A brief virtual Erisian service


We come together today…

Wait, no; we are Discordians, are we not? We do not come together; verily, as St. Mal has said, we Discordians stick apart.

For if there is a lone reed, that reed is easily broken.

And if there are many reeds, in a bundle, then won’t there be some moron with a chainsaw and the bundle’s cut in half real easy.

But suppose one of the reeds is in Atlanta; another in Helsinki; a third in the middle of Lake Uvs Nuur, Mongolia.

That’s some reeds that are safe — a distributed small stick security system that works no matter how paranoid you are.

They see you.

Or suppose there’s some reed fungus. Then those reeds in a bundle are in a real pickle! Or if someone steals the reed bundle, the whole damn fascis. What then?

And if you’re a lone reed, what if a dog comes along and piddles on you. Or takes you in its teeth and buries you somewhere. What a pickle that’d be!

This is all highly metaphorical, as I am sure you understand: the dog is the Pope. And Lake Uvs Nuur is the Pope, too.

And Mongolia is a kennel!

And that’s why we Discordians are told to stick apart. Because of the dogs. And like dogs, sometimes we too must come together. To gang on a rabbit maybe. And that rabbit, my friends, my fellow husks in Eris, that rabbit is the Man. And so, when you go mindfucking, do so in company, in memory of this person who is the person you do it in memory of, and do it regularly. Because sanity is defined by the majority.

All fail Discordia.

* * *


From the Book of Vile Darkness:

The world is a vortex of colors, lights, noise and screaming delirium.

Those in the world are grotesque hulks, fleshy bulks droning and swaying to the tune of blind idiot pipes which are the voice of the world, the voice of chaos.

This all is true, and this too: There is no friend anywhere.

What this means is that tranquility is not the natural state of anyone; and it is not a state that is stable, or easy to get to.

Worry not; tranquility is not a state to be desired, either.

Join the dance! It is not that all others are grotesque swaying hulks, and you a precious flower — you are one of us hulks too; come, sway!

The world is a vortex of many faces; you are one of them. This pandemonium of cachinnation and flickers is your natural home. There is no friend anywhere; there is no place to run to; no safehold walled away from the world’s tumult. There is no enemy anywhere; have no fear for this is where you belong.

Come, dance! The voice of the world is the voice of chaos, the voice of discord, and it is the tune for the sweetest dance of all.

* * *

#3 : MUSIC (use your imagination!)

Let us chant a bit. With three choirs, two flutes and an oboe. Also a ceremonial exhibiter of hot dog buns.

* * *


What is the voice I hear ringing?

What the voice that comes calling?

What that clash of tones, that collapse of ordered cosmoses, that din of life?

What the voice which I follow, eager, willing, hand and cock alike stretched out?

Lo, it is She; it can be no-one else.

It is She.

It is She.

It is Eris.

All hail Eris.

All praise Discordia.

* * *


What is the voice I hear singing?

What the voice with tones falling?

What that laugh of spheres, that echo of careless origins, that din of strife?

What the voice which I follow, eager, willing, hand and cunt alike stretched out?

Lo, it is She; it can be no-one else.

It is She.

It is She.

It is Eris.

All praise Eris.

All hail Discordia.

* * *




Oh yes!

Don’t stop!

Oh, Goddess!

Shake those buns!

* * *

#4: ORGY

(Help yourself.)

* * *

And to quote John Hodgman, “That is all.”

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