dead. At that point I decided to remove myself from the vicinity and  become a very religious farmer of sorts, you know - the kind without electricity. Me and my seven wives have lived out here for the last fifteen years with no violence save an errant horses hoof. We've had peace and I'm sure we'll have a dozen more years of it. You can bet you desperate life on it.

Reynard Speaks...
Life is the way it is. The pack of wild dogs downs the zebra and in order to get food before the larger predators come, chews the guts out of him while he is still alive. Is the Zebra loved any less or has the lion come too late? Then again... on the other hand I say piles of money are not a salve for the rich and the poor's chances are slim indeed, but unlike a dog, you need salvation and money...
And for our part we will get Reynard the medication he deserves

Uh, RATS

Goddamn Elves!

"Bootmakers Dilemma" by Ken

 

ELVES!

Dear Cousin Slinygran,

Greetings from Fornmost! Please hear my complaint.
I try to cast a nice spell or two on some godforsaken pastry chef or shoe maker - putting them against unbreakable or unmakeable odds and these goddamn elves show up overnight and undo all my hard work.
Let me give you an example.
 Pietro, a stubborn thick-headed mule of a bootmaker had the unfortunate luck of being noticed by the local overlord (my spell) who, admiring Pietro's handiwork and skill (and also seeing how much boot licking he would do) ordered 30 pairs of boots in, get this - ONE WEEK. Pietro said he would do it because basically, he's an idiot! My buddy the Troll King said he would fix things up if Pietro would hand over the fair, fair Isadora, who was his only child. Pietro wept and wept because the Troll King is a goddamn troll for cryin' out loud! Refusing to give up his daughter, Pietro worked until his hands bled - but only had seven pairs of boots ready the night before the overlord would come to collect. Regardless of the insanity of his request the overlord will be furious if his demands are not met.
Now finally I'm getting close to fun I want to see. In the morning Pietro gets his head cut off, the overlord takes seven pairs of boots without paying and the Troll king swipes Isadora! What joy!

But wait, no, out of nowhere overnight these goddamn elves show up, sewing and stitching and singing - and make twenty three pairs of boots, twinklin all the way! In the morning the overlord is so pleased with Pietro he gives him a box of gold and has his handsome son marry Isadora, the Troll King goes back to his hollow log and I just get to be totally disappointed.

It's a hell of a life.
You've got to help me do something about these goddamn elves. Really.

Signed,
Indolena
Witch of Maygdal, Fornmost, Suynden & intermediate areas

At Once a Glass Horse

sketch by Ken

So I went and kept going

until I arrived at the end of the universe.
As I arrived all things began to warp around me.
I received a key to reality and in that
instant I began to see the entire universe as part of
another construct (and a minor one at that).
Someone says "Go on, look some more". Their tone
is somber, dull and bored. I decide to get up from
my small white cube and blow my whistle. At once
a glass horse stumbles up - his back sagging and legs
spindly. I call for a taxi instead, the driver pauses,
looks at me and drives off. The horse looks so sad
that I climb on his back to reassure him of his use-
fullness. He quakes a little at first but gathers him-
self and begins to move. He moves so slowly that the
universe and surrounding construct begins to recede
like a dramatic movie-lense-old-fashioned special
effect. The universe containing contruct disappears
like a white blip on a black screen and there is
nothing, nothing at all except me and the glass horse.
A light, seemingly from nowhere, illuminates us, it's
incandescent. Who ever is running this show is not
energy conscious, I thought.