Subject: KiboZenslack (wuz Re: What is slack?)

Date: Fri, 24 Oct 1997 13:53:03 GMT

From: FeralOne@Infinity.Org

Reply-To: eholmes@onramp.net

Organization: CEO Infinity

Newsgroups: alt.slack, alt.religion.kibology

References: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4

 

On Thu, 23 Oct 1997 22:58:14 GMT, in <345ad635.4863443@news.zippo.com> Doktor D

wrote:

/On Thu, 23 Oct 1997 07:52:52 GMT, eholmes@onramp.net wrote:

/> Your nouveau eonical philosphy may give you slack but it

/> just gives me hives.

 

After grepping the arkives, I may have to retract this.

 

/> Slack isn't Zen, or there'd be no point in calling it Slack;

/> might's well just call it Zen and be done. Renaming all the

/> words is a Randian technique more in keeping with the immoral

/> evaders They try so hard to diss.

/

/No, Slack is ripping off everybody else's ideas, because Zen is a

/manifestation of Slack. All the philosophers over all the years have

/talked about Slack and not known it.

 

YM "Everyone's a Kibologist, they just don't know it." HTH.

 

/> But from my point of view, inability to describe just shows

/> a lack of imagination, and imagination gives me wood, not

/> to mention way lots of Slack.

/

/Some things just really are unnamable.

 

Except for Kibo. Kibo can name anything.

 

E.Holmes

 

------- [REPOSTED VIA THE EHOLMES USENET ARKIVE ENGINE]-------

 

Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology,alt.slack,alt.exploding.kibo

From: kibo@world.std.com (James 'Kibo' Parry)

Subject: Re: Kibology: Japanese Opry or Bad Silosophy?

Message-ID: <BFtvIq.93C@world.std.com>

Summary: STORY, new, Zen, exploding heads!

Keywords: Eat My Shorts, Read My Lips, Krill Me

Organization: Kibo's Home Office (in Boston's Back Bay)

References: <1991Dec2.214758.26385@mnemosyne.cs.du.edu>

Date: Mon, 2 Dec 1991 23:20:50 GMT

In article <1991Dec2.214758.26385@mnemosyne.cs.du.edu> bediger@isis.cs.du.edu

(bruce allen ediger) writes:

>

>Three things hath the novice to learn:

>

>3. Kibo knows all, sees all, but mostly he reads all. On a hill far away lies

> that old rugged kibo... Kibo of ages cleft for me...

 

Kibo does not read all. Kibo greps all for "Kibo" and reads only the

newsgroups that contain that string in their traffic. You'd be

surprised that a few of them don't mention me (sometimes.)

 

>1. The master and 3 apprentices were sitting under a tree. The master asked of

> the apprentices, "Has the dog Kibo nature?"

>

> The first apprentice immediately shouted "Mu!". The master whacked him with

> a sandal. The second apprentice used a bit of caution and said "Splunge?"

> The master whacked him with a sandal. The third apprentice learned from

> the aforegoing examples and said "Sil!".

 

Now you've done it. You've goaded me into posting one of the short

stories I ghostwrote for the Church of the Subgenius(TM). It's about Zen.

 

I'd like to point out that I in no way endorse the Church of the Subgenius(TM),

one of the most EVIL orginaizations in the world. J. R. "Bob" Dobbs is

the ANTICHRIST and MUST be DESTROYED. If you meet him on the road, kill

him, then kill yourself, then kill me.

 

Everything in this story is true.

==========================================================================

 

Z E N A N D T H E A R T O F S L A C K

by James "Kibo" Parry

(C) 1991

My mantra is "mantra, dammit".

 

As I sit here on my zafu (that's a Zen meditation pillow stuffed with

tofu), I reach satori even though I live downstairs from the demolition

derby rink.

 

I feel a oneness with the itch in my first chakra. I feel a oneness

with the Pet Rock I used to own. I feel a twoness with myself.

 

I realize that everything is either something or a hole in something.

Or, perhaps, everything is one big hole and the somethings are holes

within the hole. I shift my weight imperceptibly and the zafu makes a

fart noise.

 

Upstairs, two old Trans Ams, surplus from "Knight Rider", collide.

I can hear the sound of my blood moving through my inner ears. I

realize that everything which exists is made up of little dots arranged

in diagonal rows. A cockroach runs across the floor and into my zafu.

 

I realize that "Bob"'s teeth are clenched and his Pipe is not between

them. The teeth are joined and the Pipe ends in front of them. His nose

casts a shadow on the Pipe and the Pipe casts a shadow on his chin but

they do not touch. I have reached enfuckinglightenment!

 

As I nearly fall off my zafu, it farts again, blowing the cockroach

into the next room.

 

There once was a novice monk named Bho Zho who asked the master, "Does

a house burn up or burn down?"

 

The master set fire to the novice's house, after taking all his money.

 

As the house burned both up and down, the novice was enlightened.

 

I bow to the Sacred Halftone Print of "Bob" to thank him for the

enlightenment. As I do so, "Bob"'s face shimmers and blurs before my

face. All I see is the Dots but not the Smile. All I see is the Smile

without the Dots. I see both. I see neither. I see the hair of Desi

Arnaz, the eyes and mouth of Pee-wee Herman, the jaw of Jay Leno all

combined in a blender: "Bob".

 

"Bob" is before me and I am "Bob" and yesterday is tomorrow and I am

the walrus mama dada googoo chihuahuahuahua ommmmmmmmm

 

"Yo! Yo! Stop with the satori already!" "Bob" steps out of the

picture, slaps me, and pours himself a Dr Pepper. He sits on my zafu,

which makes a sound like a tuba. I sit on a tatami which is beginning

to sprout. "Bob" looks me in the eye.

 

"Cool it with the meditation, guy, it's dull. It's `Bosom Buddies'

without the laughtrack. It's the sound of one lip chapping. It's a

bicycle riding a fish, a steamroller being run over by a birthday cake.

It just doesn't compare to the fun stuff, especially sex."

 

I avoid meeting "Bob"'s gaze as I whisper, "He who claims someone does

not have Buddha-nature has no Buddha-nature."

 

"Hey, it's easier to say `Slack' than `Buddha-nature', you know. Or

`swellness'. They're all the same thing. You're on a true path to

enlightenment, but true paths have true dirt and true mosquitoes-false

paths are much better. Give me your money now."

 

"I have no money, just one zafu, one tatami, my oryoki, this setsu

stick, an inflatable Buddha, a tofu log, all three "Sweatin' to the

Oldies" tapes, a disposable zabuton, a pile of bulk miso, my

Zen-to-English dictionary."

 

"AND A PARTRIDGE IN A PEAR TREE!" "Bob" waggles his eyebrows and

smiles. "But seriously, pal, I'll take it all and pretend it's cash

equivalent. Hey, after I take your zafu, I'll even give you a receipt.

 

Get it? Re-seat!"

 

"Bob" packs all my worldly possessions into his seemingly bottomless

pockets and he leads me out of the monastery. Milliseconds later, a

black Trans Am falls through the ceiling, crashing right where we had

been sitting. It yells insults at us as we walk to the pebble garden.

"This eggplant in my pocket is like an elephant," said Bhoddyohdor.

"Yet this elephant in my pocket is like a pair of wax lips," replied

Tai Dhee Bhoul.

 

Just then, Master Rhais Ahroni strolled past. "Tell us," begged

Bhoddyohdor and Tai Dhee Bhoul, "Is the eggplant like the elephant

which is like the wax lips, or should we just go watch sitcoms all

day?"

 

The master ate the eggplant, shot the elephant, and got germs on the

wax lips. The novices were not enlightened. The master laughed.

"Bob" is using my rake to draw Snoopy in my pebble garden. "So, Kibo,

why the heck do you have all these pebbles filling up a perfectly good

wading pool?"

 

"Raking the pebbles is a task which accomplishes nothing. The goal is

to clear the mind by doing nothing."

 

"Um, hey, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't `doing nothing' doing

something? So by doing nothing, you're doing something, therefore

you're not accomplishing the nothing in the first place! You can't not

do anything."

 

He is clearly suffering from Bhudda called dhiarrhea of the mouth. I

say, "You have Bozo-nature."

 

"Of course. Because if I said I were not a bozo, I would be proving

myself to be a bozo! Now, are you a bozo?"

 

At that moment, the enlightenment clears from my mind and I devolve to

a lower plane of being. "Bob" congratulates me by giving me a wig like

his. We go out for a beer.

 

"What is the meaning of this story?" asked the novice. "Also, what is

the sound of one hand clapping, and what's a zabuton? Why does Fox

cancel all its shows every season? And why the hell does your Pipe's

stem hover a quarter-inch in front of your mouth?"

 

"Slack," said the master. "Pure, unadulterated slack. But I lie."

 

At that moment, the novice's head exploded before he finished this sto

 

 

--

.............................................................................

James "Kibo" Parry kibo@world.std.com Independent graphic designer

271 Dartmouth St. #3D (specialty: logos & corporate

Boston, MA 02116 (617) 262-3922 identities) and type designer.