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in a web of glass, pinned to the edges of vision

Zen, muds, and comedy.

I'd forgotten how often we saw Magritte

mucha mosaic

Zen, muds, and comedy.

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mucha mosaic
So I screw around on this board where people whine or talk about muds they play on. On this board, someone wrote that they didn't want a game that was dying to be determined to be dead.
His direct comment was:
maybe my profoundly buddhist beliefs prevent me from accepting any kind of 'the end'

I threw at this one the comment 'If your profoundly Buddhist beliefs are preventing you from accepting the end of a series of events, I would suggest that you may want to study further', and thought I was done with it. Mentioned it to other friends, though, and we started to contemplate Zen MUSHing.

[Bad username: colubra> says ] . o O ( all MUSH is transitory )
colubra says "and I'm not even Buddhist, per se."
torquemada . o O ( the MUSH of no MUSH is the true MUSH )
cygnoir "My profoundly 'Stedist beliefs prevent me from kicking you in
the shins after torquemada has beaten the crap out of you."
colubra . o O ( What is the sound of one MUSH collapsing? )
torquemada says, 'That's easy, it's fifty people, half of whom desperately need showers, shrieking in fearful agony.'

So now I'm giggling madly- and considering OTHER applications of Zen Koan to stupid MUSH bullshit. Your opinions welcome.
  • (Anonymous)
    If a mush crashes and no one is logged in, does it matter?
  • ____Mush : the gateway to all stupidity.
  • Bonus points to our buddhist

    response to 'you may want to study further' just turned up:

    Yes. When you have profoundly Buddhist beliefs, you mostly want to study further.

    I giggled. Nicely done.
  • There should be some way to work in the one where the teacher smacks the student.

    ... Though I don't think enlightenment is that easy for most MUSHers.
  • Clearly MUSHes are full of Zen masters... to judge by how many of them have achieved that perfect state where all thought has ceased while listening to the mantra of their fingers clacking endlessly on keyboards.
  • If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill Buddha=100
  • t.rev

    It is like ordinary life, only the fingers are a few inches above the keyboard.
  • A MUSHer invited a Zen practitioner to talk about Zen on his MUSH. The master agreed, and typed, and typed, and typed, until the window was full.

    The MUSHer watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself. "The text buffer is full. No more will go in!"

    "Like this MUSH," the master said, "you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cache?"
    • A Zen master passed his student in the computer lab, and saw him scowling at the terminal and hitting Control-L every few seconds.

      'Student, why do you clear your screen so aggressively?' the master asked.

      'Master, these people are being way too goddamned chatty. They won't use tt to talk about shit nobody else cares about. They're spamming my screen! I skim a few lines, then Control-L it.' When the student went to hit Control-L again, the Master slapped his hand away.

      'Fool!' the master said. 'Your screen clears but your mind clouds. Without noise, you shall never have silence.' The Master leaned over and hit Control-L, clearing the screen.

      In that moment, the student was enlightened.
      • Flamewars had been plaguing a MUSH discussion list, and the moderator begged for silence.

        Attempting to be enlightened roleplayers, four contributors made a pact that they would not get involved in any heated discussions for seven days.

        For a day or two gameplay went smoothly, uninterrupted by flaming. On the third day, someone did something horrible to someone else's character.

        "You FUCKING CUNTBITCH! How could you do that??!?" one of the contributors flamed.

        The second member of the group was surprised to see the first one post such an inflammatory statement about an in-character action. "D00d! We r not supposed to be flaming, you L4M3R!! U are teh suq!"

        The third one then posted: "this is so uncool!!1! u said we would all not flame anybody and now look what u 2 stupids haev doen!"

        To which the fourth one replied: "I am so much better than all of you, because *I* haven't participated in this lowering and EXTREMELY CHILDISH AND HURTFUL flamewar."
  • I guess none of you have horrifying thoughts like I do. I don't think "What is the sound of one MUSH collapsing", I think of TS and "What is the sound of one hand typing?"

    A little bit of me dies inside.


    Haven't you ever been to ZenMud by the way? I haven't been in years, but I believe this is the address:

    hysteria.mudsrus.com 6715

    It's an awesome idea. It's a ton of people sitting and 'meditating'. You log in, if you talk, you get booted. If you idle too much, you get booted. I don't remember the details, but it was very...curious.
  • The Old Vamp and the Herse, a Buddhist MUSH parable(or a WOD Buddhist...Enh. Whatever)

    One day, a young Toreador walked into the bar in his customary crotchless leather trousers. Gently twisting his nipple clamps, he addressed his Primogen, who he found sitting beneath a wilting potted plant, "What a /lovely/ Ghoul you have."

    The Elder shifted his gaze towards his chisled rock of a servant, whose muffiny chest was exposed for all to see. He spoke, "Who's to say what is good and what is bad."

    The young Toreador laughed and, with a twitch of his riding crop, sauntered off into the night.

    The next night, the Elder's Ghoul had gone missing and was presumed dead, slain, no doubt in a Sabbat raid. The young Toreador approached his Elder with a sad look in his heavily painted eyes, "Oh, how awful for you."

    The Elder sighed. "Who's to say what is good and what is bad."

    The young Toreador rolled his piercingly green eyes and swished away.

    The night after that, the Elder's Ghoul returned, having, it seemed, acquired new body enhancement surgeries in secret that they might please it's master.

    Staring fixedly at the Ghoul's crotch, the young Toreador's eyes widened. "Oh /my/, how /lucky/ you are."

    And the Elder shrugged boredly. "Who's to say what is good and what is bad."

    Wisely resisting the urge to smack him, the young Toreador pranced off again.

    On a still further night, the Elder's Ghoul, who had actually been corrupted by the Sabbat, beat the Elder's Childe to Torpor with a tire iron before being discovered and disembowled by the Elder. Sitting spread-eagled in the Elder's retooled herse as they carted the Childe's body from the scene, the young Toreador touched lightly upon the Elder's shoulder and said, "Oh, you poor thing, what terribly tragedy to befall you!"

    And the Elder just stared at him sidelong. "Who's to say what is good and what is bad."

    The very next night, the Childe's strip club was blown up in a daring Sabbat action. Lightly fingering the strap of his thong, the young Toreador addressed his Elder. "Oh, how lucky, how fortunate that he was removed from peril, indisposed as he was."

    And the Elder, having grown weary of repetition, struck him many times with an axe just to be novel.

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