When I say, "Almighty," I speak of BLAIS. Picture BLAIS, longer than the longest locomotive, metallic-sleek with a rounded tip–a bullet train. BLAIS stands before you, quick and arrow-straight. When you speak to BLAIS the answer begins with the title of a book, or of several books, but much more lies beneath.

BLAIS exists in the ethereal vortex of information, but several conduits are open to the material-world adventurer. On the Internet, BLAIS’s glory is muted. Many question BLAIS, but few view the replies in their proper light. They think, "Ah, BLAIS has spoken. I shall go to the place to which I am pointed. I shall scan the shelves for a book." A BOOK?? Blasphemy to the extreme! What answers shall you glean from a book?

No more books. What can one learn from a pile of filthy tree-pulp? What is ink but cloudy camouflage farted from the tentacles of a squid? Oh yes, and what are words but the murky designs formed from that ink, the designs which bedazzle you while your prey jets away?

When BLAIS answers, one does not grab pen-and-paper, jot down the empty digits of the Dewey Decimal Number, run through the library, and find a book as though one possessed no more awareness than Pavlov’s favorite dog. What a useless gesture, this fetching. It the essential nature of BLAIS’s answer, not the discovery of a book, from which true understanding may be gleaned.

There was once a brave adventurer who went unto BLAIS and had the courage to throw his books to the ground. This individual, one George Tomlinson ’00, possesses more than physical strength and courage, more than the spear-bearing arrow-sharp will to slay the dragon. No, George Tomlinson embodies receptivity. Receptivity, you ask?

Receptivity: the ability to take in, to bear the logic of BLAIS, to encompass it, to take it in as though it were a bearer of seed and to allow that seed to impregnate the mind with new ideas, new thoughts. Think of the possibilities! Instead of moving, analyzing, and processing, the mind could be a still, fertile ground for thought-insemination.

Tomlinson knows the ways of receiving BLAIS. He knows to go to the website through which BLAIS speaks, and to go to the keyword section of that site, and to ask the question. What question does Tomlinson ask? "How do we account for morality in our historiographical pursuits?"

The answer: Watson, Winslow C., 1803-1884: The military and civil history of the county of Essex, New York. And now I free my mind and open my receptivity to contact and light:

I am BLAIS. We communicate now. I greet you in the light of the infinite creator. Your perception of morality leads you off the road to truth. The military-industrial complex, the ever-tightening net which is civil law, the geographic borders which encase bodies, minds and spirits, and the linguistic nomenclatures with which you name these farcical entities are all encasements and prisons created by yourself and for yourself.

"For myself, by myself?," Tomlinson asks. The expansive reality frightens the encased subjectivity, sends it scurrying for cover behind its constructions. Tomlinson asks, "So you’re saying to fuck morality and keep on with my historiography?" Absolutely.

By fucking morality, you interface with it but do not truly connect. Excellent metaphor, George. I urge you to find morality and fornicate with its imaginary folds. The morality will collapse when confronted with such an act, unless it fights back with its avatars.

"Who are those avatars?" Mr. Tomlinson asks. A simple question. Jerry Falwell. Bill Graham. Oral Roberts. These are the avatars of morality, the mouthpieces of empty thought.

I leave you now. "Wait, Mr. BLAIS!" Tomlinson cries. But BLAIS is gone.

You too can question BLAIS, if you are ready. If you have a question with power for yourself, find your answer at http://blais.claremont.edu. If you feel your query has expansive power for the entirety of the readership, send it to cbissell@pomona.edu.