Dec 3, 2013 (4 years and 7 months ago)



From Jacurutu:3

Thanks to all who have chosen, in turn for being chosen, to take part in the OTTT. Gen is quite
thrilled with all the possiblities of this NEXT
ON...As am I with the
activity and
dicussions, continue....EVEN FURTHUR.

Gen and I have discussed...What are we in this One true tribe? Members? Individuals? No..


Because it is about developing ways of BEING, new was, collaged ways. AND "BEING"
simply BEING is the

centre of all perceptions. ALL OF YOU.. Play with BEING in various
TOPI contexts, we feel it works. It is

also NOT hierarchical, nor gender specific.


All of us are constantly in progress / constantly subject to renewal.

None of us rea
lly believe in the product as such. The Process? Of course.


Thee Seeding Ship for Simon Dwyer

There is coumthing eerie and magickal about thee luxurious appraisal ov letters just before dawn
in a forest deep in thee heart. Each broke down in tears, could hardly speak, thee words broken
and shattered as they jumbled and fought to refuse their meanin
g, coumtimes words DO refuse to
serve us, and wriggle and spit at thee injustices we force them to describe. We gave these words
no choice when we bore them, we instructed them to name what we could not explain, to give
order to experiences and phenomena t
hat mystified and terrified us. Fire from thee skies, great
bears that tore our children to shreds, rains that washed away our winter food, snow that settled
in deathly layers across our meagreness without allowing explanation. Thee storytellers dreamed

making sense ov all this, an empowermeant that gave them a moment ov glorious passage
towards a hidden lineage that later would turn on us as power and ownership. Up they would
scream, pointing their sticks, bones, fingers and tongues in anger at thee ine
xplicable, thee horror
ov impotence, and they would invent words, names, powers, and forms, create DESCRIPTIONS,
and songs ov containment for thee infinitely changing. Thee silence ov what was, had no say in
this, no part to play, for change is quite separ
ate from control ov any kind, and change
coumtinues to change no matter what words we human species throw at it for security. So it has
all ways been. Ill fitting suits ov words, baggage and trivia shaping our immortal arrogance to
absurd and useless dimen
sions. We squabble, wage war, define and separate our Selves, and
name our species, creating, wells, fences, earthquakes, and endless disasters with torrential
downpours and tremors ov words. What a useless vessel we store our winter nourishment within.

there a demon, a geni secreted within, surely not if a word or two release it. Power yes, power
hidden, butter not by these words, not by these bindings that sterilise our process and progress
towards balance and coumpassion. It is not an accident thee mo
st holy order is silent. Huh! My
self, a wordsman, a wordsman too...and wordless E breathe and thee breath goes inside me and
finds no person to enwrap and keep safe, vouch safe my spirit, wraithlike, there is no one at
home, only thee many stifled by my a
cceptance ov words, my compliance with an illusion ov
control. Breath, oh breath, struggling asthmatic for a pretence ov thee naming that gives childlike
safety to our illusion. Searching through me was nothing, and thee breath returned as a tear, a
tear s
o embarassed to admit its being, that it couldn’t make corporeal it’s TIME. Trapped like a
THOUGHT, that inviolate hallucination that has no density or manifestation in any matter,
trapped thus my breath ebbed and died, wordless, cordless and adrift, final
ly back to thee sense
most original, thee sense ov value lost

precisely as recognized. There, there in a sky thee light
scares and burns, and thee ancient mouths scream and demand order, and shelter, and in those
burning bushes, are hidden thee words that

destroy us and make us wholly unuseable to change,
and thus to TIME. You may ask, why so much ov words to refute words? Why so much poesie
to say, how sad, distraught, stunned, beautified, reminded and ill thee thought ov your owned
illness made me feel?
You know, E can’t answer that really, really E can’t. It’s thee weigh E all
ways go when E go inside, when E offer my heart to a friend without protection or price. E
choke on words and feel blessed by them. When E have to be ME, me, me just with YOU, E ca
do this no other weigh, just speak, speak thee blood music coursing that joins us in bewildering
uselessness, and as epitaph to being here. We

conjoin through these batterings ov impotent
labelling, naming,naming,naming until we drop with power and gasp

for forgiveness for ever
assuming a name could be. Thee million names ov God,ess,ha, sure buddy, a million names can
contain thee absolute, no problem. A million names, and a few more and we’ve got it all locked
up son.No prob. See that ship out there, ap
proaching at earth
seeding speed to make
consciousness a thing ov thee past? Watch this! “ Hey, ultimate ineffable power seed” No
answer.Wordless and aweless, that which points in every direction similtaneously has no
language, “ Hows this ... for a name b
aby!” Thee seeding ov thee planet coumtinues, silence is
seen as capitulation, victory is assured and thee worders ov our prison

rush on to another
seamless victory with that event, this event, thee slime mould that treats us to a second thought.
We all w
ays cried, and sobbed, such useless shitty words. E was speachless, more shitty words.
Suddenly, there is no thing to name, thee nameless has rushed in, in to our vacuum, surprised and
stopped, wordless. And it won’t go away, thee fucker.This uselessness,
won’t fuckin go, and
what has value now for all, what are we fucking talking about? You feel, embarassed, dirty,
mean, scared, absolutely useless and trivial, patronising, and empty. Yet there is so much fucking
love inside you, so much fucking love you wa
nt to just becoum crying, and dying, and feeling
lost and hurt and cheated, butter most ov all you want to absorb your friend inside and be their
mother and their womb, and keep them safe forever, and nurse them with your breasts, back to
child, safe, a li
fetime still ahead, another moment, another chance to ditch all these words that all
ways got in thee way ov saying “I LOVE YOU ”. E am crying now, that’s good, we can never
cry enough, and people are more beautifull crying than in any other state. It does
n’t matter if its
just self
pity, or pain at thee stealing ov our love by death and cruelty, by that without a NAME
that we cannot control, that we all hate and fear so much. No orgasm ever met thee beauty ov a
tear, and no tear ever got drowned by a word
whatever we might think, and each time we are
held in thee arms ov those we adore we are given more life than a single word could dream in its
naming. Within all these arms, and tears, and breaths, and fears lie we thee people who fear so,
and care so, and

lose so, as thee callous naming never stops and ends in its most beloved words
ov all war

and death. Behold that ship ov seeding as it passes us in its silence, emits no thing and
thus emits thee seeding, and thus we see and seeing we feel we must speak,

but stop, say no
thing, be seeded, breathe, and look away. If we see, we speak too easily, and speaking create
endings, and thus coums our trap ov life, nature’s trick for those who seek no relationship with
change. We are manifestations ov TIME, we coum
from TIME, that which began thought and
thus manifested thee physical, and here, being physical we spend TIME, we drench ourselves in
two directions. We recall so deeply when as a tiniest vibrating momeant ov TIME, a molecular
memory at best, we had infini
ty as a shroud that was constant as hell, and suddenly a name, a
word surprises our reverie as a part ov TIME, that we stupidy named God and so caused “thee
Fall”. BOOM! Here we coum, dragged screaming and kicking into a manifestly physical being.
ily outside thee womb ov TIME. Living goddamit, like it or not. What do they say?
“What are you going to call it then?” BOOM! We’re finished. They’ve named us. We have been
limited absolutely now. No chance. Just stuck with working it through until we can
return back
into TIME. Where we can never end, never be limited, never be lost, be within and a part ov
everything, everyone, every every that ever happened, or didn’t happen, or neither, or all, or
mystery, mystery, mystical, mystical, illumination, revel
ation, clap, trap, reality, illusion,
hallucination, speculation, theory,dreery,leery,bleary eyed your tears,my tears,tears ov
christ,tears ov,thee tears,thee sadness,thee aweful,crying shame ov giving all this stupid fucking
shit a bloody NAME! Coumtimes,

training, stoicism, unfamiliarity,we just cling tighter to thee
steering wheel. Unable to open up right then. It can’t be true. It never can be true. How can
anything this useless ever be true. Suddenly, we are here, within this story, blessed with a trut
and a trust. Awakened to thee most basic ov sensations, re
minded and re

E am burned out . E don’t know to who E am speaking , who E am speaking . So much
weirdness suddenly, so much kick back by thee enemies ov life. Weird. Scary. Useless. Wit
these circles ov fire, screaming words to make thee sun rise each morning, thee moon light thee
nights, thee animals breed to give food and warmth, thee women to fall pregnant by most
peculiar sorcery, within these circles ov brutality, fired up to per
fection by screaming, remains
thee most silent seeding ship ov all. TIME. E don’t know what kind ov sense is made. These
“words” were for and from you. They serve no conceived, advance purpose, E watched your face
in my eyes, til E could hardly see thee ke
ys for tears, and thus thee key is tears. E hope E do not
give only sadness, E hope E give a piece ov my Self, that was coumhow yours, for from thee
thought ov you it came. E will write more lucidly soon.


“to be read aloud, very loud, repeat
edly, until unable to continue through exhaustion.”


Genesis Breyer P


UPS and DNA.

Taken from "The morning news"

Genesis Breyer P

interview Published
eptember 29, 2009

For me, the Cut
Ups were an epiphany. Nothing was really fixed, immune from alteration.
Burroughs and Gysin went further. They began to ask, “In a prerecorded Universe, who made the
first recording?” What came to fascinate me was not just

the visually entrancing and infinite
possibilities opened up by Cut
ups in collages, writing, video, and more traditional creative
avenues, but the application of the Cut
Up to human behavior. If DNA is in a sense a spiraling,
yet still linear recording,
then genetic markers and triggers governing primitive urges like “fight
and flight,” attacking the unknown and anything “different,” might be adjustable. Perhaps our
social and familial conditioning could be broken up, cut
up, re
arranged in new formations

reveal aspects of our SELF, our behavior, our identity, our attitudes that can then be discarded,
reshaped, eventually giving an Individual as near to a self
created “blank slate” upon which to
build and design a chosen autonomous personality. The bina
ry systems relied upon for so long

black/white, good/bad, male/ female, Xtian/Moslem, and on and on

become weakened and
outmoded as flexibility of viewpoint occurs through experimentation like this. This ability of cut
ups to “See what it really says…” as
Burroughs once said remains as vital and revelatory as it
seemed the first day we came across the concept. Without Cut
ups and the proposal that a Cut
Up is NOT the work of any person contributing the raw materials but rather becomes the product
of the pro
cess itself of “random” exploration and deconstruction. “How random is random,” said
Burroughs. Without this tool and an abiding faith in its effectiveness in unlocking hidden, occult,
covert, or Universal layers of meaning and choice, Lady Jaye and myself

would never have
reached the place in our art practice where we made the mutual decision to rejoice in being each
other’s “Other Half” and work towards the assembling of a PANDROGYNE, a Third Being that
can only exist as the result of the cutting up and r
econstructing two source beings

in this
instance, ourselves and our bodies


Posted by Fiachra on February 23, 2011 at 7:52pm

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(This was originally a blog post but I moved it here to get
the discussion going. Some more
information has been added)

Back to Gen's Thelema Now interview (
) again and his comments
about the problems with money and community. I was won
dering if alternative currencies might
be the way to go? Could OTTT have its own currency?

I just want to throw the following examples out there to get the discussion going. If you look
online I know

you will find lots more.

Here is a book available
free online that gives an overview of alternative currencies and how to
start one. It contains a number of sample chapters from the physical book, but seems a good
place to start.

Money: understanding and creating alternatives to legal tender by Thomas H.
Greco Jr.

And some examples to check out.

Toronto Dollar (I'm in Canada, so had to mention this one!)

Bitcoin (an online currency)

Ven from Hub Culture

I find Ven and Hub Culture particularly interesting (they seem a little like a business versio
n of
Evolver pointed out by Steve Thirteen). Here we can see an existing version that contains some
of the aspects of what I believe we are aiming for; a community that combines the online and
offline world effectively, is worldwide, has physical communiti
es and an alternative support

Any thoughts?


Posted by SteveThirteen on March 28, 2011 at 7:00pm

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You cannot take words with you into space. That is all.

The sands of Present Time are running out from under our feet. And why not? The Great
Conundrum: "What are we here for?" is all that ever held us here in the first place. Fear
. The
answer to the riddle of the Ages has actually been out on the street since the First Step in Space.
Who runs may read but few run fast enough. What are we here for? Does the great metaphysical
nut revolve around that? Well, I'll crack it for you righ
t now. What are we here for? We are here
to go!

Brion Gysin

We are here to go…..TO SPACE. Added William Burroughs.


Posted by SteveThirteen on March 19, 2011 at 8:30am

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On a very light note. The
OTTT has a presence in Second Life should it be needed.

Speech enabled so another avenue of, at least virtual, communication.

Can be removed if deemed inappropriate.

Beyond that, anyone in
world just message me here for location/details.

It is free.

photo floating around.


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