Fat later developed a theory that the universe is made out of information. He started keeping a journal – had been, in fact, secretly doing so for some time. His encounter with God was all there on the pages in his—Fat’s, not God’s—handwriting.
The term “journal” is mine, not Fat’s. His term was “Exegesis.” A theological term meaning a piece of writing that explains or interprets a portion of scripture. Fat believed that the information fired at him from time to time was holy in origin and hence a form of scripture.
One of his paragraphs impressed me enough to copy it out and include it here.
“Summary. (etc. –v. tractate)
Fat developed a lot of unusual theories to account for his contact with God, and the information derive there from. One in particular struck me as thought-provoking. It amounted to a kind of mental capitulation by Fat to what he was undergoing; this theory held that in actuality he /
wasn’t experiencing anything at all. Sites of his brain were being selectively stimulated by tight energy-beams emanating from far off, perhaps millions of miles away. These selective brain site stimulations generated in his head the impression—for him—that he was seeing and hearing words, pictures, figures of people, in short God, or as Fat liked to call it, the Logos. But, really, he truly imagined he experienced these things. They resembled holograms. What struck me was the oddity of a lunatic discounting his hallucinations in this sophisticated manner: Fat had intellectually dealt himself out of the Game of Madness while still enjoying its sights and sounds. In effect, he no longer claimed that what he experienced was really there. Did this indicate he had begun to sober up? Hardly. Now he held the idea that 'they' or God or someone owned a long-range very tight information rich beam of energy focused on Fat’s head. In this I saw no improvement, but it did represent a change. Fat
could now honestly discount his hallucinations, which meant he recognized them as such. But, like Gloria, he now had a they. It seemed to me a pyrrhic victory. Fat’s life struck me as a litany of exactly that, as for example the way he had rescued Gloria.
The Exegesis Fat labored on month after month struck me as a pyrrhic victory if there ever was one—in this case an attempt by a beleaguered mind, to make sense out of the inscrutable. Perhaps this is the key to mental illness: incomprehensible events occur—your life becomes a bin for hoax-like fluctuations of what used to be reality, and not only that—as if that weren’t bad enough—you, like Fat, ponder forever over these fluctuations in an effort to order them into coherency. When in fact the only sense they make is the sense you impose on them, out of the necessity to restore everything into shapes and processes you can recognize.
The first thing to depart in mental illness is the familiar
and what takes its place is bad news because not only can you not understand it, you also cannot communicate it to the other people. The madman experiences something, but what it is or where it comes from he does not know.
In the midst of his shattered landscape Fat imagined God had cured him. Once you notice pyrrhic victories they seem to abound. -- Either he had seen God too soon, or he had seen him too late. In any case it had done him no good at all in terms of survival. Encountering the Living God had not helped to equip him for the tasks of ordinary endurance, which ordinary men, not so favored, handle. -- Men and the world are mutually toxic to each other. But God—the true God—has penetrated both, penetrated man and penetrated the world, and sobers the landscape. But that God, the God from outside, encounters fierce opposition. Frauds—the deceptions of madness—abound, and mask themselves as their mirror opposite: pose as sanity. The masks, however, wear _____ the madness reveals itself. It is _____
The remedy is here but so is the malady. As Fat repeats obsessively, “The Empire never ended.” In a startling response to the crisis, the true God mimics the universe, the very region he has invaded: he takes on the likeness of sticks and trees and cans in gutters—he presumes to be trash discarded, debris no longer noticed. Lurking, the true God literally ambushes reality and is as well. God, in very truth, attacks and injures us, in his role as antidote. As Fat can testify to, it is a scary experience to encounter this. Thence we say, the true God is in the habit of concealing himself. 25 hundred years have passed since Heraclitus wrote, “Latent form is the Master of obvious form.”
-- Albemuth Crete Rome Calif. x y — ? ? ? ? ? ? ? —?————————————————————————————
drawing, see MS
At y, the entity including me, evolves into its ultimate state (self). The info-firing quasi-material, quasi-energy plasmate non-humanoid life form I call Zebra—from perhaps, thousands, or millions of years in the future.