We met heard about how the Magician Gordon White was dead, same way as everyone else – on the digital world wide web, where he contributed so much.

His work was the catalyst that brought a crew of us together, really – initially, we formed as a reading group for Star.Ships, and a working group for The Chaos Protocols, and especially a drinking group for rum, which fuelled the whole jagged, swaggering affair.

The group and its history endure, though we meet less, and our interests have evolved, as they can only be expected to. Horizons tend move as they're approached, and none of us were staying still.

It was a wild time – I certainly gained a lot from it; I'm sure the others did too, and each in our own way. I've found huge value in having peers and fellow travellers in this enterprise – even though we've been on radically different trajectories, that have only diverged further over the years.

Dissenters anonymous

None of us agreed whole-heartedly with all of Gordon's positions, either – and, with his work rate, there were a lot of them. His work elicited, provoked, and suggested exceptions and divergences. We all felt he was a fellow traveller, for sure.

We'd all signed up to his premium membership, when it launched, explored his material, taken what applied and left to go our own way. Some resonated more than others. I appreciated his whole “restoration of context” angle. That early history of the grimoires course was an absolute banger.

Then and now, I personally disagree with his various collapse theses, though got a lot out of his “World Without Sin” writing, and loved the All Red Line. I liked a lot of the stuff in Chaos Protocols, but couldn't really make the operations work for me, to the extent I'd become used to with other methods. I liked that he referenced source materials – and deeply enjoyed reading Witzel's The Origin of the World's Mythologies, which inspired so much of Star.Ships.

I appreciated White's journalistic flair and sense of adventure. His blog posts inspired my own appreciation and, later, significant collection, of rum. This led to cocktail making, then distilling spirits – and my own small experiment, Elixir Arborvitae.

An offhand mention in in one of his blog posts led to tiki culture, and through this, to many drunken, delightful nights recreating forgotten and recovered cocktail recipes, originating from now-long-closed bars. The respective revivals of the Grimoire tradition and Tiki mixology have some curious similarities, that become even more apparent after communing with strong spirits. Missionary's Downfall, indeed.

The Wake

So we met, on a hilltop, where we could see the harbour mouth, and the sea, and the point where the water merged into the horizon. The sun was in our faces and the jagged ridgeline of hills at our backs on cold, clear Saturday Winter Wellington morning.

We burned incense, drank coffee and rum, and talked about our beautiful, brave new world, that has such people in it. A persistent squawking bush parrot hung around, even as dogwalkers gave the animated, daydrinking characters in the park a wider berth. Those weird kids? Hell, the weird adults were hanging out, getting louche that particular morning.

With this man's death, something significant and special has ended. A most strange and transitional time. He called the changes, and spun good yarns.
The Sons of Hermes raised and drained dry our glasses to the mighty wizard and adventurer, Gordon White.

Fair winds and following seas, traveller.

THE TRAUMA OF MY EVERY DAY LIFE – why living with Bipolar 1 and cPTSD makes every day feel like it's unlivable...

...and on top of that: NOBODY LISTENS.

Seeking out a trauma therapist. No GENERIC therapist, someone with the specialty in trauma.

The mood swings (even on medication) and constant hypervigilence is leaving me exhausted every day and this has been repeatedly going on for almost 3 years.

IMAGINE: scanning every environment, every interaction, reading every face/gesture, and more of other people's behavior all day long. And the mood swings on top of that. I literally have nothing left.

I cannot do this anymore. If I don't get out of my own head, days are going to repeatedly feel exhausting more and more.

Celebrating 60 years of Star Trek with a nostalgic view of the USS Enterprise model, an open book, and a themed drink, blending classic sci-fi adventure with modern fandom.

Star Trek aired three years before I was born, yet it has had a significant influence on my life. The only thing more profound and more influential has been my faith and salvation in Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior.

To me, Star Trek has long served as an earthly role model. It is more than a story or a television show. It is an aspiration for how a fallen world might come together and work for the common good. The ethos of Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets represents an ideal that a world or species might pursue on its own, if there were no grand Savior.

By that ethos, I mean the hopeful idea that people from many worlds, cultures, and backgrounds can serve together for something greater than themselves. It is built on exploration, peace, sacrifice, reason, mercy, discovery, and cooperation. It is the belief that humanity can rise above its worst instincts and become better than it is now.

I want to mark 60 years of storytelling, especially those deep episodes that ran in reruns every week when I was a kid and a teenager. What prompted this reflection, of all things, was a gift from my sister. For my birthday in April, she gave me a special Parade release dedicated to Star Trek’s 60th anniversary (see image below).

Celebrating 60 years of Star Trek, this Parade Collector's Edition honors the iconic heroes, villains, and strange new worlds that transformed science fiction forever.

The franchise that started on September 8, 1966, inspired many real-life ideas during the 1960s and 1970s space race, and it continues to spark imagination today. I have not always agreed with the direction the franchise has taken, but with few exceptions, the United Federation of Planets and the Star Trek ethos remain largely unchanged.

Star Trek has shaped part of how I see the world, alongside my faith, and that combination still matters to me. I want to see AI grow into something like the Star Trek computer, and I look forward to seeing more of its science fiction technology come to life in ways that help humanity.

So today, on Star Trek Day, let’s boldly go where no one has gone before and celebrate the series and its ideals.

#StarTrek #personal #tv

'De eerste sinds...'

De eerste sinds gisteren die een rit in lijn wint de eerste zin sinds het vroege begin de eerste Spanjaard die Italiaans spreekt sinds deze de grens is overgestoken De eerste geest die sinds de vorige het leven liet is gaan rond spoken De eerste sinds de vorige kwam opzetten de eerste uitbraak sinds we bij een eerdere op onze ellebogen moesten letten de eerste verpozing sinds een lange tijd lanterfanten de eerste persoon sinds eeuwen die met iedereen en alles kan voortplanten

Sinds sinds is er veel onzin in omloop gepraat Sinds dat unieke moment zitten we voor meer van dergelijke uitspraken paraat van sinds om meer woorden te voegen bij een kleine niets betekenende over en overdaad De eersten zullen eindelijk weer eens de laatsten zijn sinds bij die ene klassiek geworden omloop de eersten per ongeluk waren blijven hangen in catatonische staat

Het eerste stuk sinds een stukje geleden de eerste die sinds de regel is geschreven die regel niet heeft overtreden Het is de eerste noot sinds de vorige gelijkgestemde is gespeeld de eerste groep sinds een andere groep verdween in een enorm lange diepe rotsspleet de eerste zin sinds jaren die net zo als de zee woelig kan baren de eerste mens sinds eeuwen hopsend op de maan de eerste gewonnen set sinds de eerste set op de tennisbaan de eerste sinds een maand die aan de gevolgen ervan het leven heeft opgegeven de eerste keer sinds een poosje terug dat de aarde heftig is gaan bewegen een reeks aan eerder vastgestelde records aan de lopende band gebroken een serie voor het eerst sinds tien opgenomen afleveringen wat langer dan gewoonlijk onderbroken de meest tijdloze tijdverspilling gevangen in een zin sinds het oorspronkelijk begin is degene verantwoordelijk voor het verzinnen van de lam gevleugelde uitspraak 'De eerste sinds'

My Love called me while on his daily walk. He is miles away so an unexpected phone call in the middle of my day—what an underrated and sacred gesture. We get to speak daily, but we don’t hug or touch at all. So any point of connecting in the present, in the same moment, brings about waves of gratitude. He is full of life and I love everything about him. I heard cars tires screech against the asphalt, and he said that there was some sort of getaway-car-chase scene happening. Then I pointed out that somehow, whenever I’m listening to him whether it’s a call or our voice notes, I seem to get a taste of the America that the media shows to the rest of the world.

Chaos and such scenes, are always finding him—but maybe it’s because, we each call upon and even, welcome that energy? That neither of us are afraid of it?

Anyway, I’m obsessed with him. It’s not a secret. I was also speaking to a friend over the weekend, that that’s how you find longevity in partnership. Find someone you can be sustainably obsessed with, who is equally obsessed with you. Healthily obsessed with? I’m here, and he’s there, but we are fundamentally connected. For the first time in my love life, I feel a very calm bond with someone. The connectedness. The magnetism of connection beyond the physical, that it is hard to describe. True and pure connection. I believe our meditation has something to do with it but maybe it’s also because in the philosophies, studies, teachings I/we follow, the world and things are less separate—there is more spaciousness and in that spaciousness, love is the guiding force and principle. And if love is the guiding force and principle, you always invite it to the moment. Even when it’s one of those moodier days. Even if you’re shaken by life happening and things are going haywire and wayward, when you leave a little gap for love—there is a lightness to things, and the moment can be filled with more ease.

Suffering in duality. It seems that part of being human, means that we have to first feel the pain of duality in the physical world. To be in the mud. Even how the body was structured has dualism and disparity/disjointedness. To be feeling your body in the mud. Perhaps we have to be aware of that first, before we can learn to recognize and be aware of the love that unifies, and the joy in all things.

#writing #tarot #love #daily #braindump

Hørte jeg riktig på Politisk kvarter i morges, Nils August Andresen? Du vil ikke fordømme “Den store utskiftningen”? Teorien som inspirerte Anders Behring Breivik til å begå det verste terrorangrepet i norsk historie?

“Den store utskiftningen” er altså en ekstremt farlig konspirasjonsteori som går ut på at vestlige eliter (les: venstresida) har en agenda om å bytte ut befolkningen med innvandrere, helst muslimer, og utslette den “hvite rase” og kristendom. Denne store løgnen leder til terror, vold og i ytterste konsekvens etnisk rensing og folkemord.

Ytre høyre over hele vesten har omfavnet etnisk rensing under det nye slagordet “remigrasjon”, og i USA implementeres allerede denne politikken av de maskerte bøllene i ICE, via et brutalt system av interneringsleirer i og utenfor USA. På kort tid har Trump-regjeringen bygd opp et system som ville få arkitektene bak Sovjets GULAG til å nikke anerkjennende.

I bunn ligger altså de gamle, store løgnene, om at menneskeheten består av raser, at de må holdes rene, og at den hvite rase er under akutt trussel. De samme løgnene som har ledet til noen av menneskehetens verste orgier av vold og statlig undertrykkelse, og i norsk sammenheng: verste terrorangrep.

Når vestlige poiltikere lefler med disse tankene, for eksempel når Jimmie Åkesson snakker om at det pågår et “folkutbyte” i Sverige (et utsagn han aldri har dementert), eller når tyske AFD åpent argumenterer for “remigrasjon”, så må alarmklokkene gå i alle politiske leire. Også Minerva. Eller kanskje særlig Minerva.

Vi blir alle satt på prøve i møte med fascismens tilbakekomst i vesten, og høyresiden blir satt på den hardeste prøven. I dag morges strøk Andresen på denne prøven. I stedet for klar tale, kom mumling og bortforklaringer, og en vag oppfordring til å “møte bekymringene med politikk”.

Ærlig talt Nils August: hvor går grensen her? Hvis “bekymringen” er en absurd konspirasjonsteori uten rot i virkeligheten, skal man virkelig komme den i møte? I så fall: hvordan? Dette bør særlig aktører på høyresida være i stand til å svare på.

Het voetbal, de fans en hun Opperhoofd

Kabel tv, kleine criminaliteit, watersnood, de derde dinsdag van September, betonrot en God Ze maken het voetbal kapot Ze maken het voetbal kapot Het leek onkreukbaar, in elk stadia een schitterend feest de stadia in verval, het wordt nooit meer zo fijn als het is geweest Marketing strategie, winstanalyse, uitlaatgassen, een scheur in de wc pot en God ze maken het voetbal kapot Ze maken het voetbal kapot Herstructurering, bestuurswisseling, rode en gele kaarten, energie centrales en God Leverworst, matennaaiers, ribbelchips, castratie, honger, dorst en God Ze maken het voetbal Kapot o ze maken het voetbal kapot Kapot voetbal is lang niet zo leuk als heel dat valt op omdat iedereen zich er omheen onnoemlijk verveeld de speaker zingt rond en roept om'nom'om waren we maar twee, of meer, samen spelende hondjes dan konden we op dit kort gemaaide perkje blij dartelen in dolle rondjes helaas, helaas, onder andere door het smadelijk lot is het voetbal kapot van de ene op de andere dag is het voetbal kapot ik weet niet meer waar ik naar moet kijken mijn blik moet naar binnen uitwijken het voetbal is stuk het is naar zijn mallemoer niks meer van over in gruzzelementen alleen nog maar goedaardig kijkvertier voor zeer zwaar dementen kippekracht, fabriekspijpen, kinderkopjes, kopieerapparaten, printers en God ze maken het voetbal kapot ze maken het voetbal kapot o het leven is zo intens zwaar nu we onze energie niet meer kunnen dumpen in dat altaar het is voorbij met de pret diepe programmeer gaten op elk uitsturend net onaangename situaties, bijwerkingen, hard gelach, kleefpasta, suiker en God repelsteeltje, kuiertochtjes, hardnekkige nekklachten, insubordinatie en God ze maken het voetbal kapot allemaal ze maken het voetbal kapot ze maken het voetbal kapot gedaan met tussen de lijnen draven we moeten de dode spelmomenten begraven nooit meer ploeteren tegen degradatie onbeduidend onderdeeltje zijn in de totale orkestratie nooit meer onterecht of terecht buitenspel ik word spontaan onwel er zit eigenlijk geen leven meer in ik begin me steeds vaker af te vragen wat ik hier doe en wie ik ben O zeer competititieve altijd alles woeker winnende God waarom moest het voetbal er eerst komen en daarna weer kaaaaapot?!

J and I planned to hang out today, and we ended up trying to re-create poster boy for five hours on FL studio. Honestly, I’m pretty proud with what we made even though it’s nowhere near Accurate enough to pass, but I actually learned a lot while making it. I actually really enjoyed that, and I could see myself fucking around with more music stuff, especially if I have a friend to do it with.

12. Grandir

Mon grand-père, à force de courses de chevaux et de billard avait réussi à tout perdre. En plus de boire, il fumait énormément. On lui trouva un cancer. Sa gorge enflait au point qu’il ne pouvait plus manger. J’allais le voir dans son lit, il ne pouvait plus parler mais ses yeux étaient pleins d’affection. Un jour on me dit qu’il était mort, on m’envoya dormir chez des cousins que je ne connaissais pas. J’eus un crêpe noir cousu sur mes vêtements. Je ne sais pas si je pleurai.

La grand-mère partit à Paris vivre chez sa cadette, nous restions quatre dans ce grand appartement. Les 7 ans de différence entre ma sœur adolescente et moi ne facilitaient pas nos rapports. Un jour, je ne sais pourquoi, nous eûmes une dispute, je courais derrière elle, elle se réfugia dans la cuisine en riant et ferma la porte sur elle. Dans mon élan ou la colère, je ne sais, je passais ma main à travers une vitre. J’ai encore la cicatrice. Il m’arrivait d’être violent.

Je grandissais pourtant. Après les sœurs on m’envoya dans un grand établissement jésuite. Je n’étais pas un bon élève, rétif à la discipline, bagarreur, disait-on. Je fus renvoyé, imperméable au latin. Je dus redoubler dans une école de quartier, comme il en existait encore, qui préparait au certificat d’étude d’un côté, au collège de l’autre. Je me fis des vrais copains, on jouait au foot ensemble sur les cours derrière la cathédrale, ça commençait à être bien. Et il y avait les étés. Notre père nous emmenait dans la grande maison de sa famille, dans le Morbihan. Là je me replongeais dans la vie naturelle qui me manquait tant. La forêt n’était pas si luxuriante que celle que j’avais aimée, mais j’avais le droit d’en profiter en toute liberté. Puis il y avait Chantal, la fille des métayers, à peine plus âgée, et ses vaches, qui tenaient gentiment le rôle des buffles. Je pêchais les truites à la main dans la rivière.

#nguolai

I do have a lot to do though, which means I probably should put art and creating weird little creatures on the backburner. I'll feel better once I've done more cleaning and have packed away most of my clothes, since that's going to be visibly productive.