Had that grating voice, so real, yet so absurd in concept, changed his life, for better or worse?
"Lightfoot', as I recall, was rather a coarse fellow, somewhat reclusive and independent, with a tendency towards hedonistic self-indulgence and a narrow view of the world and humanity.
"Hopefully over time, I've become a bit less rough, and have broadened my perspectives. We are all 'works in progress', and I consider myself fortunate to have had the same "Employer" through various incarnations of what has now become the Temporary Autonomous Zoners."
Mal polished off the "Tres Seisas" dark, and rose to grab another pair, wondering when Reggie had gotten them into the specialty brewing business. "Three Sixes", eh? The bugger. He grabbed a pillow of his own and squatted down next to the journalist.
"When 'we', the Goddess and I, first got into the business of balancing the Chao, She had taken a look at the 'ledger', and sensed that the Hodge was winning, in the form of stricter House governments, larger militaries, and a lack of decent 'disorderlies' to balance the equation. Oh, there were strong Corsair and Outcast groups, but they were busy balancing their own particular Chao.
"Why Eris picked the Lane Hackers for our chosen banner escapes me now; but we roamed where we could, 'throwing pies', and sundry monkey wrenches at the forces of Hodge. I believe we managed to take out some of the wobble, at least.
"We also gave the Sector a sense of humor, and new things to think about; but 'pirating' back then was not the business it is today, lad. We tightened our belts, and even had "Frankless Fridays".
"I think my first Pineal meltdown happened somewhere around there.. the time of the ELF's 'diaspora', going our separate ways as Epopts and missionaries to the various Houses and factions of Sirius, both Hodge and Podge.
"Well, Eris is a sharp cookie, Acolyte Skripto. It didn't take her long to discover who the 'real' power in the Sector was. the people who could make and shake, and act behind the scenes while remaining in plain site.
"From that point forward, Eris and her Followers have adopted the Zoner way. The Veranda Gang, the Free State of Fernando Poo, and finally, the TAZ."
He had been avoiding the big question, thinking about it as he had reminisced on the Church's history.
"Yes, Gypsie, I believe I have changed. I believe the Church has changed and evolved. I believe that though we must "stick apart", we do not exist and evolve in a vacuum. Perceptions, and Realities, are created by consensus, not by individuals. I have been blessed by the people I have met, and 'shared' realities with. And, of course, there's always that snarky Voice barging in with Her opinion...
"There will always be Chaos. It is the fabric of the Universe. 'Indra's Net'. What we choose to weave into the fabric of that net determines who we are."
Gyps was more interested in the interview as each of Mal's words came out of his mouth. He tried to meditate about what the Episkopos was saying at the same time he was thinking what should be asked next. Somehow, he told to himself, this was exactly the interview he was expecting. But on the other hand, he felt Mal's eristic character was making it flow in a new, compromised way, he was not expecting. After all, the Episkopos Prime of the Goddess Eris and her Church in Sirius was a busy person. And so Gyp was very grateful with him, and Goddess. He makes a pause, and then says:
Well Mal, you say you have been blessed by the people you have met, and that leads me to another question I wanted to ask. Mind if I smoke? He lits his cigarrette with a silver, old fashioned lighter.
Are you aware of how crucial were Goddess' plans for Reg Waverly in your own life story? His search for you was at times frustrating, at times exhausting, yet he never gave up FNORD. How farther than you thought you could take it has Discordianism gone thanks to the help you have recieved from your fellow cabbages? Even false cabbages.
Also, how much do you weight Mal?
He ended this last question with an ear-to-ear smile.
The kid had panache, he'd give him that. Perhaps he'd be just what Eris and the TAZ needed to edit a "house rag". Given all the cries of "anarchists!" and "traitors!" the TAZ had elicited lately, even from their own Zoner brethren, having a more "public" face might dispel these ridiculous myths.
"Reginald Asmodeus Waverly wasn't called by Eris. Reggie, or 'Daddy Warbucks', as he was known when I met him on Curacao, didn't have a clue about Discordianism. His calling was business, plain and simple, and he was damn good at it!"
Mal placed his thoughts in order, wanting to do justice to his oldest friend and partner.
"'Pops' Warbucks was working for IND when we met, plying the lanes in a garish Luxury Liner. He fancied himself part 'Warbucks', a legendary Terran billionaire, and part 'Mark Twain', a riverboat gambler and homespun philosopher. It was immediately apparent that the man was shrewd, astute, and could smell a good business deal from a parsec away. So, I approached him, not with converting him in mind, but with a business 'question'.
At the time, I was dabbling in some hydroponics on Curacao, attempting to grow what later would be known as 'Kallisti Gold', the sacrament of Eris and her followers. You see, that old Cryer nonsense that 'not a single seed' survived the journey from Sol was just marketing propaganda. Cannabis is a durable weed, Gypsie, and I was able to find not only Indica seeds, but some Sativa as well. Seeds I had, but hydroponic growing took a long while, and the crop lacked potency, for some reason.
At first, Reggie was put off by the fact that there was no market in the Sector. I patiently explained that I didn't intend to market the 'drug', and that it would be used solely in Discordian rituals and meditation. I almost lost him at that point, but after another 'umbrella' drink at the Curacao Sheraton, I could sense the wheels turning in that entrepeneural brain of his."
There was so much to tell about how it all started, and Mal wanted to be as clear and "chronological" as possible.
"Reggie had recently become fond of visiting a planet in the Omega 49 system. The planet was sparsely populated by Zoners and a few Corsairs at the time.. oh.. and some Coalition lads who were still valiantly trying to get revenge for being dumped on by the Alliance.. but I digress..
"Gran Canaria was extremely fertile, most of it bathed 18 hours a day or more by its' hot twin suns. Reggie suggested that it might be an ideal spot for growing our sacrament; but also mentioned other 'cash crops' that the Sector would welcome.. tobacco, coffee beans, even juniper berries to put the tang back in the nasty beverage purporting to be 'gin' at posh bars.
"After a few more hours, and lots of umbrellas, we had shaken hands on a partnership. I would purchase a few thousand acres on Gran Canaria, and Reggie would oversee the 'plantation'. He would also provide the means to move the current hydroponics operation from Cortez to 49.
"Reg kept his job with IND for another year, helping to nurse the plantation through the first growing season. Meanwhile, he chartered 'Waverly LLC', 'Laughing Goddess Bakeries', (at the time, we were still throwing a lot of pies for Eris), and built what was to become 'Veranda Incognita', the base of operations for ELF, and its' later incarnations. Reg began studying the Holy Tome, and converted to Discordianism.
"So, in an appleseed, Reggie 'Warbucks' Waverly was responsible in large part for giving the ELF the financial backing to expand and evolve. Discordianism had a home, and I had made a lifelong friend."
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He was wound up tighter than a drum when he came seeking the place he had heard of, The Kiva, a place to "water the soul." Between Bretonians, Gallians and his own supposed friends questioning his honesty, John Holliday needed to decompress.
He had heard of Kiva but had never seen it. He didn't know how to arrive or what to expect. All that he knew was that Malaclypse was very good with the soul and he sought his old friend for such healing. He arrived in full robes, figuring he would be learning as he went. As he searched, he grumbled, his frustrations having gotten the best of him. When he got to where he thought the Kiva was, he just started calling, "Mal? Mal!"
A head popped out of the grass. Then shoulders. The owner of said parts spied the source of bewilderment.
"Hey, Doc! Over here, Chief! We're below ya." The head disappeared.
A change of viewpoint. Two booted feet appeared, searching cautiously for the rungs of the ladder descending into the Kiva. As Holliday reached the Kiva's floor, Mal took one look at the formal Discordian attire Doc had chosen for his visit. Without a word, he raised the seat of a nearby circular bench, took out a spare pair of swimming togs, and held them out to the bemused Ambassador.
"These should fit, John. I was about to steam the place. Young Skripto and I need to 'lose' some cerveza obscura, or we'll be too muddled to continue the interview.
"Oh, have you met our new Acolyte and investigative journalist, Gypsie Skripto? Gypsie, this is Doctor Ambassador John Henry Holliday, Administrator of the TAZ. John, Gypsie."
Mal scampered up the ladder, and slid the Kiva's 'door' into place. He poked at a control panel, powering up the firepit's newly-installed induction coils, and within minutes the Kiva was filled with a thick, intense cloud of steam. He chuckled as the two men gasped, struggling to get their lungs accustomed to the moist atmosphere. A touch of sage, and a touch of 'Gold', and the gasping subsided.
"Let's go off the record for awhile, Gypsie. John, what can I do for you, sir?"
Gypsie Skripto stood up and offered the newcomer a handshake. He stood there, amused with all the situation. This was a good day indeed, he was not only able to interview the Polyfather, but was also able to meet famous Doctor Holliday in person. Maybe he could drop a bomb at him before he left. Actually, the next question he intended to ask did involve him, what amused the somewhat young reporter. But, in any case, this was no place to deny that Goddess acts in mischievous ways, and sometimes gets a little bitchy. Hail Discordia.
Kallisti Doc! It´s an honour to meet you in person and such!
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Doc shook the hand of Gypsie, "an honor to meet you too, Sir." After the handshake, he turned to Mal with a nod, "nice to see you again, old Friend."
Doc sighed. It was obvious he wasn't a happy camper. "What can you do for me?" he began, "Well, between Gallia, Bretonia, increaded piracy in my own space and my own friends seeming to turn on me, I just figured I would see if what I heard is true, The Kiva giving refreshment to the soul."
He managed to force a very weak smile, "Mine could use it."
With a what-the-heck look, he took the togs. He looked at them, then at Mal and then the togs again.
"I suppose I need to get into these things," he said, looking around.
"We're all 'roosters' here, Doc. I would advise a change, before those Robes become 10 pounds of soggy sweat collectors.."
"Gypsie, my boy, scoot up to Lvl 23 in the Central tower, would you?
We're almost out of these fine Tres Seises brews, and I think there's some sort of Rheinlandish bock swill in my fridge up there.
"Meanwhile John Henry.. shuck that getup and let the steam work.. you'll be a limp noodle in jig time. Then we can determine whether you've been listening to your head, or your gut."
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"All Roosters," Doc thought to himself. He had seen the anatomy of both sexes is his medical tenure so he figured there would be no shame. With a shrug, he removed his robes and put on the togs.
"I'll make it easy for you, Mal," he said, "I've used both my gut and head." At this point, he just followed the lead of the TAZ high priest.
Quote:Seventh Trip, or Netzach (the SNAFU Principle)
The most thoroughly and relentlessly Damned, banned, excluded, condemned, forbidden, ostracized, ignore, suppressed, repressed, robbed, brutalized and defamed of all Damned Things is the individual human being. The social engineers, statistician, psychologist, sociologists, market researchers, landlords, bureaucrats, captains of industry, bankers, governors, commissars, kings and presidents are perpetually forcing this Damned Thing into carefully prepared blueprints and perpetually irritated that the Damned Thing will not fit into the slot assigned it. The theologians call it a sinner and try to reform it. The governor calls it a criminal and tries to punish it. the psychologist calls it a neurotic and tries to cure it. Still, the Damned Thing will not fit into their slots.
"Notice the plural "slots" in the last sentence? We humans are conditioned to process and solve things in a serial fashion, one thing at a time. When multiple issues arise simultaneously, we become anxious that all the "slots" won't get filled. We attempt to prioritze the slots, to determine which of them is in our best interest to "fit" in. For the person who prioritizes with a single point of view, say, self-interest, the process is fairly simple. 'Do that first which gets me the most.'
"You my friend, are burdened with many mantles, all of which must be weighed in deciding which "Master" to acknowledge, placate, and pacify, and in what particular order.
"You have your wonderful family. You have your Hippocratic Oath. You have your responsibilities as Administrator and Ambassador, tasked with the welfare of the TAZ. And, always, you have Eris whispering in your ear, telling you that you've experienced and survived Chapel Perilous many times, and will do so again."
Mal paused as grunts and curses filled the Kiva. He and Doc both began to chuckle, and finally roar at the sight of Gypsie Skripto trying to descend the Kiva's ladder with a full case of Ingolstadt Redeye Bock balanced on his shoulder. The two old friends wiped tears from their eyes as the Acolyte, trying to appear suave, coolered the beer and passed around bottles which condensed instantly in the Kiva's thick atmosphere.
"And then there are times when laughter and a good buzz are the best medicine!