Archive for July, 2006
This week, due to a certain occurrence, I was ‘manipulated’ into buying a copy of Israel Regardie’s “The Tree Of Life”, a book which I had put on the back-burner for the time being.
I haven’t begun reading it as of yet, but I have looked through it thoroughly and it looks incredible.
Also, the Vancouver chapter of the Esoteric Order Of Eris has landed.
On Friday, July 14th, the CityPlace condo construction site at the foot of Spadina Ave was vandalized to the price of two million dollars, possibly in the name of anti-progress, or possibly in the name of the promotion of discord.
The sabotage was claimed by a group calling themselves “ELF” (or, the “Earth Liberation Front”) – do these initials sound familiar to anyone? Most readers of “Hoopla!” will recognize it as the same acronym for the “Erisian Liberation Front”, also known as “ELF”.
The “Earth Liberation Front” was founded in Britain in the mid 90’s; the “Erisian Liberation Front” was founded at least as early as the 1960’s, possibly earlier depending on who you talk to, or how gullible you feel like being. Which group has claim on this acronym? Are they even truly different groups? How many licks to the centre of a Tootsie Pop?
The world may never know . . .
This afternoon I witnessed one of Hogtown’s “police officers” kicking a homeless man off of some grass.
The grass in question was next to a church, but he was sitting beyond the iron fencing, near the sidewalk. I had walked by this gentleman a little earlier, and he said not a peep to me as I walked by. Granted, the Baron doesn’t walk down the streets in the middle of July in spats and a top hat, but he has been known to be asked for donations from the homeless on occasion.
The “officer” kicked the homeless man off of the grass, and actually seemed to berate him as he walked away. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, so it’s fully possible I was projecting my disgust of the situation onto him, but whatever he was conveying was said rather loudly, harshly, and with a decidedly sour expression on his mug.
Apparently, those without homes can’t sit on the grass.
Isn’t it lovely chums, that we live within the imaginary borders of such a open-minded “free” country?
It is with some sadness that I announce the demise of the Justified
Agents Of Mummu forum. Known as the “Funny Farm” to friends, and
“DoucheBag Central” to it’s enemies the Justified Agents Of Mummu
Forum curled up and died earlier this week.
For some time friends had noticed the forum becoming listless, and
depressed . . . sometimes not a single user would post for days, or
even weeks at a time. Sometimes the forum would post to itself,
something it had learned to do in its early days when it was young
and lonely. The creation of fake users was a cry out for help and
attention, but was ignored by almost all, including your faithful
Baron, who should have seen the warning signs for what they were:
The last time your faithful Baron logged onto the forum there had
been one new user added to the membership list, which cheered him
somewhat until he saw the forum chatting with the user and then
chatting back AS the user . . . he knew then that it was only a
matter of time.
I would like to take this opportunity to read the Forum’s favourite
poem from the television series “The Simpsons”:
“Don’t cry for me –
– I’m already dead.”
It certainly brings a tear to a glass eye, don’t it folks?
The Forum was just over a year old.
Anyone who would like to share a story about the Forum may do so in
the Comments section below.
Ramses Colossus, of the Hermes Trismegistus Cabal of the Illuminati, invited me over the weekend to a seminar for the Kabbalah Center, the group Madonna has famously championed up until fairly recently. I don’t have much to report, really . . . the temperature in the building was probably three degrees below five hundred, which I found odd; the exorbitant fees the group demands seems to indicate that their pockets are deep enough for central air, or at the very very least, a cheap window air-conditioner . . . a few minutes into the speeches I was finding it difficult to remain stationary, as there was a inch-thick slick of sweat between the fold-up chair and my ass cheeks.
When a gentleman to my right asked the speaker whether it was preferable to remain ‘chaste’ throughout life (which he helpfully explained to the crowd meant ‘to remain a virgin’) Ramses decided it was time that we retire to the back of the building to enlighten ourselves. It was, of course, twenty-three degrees cooler outside than it was inside, but then again outside I wasn’t pressed between fat smelly plants pretending to be curious potential customers. Ramses’ enlightenment recipe? One part ’13’, one part crysophrasya, one part embalming fluid: do NOT attempt to work heavy machinery, or compose heavy poetry under any circumstances!
While we were outside enlightening, and giggling about the virgin (wondering if he was a plant too, or just an poor unfortunate bastard who had little to no concept of group social interactions) we were interupted by a homeless person, or what appeared to be a homeless person, enquiring into what form of illumination was being practiced inside the building . . . I responded: “Dianetics”, while Ramses (always on his toes) answered “Tea-Leaf Reading, from the Modern Male Witch Phallic Perspective”. The possibly homeless person nodded sagely, then asked if the type of illumination we were receiving was on the agenda, Ramses answered “No,” and included him in the circle. I chatted with him briefly about the Sacred Chao, and explained the Pental and the Pomal therein, which he compared with his own concepts of the “tonal” and the “nagual”, concepts not unfamiliar to the Baron. As the “maybe yes / maybe no” homeless person separated from the two of us to make his way into the oven known as the Kaballah Center, Ramses asked if I knew who that was. I admitted that I did not.
“Well, I may be right or I may be wrong, but someone can sacrifice my left nut to Chorozon if that wasn’t Mr. Carlos Castaneda.” he laughed.
“I thought he was dead . . .” I responded.
“So did he,” Ramses answered cryptically.
A shiver ran down my spine, maybe from the strangeness of the incident, or possibly from the combination of the crysophrasya and the embalming fluid – who can say?
Carlos -if you are out there- did it turn out in the lecture that it WAS preferable to remain ‘chaste’? I’m dying to know.
It is raining bathtubs outside right now . . . I’m watching for any
cats, dogs, or frogs . . . this is yet another of several heavy
rainstorms we’ve had recently in Hogtown – no hail yet, but I’m
paying close attention to see if I can break the hallways of reality
my co-workers currently live inside.
And, of course, you know the cause of this heavy rain . . . it’s the
Baby Jesus crying because you masturbate.
This afternoon, while walking down the street, a dragonfly nearly
scared the wits out of me.
And, I like dragon flies.
I still have a lot to work on.