SemiConscious Dot Org

The most thoroughly and relentlessly Damned, banned, excluded, condemned, forbidden, ostracized, ignored, suppressed, repressed, robbed, brutalized and defamed of all Damned Things is the individual human being. The social engineers, statisticians, psychologists, 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 to it. The theologians call it a sinner and try to reform it. The governor calls it a criminal and tries to punish it. The psychotherapist calls it a neurotic and tries to cure it. Still, the Damned Thing will not fit into their slots.

—Never Whistle While You’re Pissing, by Hagbard Celine

Great art is cathartic. Have you ever stumbled across a book, album, movie, poem, painting, etc., that changed your life permanently? That scrambled your mental circuits, pulled all the wires out of the cerebral switchboard and plugged them into different sockets? That changed the very way you perceive the universe around you – forever?

For most people, such profound, life-changing works of art seem to revolve around the concept of belief – ie, they read or see or hear something that introduces them to a belief system of which they had hitherto been entirely or partially ignorant, and suggests an explanation or reason for their existence that makes sense to them. This work of art – whether it’s a Beethoven symphony, On the Road, a Picasso painting, the songs of Dylan or Lennon, the Bible, or It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back – imbues their life with a sense of purpose. In short, it makes them a Believer.

For me, it was the exact opposite. The work of art that changed my life forever caused me to doubt everything.

One day, I was rooting through a box of old books in my mother’s house, looking for something interesting to read, and happened upon a novel (actually, three novels in one cover) called The Illuminatus! Trilogy. It had been written by two guys named Robert Anton Wilson and Robert Shea, whom I had never heard of before. The jacket and blurbs seemed to suggest that it was your garden variety conspiracy novel. I love a good conspiracy as much as anyone, so I dove in.

I quickly became lost, however. The plot seemed to be going in one direction, only to suddenly veer off in another, often within a few pages (and sometimes within the same page, or even the same paragraph.) Narrative point of view switched, seemingly randomly, between a bewilderingly large number of characters, and often between first and third person. Every time it appeared that the authors were building towards a coherent explanation of who or what was really behind all the myriad plots within plots within plots taking place, they would turn around and deftly destroy their own theory. I was confused as hell, and more than a little annoyed. “If they want me to believe any of this crap,” I thought, “why are they doing this?” Nevertheless, the character dialogue and the events taking place were interesting and often quite funny, so I stuck with it through all 800 pages, resolving to start over as soon as I finished, to see if it made any more sense the second time around.

And then, on the second reading, it clicked. I figured out what they were doing, and it blew my mind.