The Rat King

Rats are curious creatures aren’t they? Particularly of late now that there are so many mutagens and teratogens in the atmosphere. I was going to say ‘now that there are so many entheogens in the atmosphere’ but that’s something different isn’t it. They are no entheogens in the atmosphere, or at least not as far as I know. I actually prefer rats to dogs, to be honest – or at least to the small, yappy type of dog. Although it’s true that with some of the more recent variants of rat that we’ve started to see on the streets like the type which has its brain on the outside of its skull like a cauliflower do look rather freaky. They are very intelligent however and it’s not all about looks, is it?


Although I know that a lot of people do think that it’s all about looks. That’s because we’ve been prevailed upon by the media of course. The media with their tireless agenda to make us all morons. And all the corporations that want to make us permanently insecure so that they can sell us their filthy products and make themselves pathologically rich at our expense. I don’t blame them though – it never ceases to amaze me that we make it so ridiculously easy for them. How did we ever buy into the idea that it doesn’t matter how dumb or obnoxious we are just so long as we’re good-looking? Or rich of course because if we’re rich then we don’t have to be good-looking because money – as they say – is the ultimate aphrodisiac. There’s no turn-on like it. It’s auto-erotic too – its a sexual relationship with oneself. It’s narcissism taken to the ultimate extreme. Like William Gibson says, the rich enter into a seamless universe of self…


The world is ruled by dumb and obnoxious people. Or rather it’s ruled by smart and obnoxious people, which is worse. Although how smart are they really, all of these supposedly super-smart sociopath types with their fantastic ability to manipulate us all? What’s the bloody point of it all, anyway? The whole thing’s a travesty. It doesn’t really wash, does it? Personally I don’t buy it that the slick smooth-talking sociopaths who run society are smart – I think they’re infected with some type of parasite that makes them behave that way. They’ve got a disease. It will be discovered one day. All those lies and all that manipulation have got to be pathological in origin. It’s morbid behaviour obviously – they’re being controlled by their parasites.


I’ve given up on humanity, to be honest. I think the future belongs to the rats. Particularly the ones with the external brains that look like cauliflowers growing on top of their skulls. They’ve learned how to use tools and everything. I’ve seen some of them pushing little wheel-barrows around, wheel-barrows which they use to carry the most extreme outgrowths of their highly-developed brains. I really do think that the rats will supersede us. They seem to know what they’re doing and we don’t. Human beings don’t know what they’re doing at all – they’ve lost their way….


I had a dream the other night – I’m pretty sure it was a lucid one – in which I received a message to this effect. In my dream I was lying in bed and I was awake – I was awake in the dream. I just couldn’t move. I couldn’t even blink. After a while I became aware of strange tapping and scratching noises emanating from beneath the floor-boards of my bedroom. A lot of activity seemed to be going on. Then I left my bed and was floating in the air. I discovered that I could move at will in any direction that I chose and so I found a way of mentally moving my consciousness down below the floor of my bedroom. To my surprise there was a vast underground hall there – a subterranean Hall of Darkness. It was the Worm Hall of Nordic mythology. As I grew accustomed to the astral fog that lay over everything I found that I could make out the looming form of a tremendous throne in front of me. It was made of wrought iron which was studded with black jewels of various intriguing shapes.


Then my vision improved again and as the astral murk melted away around me I could see the immense imposing shape of the Rat King sitting on the throne in all his glory. His little red eyes glared at me and his cruel voice boomed out through the chamber. “The human race is run,” he told me, “you had your chance and you screwed it up. You’re no good for anything but shopping, anyway. Whoever heard of a dominant species on a planet that spends its whole time shopping? For God’s sake. You’ve missed the boat, monkey boys. You’ve missed your chance and now you have to make way for true intelligence, intelligence that isn’t obsessed with skin-care products, shoes, and kitchen fittings. You’ve messed up royally and now we’re going to show you how it should be done.”


The giant rat figure gestured with one of its long grey fingers to indicate that my audience with him was over. I was to return to my own world. I made my way up through the floorboards and back into the dismal squalor of my bed-room. I sat on the bed, back in my body now, glumly contemplating the obscene folly of the human race. I had to admit that the Rat King had a made a few good points there. Perhaps the rats would do a better job. Musing over it, I couldn’t help thinking that they deserved their chance. They certainly couldn’t do any worse than us…





Is It Wrong To Make Your Own Reality?

What happens when we create our own reality? What does it MEAN to ‘create your own reality’? Is it wrong to create your own reality? Is it a problem? These are the type of questions I am asking myself right now. I know that idiots used to go on and on about this back in the eighties and nineties as if it were such a great thing. As if it was the answer to everything. Even at the time this baloney failed to wash with me. Even at the time I saw this for the nonsense it was. You know the type of idiots I’m talking about here. New Age Gurus. Witless blabberers I call them…


Part of the problem is this notion of ‘asking meaningful questions’. Me I mean, not the New Age Blabberers. What I have now discovered is that our so-called ‘questions’ (my so-called ‘questions’) aren’t questions at all – we’re just reiterating our core assumptions out of insecurity. We’ve all been reiterating our core assumptions for as long as we’ve been able to say our own names, just about, so what’s wrong with reiterating them again? Give the old rattle one more shake, why don’t you. Only don’t call it asking questions. Asking questions is something different.


When I ask myself these questions all I’m really doing is vibrating. I’m just vibrating on the spot, waiting to see what happens when I shake my rattle for the ten billionth time. Hang on now lads I’m going to give it another bit of a shake. This is the experiment – what happens when I boldly vibrate between one known possibility and another? Where is this going to get me? What new perspectives will this throw up? Needless to say I can hardly wait to find out. It’s all cutting edge stuff. I’ll keep you posted what happens. Watch this space…


Making your own reality is a SIN really. That’s what I’ve now come to understand. That’s what ‘sinning’ is – it’s making your own reality. It’s pure hubris, which was Lucifer’s undoing, as we all know. So here I am making up my own reality. Making it up as I go along. A little bit of this and a little bit of that. Does this sound good to you? Does this sound like a good thing? It obviously did to the New Age Blabberers. It obviously sounded brilliant to them. They were wetting themselves over it. How exactly does one create one’s own reality though? What do we have to go on? So here’s me and I don’t know what reality it, I haven’t a clue, I’m in the dark, but never mind – I’ll make it up myself! Sure why not?


You see the thing is that it’s WRONG to make your own reality. It’s very wrong indeed. It’s the wrongest thing there could ever be. Like I say, it’s a sin. It’s like pretending you can do something when you can’t. It’s like making a house out of your own ignorance, a world out of your own ignorance. It’s compounding your own ignorance with endless further strands of your ignorance and making a big sticky ball of it. Then you roll the ball down the hill. When we advance on the basis of the ignorance we aren’t admitting to (on the basis of what we don’t know but say that we know) then this is very bad shit. There’s no way out of this one – it can only ever get worse (and it was bad to start off with). We tell ourselves that it’s all working out for us, of course. We tell ourselves that it’s all OK and that we’re getting somewhere, that we’re on the right path. What’s more, we’ll drag everyone else down this road too if we possibly can. We’ll do our best to condemn them to the same fate as us. That’s called ‘the blind leading the blind’. That’s called ‘society’.


That’s what ‘sinning’ is all about. Making your own reality. That’s the real sin. Not what those dumb-ass preachers in the Southern USA try to make out with all their fire-and-brimstone bull crap. They’re as lost and as blind as everyone else. They are echoing humanity’s frightening ignorance back at them. They’re making their own reality and they’re trying to pull you down with them. Same as everyone else. Making your own reality is a terrible, terrible thing. That’s what I’m trying to say here. It’s a horror. And do you know what the most terrible thing about it is? The fact that you just can’t stop doing it, no matter what…







My Life as a Highly Specialized Parasite

I was asked by the new group facilitator to go away and write an essay on why I am resisting therapy. That’s my homework. And why resisting therapy is dysfunctional behaviour. I am supposed to bring it to the group next week. So I went away and wrote an essay called ‘My life as a highly specialized parasite’. Are parasites dysfunctional? Hardly! They are on the contrary very highly adapted to their environment, as am I. That’s a sign of intelligence, isn’t it – to be adapted to one’s environment? Isn’t that the basic test of intelligence? Kind of like what life’s all about really, I imagine…


I am a psychic parasite of course – I don’t live in peoples’ colons or anything like that! I am not a nematode. I’m not a shit-sucker! Although in another, more metaphorical kind of way I suppose I am. I suppose I do my share of shit sucking. I remember thinking once that that would be a great name for a band. Nathan and the Nematodes. Yeah – it’s got that ring. The ring you need. I find ‘nematode’ an oddly soothing word. I used to repeat it to myself over and over again when I was a teenager. When I was going through a hard time. Which was a lot of the time. Funny the things you remember isn’t it. Some words soothe, others don’t. Some abrade. Some words are abrasive in their nature – they wear you away. They wear you down. Some words have an awful rough edge to them. Rough rough rough. What did the dog say when he…. Oh never mind. That’s a bad joke.


Obviously I’m not a physical parasite. In my view it’s the therapy group that I am attending that is dysfunctional not me. The world is full of dysfunctional therapy groups. It surely is. There’s nothing worse than a dysfunctional therapy group, is there? Can you imagine anything worse? Only they’re good for me because I feed on them. I’m adapted to them – I feed on their twisted negative dysfunctional energy. Or have I got it the wrong way around? Perhaps the group – and that twat of a therapist Aaron – are feeding on me. That would explain a lot. It would explain why he always looks so smug. It would explain why nothing ever ruffles his feathers. It would also explain why I am always feeling so tired. So uncannily tired. Pathologically tired. I’m so tired that I’m actually distressed. I’m too tired to be able to rest any more. I’m so tired that I don’t know how to carry on existing…


Random thoughts are playing somewhere in some long-forgotten corner of my mind.  Ghostly thoughts – thoughts that whisper away in the background; thoughts that are so faint that you can’t quite hear what they are saying. Almost but not quite. A miss is as good as a mile. They’re whispering away secretively to each other. Only I know they’ve nothing to say. Not really. It’s just force of habit that’s making them talk. It’s the entropy that’s in them. It’s just dead momentum, nothing else. That’s the only reason for it. They’re running down. They’re running on habit-energy. They’re rustling drily in the background like dry rustling things. Like the wind stirring fallen leaves. Recycling stuff that’s been said before. Spinning around like an old rusty wheel. Spinning like the wheels on a broken old go-kart after it’s crashed into the bushes and turned over. The thoughts have got nothing to say but they say it anyway.  They say it anyway. They’re feeding off my psychic energy. Like the well-adapted parasites they are.












The Product Was Smiling

The happy people were buying the Product. Happy, happy people. Happy, happy, happy. Always so happy. Buying the Product, buying the Product, buying the Product. The Product, the Product, the Product. Smiling all the time because they’re so happy to buy the Product. Happy because of the Product because the Product is so great. So happy and always smiling. Always smiling and always buying the Product. Smiling because. Always, always, always. The happy people. The happy. Always. The Product. Always. All the time. The Product, the Product, the Product. Smiling because the Product is so great. Happy, happy, happy. Happy because the people are always smiling as they buy the Product. Happy because the smiling is always the people. The happy people. Always the Product. Smiling because. Always the Product. Always, always, always. Everywhere it’s the Product and the Product is everywhere and always everywhere the smiling people are happy. Always the smiling people are smiling. Smiling all the time. Smiling because they’re smiling. Because of the way that the Product makes you feel. Smiling because of the special Product. Every moment is a special moment when you buy the Product and you’re always buying it. So special so great. Every moment is a happy moment. Every moment is a Product Moment. Everyone is always. Because we know the Product is so great. Smiling because. The happy people buying the. People the. Always smiling. Smiling the Product. Smiling every time. Because we know. Always so smiling. They’re always buying the Product. The happy people. Buying all the time because we know that the moment is so special. Everywhere you look the people smiling. So many smiles. Smiles all around. Smiling the Product. Because you know. Smiling every time. Everywhere you look the Product is smiling. Smiling, smiling, smiling. Because of the Product. Smiling all the time because you know the Product. Is so.







Spin Reversal

“Why does everything always have to be so shit?” I asked myself bitterly, for the millionth time. Nothing ever seems to work out for me. “Why does nothing ever work out for me?” I asked myself for the ten millionth time. I was not in a good place. I was in a hell-world of my own construction. I was in the hell-world of my own complaining thoughts. “Why am I always moaning and complaining the whole time?” I moaned. It seemed unfair. Other people don’t have such a shit time of it as I do. I know they don’t – it’s no good coming out with all that stuff about ‘everyone having their own difficulties’. That’s just something people say to fob you off. That’s obviously nonsense. It’s classic bullshit. I know by the look of other people that they’re not having such a shit time as me. Most of them actually look as if they’re enjoying life. Their lives are more fun than mine. My life isn’t any fun. It’s total shit.


Every now and then I catch myself wondering what it’s like not to be a total scumbag. It makes me sad when I think this. To be honest I can’t really imagine what it feels like not to be a total scumbag – I have nothing to go on, I have no point of reference. I suppose what I’m saying is that I just don’t know what that means. I fundamentally don’t know. But all the same I feel that it must somehow be good – I feel that there must be a tremendous freedom in not being an out-and-out little shit. I can’t imagine that freedom. I have never known it and I probably never will and when I get to thinking like this it makes me very sad. The tears run freely down my face and some of them drop onto the notepad I’m writing these words in and make the ink run.


Do you know that feeling when you’re putting lots of spin on something and you’re doing fine and then suddenly – unexpectedly – something happens and it all snaps right back at you like an elastic band and catches you painfully right in the eye? It’s not very nice is it? I call that spin-reversal – I don’t know what other people call it, or whether they would know what I’m talking about at all. Probably not, I guess. Probably they wouldn’t. Anyway. It’s a profoundly disheartening experience, to say the least – you’ve put all that energy into putting all that positive spin onto something and then the next thing is that it reverses on you. I’ve put a lot of spin onto things in my life and that’s a lot of shit to hit you when it all comes undone. It’s a lot of shit to come back on you. It’s a hell of a lot of shit, trust me. My thinking is the spin, my words are the spin. What I have just written just now is the spin and I’m the dodgy spin-doctor caught in his own web, caught in the web of his own ever-proliferating lies. And none of it’s my fault really – I honestly didn’t know what I was doing.


The excuses are slavering from my tongue like doggy-dribble. I’m slavering like a mad rabid thing and the slaver is running all down my neck. My tee-shirt is soaking with it. A great curtain of slaver is dropping from my chin – I’m not just frothing at the mouth, I’m foaming big time. Great big bubbles of sticky rabid saliva are forming and popping as I speak, as I feverishly articulate my excuses. No one’s listening to me though. I’m in the Bardo realm. I’m running down the street in fear of my life. The retribution machine is kicking into action. I’m making a break for it and all around me are the demons. They are demons from the Demon realm. They all come from my mind – I’ve gone mad with fear. I’m running down the street, running away from my own mind, screaming excuses as I go. No one’s listening though. Even I’m not listening…








The Ultimate Cheat

Aware of my great insight in these matters, people often ask me what the future of gaming is going to be. Well, actually they don’t. That’s a lie. No one asks me that. But anyway. We won’t get hung up on that. This would actually be a very pertinent question if someone did ask it. We all know that the future’s going to be gamified and that there’s now no way this trend can be reversed at this stage, but where will it all end? What’s next? That’s the question that’s on everyone’s lips. Well, on some people’s lips maybe. I guess.


So all that stuff about how our personalities are going to be uploaded into a simulated version of reality is old hat at this stage. That’s yawn material, no matter how you present it. It’s been done too many times. The question is, what’s going to happen after that? So we’re all going to live in the simulation where we can all have virtual immortality (or some of us can have, depending on the game) and perfect virtual health will be available to everyone since simulated bodies never get sick like physical ones. And of course there’ll be no need to work anymore (unless you want to) because it all a simulation anyway and so you can have everything you want at zero cost because – let’s face it – none of it’s real. Illusions are cheap to manufacture. You can be anything or anyone you want and the only limit is your (or rather someone else’s) imagination. Your dreams can all come true, both the good ones and the bad ones (if that’s your bag). That’s all a given. We all know that. You’re not going to win a prize for coming out with that old stuff again. But what happens next? What’s all this leading up to? That’s the big question that no one seems to be thinking about – what’s the next stage after simulated reality? People aren’t asking this question because they’re still stuck on the obvious; they’re still coming out with stuff about the holographic universe or the matrix or whatever as if that’s somehow supposed to be radical.


The answer – when you get the relevant flash of insight (as I have) – is stunningly obvious. It’s ridiculously obvious once you see it, but then again if you don’t see it (as you probably won’t) then that’s not going to be much good to you. It all comes down to energy expenditure. That’s what everything ALWAYS comes down to. Or if we were to put it another way, it all comes down to finding the right cheat. If you can cheat the system then you will and if you can’t then you’ll have to do the necessary work. Any zoologist could tell you that. That’s how things work. So the first cheat we come up with is hyperreality – instead of doing something exciting we watch someone else do it on TV. Same effect, less expenditure. That’s the first (retrograde) step in civilization. Instead of working things out for ourselves we get all the answers from self-help books. That’s how society works. Instead of getting any new ideas yourself you go online like a dumb fool and passively absorb a shit-load of memes. It’s easier. That’s how stuff works these days.


Another example of a cheat would be taking euphoriant drugs like heroin or alcohol. Use heroin responsibly kids, as the man says. Let beer enhance your social life because you know that makes sense. Go and fill your brain with ethanol molecules. Go and drink a bottle of Buckfast in the street with your mates who are dumb just like you and become a happy (or unhappy) moron. Go and drink Coors Light or Budweiser or whatever and don’t let anything stand in the way of your dreams. We learn to short-cut the system, we learn how to feel good without having to do anything, without having to do any actual work. It’s no accident that we are an alcohol-based culture – we’ve found ourselves a cheat. It’s not psilocybin mushrooms or peyote we’re interested in after all. Hyperreality – as we’ve been saying – is the ultimate cultural cheat. It’s a second-hand reality, it’s a reality that isn’t actually real. So then the next stage after this is full-scale simulation, as we started off by saying. We boldly go where no man has gone before: we do away with the physical universe. Who needs it anyway? But that’s not the end of it – far from it. After that we move onto the next stage after that which is where we short-circuit the short-circuit, where we find a cheat for the cheat.


All of this is quite inevitable, by the way. It’s simply the deterministic working out of mechanical laws. Or do I mean the mechanical working out of deterministic laws? It all comes to the same thing in the end. The point is that there are always two ways to go – either we put energy into what we’re doing or we look for a cheat. So when we’ve already cheated in the first place by creating the simulation it stands to reason that we’re not going to suddenly reverse our direction and try to build a more complex simulation, to try to design a more nuanced game. No, we’re going to look for an easier way and that easier way is to degrade the awareness of the players so that the game starts to look more interesting than it really is. Sounds familiar, huh? You bet it does. This shit’s been going on a long time. Anyway, the question is, where does all of this go to? That’s the billion dollar question – only it isn’t because money’s only hyperreality. Money isn’t worth a damn. It’s only worth a damn if you’re stupid. Money is only another cheat.


So what happens when you degrade a game? What’s the most degraded game you can play? What’s the least nuanced game? Pretty obviously, it’s a binary flip/flop – will it be plus or will it be minus? Will the coin come down heads or will it be tails? Get your bets ready, folks. It doesn’t get any more basic than this – we’re all watching the coin as it flips, dying to see how it lands. For us, this is the most interesting thing in the world. We’re hooked on it. For us, this is the world. We’re caught in a vibration. We’re obsessed with a vibration and we think that the old vibration is pretty interesting! Watch that vibration vibrate boys. Which way is it going to go? What’s going to happen next? That’s a bit of a cliff-hanger for sure! There’s the good outcome and there’s the bad outcome. There’s winning and there’s losing and yes – you’ve got it – pointless pleasure and pointless pain are going to vibrate back and forth and cancel each other out forever. Kind of like watching Match of the Day.


This is where it all ends – this is the future of gaming. The Big Vibration. Sounds fun, huh? The games aren’t going to get more and more advanced, we’re going to get more and more dumb. We’re going to get as dumb as dumb can be. That’s the cheat – it makes sense to do it that way because there’s less energy expenditure. This then is the future of the human race (if you’re at all interested in knowing, which probably you won’t be) – the answer to the big question is that we’re all going to devolve into a uniform vibration – everything is going to be subsumed within a single generic frequency, all differences lost, all nuances ironed out. Its the blank generic mind. ‘Hey how are you doing buddy?’ says the blank generic mind. ‘How’s YOUR day going?’….


It’s already happening of course. The retrograde, equilibrium-seeking process has already started and we’re all jumping on board for the ride. Why wouldn’t we jump on the bandwagon after all – everyone else is! We don’t know where we’re going but we sure as hell want to get there fast…





My Mind Went Lazy In An Instant

My mind went lazy in an instant. I could feel it go all slippery and slimy, I could feel it twisting and turning and ducking like a sneaky, low-life kind of a thing desperate to avoid any sort of trouble or difficulty. I could feel it turn all sleazy and rotten. My mind was a big powerful eel writhing around deep down in the murk. It was a monster eel – immensely powerful but at the same time terribly, terrible lazy. It had become sick with laziness, infected and infested with it.


Usually this bottom-dwelling eel creature was more or less asleep, floating somnolently somewhere at the bottom of the lake, twitching from time to time. In this sleeping mode it functioned by automatically prompting me to side-step issues and tell little lies without even thinking about it, without me even noticing what I was doing. I lied in this way without knowing it, under its expert prompting. It encouraged me to take the easy way out every time, and I obeyed its encouragements. I was only to happy to go along with its suggestions. Its influence was easy to overlook, even though I had grown to rely on it.


But now it had awoken out of its slumber. It was going crazy, thrashing around inside me. It had taken over my mind completely. I could sense it, feel its vile appetites, smell the loathsome horrible stink of it. I could actually see it. And what a filthy thing it was! It sickened me – it repelled and revolted me. I caught sight of it’s big thick head with those tiny vicious eyes that looked out at the world in such cunning, calculating, ruthless kind of a way. It was a horror.


I knew at that moment that I hated this slippery writhing disgusting piece of dead-but-alive conniving demonic eel-meat more than I had ever hated anything. I wished that I could drive a six-inch steel blade right into its big blunt slimy head, watch it coil around itself in agony, watch it try to twist itself free from the steel as I drove the knife deeper and deeper in. I wished I could pulverize with an iron bar. Beat it and beat it and beat it until there was nothing left but pulped skin and flesh.


My hatred for the eel-mind took me over completely. It possessed me. I was sick with it, corrupted with it. I was like a monster myself.


And then I realized that this dirty sickening loathsome dead-but-alive stinking grinning demonic eel-monster which was writhing around in my mind like a rotten disgusting mad thing was actually me. It had been me all along. I had been pretending that it wasn’t.