Hello, and welcome to Gaussian Meaning. I am your author, Deviant.
I am an unusual creature. In the trivial sense this is true of all of us, no? Snowflakes that we are. This is not my meaning. Each poker hand is unique, but a royal flush; now that is unusual.
Royal perhaps, flush at times, but unusual, that’s Deviant. The challenge he faces is that he knows things. Things that could ruin his life, destroy his community and quite possibly derail the success of our species. Ah, but the converse…
He wants you to know these things too. Some of them. The stress of it has forced him into the third person; it’s the middle of the night and I (light bulb) am experimenting with a compound that is not yet illegal but will soon be made so. Face eating zombies stalk the night; Prometheus didn’t rise to the occasion. Alas.
Methoxetamine! What a name, ladies and gentlemen. Roll it on the tongue! What would happen if you took crank, horse tranquilizer, little blue smack pills and did a Knoevenagel condensation, dropping a nitrogen on the end and reducing it to pure Brandogen? Methoxetamine has become a word, and a thing, and the end is nigh.
Unusual? I’m a born Hinju. Rara avis! If you’re not confused, you’re not paying attention. I am not a historian, I am history; these are not essays, they are confessions.
Or I could be a madman. But I suspect I’m just high.
I was born with gifts and I have used them for the betterment of mankind. I see the value in what I’ve done, but that insight is not widely shared. Some of what I have done could earn me a lifetime of torture and confinement.
I must fall to the flower language, the words of my ancestors in the work. I seek the Philosophers Stone, the Elixer, the Master of Metals, the Grail of the Wise. I am a Bee in the Hive of the Great Mother, and I am a repository of Genius on Earth. The Mystery is Written, and Concealed.
That was a lot of capitals. These essays are squeezed grudgingly out of the English language in the depths of the Kali Yuga. We do what we must.
Why Deviant? Why Gaussian Meaning? Because if I do not speak, somewhere, I will fail. If I fail, we all fail.
Time to roll another spliff. Jah Bless, as the man waiting for the dole check sez. There. My lungs are full of tar, my nose is stuffed with (as yet legal, at least here) powder, and I have a plan to save the world.
A plan to save the world! Premise one: the world needs saving. Not the biosphere, necessarily, or even the species, though the zombie forecasts suggest otherwise. But the world. It is my sincere hope that none of my descendents ever know the taste of human flesh, as my ancestors surely did.
If you do not accept premise one, go home. This is your last warning.
My mother is a genetic Jew, my father a memetic Hindu. If you still need a Messiah, I can politely suggest reading the complete works of Aleister Crowley, but I am not your boy. Nonetheless, I intend to save the world.
Someone must do it! Someone, not some committee or some supernal force or a troika or the Spaghetti Monster or Jesus Christ, the last being an expletive not a noun. Thank you, Mencius Moldbug, for so much, but particularly for this: sovereignty is conserved, always and everywhere. You are the first member of my blogroll, and at present the only; this is because the other candidates are my friends, and my friends must be protected.
Deviant is pure, concrescent science fiction. His father donated his library of books to a Major University, due to the comprehensiveness and breadth of it; he is himself an intellectual heavyweight, the Erasmus to my Charles. Perhaps the Alexander Melville to my Alexander Graham? You get the picture.
Again, dear Reader, I ask you to take this on faith. There is an institution in the United States known as solitary confinement; one of my close genetic bretheren is enjoying this treatment at present, and I care, greatly, never to experience it myself.
I will not mince words. Our system of government is a sham, our economy a shambles, our topsoil is crumbling and mere anarchy is loose upon the land. Meanwhile, my iPhone, while not the latest, is so obviously a gift from the aliens as to be more futuristic than most of what they’re carrying around, in the future, in movies that are made right now. Apple is building a round building that is ever so slightly wider in diameter than the Pentagon. I checked; same instinct that caused me, in Linear Algebra class, when informed of 9/11, to exclaim “did they penetrate all five of the seals?”.
Dear Reader, they penetrated four. Strange were the looks that day. Rara avis.
To quote Imogen Heap:
Where are we?
What the hell?
Is going
on?
Hang in there.
Gaussian Meaning 