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Elationship Love Spells for Beauty & Truth Lab Researchers

Elationship Love Spells for Beauty & Truth Lab Researchers
(excerpted from the revised and expanded edition of Pronoia Is the Antidote for Paranoia)

Are you in quest of a Soul Friend or a Freaky Consort? A Wild Confidante
or a Fuck Buddy? A Master of Curiosity who listens better than anyone
ever or a Lucid Dreamer with whom you can practice the Art of

Then steal these ads. The come-ons below have been designed by the
Beauty and Truth Lab's rapturists to attract allies who are committed to
the art of compassionate lust and blasphemous reverence. If you're a
Crafty Optimist or Mystical Activist or Ceremonial Teaser who aspires to
put the elation back in relationship, you're invited to plagiarize any
part of these for your own use.

Picture12 3


Uncork me, angel. Unfurl me. Release me and restore me and unleash me.
Not because I can't do it myself. Not because I'm just another
narcissism-addict jonesing for a quick fix. On the contrary. I'm the
most self-sufficient self-starter I've ever met. It's from my position
of strength that I aspire to whip up spectacular synergies in tandem
with your holy rolling reverberations. So keep in mind that I'm here to
uncork you and unfurl you and release you and restore you and unleash
you, too. That's the art of the game that stretches out before us in all
directions. That's the beauty of the gritty reality that's disguised as
a glittery fantasy. As you bless my risks and massage my
unconsciousness and save my soul, I'll always vice your versa. P.S. My
last fortune cookie said, "You need nothing and want everything."

You might say I'm catagoraphobic. I hate getting stuffed into
pigeonholes. I run the other way when people try to tell me who I am. So
don't try to figure me out. Just enjoy me. Or maybe I should say just
enjoy us. There are so many different facets to my personality that
monogamy with me will feel like a promiscuous feast to you. I'm a
socialist libertarian and a pacifist warrior. I'm an atheistic lover of
many gods, a streetwise thaumaturge with stuffed animals on my
Qabalistic altar, and a humble megalomaniac who loves to perform
missions of mercy. Always both and yet neither. And what about you? Just
to let you know, I love architects who moonlight as smugglers of
illegal flowers. I respect vegetarians who sneak pork chops now and
then. I admire ex-druggies who get sober with the same fanaticism they
once devoted to their addictions. Get the picture? My spirit thrives
when nothing and no one are exactly what they seem. Here's the key to
our happiness: As long as we give up our control fantasies, we'll always
get what we want.

Disgruntled postal employee seeks zombie love slave or lonely bank
teller to share erotic fantasies about IRS audits and root canals. Just
kidding. That's my sense of humor. You like? Seriously, beautiful, this
emotionally adept space case is looking for a flexible alien life-form
for exotic forms of togetherness like taking long walks on the astral
plane, listening to self-help CDs by the light of a webcast candle, and
conducting Jungian conversations between your shadow and my anima, or
your alchemical vessel and my philosopher's stone. Do you have more
money than me and sometimes act like a character in a Tom Robbins'
novel? Then e-mail me a tough love letter today. A plus if you can speak
John Dee's language of the angels and know the difference between the
Greys, the Pleiadians, and the Elohim.

Future lottery winner and full-time thrill-designer is hunting for a
brainteasing emancipator to share risky stunts and international
scandals that have lucrative marketing potential. Let's do a reality TV
show that features us hiking through China in our Halloween costumes as
we distribute alms for the poor, or air-drop Anais Nin books on Bible
Belt colleges as we ride in a hot-air balloon over Mississippi and
Alabama. In the great tradition of Picasso, the richest Communist artist
who ever lived, we'll become wealthy pranksters together, poking and
prodding the edges of reality.
Picture17 2
Me: the soul of a musician, the stamina of a long-distance runner, and
the psychological expertise of a veterinarian. You: the body of a feral
kickboxer, the eyes of a jet pilot, and the holder of a PhD in Ingenious
Love. In matters of the heart, you always know exactly when to sweat
and when to cry. You like to play in the sandbox as much as you enjoy
working in the trenches — and you don't mind getting dirty. Send me an
image of your face pressed against the copy machine, and I'll get
started reading your mind. In the meantime, I'll be here in my lab
dreaming up experiments we can do to tenderly shock ourselves ever-more
awake from what the pros call "the nightmare of history."

I picture us dressed like corporate executives and standing at a highway
exit ramp giving away twenty-dollar bills while holding a cardboard
sign that reads "I love to help; I need to give; please take some
money." I foresee us passing scribbled love notes back and forth as we
work side by side at the suicide hotline, getting turned on as we
breathe in each other's death-defying pheromones and ride the inside-out
exhilaration of saving people's lives. I have a vision that one day our
arms will be brushing and our sultry gazes meeting as we serve peanut
butter and jelly sandwiches and lentil stew to homeless folks at the
soup kitchen, and when it's all done we'll go home and spend the night
generating material for our collaborative book, How to Make Love with
Your Best Friend, which ultimately earns us a million dollars that we
donate to electing brilliant poor people to political office.

Tasmanian devil seeks sleek fox or wily coyote for interspecies
communion. It's a jungle out there, baby, but I know some great trails
that lead to rebel grails, and I'm definitely not afraid of the deep,
dark stuff. Put your paw in mine and together we'll ford the rivers and
scale the cliffs and swing on the vines. Are you ready to have even more
fun than merely being in love? Two grunts mean "Yes, dear." Two grunts
and a howl mean "Fuck, yes, dear!"

Tired of both boringly nice goodie-goodies and menacing lunatics trying
to pass off their pathologies as "sexy"? I'm the happy medium: a
straddler of the mysterious edge where bliss and struggle overlap, where
the difference between light and dark just ain't that simple. I feel
too deeply to pretend that every question has a correct answer. I cry
too easily and love too much. And you? Are you smart enough to be guided
by your sacred dreams of transgression? Are you free enough to
surrender over and over again to the waters of life? If you've got the
courage, I've got the secrets. I'll be your wild-eyed, smart-mouthed,
spread-eagled muse if you'll be mine.

I'm the one! Pick me for your mission impossible! I'm the one! Pick me
to help you storm the kingdom of heaven! Everybody's somebody's fool;
let me be yours! I have no shame and I have no qualms! I give not until
it hurts but until it exalts my libido, and if you're smart you'll let
me teach you the method in that madness! So electrify me in a sanctuary,
you stunning ravisher! Amaze me in a labyrinth! Undress me on an altar!
Engorge me in a way station! And I'll resurrect you wherever you want!
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Slapstick thinker with refined sensibilities seeks a saint-like sinner
with insanely effervescent style for a long-distance joyride toward the
outskirts of Nirvana. Established meditation practice and a good bedside
manner are desirable. Would it be too much to ask that you might also
have a high level of emotional intelligence without boring me to death
with your maturity? Is it possible that you'll be an entertaining talker
who also knows how to listen with your wild heart turned up all the
way? Let's keep reinventing ourselves for as long as it takes to get the
hang of changing forever.

Like the skilled Japanese pottery-makers whose work is valued for its
trademark blemishes, I thrive on life's imperfections. Have you ever
considered the possibility that your flaws are interesting? I'll love
you for who you are, not who you might be someday. Let me massage your

Fire-breathing earth-worshiper with the warrior genius of a geisha and
the intimacy skills of a samurai seeks an undomesticatable creature of
the night with a talent for walking on water. I want a lover, yes, and a
blood ally, but I also want a partner in crimes that don't break any
laws … a joy scientist who's in training to be an ethical outlaw … a
dissident bodhisattva with the messianic ambition to overthrow reality.
What's so bad about obsession, anyway? You look fabulous when you're
pushing it to the limit, and so do I. My turn-ons: taboo explorations on
the frontiers of enlightened compassion, and peak performances at the
border of wildness and discipline. Turn-offs: easy tests that merely
flatter my ego and familiar games that put my higher mind to sleep.
Resolved: My inner guru wants to get into the funnest possible trouble
with your inner shaman.

Are you a stable, down-to-earth romantic who'd enjoy wearing matching
sweaters with me while browsing through shopping malls? If so, please
stop reading immediately. I'm on the lookout for a Funky Pagan Tantric
Nobody with inside knowledge of the Big Bang. Or a descendant of
Grandmother Spider, who created the world by imagining it. Or something
like that. I've figured out six of the 13 Perfect Secrets from the
Beginning of Time, and I'm hoping that maybe you've got some of the
others. Keep in mind that even if civilization goes down in flood and
flame tomorrow, we've got all the time in the world. Remember all the
past lives we've shared? And there are more than enough still to come to
accomplish all our esoteric schemes and dreams. So I hope you're ready
to rejoin me in singing backup harmonies to the music of the spheres. I
trust you're curious about all the new things I've learned that'll come
in handy when I suck your beauty and truth again.

James Thurber once said of a ruined relationship, "Our love never
ripened into friendship." But I promise you no one'll say that about you
and me. I'm not just a trophy hunter lusting after your prize,
sweetheart; I'm a multifaceted truth-teller who wants to collaborate
with your soft touches, your hard knocks, and everything in between. One
of my goals in life is to learn the art of reading my best buddy's body
language as well as my own.

I'm a contemplative daredevil — an angel-wrestling, magic carpet-riding
lover of the impossible. You're a cynical optimist — a reformed
smart-ass who's worked out a deal with your evil twin. I predict that
our collaborations will be legendary, our cahoots numinous. We'll teach
emergency dance lessons on the beach just after the hurricane has
passed; we'll take long romantic strolls on tightropes stretched over
yawning abysses; we'll spend the night in sleeping bags on Emily
Dickinson's grave in Amherst, sipping absinthe and acting out her
fantasies of making love; we'll sit in the back row of a musty theater
at a midnight-to-dawn marathon of the old Planet of the Apes movies,
tickling each other's ribs and gnawing on each other's elbows and giving
each other past-life readings in loud whispers that annoy the three
other weirdos in the place. Are you ready to relax your search for the
meaning of life so you can be the meaning of life? Come find me. I'll be
sitting on the post office steps with a toy sheriff's badge on my lapel
and my ego half-unzipped. We can trade clothes in the alley and
rollerblade out to the nearest bridge for a spitting-into-the-wind

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