JustSheila
Crusader
Here's part of Excalibur. We've read the same BS elsewhere:
What a bunch of bunk!
Yeh, Excalibur was described as an excessively verbose combination of Science of Survival and The Dynamics of Life.
https://www.google.com/webhp?source...&ie=UTF-8#q=excalibur and science of survival
It's kind of hard to think of adding more unnecessary, repetitive gobbledygoop than what he wrote in those two books, but somehow, Ron managed to again outdo himself in meaningless, endless gibberish. Excalibur was supposedly huge, an absolutely monstrous manuscript. Alas, poor Ron couldn't find anyone who wanted to publish it.
Then he discovered vanity publishing, and even better, self-publishing to his own controlled followers and making it mandatory to buy his books. Heh. Why sell one big book when you could sell two little ones? And so El con did whatever it took to call himself a famous writer, and instead of Excalibur, we got the self-published two books above through his cultic printing presses.
All these decades later, still not a single Clear. Excalibur wasn't all that, after all.
http://www.ronthephilosopher.org/phlspher/page06.htmIt began with an operation—I took gas as an anesthetic and while under the influence of it my heart must have stopped beating, as in my terror I knew I was slipping through the Curtain and into the land of shades. It was like sliding helter-skelter down into a vortex of scarlet and it was knowing that one was dying and that the process of dying was far from pleasant.
For a long time after I knew that “Death is eight inches below life.”
It was terrible work, climbing up out of the cone again, for something did not want to let me back through the wall, and then, when I willed my going, I determined it against all opposition.
And something began to cry out, “Don’t let him know!” and then fainter, “Don’t let him know.”
Though badly shaken I was quite rational when I was restored. The people around me looked frightened—more frightened than I. I was not thinking about what I had been through nearly so much as what I knew. I had not yet fully returned to life. I was still in contact with something. And in that state I remained for some days, all the while puzzling over what I knew. It was clear that if I could but remember I would have the secret of life. This in itself was enough to drive one mad, so illusive was that just-beyond-reach information. And then one morning, just as I awoke, it came to me. I climbed out of my tall ship’s bunk and made my way to my typewriter. I began to hammer out that secret and when I had written ten thousand words, then I knew even more clearly. I destroyed the ten thousand and began to write again.
What a bunch of bunk!
Yeh, Excalibur was described as an excessively verbose combination of Science of Survival and The Dynamics of Life.
[FONT=&]Nevertheless, with the eventual development of Dianetics, all that is essentially [/FONT]Excalibur[FONT=&] was made public and, in fact, may be found in [/FONT]Dianetics: The Modern Science of Mental Health[FONT=&] and [/FONT]The Dynamics of Life[FONT=&].[/FONT] [FONT=&] ...
[/FONT]...Excalibur[FONT=&] is Ron’s revelatory statement on [/FONT]survive[FONT=&] as the single common denominator of existence. That all life forms are attempting to survive is, of course, a known datum. [/FONT]
https://www.google.com/webhp?source...&ie=UTF-8#q=excalibur and science of survival
It's kind of hard to think of adding more unnecessary, repetitive gobbledygoop than what he wrote in those two books, but somehow, Ron managed to again outdo himself in meaningless, endless gibberish. Excalibur was supposedly huge, an absolutely monstrous manuscript. Alas, poor Ron couldn't find anyone who wanted to publish it.
Then he discovered vanity publishing, and even better, self-publishing to his own controlled followers and making it mandatory to buy his books. Heh. Why sell one big book when you could sell two little ones? And so El con did whatever it took to call himself a famous writer, and instead of Excalibur, we got the self-published two books above through his cultic printing presses.
All these decades later, still not a single Clear. Excalibur wasn't all that, after all.