The Short Autobiography Of An Abomination (LEWC)

Projections! How are we all doing tonight, or this morning, or this afternoon, today? Are we good?

Really?

Oh, what fun!

Well, then!

I'd like to share with you all a short story... a short story detailing the events surrounding the “arising” of the projection of a creature, this creature's life experiences, and how he came to the conclusion (that's neither a conclusion nor not a conclusion, by the way) that not one of us is able to separate any singular “defining” or “impacting” “moment” from any other “moment” we've ever experienced.

“How terribly boring!” (backspace)

Wait! Wait!

From the constant breeding of our species with other members of our species, from time immemorial until, oh, say... about 30 years ago (you may give or take a few months), the conditions arose where a sick man met with a practitioner of medicine – a nurse, in this instance. Somehow, at some point during this relationship, they became romantically involved. When combined in this way, they were able to create a new version of themselves. This new version of themselves just so happens to be the creature this short story is ostensibly about. And it also happens to be... “me.” So I can tell you from personal experience, then, that a great deal of screaming and shouting between our sick man (who had recovered, by this point) and our nurse ensued about the creation of this new version of themselves.

So they both met other people, and finally separated. I was to reside with my biological father, as my mother moved away and could not look after me due to the working hours of her and her new partner's profession. Here, at this point, is where I smash the chronological ordering of this story to pieces and begin you all on a descent into incomprehensible madness, for which I am very, very sorry (yet greatly relieved)!

I laughed uncontrollably for no reason at animals that utilise sonar.

Subconsciously devastating advertisements, films, books and/or songs operate machinery, install window frames and create Tor only internet environments seemingly all by themselves! Evangelical charlatan beaming bent-blossom down analogue in NTSC and (LOUD BANG) many other mindcrimes in microwaves...

“Dad, dad! Look! I've smashed all of our inner doors in to reveal their cheap cardboard lattice interior, please don't go upstairs because I've also smashed your expensive 70cl bottle of Bushmills as well, but I ain't thorry.”

“Salvation!” The inside of a hen bursts then doesn't burst then neither bursts nor doesn't burst so we all pick up our own puppet-strings and chase our universal self away in the variety of uniforms. Roar with me at exact locations in space-time as I piss and defecate in facilities or all over myself. Because you're only really exciting the young or wettable with unambitious marketability assured low-brow disgorge, Hollywhore. Uninvocable electricity may suddenly frighten a herd. But power to the fence – the fence of control – also is off!

Something somewhere in my chest is bleeding all over my windowsill, all over other places, by way of mouth, for weeks. NHS Direct. X-ray to rule out lung cancer. Ruled out, to the deafening simultaneous applause and jeering of my mixed-feelings. But I was more proud of my achievements in life that time when I turned up to an “ice-breaking,” “team-building” exercise on the induction day for a minimum wage job I really needed and tried to convince everyone in the room that I was The International Space Station (ISS).

Hear about an orange, now, that wasn't just an orange but the whole, entire universe. You know what? Don't bother accusing me of plagiarism or a lack of originality just because I either heard about it or read about it from some Zen lunatic in film or literature. Just listen to the story about the orange. Okay? Right... there was a Zen master who one day held up an orange to his disciple and claimed that it wasn't an orange, but it was the entire universe. Yeah, that's pretty deep. Right? But for you logicians out there this one works on levels that you, too, should be able to understand, and probably already do without any further explanation from me. If you don't then fear not! Cogitate on the interdependency and interrelatedness of all things and how they ultimately must lack any self-existence. He had that orange there. But where did it come from? An orange tree will probably be the most widely accepted answer to this question. But that tree had to grow somewhere, in something. That somewhere and something, where the tree grew...

Yeah.

“Oh my god you're going grey!” said my form tutor (in front of the whole class)

“What? No I'm not. I'm only 12.” I replied, blushing profusely and almost setting on fire.

“No, seriously. Have a look in the mirror at break or when you get home.”

So basically the planet that tree grew on in most but not all cases has to orbit around something like a star such as our sun, but when my Dad came home from work and caught me shooting holes in the garage door with an air rifle he didn't say anything about it.



(Ringing)

“Hello?”

“Hello mate u comin' daan The SNES?”

“The what?” I heard myself ask, half asleep.

“The SNES! Super Nintendo Entertainment System.”

“...”

“Yeah, it's the new pab where The Wishing Well used ta be. They took I' ova din't they.” someone explained

“Go away.” I said, less politely than that.

While we're on the subject of interconnectedness we may as well examine defining moments in our lives. We probably all have one or several or maybe even more than several each. But can they really be distinguished from the preceding moments that they rely upon. If not, then why not? If you know the answer to that question, why not try punching yourself (NOT TOO HARD!) in the mouth or head? You may like to try this even if you just think you know the answer but don't actually, as well. I've just tried it myself.


So.


When I was 18 I had a good job and rented a two bedroom house to myself in a pleasant area of town.


So?


Now I'm 29 and live on benefits in a rented room in a shared house and plan to sit in silence facing a wall for my 30th birthday, alone.


So?

“You can get a lot of Drum and Bass on DC++. They even got some hubs dedicated to just that.”

Oh man! Darkness. Madness. Unspeakable shame, disgrace, terror and fear. I wondered what I did or just who I might have been in a previous life. I wondered whether we have other lives or if that's just the dogmatism of Eastern madmen. Directly experienced, they say. What if we have no lives at all and all of this isn't even anything but a mind, dreaming? They say that too, you know, just a whole lot more eloquently. But they do say that too.

“Somebody had to have put all of this confusion here!” (I didn't want to have to point this out but for the sake of the objections of my detractors, that's a quote from the Principia Discordia if you weren't already aware)

My father and mother both contributed greatly to the erosion and rotting away of the floorboards in the toilet upstairs at my father's house, but in very different ways. I played all kinds of roles in it myself. Over time the splashing of urine, of bile and of a stomach-load of cheap Cider will erode floorboards faster than the regurgitation of the latter two will erode the enamel off the back of your teeth, and you'd better damn well be careful you don't fall through the floor I'll tell you what.

Dirt, hatred. Eternal filth.

Yeah, I really miss those old-school bile sessions.

How can I miss something that hasn't fundamentally happened and never will? All the good times. All the bad times. All the times that were neither or not worth mentioning. Not one of them ever happened to me, because I don't exist and they don't exist and I don't not exist and they don't not exist. Who was it being ridiculed, and who was it laughing and ridiculing? If there's “no seer and nothing seen,” to quote the Tathagata Buddha, how can anything have been experienced by me, or you, or anyone at all? Therefore “my life experiences” become useless and almost ridiculous, as if they weren't already ridiculous enough. There is no time. There are no “moments,” defining or otherwise. These words you're reading and I'm writing. They aren't real. If you grasp what I'm trying to say, that which you grasp isn't real.

My father collapsed in a supermarket last year with end-stage renal failure. That's true but it isn't real. There was no supermarket. He was never there. “He” isn't “he.”

There's no self-existence anywhere except mind. Dependency, dependency, dependency! There can be no defining moments because of dependency and because there are no moments!

Enough of this talk, you say? Well, alright. That's fair enough. This has been an incredibly short and relatively nonsensical autobiography, but please understand that greatly restricted by the terms and conditions of this website, I've had to omit the majority of my life.

If you've arrived here because you've just read what I've written or you've arrived here by holding page down, I'd like to wish you a very good day and the best of luck. Thank you for reading or not reading this story.

Beware of dependency. Liberate yourselves... liberate “me!”

Thank you.

Good night.

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reply to post by SupesuInbeda


That was, well *cough*, very interesting. You're writing style is very unique. It's nice to see entries from newer members. SnF.

You're quite the craftsman.

"A man of genius makes no mistakes; his errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery."
James Joyce

Well spun.

reply to post by SupesuInbeda

AHAHA!

"Jingle bells, jingle bells,
Jingle all the way.
Oh! what fun it is to ride
In a one-horse open sleigh!"

Hey!

"Tewworwist bombing!" "Tewworwist bombing!"