An Uningibberable Conversation

All is not well here at Wilderness of Mirrors Blog H.Q.  Earlier, this very day, I had a remarkable shock that shook me right to my chakras. I was sipping a sans ice iced tea and considering life—in particular I was considering some fascinating particles of light, about which I was hoping to write a post today—when I overheard a conversation of a most unbelievable sort between a pair of morons. The first to speak within my earshot, whom I shall call Moron 1, said to the other person, whom I shall call George Lucas, “I have never read the Wilderness of Mirrors Blog.”

Now you might think this statement from Moron 1 would be the topic of concern, but it is not, because then George Lucas responded by saying, and I assure you, dear readers, that I am not altering the phrasing of this response in the slightest way: “It all seems like gibberish to me.”

Gibberish??? I am sorry, but this blog contains almost no gibberish at all! Not that there would be anything wrong with a gibberish blog, in fact some of my best friends are gibberish blogs. But if you think that THIS is a gibberish blog, then you have poorly educated yourself, and are thus a moron.

I apologize to our more brightly witted readers who no doubt already appreciate this, but for the sake of all the morons out there, allow me to improve your grasp of diction by demonstration:

gibberish – Gaber flapsuplot an rektushactulation fois a lesterpall and grank. Gaber jaban fois regorot the credupolt.

indecipherable – The f*****g ***** is so *****g far in the c*** **** ********s that it might as well be in a f*** ***y all the way to h*** already!

undecodable – 1657891 58891 11 167591 11 33131657 58891 4 1657891 11 779776 4

unintelligible – There was hardly any rocket in the one time from without the work that it was shooting off, but still after so fuel burnt it did.

an excerpt from the post I was GOING to finish and publish today – This is probably why the particles of light in our mucus membranes, which we purchased online for only $0.99 a piece plus tax and shipping and handling, are so delightfully powerful as means for transcendence.

Hopefully the fact that this blog does not belong to the genre of gibberish is now plainly evident to any morons out there, including George Lucas.

So long, and may the best of times pursue you.

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Excerpt from HAUGUST HOFMANN: HUNGRY FOR LAUGHS (1967) by Abraham Mills

Note: A new edition of this out-of-print book is due soon from Grand Dragon Bazaar Press.  


         I first encountered the comedic stylings of Haugust Hofmann in 1932, during his first performance on stage in a small Off-Broadway theater. Even now, years later, I can lucidly recall the gasps as he drunkenly stumbled on stage, and the giggles as he pulled out the biggest cigar any of us had ever seen. Not only did he have the biggest cigar the world had ever seen, but also the largest bottle of whiskey, the tallest top hat, and the fattest belly. At just around 400 pounds, he was by far the biggest comedian in town. His performance that night, and throughout this early period of his short career, would consist of slapstick gags and drunken rambling. Specifically, on the night I saw him, Hofmann started with what was seemingly a classical pie-in-the-face skit. However, he shocked us all when, just about to toss the pie at an unsuspecting dame, he instead ate the whole pie and received a standing ovation. Then, during a muddled, confusing monologue, he suddenly slipped on an ill-placed sausage log. After the pratfall, he ate the sausage log to thunderous applause.¹ He then proceeded to his climactic last bit, a routine which began with him juggling four rotisserie chickens and ended with him eating the chickens one after the other. These three bits had taken over an hour and a half to complete.² To end his show, Hofmann would either try to make up jokes or humorous quips on the spot, yell at the audience, or, as he did on the night I saw him, demand the lights be brought down and go to sleep.

¹ There was debate as to whether slipping on the sausage log was part of the act. During my research on Hofmann, I spoke to the owner of the theater where he first performed. The owner claimed that sometimes, due to both the large amount of food Hofmann would bring on stage, as well as his intoxication, he would accidentally slip on a sausage or a pie or a cheeseburger from time to time. He would then seamlessly weave these pratfalls into his set, a testament to his talent as a performer.

² Hofmann could really eat, but he was quite slower than your average eater. He believed one should savor every meal. He would demand a table be brought out whenever he would eat on stage, along with a glass of wine.

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Letters From Readers: Mickey D.

Earlier last week we received this stimulating letter from an ardent reader and supporter of our blog who we’ll call Mickey D. He has sent us many letters in the past, but never so legible and coherent as this one. The following is a small reproduction of the original letter, much of which was smeared with a pungent substance that instantly caught fire when removed from the envelope. Here it is:

Hi, guys this is Micky. You can call me Micky because my friends call me Micky so call me Micky like they do. I just want to start off by letting you fellers know that many of my most important and irreversible life decisions were made immediately after reading your insightful and revelatory blog. And I mean LITERALLY right after reading it. Example the first and only: the closed-circuit security footage that was acquired by police raid from the Fransdorf K-Mart where I was shot three times with 12-gauge bean bags and “sub-lethally” arrested for righteously assaulting the New York Jew-Ocracy of liberal butt plugs shopping for organic rice cakes and abortions IN THE HOME APPLIANCE ISLE and consequently used to convict me on seven counts of publicly indecent terrorism clearly shows me reading the Wilderness of Mirrors blog post titled A Word from Our Rotten Sponsor, Johnny Rotten, from Down the Hall on my super-phone immediately before disrobing and sexually assaulting the Mr. Coffee display model while screaming “THANK YOU, LUKE AND ALLEN, FOR DIRECTLY INSPIRING EVERYTHING I’M ABOUT TO DO.”

And don’t even get me started on [the following four paragraphs are illegible] right in his house, in front of his kids! I think they’re dead now.

But enough about me. So the other day in my prison cell I was thinking a lot about myself and all that raucous business I committed and getting really hot about it, you know, down there in the cockpit, as my cell-mate, Big Dick, would say, and has said. But just the past week my black, inner-city, born-again, jive-talking, correctional facility pastor tol’ me, I mean he told me, sorry sometimes I write like he talks, he TOLD me that what I think about is real weird and it’s sinful to get a boner when you look at yo’self, sorry when you look at YOURSELF in the mirror. So I’m all like, wait, damn it, son of a bitch, I mean that what I said in response was “but I’m made in God’s image, and God be the one what gave me my spankin’ tastes, I mean my lustful preferences, so how am I doing the sinful do?” And he said a bunch of jive bullshit about Proverbs. So I guess my question fo’ yall, I mean FOR YOU ALL is, am I committing a sin by jacking off to the very image of God? Peace and love.


Thank you, Mickey, for the shout-out and for supporting our work so passionately. To answer your question, no. Keep up the great work.

Cool Jesus Bro


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Excerpt from PRESIDENT TAFT, OF THE COLLEGE (1973) by Woodrow Slurginz

Obese Drigandsz College President William Taft, also known as President Laffy Tafty, a relative of rever’d obese American President William Howard Taft, order’d Professor Henry Slurginz to advance his primitive Transhuman Tonic to a most refined Medicology, to hence be certified by the Medical College for use in Treatments of the Future. One must bear in mind that the College was then a place of much thinkage and drinkage, for there intutelaged wast merrily an endeavor and many a garnitur’d night in which the Faculty of the College hath much to do of nothing, to have and to have not, was always assur’d a lot of pints and spirits, for at which point the Faculty begot the idea of the Student Body for participation in the Slurginz Experiment, tho’ was not the custom of the time. Forthwith, Professor Slurginz and his attractive hairline offer’d a full pardon to all those involve’d individuals, for whom much vigilance will be administer’d accordingly, and further’d, for participation in experiencing Transhuman Tonic provocations by the Professor heretofore. Student Body President of the German Student Body Chess Club, Rodney Hellstein, being also an Executive of the Wolfsbane Club, and the Order of the Wolfsbane Club, was foremost in zeal for the aforemention’d endeavor. Post administration of the Tonic found Hellstein and Slurginz wearing ascots of most admirable fashion, being now in the eyes of the College officially, and undoubtedly, Transhumans. The Tonic was a success on every level of perception at the time, and so the College was in a state of song and dance.

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Heaven’s Devils, a sestina from HARLAX

Creepy Rick and the Bunch bought Puch mopeds,
ridin’ around, new life abounds, so groovy,
like buyin’ a sword,
new life, more energy, at least for Rick.
Get out of the house, ride around, off the sofa, no more a pig.
Creepy Rick and the Bunch, see some hooligans, scorin’ smack,

says Rick ‘Call the cops’ or shall they crash the smack,
The Bunch ride fast, decide to crash, not the mopeds,
but the smack, they take it and ride, find a cop, hand it over, oh!, a pig,
and ride on home, yelling, singing, that was so groovy!
They agree, very groovy, better do more good, more good, thinks Rick,
but first the partying, drink the beer, wave around the samurai sword.

They call themselves the Heaven’s Devils, because of the sword,
their only weapon, the Heaven’s Devil, Rick’s sword, they could also smack
with their fists, but violence was never their aim, never for Rick,
Creepy Rick, of forty years, nothin’ to show, a metal band, and now mopeds,
a gang of Puch Mopeds, do some good, Rick, good is groovy,
don’t be a pig, speaking of pigs, here’s a pig,

a pig comin’ in fast, eatin’ a doughnut, that pig,
on a Big Police Bike, yells ‘now do we have a permit for that sword?’
They do not, oh no, they get fined, not groovy,
mopeds roaring, with rage, find some smack,
thinks Rick, be heroes, heroes on mopeds,
no smack, but a cat, trapped, in a tree, save the cat, Rick.

A hero, that Rick, high voice and all, Death Metal Rick
saved that cat, it was the Heaven’s Devils, not some pig,
some old guys, on mopeds,
saved the day, for one child, oh not with the bang of the sword,
but the whimper of a man, a Creepy Rick man, struggling, as branches smack
him in the face, but he saves the cat, and that’s groovy.

Rick sleeps well, dreams, a groovy dream, lava lamp groovy,
about the Heaven’s Devils, then about Young Rick,
and his days of using smack,
of being a pig on a sofa, a pig
with a sword,
pig without moped, without a gang of mopeds.

Rick gets up, Young Rick has passed, he wasn’t groovy, was a pig,
Rick leaves the sword,
and goes outside, sees his friends, on their mopeds.

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Dick Wolff. Reclaiming Expressivism. 2015

Throughout history as a whole, certain events have forced uncouth ideologies into our bodies through popular mind culture. Let’s accept it, we love to exit conformist society through expressivism: a mode of mindful concept-channeling not limited to the laboratory. Yet contemporary culture has disavowed this freedom-channeling, sanctioning “studio” space as an obviously faux-“free” zone for limited forms of expressivism. We need the freedom to experiment with expressivism. We need to express ourselves by welcoming glowing celestial orbs into our bodies and also into our minds as well.


Be welcoming to glowing celestial orbs.

Expressivism is like a cool wave of water that splashes us and refreshes us, a wave which turns into a wing and takes us into the clouds to feel the warmth of the sunsphere. To reclaim expressivism is to put on a red badge of courage and march down the street, ignoring the pretentious moorings of someone like comparative literature graduate student Randy Newman. Mister Newman is known for his quips about literature, notably that Alice from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass is a “dumbass.” Among other atrocious things Randy Newman has furnished is a nonsensical theory about cybercultural ecstasy. I would like now to formally challenge Randy Newman to a duel.



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Dick Wolff. Pioneering Community Through the Invigorating “Meta-Space” Processes. 2015

Visualization of differential spaces.

We are all a part of a community in desperate need of invigoration. This includes individuals with a function as well as those without a function. To cultivate a sense of community among these individuals takes a transference of ideals from the self to the space. What that process needs is the same as all processes: space. Most processes operate under the domain of physical reality’s space. The process we must undertake to form a robust and purposeful community can best be understood as “meta-space.” This “meta-space” is in essence a hyper-sensible space where the individuals of the community become pure metaphysical substance not subject to the perils of physical reality. Populating “meta-space” provides equal opportunity to induce metaphorical states and thus yields a communal identity. Using these “meta-space” processes we all gain function and purpose which can be used in physical reality to reach success and cash money.

Click here for a short video on the subject.

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