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“Yes. That’s right. Don’t be so judgy. I am politely interacting with the hermeneutics-of-suspicion minds of the Carcosa dwellers, embedding the superstructure of the blatherings with base corruptions, presenting forms concealing reality, floottering reflexes and echoes of other determining forces that do fundamental work in manifesting any real social change. And the susceptible dwellers are always down for discussion, which I appreciate to no end. And the ideology of the nineteenth coming from minds like Nietzsche, Comte, Kant, Marx, and Hegel was analyzed in the twentieth century by minds like James, Freud, and Jung, and then that analysis of nineteenth century ideology was itself critiqued in the twenty-first century, the age of hyperprofilicity, and that critique of the analysis of nineteenth century ideology metamorphosed into a new type of cluster of ideologies and then into a steadfast adherence of the pseudoscientific theory of the critique of the analysis.”

“Language shifted, as it always does…they endured the harsh world. They softened their edges in an attempt to soften the edges of opposing forces. Sometimes this didn’t work. Sometimes it worked. They sought a cure no more. They realized the cure is the journey of the struggle. They realized that those times of sharp edges come from the top of the pyramid, from a few, and not some swarm of many infected, evil souls.”

“Physis (Emerging-Abiding Sway), yes that’s the oink thing’s christian name, the café’s semi-official mascot, philosophical provocateur, and occasionally extradimensional notary, chose this exact moment to poke his head, feathered, contemplative, and faintly iridescent, through the bead curtain that separated the main patio from what the proprietor called the “Reflexology Lounge,” but which was, in truth, just where they stored the broken espresso machine and three cursed stools. Physis tilted his head, blinked once, slowly, as if absorbing not light but context, and let out a warbling honk that echoed like a misremembered thesis defense. He was, as ever, the embodiment of that which emerges and then stubbornly, inexplicably abides. And then, as mysteriously as he had arrived, he withdrew.”

“That's total mech waste. I'm glad I trusted my gut and didn't hand this thing over to the Order. I'm glad I sat with this commonplace for so many units. I'm not sure if I've ever believed in the transmogrification. I'm not too sure if I cared very much about this book at all. But I think if I had handed this book over to the Order, Mr. Smalls and his cronies would have burned this book. Even if I am not sure about the transmogrification of the data I can see now so many units later so much of Pop and Mabel’s cryptz in here. I think it's true what they say about youth thinking they’ve got it all figured out. I'm glad I attempted as hard as I could to stave off rigidity. So many of my fellow etceterists found their little box, climbed inside, had the box taped shut from the outside with the help of peer reinforcement, taped it from the inside too, parceled themselves off, and lost themselves in the realm of the archival sublime.”

“The outpost is called Iggnïs. The monks, just like the rest of Sacrum Regnum Ex Tempore, are not Christian like the rest of the kingdoms of Europe. We practice a religion known as Ecclesia Improvisa or The Unforeseen Church, a religion from what Dr. Z gathered in his travels invoked an entity known as Par’hypono’ian through a method Z said looked exactly like the modern improv comedy theatre technique of Yes-And-If-Then.”