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The goals of storytelling …

“The core goal of all storytelling is to GET PEOPLE to incorporate the narrative into their own memory.” – Dr. Freckles

“A secondary goal of storytelling is to get people to RE-TELL the story, thus spreading its effect.” – Dr. Freckles

Think about the APOLLO MOON story …

No matter what you believe about it, it gets embellished on, facts change, people even make up stories around the event that are not true …

“I was HERE when it happened …”, kind of like the “JFK” I was here stories …

The retelling of the story naturally mutates it … but more so, the MEDIA PUMP around the story gives it heat and permanence outside the scope of human memory, and becomes a MEME in the context of culture. I guess.

It does become a retained memory.

My dad told me a story once, when I was a kid, about some dude that was running his car on water – it was the 1970’s, and we were sandwiched between two OIL SHOCKS …

Then, when I was 11 or 12, I heard a similar story on KOMO 1000 AM Paul Harvey …

And it’s hard to say for certain how the story spreads or who spreads it, but it can spread on its own if its the RIGHT story.

Now think about COVID …

Paragliders …

The HERO STORY of ASSANGE …

George Floyd …

You ever wonder WHY they are doing all these derivative remakes in the movies and pop culture? – Because if you see it from the right angle, it looks like concertina wire around the collective unconscious.

Do I believe it’s “all lies”? – no …

Do I think you need to be a talented Sovietologist to see through most of it? – yes.

Am I good at it? – sometimes.

The hardest thing to overcome is wishful thinking …

What makes a good story a GREAT STORY? – it’s a story you WANT to believe, and probably NEED to believe.

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MIND WORMS

If they started harvesting the homeless?

Immigrants?

Mexicans?

If great pig-farms were built to recycle the donkey-flesh of this human swoil?

The pitiful toil ends my friend, for the mind-worms and the time dentists. All the fusion butt-rash memories melt away, as if the day turned to delight. And your sadness were a night faerie built from vodka drink soul pain and Rogaine feelings for balding flange ferrets and worm grease growers.

A gender neutral re-freezer is being constructed near Spokane, WA. Hustlers from Skeevic Ville are heading to the Palouse to hunt the wire goose and skizz-heathens who worship in the Columbia River, and cover themselves in cesium and horror.

MONSTER JAKE runs the station in Yakima, and hollers out to Ellensburg monks focused on paper mites and toilet pale fights. Sure, you could get stuck on what this means to Elroy and the Ugly Gang – but never forget the healing power of SEA-FLOW and spider egg magic.

I remember MONSTER JAKE and SISTER LUNA and the whole EAST SIDE GANG from Kettle Falls. We were the undying spirit of meth lab LIONS and tear down razor fencing. Our dogs wandered the grasslands, feeding on spice-miners and terrifying rat-queens from Boston.

TURG-WORN princes were left humble before the Ghost of Kiev, as Russian tanks rolled by, and Baghdad Bob rose from the grave to deliver his monologue. Corbis, the guzz-muzzler, wearing wire and diamonds and leather, would rub her boovula as the Teutonic Knights ravage S’compton. Grinken Town brides weep deep, and leave their kids in storm drains as their phones tell them: “MISSILES INBOUND: TOSS YOUR KIDS DOWN THE SEWER …” And if you were Hawaiian? – you probably would.

Stool samples are being collected at the Burger King in Tacoma, the one on Hill Top …

They want skeezy style love juice for the celebration of Tacoma’s vibrant art district. Mind worms are trending on Tik Tok, selling this FETE to the single freaks at PLU and the WARGONE-HARLOTS of Lewis-McChord …

Viggly sauce from the South Center Mall goes for $45/oz, and kills the backpain your chiropractor gave you … you can get back to American Lake, and strip at Hugh’s Golf Club, as helter-salesmen tell stories of pimp-rockets and cluster-bomb bimbos …

Triscuit seekers making taco surprise are trying to sell me property near Derby Village. Old Eskimo Bob’s place is for sale, but you have to move the bodies. Sometimes he’d hold parties out there … weird soirees style SEX get togethers, where donut maidens sell their milk dud challenge.

Windswept scoundrels show up and are buying gold from the monks in the drawing room. There are priests built from silver and diamond and rusty old chains, and the widows sing songs of Glyb-Meat and trail-paste.

You MAXED OUT ACHIEVEMENTS on XBOX, and your girl from 2007 is calling on laser phone. She wants to know about your Mexican lover and her burrito milk pizza. And you tell her to “shut up”, but you also send her an email with a picture of that weird wart on your penis. And the lawyer’s letter was clear, “restraining order”.

I could hear your voice MIND WORM …

I heard your CINDER SPARK and saw you get lost in Fresno.