I’m a fan of coffee, we all know this. What you don’t know is that I have imbibed the “Brown Juice of Justice” as i call it in order to transcend all mortal boundaries and feel my way clumsily through the NeverVerse (patent pending) to a rapid, pants-pissingly accelerated enlightenment. Sure, we could hypothesize all day that maybe I’m just sensitive to caffeine. OR MAYBE I AM CHOSEN BY THE GODS BENEATH TO BREATHE PRISMATIC ESPRESSO FIRE AT YOUR SOULS. It really could be either one.

All I know is that above a certain coffee-based speed, time slows down, and beyond the beyond, lies the reverse. When the sum of all observable matter collapses around you in a flash and matter is pulled inward to an inevitable beginning; There lies the dormant cells of the universe that came before in a reality based on what some would call “Spooky stuff” or “The world of Dragons” Dragons are bitching, they should have a whole universe of lizard people that breathe fire. But they pay taxes and drive silly cars and go to plays about wingless pink skinned worm people who punch the sun.

I’m fairly certain that I can peel back the film of reality like the screen cover on your phone and find out that in fact, yes, we can scratch at our perceptions beneath (and this reality is filthy). Leaving rifts in time and space that pour out dirty jokes and pop music from the veil of souls. I’m off topic though. What I wanted to say is that I got a new coffeemaker and that shit is fire. Love you all, you’re nothing but atoms. Peace.

COFFEE: As I drank a cappuccino too quickly today I felt my mind fly ever-deeper into the void. Past the microscopic, the sub-atomic, the quantum-theoretical. Beyond infinitive where non-euclidean geometry forms. Where brain weasels reign supreme from thrones made of frosted glass and old homework from the 5th grade that nobody ever bothered to read. Where Tamagotchi go when they die again.

Hence all decisions and a total lack thereof became one and the same and everything I could and would accomplish in the span of a relative time stream became the ultimate and complete lack of any relevant product or result. Meaning that by doing nothing I was doing everything.

As I sat and pondered this I thought of a snippet of poetry, a clever version of chess, a passive aggressive greeting that will really show that guy by the water cooler he’s not amusing, a hilarious and offensive innuendo that ended up being a triple entendre, and what an inside-out origami monster would look like. After the quick glance at the clock I realized that 0.0005 seconds had passed, the cup is still in my hands, the coffee on it’s way to my mouth, the liquid sloshing inevitably toward my psyche.

I am the light fantastic. I am the technicolor dreamcoat. I am the jester of the kingdom at the end of the universe and I smell like cinnamon forever from this day forth. I have decided. My will be done. It is so.#TooMuchCaffeine

Going down the rabbit hole of WikiHow’s ‘Random Article‘ button can be a productive experience. You can pick up some desert island skills. You can also learn some things that will make other people stare at you blankly. Whatever I’m practically on the spectrum anyway you assholes. Here’s some recent highlights.

How to Make Jolly Ranchers


Fuck you I like em

How to “Say No” to Teenage Sex


I didn’t find this one useful

How to Look like a Princess


…Maybe if I had gotten this one first though.

How to Treat a Wound Created by an Impaled Object


So a guy walks into a bar and says, Any teenaged princesses want some jolly ranchers? You’ll never BELIEVE what happened next.

How to Avoid Being Served Court Papers or Notices


The saga continues.

How to Make an Ocean Diorama for Earth Day


OK this one doesn’t quite fit into the theme but is still a handy thing to know

How to Attract Birds


free minions

How to Identify a Gifted Child


more free minions

How to Tell Your Parents You Want to Act


Also applies to ‘Dance’

How to Forgive a Cheating Husband


see ‘stab wound,’ above


And finally the most essential skill of all

How to Tell the Difference between Essential Oil and Infused Oil


I dared my friend Alex “Prozac” Cohen to write an HP Lovecraft Fan Fiction story in 20 minutes and the son of a bitch did it.

The Aberration on Holly Street

A lifetime of various trials, failures and fortuitous relationships settled me into a uniquely engrossing and well-suited career option four years ago; in my discussions with friends and family I describe myself as a chronicler of the human condition. In truth I report and summarize incidents for an insurance broker. It is an occupation that has presented to me the frail and mercurial human condition in all its forms. In these last four years I have written on incidents that would surely disturb the minds of many. However, as an uninvolved party, I have taken careful consideration to avoid allowing these events to affect my own mind, and more importantly the work itself. As such I have grown numb to many of the horrors mankind inflicts upon itself, which I’m sure you can imagine on your own.

However, my most recent casefile has cast my put-on bravado into doubt. No longer do I carry the self-assurance of one whose only role it is to record these incidents factually and without bias. No longer do I believe that the darkness within the human spirit, which I have studiously logged, is entirely the fault of our baser instincts. Following the incident at 172 Holly Street, I will freely admit, and proclaim to the world, that there is a force pressing down upon us that drives us to these actions and that we will never fully understand. My colleagues have pleaded with me to avoid interjecting my own belief into these reports. I cast those concerns aside. I will never file another report and indeed wish to avoid all human contact for as long as my days remain. I would pray that not many days remain, and perhaps this can be attributed to the fever that has struck me upon learning more about this last incident, but I no longer am sure who might be listening to our prayers.

Perhaps this seems dramatic. There was a time not long ago I would have laughed at such assertions as well. But once you have come to learn of Adam Stevens and his role in the 172 Holly Street fire, the great hero Adam Stevens, perhaps you will come to feel as I have.


The first thing I noticed, after coming upon the scene at the dreaded address, were the balloons. Deflated, singed, and ever-present, they covered the yard with a grotesque, overwhelming smell of burnt plastic. I had often logged the aftermath of arson and each time the smell was similar – charred wood and stripped paint. However, it was evident that the comically large amount of balloons strewn across the lawn had taken the place of this familiar scent. A birthday party, luxuriously decorated and overstated to a lunatic degree, had placed them everywhere across the house. All colors and shapes, strewn across every part of the decadent front lawn, must have created a wondrous site and guaranteed a festive atmosphere. I would come to learn that they also overwhelmed the house. It is possible, and I could have discovered more if I had the stomach, that the decorations had played some part in the rapid spread of the blaze.

It is worth sharing now that the mortality rate in this incident, given all that was at risk, was low; ultimately, only Steven Adams and one child, William Abner, remain unaccounted for. The celebration was apparently attended by over 60 people, the young friends of William (who house and birthday it was) and their parents. Much of the evidence and information-gathering I presented in this report come from their accounts, gathered slowly and painstakingly after the incident, in which many remained and watched the framework of the home slowly disintegrate.

None could account for the start of the fire, or how they knew to exit the house. Too, none could recall seeing Steven Adams at or near the ruinous party beforehand. He was no neighbor, either – other evidence has confirmed he lived in a nearby town in no convenient proximity.

And yet all accounts of his heroism point to some sort of advanced knowledge of the event. The consensus viewpoint, from many of the adults present, is that while they gathered and waited outside the house for emergency services, Steven Adams bolted through the crowd and with no hesitation whatsoever sprinted directly into the burning house. It has been said even that he pushed a small child facedown into the lawn, in his haste to enter the building. Who was this man, I was asked by each of the witnesses. Indeed he was a mystery to them, and in particular Mr. and Mrs. Abner who evidently left their child behind in the house. Later evidence indicates he was relatively plain, possessing a frame that seemed almost sickly in its thin and unbalanced nature, paired with a far above average height. Multiple times, it was noted to me that he was not a graceful runner. Given the circumstances, which could favorably be describe as panic-inducing, his lankiness and urgency crated a noticeably odd running gait. As well, his cavalier treatment of the child in his path, whom he had little trouble brushing aside, was not described as a natural motion. If not for his obviously heroic intentions, it could have appeared intentional and distressing, bore the account of one witness.

Regardless, Steven Adams had little trouble making his way into the building, which of course is where reliable witness ends. However, there are certain facts that we can confirm from this point forward, and while not public knowledge, they are each more disturbing than the last.

The first great evil that I came upon is that after easily opening the front door of 172 Holly street, Steven Adams appears to have bolted the door behind in, preventing the intrusion of any other parties and potentially even his own escape. His motivations at this point are not clear but given that the door was found still bolted upon examination of the wreckage, his responsibility is certain.

The second item that confused me, and indeed would confuse anyone, relates to the unfortunate Mr. William Abner, very newly aged 12. His remains were found up the staircase that originated from the front entryway, and he had evidently either become wedged and partially trapped, his leg pinned down by a small piece of the ceiling. His placement upon the staircase was without question visible from the front entryway and now, unconscionably, I am forced to believe that Steven Adams could not have failed to notice the young gentlemen. And yet, his path through the house continued along the first floor, ignoring the child in dire need of an adult’s strength to escape his trappings and subsequently the blazing structure.

Evidence exhumed from the home’s remains has painted a clearer path of Steven Adams path – through the first floor, through a small kitchen door and down into the home’s basement. A direct path, speaking to an advance knowledge of the house or some critical need to enter the basement. From whence the flames originated? It is difficult to confirm, but an open possibility.

Who was this man, who had such knowledge of the house and such disregard for the well-being of small children? The papers and official reports count him as a good Samaritan, but at this point I could not say. I know that no report speaks of what else was found in the basement, or if it does the records have been changed. I know I hesitate greatly in scribing it even here. The answer is simple, to the extent that I must be considered mad for even elaborating upon them, but the charred remains of a humanoid statue were the only notable findings in that darkened underground dwelling. A dark, melted mass that has pooled into the earthen floor of the basement. It is impossible to say what it once resembled, but certainly nothing human, despite its relatively large standing – over five feet tall in its original form, although melted down it had taken on an elongated facsimile of a man. Stretched, melted into an obscene mockery of the human form that mirrored Steven Adams own reflection of a typical human shape. Still hot to the touch, when investigated, and seemingly still in motion, when looked at through the very edges of my vision.

It was not, of course, Mr. Adams himself. He too was found in the basement, burnt as any man in his position would be. Curled over, and in fact kneeling before the icon itself, they suffered their fate together, and all while young William Adler took his last breath.


I have been told that I am reading too much into things. That the stress of my position has led to misinterpretations. And yet I am convinced that my reading of the day’s events is, if uninformed, not wholly inaccurate. It is my wholehearted belief that the statue in the Holly house basement in some way caused the rapid blaze with the express intent to stomp out the joyous celebration taking place above it. How, I do not know. And how it was ultimately foiled, I cannot say. But when it became clear that no great act of mayhem was to take place, Steven Adams was called somehow and made of himself an additional sacrifice.

Theory alone – but as a God-fearing man the existence of such an entity has instilled in me a sense of dread and curiosity that cannot be sated. I submit this report now standing outside the home of Steven Adams and well-equipped to make illegal entry. I do so now at the risk of myself, this is I understand and commit to! But I do as a man who must know more about the forces that compel us. That draw us in and make games of our mortal lives. I have questioned, in my preparation for this home invasion, whether I am being summoned myself, but I can pay that no mind. I must know more. And so I conclude these writings, admitting fully to all guilt, and hope to return shortly to update my findings, no matter what horrors I may stumble upon in the dead man’s home.


yeah, I think it can die


So can we all


I’m pretty sure we will


I plan on not

I’m hoping the singularity will come before I die

I need to upload my consciousness Rei, the world needs me


hey that’s my goal too

but also only if my actual conciousness can be uploaded, not just a clone of it. I want it to actually be me. Not a copy and the original me dies

so they need to work that out first


I think that’s semantic

the only difference there is that you Get killed vs die naturally


yes and no

like, I want THIS ME to continue

*I* want to continue


Yeah but if it’s a perfect copy?


that’s nice for the copy but this is about selfish survival instinct

a copy is basically progeny

I want literal immortality – not immortality through offspring


Let’s put it this way, if you had 1 year to live and you could copy yourself now but you would transfer to the net, your body would collapse and die. Vs You can copy yourself and your body can keep going for another year ?


No that’s the thing i don’t care about my body

if I could upload my mind right now

I would do it but I want it to be the *me* that I am

not a copy of me with my memories

not a duplicate


A perfect copy wouldn’t be progeny, that would just be a copy. You’re not creating ‘something’ with your traits you’re copying ALL your traits, progeny by nature is not a perfect copy


do you get what I mean?

I want THIS self to survive


you know in The Sixth Day


I think a perfect copy would read to you as ‘this’ self

you’re arnold shwarzenegger? Or Johnny cab?


and the clone THINKS he is the original, he has all the same thoughts and memories and impulses


Well yeah, but that assumes that the clone is kept ignorant of his origin. Which honestly could be fine


but he is NOT the original

this isn’t about the clone

this is about the original

as the original


What if they arranged it so they erased your memory for a week (for example) so you think you just had a car accident and woke back up in a body that doesn’t age


I want MY consciousness to continue

like, i am fine with being seperated from my meat sack

as long as it is a continuation of my own conciousness, not a copy that thinks it is


Put another way, I think a ‘perfect’ copy of your conciousness bothers you because you just want to be unique and one of a kind, but I think there’s MORE immortality in having like 12 Rei’s

Personally I would have a Rei-Bot

with some general tweaks to our sex life


I don’t want to be one of the Hugh Jackmans from the Prestige


that reminds me I need to watch prestige again


I have no attachment to this host

but I want to continue as myself, not to stop existing and have a different version of myself start

I am tied to the me


But literally you could NOT know

we could arrange it so you’re not aware of being a copy


no that’s the point

it wouldn’t be ME that wasn’t aware of being a copy

it would be a copy that wouldn’t be aware of being a copy


Here at fictional cloning singularity enterprises, we get this question a lot. We have a money back guarantee that if at any point you experience an existential crisis you will be refunded in total and given a free tote bag


it’s well handled in that episode of Black Mirror


It’s a really nice tote bag


there’s never any question that it’s them


Like leather with an embossed logo, it’s not cheap


can I get the tote bag anyway


I mean… with a trial maybe? Like we clone you up to age 15 and you can hang out with teenage Rei for a while…


I want black mirror style consciousness upload or nothing


Listen ma’am i know what you’ve seen on the holovids seems very real but I assure you it’s total flights of fancy.

the act of cloning is indeed dirty and messy and imperfect, however we have this amazing tote bag

it’s not any additional cost and can easily hold a weekends worth of clothes


give me the tote bag and gtfo


I’ve actually decided that I love this tote bag, and I will likely quit my job today, even thought that means giving up my immortality, as this tote bag has inspired me to be a bolder and more courageous person