Greetings fellow travelers of this cosmic universe,

My name is D[]An Ti’enne and I am a representative of The Turge Freakz, the ecstatic provocateurs of a think-tank on the 4’33 dimension of the astral plane.  You can find us by summoning the vShaman Overterre (Overground) via the vibrational frequencies of Gemini.  We have been kicked out of the Psychonautrxial Bootleggers Camp due to threateing the ego-authoritease through our playfulness, but as we wish to continue onward in our quest for truth(s), we have formed our own radikal disorganization to study and experiment with the various stimulacrumbs the universe has left for us.  Our name comes from “dramaturge,” as we wish to apply “dramaturgical thinking” to mediums, contexts and frameworks other than the sort of theatre that one might see a Shakespearan play in…rather, the theatre of life, the theatre of consciousness, the theatre of consciousness as it is channeled through the hand of the author and represented on the page.  Recently, a couple of us have been busy conducting experimental theatre labs in zero gravity; we have also been practicing various styles of lucid dreaming, and inquiring into the infinite potentialities that lurk just under the topography of the “fractal interiorities” of psychic space, and translating/reinterpreting ancient scriptures from our celestial ancestors.  As we are approaching 2012, we sense that we are entering a state of heightened awareness.  In fact, we have been called upon to announce the impending arrival of the Transhuman Potentialities Movement…the waves will come and come, as if something orgasmic is undulating, and we must be prepared to receive the knowledge that will be transmitted through this awakening and new era in the expansion of human consciousness.  A couple of our bardonaute(ur)s (one of whom you may know, as she lives mostly on the horizontal axis – that is, the realm of the visible) are developing a theory of psychedelicious critic;ism, articulating the sublingual turn in our understanding of the question of communication.  With the arrival of 2012 the world will only become yummier, offering an eclectic but exquisite tasting palette of flavors and textures of reality.  We are contacting you to see if you would be interested in furthering this dialogue…perhaps we could be a satellite correspondent/extension of The Reality™! Institute?  We would be interested in organizing various “encounter groups” to gyrate to the orgiastic frenzy of life and engage with different kinds/levels of awareness.  We encourage you to lick our eyeballs so that we may see better (I believe in your dialect that is referred to as “picking one’s brain”).

I hope that all is well with you.

Peace and Integral Consciousness,
The Turge Freakz

from: The Reality™ Institute <therealityinstitute@gmail.com>
to: D[]An Ti'enne <D[]AnTi'enne@turgfreakz.4'33>
date: Sat, Dec 18, 2010 at 2:15 AM
subject: Re: A message for The Reality™ Institute

Turge Freakz of the 4’33 dimension,

Michael Molitch-Hou™ of the Reality™ Institute here. I think I speak for all of us at the Reality™ Institute when I say that, well, we’d love to further a pyschedelicious critic;ism with you. And I think I know one of your bardonaute(ur)s. Don’t know about the other one, but the one I know is a perfectly nice girl (that’s what we call them down here in the horizontal axis). A lot of Earth humans think the world’s going to end in 2012, but I definitely agree with you – should be quite a treat, a real paradigm shift. Hell, I think that the way we look at things is going to take a real turn! People’ll be a whole lot kinder to one another and we’ll really be able to get a lot of good stuff done, don’t you think? Don’t know how it is in the 4’33 dimension, but over here, it’s pretty rough. Did you know that most Earth humans don’t even believe in the multiple dimensions of the astral plane? Some of them don’t even know about the one that they regularly experience! So… yeah! That whole orgiastic, orgasmic, undulating knowledge-awareness-

You remember Zoo Balls™—“What looks like an animal and bounces like a ball? Here come Zoo Balls™!” As advertisement copy, this simple call and response jingle is highly effective though it is neither rhymed nor particularly sexy. First, it gets your gears cranking with a playful interrogative. Indeed, what is it  (for an it it seems to be) that recalls an “animal” in its physical aspect (the mind is a ferment of swirling taxonomies: Bird? Beast? Reptile? Damn—it could be most anything!) and yet also may be said to “bounce(s) like a ball” (blood and steam pour from your ears)? Clearly, there is no sane answer but before you can realize this and forgive yourself for failing to reply immediately, you’re savaged by the seeming non-sequitur, “Here come Zoo Balls™!” The message is suddenly clear. Not only is there, in fact, a product that “looks like an animal and bounces like a ball” but it is not content waiting around for you, or anyone else. A chorus of hyper-caffeinated adults sing the jingle, children dance, whip Zoo Balls™ at one another, cuddle them, juggle them and shove them dangerously close to the camera lens. “Something is happening here and you don’t know what it is, do you?” Young and old alike; Zoo Balls™; no time; immediately!

Of course, the Zoo Balls™ commercial was hardly remarkable for its time. Anyone who cares to look back will remember the mid / late 1990s adscape as having a particularly feverish hyperrealist bent, with speed and hyperbole (visual and otherwise) being the stylistic elements most highly prized and frequently employed—saturated colors, truly unhinged voiceovers, manic montage, teeming frames, criminally catchy jingles. I remember Zoo Balls ™mostly because my father, who occasionally has trouble hearing, was once walking down the hall past the living room while the advertisement was blaring, when he paused, poked his head in and asked, “Did they just say, ‘what looks like an enema and bounces like a ball’?” Perhaps this was mere coincidence, but I often wonder just how much guile goes into ad production, especially in these times of comparative sublimity and subtlety. Could whoever designed the Zoo Balls™ ad have intended to make “animal” sound like “enema” as a secret seed of transcendent strangeness that would enable it to flower into a maddening, permanent distraction; endlessly recursive, fecund, fetid, unforgettable (unless perhaps you cough up and buy one)? What other agents are covertly traversing my brains even now, installing wires, practicing handshakes, learning my schedule, studying my habits, talking to my friends, sipping coffee, waiting? Yes, I fear they have long understood that even seeming disruptions in communicative efficacy can often be the most efficacious communicators.

But, I have an idea. I think we can disrupt their stratagems. They want us to never forget and in service to that cause they have erected seemingly absurd matrices of word, image, and sound whose elements have been specially calibrated to communicate only this; “pay attention.” In order to break their code, we need to study it, co-opt it, employ it against them to our own enlargement and their travail. We can re-enchant their language. We can make it ours again by doing what they have done better than they have done themselves. We can make it self-consciously, transcendentally, gloriously silly. We can rob their seemingly absurd matrices of their efficacy to promote purchasing by examining each element in isolation. In so doing, we can reveal the true absurdity of their cohabitation. We can turn their nonsense into non-sense. It’ll be a game. Like many of us, perhaps, I am not much of a poet but I know how to use scissors.

The field of play: This blog.
Materials: Remixed ad copy. For now, I shall work only with print copy. Babysteps. If the experiment is successful, I may move on to radio and television ad scripts.
Objectives: Identify what kind of product to which the remixed copy is referring.
Conditions for Victory: Correctly identify the type of product to which the remixed copy is referring / Incorrectly identify the type of product to which the remixed copy is referring / Amusement.
Conditions for Defeat: Surrender / Madness.
Proscriptions: N/A
Spoils: Satisfaction, baby!
Begin: Now.

***

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Marty McCahill April 24 at 9:50pm

hmm… how do i know you?

Tamaghna Banerjee April 25 at 3:58am

I am the drummer of a metal band , CHRONIC XORN from India

We are releasing our debut album in May this year under Six Inch Nails records. It would be nice if you can help us in any way with distribution and booking agents )

Thank You

Marty McCahill April 26 at 7:14am

ok… i’m just curious how you heard about me? or, what is it you think I can actually do for you?

Tamaghna Banerjee April 26 at 12:48pm

From India its actually hard to get a global exposure…you can listen to our tracks on our myspace page ::

www.myspace.com/chronicxorn

will appreciate your feedback )

any kind of help regarding distribution of our up coming album, or promotion of the band out there, or helping out with some booking agents getting few gigs would be the best thing )

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MySpace Music profile for Chronic Xorn. Download Chronic Xorn Metal / / music singles, watch music videos, listen to free streaming mp3s, & read Chronic Xorn’s blog.

Share

Marty McCahill April 26 at 2:57pm

I don’t think I can help you with global exposure or anything… but I might be able to help you see that global exposure isn’t something you need. I’m sure you are seen as a rockstar already in some person’s eye. Shouldn’t that be enough? I learned at a young age that fame will only leave you empty and void of feeling. I heard this wisdom before I had to experience it myself.

The thing about me is that, I have to learn things the hard way.

I made a pact with myself to try and experience every human emotion possible so as a way to teach others what emotions they should seek and those that they should stay away from.

When you perform your music or just perform by being yourself and somebody excepts you and cherishes you for that, that’s all you need. Just one person.

These days I only play shows for small crowds and under a different name. I’ll wear a hat or disguise. I still play my own material but I’ll play the songs different every time so I can separate myself from the monster rock god that I once created. That was the old me, now, this is the new me: Marty McCahill. Small time, big mind, happy with just making one person smile. And, if I’m lucky it won’t just be a fleeting thought… but something that they’ll think about for the rest of their lives.

I wish you luck on your musical journey. Don’t let the road consume you if you choose to venture out. Remember that most people are vultures and your only defense will be a good sense of what is truly important.

sincerely, Marty McCahill

PS: If you do plan to exploit the sexual nature of rock and roll I pray that you take better precautions than I have. Once again, keep in mind what is truly important.

Harvey Hamburger: Construction worker for Structurally Sound Construction is in search of a wife with whom to enjoy his secret life. The photos are taken by Mele Ihara.  Click on the article head (or this) to see the gallery.

here’s marty’s letter to David Dondero in audio format. and below that is it in written format!

letter-to-ddd

sorry about that email. i shouldn’t write emails at 2 am. 421 am is a much more appropriate time to write emails. i haven’t been getting much sleep these days…. well, i felt really bad that i didn’t get to see you play this last time in chicago but i have a legit story. i used to abuse cough syrup or dxm. i would chug and 8 oz bottle in the morning and it would make my whole day more interesting. anyhow, i’d been getting into the habit of doing that and then putting my head to rest with a bottle of whiskey. it wasn’t a good combo. i don’t know how long i would have gone on like that had i not accidentally overdosed. it was a wet, rainy monday in september…. i’d like to say september 15th… chicago was wet, drenched actually and flooded. i was working with my uncle doing odd jobs in nursing homes installing security systems. that day we stopped at a gas station. i was sober and i didn’t want to be anymore. i checked out what kinds of cough medicines they had and i saw dayquil and i remembered using that a couple years ago when i was in a jam and needed some lovely cough syrup so i bought two packages of 12 pills. i punched out each and every one of those 24 pills but the last one dropped behind the toilet. 23 sounded like a good number to me. i was dumb. the day went on with the same old bull shit work. we start driving back and i’m feeling a pain i never felt before. my chest is just wrenching around something fierce. i thought i would be ok if i just threw up whatever it was that i had put into myself. i was two miles from my home in river forest and all these streets are blocked off because the river flooded over and there was only one good bridge to get back to my house. so, i told my uncle i had to walk something off and i shoved my finger down my throat and tried to expunge the awfulness. it wasn’t working. i started to run. i didn’t get very far before a rip in my chest made me lay down on the forest floor. at that point i took out the empty box of dayquil and saw my mistake. what a lonesome feeling to know that you just took enough of something to kill yourself. i was 1.5 miles away from my home at this point. the weather is awful, its gray, its windy and i’m fat. i’m the chubbiest i’d ever been in my life weighing in at 240 pounds and i was feeling this weight. it wasn’t fun. but i ran home and i made it there and my parents took me to the emergency room and they gave me a charcoal cocktail. they hoped they had caught the overdose in time but they weren’t making any promises. long story short, my liver went into failure and the only option looked like a liver transplant. but there wasn’t enough time the doctor said. sorry kid, i guess you’re dead. i was drugged up so i don’t remember this as well as my parents and my 9 brothers and sisters. but things happened in that hospital. i should have been dead. and there was a moment… i can’t really describe it… i’m not sure i’m even supposed to, but i knew that i could either turn one way and just drift off into never ending sleep or i could live. and i chose life. and … i don’t know… things have just sort of been lining up for me now it seems…. all these big plans i’ve had all these years … the ground work is starting to come true. and i just opened up a lot… but, i love your music. i don’t know why i don’t hear your songs on the radio every day. the US as a whole has sad ears right now but i think things are changing…. i think… i went to DC with my cousin who worked on the obama campaign and i felt something there. i think this worlds going to start looking a whole lot prettier someday soon. but, i’ve been wrong before.

so. a lengthy email. i won’t apologize for it though because i think its a good tale. and, i can’t wait to see you play again. you really are an inspiration.

Tea Party – w4m – 18 (Los Angeles/DC)

Ben – we met at the tea party protest. I liked your position on health care and thought you had nice god-fearing sensibility. Then as we grew closer I realized how much I liked your hands on my medicare and how articulate you really are, and I could barely contain my urge to tea bag you. Anyway, I hope we can stand together in front of death panels for many years to come. Happy America birthday!!
xoxo – Jane Taxpayer

If only there was a Nyberg in my life – w4m – 22 (Hipsterville)

Ben – we met at some hipster bar in echo park. I liked your hair and thought you had nice butt. Then as we grew closer I realized how gay and hilarious you really are, and I could barely contain my sexual arousal. Anyway, I hope we can drink for many years to come. Happy fucking birthday!!
xoxo – Chelsea Mae

You told me your name was Ben, I loved your style… – w4m – 22 (Silver Lake)

I wanted to talk to you, but you were so cool that I was intimidated.
You were wearing a hilarious shirt with Hillary Clinton’s head on it.
I think your friends were singing the birthday song to you, so it must have been your birthday. Happy Birthday!

Someday, I hope I can be your big bday present.

You were wearing a Hillary Clinton shirt – w4m – 25 (The Reality Institute Sweat Lodge)

O glorious night
The timbre of my heart
Youre witty clothing
The timbre of my heart

My soul spread apart like a gaping void
Red and moist, the goatman singeth

On your shirt I saw the image of Hillary Clinton
In your eyes I saw my future:
An apartment in the West (where there’s more land)
Two children, both slightly challenged mentally (one more so than the other)
Two incestuous brother cats
Forever and happy.

It was the happiest birthday a man could ask for
It was a happy birthday to you!
Let your eggs hang low
Let them wobble to and fro
Love 8=========>()() Mike

French Connection – w4m – 57 (Fairfax/Melrose)

Ben – I remember meeting you at “The Dime” on Fairfax, and taking an interest in you because of both your willingness to feign enjoyment at dirty jokes (“what’s the difference between the fog in London and the position 69?”) and you lack of an aversion to butt grabbing, cheek kissing, and general creepiness. I was the 57 year old Parisian, of a — shall we say, Bardot-esque beauty. I really thought that we had a connection (“zue-la-pa-tif,” as we say in France) but when I invited you back to my place for a little wine and pornography, you said something about having to drive your friends home. You were the cutest of your group (made up of le Negre and the … ah, how do you say? Ah, yes, Homo-sexu-al!).
Mon cheri, I have thought about you ever since that fateful night, and decided to post on this site to see if you too had been thinking of me.
I hope we will meet again.

(Happy Birthday, Ben!)

Wouhou my dear Ben ! – w4m – 23 (Los Angeles)

Hello !!!

I would like to wish a very very excellent birthday to my friend Ben !!! He was the best one night stand that I’ve had of my life so girls, contact me if you want his number. He’s a talented designer and funny funny =)

I hope you’ll have a good one !!! Get drunk and Be Strong !

Dislay

Is this thing called love? – w4m – 4 (Korea town)

Hey love,
You were with two other guys, one skinny and the other one with dark brown hair, speaking with a weird accent. I met you 2 months ago. It was in korea town near by the frank n’ hanks bar, at Carl’s Jr. I was at the register. I don’t know if you checked on me. I served you a guacamole bacon burger combo. I wanted to talk to you, but I was busy taking some onion rings out the fryer. You were so cool wearing this slim jean that I was intimidated. Maybe we could get together and celebrate this encounter. Or simply your birthday Ben?

I met you at the Centaur convention – w4m – 23 (Dungeon Carousel)

HI…
DO U REMEMBER ME?
I WAS THE BIG, BEAUTIFUL PEARLY WHITE PONY AT THE CENTAUR FETISH CONVENTION TWENTY YEARS AGO. YOU WERE JUST A BOY THEN, NOT EVEN 5 YEARS OLD. YOU RODE ON MY BACK AND WE GALLOPED MERRILY IN CIRCLES FOR YOUR PARENTS. I REMEMBER EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU BOY, THE WAY YOUR BANGS BRUSHED OVER YOUR BLUE EYES IN THAT EDGY WAY AND HOW YOU SMELLED LIKE LILACS. YOU GRABBED MY HORN AND IT SENT SPARKS OF ELECTRICITY THROUGH MY SUPERNATURAL BODY. BUT YOU WERE JUST A BOY…
I LOVED YOU.
I STILL LOVE YOU.
YOU PROMISED ME THAT WE WOULD SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN BY THE TIME YOU WERE 25 AND THAT DAY HAS FINALLY COME. PLEASE WRITE AND VISIT ME AT THE STABLES FOR ONE LAST RIDE…
I LOVE YOU BEN!!!!!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
LOVE, JAREMA

Vegas PooNanny Seeks White boy with Jack Daniels – m4m – 25 (Las Vegas)

Your name was Ben.

Saw you at the Jack Black Table…

You were wearing red plaid and losing all your money.

Goddang you wuz zexy.

You had medium brown auburn locks of hair…and looked like I could eat you right now.

Your big thug asian friend came and gave you some shit, and I got really jealouz.

Who you is bro?

You comin’ back?

I wanna lick lick lick lick you from your head to your toe, and I wanna – uh uh – right down to tha floor.

Give me a call sugh.

Come back.

I can be your samson, if you could be my’s delilah.

THIS IS NO CONSPIRACY THEORY. This is life.

Information.

Information is the key to everything.  It CONTROLS everything. And “he who controls the information, controls the world and his peers.” Lest it be known, the world is divided into semi-permeable classes from the poor to the well off to the rich to the super-rich. It is this last group of people who is in charge of the information which encapsulates our daily lives. And this blogicle is meant to act as a thorn in that lion’s paw.

The super-rich. Those who own the military-industrial-media complex. They hold the power over information. And they make the moves. They roll the power plays that swing our lives like tiddly-winks in a giant game of marbles. How do they do this, you might ask? I’ll tell you how. They own the means of production and the means to the reproduction of the means of production. In layman’s terms: $$$$.

OBEY

The super-rich tell us to go to war when they want to go to war so that they can control more of the world’s resources so that they can ride jet skis and plan more wars and invest in more businesses. Then they hire regular schlamiels to do menial labor. They hire the not-super-rich to work in their factories, at their Foot Lockers, in their Mega-hospitals, their prison labor camps, just so that they can buy a new beamer. But WE ALREADY KNEW THAT!

What we don’t know is that they control the INFORMATION. These same men are the ones who own all giant corporations that control our media. THE NEW YORK TIMES, USA TODAY, WALLSTREET JOURNAL, NBC, ABC, CNN, FOX, MSNBC, COMEDY CENTRAL. While we feel we’re getting a DIVERSE grab-bag of information, equal perspectives, and conflicting views, they’re still making money. It is the ILLUSION OF DIVERSITY. The ILLUSION OF DEMOCRACY.

Knowledge is not acquired. KNOWLEDGE IS CREATED. It is created by those who control the media. Because they have more money and influence and are “in the know”, they get to put whatever messages they deem fit onto the national airwaves. Their websites become more prominent. Their shows get more air time. Their commercials get more financing. If you have the $$$$, you can put any message on TV, in movie theaters, and on newsstands.

WHAT WE NEED TO DO: we need to OWN THE OWNERS and we need to CREATE OUR OWN KNOWLEDGE. Only in that way will they LOSE THEIR CONTROL OVER US.

The truth is that this blog will never have an influence as long as it lacks money and only a handful of people will see it. In that way, though this blog speaks the TRUTH, it does not speak the “TRUTH”. And that’s the REAL™ TRUTH.

You’d have to have absolutely zero presence on Web2.0 these days — or, as I like to call it, “living in your luddite hole” — to not know what’s been going on in Iran. Simply put, either leading mullahs or president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad stuffed ballot boxes and manipulated the vote, resulting in his reelection, sweeping electoral fraudulence, and millions of Iranian citizens taking to the streets to champion reformist candidate Mir Hussein Moussavi.

Part commentary on pollution, part commentary on drug use? WHO KNOWS!!!! Keleigh Apperson picks up every empty dimebag she finds on the street, under freeways, in national parks and puts them on her blog dimebag.tumblr.com.  Here, I am posting the pics of the dimebags, but you should really go to the site.  You can click on each bag and it shows a link on googlemaps of where she found each one.  I NEED A DIMEBAG.  For my money, I go with the bags found in Eagle Rock and Highland Park, they seem to be the most colorful and interesting. Click on the article head to see them all!