But I pick it up anyway. And squishy.

I found this online a while ago. I have no idea where it came from or who wrote it. I just randomly came across it at some point and saved it. I find it beautiful regardless of where it came from, and so I’d like to share it here.

***

A cool clear winter’s night in Westwood, where the
clock in the tower on the Boulevard always stands
at one minute to midnight. A most curious meeting
takes place between magical beings. Three women,
vibrant and beautiful, look with concern on the
the sole male in the room. To ordinary eyes, he
is an older gentleman exuding extraordinary vigor
and a keen attention. Yet for those who can truly
see, he is clearly in deteriorating health. Yet it is
the Nagual Carlos Castaneda who speaks first:

“Thank you for coming, sisters. I will relieve you
of the pressure of not saying ‘I told you so.’ As
you can see, my maneuver has failed, as you all
warned me it would. So be it.”

“I have called you here to proposition you.” He
laughs. “As you can clearly see, I am dying.
Our dear Angelica has struggled impeccably to
save my body, but I’m afraid I have sabotaged
all of her efforts. The damage done to me by
the inorganic beings has always meant I have
been living on borrowed time. My pinche liver
is cancerous, its vital center funneling off the
energy I need to close my gap. Nothing new
in that. But worse still, I gambled and lost with
the black magicians.”

“My awe and fascination with the phenomenon
of mass blinded me to the deleterious effects of
pitting my intent against too many who were
intending the agreement of the everyday world.
As usual, I plunged in to save the drowning
without measuring the strength of the current.
Now I understand why the Old Nagual always
had his Masters of Awareness and Intent in his
corner, why he buttressed himself in solitude,
why his instruction was always peformed on an
individual basis–the black magicians, our fellow
men, will kill any who oppose their intending.
Unintentionally, of course, if you’ll pardon the
pun, but the sheer weight of them!”

He sighs.

“They showed such promise, my Sunday class,
and so many of the Tensegrity practitioners.
They still do, and I intend them forward.
I have no regrets, my dears, even if not one
person that I showed the Nagual finds freedom.
I gave them all I had. Who can regret that?”

“I have called you here to ask your aid in one
final stalking maneuver, one last performance
in the Theater of Infinity. Together we will
perform ‘The Death of Carlos Castaneda’!”

Florinda interrupts: “You mean our leaving!”

“No, I’m afraid that we can’t leave our task
undone. We all must pay the price for our
decision to start the Cleargreen experiment.
And I know that you ladies, the joy of my life,
know beyond a shadow of a doubt that losing
my life is a trifle compared to losing the three
of you. But I must insist that you stay, and
because we may well be separated from one
another by infinity, I want to make one more
gesture of affection with each of you. So I ask
you now–will you marry me? All of you?”

The three witches can only nod through their
tears.

“I also request that you learn from my mistake–
stay behind the scenes. Don’t be exposed
to the black magicians any more than is
absolutely necessary! We have given our
students enough to get started. Wait and see
who makes something of it, and boost them!
But no more cosseting the poor babies. It is
dangerous for you!”

“Now to details. There are two main thrusts
for this stalking maneuver. Foremost, I will not
have my huaraches enshrined. The black
magicians have ‘gurued’ me to death, and that’s
enough. I will therefore go quietly. From this
moment on, I will appear at no seminars. The
Sunday madness is over. And when I leave, no
word will be given. Our navigators must learn
that I am not the ‘way’ nor the ‘light’, nor am I
responsible for their journeys. I’ve told them
often enough. Now they will see it for
themselves–or they won’t.”

“The second thrust is to deal with my estate
in a fashion which will let the tremendous
wealth I have accumulated go to good use.
There will be many prying and greedy eyes
on the prize, so we must contrive a scenario
for the black magicians which will conform to
their expectations. The legalities are no
problem, but the timing and manner of
my leaving are critical.”

“My three Chac-Mools have made their decision.
We will all go free or we will all die. There is no
dissuading them. When the time comes, Kylie,
Nuri, and Talia will burn. I will attempt to join
them. If I cannot, I will merge my energy body
with theirs. This has never been done, but then
that’s the name of our game, eh, novias?
Wowzer Mouser!”

“If my body remains it must be disposed of. Yet
this is also the case if I make it, or the courts will
tie up my estate forever, and even worse, there go
the huaraches, right up on the altar! So we must
give them a body, either way.”

“Here is my plan: Taishita, you will take some
of our young men and visit a homeless shelter.
You will search until you see an old man who
is about to die. If the Spirit maintains its sense
of humor, he will probably be a former Mexican
waiter! You will bring him back here, where we
will make his last days comfortable. His passing
will be the sign that I must go. All must be held
in readiness.”

“Florinda, you will be our witness and help
my young companions if they need it. You
already know the task of staying behind.”

“Carol, my heart, you must take our dear
doctor to another attention. She is not yet
strong enough to witness our leaving. None
of our other students are. Their bodies
would try to follow us, and they would fail.”

Florinda: “Yes, yes, of course, Carlos, we
all agreed that Taisha should leave her pigeon
at home at the UCLA seminar. The ones
who might benefit from it probably wouldn’t
even see it, while the others can find their
own ‘pets’. But why involve Angelica at all?”

“I would not have her there, except we need
her to do the paperwork. So Carol must take
her elsewhere at the critical moment. Believe
me, our kids at Cleargreen will thank us for it.
Besides, she will be perfectly able to play
her part in the theater of infinity you must
play at the mortuary. I have already arranged
with my good friend the undertaker that all
must be swift and completely private. With
a suitable corpse, a personal physician and
three grieving females at hand, he’ll never
question that he cremated me. He will
defend that point to the death, because for
him, it will be the truth. Let’s hope that
it’s not!”

The lights dim and flicker momentarily.
Three sets of eyes lock on Taisha. “What is
it, Globus? Oh, it’s just our garbage picking
friends outside again.”

“Ah, yes,” laughs Carlos, rubbing his hands.
“We will give our friends parts in our little play.
We will give them all the proof they need
that I am a dying man, a fraud, just another
LA guru. Believe me, it ‘s very easy for me
to find the position of a doddering old man–
I’ve had lots of practice lately.”

Carol smiles. “I see what you’re after, Carlito.
If Cleargreen is going to continue, we have to
minimize the horrible effects of your ‘black
magicians’ on the mass. Those who remain
in our experiment will be forced to put their
faith to rest, and get down to the real work.
The true believers will go find another guru,
another mirror.”

Florinda: “Like your cursed parrot joke,
many will laugh because they think they are
supposed to. The smart ones will get the
point of your cognitive dissonance–that
understanding is not essential to experience.
Either way, they will be forced to stand on
their own.”

Taisha: “And your smelly old huaraches
will be given to Goodwill.”

Carlos beams. “We are agreed then!” He
breaks into an old Mexican folk song:

“Goodbye, my heart, until our wedding day!”

The more random… the better.

[img]http://www.zettiology.com/hand_mask_tn.jpg[/img]

Here’s a little practice video:

[url=http://www.youtube.com/v/nkKhEFvwj8o]http://www.youtube.com/v/nkKhEFvwj8o[/url]

Since no one is talking, I figured I might try and start up an automatic writing / exquisite corpse thread.

Surrealism is one of my great loves. Surrealists have devised several games aimed at reaching the subconscious dream-state. One game was automatic writing, where you just start writing, non-stop without giving yourself a moment to judge or think about what is coming next. It most always comes out as just a bunch of jumpled up words and phrases, that don’t make much sense. But when looking back at it you can usually tell things about yourself and where you’re at subconsciously.

Another game is called the exquisite corpse. This involves a group of people who either write words, or draw on a piece of paper. Each person draws or writes on a portion of the paper then covers it up, then the next person continues the drawing, not knowing what the previous people before them have contributed.

What I’d like to do here is somewhat a combination of the two, and also something I’m sure you’ve probably seen before. It’s basically just writing a story, prose, or whatever. Each one of us should just write a word, or small phrase and then allow the next person to continue.

For more information on surrealist games, you might want to check out this link:

[url=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Surrealist_games]http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Surrealist_games[/url]

Or this book:

[url=http://www.amazon.com/o/ASIN/1570620849/ref=pd_rvi_gw_1/103-7407660-6398221]http://www.amazon.com/o/ASIN/1570620849/re…7407660-6398221[/url]