Robert Anton Wilson and Asymetrical Realities

E Prime: Dangerous Certitudes and The Architecture of Belief

Revised Rethought and Reedited



A Non Euclidean Rumination On Subliminal Rationalists and Recalling Robert Anton Wilson

“Belief is the death of intelligence. As soon as one believes a doctrine of any sort, or assumes certitude, one stops thinking about that aspect of existence.”
-Robert Anton Wilson

"Positivists decline to acknowledge any a priori knowledge. They wish to reduce everything to sense perceptions. Generally they contradict themselves in that they deny introspection as experience. … They use too narrow a notion of experience and introduce an arbitrary bound on what experience is"
-Kurt Godel

Is the wading through the mirror of the paranormal, a circular dance in linear time, a search for an origin narrative, one that explains the melding of the rational to chaos, the imprint of uncertainty to a theology, the compass point that draws a coherence to explain away what goes bump in the night?

Is there not an irony in that we dismiss one myth only to create others? Do we need an upgrade to our self programming language? We seem to be in a binary choice between beliefs that stirs the pot. As a result we have a merchandising of innovated narratives that span the gap where in all frank sincerity, none in reality exist. This is a two edged sword in a universe of metaphor.

All that we may sleep better, or awaken with horror to examine a universe that is not created to suit our expectations? To seek the one white whale..and capture it's profane behavior as a trophy..this is the subliminal aim of the Paranormalist, to apply, brand and distribute reaffirmations that reflect a certain possessiveness, a trademark upon uncertainty..as we weave theory after theory based on our own origin narratives..forgive me Mr Tonnies, but as fascinating as your conceptual foundations may be, as always you are the consummate mathematician of the human condition but...these metaphors are simply our own future inscribed in the past.

The Martian Chronicles meets The Cryptoterrestrials. In this sense, Mr Tonnies was a prophet of a future past, where time as we know it is suspended so we may peer through the mirror of metaphors in search of a origin story. In this, through his gifts as a metaphorical analyst of the human condition, I sense he is under appreciated by many who take an all too literal approach to his conceptualizing gifts of innovating new contexts for our own mysterious origin story.


Or in our compulsive search for a revelation upon ourselves..is our aim that we might be transformed , enlightened, by intentionally attracting external contradictions that are in of themselves, based on faulty critical assumptions, since we are it's authors? Where does this script begin or end?



Logic meets the irrational, not that the irrational supersedes our calculations, but rather our architecture in popular culture requires a story in human terms. I realized after posting this short essay that I was channeling the spirit of Robert Anton Wilson, whose commentary on the human condition in regard to the paranormal, is sorely needed more than ever. The pipeline of data, mismatched cross purposes roars beneath our feet, propping us up with curiosity in it's incoherence. Anomalies meet the skeletal structures of a embryonic belief systems, based on Cartesian and Euclidean narrative foundations. We and the paranormal talk past one another.

The Imprinting of Contradictions As a Form of Logic.


If you discount the relationship of metaphysics to the physic and the importance of examining our postulates toward what is termed the "supernatural" ( as we cannot describe reality in linear terms) consider this child of humankind, found wandering in the ruins of a stadium. Lost in every sense of what this child signify s to his and our mutual future.

This relationship is measurable by every child that is a victim of our valuation of intangibles, placed into behavior by as best described by R. A Wilson, “The Bible tells us to be like God, and then on page after page it describes God as a mass murderer. This may be the single most important key to the political behavior of Western Civilization.”

As a context to the power of meta-programming simply consider the schizophrenic behavior of human society could be tagged as a double bind within the doublespeak of our reality that is imprinted as a programming tool for a monarchical universe that is incoherent. This psychological condition is induced schizophrenia as defined by the theories of Gregory Bateson, known by many as "the father" of Cybernetics Within this double bind of the State that reflects the metaphysical foundations of our paradigms, this is perhaps the propellant behind the flight of the paranormalist's search for symmetry, where in his own larger context, none largely exists, whether it is in organized religion, graded, organized education or organized aims such as sanctioned warfare.

1. As children to be imprinted, we receive contradictory injunctions or emotional messages on different levels of communication.
2. No meta-communication is possible – for example, asking which of the two messages is valid or describing the communication as making no sense.
3. The victim cannot leave the communication field.
4. Failing to fulfill the contradictory injunctions is punished.

What do we seek in the creation of our alternate Gods? Are we seeking simply an old message in a new container? Do we require Gods, whether they be Demons, Extraterrestrials or Cryptoterrestrials? Apparently so, only by what we have experientially fathomed as to how the world apparently operates, versus a reality that seemingly, we are unable to grasp..I read a book some years ago entitled the "Divine Governance of The Human Kingdom" by Ibn Al Arabi, and my anticipation and expectations were turned back upon their projections when I realized Al Arabi was addressing my self as the reader as providing governance of a kingdom within my own being rather than a external monarchical set of edicts upon others.



However, this incomparable being we share as a conceptualization of a co-creative universe, is perhaps filled with similarities, but in essence, it's origin is incomparable, that posits us where we are given perhaps understandably, a finite range of expression, as this very mutual quest for self awareness has just begun. To limit open potentiality is our own tragic legacy by our psychological inability to master ourselves, rather than to be mastered in order to preserve a schizophrenic "order" that we have been imprinted to be accepting of due to some strange tale that we are unable to do so ourselves individually. We are given a binary correlative between "anarchy" and "order" as a tribal imperative.

The E Prime of Popular Paranormalism
Perhaps ancient extraterrestrials indirectly scripted the menu selection at Applebee's, or that the long count Mayan Calendar predicted we would become illuminated at 3pm next Wednesday, or that the failure to fit asymmetrical anomalies into the severe right angles of a story arc bespeaks volumes of how deeply we are enchanted with our linearity that drives coherence out of chaos, only to see it careen off a cliff..as we desperately attempt to mold new mythologies out of left overs. The uncertain factor compels us to pave over our own ignorance. I include myself in this. Since last December, when I found my son Matthew, dead on our living room couch, I find more than ever, that our internalized belief systems rarely poise us on a razor's edge, until they we wager something more precious than our reputations, money or for that matter, the lives of others, and when that wager draws blood, sobriety achieves a higher rank than mere entertainment, intellectual titillation or mere curiosity.

On the edges of the paranormal "perhaps" and "maybe" can be a devalued commodity when it trades in the many levels of a consumerism, that desires a linear narrative to address a universe, which, far from our projections upon it, does not constitute a Newtonian machine.



Signal to Noise Ratios
Is the death of our linear illusions leading to a new Jabberwocky as a form of metaphysical doublespeak? Do the Ufonauts fly in logical circles intentionally? In this we parse the interim between civilizations, where the infirm edicts of rationalism has not twitched it's last and the young quantum wheel of fortune still lies in it's womb. Between them is the Monkey Kingdom of pretense and pretending..a psychic battlefield of corporatism and retooled Ju-Ju. Outside of this dance, the paranormal, the non local, the asymtetrical abides. A binary code of cognition meets the asymetrical. Hand me that carpenter's square and let's dig a tunnel so we may bury ourselves alive in critical assumptions under the sway of certitude propelled by belief.



We sat in the darkness under a weeping willow on the damp ground of the weedy cemetery. "Explain all these bones to me"
"I cannot"

Explain , explain..but does our grammar elude the math of the parallel universes we ourselves inhabit?

"To explain everything is impossible: not realizing this fact produces inhibition"
-Kurt Godel

Perhaps we need a Phillip Glass to outdo Bach...in a liturgy of Pythagorean dimensions in all their entangled splendor..as it is the mothers soothing votive that lulls the lover to his mortality, or so the entangled dance of sex and dance, that types it's musicology in a genetic stream of voices, no doubt, in a massed choir..... into the maw of a moonlit night. Our illusions regarding our own free will are a tapestry to wear as a protective garment.

“Intelligence is the capacity to receive, decode and transmit information efficiently. Stupidity is blockage of this process at any point. Bigotry, ideologies etc. block the ability to receive; robotic reality-tunnels block the ability to decode or integrate new signals; censorship blocks transmission.”
-Robert Anton Wilson

In our age, the snake eats the pretense of it's tale while entropy creates factory food with less nutritional value,as the next generation never having to learn how to learn, has improved communication devices. The hidden starvation raised on synthetics is fat with plenty and yet has an empty stomach...this is the context of our linear trajectory into a sort of consensus reality that is more akin to disassociation than it is to it's faltering effectiveness. The same could be said for what passes for the esoteric...Batman and sperm desiring Lizards to create hybrid mutants who will create the Fourth Reich..don't worry, it's already happened...look around you. It's a metaphorical mythology of which we speak that defines our right angles of our own illogic. The "is" of uncertainty.

"Ambition has one heel nailed in well, though she stretch her fingers to touch the heavens."
-Lao Tzu

On the other hand, the night creatures sing a scripted praise, like angels, they provide without requiring a thank you.

I, in own night watch, provide the same manner of prompted paean to bewilderment, which of course, is some sort of natural jurisprudence upon my failure to author any entertaining mythology for my fellow choir members. Corporate aims would tell us that Lizard People prefer Nine Lives cat food.Ask David Icke for a metaphorical "ism"

The commercialization of myth makes for a sort of 500 Club for public necromancy...call in your question to Jason and Grant...selling reality by the pound.

In Search of Symmetrical Realities
What drew me like a wayward moth, born on some random breeze, through this dark window pulled like a dry leaf to circumnavigate this flickering light, down endless corridors of dry and dusty lore, cavitating like a spinning top reeling into the study of the paranormal, the study of metaphysics and a keen curiosity, perhaps even what you would call a compulsion to draw patterns with a stick on the sand of this shoreline? In this we are secret sharers of Godel and Poe.

Perhaps it is the circumference of a circle, one half arcs under the warmth of a star and the other lies hidden, like an ocean current is pulled and pushed by a force of some hidden gravity, an unseen force that propels both the migrating species of avian flocks to push against the wind and human.history alike, seeking an origin in the time. Time itself only exists as a measurement. The yardstick we apply may be our own uncertainty in regard to the death of our biological host.


The CERN experiment is matched by those who haunt the dust that has settled in death, seeking ghosts where, as T.S Eliott remarked, "a story ended." The Alpha and Omega is perhaps a hopelessly antiquated form of linear myopia in a universe of infinitely expanding universes beyond that of our own transience. What is a breath in the life of one universe within a multitude beyond count?

Is all of history the quest of a eternal return to a past whose fusion of momentum from an act of expansion due to a terminal contraction, drives us like a butterfly effect, from every end to yet another breath, another inhalation to another exhalation..spiral nebula may be the fireflies that inhabit the fields of a infinitely dark, parabolic continuity.

For all I know our universe is a soap bubble floating from the pipe of some young girl, on a breezy summer day whose trajectory is as circular and yet unchanging in it's transformation as the sentience that invented the effects of the wheel for us, to contract space and time as an illusionary effect, when on the surface of our planetary home. The act of creation may belie a innocence that we ply our own baggage upon.

It all may be a matter such as play, whether it is the marking of rune stones or the isolation of astronauts floating in the ether. We play at discerning purposes on our own terms.

However, in all this is the mythology of a story in search of a beginning, a middle and an end. Certainly a hangover from the monarchical edicts forged in absolutes, of laws and constants,like the severe geometric prisms of a fine crystalline goblet holding a Platonic truth, like the constants, the repetitive lulling of a hymnal for the predictive, all of these melt like a slice of bread in bucket of ice water in this epoch we are superimposed upon. The more that is spoken the less that is said seems to be the median axiom for a lack of content..whether it is a politician or any "expert"..the unraveling of euclidean and largely self referential babble meets the rising sea.


The more uncertainty buffets the bulwark of .consensus, the more we dig into the bones of Atlantis, the more we consult the calendars of dead civilizations seeking the arc of this story in apocalyptic ends that imply a fall from a grace from the innocence of an Eden that may be like all rosy self portraits of a family history, simply edits the complex into a idyllic innocence required by carnivores.

Do I know how this tale of our own mythologies, personal or otherwise, began?

What unrealized and undigested, unfinished business ignited the material universe into mirroring that black light, that felt and not seen hand upon my shoulders, the guides that have led me along pathless lands filled with the shoots, and brambles, weeds and astonishing blooms?

I don't know.

He sat on the boulder across from me in silence. "Will you except this gift?..when.there are no strings attached...?" There are always strings attached.."You are asking a wind up toy to decide.." I hesitated in my response, looking over my shoulder. You have a reason to hand it to me as a choice, what is it?" " He grinned a goofy sort of cognition arising from someone, who could look through my reluctance. "It's something you need."
More silence.

"It's life" Life? What is Life?

" This is something I cannot explain to you You must taste it"

It has a sweet aroma, but has a bitter aftertaste.

“The shock of discovering that most of the power in the world is held by ignorant and greedy people can really bum you out at first; but after you've lived with it a few decades, it becomes, like cancer and other plagues, just another problem that we will solve eventually if we keep working at it.”
-Robert Anton Wilson

Unholy Ghosts
The ghost sits in the confessional in search of grace. I am that ghost of flesh and blood whose appetites are borrowed from a book that was passed down to me by some well meaning libertarian who knew nothing of life and therefore knew nothing of we ghosts, who may not abstain in our death for one last parting wish as if it were a compulsion.

And so the wheel turns in the spiral nebula, the end seeks it's beginning as the beginning seeks it's end and so Mr Beckett awakes in an existential draft of how the heart could be left from our equations of the universe. Inhalation and exhalation. While Beckett was the existentialist voice that lurks behind the ballyhoo, there is something else missing in our interpretations..in our calculus of right angles.

"I regret to inform you, the intelligence of the heart cannot be left from your realities." The entangled asymmetrical dance of tears and elation cannot be erased as best we try to become the passerby, the uninvolved voyeur of a severely dysfunctional planetary game, staked to the ground like so many tombstones, we seek not to be moved, we seek rest..dare I say, the illusion of objectivity as a poseur..

"And so Mr Duensing, what is the Paranormalist's aim?"

"To prove the unprovable by disproving the proved"

Then perhaps we can forgo the symmetry of a beginning and a middle at the end of our journey. We journey toward the asymmetrical relationship between the experiential and the potential. While the scientists at CERN attempt to find a beginning, we look back at the small village whose random lights flicker and extinguish one by one like embers as the moon rises beneath the passage of clouds. No right angles here. The world dreams of an origin story when there is none.

The paranormalists look for a story arc, seeking cohesion in raindrops falling from a branch into the pond, where the ripples bend time.



Perhaps they are the last desperate rationalists as outcasts, "the skeptic" and "the believer" floating on a raft down the Mississippi.



Mr Twain turns to me and wanly smiles..and takes a long drag on his cigar and then looks over the bank in a distracted sadness. "It's only a river, might as well enjoy the view." Wilson nods as if bored by further conversation or more accurately, the thought of going further.. I provide a puzzled reaction that does not go noticed.
Taking another long puff, he rejoined after a certain pause "I think we never become really and genuinely our entire and honest selves until we are dead--and not then until we have been dead years and years. People ought to start dead, and they would be honest so much earlier."