I thought, I'd repost a few of my posts to alt.slack in here, just for

the hell of it:

In truth, the CONvent is not really in the country per se. It's at the

northernmost edge of town in what might be called semi-rural. But it's

good enough for me. I hate big cities. I mean, they're okay to visit,

if you want to see a show or find something foreign, but I can't

imagine living in one. San Francisco is the only exception to that

rule so far.


This morning, I woke up at 6:30 and came down to read the droppings of

wit you all left overnight, and there were only a few new posts, so I

was forced to heed the enthusiastic bouncing of Miss Aretha (now a

very energetic 8 weeks old) and go out onto the porch to drink my



The sun was just rising, streaking the sky with glowing pink and

pushing the deeper purple hues to the sides. In the distance, my

neighbor's roosters were crowing, and I heard the whinny of another

neighbor's horse. Aretha chased a bug, while I watched the

hummingbirds fight over the trumpet vine.


I love hummingbirds. They are the most vicious of creatures. Tiny

warriors; they will fight to the death, stabbing each other with those

sharp beaks. The Aztecs didn't revere them for nothing. In fact, the

Aztec men used to pierce their testicles with thorns to emulate the

blood from the breast of hummingbirds. When the Priests took over,

they used to have to do weekly "nut" checks, to make sure they weren't

still stabbing themselves for the old religion... "Let's see yer

balls, Pedro."


I planted trumpet vine three years ago with the hopes that it would

attract hummingbirds. It worked. They shared their sweet harvest with

some fat bumblebees, but seeing as they were working for different

companies, the birds ignored the bees this morning.


Meanwhile, the crickets were chirpin, the songbirds were waking up and

calling to each other, and the cats decided that they didn't REALLY

hate me for bringing home a new dog, and each came over to be rubbed,

just to prove it.


Yeah, it's a tough life, and the rest of the day will probably not be

anywhere near as smooth and beautiful and filled with life as this

morning, but I have it captured in my head. I have that pocket of

purest Slack to tap into throughout the day, if I need it.


Everyone has a different definition of Slack, and what I find fills me

with peace and happiness is probably boring as three day old shit to

most people. (still...Dynasor talks to rocks...he may be as bad as me)

but that's not the point. The point is to find your Slack and hold it

close. Like a well in the desert it waits for you to discover it and

drink deeply.


Life is what it is all about, my friends. Living and enjoying as much

of it as you can, for we are given no guarantees of continuing. The

CON tries to fool you into giving up your life for them, but it is

YOUR life, and as far as we know, it's the only one you get. Do what

gives you pleasure. Do the things that make your life a statement of

your beliefs. Do not be satisfied with taking things as they come;

demand that they be the way you want them. Make your life a paradise

within your own definition, because living in true happiness is the

best revenge we can ever get on the CON.





Reverend Mutha Tarla Star of the Little Sisters of the Perpetually

Juicy; a Proud jism schism of the Church of the SubGenius.

Worshipping Juicy Retardo and "Connie" Dobbs since 1986.