Fred Furst

Ghostwriter and Ghostwarrior

Days like any other days

26/04/2013 // by admin


And what it is like, I now have reason to know that is completely indomitable. In any case, I seem to still be here, I seem to still be solid, I seem to still be playing by almost the same rules as before. But there is a fundamental, unforeseeable difference. Something I can’t put my finger on. Some remarkable form of irregularity that bothers me simply because it comes solely from myself, and nothing outside of myself seems to be feeding it.

Probably this will be confusing, but it isn’t for me, so fuck it.

Anything out there is a potential point of stickiness for this impossible internal desperation. It is a form of stress that strikes mostly when I’m not really conscious, and then it takes me hours to get back to my good old self. To my proper, inscrutable place. Tolle would say I’d do best to just let my particular thoughts at any given time to simply fade away. Some guy then invites him to speak at Google, and then he start his talk by mentioning urgent and pressing matters. And I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one that sees with terrible clarity just how bizarrely paradoxical this is.

I myself have been wanting to get involved with Node.js, although the most pervasive thought in my head over the last couple of years is that I can’t wait to die and let everything behind. So, this unbelievable journey I’ve put myself through was for naught, gladly. But the world persists, and I know for sure that the apparent existence and persistence of this world is terribly irrelevant. In other words, this isn’t about truth, but it is rather mostly about going along to get along. It is about energy, and holism. About a harmonious life.

Might seem like a big deal, but I think it’s mostly about getting myself a more comfortable life, rather than actually doing anything. It is just about learning to settle down, to breathe, to wake up day after day. It has absolutely nothing to do with jobs, survival, money or anything like that. That’s beyond anyone’s control. That’s all beyond whatever measures of control can be taken. No amount of systems on top of systems can get it to work. No amount of spinning wheels within wheels.

In other words, if I make myself miserable today by chasing another job, that won’t necessarily mean that I will have a fallback once and if I get fired. The trademark of this particular form of craziness is that there are as many “if”s as possible put together to construe some sort of fear. And another terrible legacy is the fact that I’ve seldom done work outside of the paradigm of forced labour. Yes, it has happened, but the terrible school system which exists almost everywhere in this civilisation of ours has been thriving for centuries in preventing simple, calm, creative work.

I think it has to do with what the real mages out there in the world have been calling “prayer” for as long as I can tell. These guys understood, to a deeper degree than regular dwellers, that there can’t be no physical well-being without taking care of the invisible.

On Journalling

15/04/2013 // by admin


I didn’t start this website as a journal. This isn’t a blog. For real, I don’t even follow any given theme or try to cater to a specific audience. I don’t expect anyone to read me, and I don’t have to sell anything here, let alone myself (as an expert or whatever). I’m just doing what I do, which, in this case, is sit and write.

I plunge my fingers down unto my keyboard like I’m punishing them for existing. Whatever comes out, goes out into the word whether I want it or not. There are no privacy settings on your thoughts, and once something has been thought into existence, it will follow its way. Nothing personal, says the earthquake, the thunderstorm and the volcano, it’s just what I do.

As a kid, I often rejoiced in the simple pleasure of imagining myself to be a force of nature. A haecceity. Irrevocable and inexistant. Irrelevant and undeniable. Extreme, especially when I’m not. Today, this bothers me greatly: as I search the interwebs for some better form of expression for these impossible politics, my own comments are all over the place again.

And still, as a person, I can’t think of a higher goal than dying as fast as possible. I love my death. It’s an intimate, personal feeling that is together with pretty much all of what I consider to be myself. My one and only line of defence against everything. My one friend, and the only thing I can count on not to disappoint me. I don’t think I’m gonna commit suicide, but I surely don’t think I’d best hold on to dear life and all that.

Even treating these points of view as complementary or opposites completely defeats the purpose here. This is naught but a written for instance of that which might be really going on here. Yes, I did just talk like that. There’s absolutely no more room for wrong-knowing. It simply isn’t possible that any mistakes are ever made again. Even the practical joke of making myself think I was wrong can’t be wrong. The personal mistake of thinking myself to be a human living on Earth: not wrong. Not even being wrong, or believing myself to be wrong can be wrong. Wrong lacks support in the substrate of God, Truth, Existence, Brahma, Zen or whatever.

Wrong isn’t.

Journalling, on the other hand, is a very interesting technique, if you’re into that sort of thing.  It flushes out a lot of the crap that could otherwise just fester inside. It takes work, yes, and courage beyond what the word could represent. It’s a war-like situation that gives no rest… and then it’s over. Gone. Well, something is gone, at least.

In these crazy years, I watched the mistakes multiply and then crumble again and again. How could I have done nothing? Well, the answer is simple: there was nothing to be done. There never is. This post need not be written, my teeth need not be flossed. My work need not be resisted. I’ll do whatever I have whenever I feel like it, and it can never fail. These things can’t exist without each other.

And all fear melts away like I smoke in my head that doubts itself and revisits every single time I was ever afraid and sees, just to make sure, that what was once a crazy big terror had a tag hanging from the side that said “this story isn’t based in actual events”. Terror, lack of comfort and/or respectability, nobody to play with in the playground, no trust from another, no money or medicine when I’m old, no girl that would have sex with me.

I’m exhausted, and reaching the end of my rope.

And I’m glad.

Feelings

13/04/2013 // by admin


Browse through any of my stuff… skim it, even. I bet you’ll rarely see me falling prey to the temptation of talking about my feelings. Furthermore, I don’t care much about my feelings, I don’t trust them, and I know them to be ultimately false. This may sound weird, so just let me put it all out there without worrying so much about respectability and other irrelevancies.

I’d say evolutionism has a good premise, but the vocabulary we have isn’t enough. We say “well-adapted” there and then think “strongest” here, but the environment itself is a constantly changing factor, and it is all over the place. How can scientists be hypocritical enough not to see the immense haphazard factor that goes into creating what we see?

I remember a few years ago I thought that men had evolved, for a while, in the water, which would explain our lack of fur… on most of us, at least. But then it came to me that the alien DNA manipulation is the one that is the least nonsensical. Especially now that we’ve found archeological evidence that homo sapiens and homo neanderthalis walked the earth at the same period, and that neanderthals were decimated by us.

Why would aliens mess with some ape-like race? I’d guess they needed able hands, and so they made some humans. Now we’re like those algae that got transported from Australia to France and then took over native species.

This process is still happening today, but nearing saturation point. I, for one, think that bringing a kid to a sick world like ours is an act of cruelty.

But fine, let’s talk about feelings.

This perspective of the world, plus another crazy perception that I’m not at all separate from it, put me in a very weird situation. I have no opinion on whether mankind should continue living and thriving and destroying all around it. I don’t think life is fragile and rare, because it flourishes everywhere.

In all honesty, I can’t believe most people are terrified of dying. We al know beyond the possibility of error that nothing real ever gets destroyed, and that nothing false can last any more than a blimp. In all this made-up craziness there is absolutely nothing that ever goes wrong or needs fixing.

In any case, there’s always stuff to do, to solve, to write and… of course, to feel.

Negativity and Positivity

31/03/2013 // by admin


The first main idea is that these are inseparable poles, and one implies the other, meaning that one begets the other. So, the entirety of the books on positive thinking are based on the absurd concept that these can be separated. The all-too-human notion that it would be possible to have a better life, one could say. These impossible ideas are nevertheless ubiquitous in all of occidental culture…

The name given to the understanding of cycles, rhythms and the coincidence of opposites is often referred to as “perennial philosophy”.

Now, the acceptance of this ageless philosophy would imply, for example, that no particular human life is better or worse than any other, and that no human being has more or less value that any other. Even to the most innocent bystanders, these corollaries must be seen for the heretic, unbecoming inevitabilities that they are. Inevitabilities, as is universally known, are the facts which humans most desire to oppose with all they’ve got.

And then I’ve personally recognised this bizarre fact, and had to do something with it. More importantly, after having taken my best shot at finding meaningful connections and guidelines for lifestyle, I came out short on the other side. Decades of walking around this world with the knowledge I had crappy code in my head. Then I took a stand, drew a line, signalled I wanted to get out.

A couple of years ago, something ignited inside of me. Partly from external sources, partly from the pile of knowledge I’d accrued over the years, a spark was formed, and it found plenty of fuel. Luckily, that fire burned any and all unwanted negativities… and positivities!

Now, my world looks different, but I won’t bore you with the details. I will, though, describe what I can see.

It looks like an empty post-nuclear dustland. Most of the time, I’m involved with the technicalities of survivalism. I gauge my reserves of food and whatnot, I let time fly by whenever I find anything minimally amusing, I navigate the world as proficiently as the normals do, and better than most. When something from the old days comes along, it is usually a small beast, that warrants little concern or action: the tiny ones usually starve by themselves.

Although they must die, my work doesn’t end there. The main purpose of this whole thing is to clean up afterwards. After figuring out that your worst and your best moments coincide, how does that affect everything else? I’m the one whose sole purpose is to answer that. I hack away until it’s either dead or it makes no sense anymore, which is the same.

Now, even in my calmest nights I still sense something out there, residing out of sight. The most toxic waste can never be cleansed away if it remains hidden. The only way these unholy beasts can still run amuck in my kingdom is by not showing their true form. They hide away, they dodge light and only come out in camouflage.

Not the big, smart, strong and vicious demons one would negatively expect, but no more than another shape of the old dragon. Just another scale.

Differential Machines…

19/03/2013 // by admin


…that’s what you are (imagine romantic singing voice, please).

Surely, you must be kidding, anyone would say, and indeed I am. However, the gag holds together: we only feel differences. In that, I feel I must tackle a bunch of disclaimers, so please refer to my other articles if you feel offended by anything here. What I am talking about is as weird as the universe-existence that holds all of us together. By ”all of us”, I am not limiting these affirmations to humans, or to our particular civilization in this planet. Any entity capable of reading this, be it physical, ethereal or astral… Any person, angel, discarnate entity, channeled entity… This goes for all of us.

We are differential machines, operating on sense that are much much more sensitive to comparisons and variations. Also truth for our minds is the fact that they’re much more adapted to learning, understanding, correlating and comparing. These machines are basically bringing down the Judgement of God to anything they apprehend: is you is, or is you ain’t?

I’d venture a guess that this is a natural device that breeds up strata in a mechanical program of action/happenings. Mineral, vegetable, animal. One species mutating into two new species, or maybe simply spawning a new one out of the blue. Human ethnicities that tend to segregate from each other in neighbourhoods. These are examples of autopoiesis forming strata. No necessary rhyme or reason to it, until it is done. And then it goes on by itself, without the need of another, wiser entity lording over it. Things do interact with each other, and a status quo is formed almost in spite of itself, and then it proceeds to reproduce itself whenever possible, to wherever possible.

So, our human consciousness, and by extension every single conceivable or inconceivable form of consciousness, is much more a form of ignorance than a form of knowledge. Rather than knowing about the strongest and most pervasive forces shaping the universe even in our daily life, we focus only in tiny differentials, infinitesimal changes that fundamentally ignore the fundamentals. If God is present in all, it’d be this unchanging fundamentals, operating even before your eyes, as strange forms on a screen are taken in towards an small electric storm called brain that somehow conveys these shapes into meaningful words. Did you know that the basis of the brain, the neurons, are very simple machines? They simply add together a bunch of electric signals reaching him and then it either fires or not depending on whether the sum of signals reaches a certain threshold value. Even in the lowest levels, Shakespeare’s questions still applies: to be or not to be? That seems to be all that matters.

 

The Secret Answer

08/03/2013 // by admin


One simple lesson I’ve learned is that things are rarely what they seem. In other words, I’ve obsessed dearly about figuring out the goings-on of this particular place, and by place what I mean is being here in this planet, watching this specific movie called humanity. Not seldom have I wondered what it is that getting one-up on this situation. What would it mean? What would it look like? What would it feel like? More importantly than all of that, how do I get there?

And then, like a nuclear bomb going off 3 ft from me, I was instantly turned to ash, smoke, and electromagnetic waverings rippling through space and time.

Still, all of what was already here seems to remain somewhat stable. Unless my physical death corresponded exactly with the nuke, which it didn’t, all I could see before was still here. Not exactly the same, though. It felt loose, almost like an old car or an elder whose mind’s started to go. Now, the problem with thinking that the entire world is insane is that it’s blatantly obvious just how insane that affirmation makes you seem. In other words, it poses a fundamental question: do I trust myself or do I trust the world?

And, listen, I’ll be honest… how could one be so… subject to such radically absolute self-trusting?

… and reckless?

Redemption

15/02/2013 // by admin


I think it was Rumi who wrote that the elixir is in the poison, and I always thought this was the most preposterous notion one could have. How could it be possible to find something by going in the opposite direction? And yet this seems to be one of the most universal principles of existence, just like duality. Appropriately, it does seem to me that in various spheres of knowledge it is somewhat common to have simplistic, twofold classifications – that often will spring up into rainbows or maybe infinitely indistinguishable shades of gray. It is a primary tool of understanding, much like the concept of “lump to live”.

Whenever things get serious, that is to say, whenever people have to drop their make believe beliefs and deal with rough situations, that’s when real understanding can occur, and that’s where our former bearings no longer hold. So, this idea of classifying an otherwise mixed up affair into neat piles is both a boon, for it allows basic comprehension and initial recognition, and a curse, because it tends to be mistaken for reality.

Actually, we avoid adding extra dimensions to our thought patterns as much as possible. I think this is due to the perceived threat of losing certainty, and thus being forced into facing the unknown. The unknown itself has no classification, and so may we not rush and toss it into the pile labelled “be afraid, ye who enter”. Still, the unknown, due to its own ineffable nature, is commonly held in the lumps that rest in extremes. One example is that of Science, exploring huge quantities of energy and incredible orders of magnitude, and also the tiniest existing quantum of energy-matter. Beyond each of these imaginary extremes, there can the unknown be felt, but never found… never known. A few years ago the Large Hadron Collider was starting to operate, and many cartoonists took the chance to verbalize what we were all feeling: won’t this thing you built go off and destroy everything?

Also, political oligopolies – the party system – tend to polarize around two big players, and others tend to disappear or to be relegated to the limbo where nobody really cares about them. Democrats and Republicans, Communists and Populists, Worker’s Party and Rich People’s Party. And everyone is placed imaginarily – for purposes of classification – in a long line determined by these two fixed points. Follow libertarians to their extreme, and there you will find ever less people and attention. Interestingly enough, the same can be done in the opposite direction, with equivalent results, although they’d be inverted.

Now, this coincidence between extremes is mostly invisible, and it must remain invisible for a society like ours to keep working and functioning in its proper rhythms and goings-on.

On a more mundane level, this applies to the individual’s daily life. The mass of men must see double, almost like a belligerent  drunkard will protect his right to make a mess of himself, to get himself into fights, and to keep drinking. Our society is myopic. Incapable of perceiving its own insanity, it does all it can to maintain, to conserve. That’s what a mother is, and that’s what our society resembles. Unaware of anything outside of itself, it fights to the death in order to protect its way of life. Hardly something that can be deemed unfit. Survival, after all, does seem to be the law of nature.

And yet, that simple sentence, almost an axiom, is remarkably close to a tautology: what survives, survives.

Still, much of what Rumi says is in riddles, or in poorly translated metaphors, but this doesn’t seem to be the case. What IS he talking about, then? He’s talking about extremes coinciding, about the worst enemies as best friends, about finding life eternal through death, and about watching the saints in their holy ecstatic facial expressions that are incredibly similar to that of a copulating woman. And so, redemption cannot be another lump, or another extreme in the spectrum. Redemption and deliverance are as multidimensional as the universe itself, and they’re in all directions. They’re as inescapable as death.

Jogaê Fred

09/02/2013 // by admin


Cara, não faço mais vídeos de Pegar Mulher. Compre os livros e eu respondo uma pergunta. http://pegarmulher.com

Lifestyle

08/02/2013 // by admin


Interestingly enough, there seems to be a contemporary obsession with lifestyle. Not just the word, because that would be too simple, but – to a large extent – this obsession is concerned with one’s experience of the world, with one’s personal reality. Now, this revolves largely around travel and work, at least on a more superficial level. The real question is how this ties up together and leads to more important stuff, in other words, to deeper things, or to higher things.

There are many options out there for those seeking the “best” lifestyle… too many options. As it usually does, this often points to commercial opportunities, that is, to a new, emerging market. Whereas the marketplace – and maybe how to harness its potential – appears as the end in itself, this is not the case. A very similar example is the spiritual marketplace: spiritual books, spiritual dogmas, spiritual communities and, of course, spiritual lifestyles.

The spiritual marketplace is the place where charlatans go to make a profit on seekers who wish to postpone their own life. In order to do that, they must create the healthy illusion that they are making progress, and thus prevent their “spiritual itch”. The marketplace offers a variety of solutions. Of course these solutions are as inane as they sound to any skeptic, but they still make bank because they pretend to address a very real need, which I have referred to as the “spiritual itch”.

The lifestyle marketplace is also filled with a variety of products. There are too many available options for those who wish to live an alternative lifestyle: veganism, vegetarianism, yuppies, digital nomadism… hey, even the geek-nerd fashion trend has been turned into a lifestyle. Of course, these are but false solutions, marketed to a crowd that feels a very real need. This is how it usually works in capitalism (and probably in other systems as well, but I can’t speak for those myself): inane solutions are fed to a hungry crowd of zombies. The zombies – us – keep wondering why they still feel so hungry. The rationale goes that we shouldn’t be, because we’ve been consuming so much from the marketplace. We should be fat lifestyle rich people, but instead we end up been lifestyle junkies.

I don’t mean to play psychoanalyst, but it revolves around a very real feeling of lack. This would be the word Freud would approve of, I suppose. I, on the other hand, would prefer the word dread. A faceless fear, always lurking in the corner of your eye, mocking every accomplishment and happy moment, giggling maliciously at your every supposed encounter with anything true. Fear of yourself, of the hollow black hole from which all of us gaze into this messy and bright little dream world.

The lifestyle obsession has to be defined, then, as the obsession with having a really, really great dream! Just so we’re on the same page here, the consensual reality of politicians, SUVs, girlfriends, tables, computers and all that is in this universe… that is what I call a dream, because it has no basis in reality, really. But we won’t let that hold us back.

Once the lifestyle obsession is taken to its extreme, the results can be very pleasant. Much like any other human endeavour, the fool who persists in his folly will become wise. And then it becomes clear what a really great lifestyle means. Of course, the perfect lifestyle cannot possibly be about putting up a castle of cards according to egoic preferences that are themselves not personal at all. This isn’t about choosing a cool country, having shootloads of money, or passive income.

It’s important to tackle this long boring list of misunderstandings, mainly because they are debris blocking any possibility of actual understanding.

I’m not talking about cosmetic changes to lifestyle or about even “improvements” on current lifestyles. I’m not proposing anything even remotely similar to anything any person could want. Who could want this? The obvious answer is: only people who have wallowed back and forth in the filth of their current lifestyle long enough to know how radical change can be indispensable at times.

The definition of this so-called lifestyle, then, is that rather than struggling against life, one works with it. Sounds simple enough, but we are talking about very scary stuff. Such as accepting the inevitability and finality of death, and also the decrepitude and decay that inevitably comes with old age, or the invariably tragic sudden deaths that might keep one from reaching old age, and thus decaying and diminishing. We are talking about understanding and evaluation of one’s own situation on a daily basis, and the corollary of it all: that there is no firm land in this life, unless you deliberately keep yourself in the dark. This, by the way, is by far the most common characteristic of this human civilization… hypocrisy. And also, going with the flow means thinking positive, but not in the childish ways portrayed in most self-help books. It means to take in the entirety of life’s richness, beyond lumping it together into artificial and childish classifications of “good” or “evil”.

Memory and Identity

28/01/2013 // by admin


I mean, one of the things I’d love to have is that single-mind of the dumb American redneck cultist that is capable of unwittingly discard anything – be it a fact, a memory, or even one of those nagging feelings – based on the sole perception/possibility that it would dismantle whatever castle of cards holds it together. And by it what I mean is his own fragile identity, that is, the fact that he is a single-minded, dumb American redneck cultist. I take all of these adjectives and string them together in order to make a caricature out of it.

In any case, I’ve spent my entire life digging around, searching, fumbling. Feeding on the spectres in books, as Whitman once put it. And what I’ve found at the bottom of what humanity is freaked me out. I mean, way deeper than everyday life, and hidden beneath that veneer of civilization. And the down-low on it is disgusting: man is made of fear, and hypocrisy is what holds society together.

Harsh words, I know. Not one of them is unwarranted, though.

In terms of identity, as in personal identity, the imaginary redneck guy I made up a few lines ago does what he does. As he goes about doing his doings, he works his way through life in the best possible way, according to his own belief system. So, every single day is an arena where he reproduces what was already in there, but he is concurrently reinforcing his own identity in a multitude of ways. His perception is skewed strongly by his beliefs, so that it’s easier to pick up on facts that reinforce existing beliefs, and to ignore those that don’t. The personal bubble universe in which he dwells also responds to his beliefs: yes, I’m referring to the good ol’ power of thought (or belief).

These largely unknown process are essential to the continued existence of identity. As much as it’s fun to to remark on how ridiculous and far-fetched the beliefs of others are, any identity is just as fragile as theirs, including my own, most importantly (maybe yours should matter more to you). And that absolutely baffles me: how is the world and our own wiring setup so that we become entrenched in our own preconceptions, prejudices and convictions. Meaning that any one particular view of the world begets a world that resembles it. From this standpoint it seems like a miracle that anybody ever manages to change at all, ever. But we do. Sluggishly, kicking and screaming, trying to get back to the uterus at every turn.

And the safety of the womb is in no way better than the wilderness of the outside, but it is familiar, and we are also wired in such a way as to freaking love familiarity. We thrive on what resembles our tiny known universe. The celebrity system that pervades the entertainment industry is an example of this love-for-the-familiar, as is the continuous repetition of harmonic themes in hit songs, and emotional themes in hit movies. Memory is paramount in how we create and maintain this here current identity.

Now, to complete this grim draft of humankind and human civilization, our own memory is greatly skewed by our identity as well. In clearer terms, memory, identity and perception are all intertwined in a seemingly endless self-perpetuating merry-go-round. Not a fun, merry-go-round, mind you, but rather a silly game that repeats itself again and again. Well, at least that’s the emotional point to where we tend to get when the game is no longer fun. After millennia in which the human drama is foolishly reproduced, with nothing new under the sun, we look around and start to feel like we’re being taken for fools.

That’s when the good stuff happens. Change, understanding.

These can only occur after the entire game no longer feels entertaining, or even distracting anymore. Maybe even like a practical joke at nobody’s expense but my own. And that when real transformation, or transmutation if you will, can finally take place. Through all the mud and slush of confusion, opinion and self-deception there is that unfathomable something that eludes and pushes onward with such calm violence, meticulous madness that there is absolutely no resisting it. There’s fear. And fear gone haywire, desperately clinging to whatever semblance of control and security it can, until it can’t.

And then, that which seemed to be our very center of power and strength is revealed as a prison. Identity is exposed as ego. Memories can be seen as the blatant lies we and others tell ourselves. Barriers between oneself and the world crack and crumble. Defence lines against the bad side of the world show their true face and their true purpose. Our own sense of identity, of guilt, of anxiety are shown as the glue that holds together the walls of this prison built by none other than ourselves.

It would seem like a beautiful thing, but it resembles more the bloody, foggy desperateness of a battlefield. Like being a 7-year-old stuck between two armies, and victory is certain. That 7-year-old will not make it out alive, and that is the best possible news I could possibly receive. I was asleep, but I can wake up. In order to do that, I must cease to exist, and so winning the big prize is a bit of a non-event, because there is no one else left to feel elated and then disappointed. And that is perfect freedom… the only freedom.