A Whole New Project!!!

My cherished mentor and all round renaissance negro, the Rev Spook and I have decided to hold a series of weekly conversations and put them on a specially tailored blog. Yup exciting shit!

http://logicdreams.revspook.com/

Spook Speculation

[12:49:47] claire says: morning china
[12:50:03] claire says: fahad go look at the pics i uploaded
[12:53:08] claire says: how the hell did patrick manage to click like on the photos when they had only been published seconds before
[12:53:16] claire says: he damn quick
[12:53:26] Fahad says: he sure be damn quick
[12:53:27] claire says: i hope that doesnt apply in all areas of his person
[12:53:31] Fahad says: lol
[12:53:32] Fahad says:
[12:53:35] claire says: ha
[12:54:04] Fahad says:

Our Vicious Scheming

[19:53:32] Fahad says: http://anask.wordpress.com/2009/05/27/619/
[19:53:47] china.darrington says: so this is where they take my kids when I sign that “field trip” release form: http://www.demotivateus.com/posters/field-trips-an-important-part-of-the-educational-process-demotivational-poster.jpg
[19:54:03] china.darrington says: nice Fahad!
[19:54:39] Fahad says: i wish claire had a blog
[19:54:44] Fahad says: then we’d have the triple
[19:55:25] china.darrington says: claire has a blog! doesn’t she?
[19:55:29] china.darrington says: oh…
[19:55:31] china.darrington says: i have an idea
[19:55:32] claire says: nope
[19:55:33] china.darrington says: claire
[19:55:36] claire says: only myspace
[19:55:38] china.darrington says: you can post it on TWITTER
[19:55:39] china.darrington says: line
[19:55:40] china.darrington says: by
[19:55:42] china.darrington says: line!
[19:55:43] china.darrington says:
[19:55:44] claire says: i could put it on my facebook wall though
[19:55:49] china.darrington says: yeah…do facebook!
[19:55:51] claire says: yes and twitter
[19:55:52] china.darrington says: he’s on your list!
[19:55:55] china.darrington says:
[19:56:01] china.darrington says: oh…this is quite fun
[19:56:01] claire says: on his wall or mine though
[19:56:11] Fahad says: i just linked to it on facebook
[19:56:16] china.darrington says: see what happens when I’m not completely swamped with work and my brain gets wired!
[19:56:19] china.darrington says:
[19:56:32] Fahad says: how do u set a topic on twitter?
[19:56:41] china.darrington says: hashmark
[19:56:43] china.darrington says: #topic
[19:56:45] Fahad says: is it something like #pgoescommando?
[19:56:53] china.darrington says: yes
[19:56:58] china.darrington says: no ‘?”
[19:57:04] china.darrington says: that ends a string
[19:57:07] Fahad says: that was just me asking u
[19:57:16] china.darrington says: hee
[19:57:28] china.darrington says: #nodrawersspook
[19:57:29] Fahad says: so if we each of us twitter this with the topic set at that whats gonna happen?
[19:57:31] Fahad says: yes
[19:57:41] china.darrington says: OH
[19:57:42] Fahad says: #chaunceynodrawers
[19:57:46] china.darrington says: set it as #revspook
[19:58:11] china.darrington says: so that if ANYONE does a search on “revspook” then it’ll show in the results!
[19:58:16] Fahad says: (party)
[19:58:20] Fahad says: ur a genius china
[19:58:25] china.darrington says: i think like a computer
[19:58:34] china.darrington says: that’s part of the problem with me and p i think!
[19:58:59] china.darrington says: this is China: http://www.demotivateus.com/posters/no-bullshit-demotivational-poster.jpg
[19:59:54] china.darrington says: STOMP – STOMP – STOMP !!! “The laws of physics??? Bah! I STOMP on the laws of physics! I have the laws of CHAOS on my side!”
[19:59:56] Fahad says: http://twitter.com/#search?q=%23revspook
[20:00:11] Fahad says: lol nice china
[20:01:40] china.darrington says: so…anyone know what happened to my Amazon.MP3 song I downloaded? it SAYS it downloaded…but it doesn’t appear to be anywhere?
[20:01:44] china.darrington says: now what do I do?
[20:02:28] claire says: now you have to paste this part of the convo into the blog
[20:02:31] claire says: all this plotting
[20:02:34] china.darrington says:
[20:02:35] Fahad says:

Going Commando

[2:37:26 PM] Claire: ive just got pants

[2:37:35 PM] china.darrington: that’ more than P has!

[2:37:47 PM] Claire: not granny not sexy and well comfortable than most knickers i see

[2:38:06 PM] Claire: i have conservitive underwear!

[2:38:09 PM] Claire: thats it

[2:38:11 PM] china.darrington: although I did get him in a pair of my red frilly lacey knickers once!

[2:38:17 PM] Claire: china you have liberal underwear

[2:38:23 PM] china.darrington: liberal underwear?

[2:38:34 PM] Claire: yes, putting it into politics

[2:38:54 PM] Claire: your is liberal mines is conservative/republican

[2:39:05 PM] china.darrington: ah…well mine is just recently GETTING more liberal

[2:39:06 PM] Claire: actually no conservative isnt quite republican in terms of underwear

[2:39:14 PM] Claire: they do have big granny bloomers

[2:39:17 PM] china.darrington: I’ve been firmly in the conservative camp for quite a bit

[2:39:24 PM] china.darrington: almost puritanical!

[2:39:33 PM] Claire: ive just got ones that do the job of acting as pant

[2:39:54 PM] Claire: if you wore granny knicker you were republican

[2:40:05 PM] Claire: anas wearing frillys is a bit socialist

[2:40:26 PM] china.darrington: and p not wearing any at all? anarchist?

[2:40:37 PM] Claire: nihilist

[2:40:54 PM] china.darrington:

[2:41:10 PM] Fahad: spook goes commando?

[2:41:13 PM] china.darrington: well I’m turning into a bit of an old romantic!

[2:41:18 PM] Claire: but hell i dont know what he has down there so it might be the anarchist

[2:41:22 PM] Claire: who knows…

[2:41:24 PM] Claire: you actually

[2:41:26 PM] Claire: lol

[2:41:26 PM] Fahad: (puke)

[2:41:29 PM] china.darrington: I do not think that spook has EVER adorn himself with underwear…

[2:41:37 PM] china.darrington: i think its against his religion!

[2:41:57 PM] china.darrington: yes…but I do not kiss and tell! bad form!

[2:42:00 PM] china.darrington:

[2:42:02 PM] Claire: ah so he is one of those who dont vote in political affairs of underwear

[2:42:10 PM] Claire: no no tell tell!

[2:42:18 PM] Claire: i am eager to know and learn

[2:42:20 PM] china.darrington: he may vote in OTHERS underwear affairs!

[2:42:31 PM] Claire: yeah i can imagine ha

[2:42:40 PM] china.darrington: you know…I think we should ALL snip this particular section of conversation out and post it to ALL of our BLOGS!!!

[2:42:47 PM] Fahad: yes!!!!!

[2:42:50 PM] china.darrington:

[2:42:59 PM] Claire: yes

[2:43:00 PM] Claire: lol

[2:43:13 PM] china.darrington: and entitle it THE TALES OF COMMANDO SPOOK AND THE ARMY OF NO-DRAWERS!!!

[2:43:15 PM] Fahad: say something else that’s embarrasing to him so i can put the convo up

there are some records that are food to me,
when im spiritually hungry they feed me,
copper blue by sugar is one,
entymology by josef k,
twilight sad
gregory isaacs
good life – the best of inner city,
so pure + pristine, slick + futuristic,
rocket from the crypt
calenture – the triffids,
basket of light- pentangle
tim by the replacements.
sixteen lovers lane – go betweens
kicked it in the sun built to spill
daydream nation sonic youth
erasure
neko case fox confessor
i can put some records on and
well they just
alter my mood instantly
just like drugs
but eventually i suck all the emotional sustenance out of them
there are some records that meant so much to me
and I can’t even listen to them anymore
i gorged myself
i was reckless
spanners by the black dog
doolittle by the pixies
treinanko nainy diabate
the yellow princess by john fahey
waterpistol by shack
imperium current 93
horse rotorvator coil
phuq wildhearts
music can’t be just some casual thing
it speaks to hurts that are inexpressible
it speaks to a lack, an incompleteness
u get to pour urself into the spaces it offers

disinfo chat

I remember when I first started coming to the chat room. It’s definitely been over 10 or 11 years now. At that time I didn’t have a computer at home and the concept of the internet was still essentially a novelty. It wasn’t inevitable that it would become as all pervasive as it has, that it would have such a dramatic impact on the way we shop, listen to music, what we watch, or how we take in the news – on pretty much everything. Those were innocent days.

I was in my first year of uni and hadn’t really got the hang of making friends (still haven’t), so I spent a lot of my time on campus hunched over a PC terminal “surfing” the web in the quaint terminology of yesteryear. I stumbled onto disinfo.com by accident, following a link from the black dog website (the black dog were an influential techno collective whose music I was obsessed with for a few years).

I liked the content on disinfo; it was my kind of thing, since by then I was really taken by the idea that “official”, “consensual” reality was more than a bit of a sham. I’d started reading stuff by Chomsky and a few other countercultural figures at that stage and the articles written by Richard Metzger, Alex Burns and others discussing them and their ideas piqued my interest; I also started commenting on the forums pretty quickly. It took me a bit longer to click on the chat button I’d noticed at the corner of the page. But I eventually did (BTW from now on I use ‘disinfo’ mainly to refer to the chatroom and not the main site).

I remember the first nick I used: ‘David’. It was a friend’s name. I was a bit hesitant about calling myself anything too crazy, like my own name , because I really didn’t know what to expect. But what I found that first time got me hooked and kept me hooked till the room’s untimely demise 6 or 7 years later.

I had, or so I thought at the time, stumbled into an online underworld frequented by an exotic array of misfits who seemed to be constantly in the midst of tempestuous ordeals with drugs, sex, and magick – and who were at the same time pouring all this sordid stuff into this little black chat applet box for my delectation. This shit they were talking about was way beyond my narrow and mundane life experience.

The allure of the chatroom at that point was obvious for a wee eejit like me who’d lived a sheltered life up till then. These were artists, creative people — musicians, writers, poets, philosophers, scientists, scholars, designers — with a profound scorn for the banal and the commonplace; fired up by the possibilities unleashed by iconoclastic visionaries Robert Anton Wilson and Terrence McKenna they aimed for the poets’ systematic derangement of the senses.

Inevitably, given the concentration of artistic types, these were also deeply emotionally unstable people with often severe mental health issues; we had at least two cases of diagnosed schizophrenia and one of advanced multi personality disorder. But fuck it, we tried to accommodate serious personality issues whenever we could; we were none of us under the misapprehension that we were normal or that we fitted in — although neither was the abnormality contrived or just an act. It flowed naturally, unfettered by the niceties or conventions of other online spaces or indeed of real life. (But it was also true that near the end of the room’s existence the mentally ill people had begun nudging out the interesting people more and more.)

On a good day/night all this of this would come together in a terrific surge of chaos and pandemonium. The result was a hot cauldron of incoherent profanity and semi-coherent profundity; garbled, conspiracy laden drug talk, alcoholism, and psychosis, mixed in with esoteric symbolism, sadistic bullying, and of course copious amounts of cybersex — and to top it all off the inevitable descent into pure noise: flaming and flooding. It was a thrilling and frustrating introduction to the potential of the chatroom as a theatre, as an inspired arena of performance.

When things were quieter I had the opportunity to take part in slightly more lucid discussions on philosophy and literature, names would arise, authors I just had to read, musicians I just had to hear, films I had to watch. To a large extent the course of my intellectual life for the next 10 years would be determined in this forum, informed largely by the shame I felt at not having read Jung, Marshall McLuhan, R D Laing, James Joyce, Timothy Leary, the I ching, PD Ouspensky, Aleister Crowley, Nietzsche, Rimbaud, Baudelaire, Wittgenstein, etc, et fucking cetera.

You will have noticed that I’ve been using “we” when referring to the disinfo chatters. It was a tough slog and it took a wee while but I eventually became accepted as part of the group, eventually settling upon the moniker “Fletch”. To start with I was a bit antagonistic toward the regulars. This was partly due to inevitable teenage “issues”, but it wasn’t just my spotty insolence at play here; the regulars around at that early stage weren’t the most friendly to “newbies”. The mute button function and private rooms were for sure routinely abused to exclude all but the familiar names, and this exclusivity caught my ire, but it also drew me in.

Perversely I remember this as being the most exciting and edifying period in the chatroom’s history, according to my acquaintance with it of course, and it would set the standard of discussion and interaction by which I measured the room’s subsequent decline; they were halcyon days. And it soon became obvious that the reticence in accepting newcomers was a (misguided) attempt at preserving the beautiful dynamic that these people had built up amongst themselves –they weren’t just being crabby bastards for the sake of it. There was a feeling that you had to *earn* your way into the circle, to prove you weren’t some slavering dunderhead neophyte.

That semi-stranglehold weakened after a number of the older regulars started to leave and there came a concomitant influx of newer people. With the make up of the room having shifted, the atmosphere became much more tolerant and I was able to insert myself as a regular without too much hassle. Then when I had my home connection, I got into the habit of staying up into all hours of the night chatting on disinfo, sometimes in a frenzy of typing, but mostly wide-eyed, my retinas frazzled from sitting in front of my screen in expectation that something interesting would happen.

At its best the room gave me a sense of group belonging which I had rarely found elsewhere. Maybe I should’ve switched off the PC more often and gone off to look for people around me who shared my interests, at university, in my locality. But at that time I was too bound up in and constricted by my shyness and self consciousness; chatting on disinfo was the path of least resistance when it came to any form of meaningful human contact. And at least on disinfo I was bound to find fellow travellers, right?

The decline of disinfo was gradual. Like I said by the time I really became a regular the room was suffering from the departure of some of the older regulars. But it was still pretty active and there were great conversations still to be had thanks to the interesting folk attendant. These were the familiar nicks upon whose entrance I would light up in anticipation: mouse, horus, alfie, fuzz, 23, sappho, alt, mamen, spirare cogita, zany, erica; a motley bunch of characters amongst whom you could count a wizened and sagacious Dutch astrologer; a prickly, dogmatic feminist academic; a hilariously eccentric Spanish housewife; a pompous, pedantic goateed savant who was also a graphic designer; and a precocious young writer who was going to devise a new quantum information theory and who cited Georges Bataille as his literary antecedent.

Again after a time, these regulars began to drift away, their appearances becoming less frequent. The room became more and more barren as fewer new people took their places and decided to accept the creative challenge of filling that drab empty black and grey box with exciting words and ideas; and so the momentum of the room lurched to a heavy crawl. It also seemed that the idea of chatting online in a real time forum in which you were apt to meet a variety of new people and to be challenged by a whole host of new and uncomfortable thoughts, ideas and personalities – as opposed to the less arbitrary pastime of messaging people you knew or kind of knew – had become passé. Web 2.0 was shinier and had more spaces for you to type in your credit card details but it had lost a great deal of its soul (although I believe people were bellyaching about something similar ten years ago when I’d started coming online)

I stopped coming to the chatroom for a year, 2003-04. On my return the room had undergone a profound transformation. So many of the people I known before had offskied, and these were regulars who had been there since the beginning. The character of the chat was markedly different from anything I had known before — now much, much diminished. Weirdly, it was around this time that I started getting to know the three disinfo chatters who I would end up being closest to — and who I would come to consider real friends as opposed to just people who gave good conversation: Lynne, Claire, and Rev Spook. But for the rest around at that time they were, almost to a man or woman, obnoxious dimwits.

The room had then hit one of its fallow periods, and perhaps, yes, it did happen to be a particularly bleak one; but it was never in so much misery that it had to be put out of it – it was still viable. However, the next time the site was given one of its periodic overhauls they left out the chat function as surplus to requirements, leaving so many of us homeless. Indeed, the good people at disinfo.com seemed to have been scarcely aware of the disparate and (broadly speaking) loyal community that had made the chatroom its focal point over the course of almost a decade — and when they were made aware they didn’t particularly care.
But we weren’t gonna have this.

Spook organised an online petition. We got 59 signatures, which was something at least. And to be fair they listened…and came back and tried to fob us off with this shitty little insult of a dedicated meebo room, which we soon gave up to the bots and the 5 year olds which comprise meebo’s core audience.

Quite a few of us had migrated over to the irc chatroom affiliated with deoxy.com. Maybe it was the next best thing to having our old room back; certainly some of my favourite people were regulars there or at least occasionally made an appearance. But…no. The monotony of the chat at deoxy made me despair: whereas we’d had our fair share of drooling drugged up loons at disinfo, talk about drugs didn’t absolutely saturate the conversation like it does at deoxy, to the exclusion of anything else. Start a conversation on philosophy, art, or heaven forbid, politics on deoxy– and if it isn’t a prelude to some kind of description of getting stoned or of how you’re preparing to get stoned, or a real time account of being stoned then it’s just utter futility to expect anything approaching enthusiasm: merely earthly concerns hold little interest for these folk.

Don’t get me wrong: it’s a nice place to visit sometimes, an amusing aviary crowded with exotic breeds their glittering rainbow plumage always on full display; but it’s not somewhere I can personally tolerate for long.

So what now? I had given up on the whole thing, finally consigning it to the past. But it seems Rev Spook had other ideas and that there may well be life in the community yet over at revspook.com: there’s talk of a decent dedicated chatroom, and lots of other cool stuff. Maybe we can revive some of the old spirit again. We won’t have what we had then but perhaps we can have something better.

In search of PD Ouspensky

A few years back I like so many others since it’s posthumous publication in the late 1940s fell under the spell of Peter Demian Ouspensky’s ‘In Search of the Miraculous’, the author’s meticulous, yet captivating account of his years of training under the mystical tutelage of the enigmatic, slightly sinister Mr G — Ouspensky’s way of referring to the Greco-Armenian magus G I Gurdjieff. Having found a copy in my local library and been suitably intrigued, I had to take it out, quickly devouring the whole book in a few short bursts of concentrated reading. I was completely thrilled by it. It was like nothing I’d read before, offering up tantalising glimpses into a mysterious self-contained teaching which promised a direct route into higher realms of consciousness, ultimately enabling those fearless enough to take it an escape from a mundane world of mechanical suffering to which, it claimed, we were chained by our normal perceptions.

I want this T-shirt!

Skool Sux

Here’s a draft of a much longer piece I’m planning to write on my childhood — an idea that came about due to the incident I describe in what follows.