The Channel: Foreword by Kit Carruthers
Existence Maintains Despite Narrative. Before I give you my experience within the channel, obviously you need to have a good understanding of my story, I guess all you really need is this, if you needed that this is your reminder you're not supposed to click around on this website yet you're not ready until you've explored a lot of other things.
My father was driving me into Winnipeg for my appointment with the psychological establishment the day after I attained existence maintains despite narrative. It was spring, everything was beginning to slip out of the grungy beginning of spring however it was still a little grungy, it was warm enough to open the windows.
I got the perfect representation of the slow methodical. A train crossing in front of us, little or no wind, everything is dead silent except for the slow click click click click ding ding ding ding of the train crossing. Reality is stable. The sky felt brown orange, ethereal qualities within the weather, the way in which the sun was shining through relatively rainy looking clouds. I'm getting a perceptual bonus, it isn't really hallucinatory, these always feel hallucinatory, no reality just looks like this once you've upgraded perception I've done these before.
I begin to hear the hallucinatory ethereal tone. It isn't your conception of ethereal tone, no, it's the psychedelic sound art transcendence people conception of ethereal tone.
Sitting in the waiting room with all these crazy people used to make me a little nervous, now I want it, COME AT ME, I got a knife, I'll figure it out. The psychological establishment will just have to figure it out. Somebody'll figure it out. Your rules mean nothing to me, NOTHING, nobody's rules mean anything to me. I play by my own rules! No. No I just know the rules, everybody knows the rules.
Now I realize it's time to really begin playing a game with these people, any excuse to talk advanced psychology, advanced drug knowledge. I realize of course none of you people get to live. This doesn't just... Fizzle out. People who worked in a psych ward this devotedly are permitted to say fine we're garbage we get it we're giving it up. No, they get the assessment they're all killing themselves anyway, as they should, may as well do it for them.
Afterwards, we go over to my uncle's place for dinner. I go out with him to get the pizza, conversation hits at the level of full honesty. It feels like, what I'm speaking now is more comfortable, it's just my perception of Kurt Cobain all the way to cut through every aspect of what happened. You know you saw it too, you wish to maintain a little too much perceived. By the masses. You're supposed to be interested in dropping all of the perceived. By the masses. You're level three cognitive functioning. You know to drop most of it, Kurt Cobain wins, you can take it all the way to blowing your brains out with him. I have more information than he does even I could make him blow his brains out twice.
Here is where I get the rain is acknowledged. Reality is stable.
The karmatic index hits the pizza place, I heard it happen, it turns the garlic dip evil. Pure evil. Pure evil garlic dip. I guess I can handle it, whatever it is I'm absorbing metaphysically looks like it has to happen, I seem to be the only one capable of eating it. I do feel like I need to vomit, for now I have to keep it in.
I know there's no way my parents ever live to see who I am, see who they did this too. My words are about to kill them, there's no way they'll ever get it. It's probably for the best. It looks like my words may kill my uncle, I'd rather they didn't, he has a lot of potential he just blew it on trauma based ego investment, he's fine, don't kill yourself. Thinking about my thoughts, I allowed my emotions to crack, right in front of everybody, I vibrated slightly for about a second and did a quick muted gasp undetectable to all but dogs and bats, ever so slightly urgently readjusted myself. My father flies into his darkness, are you okay how are you doing is everything going to be okay? How are you doing with being off the pills? I snapped, gave him an uh yeah WHAT what the fuck are you repressed memory slam and went to the bathroom.
When we get home, my parents begin engaging in a surrealistic semi-conscious explosion repressed memory conversation. We don't like what you were doing with your face and your looks in your uncle's apartment. Your father detected something along the lines of dark pondering, I agree, I see it on your face all the time, I always see it on your face. We really need you back on the medication, it's very important to us that you get back on the medication.
Reality stabilization destabilize. The walls start to click, crack, I hear pipes cracking, I hear the vents cracking. The pipes in the bathtub burst, plates and glasses in the cupboard begin to burst. I feel it overpowering me, the jaw rattling happy jaw grinding happy casual evil, my sickle cells overpower my face.
I get to do whatever I want. I attained a state of being known to the ancient yogic kung-fu masters as existence without narrative, it says I personally within the channel get to do whatever I want, anything I fuck up will be corrected, God owns determinism. If I wanted to I could just pull out my knife and point it in your face. And I did. What are you going to do? You're going to call the police, I could fucking grab their pistol out of the holster and shoot them in the face. You know I've killed people before and you know I'll do it again. It doesn't matter, whatever you do doesn't matter, you can't do anything, I'm not ending up back within the psychological establishment. The person to whom you are doing the awful and your motivations in doing the awful are incredibly important to karma, cover up our stupid in order to keep hurting to the bottom with our stupid to keep our stupid safe because we know we started doing this for no reason and if we stop we become aware of that and all of the stupid we used to maintain it is pretty much the worst one, you've always known your son is the messiah and that's why you did it, you're in a lot of fucking trouble. Oh now his schizophrenic hallucinations have become alive and shown themselves within reality, have they? Well now we're definitely phoning the doctor.
Don't do that. That one isn't for you. That one will blow up in your face. At the moment you may be feeling a little OFF THE HANDLE, I don't want to go giving you encouragement. God owns determinism, no we are not fuckups that God keeps correcting, not, not us, the New World Order have required a few corrections, but, they wouldn't have if it were not for the fact that... You know. Sometimes level two cognitive functioning used to get hired. Unless of course God is also correcting our memories out of every time we have a bad idea as well, I don't know, if that's the case works for us. No, determinism just maintains proper because that's how it works, we're kept in the one that is real. ... ... 'Kay. Level three cognitive functioning can clearly tell this mind would be incapable of a bad idea.
Obviously after the correction I repress the memory, I don't know where I went but I know I'm sitting on my bed, playing video games. I'm letting my room fall apart into dusty who cares clothes on the floor old papers and glasses sitting on my desk and bedside table, doesn't matter why put any effort into this room, the door stays closed now they can't draw any associations relating to my state of being. My mattress collapses in the centre, the walls and windows crack to the point that because my mother likes to turn the heat down at night when I'm awake, no that one's fine... Sorta. Obviously she revels in AND YOU CAN'T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT IT, AND YOU CAN'T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THE FACT THAT YOU KNOW I'M THINKING AND YOU CAN'T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT IT, AND YOU CAN'T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THE FACT THAT YOU KNOW I'M PRETENDING YOU WANT TO SAY SOMETHING ABOUT IT EVEN THOUGH I KNOW IT NOT. It means inside the house in the winter I feel the full scope of Steinbach wants to kill me, I'm in a fascist prison camp. I know for now I can't make much music, every sound that comes out of me is going to sound like this disgusting house falling apart coupled with the screeching knife holding eternity horror at my parents and it's going to fly right at my parents and trigger their hidden semi-conscious make them think of the garlic dip and drive them into a psychotic frenzy. Doesn't look like I want to hear much of it anyway, but I'll give you one we obviously need one.
Eventually, yell fest after yell fest after yell fest. I snap and lose it on my uncle, I'm doing the thing where as soon as he starts talking I know what it is the comeback is already known, then he has the next line and I have the next one, lock lock lock lock. This one here where they finally lose it. Losing a lot of sleep, I get a lot of repressed memory pushes, it just naturally happens when you've 5-MeO-DMT'd your brain up enough. I realize, oh, fuck, this is why sleep is so hard when I don't have alcohol, I have sooo much awareness it's ridiculous, let's see how far this goes. I already knew the thing with the smoking was because of the repressed memories problem, my brain tried it's hardest to repress it but I got it in writing before it could.
Within a few days, I once again hear the ethereal tone, I feel the light become me. I sit there on my bed realizing, reality destabilization restabilize, crack crack crack crack crack pop pop pop pop pop, hey my mattress is functional excellent. Sober ethereal light hallucination hard. The channel has been corrected, everything is now running smoothly.