News Eat Free Kids Biographies Discography Keyboard Shortcuts Merchandise Miscellaneous Home

Okay, so you've made the daring journey into the neurotic world of Dr. Sugar's thoughts. From pretentious parables to poems, essays, interviews and software reviews, we've got it all! Well, we've got five things!



Philosophy, (kinda...)
     The Revolutionaries
     The Fire
     The Crooked Doctor and the Soulless Man
     Only a Child Can Laugh in the Face of Hopelessness
     The Creationist

     Modified Humanism
     On Higher Education and the Lowly Educated


Media Reviews




She stands pondering the perfume with the most capital letters in its name
His sunglasses and diet beverage catch her eye
A deep gaze
Just like a magazine
Or even like television
Just as the most splendid cornucopia tossed to a pack of hungry carnival dogs
So true love is wasted in our society of media

A human is a potential butterfly
His body is the cocoon from which he cannot ever escape







          Once, They told me that to know was the most terrible sin, and that to submit was the most virtuous act. And when I questioned Them, They sent me away saying, “For it has been written: ‘Those who hold justice in their hearts shall be fit for what is good and right, and those who wish for far more than they themselves are worth shall be cast away.’ Therefore, you are to be cast into the great desert, that you will learn gratitude and die.”

            And, as I gathered my things, I feigned a tearful face because my persecutors could see me. But my heart smiled with the tallest teeth! A trip to the desert was just what I needed! Surely, if one can adjust to the strong gravity of the desert, he should be thrice as strong upon departing from it. I could hardly wait to greet the cactus with a handshake! To dance with the venomous snakes! To swim with the shy insects! If only I could have found a way out of this dead world sooner!

            As the guards led me out of the city gates, against my will (or so they no doubt thought,) a priest blessed my “lost” soul and tossed every manner of religious knickknack upon my head. He seemed to want his inflated god to justify Their actions by claiming my soul. But I cannot stand any who would apologize for an act before or even while committing it. So I began to hurl stones at the priest, who stood higher than we others upon flimsy, discarded television and microwave oven boxes of cardboard paper.

            I got him in the neck on the second try. Why, to see him fly off of his podium was spectacular! And so I was quickly thrown outside onto the ground, and the gates were closed behind me.



            The desert seemed a vast, infinite plane of white. I traveled for four days in a single direction, using the line formed by my footprints to avoid going askew. But until the fourth day I saw nothing. On the fourth day, I saw a cactus in the distance. It was far from me but seemed very large in size, with three limbs pointing toward the sky, and I ran to it as quickly as I could. When I came close to the cactus, I saw that he had a steel battle helmet on his “head.” Thought he had no eyes, I felt him staring at me. Here the huge sun in the yellow sky began to pulsate and throb, and the light faded to darkness and back again, as if to a strange beat.

          And there did prove to be a beat, as the cactus proceeded to sing to it. He spun, jumped and bumped, wiggled and jiggled... and just generally boogied. So I, of course, asked him. “What in the world are you doing, you wily, odd cactus?”

             And he answered, “Rock and Roll, Yow!”

             “But, is it not a cactus’ place to be stuck in the sand and laugh defiantly at the heat?” I said back to him.

             “Here,” spoke the cactus, “one has no ‘place.’ We are all free. Although now I choose to be a dancing cactus at war, I could just as easily fly into the air or slither beneath the sand.” The cactus stuck his left arm into the air and sang of darkness and dismay. Then out from the earth sprung a second cactus to his left. And the cactus thrust his right arm into the air and sang of sunlight and decay. And then a third cactus shot out of the sand to his right.

             As this trio danced to the beat of the sun, I became frightened and began to cry. Gathering my waning courage, I dashed through the green men’s dance and into the sunset. The sun did not retreat behind the horizon as it should have, though. Instead, it came toward me at an enormous speed. It’s light increased until I was blinded, and from the heat I fell onto the ground and into a deep sleep.

             After what seemed to be days of spiritual numbness, I found myself in a beautiful forest of black and green. The sounds of life were all around me, and a feeling of death crept inside me as I saw a single red frog walk in front of me. The frog said nothing, instead hopping in place and smiling at me. He seemed to know of what had brought me here, and he looked like he was waiting to use that knowledge against me. As I looked around me, I saw three caves. Each cave had a name, written without words. The cave to the left of me was The Cave of Want. To the right of me was The Cave of Need. And behind the red frog was The Cave of Revolution. I laughed, beginning to understand. Then the frog said, "I am greater than you are. Why don't you enter one of the caves here and find thanksgiving and death?" The frog blinked at me, inquiringly. I noticed that the cave to the left had its entrance blocked by a wall of television sets. The cave to the right had its entrance blocked by a wall of microwave ovens. (So that explained the priest's podium!) And the frog said, "Don't even begin to entertain the thought of entering my cave!" And I knew I couldn't. "I am greater than you are. The normal people have sent me here to observe your decadence and sin - and the end of it. You were not meant to leave the desert, you defiant heretic!"

             "You may be greater than I, frog, but I am going to leave this place to find my own kind. You will not stop me in all your greatness!" I said, marching forward, away from where the desert had been. "Stop!" the frog yelled. "Nothing lies in that direction but another city that hates you. Listen! Look on 'The Bright Side!' You would do well to enter one of those two caves and be satisfied. I warn you, look 'up' while you can!" Then I really started to understand the game.

             "The Bright Side?" I jabbed at him. "I have understood only to well you and your thanksgiving and happiness and optimism and gratitude and adherence and your Bright Side! Thanksgiving and optimism are just your old euphemisms for stagnation and destructive complacency. To strive to be greater is no sin! That is the only thing which signifies life! 'Great Frog,' greater than I, it was you who kept me down, probably thinking that it was by your greatness. But no, that was my fault - mine for allowing you to hold me. But I have crushed that paradigm and I will no longer submit to you because a system which promotes stillness because of the fear of progress calls you great! Tell your people that I have discovered their secret! I will return - I will be a revolution! I will dare to look down!" And I looked down, and I saw exactly what I had expected - a hole.

             I jumped inside. It was dark inside, and for several minutes I heard nothing but the shuffling of feet around me on all sides. Then a light at the top of the pit began to flash. It was the Dancing Army of Cacti! Then I saw it. They had been the ones - those who had been exiled and survived. They wanted the same revolution as I. In the pit I found no want. I found instead all I had ever wanted. And I found no need. I found instead all I would ever need. And I learned their dance, and we had a grand party.


            After several weeks, I had mastered the dances of the Revolutionaries, learned to sing as they do, and helped them to devise a plan for a revolution. That youth makes impressionable and proceeds age has always been one of Their main tools. We decided to use that against Them.

                Four days before the Sunday of Easter the four of us set out toward my old home town. We viewed this day as a particularly important part of our scheme, as it was a day meant to celebrate the cowardly escape of a submissive and dead god. This time I crossed the desert not as a stranger, but as one who was of the desert. I was one of the Revolutionaries now, and was greeted by every manner of creature. A gang of snakes sang and danced "love" to us and those sly insects banded together to cheer us on our way. I myself was very excited about the undertaking that lie ahead of us.

                Finally, when we reached the gates of the city, it was deep into the night. This is when the hearts of the young contrast the hearts of the old most, and it was no accident we arrived when we did. The three green men dove into the sand and I climbed over the gate. We met on the other side. All the families with children in this city had been placed on a single street in the middle of town, and we headed in that direction. Along the way we could hear the sleeping of the city. And above that we could hear the longing of the young to be awakened. But first they had to be appealed to.

                As we started down the main street, my three friends began to create a beautiful, sedate harmony, just as we had rehearsed. One by one the lights of the houses started to blink on, and I began my beautiful and simple lyric. "We don't need to play dead like everybody else. We don't need to feed or be fed like everybody else. Oh, you whose hearts are young, hear me, for I am a Revolution. Your world is dead, and you are its passing spirit. Awaken yourselves from your purgatory!" And after I had sang there was much screaming of women and shouting of men, but we heard not the voices of the young. Soon, however, the streets became filled with them - each carrying a television set or a microwave oven. As the wounded priest and the rest of the city stood by and watched in horror, we built an anti-shrine of these and burned them to ashes. Of course, the other people soon enough died of shock or killed themselves for fear, and we Revolutionaries were left with the children.

                But, as the entire hoard looked up at me with outstretched hands covered in soot and with sparkling eyes as if to say, "What individualistic task shall we accomplish next?" I knew that the revolution had failed, as all revolutions are destined to. But still, I managed to smile.





Like every small, individually worthless flame of a fire whispers indiscriminately into the ear of the more noble and purposeful material at its side, using madness as a tool to persuade the innocent to join its masquerade of destruction as compensation for mediocrity, so does the Christian.

             And like every fire leaves in its wake nothing but ashes and decadence without worth, despite what the fuel had originally been or what value it held, so does Christianity.

             We few who see this epidemic for what it is have managed to side-step it for quite a long time, but most who challenged the fire at its own heart were taken in and burned.

             It is well known that fire has no stability. It is constantly changing appearances, shapes and colors - whatever is necessary to take the rest of the forest with it into damnation. It is the very nature of a fire to be illusionary - it can even be walked through!

             But I choose to stand on an island of ice, in the coldest regions of the soul. As I see frustrated flames dancing, even on all sides of me, I laugh, knowing that they can never consume me. And I am filled with delight to think of what they would give me even if they were to succeed - a pond! Some mornings, even, when my love for humanity visits me, I fancy that I might like to sacrifice my unyielding white palace of coldness that a great sea might be born in its stead, and that this sea might become a haven for any survivors of the insipid blaze - who could be as blessed as a race of fish swimming in the death of a lie? But now swimming interests me not. For I love ice in that, while fire is shifting and false, it is solid and stable.

             And yes, I have many times, standing alone on my island and speaking truths, asked a Christian thusly:

             “Could you stand on a fire?

              Can ashes even speak?”

             And I laugh as they continue to dance, oblivious to me and even more oblivious to themselves - too lazy and lethargic to live, too burningly excited to die.

             And I smile.





At one time I practiced as a doctor. During this time I discovered how upset some people got over their physical appearances. So, enjoying the business and the buffoonery, I began to specialize in body modifications.

            Once, a man came into my office, panicking. He said to me, with a pleading look on his face, “Doctor, I do desperately need your help. You see, it is my ears - they’re grotesquely oversized! Only days ago as I began toward The Red Carpet, I was pushed away by the laughter of the people. And I feel sure that they were laughing at my ears, as every other part of me is utterly perfect! So please, doctor, relieve me of these heavy burdens, that I might walk proudly!”

            I saw nothing remarkable about his ears. He seemed to be, quite simply, a strange man. But I lied. “Good Sir,” I said, “it is my trade to modify the bodies of those who deem what god has given them less than adequate. I’ll be happy to trim your unsightly ears for the standard price.” The man gave me his money, and I promptly gassed him.

            As the man lie passed out, I spoke idly with my nurse to pass the time. I also explained to her the man’s plight, and that I would need her to help me convince the man that his ears had shrunk considerably as he’d slept.

            As the man groggily came to, my nurse did as I had instructed her, praising the man’s ears in an exaggerated voice. “Oh, doctor! You’ve done another astonishing job! Why, I can hardly believe that this is the same man who entered this room only one hour ago, save that I saw him sleep in his chair with my own eyes. Why, it seems as though he is some distant, handsome brother...” and so on she spoke. The man, upon looking into a handy mirror, was overjoyed, and thanked me and paid me again, this time twice what he owed me. And then he ran into the streets screaming.

            The very next day another man came to me. He said simply, “Why am I so fat?”

            “Brother,” I told him, taken aback slightly, “we are some of us round, some of us straight, and some of us short or even lame. But that is the proper order of things, is it not? However, I am the miracle of modern medicine for those who care not for what is proper and wish to modify themselves. We will trim you down some, if you are worried for whatever reason that you are a bit larger than some are or should be.” He was actually the fattest thing that I had ever seen - in any species. And though I didn’t say it to him, it was obvious that his problem lied in the fact that he was a hopeless glutton. He held a doughnut even as he spoke to me.

            The fat man could not even touch the wall in front of him for his enormous gut. I, of course, knew of no way to lessen the man’s heft, but, being a quack, and a clever one at that, I made a pretense that I did. “Just sit down and have a little happy gas,” I explained to him, “and in an hour you’ll wake up straight as a tree!”

            “So then...” the fat man looked apprehensive, “you’ll just hack a bit off, then?”

            “Yes sir,” I played along, “just like a limb!”

            “Alright.” He sat down, and was asleep in less than a minute.

            I spoke with my nurse again, this time of a method of reducing the fat man’s fat. It seemed hopeless, and we were both at a loss. But then I had a marvelous idea. First, I wheeled the fat man into a back room, and took with me plenty of happy gas. I had enough to keep him out for months, and that was what I planed to do. I kept the fat man knocked out and on his back, now giving him a vitamin, then a cup of soggy bread to slide down his fat throat. It was enough for him to live on, but his fat began to rapidly disappear. And after exactly sixty days, I decided that the man was thin enough to be satisfied with himself. He looked like an entirely different person! So I stopped the gas.

            Now, as the fat man awoke, I made sure that he was back in the same room that he had been in sixty days prior, and that my nurse and I wore the same clothing that we had at that time. The fat man awoke, astonished, and examined himself. “Not... not a single scar!” he stuttered. “I feel so light, I can jump again! Dear God, I’m not fat anymore!” The man was in tears. “Doctor,” he said, “I know not what magic you work, but I don’t care if you are Satan himself! You, great liberator, I love you!” And, in due course, the man emptied his pockets before me.

            “Sir,” I told him, “I’m afraid that you’re in for another slight shock.” His joy didn’t seem to diminish, but he quieted and looked at me. “While you were out, we heard some rather odd news from the paperboy. It seems that some great scientist, who has the world’s most powerful telescope, has discovered that some mighty and huge space-dragon or space-bird, I forget which, has collided with the sun with such force that he knocked it off its track a bit. This man has advised the world that we should all set our clocks and calendars ahead sixty days and six hours. Therefore, as you venture into the world, be aware that the month is no longer what it was, and that the weather has changed slightly. But be not worried beyond that, as we have been assured that no further problems should arise.”

            “A space-dragon, you say?” the fat man asked. “Why, I always do seem to sleep through the most interesting news, don’t I!” He spoke these words, his voice still sounding fat, and he too ran into the streets screaming.

            And on the very next day, while I was thinking that my fortune couldn’t have been greater, yet another man came into my office. He seemed to be the very model of normality, however, and I couldn’t fathom what he might want changed. I looked at him inquiringly, and he began to speak thusly:

            “I have heard many great stories of you from the fat man and the big-eared man. And I too have come to you in search of some relief from the bothersome size of a part of me.” I shuddered to think of what undisclosed parts he might be speaking. “You see, it think I have an extraordinarily large soul, such that it interferes with my daily activities.” I was compelled to ask him to go on. “My soul is so grand that I cannot attend church services, as the priest cowers before me in shame. And I cannot sin as angels bark at me annoyingly, from their fear of loosing the great soul I am endowed with to evil. Animals refuse to fear me, and people mistake me for a Messiah on a daily basis. Doctor, I’m at my wit's end.”

            Knowing full well what I had to do, I immediately had my nurse put the man on the operation table, and prepared to remove the bulk of his soul, which, from the sound of his story, was about to burst. But after I had cut him open, I found only an empty space where his soul should have been. I was puzzled. The man might have been some sort of robot or demon sent to destroy me, or maybe just a mutant. In any case, I decided to go against the patients request (something I normally don’t do) and give him a bit of my own soul, which was inexhaustible and always growing. I kept the excess amounts of it handy in a vial. I quickly had my nurse go to fetch the vial for me, and transplanted a piece of my soul into the pitiful man. But as soon as I had sewed him up, he was dead. He laughed at me, even being dead, and told me that I was “quite a fool, indeed.” But I knew that he was the greater fool, as he had died of arrogance.

            The man’s wife understood, and held no grudge toward me, as I explained the situation to her thusly:

            “Some are born to be fat or freakish. Some, I think, are even born only to die. These seek death with a passion, and they know not what it means to live of their own means. And just as one cannot drink from a cup with no bottom, one cannot hope to fill a soul that has many holes in it. Yes, as great a doctor as I am, I still cannot take from a dead man the death which he has earned.”

            And I smiled, and the soulless man’s wife smiled with me.





On a Bright Day, dark things cower in corners and pray for nightfall. All sadness in a child is frightened into submission and retreats into his belly to die. Or so it should be. One seemingly bright day, I saw a small boy struggling with sadness. The boy had a wheel of cheese, and he was rolling it along the side of the Main Street. But the wheel of cheese had been cut in half, with the missing half having been presumably eaten, such that each time the cheese started to roll, it only made half of one revolution at most before crashing. And each time the cheese crashed the small boy cried. I felt the boy's sadness, as I too had once been a boy, and wanted desperately to help him. But I had nothing to replace the boy's cheese wheel, so I decided instead to offer him a half a wheel of knowledge that he could take with him on his way. I told the boy this:

            "Boy, why do you cry each time your flawed wheel fails to roll? Do you not realize that this is as it should be - that broken wheels should not perform the very same task as flawless ones? Let me tell you what your cheese reminds me of, young boy, and maybe we may both profit from your predicament. Some day, in the very near future, knowledge shall be taken as heresy, and outright untruths and jokes with no punch lines shall be taken in and worshipped as gods. At this time, momentum and majority shall propel horrible things into high places, where they will puncture and deflate all that was intended to be high and revered. And I tell you now that at this time, no man shall be able to stop this outrage. And there shall be many a boy, such as you are now, and they shall all be sad. But they shall not know of their own sadness with their own minds. And this shall be because, as I said before, all the truths and lies and pleasures and pains and rights and wrongs shall be lying on their tops, and their bottoms shall be facing toward the skies. And the boys will be sad, but they will mistake this for happiness, for they too shall be part of the inverted system. So you should be happy, if only because you know well of your own sadness, and in that knowledge you shall eventually be able to become happy. And in the future of which I speak, boys with happy knowledge will be rare, so you should not only feel happy for yourself now, but you should also ready your own children that they might not fall backward with the rest of the world in this near future."

            And when I had finished ranting to the boy, he looked as if he understood my words, and he looked at the cheese and began to happily eat it. And he told me this: "I now see, kindly old ranter, what you mean as you speak to me. And yes, I have seen this future coming as well, only I could not see it for what it was, only as some whirl of events. And now you see me happily devouring my cheese wheel, that it won't disappoint me ever again. And I shall not cry due to the stupidity and flawed nature of my wheel, and it shall be because of my own will to destroy it, as I do now. And, mister, I see that this cheese also represents the future. Because as the cheese began to roll, it had all the properties of a wheel that it needed to roll. And then destruction came precisely when it had come to rest on the exact opposite side from which it started." The clever boy looked worried.

            I then said, "Yes, boy. When all absolute lies have been taken as absolute truths, and when all that is perfect becomes infinitely horrid, and when all nature is called sin and wrong and men avoid their very impulses for the sake of a manufactured fear, then shall the state of the world have reached what might be called The Opposite. And, verily, though it saddens even me to say it, at this point, it shall crash." The boy accepted the hard truth of my metaphor, and ate the last of his cheese. And I smiled, for I saw hope in the young, sad boy.





In a land unaffected by time, there is a legendary cave. The mysterious nature of this cave has for centuries had it living through the tales of drunken sailors and non-warriors. If one is to believe these tales, inside the cave there is an unimaginable treasure - such that any man could become as a king if he could obtain it. According to the legends, the cave is preceded by a vast, bottomless pit, and access is granted only by a very thin path of stone. But, as difficult as entry would be with only this obstacle, this cave has a much greater danger awaiting all who would dare take to the bridge that leads to it. In the mouth of the cave lives a dreadful beast. The beast has inspired enough terror in men through his frightening appearance as well as his success as guardian of the cave to slowly diminish the number of men anxious to find the treasure. No one who has challenged this beast has ever been heard from afterward, and therefore it is presumed that the cave cannot be entered by any mortal man. But still, of course, each generation the stories of the riches draw in scores of brave warriors, greedy maniacs, and soulless death-seekers. But none ever return.

            It just so happened that I was at one time working as a luggage-boy in a port in one of the largest cities of the continent on which this cave is located. I happened to overhear the stories, and, knowing that I could slay such a silly beast, I wanted desperately to go and get this treasure. So I was very happy to hear a group of assorted fighters talking about forming a party to go and challenge the beast and split the booty between them. I offered my services to them, and they at once began to laugh at me. "Do you know not who I am?" I asked the men this and then explained myself. Naturally, they had heard of me and were all eager to apologize for how rude they had been.

            "Such a wise man," the leader of the men said to me at last, "should prove invaluable to us in our plight, should he not?" And they all agreed, and we decided that we might like the have a feast together before setting out. I studied the men carefully, and I knew that they would all be dead before the battle with the beast had ended, and I knew also that I would have the treasure to myself. "Let us praise God that such a wise and well-known man, yes, even better-known than the cave to which we shall soon set out, has come to us saying that he will assist us. Surely this is a sign that we shall not fail! No, we shall go into prosperity at the feet of the beast‘s dead body!" the leader proclaimed, and the party cheered after his words.

            And we did set out toward the well-known cave, and it was cold. We did travel for three days before we came to the mountain that was supposed to keep the cave on one of its faces. I deciphered the map for our group, and discovered which directions we would need to go. The journey was a relatively brief one, and before long we saw a huge, black pit, just like the one of legend. And across the pit ran a thin partition of stone. And on the other side of the pit was a black cave, and we were all in awe to see it. And, at the very moment we recognized the cave, a voice issued forth from it. The voice spoke thusly:

            "Ye who have come seeking treasure, turn back now. Efforts to enter my cave are not fruitful, and only lead to death. I, having pity on you for your greed, shall warn you that if you proceed, you will surely end your life in the bottom of the black pit you see before you. Therefore go back to your homes and tell others of the fearsome guardian that awaits any who venture to this damned cave. I promise you that this will be your most profitable course of action.”

            And after the beast had spoken, a man from our party shouted to him, “We fear you not, wicked creature of the darkness! My sword shall be your undoing.” And saying this, the man ran toward the bridge of stone, and began to cross it. No sooner had he set a single foot upon the bridge than did a large fiery projectile fly out of the mouth of the cave and strike him into the pit.

            The rest of the men were now filled with fear, and a few of them started to run back into the distance, in the direction from which we had come. And as they did this, I saw the beast emerge from the mouth of the cave across the pit. He was truly a marvelously fierce monster. He had the body of a large, black cat, and the heads of dragons. One of his heads, of which there were three, was red. The head on the opposite side was blue. And the head in the middle of the beast was white, and there were 5 horns atop this head. The red dragon head roared and spit fire, and the blue dragon head bellowed and shot cold winds from his mouth. And the white head spoke to us, saying “Turn back, I say, or you will each die.”

            By this time all but myself and the leader of our party had fled. The leader of the party spoke to the cat-dragon. He said, “I am not afraid, beast. Face me, that you might die.”

            “I see,” the beast smiled, “that you are in fact not afraid. Answer me, then, this question and you shall pass unharmed:  Why does one, sleeping, awaken? ”

            “That is very simple, dragon. I thank you!” boasted the warrior. “I awaken from sleep because my body is fully rested.” The warrior folded his arms, satisfied with his success. “Now, allow me to pass, just as you have said you would.”

            The beast shot a large bolder of ice in the warrior's direction, and said “You’re answer is not correct!” The warrior was thrown into the pit by the ice. “Now,” the beast spoke to me, “leave here happy with the fortune that you have survived.”

            “Beast,” I called to him. “The reason I awaken from my sleep is that my body begins to feel guilty, for it is imperfect and does not deserve the sleep or to dream. My body knows that I cannot rightfully inherit the world of sleep as my own, for I am far too flawed to enjoy such a euphoria indefinitely. This is why the sleeping man invariably awakes. Now, I bid thee grant my passage!”

            “You are a wise man,” the beast answered. “But I cannot allow you to pass for answering the warrior’s question. Wise man, answer me this: Who is the most destructive?”

            I was ready to answer the beast’s question. “The most destructive is he who creates. This is because creation and destruction are inseparable and must follow one another as two opposite sides of one disc. Therefore the pregnant, the inventive, and the industrious are the most destructive, and powerful, of us all!”

            The beast seemed shocked. “You now have truly earned the right to enter my cave and have a share of my treasure. You know almost too well of life’s intricacies.” So, as the beast stood aside, I strode over the narrow bridge and into the cave. After much searching in the dark, I saw a single candle a great distance from me, though I had lost any sense of what direction I was facing. I began to run in the direction of the candle, and as I did the entire cave lit up brilliantly. There were lights, living lights, flying all around me. And in the direction I was running I saw the dismembered head of a giant cat, and the headless bodies of three dragons; one red, one blue, and one white.

            Near them stood an old man, and he clapped his hands three times, saying “Well done, wise man.” The man continued to say to me “Yes, the creator is verily the most destructive. In giving birth one must forfeit his own life - all wise men realize this. But I am searching now for an exception. For, if one could give life and still himself remain alive, one would be immortal, and could laugh defiantly at the gods! That is why I built this cave, that through the birth of darkness and silence, eternal life might find me. But look upon me now! My face is dripping away and death is stroking my forehead like a protective mother would. I have failed, and I am an old fool with a mad dragon to look after. You, wise man, I shall give you all the treasure I have amassed, all the treasure hidden in these caves, if you will take my place and resume my search for me.”

            I shook my head. “Forgive me, old man, but your dragon has already promised me the treasure, and I have no time for your silly quest. But, if you give me these body parts, that I might make a female companion for the poor beast waiting outside, I promise that I will show you the secret of eternal life, for it has seen me - and I have seen it as well.”

            “Yes, yes!” The man did a magical dance before my eyes, and I saw a beast with the bodies of three dragons and the head of one cat rise up before me. “Now, tell me of immortality - I must know now the secret!”

            “It is as I told the guardian beast,” I began. “If you wish not to die, simply do not awake from your sleep. You will loose the ability to create, but you will therefore loose the ability to die. Even empty men who are awake create a contempt, if only on the part of others, for their lack of productive creativity, and therefore earn death, but the man who only sleeps cannot die.”

            “But I cannot sleep forever!” the man shouted.

            “Exactly,” I answered. “Of this too I spoke with your protective beast. You cannot, in such an imperfect state, sleep without awakening, and therefore you cannot avoid death. So the first step in finding immorality is cultivating the flawless individual... and putting him to sleep.” Now the man broke down into tears, and explained to me how to find all of the treasure hidden in his cave. And the newly formed beast ran back to the pit and found the male beast, and they seemed to love each other - they began to “create” love - and therefore death. And the old man in the cave finally started to die. And I smiled.





The Sleeping God


God visited me in a dream today and told me that, as he was going on a vacation, he needed me to take his place and watch over his swine and other livestock. But as I awoke, I realized that I had not been sleeping. I had been dead.


Being Happy


Once again happiness waits around the corner - waits to expound herself as a sham. But I smile, because I know that her authority is, at best, a half-truth.




A crime is something that could have been done for genuine benefit but wasn't. And if all criminals were killed the world would be perfect.




"For whosoever believeth in me shall not perish" is a threat, and those who are frightened by threats based on conjecture deserve no salvation from those by whom they are threatened. Luckily, they also seldom know that they want it.


All belief is dangerous, except one's belief in himself. But one's belief in himself is not belief; rather it is acknowledgment. All belief is naiveté except belief in death. But belief in death is never fully realized, so it is obscure. So all believers are dangerously naive. But the man who can have faith in his own death is an obscure hero.


Men of conviction are the enemies of progress. This is not to say that one should not defend the truth of that which can be seen by all, but that most things that can be seen by all are illusions created by men of conviction. And only when he is empty of conviction can a man progress beyond what is now.


I saw a man conversing quite cheerfully with a candle. I asked him, "Do you believe that this candle is talking to you?" The man answered, "No, but this candle believes that I am talking to it, so I feel obliged to it." There is much to learn from this man.


A believer cannot see himself as substantial. That which is believed in cannot see itself as substantial. Faith is void of substance.

Animal Nature

If every single person killed one person, the world would quickly become a much better place.

The Emotional

When emotions are used as tools, those destined for greatness become great. But when those who are great are used by emotion, they risk forfeiting their destines. This is one order of things. In order to be in control of oneself, one must see emotions as the useless mechanical devices that they are, and one must also see over-emotional people as the useful, mechanized dupes that they are.


Being taught and learning are two distinctly different activities. A good teacher is one who can evoke these two simultaneously.

The Dead Race

The deaths of individuals signify the life of a race. Conversely, if individuals should become immortal, the race is effectively dead.

Human Nature

To be human is to stand and say proudly, "Everything that is, was, and is to be is greater than I am." This definitive human has made humanity a disgrace. Therefore, we should not only be ashamed to be called human, we should do whatever we can to become something altogether different.

Graceful Decaying

Birth is the first act of dying. Those who live their lives as if they are spitting resentfully in the face of death only make death happier and closer to them. But those who dance with death and tease death and seduce death and cause death itself to feel pity may live more bountiful lives. This is the nature of grace.


Go! Go off into the darkness! Did you ever really think that light was anything but the revenge of darkness upon the crude?

The Two Black Dots on an Empty Page

When there is a single god to whom all good is accredited, and a single devil to whom all evil is accredited, the resulting crowds make the god and the devil impossible to see, and cause a great emptiness elsewhere.

The Truth

To love invisibility is a happy, easy, blissful life. So what is the reward for those who would instead suffer in order to cling to all that is solid? Truth.

The Shortcut

Men think themselves clever for having found a quicker path to the same destination. But the fastest shortcut is to turn around.


With a very angry face, a man paces in no particular direction. He doesn't realize that if he were to die, his problem would be solved.

Paradigm is the mother of frustration. Stupidity is his father.


Friendship is something that exists between two people before they figure out how they can make money off of each other.





Humanity is a disease. It is something around which a way must be found.

Humanity is an accident. It is something that didn’t intend itself, and was neither intended. It is therefore something without reason to be.

Humanity is an error. But it fails to see the irony even as it stares blankly at its own erroneousness.

But, humanity has given something that far more than makes up for what it lacks and where it is destructive. Humanity has spawned an artifact greater than the sum - no, greater than the product of its parts. This is called intellect. The task of the intellects, it therefore should seem, is to bypass the imperfection while maintaining the fruit of it. Namely, to cease to be human but maintain the intellect. Certain aspects of the nature of the human that spawned intelligence are, on the other hand, deserving of celebration, and should be kept - not only as memorial, but for balance. These things, such as humor, the will to indulgence, and curiosity, should part ways with the pieces of the animal to be discarded; such as fear and death.

It seems that nature itself has gone too far and given form to the living creature that potentially deserves not to die. Potentially, that is.. Perhaps the balance is found in the majority who deserve to be killed one hundred times over.

This is not, however, to say that “smart” people should kill “dumb” people. And it is not either to say that the inherently superficial measurements of intelligence should be something upon which one’s worth should be based. Conversely, I suggest particularly a contempt of those with no will toward intellect. In other words; the most worthless are those who try the least to be “smart.” It is this lack of effort that is the most dangerous -as well as the most disgusting - sin of our modern man. To put this differently, I am saying that choosing to be beyond average is worthy of high merit - though not necessarily simply happening to be above average.

But the mean has become a product, and the advertisements seem to be working. No one wants to be anything but this average. The average has come to represent security, guaranteed acceptance, and (most importantly) a marked lack of required effort. Entire systems - now even entire societies - have come to be based on this principal. They have come to be based on doing as little as possible to become as similar to every other person as possible. Would it not be more virtuous and socially profitable to instead strive with genuine effort to be as defined as an individual as possible? Calvin Klein doesn’t seem to think so.

But I maintain that I am not suggesting that anything be done about those lacking any will to an intellect. Instead, what I mean by saying that humanity must be overcome is that our very intellect should be used to undermine and kill it’s creator and cleanse itself of the impurities it has had to endure for so long. An intellectual person may well at some point feel a desire to detach from his humanity. Eating, the libido, sleeping - these are all weaknesses that must annoy the intellect, reminding him that he is nothing but an accident. But these flaws that human existence forces on the intellect should be afraid. For what I am proposing would free him from them.

The intellect has earned the right to die because of the trespasses made upon existence by his human shell. But it has also earned (again, potentially) immortality in its indispensable greatness.

Just what is the point of this? It certainly hasn’t made much sense so far, has it? The idea is that man should, laughing defiantly at the drunken nature which brought him about, develop a will to immortality. Is the idea of indefinitely preserving the human mind using science really that unthinkable? I should think that there are a number of fathomable ways to accomplish the task of preserving a great mind.

One crude idea would be to simply transfer the brain to another body. Perhaps the body of the original owner of the brain, cloned into a youthful condition, would serve in this manner to eliminate death from general complications with aging. After this, the possibilities seem wondrous. Imagine a future in which all social interaction is carried out by mechanical bodies being controlled remotely, each by a separate brain which was protected such that harm could never come to it. There would be no fear of physical harm and the minds could go on experiencing life uninhibited. After all, existence as humans know it is really nothing more than sensations felt by the brain. If these electrical impulses could be sent to and from the brain from a remote location, the result would be practical immortality.

This may seem like fantastical ultra-futuristic mumbo-jumbo jive, but does something like decoding the electrical code used by the brain really seem that far off? Have we not already begun to prompt movement of the muscles of people with paralysis using wires carrying electrical current? I think that a society of friendly, fearless robot-men (or something similar, I’m usually too fatigued to come up with really good ideas!) is exactly where man should trying to head.

And what if the robot itself got hit by a bus crossing the street or some other such calamity were to befall it? What would become of its brain? Or at least what would become of it until some maintenance bots came along to wire it up with a new body? Well, I’m not the scientist. I suppose he would just end up at the DOS prompt.




“You’re going to college? Good for you!”

“Yeah. I’m finally gonna get out there and make something of myself.”

How many times has this exchange taken place? Too many, I’d say. If I may be forgiven for skipping strait to my point, our system of Higher Education is a burdensome antiquity. It was developed as a means of maintaining the status quo of the socially elite and promoting aristocracy indefinitely. Perhaps there is nothing wrong with that. If so, it did an okay job. But it’s time has long past. We, however, as we usually do, have clung tightly to the rotting fruit long after discarding the tree. But it’s only human nature.

We’ve kept a system made to keep education only for the rich and are now doing all we can to ensure that the poor have an even better chance at it. But the president’s helping those poor, low-income kids who would otherwise be doomed to lives of gangs and cheap cocaine, right?

I think that college, if anything, encourages people to learn less. The boy goes to college because he wants to make lots of money (to buy the expensive cocaine, no doubt) and gratify his commercialistic ego by buying all the latest gadgets and shiny cars, then make even more money so he can get married, buy 1 huge TV and 3 marginally large ones, and make sure his kids end up just like he did. He generally does not go to college to learn. We don’t say, “Well, I went to a college and know this.” We instead say, “Well, I went to this college and got this grade point average.” Who needs to learn? Who needs to know? The important thing is to get good marks. The important thing is to make sure and copy the answers off of that nerdy girl’s paper.


Richardo’s parents wanted “the best” for him. “The future is computers,” so they sent him to college to study them. One year later, after doodling his name on ruled white paper for hundreds of hours, Richardo notices that an Information Manager position is vacant at the local hospital. He doesn’t know what “Information Management” is, but the ad says something about computers, and it looks like the job pays lots of money.

Richardo gets a job with the local hospital’s Information Management department. Some smart guy tells him to type in all of the names from a certain sheet of paper every morning into some gray dialog boxes, and then double-click on the blue icon every afternoon and come tell him what “it said”. The rest of the time he can just look busy. Richardo gets 3500 dollars every month for this - he has a sheet of paper (or is it sheep’s skin?) that says he should.

Little Billy’s parents get drunk and leave town when he’s 17, never to be seen again. He soon gets hungry, and is forced to take a job. The local hospital is hiring anyone who speaks any semblance of English for a low level entry position that leads nowhere. At least he’s not hungry anymore.

Some stupid guy tells him various things that he never bothered to remember, mispronouncing most of the words. He doesn’t like changing diapers at all. But he knows lots about computers. He sure wishes he could get a job working with those, he thinks as he sees Richardo typing away through a window.

“Hey, wussup, mom. My new job is cool but I don’t know nothing about this computer stuff,” Richardo types at his keyboard, killing time.

“Bah,” you say? How would we determine who is qualified for a job without our system of credentials? I think that we should have tournament style job “ladders”. Each employer should have tests of knowledge and skill for each position they have available. If Billy wants Richardo’s job, all he should have to do is prove that he is better at it - by application of his skills or demonstration of his knowledge, not by holding up a sheet of paper. No less than 3 months later, Richardo can come back and challenge Billy to retake his job. This system would, I think, keep people “in their places.” It would keep them where they belong and where they are the most efficient. Or, at least, it would force them to know what they are doing.

And where would the people acquire the knowledge and skill to do the good job here spoken of? I propose that massive libraries be constructed in each town, and that every one be filled with tombs of knowledge and various other learning aides such as films, and in the cases of the larger facilities, places in which hands-on practice is possible. Each man would be allowed to spend as much time and exert as much effort as he felt would be necessary for him to “win” the job he sought. Faster learners would be rewarded for their gift, and each person would either find his place, or work very hard to make one for himself. See?

And so that’s what I think of college. It’s a rather crude and thrown together description of my idea for a replacement, but... well, I have to go to sleep because I worked all night and I have to be at college in a few hours.




With, concerning our cover of E1M1.  (12/04/01)