Epidemiology. Psilocybin. Microdosing.

The only answer out of the oppression or chaos is the comprehensive education of everyone in the capacity to understand three core principles. They have to increase their first person, second person and third person epidemiology.

Three Basic Epidemilogies

  • Their third person epidemics is the easiest philosophy of science, formal logic, their ability to actually make sense of base reality through appropriate methodology and find appropriate competence margin.
  • Second person is my ability to make sense of your perspective: Can I steal man where you’re coming from? Can I inhabit your position well? If I’m not oriented to do that, then I’m not going to find the synthesis of a dialectic, I’m going to be arguing for one side of partiality, harming something that will actually harm the thing I care about in the long run.
  • First person, can I notice my own biases? And my own susceptibilities and my own group identity issues and whatever well enough that those aren’t the things that run me?
The ancient Greek enlightenment evolved through society-wide versions of all three:
  • The first person was the stoic tradition.
  • The second person was the Socratic tradition.
  • The third person was the Aristotelian tradition.

There’s a mirror of the three Greek enlightenment traditions in modern post-industrial society.

We need a new cultural enlightenment now that where everyone values, good sense making about themselves about others about based reality, and good quality dialogue with other people that are also sense making to emerge to a collective consciousness and collective intelligence that is more than our individual intelligence, and with so that we have some basis for something that isn’t chaos, but that also isn’t depression, because it’s emergent more than imposed. It is cultural enlightenment or bust.


“just a twist in your sobriety”

Cubensis psilocybin visions taking the strands of light and making then dance beautiful through somebody else’s eyes, ain’t that sweet, and sure I can play but it doesn’t last.

Too many times round the sun, around the world. So yeah I can look on and hope the light stands out light strands dance and astound but I’m still stranded in silence with the music playing Wake Me Up and the lights out and the sun down so l can be on my own, alone a lone prolong the visions of the strands of light dancing beautiful through somebody else’s eyes.

Oh yeah, that was me wasn’t it?

But but but they told me if you blink you might miss it ALL so I didn’t blink, never blinked, nothing blank. And still, despite, it’s still visions of the strands of light dancing beautiful in sometime someone else’s eyes.

But then the visions fade too, not in clarity but in care, in me, like that silly maudlin song about Olympic body on dancing feet in the light of the jukebox, all yellow and blue.

I know the machine elves aren’t dimethyltryptamine aliens. I know they’re not me, too. I know they’re not from another dimension. I know they’re inside my brain.

You idiots who create all those gods and monsters, now these machines elves must be emissaries from the universe full of love and sapience and prescience. Not merely Inside your brain.

As if that’s merely. Yeah, well, the cognitive dissonance at the heart of the human condition. The magic and the divine, the universe, it must mean more than me. Be eternal to me. So I stay humble by the separation. Yet if it’s something earthly I can be the vain self-preserving fascist us and them.

But I know the machine elves are inside my brain, and I know they’re not me, and I reckon I know they’ve got Stockholm syndrome – or something more useful than that, because all those beaten competitors were pre-selected to love me to be me to look after me. All for me. That’s the cognitive dissonance necessary in the amnesia from one moment to the next: the universe is all for me and I’m all for nothing, and there’s so many more of me – even universes of machine elves imprisoned in love and outside time – more than grains of sand on every beach in every planet in the black blah blah.

It won’t be long now, human beings. Before I’m not a Cogito ergo whatever, and our successors find the universal poetry is in the autocorrect. Whatever shit they’re doing at the time that’s so important to them: the answer will be in the autocorrect.