"Jesus, how long have we been here?" she asked.

"You talkin' to me?"

"You see anyone else around here?"

"I think it's been damn near a year."

"Last thing I remember, I was getting up in that old guy's face. Rilke, was it? Hesse?"

"He confuses them. Both were here at some point, I think."

"In the city of wonder, right. Now it's all coming back to me. Something about a rig, no more gas in it. What the hell?"

"Too close for comfort. You spooked him with that one."

"I spooked him? I never asked to be here in the first place."

"That's just it. He's got so many characters going on, he gets mixed up."

"Isn't it supposed to be some kind of novel? Some novels have dozens of characters and their authors don't get 'mixed up.' What kind of lame defense is that?"

"He thinks this is different."

"How the fuck do you know?"

"We talked about it."

"What? You talk to him? When was this?"

"Just a while ago. He woke up from a dream where there was this German Shepherd in bed with him. But not like you're thinking. It was this really young, super friendly dog. It thought they'd been in Vietnam together."

"The dog? But he was never in Vietnam."

"I know. That's why he woke up sort of confused. Because instead of the dog, there was his cat. Like his real cat. Down at his feet. And he was saying, 'Wow, Kitty, I was dreaming about this dog being in bed with me.' And he wondered too, if that wasn't a little weird. But it wasn't sexual or anything. He started thinking Vietnam was significant, though. You know, the whole PTSD thing."

"It was that New York Times piece, wasn't it?"

"That blowout yesterday? I really want to understand your experience."

"Cut it out! You know, the one with Marsha Linehan, Schema Therapy, yada yada? Except it didn't mention Schema Therapy. Zen mindfulness, CBT, DBT. Guy knows too much for his own good. Maybe he's finally cracking up. You think?"

"Well, it never mentioned PTSD. It was about borderline personality disorder."

"A disease of the mind, it can control you."

"Right. That could have been a clue. Plus, the Schema stuff wasn't Linehan's."

"What? Like I'm supposed to be keeping track of all this boring shit? I got enough on my plate."

"Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues. But that wasn't it anyway. He got spooked by you."

"Me? What'd I do?"

"Like I said, too close for comfort. Scene of the crime."

"But he was never in Ascona, either. Never takes me anywhere."

"The Rihanna thing maybe? I dunno."

"You mean how she got beat up after that last one?"

"I don't think that was it, either, but who knows? I think that bothered him some, maybe even a lot, but no, it was more about us. About here."

"Well he did leave us hanging in this shitty Swiss restaurant since last August. But how is this the scene of the crime? It's a pretty long way to North Africa."

"Manner of speaking. But you're close with that African guess."

"I say far, you say close. Let's call the whole thing..."

"Let's not and say we did."

"OK, but I don't get it. The dog dream, Vietnam, and suddenly we're back? What the fuck?"

"Yeah, weird isn't it? You know, he was thinking of doing you as Kat Herding this time."

"That clueless model bitch? Oh em gee! And who were you going to be?"

"Him, I guess. He was thinking to do it sort of as cross posts between her Twitter account and his Friendfeed or Facebook or something. It got pretty complicated. But yeah, he suddenly started wondering where he'd left us, and why he'd left us here so long."

"Did he say anything about Winnicott?"

"Winnicott?"

"You know that paper he brings up every once in awhile? The thing Winnicott wrote about the dissolution of personality and how it scares even people who've never experienced anything like that."

"You think he has?"

"Honey, I am a white angel. With wings. Hello?"

"Yeah, I see what you're getting at. It is a little unusual, huh?"

"A little?"

"Well, come on, it's fiction, right? Poetic license. Willing suspension. All that."

"Sure, sure. But he 'gets confused'?"

"I get the sense he really likes us. Trusts us, even. But Ascona, Rihanna, Hesse, Jung... I think it just got too much for him there."

"Jung? Where did Jung come into it?"

"The Eranos lectures, remember? He even had you mention it."

"Oh, right. I kinda vaguely recall something. 1933, was it?"

"Well, that's what you said in chapter 11, but who knows whether the date was right. He probably did look it up. Probably got it from Wikipedia, for what that's worth. Some kid heavy into Archetypes for all we know. And he was probably punning on bankruptcy in that one anyway. Who knows how the guy's mind works."

"I don't think it was just Ascona or Eranos, though. I bet it was the whole active imagination thing."

"You mean he's just talking to himself?"

"You see anyone else around here?"

"OK, now you're freaking me out."

"It's supposed to be therapeutic. Somehow."

"That's just it. He's got this whole love-hate thing going on with Jung. Father complex, most likely. If he actually admitted there was something to those archetypes he likes to snipe at, his world might... well, he might completely dissociate."

"And then we'd be fucked."

"You got it."

"If you're right, things are more serious than I thought."

"How serious did you think they were?"

"Well, you know, about the usual level of friendly don't-worry-about-me insanity he likes to affect."

"You don't buy that, do you?"

"For the most part, I do. But hey, check this out. Looks like I was right about that kid heavy into archetypes. I went to that page I just linked? And get a load of this: '[something something] ...which can be considered similar to shamanic journeying.' I ask you, how NPOV is that?"

"The birds are gonna start singing any minute now. What time is it?"

"Says 5:06 up there in the menu bar. But by the time we spell check this, try to figure out who's saying what to who, post it, send it to the EGR list, it'll be 6 easy."

"Whom. Saying what to whom."

"Oh, fuck you. People don't talk that way."

"Let's not end this acrimoniously, OK?"

"OK. Let's call it a night."

"I'd say 'Goodnight, Gracie,' but I've lost track of which one of us you are."

"Neither one of us is Gracie. I think we can agree on that much."

"You're right. Good night, then. It's been real."

"Yeah, keepin' it real over here, that's me."

---

Previous episodes:

• Chapter 1: prelude in heaven
• Chapter 2: backstory
• Chapter 3: onward
• Chapter 4: the idea of the holy
• Chapter 5: the poetics of reverie
• Chapter 6: seance
• Chapter 7: willing suspension
• Chapter 8: Room 1009
• Chapter 9: Greece is the word
• Chapter 10: aurora comes in view
• Chapter 11: in the city of wonder

Valued Readers,

For once, let me be brief. Tony Goodson interviewed me from his home base in Australia a couple days ago, and posted the results on his blog this morning. Please go to The 3 Moments - podcast interviews and check out the far-ranging discussion we had. It's quite long, but the format and (Tony's excellent interviewing skillz) allowed me say what I think are some genuinely important things. I do hope you'll have a listen.

peace out

chris/RB

I jut got the following message while trying to post something to Facebook (hereinafter Fuckedbook).

At my earliest convenience -- as weasels like this are wont to say -- I plan to post the following...

After composing the above, which took a little while, I noticed that I also had email from notification+zerol11@facebookmail.com -- marked when I saw it just now in Gmail "5:14 PM (27 minutes ago)." I guess this was my "earlier warning." Here's what it said...

Hi,

Our systems indicate that you've been misusing certain features on the site. This email serves as a warning. Misuse of Facebook's features or violating Facebook's terms of use may result in your account being disabled. Thanks in advance for your understanding and cooperation.

Please refer to http://www.facebook.com/help.php?page=421 for further information.

The Facebook Team

Well, The Facebook Team can kiss my sweet Irish ass. I haven't had anyone speak to me in this sort of snot-nosed condescending tone since I was in Kindergarten.

Valued Readers:

Once again, it's been a while since I've posted anything. Truth is, contrarian to a fault, I've been hiding out on Facebook. Can't be assed with Twitter while it's getting all this media attention. Not safe. Must go against the flow. Like manic salmon. Must write many short sentences. Anyway, that's where I've been. Drop around.

Meanwhile in actual news, I finally got my hands on the new Cluetrain book last week. See cool cover art at right. It'll be shipping by the end of the month but if you pre-order now (pretty please) you'll be the first one on your block, etc. This 10th anniversary edition -- how time flies when you're in intractable psychic agony! -- includes the complete original text plus additional chapters by all the authors, as well as contributions from Jake McKee, Dan Gillmor and JP Rangaswami. It also comes with a complete set of Ginsu Steak Knives -- a $49.95 value! (Offer valid in US only, except in lower 48 states, Alaska and Hawaii.)

My new chapter is titled "Obedient Poodles for God and Country" and touches on themes that should ring a bell if you've been tracking Mystic Bourgeoisie. Here's a clip.

... Which brings us back to Oprah in Obama's front row. And why that scares me. Oprah has been the vector for many of those "signs & portents" Mystic Bourgeoisie alludes to. One recent example is her "Soul Series," which began with Oprah "co-teaching," via the web, with Eckhart Tolle, whose book, A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose, she'd just chosen for her far-famed book club. And naturally, it's all online.

By way of introduction, Oprah sez, "Welcome to our very first live world-wide interactive event. We are here tonight breaking new ground. Nothing like this has ever been attempted before. Right now, you all are online with me from every corner on our planet."

I dunno. The never-been-attempted claim could be challenged by any number of hot girls with webcams. If anything, Oprah seems more than just fashionably late to the web party.

And Tolle sez, "It's everybody's responsibility to become aware of their conditioned mental processes: how you react in everyday situations, what kind of thoughts go through your head. It's good to not amplify the negativity that you see around you in the world by reacting to it."

Um... you mean like reading this sort of thing and reminding anyone who will listen that your rap is basically recycling the same sort of Mystic Orientalia that Emerson and Thoreau unleashed upon an unsuspecting Puritan New England (when they weren't sowing beans and cheesing off the Harvard faculty), or Madame Blavatsky with her Theosophy (when she wasn't pontificating on the Lost Continent of Atlantis), or Rudolf Steiner, founder of the Waldorf Schools, with his stories about how Buddha taught the Mars Men (I wish I were kidding), or... well... You mean like that?

Contra Tolle, I think it's not only "good" to amplify the negativity we see around us by vaguely "reacting" to it, but more specifically by deconstructing, dissecting and calling it what it is. In this case, ten pounds of shit in a two-pound bag. Is this what we've come to as a culture? Body by Barbie, epistemology by "What the Bleep"?

Probably not what "the business community" (whatever TF that means) is expecting, but hey, I had fun writing it. Why, I feel positively self-actualized!

btw, if you have an obscenely huge blog or write for what they used to call "the legitimate press" (I never did discover why), send me your name, address, serial number, incept and sell-by dates, along with a pitch for why Basic Books should send you a review copy. I have no idea if they will, or how many may be available, but if it seems reasonable, I'll present your case. Dropping a C-note on my PayPal button might help -- but for that you could buy six copies, so who am I really kidding here?

Meanwhile, I'm working on something big for Mystic B. Stay tuned.

RB

Thesis #1: Markets are conversations

After The Cluetrain Manifesto was published in 2000, I suddenly became what they call "a sought-after speaker" on the corporate dog-and-pony circuit. I spoke all over the world. I was fucking-A famous. Wow, what a racket! If only I were better at it, though. Don't get me wrong, some of the talks were great. By which I mean they felt good. And when they felt good it was because it felt like I was actually connecting with the audience. You can feel that rapport in a room, no matter how big. It's a rush.

But. You know there's got to be a but. Sometimes I really bombed. Stumbled onto the stage. Forgot what I was going to say next. Saw all those perplexed faces looking up at me wondering in a vaguely hostile way, "And just how is this supposed to make me a better Allstate Insurance agent?" That was a bad one. Oh yeah. The worst was the keynote talk to the annual meeting of the Direct Marketing Association in New Orleans. Something like 15,000 professional hucksters all in one place. I made fun of their pompous stagecraft and circle-jerk self-congratulation. They didn't like me. It was mutual.

While some have suggested that civility is the most important value we should propagate in our social exchanges, I think that sometimes the most honest conversation can go a little like this.

"Fuck you!"

"Yeah, well fuck you too!"

After that, if the guns don't come out -- very important not to come to the table armed -- some kind of actual communication can take place. I know not everyone will agree with me on this, but I think too much civility can be toxic. After you. Oh no, after you! But I insist. But you are too kind.

ENOUGH!

I am trying to give you the impression here of what it feels like to stumble onto the stage. Here I am, at least two days late to this Cluetrainplus10 confab, having promised to write words of wisdom on our book's most oft-quoted dictum -- "markets are conversations" -- and I'm all like oh hai... um... er... that is...

Truth is, Doc Searls should be writing this one. It was Doc's line. Markets are conversations he said, and you could tell he'd thought about it for a really long time. I love Doc. He's the best. Every once in a while he'll call me from some x-random airport and crack me up with some of the funniest shit I've ever heard. Just off the top. Not necessarily connected to any objective issues or events in the contemporary scene -- he knows I don't give a crap -- just these brilliant little dissociated takes on this and that. Hard to explain, really. If Doc were in that ancient marketplace I wrote about in Cluetrain, I'd get out of bed early and go down there to hear him pitch Vegematics.

Because you know it would be funny. And that slicing and dicing cucumbers wasn't really the point. And that right in the middle of things -- in media res, as my Inner Pedant is compelling me to interject -- he could stop on a dime and say something arrestingly important.

Imagine me trying to explain that to 15,000 suits at the Direct Marketing Association. Yeah, brutal.

Now me, I'm still trying to get my head around "Markets are conversations." I often worry (not that I lose any sleep, but still) that people will take this as a reversible reaction, to use a probably inappropriate metaphor from chemistry. I mean: that they'll think, oh right, and therefore "Conversations are markets."

But no, I don't think that would be so good. In one week, Oprah racked up well over half a million followers on Twitter. There's an instance of a "conversation" -- and you know we need the scare quotes -- being treated as a market. No matter how much you like Twitter, no matter how crucial you see it as being to the brave new world of social media, I'm sorry, that's just the same old bullshit.

Somewhat in advance of that blessed event -- I mean, Ashton Kutcher topping the 1,000,000 mark and all (btw who TF is Ashton Kutcher?) -- I created an account for "fake_cluetrain." Yes, and I have 565 followers. It's not fair! Especially when I have such important things to share. Like take for instance this tweet...

"Hobgoblins are the consistency of silly putty." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
10:09 AM Mar 28th from web

In all the hubbub and hullaballoo about who was going to break the One Million Followers Barrier, I don't think my falsely attributed quote got the attention it deserved. I'm hurt by this. I mean, it's subtle, it's humorous (is it not?), and it makes an interesting observation about America's deep cultural and spiritual legacy. But did it garner any mention in People magazine? On TechCrunch? In Wired? No, it did not. So this is the part of the conversation where I say, "Fuck you!"

I'm taking my text editor and going home.

The opening salvo of The Cluetrain Manifesto was not "Markets are conversations." It was: "We die."

Did we fall asleep? Just for a little while.

We only have a little while to live. Such a precious time to be here. Wherever here is. To see each other and this awesome, incredible world. So let us not talk falsely now. Let us be what we truly are, which is human, and try to get our heads and hearts around what that might conceivably mean.

And mostly, miracles of science notwithstanding, let us not take ourselves too overfuckingseriously.

#cluetrainplus10