Neoist Funerary Rites

One:The neoist walks exactly three miles, in as nearly a straight line as possible, from the place where he has awakened from the previous night's sleep. His left arm is held out before him, palm upward, elbow slightly bent, his fingers closed on a seed. (The species of seed little matters, but it is key that it be fertile, for instance not cooked or salted). When he reaches his destination, he kneels and with the right hand digs one handful of soil which he then holds to his heart. With his left hand he places the seed in the hole, saying the following words: "Dear friends, today we mark the passing of one who was a light among us brighter than any star in the sky of Akademgorod. We lay him in consecrated earth that his soul may forever find peace." He then covers the seed with the soil from his right hand. All should be performed with the greatest gravity and solemnity possible.

Two: Crack an egg into a hole in the ground. Cover with earth. Save the eggshell forever.


Tourism is the entrance into an unfamiliar situation in a way not usually conducive to thorough investigation. On 'close inspection' all situations are unfamiliar. The social margin of tourism is the interaction between the tourist and the local population. This interaction my be strained by differences in language and behavior. The barriers between the tourist and the locals are intensified by the tourist's sense of separation from the 'known' realities of his/her home. The tourist avoids the local realities through romanticism. The locals are laughing at the tourist who is distractedly feeding the filthy and diseased pigeons and having his picture taken with them. Tourism is the role resulting from the fusion of the exploratory and the ignorant.

Contrary Instinctions

In the set didn't continue more than contra-distinctions or contrary instinctions of the fact. It is important that the initial text was conventionally structured (eliminating much of freestanding scientific language). In the end a puzzle seemed likely, enough for a substantial investment. It seemed, at times, as if they were stuck to self-deception and didn't care whether anything was ruined, so long as the wind was coming out of the silliness as a means of fate/fame.

Ten Sefirot of Nothingness: The number of the ten fingers, five opposite five, with a single covenent precisely in the middle, like the circumcision of the tongue and the circumcision of the membrum.

Now that we put up front the complexity of translation and transmission as equal partners in the rigorous shine of fact, it must seem to be a situation in which a claim of apparency is to confront meaning in "pure form." From the tables of near translation, she can only be considered tentative, given that it may not be clear which languages have already been performed, and it is assumed that the work be planned and that instructions be followed to the flightless pattern of a plate, and thrown into the same reality where it feels so good that an outside world seems improbable.

Disappearing Lessons

I have to destroy these spoon thoughts while I'm young. The arrival of a variety of energy beings from a less apoplectic dimension laying in a parking lot, looking up at the "stars" with huge electric lights trained on them and concrete/electronic buzzing.

He had "so much respect for silence" (view of a man locked in a white room with a blindfold on, now and again very old). The distortion of memory occuring in the present tense. Retroactive Journal entry, May 19: "letter; Dear mom, my position as 'Karen Eliot' has become tenuous, may have to resign (suicide?)" Our goal is this: reconciliation and more.

Plan: Increase activations, increase negations of activations, actively abstract behaviors and inject increasingly ductile content into these abstractions. In this way we will achieve "freedom".

Tonight I Dreamed of a Gold Onion Flaming Leaf After Leaf to Reveal No Heart of Blood.

As a founding member of my local chapter of Jolted Cans Clatter, I was filled with excitement upon reading certain portions of your most recent letter, and filled with remnants of the Elks' Club in Elkhart, Indiana, upon reading certain others. Our offices are ever on patrol for the bright long days of fried potatoes and fried cabbage and the vows are the same as those without this silence characterized by the blood you have lost like a poetry lesson begun too late. Commentators found evidence in Russia for whatever positions they wanted to take.

Because we have reached a point in the "progress" of our (spoon) culture in which it is socially viable to suggest that we have reached a theoretical impasse, we have reached a theoretical impasse. It is impossible to "progress" beyond this notion, and any criticism of it, no matter how analytical, is a step backward. Those who do not understand this simple paradox will waste endless energies digging their tombs in the graveyards of art, politics, neoism and philosophy.

Monty Cantsin's father enters downstairs with a severe facial expression, but then softens up and says to the girl (still off camera), "Maria, I just thought I'd drop by to give you this saucepan full of cold water, here, it's for you"