Jeff Mach's Blog, page 23

living is sufficient revenge

Realistically, once you’ve realized that, while it’s difficult to know to what degree it’s intentional and/or planned, people are trying to drive you and everyone around you into a painful insanity, there are, I think, three broad choices: resigning yourself to the situation; trying to change the situation; and trying to make it worse.

On the surface, it sounds like “trying to change the situation” is, if not an easy choice, at least the “right” choice. Who would want to accept both being in pain, and seeing basically everyone else in pain, instead of going through a period of intense denial?

I mean, the pain’s still real, and the denial won’t help for long, but shouldn’t you at least make an effort?

 

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The Pleasure of the Monologue

Some have argued that the Villain’s Monologue was destroyed by the genre-breaking ideas of Mr. Allan Moore. Some argue that, in a post-Shakespeare world, there’s actually NEVER a good time for a Villain to speak directly to the heroes in some sort of expositional monologue.

SOME people have no real fun in life.

It’s a tempting modern idea: “Why would you speak to your enemies? Why not just kill them?”

It depends on the circumstances, of course.

For example, if you gloat over every defeated enemy, you’ll raise the odds of someone turning it against you. Doesn’t matter how—like any high-risk activity, any cost-benefit analysis

(you DID do a cost-benefit analysis before criticizing, right?)

—any cost-benefit analysis will tell you that you oughtn’t repeat a dangerous activity, especially a predictable one, unless you feel the benefits are truly outrageous.

But a villain gloating over the occasional, very special fallen foe? That’s a whole other kettle of oysters. Gloating has numerous health benefits and is extremely therapeutic. It should not be combined with a flair for excess; do not take this opportunity to ask the victim to sign a document attesting to their own incompetence, especially if they’ve brought their own pen.

In the days to come, stay tuned, as we’ll be expanding on this subject. But for now, remember: We’re all familiar with the tales where the villains monologued at the captured heroes, the heroes escaped, and Villainy lost.

We’re not familiar with the many, many stories in which the Villain won. Because the Villain is too busy vacationing on tropical islands, drinking bright blue cocktails, and building a better Death Ray to waste time talking to us.

Author's note:

(I last worked on this on November 15, 2020. It's now April 21, 2022. It's good to be back.)

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A little doom.

Universes are fragile, friable things, and ours was supposed to be doomed for quite some time ago. Doomed, tragic, lovely, it’s what brought us that bounty of tourists, here to see everything go kerblooey-kapow-KAZAP.

This is just one of those stories – a symptom, if you will, of the larger, wider, more utlimately-fatal malaises wandering yon and hither.

Now, being on a duly-recognized eve of destruction, that’s one thing. Everyone can throw a big party if they’d like. Or weep, perhaps. It’s all good; we’re all gonna die anyway, right?

It’s true that the first step to being really, really doomed is simply believing that you’re doomed.

And the second step is the easy shift from believing into being.

So now you’re doomed. Great! All you need to do is wait for the end!

And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

“Mommy, when is the Doom coming?”

“Soon. Soon.”

“Hopefully soon.”

(Dear Doom:

Please visit, and this time, please stay longer, would you?)

signed,

everyone)

 

 

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Boiling Eggs In Paradise

Now that we finally live in paradise on Earth, many of us are having trouble adjusting to the practicalities of this new reality. As an Approved Blogger, I thought I’d help cushion the transition from the oppressive and tyrannical Old World to the glorious and glowing New World with a nice, homey recipe. I cook boiled eggs with a bit of flair – avec fines herbs.

Summary

We’re going to boil the eggs with a bit of extra spice, then salt them judiciously.

Ingredients

Herb Mix (fresh basil, tarragon, parsley, chives and capers, divided.)
1 dozen large brown eggs, organic
Sea-salt
Pepper

Instructions

First off, you’ll want to set a large bowl full of ice water into the freezer to cool down for a while. This will help us shell the eggs later.

(There is no electricity today, as the electricity is being diverted to the War Effort. A wise citizen will have saved several icicles from that freak hailstorm this past April, and, provided you have not opened your freezer, it may be sufficiently insulated that they’re reasonably intact.)

Next, take a pot of sufficient size, fill it with warm water, and bring to a boil on the stovetop.

(You should be practiced with this, as we’ve all been boiling all of our water since The Occurrence. Or at least, those of us still alive have been doing so. We don’t talk about the shambling Others.)

With broad strokes, brush the spices straight into the roiling water, so that it can be infused with their playful flavors.

(If you have any of these spices, or any spices whatsoever, let me know. I’ll trade anything. A half-bottle of cooking wine? Black-market cigarettes? Whatever you need. Just. Please. Get me some spices.)

Carefully, using tongs or a wooden spoon, place each egg inside the pot.

(These are not chicken eggs. No-one knows what kind of eggs these are. No-one wants to know. Just roll with it. Smile for the cameras.)

Let the eggs stay in the water for ten minutes. Measure using your preferred timer or device.

(This presumes you’re one of the lucky few who possesses a working timepiece, presumably one with a clockwork mechanism, given the widespread effects of the Great EMP. If you’re not, just count your bruises slowly. That should take about the same amount of time.)

Finally, remove the eggs and place them briskly into your icewater. Leave them there for five minutes, so that they’ll be easier to shell.

(There were no icicles. What was in the freezer is best left undiscussed. It’s okay. Lift from the knees.)

Shell the eggs and sprinkle lightly, but firmly, with the sea-salt.

(Why is there no sea-salt? Half this continent is submerged in the ocean; how in the world do we not have any sea-salt?)

Now look on your delicious creation, and celebrate another beautiful day in Paradise!

(Or wherever we are. If anyone figures out where we are, please tell me. Unless I wouldn’t want to know. Use your judgment.)

 

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Conspiracies

This isn’t going to be a long rant, because, this once, I’d like to strike right for the heart. This wasn’t originally my own talking point; it was made by the grandmaster of modern conspiracy studies, Mr. Robert Anton Wilson.THE CORE MISINFORMATION WE ARE FED ON CONSPIRACY THEORIES IS THAT A ‘CONSPIRACY’ IS THE WEIRD, CRAZY STUFF WE HEAR FROM NON-CREDIBLE PEOPLE. This is wholly untrue.–actually, let me rephrase that. Those ARE conspiracy theories. They’re just a tiny fraction of conspiracies. It’s as if someone said “Science fiction believes that in the future, humans will be cannibals”. I own 5,000 scifi books. That idea is in…three of them, I think.[H.G. Wells’ “The Time Machine”, of course; Harry Harrison’s “Make Room! Make Room!”, which became the movie “Soylent Green”… …and “I, Weapon”, by Charles W. Runyon.]A “conspiracy” really is “at least two people making secret plans which affect a third person ina negative way, without that third person’s knowledge”. Really. Go ahead, check. I’ll wait.Yep. That thing you do all the time.Conspiracies are not weird and rare. That’s SOME conspiracies. Most of them are happening all the time. We don’t think about it. We don’t want to think of ourselves as conspirators. And we are, understandably, afraid to think of ourselves as the subjects of a conspiracy, whether it’s one designed to control our lives, or to keep us from storing our food in the company fridge.You’ll see variations of whether the ‘conspiracy’ has to be about something ‘illegal’ or ‘evil’. (How broadly can we define ‘evil’ intent? Really, really broadly, of course.) Is that true?Did the US fake the Moon landing? Doubtful. Did Big Tobacco lie about causing cancer? Yes. Do Lizard People run Twitter? Probably not. Did Watergate happen? Yes. Yes, it did. Did the CIA test LSD for weaponization? Absolutely yes; sounds crazy, absolutely isn’t. MK-Ultra, baby.

Am I physically looking at multiple websites using ‘7 Traits’ to debunk ‘conspiratorial thinking’? Yes. Yes, I am.

They’re talking about [unmentionable subject], and I’m not going NEAR that SPECIFIC subject in any way.

But….and this is a VERY BIG ‘But’ INDEED -They’re debunking it, NOT by showing that it’s inherently wrong

(and WHY not? *I* could offer several debunks of that particular subject, and I’m NOT an expert in that subject) –

but by trying to tell you that the villain here is something called ‘Conspiratorial Thinking’.That’s misinformation. Or, more specifically:

The “7 Traits Of Conspiratorial Thinking” are opinions, not facts; and those opinions are actually contradicted BY facts. To wit:

IF this test was real, it would ONLY debunk false conspiracy theories.

BUT this test will ACTUALLY debunk ANY conspiracy theory.

Including those which are 100% visibly, documentably, historically, provably true.

What that means is: this is NOT a tool for DEBUNKING lies.

This is a tool FOR CREATING LIES.

Go over my logic here.
I’m not asking you to believe an opinion.
I’m giving you a testable rubric, one that you can use, yourself, to see if what I am saying works.

I don’t think I’m right because it feels good. I think this is correct because it is testable.

Use it.

NOTE: In the process of discussing this subject, someone pointed out to me that while my definition of “conspiracy” matched their online dictionaries, a “conspiracy theory” is not defined as “a theory about a conspiracy”, but rather – as per Wikipedia – “A conspiracy theory is an explanation for an event or situation that invokes a conspiracy by sinister and powerful groups, often political in motivation, when other explanations are more probable.““Conspiracy theories” have been around, under that name, for a long time; the tragic assassination of JFK was in 1962, for example, and was famously a nucleus for conspiracy theories. In my general distrust of online sources, which change all the damn time (this is not a conspiracy theory; go look up how often Merriam-Webster changed definitions of words in 2019 alone!) – I checked my hardcopy of “Webster’s New Universal Unabridged Dictionary”, from 1980.“Conspiracy theories” isn’t in there at all.Conspiracy?Yes, I think so.

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Astrogating Fallen Stars

There’s no help for it. Once the stars grow strange, you’re wholly out of luck.

Perhaps there are starship pilots who grow used to ever-shifting constellations. Perhaps there are other travelers who see peculiar horizons with sufficient regularity to become inured to their oddity.

Most likely, though, if the stars change, you’re not far from a very final nightfall.

What to do?

I’d recommend astrogating.

If the stars shift on you, wrecking horoscopes, unbuckling Destiny, weirding you out, portending ill, summoning the uncanny, then take your revenge.

Shift back on them.

Stand straight-backed in any meadow or any reasonably quiet street, or even indoors, if you’ve a convenient window or rooftop, and stretch out.

Splay your fingers. Stand with legs akimbo, eyes wide, heartbeat aligning with celestial light. Stretch up, and let them pull you in.

Fall right through the path of comets and space junk, breathe without air, become something that lives in vacuum.

Float among the stars for a few Eternities. Become odd. Distend odd shapes from your center of projection. Cast no more shadows.

Thus are Eldritch Things made.

The stars will be no less strange to you, but it no longer matters. You will have become so strange that your own understanding can no longer be measured in human terms, any more than you can be described by the word ‘human’, yourself.

And that’s how you win.

 

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Theft From The Nonexistent Library

One could easily find any number of beings more formidable, overall, than a griffin. The Leviathan wouldn’t notice even the largest of their kind unless, perhaps, she managed to get one of them tangled in two or three of her more important rows of teeth. Likewise, in an actual fight, the tiniest runt of a Dragon could roast an adversarial lion-eagle before the latter could get in more than a few disgruntled snarls and maybe maybe one far-too-far-away swipe of the claws.

But it’s hard to find a guardian more tenacious, more ill-tempered, more steadfast, or more dedicated. You could borrow a Sphynx or two, perhaps, if you could find or create one of that fabulously rare breed. They’re already stone, and long-lasting, and if anyone’s ever bested one of ’em in combat, it’s gone unrecorded in any reputable history.

You could. One oughtn’t, though. Not if what one’s protecting is of really incalculable and irreplaceable value. Because Sphynxes will have their riddles. And riddles can be solved, or circumvented, or otherwise fuddled.

Long experience had taught the Unilluminati that what counted best, at end of day, was having protectors who were really devoted to being wrathful, permanently displeased, forever irritable, and unspeakably territorial. Ergo: Griffins.

It helps to put them somewhere at the end of a vast physical, mental, and metaphysical maze; if sufficiently hard-to-find, well-made, and sturdy, such things have a tendency to weed out many of the more directly troubling challenges. For example, sufficiently frustrating spatial muddles are very good at taking care of outrageous force. You can’t get an army to go through one; the logistics are simply far too complicated to make it anything near worthwhile. Those aforementioned Dragons would never fit, and, at any rate, would certainly never leave the comfort of their treasure-hordes to attempt to plough through a multifaceted geological-psychological labyrinth; and this is equally true of just about any other species with overwhelming magick and/or might on its side).

And no matter what or who you might be, nobody’s keen on ending an exhausting quest at a wild, ugly place whose chief exports are Griffinly annoyance, withering Griffin stares, and the malfeasance of nature which is a Griffin’s truly awful breath. If one has spent sufficient time breeding the beasts, there will be more than enough Griffins to make even the most intrepid of explorers give up, especially if one has been thoughtful enough to leave a large teleportation portal right next to the Maze’s exit.

That’s why it’s Griffins which protect the Nonexistent Library.

And that’s why today, the tribe of Griffins is, down to the very last creature, purple with rage. Because today, someone stole a book.

It’s not the End of the World.

Because you’re not that lucky.

 

 

 

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Not Done Well With Sanity

(From “Absinthe Heroes: The Steampunk Rock Opera”.)

ANTIKYTHERA (enters):  You’re no patriot, Mayor.

MAYOR:  I owe my allegiance, not to England, but to the Human Race.

ANTIKYTHERA:  You want to better its lot?

MAYOR:  I want to increase human knowledge and understanding.

ANTIKYTHERA:  Because it will save us?

MAYOR:  Because it will presumably drive us mad and, as a race, we have not done well with sanity.  We know too much to have stayed in caves or trees – but much too little to destroy ourselves properly.  Why must we go about it in such a slow, haphazard fashion?  It is positively slothful!

ANTIKYTHERA:  But our knowledge advances every day, and we get closer and closer to a better world.

MAYOR:  And a better time.  A time of ceaseless wonder.

CHAS (entering) Ceaseless wonder!

ANTIKYTHERA:  Great happiness!

MAYOR:  Logic and reason!

CHAS:  I have devoted my life to those things..

ANTIKYTHERA:  It is the most rewarding life imaginable.

CHAS:  If one doesn’t mind being a servant of numbers.

MAYOR: Beg pardon?

CHAS:  For every great truth we discover, we discover ten million falsehoods or lies or pieces of vision that we truly do not understand or use well.  This is not a bad thing; great truths may have that kind of value.  But if I discover a thousand things, have I moved the world?  Or have I simply been a few steps along the way to that ten-millionth fragment of inspiration?

ANTIKYTHERA:  And your love of science?

CHAS: Is my longing for magic.

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Werewolf Wish

Once there was a beautiful princess whose only ambition in life was to become a Werewolf.

This was unfortunate, for it is death to touch a person of the Blood Royal. Normally, for the crime of  lèse-majesté, one is horsewhipped and then (to insure no-one accidentally enjoys the horsewhipping) one is drawn, quartered, cubed, and tossed into two or more oceans.

Now, had the princess wanted to become a Vampire, that would have been another story altogether. Vampires are often, in and of themselves, nobility. This does not give them the right, by human standards, to fang anyone in particular; but it certainly gives them a certain perspective (if not contempt) for the rules of ordinary Humans.

Werewolves, however, are particularly law-abiding beasts, outside of the whole carnage and consumption things. They might slay a few dozen beings out of the sheer savage delight of serving the Moon, but they certainly aren’t going to tread upon the inalienable right of the highborn to not be nipped by beasts.

The princess, however, had a clever plan: she waited until the full moon, then covered herself with garlic.

She felt quite ridiculous when she realized that Werewolves don’t actually care about garlic; the ones who do are the aforementioned Vampires, dammit, and they don’t even like the stuff.

So she came up with another clever plan: she would turn herself into a pile of bones, and then the Werewolf would chew her up.

Then she realized that (a) she would be dead, and (b) it’s actually very difficult to make sure you become bones, at least if you plan to do so quickly, and (c) did we mention the part of being dead?

Eventually, she realized that her best move was simply not to get bitten by a Werewolf at all. So she let go of her foolish fantasy and turned to healthier hobbies, like camping.

Outside of the nice caves on the edge of town.

The ones which kept emitting those howling noises.

Because the Princess was learning wisdom.

And patience.

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Some Fake Necronomicons

We’re all familiar with the prevalance of fake Necronomicons. Indeed, if anything, it’s quite rare to find any examples of the real thing. I know that for myself, every time I spot one at a garage sale and reach out for it, the very geography of the Cosmos shifts in a manner indescribable in the feeble languages of Man, yet with a visceral truth which my treacherous heart can scarce deny, and I end up grabbing yet another copy of K.W. Jeter’s “Fiendish Schemes”.

Still, it’s pretty easy to get the imitators, the cash grabs, and, obviously, the psyops from another dimension. Here are a few of my favorites.

The Necronomicon With The Elder Sign On The Cover

Right. So the Elder Sign blocks the Great Old Ones. If this were a book about them, it probably wouldn’t have a variant version of their bane on its face.

The book is, as any occultist will tell you, a practical joke. A fairly elaborate one, since it contains what appear to be well-researched, effective Babylonian magick for calling malevolent spirits to you.

All of the summonings.

But none of the bindings.

The Necronomicookbook

There’s a pretty good Necronomicon cookbook out there.

And the recipes are authentic, too.

They’ve just changed the meat involved.

The Original Necronomicon Workout

Not many people confuse this with the actual Necronomicon, especially we generally assume that ancient texts don’t have pictures of Shoggoths on treadmills.

But I’ll give them this much: I’ve never read an exercise book which gives you this much motivation to run.

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