Year of Faith

MEATAPALOOZA 2007

With January coming to an end, we are moving from formless, delightful Discordianism to strict, karmic Jainism. Part of the transition will involve swearing off meat and gorging ourselves on plant flesh for the month of February. To celebrate (perhaps mourn) the temporary hiatus of our carnivourus nature, we shall be GORGING OURSELVES ON MEAT on Wednesday the 31st. We do not know what will be happening, or where or when it will be, but it will almost certainly involve a STUPID QUANTITY OF MEAT.

Consult your Pineal Gland for an invite.

As for Jainism, I am currently trying to find some decent resources, but for starters I am recommending the first book of the Jain Sutras as well as the ‘Twelve Vows of the Layperson’. I am currenlty looking up some other secondary resources that might help flesh things out for us. I talked to a few of my professors at SFU and they agreed to help me with resources as well as answering questions or providing feedback. They both work in the Humanities department and were both very supportive of the project, which is always good to hear.

Also- Check out the article I finally got around to posting- The Philosophy of Discordianism.

Also Also- Jains pray at least once daily, usually in the morning. The most important prayer is the ‘Navkar Mantra’. Since we will be reciting it on a daily basis I thought it would be a good idea to post it early so we can start implementing it right away. I think it sounds pretty, moreso in hindi.

Namah Arihantanam: I bow to the Arihantas (the perfect human beings)
Namah Siddhhanam: I bow to the Siddhhas (liberated bodyless souls)
Namah Ayariyanam: I bow to the Acharyas (masters and the heads of congregations)
Namah Uvjhayanam: I bow to the Upadhyayas (spiritual teachers)
Namah Loye Savva Saahunam: I bow to all the Sadhus (spiritual practitioners) in the world
Aiso Panch Namahkkaro: Worshiping all these five
Savva Paav Panasano: destroys all sins and obstacles
Manglanancha Savvesim: Among all that is auspicious
Padhmam Havei Mangalam: this “Navkar Mantra” is the foremost.

In typical Discordian fashion, my cohorts and I recently accosted the Vancouver citizenry with pertinent questions.  Some were more willing than others, don’t worry though, they all had thumbs.  We checked.

You can’t dust for vomit.

So we made a survey of about twelve questions we thought were important to us and to Discordianism in general.  The nature of the survey allowed us to draw certain correlations between two, three, hell even five of the questions.  The conclusions we I came to were quite staggering…

We’ve got armadillos in our trousers.

When asked which colour they thought up was, most of the people surveyed ignored us completely.  The few that did answer that particular question thought that up was black.  Now that might not be the most interesting morsel of knowledge, but combine that with our discovery that all of the people surveyed flat out refused to ask for my number and we are left with this inevitable conclusion:

Pretty impressive, huh?

The other conclusion I came to was even more disturbing.  Of all those who participated in the survery, 50% said that they would kill a kitten if it would result in a scientific revolution.  That same 50% also had skirts on th-PINK FLAMINGO-ier beds.  Combined with these relevant statistics, I am forced to conclude that pants are holding us back as a society.

More discord to follow…

Discordian bowling was a success (if low on poetry), assuming one takes “success” to mean that we did indeed manage to complete two games at the bowling alley.  Alas, there shall be no pictures of the event, due to low lighting conditions in the cutting-edge “Glow” lanes.

There were pauses to read poetry by both Robert Anton Wilson, our dear departed Discordian, and Robert Burns, since I had inadvertently scheduled bowling on a day eminently suitable for poetry.  We could have perhaps chosen more selections, but I believe Discordianism is compatible with a lack of preparation.
Now, how do you play Discordian bowling?

• The focus is less on high scoring than on style.
• Scoring still matters, unless you are Discordian enough to snuff the competitive instinct entirely.
• Try to find as many ways to throw the ball as possible.
• Suggestions include: wrong-handed, between the legs, backwards, slow motion, from a hat, wearing a hat, sitting, lying down, and blindfolded.
• We shall not be held responsible should any of these maneuvers result in you being kicked out of the bowling alley.
• Damage to persons or property is not advised.
• By will of Eris, the first ball any player throws is required to be a gutter ball.
• Dancing and celebrating strictly encouraged.

Our last Discordian event is scheduled to be a survey, which shall require slightly more preparation than bowling.  Off to prepare I go.

Once a week, I call my parents in Halifax to update them on what’s new in my life and let them know I value their continued existence. These conversations often contain such gems as “nothing happened this week” and “I’m really glad neither of you ceased existing since we last spoke”.

I’ve mentioned in my profile that I’m a former Catholic. My dad is a non-practicing Anglican, my mom is Catholic and they raised me Catholic until I was about fourteen. At that point, through much chicanery, I managed to escape the oppressive regime of The Jesus. Since then, I’ve pretty much followed my own path that involves nothing in the way of religion and little in the way of spirituality.

My folks weren’t happy, but they largely respect my decision. Well, they don’t bring it up, but it amounts to the same thing. I go to church on Christmas or Easter, if I happen to be home, because it’s important to my mom. Beyond that, anything dealing with the great beyond just doesn’t exist.

This all sounds like an impressive buildup to a knock-down-drag-out telephonic fight about how I’m a giant heathen. I was half expecting it when I told them I was going to become a practicing member of twelve religions over the next year. Until I remembered that my parents are hardcore suburbanites.

If they even acknowledged that I had spoken, it would be to say ‘That’s nice.’ Sure enough, my mom said:

That sounds interesting, you can learn tolerance through exposure to different religions.

And the conversation moved on. I’m a bit disappointed.

Tonight will be the final official Discordian meat-related experience for the three of us. I will have glorious photos of us chomping down on the ‘dogs.

In a way, I’ll almost enjoy this more than any other hot dog simply because we will be vegetarian (at minimum) next month as part of Jainism. Any meat that I have before the end of the month is automatically treasured.

Expect to see a couple of Discordian articles popping up shortly. I’m working on one about the legendary Emperor Norton and I believe Michael has one or two up his sleeve.

Updates from me will be appearing with more regularity very soon. I have discovered that the practice of Discordianism is not all that different from the way I behave normally, leaving me with a lack of things to write about beyond ‘Woo! No effort!’. Jainism is going to be harshness on my cruel, egotistical ass.

I’m hoping the old saying about art coming from suffering (I think originall said by a member Dschingis Khan) holds true, otherwise you’re all screwed.

Discordian bowling was hella fun, but I will be leaving the lascivious details for Michael or Sara to post.

And so it was decided that at 7pm on Setting Orange, the 25th day of the Season of Chaos, 3173 (known to the unfaithful as Thursday, January 25, 2007) there shall be a celebration of life and little fishes at Grandview Bowling Lanes on Commercial Drive.

All are welcome. Bring your own poetry.

I am at work, waiting for Sara to get her boo-tay downtown. Upon her (no doubt) glorious arrival, the three of us shall then advance to the nearest Orange Julius.

Do not pass go, do not collect $200.

We will then proceed to joyously ingest copious amounts of hot-doggery.

Details about the feast, which may be cancelled, will be discussed along with a couple other planned Discordian events before the end of the month. I will endeavour to share these details with you tomorrow at the latest.
I am approximately twelve feet from an Xbox 360 and projector, yet I am still bored. Strange…

David Icke is most unfortunately correct; the Royal family are a bunch of giant reptile creatures. In fact most of the people in England are horrible, cold-blooded, reptile things, seeking to dominate the world as the British Empire had once before.

But worry not, long ago five clever botanists stumbled upon the only weakness of these giant, alien reptiles. They found that fried bread and tea, administered at least once every few days to any sentient being, completely depresses any urge to colonize or become an imperialistic superpower. To be perfectly honest they were actually looking for something to make anyone give a damn about botany, but due to the explosive nature of this reptile situation, they were forced to keep the discovery a secret. They masqueraded the event as the invention of a new kind of pete moss.

I must say the concoction works quite well, as I have completely failed to conquer or persuade a single member of the opposite sex since my return. I can think of no other possible explanation.

Last Sunday, being in the land of Great Britain (in and around Windlesham, to be precise) I was unable to procure a hotdog for my weekly period of remuneration. No one told me Great Britain was that land that hotdogs forgot, or perhaps just passed over entirely. As such my father and I found ourselves at an industrial-sized rest stop, full of Wotsits, Brown Sauce*, but no hotdogs or hotdog buns. It was around midnight, and the only feasible option seemed to be pre-packaged sandwiches. I quickly consulted my pineal gland for guidance, but after a few moments of intense concentration the only thing I had managed to produce was an offensive smell. I was about to give up and admit my transgression against nothing really in particular (as I don’t believe anything that I read) when Eris revealed herself in the reflection of Paper Napkin Dispenser.

“Verily,” she said, “a BLT always does as well as a hotdog.”

A BLT, I thought, how the hell does that follow? Eris gave me a long, disappointed look from the depths of the metallic dispenser.

“Oh, right,” I said aloud, “sorry…”

And so she disappeared and I munched, and it was good, though a bit dry.

At the moment I have some catching up to do with my schoolwork, so I am unsure whether or not I will be able to make more substantial contributions in the near future. I will say that the funding for the Discordian feast has evaporated (as the gift card I was relying on is not accepted by any of the local IGAs) though some kind of event to commemorate the life and death of Sir Pope Robert Anton Wilson Esq. will most assuredly take place. There will be more definite plans after I meet with my cohorts on Friday for our third hotdog…partaking…of…uhm…yeah.

Fnord, and nuke the incoherent.

*These actually exist. Wotsits are a kind of Cheeto thing, I am unsure about the Brown Sauce, Heinz makes it.

Some say that we at Year of Faith did not sufficiently remark upon the passing of Robert Anton Wilson, Discordian of note. Note that unremarked does not mean unnoted, for we certainly noticed the notable news. Last week even.

I propose a memorial poetry reading and bowling tournament, in which we shall read aloud from works by Wilson in between frames. The tourney will be scored by the Discordian system, in which the first one to the elephant wins, excepting scores which are divisible by 23. There will of course be turkey involved.

Hail Eris.

That’s right, Helen Keller is a douchebag. Today we mourn the tragic loss of one of our world’s heroes to her own douchebaggery.

Helen Keller has wronged every single person on this planet at least once. Every single one, without fail. Why? History sheds no light on this subject. Through intensive research in molecular gastronomy, I have come to a deep inner realization that allows me to understand her motivations: Helen Keller is a douchebag.

If you think she hasn’t wronged you, you are making a grave error that endangers the fate of the world. You need to start making up better stories before your friends find you boring. Feel free to share your stories of how she wronged you in the comments. Be as creative or detailed as necessary.

Me? Helen Keller used to beat me up after school while mocking my glasses, stealing my lunch money, and having sex with my girlfriend. At the same time.

I used to think this made me the saddest person ever, until my boss brightened my day by informing me that at least I had a girlfriend, albeit an unfaithful one. That cheered me up a bit, until the “albeit” part at least.

…Fucking Helen Keller.