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I doubt that whoever is currently reading this will understand the full spiritual importance of carpeted floors, especially carpeted right-angle steps. I suppose to begin this spiritual indoctrination, I will pose whoever is reading this with a pertinent question:
Have you ever truly looked into carpeted flooring?
Yes, this is the question. If whoever is reading this has gone to Home Depot, he/she will know that one has a wealth of carpeting styles to choose from… Isn’t that awesome!!!? I am so serious when I write this, too. This essay is no farcical piece of cake, I am actually trying very hard and currently failing to describe this abstract mystical path which I have found my whole self consumed in. If you really look at carpeted flooring, I am talking about FACE DOWN and ON THE GROUND, I am talking about getting a MAGNIFYING GLASS and ANALYZING THE INDIVIDUAL LOOPS OF FABRIC…if you do that with the right amount of conviction, you will see the true nature of this ‘aesthetic bubble’ which I so embrace. I am going to go do that right now to refresh my memory. AHHH…yes…I see the path in front of me. I am slightly uncomfortable with addressing the ‘aesthetic bubble’ of tasteful carpeting so generally [by the way, definition: A ‘Bubble’ is a completely assembled aesthetic. It is so integrated into all realms of experience (physical: 5 senses, conceptual: philosophy, spirituality), that it can be considered held in a perfect sphere by its own artistic surface tension, doesn’t that make sense!!?] I am going to refer to our bubble of discourse as ::.The Octopus Lounge.::[abbreviated as ::octL::] (I use unheard-of conventions as bubbles are improperly sullied by standard quotation marks). Understand this: tasteful carpeting is at the axis mundi of ::octL:: The influence that tasteful carpeting has on all other objects present within ::octL:: is overarching. An example: most liscenced Holiday Inns™ across the world have a uniform decorating scheme…tasteful carpeting is one element shared by all Holiday. Another object within ::octL:: is (this is hard to articulate) the painting on the walls of Holiday Inns. They are prints of highly generic, unassuming, non-threatening paintings that someone else produced at some other time. “I love those paintings, but what do they have to do with tasteful carpeting?” you say. “Good Question” I say. Watch this dip into second person, you will be amazed: You are in a Holiday Inn™. You sit on their generally satisfactory bed that has a floral design on its covering. You look at the carpet. It is tasteful. You follow the carpet until it hits the wall. You look at the corner. The carpet meets an elegant, yet humble wall covered in light yellow designs. You follow the wall until it hits the painting. The wall embraces the stark, full identity that is the painting. The painting exists in ultimate security, for it cannot be followed. It is a focal point of energy. All the octopificoid (definition: in the nature of ::oct1::) vibrations follow there way until they collect in the calm fruits and vegetables of this painting. SECOND PERSON HAS ENDED. With the logic of ::oct1:: and its tasteful carpeting [remember: all objects in an ::oct1:: room can be traced down to the carpet, even the walls (preferably carpeted walls), and this is one of the key spiritual doctrines of ::oct1:: (higher dimensional beings appreciate a rigid spiritual/invisible architecture {that is, metaphorical} as it streamlines their descent for conferencing)] in mind, seek to empathize with my testament: When I was a young child, there was, and possibly still is (I’ll google it…hmm, information is sparse) a place called “Crazy Mazey’s.” What a place this was, ha! It was, a full warehouse building, I am not joking…of mazes!! And not just your average 2-dimensional maze, this was fully integrated along the z-axis!! This was in Erie, Pennsylvania. I distinctly remember being a small child and going there several times. I have a feeling whoever is reading this will ultimately fail to understand the complexity of what I am going to describe in the following paragraphs, but please, bear with me, and I will try my best to make these words lend some meaning to you. I was a young child. I walked through the highly standard front doors of this building (it was located in a mini-mall, fully forming the clean, drab, yet perfect feeling of refined consumerism). In my childish mind, the scene I beheld was akin to Moses and the burning bush: upon entering a vast, hypercomplex room of twisting multicolored tubes and slides and swings and things to spin on and ball pits (I LOVE BALL PITS) and all sorts of physical objects one could interact with. I was required to take off my shoes and put them in a large, neon red, rounded corner plastic shoe cubby. To enter the actual 'crazy maze' one had to step onto an elevated platform with sloped edges. I saw it, and crossing onto it was symbolic (yet more, as this was fully physical) of entering a new world, a new dimension...specifically a timeless dimension. I say this with an immense amount of gravity, as if one were to experience 5-dimensional existence, one would conceptually be free of time in entirety! Life and its details would boil down to be the navigation of an infinite menagerie of TUBES! in any direction, at no specific time, as you would experience all of time, constantly; a facet of the larger universal being. ::oct1:: embodies the sacred architecture that American consumer culture has unknowingly (or perhaps...?) formed. As I approached the massive beast that was the maze, a sense of religious vertigo was induced. I was beholding a god; I was beholding one of the inefferable Octopi! (hey, this thing might as well be considered a physical manifestation of a hyperdimensional being, as it exists in all ways at all times at once...and also cuz I say so). Looking at it was similar to seeing the Hubble Deep Space Field for the very first time. The depth and complexity put me in utter awe. I have no idea how I did it, but I managed to enter its gaping mouth. To be inside ::.The Octopus Lounge.:: in this form was a dip into the divine. The raw excitement and freedom of exploring multicolored tubes builds a holy temple of ecstasy in my mind, a place of aesthetic perfection, pulling on all the mysticalities of growing up in this particular span of time. There was carpeting all over the floor, all over the walls, and the spongy padded floor. Obviously, "Crazy Mazey's" has been the most magnificent and effective method of obtaining ::oct1:: 's energy. Let us look into the details: The whole of the room in itself is a massive spiritual power plant. The 'bubble' is so perfectly implemented in this building that it actually generates more holy vibrations then are lost to the dampening affect of unenlightened brains (like Holiday Inn, for example). The whole purpose of the room is to direct the flow of 'bubble' energy from the carpeting on the walls, down onto the floor, up onto the spongy platform, and into the Octopus itself, who lies, his holy cranium touching the ceiling, completing the loop!! "CRAZY MAZEY'S" IS ACTUALLY A RECURSIVE FEEDBACK LOOP OF ::oct1:: 's POWER, REPEATEDLY CHARGING THE OCTOPUS OVER AND OVER AGAIN WITH THE SMOOTH BLEND OF 'BUBBLE' POWER AND THE PSYCHIC GUSTO OF ENRAPTURED TIMELESS (ASCENDING) CHILDREN!! I found myself high above the ground, in a spacious chamber suspended with ropes…and full of multicolored balls. I cannot begin to describe how beautifully motherly (like a cosmic, embracing, all-encompassing love) a room like this was. I dove into the plethora of balls, their cold plastic massage like millions of happy spherical pixies. I sank into it and all I saw were BALLS. This moment, easily said, was the one and only time I transcended this universe. I WAS ONE WITH ::oct1:: AND I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW IT. HA! Now I know, and as one can see, my divine path is unfolding as I type this.
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| Posted by Pet'ctlyptem Xon Yihaa'qti WchwaaXaan @ 2010-02-14 01:29:00 | |
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| A COMPILATION | |
| Posted by Pet'ctlyptem Xon Yihaa'qti WchwaaXaan @ 2010-02-14 00:44:00 | |
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| µµ∆µµ∆µ∆µ∆µµ∆∆∆µ∆µ∆µ∆µ∆µ∆µ∆∆µ∆µ∆∆∆∆∆∆∆µµ∆µ∆µ∆µ∆µµµ | |
| Hi there, my name is Kim Farah, and I will be filling in for Pet'ctlyptem today. I thought maybe typing in lower caps, (and of course, developed syntax) for a change could perhaps lessen the often quite inane and over-excited persona given off by this timeless character we've all come to love. Anyways, I'd like to take this moment to talk about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. | |
| Posted by Pet'ctlyptem Xon Yihaa'qti WchwaaXaan @ 2010-02-14 00:35:00 | |
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| heavy-handed rug advertisement | |
| parchance thee happen upon an eloquent banana, thrice thine picklesnatcher be blessed, for thee tankard doth overflow with the riches of arabian rugs at unbelievably low prices. legends tell of such wonders, hap'd upon by bargain seekers of yore. but, terribly is the man that picks his nose after sunset, for the three-armed god watka watches disapprovingly. newark pintos and all sorts of almighty magical flash meted out with that typically overstated divine justice. pick your nose after sunset? death. scratch your balls during prayer? death. masturbate? death. so, you understand when we say that you'd better not miss out on these deals. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-02-13 14:49:00 | |
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| spin, spin, spin, $10 | |
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THIS IS YUGO NEWS FFROM TH EINTERNETTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT here in the tcpiptubes we are reporting on the maximal funt of mulholland (no hay banda) and the minimalistic markov process ('ho foods) in helvetica news, the comic sans attacked serif forces on the border of Baes Lian. Descenders of the counter forces declined to comment. |
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| Posted by ...my name. is. THE PLAGUE @ 2010-02-13 13:02:00 | |
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| unnamed concept | |
| this shit is harping on a major blob. i'm reconstructing some complicated fractals -- the projections are ballin outta control, as hyperfukbot might say. it's hard to write this out as a properly multifaceted sentence. my concept is a nebulous, multi-colored cloud of something-or-other contained within some sort of 3D geometric structure, but i don't have a proper word for it. i'm forced to employ drastic analogies like the previous, making them work long hours without overtime pay or health benefits. if someone can get me a good line on 80s shirts, let me know. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-02-13 10:59:00 | |
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| black box foto sesh | |
| digital felt, post it to the internet withj hot glue. i want telephotos, but the charging demands it. electronic devices can be so confusing. monolithic constructions of atoms, juggernauts aside carbonides. a machine that makes books. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-02-13 01:33:00 | |
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| bunt | |
| it's tough to linguisticly capture the sensation of melting into a background of red and blue zeppelins, but somehow i'm managing it. the planar sensors in my face are going open-circuit. thank god, the shimmery synth noises have arrived. they are brittle and crystelline. SNAP! break a piece of sound off. use it like a qtip. consciousness modulus. how would robocop handle it? perhaps via taking a bus to honolulu, hawaii. what's up with hawaii names anyway? it's all like oooiii'a'iaia of the iiia;a;a;ira you know? sucka got a hardon for upspikes logarithmic i's. as i am not a linguistic botanist, i am unable to speculate how starting conditions produce this particular chaos. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-02-13 01:15:00 | |
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| KomKÖNyUmp | |
| I LOVED THE TURNOUT AT LAST NIGHT'S MEETING, GUYS. WE GOT A LOT DONE, I HOPE YOU TOOK NOTES. SO: WE NEED TO BUILT A TOWER. WHY? TO TALK TO GHOSTS! CATCH MY DRIFT, FRUITCAKES? WE HAVE TO KEEP BUILDING THIS TOWER!!!! I AM CURRENTLY RELATIVELY HIGH. BUT THIS IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH TO TALK TO GHOSTS!! WE NEED TO ADD MORE LEVEL... -later- WE NEED TO GET A LOT HIGHER BEFORE WE CAN TALK TO GHOSTS!!!! 20 FEET WON'T CUT IT, GUYS!! WE GOT TO KEEP BUILDING!!!! LOOK AT THOSE GUYS IN DUBAI!!! THEY CAN'T EVEN TALK TO GHOSTS YET, AND THEY ARE REALLY REALLY HIGH. WE HAVE TO GET MUCH HIGHER THAN THEM!!!! LETS BEAT THOSE UNITED ARAB EMIRATES!!!!! COME ON TEAM!!!! KEEP ON BUILDIN'!!!!!!!!!!! | |
| Posted by Pet'ctlyptem Xon Yihaa'qti WchwaaXaan @ 2010-02-12 09:12:00 | |
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| note | |
| i'm experiencing the tertiary pragma. i am receiving signals from the trapezoid zeppelin. copilot godzilla is telling me to wait. mario seems to be the background squant of this particular quantum. apologies for the interruption in service, threeve is melved. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-02-11 06:09:00 | |
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| hoot matrix | |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-02-09 00:03:00 | |
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| are there any pictures of don vito on headerimage? | |
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yes, there are many photos of don vito on headerimage. there are also photos of don vito on beer, on vodka, and on vicodin. yes, you can have the absorbption facility. WHY SHOULD I TRY IT I HATE PINEAPPLE. how do i know this? MANSDO~! fruit PUNCHY. delight
line breK kline break line break kline blottle bline wottle teabag terquila tubastank sea snake bjork serpent tea lizards chirs clark clarence park page break kline bresak sansquatch zoom zoom zoom zoom that image is pretty gross man. seriously. wtf |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-02-08 23:56:00 | |
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| O SNAP SJON | |
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Your yugo access is going to get suspended The Yugo Service Provider Consorcium was made to protect the rights of decal authors, artists. We conduct regular wat-tapping on our networks, to monitor funkeriffic acts. We are aware of your funktastic activities on the yugo wich were originating from  R. Mutt You can check the pork of your activities in the past 6 month that we have sandwiched. We strongly advise you to stop your activities regarding the funktastic downloading of funtryrighted material of your yugo access will be suspended. Sincerely YCS Monitoring Team |
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| Posted by ...my name. is. THE PLAGUE @ 2010-02-08 23:50:00 | |
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| A minor hangup. | |
| Where can a guy get some fuckin' banana plugs in this town at 10:00 PM on a Sunday? | |
| Posted by Atomdrache @ 2010-02-07 23:43:00 | |
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You know when they are releasing mail order media compilations of the event B>B> Then that is taking as much TCP/IP as there is Noch |
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| Posted by wolf530 (analog hacker extraordinaire) @ 2010-01-30 21:38:00 | |
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| Benefit description of product | |
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#Durable and can be used repeatedly for a long time.
#Made of High-quality special materials. Not contain any harmful objects. #The rubber ring can preventsmoke and tar from leaking. |
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| Posted by wolf530 (analog hacker extraordinaire) @ 2010-01-30 21:11:00 | |
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| Dear Yugo Customer! the Latest Update for the Forum! | |
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If you are having trouble reading this email, go to Online derision Dear Yugo User: Our 24x7 forum web service provide a value-added service to your Online Yugo Website Account. Please ensure to have your registration validated by clicking on 15 Brandy St., 2nd Floor, AZ This hyper inter link is generated with exlcuisivity for your web viewing purposes only. If it does not copy and paste properly please switch to decaf and reboot your coffee pot. |
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| Posted by ...my name. is. THE PLAGUE @ 2010-01-26 02:04:00 | |
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| the morning wat | |
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helio balboa causes apoleptic conniptions across america in a currently unsubstantiated rumour of russian unrest. pectoral glands are firin' a-mighty as the goulosh mango unit attempt to discern the integrity of the situation.
evening jointment contamination results in swelling of the lymph noids and constant jugular action. johnson & johnson has been implicated, but denies responsibility. tropica fink waggers smurf across the stage in glamour-filled action fart of modern valium concentration. shaved poodles, dyed all the colors of the rainbow. coos and applause. rocky balboa rumoured to assault 27 teenagers with a telephone receiver. steroid use is suspected. we'll be right back, after these obnoxious noisy fings. k? k. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-01-24 07:52:00 | |
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| a tactical conversation w/ dropz | |
| nougat mango cocktail pastry, add a sprig of parsely and bake at 450 for precisely 1.3 hours, garners genuine media sensation. don't trunk my funk, kabloop baclink. reggae wilson told me to tell you to tell lou that we're usin' his place 2nite. k? k. lou sed k? k. got dat mango mang. ya mang. vry good mang. srs. no u? wats dat? o. o yea. hows ur wife den. daaaaamn funkichop. o yea. well, anyways, got to spin the loop. laterz. k. ya. cya dropz | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-01-21 20:40:00 | |
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| ok now ya k | |
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The monks knew something was up. I wasn't moving like the other people around there, and for good reason -- the pills I'd acquired from a shady street vendor were in full effect. Still, I had enough marbles to remain polite and well-behaved, and so they just calmly kept an eye on me, as only monks at peace with Everything can do. Really, I just figured it would be a good thing to do in my current state of mind... furthermore, I had my good friend Lieutenant Burrito watching after me, and he had judged me capable of handling the situation, so off we went.
They had led us through a series of increasingly beautiful chambers, mumbling about religious things in increasingly vigorous broken english. Finally, we reached an alcove. The hallways had all been around ten feet tall, but here it opened up to easily five times that height. The square, tiled, wood panel motif continued for the most part, but became increasingly disconcerting as the eye travelled upwards. I started to feel like the mysterious morsel I had purchased and consumed at the market was jumping with glee. However, that's what myserious morsels do -- give you curious thoughts of anthropomorphic morsels jumping inside your guts. It's usually a sign that, in reality, you're about to hurl, or worse. But, this didn't feel quite like that. As I pondered it further, it stopped being a jumping bean and really reminded me more of a giant subwoofer pumping out some hoovers. With that conclusion, I stopped looking at the ceiling. How long had I been staring at it? No one was giving me The Eye, so I judged it hadn't been long. There were a pair of grand doors, succinctly decorated, largely camoflaged into the wall. Nothing like the ceiling. This was where we were to go next. I was unsettled by the seriousness of the ceiling, but the doors didn't seem to bad. They wrote that song about people being strange... no, wait, that's not right, I thought. A pair of monks straddled the doors, and pulled both open simultaneously, bowing as they did. I started to feel a slight edge of hoover again. Far out. I stepped into the room, and something hit me. It was reminiscent of every time I'd gone downhill on some sort of wheeled vehicle a tad too fast for my own good -- I started to fishtail, and WHUMP. I hit the wall. The monks surrounded me nervously, and I could hear a dozen voices saying, "Are you alright?" but I could not seem to see anyone's lips moving. Lieutenant Burrito was slooowly taking a swig off of his hip flask. I could understand the situation requiring a nip, but I wondered why he wasn't quicker about it. I put the situation aside and spelt out my planar stabalizers, wiggling my wrists in tandem malarky. My balance returned and I stood up. Lieutenant Burrito seemed to be moving normally again. "Sorry, just felt lightheaded..." I muttered, making a show of dusting myself off. The monks seemed to relax, vigorously. "We were not sure if we would have to remove you from the room," a voice in my head said. I looked around for the source of the voice, even knowing it sounded too internal to be outside of me... I was paying lip service to reality. I whirled around, observing my surroundings with a much less judgemental eye. I realized the room was like some sort of psychic superconductor, with the series of anteceding antechambers gradually stroking my magnetic field into the opposite polarity of the energy that this room was pulsing with. The mysterious pills seemed to have caused me to soak up excess magnetism like a fucking Doc Brown battery, and consequently, in this room, I was cookin' with gas. In the time it took a monk to inform Lieutenant Burrito, "We not sure if we have to have to remove him from the room, but ok now ya k" I had engaged in what seemed like years worth of conversation with the monks, sharing our life stories. It was like some sort of bizarre data synchronization. I felt nervous about retaining my individuality in the face of so much synchronization with people of different, but unified mindset... but, eventually, I realized that would not happen, because that would mean they would have to absorb my personality as well, and they thought I was batshit... but a nice batshit, we mean that in a nice way, they told me. As I surfaced from this, I started to consider reality again. I was still standing, the monk explaining to Lieutenant Burrito what happened. I realized I could freely leave my body and fly around the room -- but it was like a cage of sorts, I could not leave it. I returned to my body and asked the monks if I could perhaps have a laptop computer, preferrably one with internet access? A monk was already out the door to fetch a laptop by the time Lieutenant Burrito heard, "...ok now ya k". I sat down in front of the laptop. Disconcertingly, it was not set to English... I did not even recognize the glyphs. It was not an auspicious start. Still... I ran my palm over the beast, feeling its vibrations. More or less, I fell into it -- finding myself lost in a tumble of circuits and bus signals. It felt like hours I was bungling around in there, like a starving tourist with nothing tradable in a market where no one spoke his language. Finally, mercifully, I managed to get enough of a bearing to switch the laptop to english. It had been a pain in the ass, but realtime, it was still faster than actually using my fingers. That hurdle surmounted, I started to get a real feel for the laptop. Writing a silly little graphics display became like squiggling a pen. I turned my attention towards the wireless network interface, and, eventually, the internet. Then I logged onto http://www.ricedoutyugo.com/ and wrote this post. Then, I turned my eye to writing music software. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-01-21 07:32:00 | |
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