Still Incorrigible

Zarathud the IncorrigableAnother Zaraday is upon us. May there be much muing and nervous shuffling of papers throughout the land. Discordians don’t talk much about Zarathud the Staunch, preferring the more flamboyant Dr. Van Van Mojo, or the more verbose Sri Syadasti Yadavaktavya Syadasti Syannasti Syadasti Cavaktavyasca Syadasti Syannasti Syadavatavyasca Syadasti Syannasti Syadavaktavyasca. So let’s talk about the guy.

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Immanentizing the Eschaton: A Photoessay

We found this curious document deep in the bowels of the BBC (No Relation)’s fileserver. It was collected about 15 years ago and forgotten. While we have no record of who the brave soul that took these photos is, nor any clue about his fate, a find such as this must be published for all, Erisian or otherwise, to see. We have assembled the tale and added it to our online archives. Enjoy!

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Technodeterministic Utopian Chaoticians

chicken eggAnne Galloway made me think:

[…] these attitudes still suggest that wireless technologies were considered inevitable in the sense that someone was going to create them and push them out into the world. Interestingly, no one I spoke with considered herself or himself to be that someone. Nonetheless, almost everyone described their work as something they felt compelled to do so that these technologies were rolled out in the best (according to them) ways possible.

I think there is something simultaneously technodeterministic and utopian about all this. Continue Reading →

I Am dead

SkinIn 2004, I became a word in a story by Shelley Jackson, called Skin. This story was being published on a canvas of human bodies, with each person having one word tattooed on them. The story itself will never be publicly published elsewhere, so if you want to read it you’ll have to get all 2,095 people together. And try to figure out what order they go in.

I am thrilled to be a part of this. Perception and symbolism are things that I’ve always been fascinated with, and this work toys with those things on so many levels that it’s irresistible.

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That’s Why It’s Called Magnetism, I Suppose

Sorta like her. But with more clothes and less mask.

Sorta like her. But with more clothes and less mask.

At almost seven feet tall, the woman was both imposing and drop-dead gorgeous. She reminded me of a greyhound. I mean that in a good way: sleek, athletic, with a sharp and intelligent face. In fact, she looked exactly like your standard runway model, an impression enhanced by the drab surroundings of a low-rent laundromat. She was stunning, and that’s why I felt a little sorry for her.

At first, I was amused. This was apparently men’s day at the laundromat, and she was outnumbered a half-dozen to one. They formed a loose cloud of planetoids, randomly orbiting the heavenly body that simply didn’t belong there, captured in the gravitational pull of her beauty. Continue Reading →