There was a time -- not so long ago -- when we all thought the future would be about enlightenment and jetpacks. Equipped with a secular bootstrap philosophy and a bio-dome city full of benevolent, intelligent computers, Man would leapfrog to the star systems of silicon-based jellyfish and energy beings (after stopping off at his moon condo for a dry martini and a quick shag with the robot wife). We would explore the vastness of space and all it's pocket riches of sensory fractalization, endowed with an exacting sense of purpose towards the inevitable Gaia-mind fusing all living creatures into a single unified God-entity, whom (not at all paradoxically or with even a hint of petty sarcasm) reverses time and re-implodes herself into a subatomic thermal amoeba. Somewhere along the way, that future got hijacked by execu-technicians bent on selling every last molecule to the highest bidder (forgetting, of course, that money is conceptually neither energy nor matter, and therefore of no real value). Now, our grand global computer system is choked to standstill with dissociative chatter and pop-up advertising; our (s)elected leaders forge trade routes of neo-barbarist culture-sacking reminiscent of the 13th century Mongolians; our means of communication are saturated with conflicting desires as Jesus boxes with Mohammed on pay-per-view satellite cable; our very air, water and food is poisonous as roach Raid. We have achieved nothing short of a suicidal autocracy, a closed loop of shepherds and sheep whom each pass on responsibility to the other, creating in their unchecked reactionary prejudices a society of functional psychopaths. Chaos never dies. You can still catch glimpses of that alternate universe trying to break through the barriers of quantum resonance, often in the most unexpected of places. For example: at a lazy little bar and grill in Delaware (yes, Delaware) on a Monday night. How can that be? Surely no one goes out on a Monday; it's the first day of the workweek, the greatest invention of execu-tech, forcing time into measurable, marketable sanctions. Ah, but for those of us on the carefully navigated fringe of societal mediocrity, Monday is just another sunup-to-sundown. Besides, it's also Half Price Burger Night at the bar, and we all know how much Americans love their cholesterol intake. Soft! What's that low burbling coming from approximately the area of my intestines? Fear not, you didn't get a batch of mad cow -- that's the subwoofer... Herein lies a recorded collection of possible futures, lovingly crafted for your Malleus and Incus by the finest astronizzles ever to grace the causal planes of Eckankar. We hope you've enjoyed the ride. June 3, 2003 - September 29, 2003 Rest in peace, fair maiden.