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Postmadonna
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Valis
I am：
'I' and 'am' in 8 bit binary code (01101001001000000110000101101101) in the form of 'yes =1' or 'no=0'
The Universe begins part II：
Stars explode like vampires in the sun
billions to trillions to zillions to one
and the shit keeps on expanding like a bun
this is long before the evolution of the thumb
and I give it two thumbs up, but i dont give a fuck
oh yep I think I hear the devil banging on his drum
back when hell was filled with just evil dinosaurs
you know the kind that roar, like a tyrannosaur--
esrex, whats next? love, sex, multiply
there's stars on the screen but they ain't in the sky,
why the black whole is just a black hole in my soul,
this is out of your control and you never really know,
and me I'm just a meat-eater, a fucking meat-eater,
and we all landed here on a mother fucking meteor,
apes to babes, thank god we got prettier,
bodies on batteries, laser guns and savagery,
the slug queen your majesty, please don't be mad at me!
I'm done, I'm numb, big bang, gods gun,
the universe begins, the universe begins,
we'll have to make a new song when the universe ends.
run, look at him run, look at him run...
what is he doing? where is he going? where are you going? Where's it all going, where's it all going, where's it all going?
run, look at him run, look at him run.
The Walrus:
I am the walrus, I've got chopsticks in my teeth,
seems as though I'm overdressed for this occasion
aquatic confrontations,
fuck the walrus, I want to be a business man in a business suit, with a hot wife too, in a business suit, but I guess I've got some walrus shit to do,
because I'm nothing, and you're nothing, but we're something, yes we're something,
Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com
because I'm nothing, yes I am nothing.
Who are you without its touch?:
Because you are the walrus my friend
you've got chopsticks in your teeth
Its always seemed you're overdressed for this occasion, aquatic confrontations
but I'm scared you'll say fuck the walrus
and those fucking lines all day will slow your speech
until all outputs cease from my favorite mind
I hope you can leave all of this behind you.
DONT WASTE YOUR LIFE IT'S BEAUTIFUL
RYAN
Life isn't just a joke,
don't treat me like a joke,
I feel like you're a ghost,
please dont become a ghost
Chopsticks in my Teeth:
The subject of this speech is a topic which has been discovered recently, and which may not exist at all. I may be talking about something that does not exist. Therefore I am free to say everything, and nothing.
I, in my stories and novels, often write about counterfeit worlds. Some are real worlds as well as deranged, private worlds inhabited often by just one person — while, meantime, the other characters either remain in their own worlds throughout, or are somehow drawn into one of the peculiar ones. This theme occurs in the corpus of my twenty-seven years of writing. At no time did I have a theoretical or conscious explanation for my preoccupation with these pluriform pseudo worlds.
But now I think I understand.
What I was sensing was the manifold of partially-actualized realities lying tangent to what evidently is the most actualized one: the one which the majority of us, by consensus gentium agree on.
Later that day, back at home but still deeply under the influence of the sodium pentathol, I had a short, acute flash of recovered memory. Then, in mid-March (a month later), the total body of memories — intact and entire — began to return. You are free to believe me or disbelieve, but please take my word on it that I am not joking: this is very serious, a matter of importance.
At that time I had no idea what I was seeing. It resembled nothing that I had ever heard described. It resembled plasmic energy. It had colors. It moved fast. It collected, and then dispersed. But what it was — what he was — I am not sure even now.
In other words, it's a common theme in my writing that a dark-haired girl shows up at the door of the protagonist, and tells him that his world is delusional, that there is something false about it. Well, this did finally happen to me. I even knew that her hair would be black. I had an actual complete sense of what she would look like and what she would say.
She did appear. She was a total stranger. And she did inform me of this fact: that some of my fictional works were, in a literal sense, true.
I wrote out these dreams in novel after novel, story after story. To name two in which this prior ugly present obtain most clearly: I cite The Man in the High Castle and my 1974 novel about the U.S. as a police statecalled Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said.
I am going to be very candid with you. I wrote both novels based on fragmentary, residual memories of such a horrid slave state world. People claim to remember past lives; I claim to remember a different — very different — present life. I know of no one who has ever made this claim before, but I rather suspect that my experience is not unique. What perhaps is unique is the fact that I am willing to talk about it.
We are living in a computer-programmed reality, and the only clue we have to it is when some variable is changed and some alteration in our reality occurs. We would have the overwhelming impression that we were reliving the present — déjà vu — perhaps in precisely the same way, hearing the same words, saying the same words. I submit that these impressions are valid and significant. And I will even say this: such an impression is a clue that at some past time point, a variable was changed, reprogrammed as it were, and that because of this an alternative world branched off.
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