From: "Jason Gortician, Paranoid Asswipe" <_SPAMMMM_gortician669@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Time I Battled Rhyme Syndicate (and lost) was Re: I've been up 36
hours
Date: Thu, 17 Aug 2000 20:15:32 -0500
--------

Lord Vic wrote:
>
> In article <399BF796.272559A4@yahoo.com>,
> "Jason Gortician, Paranoid Asswipe" <_SPAMMMM_gortician669@yahoo.com>
> wrote:
> >
> > A really neat feature of schizophrenia is the fact that there are no
> > canned recording of music. Each time you listen to a CD, it's
> different.
> > You are essentially summoning the spirits of the dead artists to
> perform
> > live for you. Sometimes they are pissed off about it.
>
> You mean like that time you battle-rhymed with that Ice-T album, and
> later you couldn't find the long breaks you were supposed to be rapping
> over? Where's an ADAT when you need one?
>

No shit. That's what I wonder, man. If I can see it and touch it, hear
it, etc., I can film it or record it.
You can take pictures of mirages, although that is quite a different
phenomenon.

Here's a good example of the rampant syncronicity that seems to manifest
around schizophrenics. Not too long of a story, I hope.

I had just gotten out of Kern County Medical Center in Bakersfield, CA.
I was nutty as a fucking loon, but they shoved my out the door after the
requisite 72 hours. Strike one for the California Mental Health System.
Oh yeah, with a big bottle of Haldol (side effect: EXTREME paranoia, not
something to give to an acid psychosis case). Strike 2. I mean, I was
pretty sure Ice Cube was in the back of the truck, under some blankets,
waiting to kill me. I don't know how these people I admired came to
represent such things, but anyway.

So I've been in Louisiana a few months, and I finally got the jeep keys.
Me and O.D. DrugWar wanted to go look for some herb, and have a night
out. We're driving there, and the fucking amp goes out. That's unusual.
No matter, we always did like to freestyle and sing together. So we're
rapping and singing about "got any dope?". Later it seemed like people
actually heard us. I told O.D. "I'm taking this motherfucker over, and
I'm not even going to bust my knuckles doing it."

We arrive. Having no real impulse control, I ask some black kid if he
had any herb. He said yeah, but for some reason, we turned him down
without looking at it. Then I get it in my head to go to Southern, which
is a 99% black university in North Baton Rouge. So I ask this old black
woman how to get to Southern. She says "Yeah, everybody wants to get to
Southern tonight." As if SHE was selling weed.

(insert edit) Before this happened, we sat and smoked some pipe tobacco
in the jeep, watching the scene. We see some girl fucking eat it on her
bike right in front of us. Soon, there are ambulances, police, fire
trucks all around us and shit. Rather like the time we had some shrooms,
and sort of had a drug bust happen around us while were sitting on a
park bench on the corner. Interesting, but we jet.

So we drive to Southern. Needless to say, we didn't get a warm
reception. School was out, and black people here are either friendly, or
they look at you and spit. Not discouraged or anything, we left to head
back to LSU. We stop at a red light, and a car pulls up next to us. I
tell O.D. to ask the dude about some herb. He gets out of the car, walks
over, hands us a joint, and says "Welcome to Baton Rouge", gets back in
his car and leaves. And I mean, this was a big ass joint, the kind I
like to roll. So, very cool.

We go back to LSU, Chimes St. We still haven't smoked it. Oh yeah, I am
carrying a gallon of water in the back of the jeep. For some reason,
psychos like a lot of water. What's this? Eek-a-Mouse (awesome Reggae)
is playing at the Varsity. But we don't go, we keep looking for a sack.
So someone says, I don't have any, but there's a girl selling "mice" at
Checkers. So we walk over there, and sure enough, there is a girl who's
really selling mice. The implication was there that she was selling
other things, but we never ask about that. We just bought a white mouse,
and went back to Chimes.

So, everything is a freaky scene, to me. Some lowlife who seems like he
has always been at LSU comes up and talks some smack. He says something
to the effect of "Do you know who I am?" I say "I knew who you were
before you did." Anyway, people are fucking with us, or at least
staring, cuz we're in a fresh new model jeep with Cali plates,
ostentatious jewelry, big attitude, etc. I'm sure people thought we were
narcs.

So we have this mouse that we are playing with in a paper bag. We meet
some dumb ass girls, who try to mooch on our bomber joint, and we ignore
them. I'm telling O.D., "Light the bag on fire with the mouse in it!" So
we finish smoking it (Openly, it's just not done that way in Louisiana,
we're a far cry from Berkeley.)

Big mistake, for me. I get so fucking high, my schizophrenia comes back
on hard as hell. I take a big swig of water, and I instantly KNEW
someone had put a bunch of acid in it, because I felt myself starting to
trip hard immediately. So I ask of the small crowd surrounding us, want
some? They decline. So I dump it in the bushes. In my head, anyway, I
hear people murmering ooohhhhhh, like I just dumped $60,000 worth of LSD
onto the ground. Time to split.

I should note that there was a real undercover scoping us out around
this time. Time to go, I say. We jump in the jeep, and I am so fucked
up, so fast, I accidently take a left-hand turn up a sort of one-way
that goes around this island of trees. Fucking campus cops behind us.
So, they're searching the jeep and shit, I'm already cuffed and in the
back seat. Don't know where they got the idea they could search the
engine, or even the jeep, but they did. Like I said, we looked like
ballers, even if that wasn't necessarily true (although, in my head, I
was overseeing the entire flow of drugs up from New Orleans, or at least
that's what I heard on the Beastie Boys' "Check Your Head"). My little
brother is telling me to tell them about my pills and papers stating I
am a mental patient. I stiffen slightly and say "oh shit" when they are
looking at the big ass Bose 901s in the back of the jeep. Mainly because
I had just boosted them before I left Cali. My boss was supposed to make
good on my 201s and a bunch of gangsta rap CDs that were stolen from his
property while we were occupied with a Thanksgiving party he was
throwing for these damn Russians he wanted to parter with to open
Radiation treatment centers in the U.S.S.R. He never did, so I jacked
him for these speakers, which are 29 years old. They still rock. 8 4"
speakers in each cabinet, which is a great design, as smaller speakers
are more efficient. Anyway... you get these heavy guilt feelings when
your schizo, or at least I did. I was sort of convinced they were going
to run a check on them or something. They didn't.

So, they bring us back to the station. They split us up, naturally, and
question us. What did ya'll do tonight, they ask. Were you drinking? I
say "I drank one beer, and smoked one fat-ass joint." O.D. looks like he
wants to kill me for saying that shit. Finally, some other cop comes,
and this is weird, considering what I said earlier. He asks to look at
my hands, and actually inspects my knuckles. I don't know what the fuck
that was about. But, like I said, in my mind, people could hear us.

They run a check on my jeep and stuff. "It says here you have an Isuzu
Rodeo, also." I play it off big-time. "Yeah, and I bought 'em both with
cash", I say. That raises a few eyebrows. Not as much as when I say "You
had probably better let us go before my friends get here." This made
them a little nervous, I think. In my head, I see Rhyme Syndicate
kicking in the doors with guns blazing.

So they sequester us in an interrogation room. O.D. actually dozes, but
of course, I can't. So I listen to the cops talking to each other.
They're bringing in doughnuts and shit, of course. But I hear them
talking about smoking dope in the station! "Don't you want to be
crazy?", one asks the other. Just nutty shit like that. I can't say any
of the conversation was real, other than the doughnuts.

But, as dawn approaches, they just let us go. No ticket, nothing. This
time, I let O.D. drive. It was a mad dash back home to freedom. We show
up at dawn, with everyone freaked out about us being out all night and
not calling or anything. "Where were you?" "Ah, there was a Reggae
concert, and we went to the after party. No big deal." O.D. crashes and
burns of the living room floor, with a blanket over his head. And the
fucking mouse still in his pocket, which was crushed to death.

Ok, so maybe the threads running through the story aren't as well
defined as they seemed to me that night, but I think anyone should be
able to see some of them. Eek-a-Mouse, mouse, knuckles, knuckles. The
remarkable hospitality from a stranger. My own personal theory is that
schizophrenics just tend to notice patterns (real or imagined) more than
most people. But I also feel that we somehow shape our worlds through
sheer thought, and it's not something we control or anything.

Dammnit, man. You're making me want to drop acid so fucking bad. Just a
tiny baby dose. One hit of blotter. It's cool, as long as I only do it
every year or so. I've at least learned not to do it multiple times in a
week or month. It seems if it builds up in me, I go buck looney. The
second time I went nuts, it was from doing it through the week. The
first time, I ate about 10 hits of fresh blotter from a Dead show in
Berkeley, which is where 95% of the acid in the U.S. comes from. So I
thought if I didn't take such a massive dose, I'd be ok. But, like I
said, that stuff stays with you.

I know *you* know this, but to anyone else who may be reading this, I am
not making any of this up. Everything I talk about regarding
schizophrenia really happened to me, if only in my own mind. But I don't
see why I wouldn't have been able to record any of it. The thing with
the CD struck me as really crazy, as time seemed to nearly stand still.
But, yes, Ice Motherfucking T spoke to me directly from this compilation
CD he put out. "Get in the house, homeboy", he told me. I did, and I
ended up throwing down in a rap battle against some of the Syndicate. I
didn't win, according to them (and myself), but it was enough for me to
have participated in such a thing. How many other people can say they
battled Rhyme Syndicate in their living room? The place I lived in was
actually haunted (well, an old man died there, anyway, and I sort of
felt this long before I was told about it). That didn't help matters
any.

Next time, if anyone is interested, I'll tell you about my many
encounters with Stephen King. Or about the Reptilians. I had that
psychic clash with Goat in California, too. He is a powerful wizard,
make no mistake about it.

> --
> -----
> Lord Vic - mastermind of RAMPAGE
> thetruerampage.cjb.net || www.mp3.com/TheTrueRampage/
>

I found out today that I linked some other ripoff Rampage on Mp3.com.
And I had them linked as the world's greatest metal band. So I took it
down, and I can't seem to get The True Rampage to come up in the link to
other artists section. Can you perhaps suss that out for me?

I'm sending that logo in a few minutes. I have to walk to the store. I'm
just trying to find a font for the album title (not at the store). Oh
yeah, I just got Freecraft for BeOS, which is a freeware Warcraft II
game, that either uses the Warcraft CD's graphics, or user supplied
ones. I'm going to touch them all up a bit, maybe make them more satanic
or something? Anyway, it's a nice project for anyone interested in doing
graphics work. And yet another reason for people to look at BeOS. It's
not an open source, everything free OS (even though it is free), but
there is an enormous amount of freeware for it anyway. The most
interesting commercial game coming out is Black and White, another
(really wild) god sim from Peter Molyneux (sp?), the guy who did
Populous, Powermonger, etc. You start off with people who worship, say,
a rabbit. Well, you're that rabbit god. You can reward your followers
for being bloodthirsty, or peaceful behavior, and they take cues from
you. As your influence over them grows, so do you, physically, as well
as becoming more powerful. Eventually, you are this huge terrorizing
animal god, looming over villages of followers and others. They are
waiting for the OpenGL rewrite, but it looks to be a simultanious
release to coincide with the PC version. A big deal, I think, and one
game I definitely plan on getting as soon as it is available. It is
rather beautiful to look at, and the man breathes gameplay. He was a big
Amiga supporter, and I believe he sees that quality in BeOS.

BeOS - 45 Meg download, inflates to about 600 meg. A monkey could
install it. It launches via an icon in Windows, then shuts Windows down.
Read the hardware compatibilty list, to avoid disappointments. It'll
work with any video card, but you really want a supported one to
actually use it to the fullest.
http://free.be.com

Over 1000 pieces of software for BeOS (including Freecraft. There are a
few libraries you need for it, but they're there, too. It only runs at
640 x 480 on my machine, but no big whoop. Sorta ugly, as it stands. I'm
sure you'd have better luck with the CD graphics.) Rather pointless, as
you already have it, but there are a lot of reasons people should be
looking at BeOS. I guess I'll go into advocacy mode in email.
http://www.bebits.com

Any chance you can rip Godzilla for me? I wouldn't mind trying to get
that past mp3.com's dogs.

http://www.mp3.com/gortician

To the uninitiated:
There is only one High-C track on mp3.com, Death Trip, from 1990. It
features all of Gortician, Timothy Archer aka Razor Russ does the first
two verses, and Tony Toni Tone plays a schweet slayeresque riff over it.
A modest effort, patterned after Public Enemy's brilliant use of "Angel
of Death", but I am still sort of proud of it. We just rapped over this
cheesy beat, and it sucked. Next week, Tony had put the guitar over it,
and actually transformed it into something else entirely. It is somehow
embarrasingly funny, and yet slightly moving. Archer's verses are a
hilarious send-up of rap and metal bravado. You could say we did the
first death metal rap, ever. I still think my more serious lyrics are
really good. I wrote them on an envelope whilst looking for a job in
Beverly Hills.

High-C
aka
Jason Gortician