This work is, as scholarship, the product of a 6 year long
anthropological study of the culture in which we live As entertainment, or the
performance of the experience of Body - it is more akin to meta-art or
"rock n roll" in the tradition of spontaneous prose (or stream of
consciousness) pioneered by Jack Kerouac; sketching the soul or performing
consciousness or the adaptation of structural simplicity to the chaos of the
sensory or intellectual world (our birth, sex, and death) - a merging of ritual
and poetry, bodily experience and intellect, which always heightens both - or,
as I prefer, unified cultural response. It is, therefore, a broad stroke of my
brush and is not meant to convey new knowledge of any kind. We have enough of
that already. It is Body. It is source material, more music than fact and, as
music, cannot be disregarded any more than one's own life could be.
THE SPONTANEOUS CREATION OF CULTURAL ARTIFACT: THE
HEART OF PSYCHEDELICS
I woke up inside the Sun, and kissed the Serpent
on the Tongue.
The solar system owns all knowledge. We
live in a solar system, and it, through us. You figure it out...
PART I
We must conclude that technology and media
have had as much or more influence upon modern man and woman as did the world
embodied by the goddess/woman of ancient Paleolithic. Therefore, we must treat
tech/media with the same regard/disregard as one would treat any man or woman.
Technology is sexy - it affects every aspect of our being and, therefore, in
structure, conveys more information as a psychosexual (and even
biological/ecological) phenomena than does the totality of its content.
Therefore, the only way to make use of tech and preserve our modern
sanity/freedom is to alter the way we respond to media and even our perception
of it. This, of course, is the same as saying that we must reinvent the
individual.
Midwife, matchmaker, Our grandmother, our
grandfather, Xpiyacoc, Xmucane, Let there be planting, let there be the dawning
Of our invocation, our sustenance, our recognition By the human work, the human
design, The human figure, the human mass. -The Mayan Book of the Dawn of
Life (The one small leaf of divine will the fire didn't find) Thank you...
This is a psychotropic response or even a
psychedelic response as technology's effects reach right down to our sexuality,
making the 21st century body and enjoyment of it as ritualistic and
sacred an art as cave art was to ancient peoples, especially since psychosexual
response to modern/primitive times or the lack thereof has a direct influence
on the fate, destiny, morality, sexuality, and mortality of the planetary
culture which worldwide communication/entertainment makes possible.
I woke up in a damp dark cave, trembling to
the last remains of my will and being, resonating between the end of what
seemed now like a dream - a very deadly beautiful dream. The walls were
coloured an even deeper shade of black, of red ochre. Beyond I heard the breath
of some rough beast, and my beatific terror drew me further. Greens and oranges
flashed in my eyes as they adjusted to the dim light, my will slowly moving to
the end of a fingertip as I touch the wall, which seems to be breathing. It
feels as flesh and responded to my touch. A thick damp steam emitted from above
me, burning my skin even as the beast receded back into the low ceiling above
me. My sheer arousal and terror reached up above me and found an opening and,
pushing my way inside I discovered that I wasn't pushing at all, but being
pulled completely by its undulating rhythm from which I could not distinguish
my self from the life pulling me in. I felt at home for the first time in my
life (and what was that life but everything here now?) as a warm elixir of what
must have been this body's flesh and blood engulfed me. Drinking, hungrily, I
too, then, became as a beast, moving forward to the escalating rhythm and
writhing of what felt, now, like my body. Transformed before I would be aware,
from my tomb to my womb, I raged against my sheer dumbness. The blood and water
welcomed my rage, fed it even, as with every breath of my movement I became
more, now seeming to envelop my home, this other body, into my own. Nothing
could stop me until I met the face of my terror once again, and kissed it on
the tongue. All at once, I was inside and out. We warmed and fed each other
from above and below, the two being indistinguishable to either of us, two
lovers, two bodies of flesh and light rocking back and forth for what seemed
like forever - there was nothing else but us... --Sun and Earth.
A spontaneous story of creation, a
spontaneous myth/fable of the late 20th century - the story of my
blood - psychotropic artifact.
To make clear how I use the word, culture,
as it is distinguished from the now cliché object of mind and reason which is
synonymous with, "who am I?” or, as I use it, "culture", the
suspension of the awareness of active participation with that of the illusion
of participation sold by corporate culture, or "culture of reason",
which assumes, incorrectly, that knowing can be separate from feeling, or
feeling simply relegated to moments of collective empathy and sedation -
"we all know this is good" or "we all know this is bad" -
buy a Coke. I include in "culture", "subculture" as well as
"counterculture".
Culture is the mythology of a group of
people as it is related to their geographical and temporal place in history -
mythology being the language of their everyday subjective experience and even
the rhythmic forms of all their cultural expressions as they resonate with all
past and all future as well as the entire state and dynamic of the whole planet
- a language, like the people, that shapes and is shaped by their interaction
with the world both within and without, the height of a culture, if one need
measure it, being the lack of distinction a people find between the two or the
objective and subjective (I say, "if", because only those in that
culture can know one way or the other and I say "need" because
cultural or soulful heights are an elusive thing, as elusive as say the
question of whether or not you and a mountain are standing on the same ground.)
I'll leave it to the reader to decide at what height we are at...or could be at
very easily. In fact, I will take the liberty of saying that we are on the
precipice (yeah) of an incredible and unending height. (Expecting Mr. Cynicism
perhaps?).
It is only by interacting with a culture's
mythology that one can "learn" about that culture or find relevance
of that culture to one's own life or culture.
Cultural mythology is the means to see
culture and culture itself - it psychotropicsexualecological - metaphorically
linked to one's own life and everything, to the sun and stars, that affects it.
Its closest culture form being poetry, music, and rituals of intoxication (whatever
gets you high in heart, mind, and body) - man, and most importantly, woman, who
and which will always embody the desire and expression of that desire to renew
the living and passionate waters of a culture's mythology or collective sense
of divinity or creative destiny, as well as all opposition to that desire,
which is usually institutionalized caricatures of purpose: elite systems of
"culture", political, corporate, military, religious, and educational
from which each individual may draw as desired or, at times, is forced to draw
identity from. Culture is, in essence, religion; it is how people enjoy each
other in every way; it is how they perform the primary realities of their lives
in form and feeling and keeps morality relevant to the senses, including one's
sense of memory and imagination, included in which is both one and all's sense
of the past and of the future as wells as the perception and ability to
perceive the forces and elements which create and change both the world without
and how much those elements and forces can and are embodied by the individual
and by collective cultural forms. Culture is how people unify cultural forms
(including ideas and beliefs) into mind, heart, and body. Culture is, in
essence, soul. (Spontaneous cultural artifact - relevance left to any and all).
Part II
Our lives are a film that no one will ever
produce or see except all the stars in the sky...
What I have to write here has some bearing,
I believe, on the future of life on this planet - which means it is useless
information. That is, information is for entertainment; it is to stimulate
consciousness and sense of well being, not to fill someone with ideas whose
importance has already been decided by someone you don't even know.
The great fuck is the essence of life and
creativity. It is to discover one's divine desire to give one's self, one's
soul, completely to life in heart, mind and body only to realize that that
desire has already been fulfilled as is each moment - to know as much to free
you mind and free your soul. It is terrifying in that every part of your self
is affected by this desire and its fulfillment. The movement of soul is,
therefore, psychotropic - it effects and is affected by everything. That one
can, then, maintain a linear stream of life and of culture with perceivable
beginnings and endings is a performance of divine will and intent. The will to
pleasure, the will to alter states of love and of being, the intent to be, as
the heart that pumps blood through your body and the skin that turns blood to
water (Body) and lets the universe touch it, touch soul, with the wind that
blows through the trees and the wind that blows from sun to earth through time
and through your life, that literally and figuratively blows the stars about.
To allow such word to be about you, to be about everyone, is the vanity and the
birthright of the gods, is to fade into the sun and kiss the serpent on the
tongue and wake up in the earth and perform the rock n' roll, the music and the
blood of a soul's continual birth. I have dared to feel with the naked body of
my soul, and I know that I am right because the sun is shining and the earth is
turning into the sun. My name is Landon Sealey, and, in a world of useless
information, I have something to say.
The earth is the essence of soul both
physically and metaphorically. It stores the memory, the sweat of our movement,
the pleasures of our consumption in its water, blood, in all its elements, in
as much as the sun stores the memory of our birth and death, individually and
collectively as well as each moment of our lives - the solar system, like your
body, functions as a process of consumption and production of altered states of
being in sense, memory, imagination and intent. The process of this divine
consumption, this sanctification of soul and of all life is what beats in every
heart every moment, it is the source of blood, desire, body, and the image of
body (metaphor) to the most minute detail of moment and momentary attention, in
every thought and every day. The memory of God, of all unfulfilled need and
desire, is kept and redeemed by the vanity of the gods. We are the gods - the
physical embodiments of metaphor, time, soul, and divine creative intent - the
gods of entertainment. To let this and all media and entertainment (and
anything can be entertaining, as we all should know by now) from the universe
to your every response to it be about and stir your soul, your sex and love and
all that includes for each individual is to live and feel free. To live in the cultural
or soulful zone of the earth, of the solar system, of the human body of the
early 21st century is to perform your soul and soul of humanity and
to see it performed in the lives you see and feel - is to redeem culture and
humanity from its oblivion. Again, this is not a matter of knowledge or
understanding or even action - this is a matter of vanity and feeling that each
soul already possesses in monumental amounts - but the smallest lie hides this
ability, the smallest grain of sand in the desert of all time and the oyster
that is all of know human history and all unrealized creative possibilities,
the seed, the God, the smallest weakest quivering part of the human soul, the
smallest remaining will, the last note that resonates with all ideals above and
all that is feared below, the memory of sun giving itself to the earth, to
body, losing itself as it does every evening and, preserving in us, the
culmination of that filthy divine sexual union in every dawn, as the water that
feeds the fire rises and renews self and soul - Earth likes us. The fantasy of
God, or God's divine fantasy, as performed through al manner of human misery
and insanity, which will be and is the source of eternal sexual ecstasy and
evolution of the mortal gods. Enter the lizard house of the earth - its warm in
here for a reason - we have everything we want and need and know we always
will, we are humanity's thank you for everything, we are the blood of
celebration and entertainment. We live in soul. We are soul. For sun. For earth,
For all. Forever. Thank you to all that have come before. Thank you for never
dying, and for never letting us die. Rock n' Roll.
The moon does, through the Trees Free the
Serpent Will of Heracules
To truly fuck is to truly love is to give
all of one's self to life and realize, in the passing through of that fleeting
momentous desire that one has done just that, that every past present and
future has done just that, That both I and humanity have dared to give all of
our self to find our self our body and our soul, and to perform that discovery
again and again and again. To know as much even when you don't is not faith -
it is vanity, it is making yourself ready to receive all you have given in the
sun on your skin and earth underneath your feet is to make yourself
"high-ready" in mind, heart and body, for yourself, and for the great
fucking world in which we live... These words are like sex itself, but the
smallest part of life, as everything and everyone is. But let yourself feel it,
enjoy it in body and soul can be everything is everything waiting for each
person, completed by each person always. These are not meant to be the last
worlds or the best words upon anything ever expressed or done. These words are
but the first one's, the smallest ones speaking to the future of culture, life,
soul in the 21st c. planet earth, planet Freedom, the future of
creative and entertainment realized by humanity at this moment, this fleeting
and momentous moment, this cultural artifact saying light the ire with all past
and all history, fee it the water for your soul of your memory of all time,
which is yours, and flow, like a wave into the endless dawn and ride the wave
with the door to the tomb which was and is your reason, the smallest blue flame
that is the dream of sun and earth, parent and child, lover and lost. Long live
rock n'roll. Long live humanity. Ride the wave.
Part III
Blood was and is the source of all
knowledge and entertainment. It contains the real dream, the living image, the
sacred fire and water of cultural and personal ego (soulful ego) and empathy -
the sacred water (time, earth, and sky) to pass it from soul to soul, from past
to future, from sun to earth, from god to god, movement to movement. To stir
the blood and to feel it stirring is everything that is sex, life, love and
rock n' roll - it is the heart of psychedelics. Body is blood. Communication is
blood. My every touch on this keyboard (and yours) is the sound of thank you to
all the blood ever spilled and all the souls that ever dared to live. Touch and
sight remembers. The soul knows. Communication is blood. Information is blood.
Vanity is the guilt-free reality that belongs to us all, that honours our
collective heritage and sexual/creative ancestry. We are living in the age of
blood - the age of Remembrance.
Gods of entertainment We played time now
and then Now we do it all and more again Again and again...
The purpose of all art and all
communication of all life and rock n'roll is health and well-being. Do I take
so much of a creative liberty by saying that? Stir the blood and you stir the
sex, stir the sex and you stir the soul, stir the soul and you create health.
Let your soul be stirred and you create health. To feel for a living is the
work that everybody does to perfection. Work well and you create Freedom. It is
ironic that usually only oppressed peoples use the word Freedom with passion,
the essence of all that I have to say and do. The word Freedom unifies body and
soul, sight and hearing, fire and water- it is pure poetry -it is the body of
every woman if she wants it to be. And all art begins and ends with the body of
a woman. The word Freedom, (when spoken) itself has a powerful sonic resonance
with all element and perception which is synonymous with Privacy, the privacy
to feel for one's self, to see for one's self, to speak for one's self, one's
body. To say, "I desire Freedom", is not to say we live in a world
that is not free. Freedom is the completion of the ideals of cultural forms
(health, economics, class, sexuality) in one's body and soul, in desire and
perception. To feel free, for me, is to be satisfied and thankful for
everything and yet continually wanting to be and do and feel more. Freedom is
the vanity of the gods of body and of blood. To feel free is to honour all life
and all soul. Freedom is the why, it is the height of reason - it is the rock
n' roll of sun and earth, of your body and your life. Freedom is the real sweat
and the real blood the real soul the real love the real beating heart that
creates everything form bridges to technology from ideals to material wealth;
it is the source of all value. Vanity of the soul is the obligation and
pleasure of everyone. Freedom is also the ability to not speak, to not do, to
not be, the vanity to know that the stars are always watching and enjoying you,
and in that moment, the stars and you are on equal ground, as you always have
been and always will be. They burn to know us, as we burn to know each other,
to touch, feel and be with each other, to touch the stars, to touch the gods,
the reality of life and blood. This is the promise of our mortality, of the
blood and water of our birth and death made real and imagined and consummately
sexual and divine each moment. This is the garden (and why not?). The rock
concert of rock gods is just beginning. "Is everybody in?"
Part IV
As an artist, it is my job to perform your
soul. I take the liberty, the freedom, of elevated self-importance in order to
convey your importance, life's importance to me (see what I mean - I don't even
know you and yet I have dared to see behind your cultural "mask" -
something only to be done as entertainment if one doesn't want to become a
religious freak or just a plain old Garden variety freak). It is your job, as
an audience, to enjoy it, whether you enjoy loving it, hating it, or being
completely disinterested in it, in which case you will meet me and yourself in
some other place and time - since we are all, in essence, artists. As an artist
of cultural response and of ritualistic or psychotropic response, it is my job
to perform the vanity of you and culture as a whole, the positive, the
creative, the serpent sunshine (consume the no longer useful, produce the
hopefully useful). Since all art, from the solar system, to religion to
politics communicates in essence intent, being made self-evident by its ability
to do so, I have worked very hard to make the intent I communicate or my sexual
being as entertaining or stirring as possible, the level of entertainment
always being related to the level of useful information conveyed - that takes
you being more than just a voter or a consumer or an object in which to pour
information and politics, that takes you knowing that you don't need to know
any of this. I say this because we live a "culture" wherein someone
will watch a film or read a book devoted to the preservation of humanism (the
"idea" that humans are basically good) and say "I don't get
it", then pick a newspaper depicting a murder, feeling and knowing that
they live a world they know all too well. Humanism honours tragedy. It doesn't
seek to escape it. It honours the fact that we aren't in absolute control of
our lives and dares to give us a "reason" to look forward, to look at
are own faces and see the dream, less we begin to define ourselves by our
problems alone.
This is your music not your mirror It's
coming out of you So turn off all earth's nightly news And take in a better
view
It has always been the intent of any
artist, the inability to express it (to contextualize itself, or oneself) or
the inability to express it in a way that is as positive as possible without
being ineffectual. To, in essence, isolate oneself from and also integrate
oneself into a given cultural milieu in order to invigorate cultural forms
which promise the realization of ideals to its citizens who are often (as
everyone is) unable in part to gauge where politics ends and the body and soul
begin. This has everything to do with language and mythology. We are living at
the end of one language and the beginning of another, a form and mode of
cultural or conscious response to the world around that, on the one hand, has
given us immense amount of tools for communication and cultural order but has
left us as political bodies, vying for our identities, for ways to perform our
souls and a culture or collective soul of embodied intent in which to perform
it, besides small artistically elite or "countercultural" communities
or simply washing ourselves away in the popular sentiment of self-help,
televised or religious entertainment. Or, let's be honest, becoming the
"cynical fuck". It is precisely in such times, as it always has been,
when elevation of the body and soul in its own right is mandatory to health and
well being, when we must leave ourselves at the will of the gods and risk
discovering that will and desire in the beat of our own hearts. In ancient
native cultures, a young maiden undergoing her first "bleeding" was
isolated and elevated. Ancient cultures undergoing similar evolutionary changes
such as the Incas or the Egyptians knew enough instinctually to praise and
elevate the body, and especially in Egypt where massive change goes hand in
hand with cultural isolation - "where have all my friends gone?" says
one Egyptian poet. Pierced skin for us 20th century primitives, is
the image of the blood in the words of the body: our language is our body, the
body of our ancient souls, the blood and soul - the language - of our days and
nights - our mythology, our rock n' roll. We truly live in an age of
incomparable creative and soulful opportunities. My life is a thank you. We are
not generation X. We are a generation of privilege raising one after another
for all that came before and all that will come after. Write about us all you
want. There are no victims here today, only us soul riders....riding the Daemon
wave, our personal and collective cultural destiny into our humanity, into our
everything.
It is always a risk, then, of offending the
sensibility of an audience that perhaps should already be more than offended by
how the vanity of the soul is performed by "culture" and media. I
have, therefore, word very hard to see "culture"(as it is advertised)
as an entity that is very easily swayed for moments at a time but that to react
or direct art to "culture’s attentionless span of political defense (what
part of the ozone have we depleted today? You read what in the paper today? I
won't believe it?) is to miss the audience altogether, is to risk being an
icon, if only for a moment. Therefore, I direct my art to cultural artifact,
artifact of time, place, and consciousness - we are earth late 20th
century. This is a spiritual response as much as an artistic one. When we enjoy
(through scholarship and entertainment) cultures past probably much more than
those cultures ever did themselves, we invite ourselves to see and feel as the
very gods or ideals that sedated such cultures in the presence of suffering. To
then reflect on the passage of time and soul and humble ourselves with the
possibility that we are living in, relatively speaking, similar times compared
to the future, we free our selves to enjoy the past in our bodies and
perception as if not more than can be idealized or idolized in
"culture" or religion, both of which titillate with tragedy and
sedate with sentiment-oblivion; tragedy--artifact--freedom - for only as each
individual uniquely embodies the tragedy of history and existence can we, as a
culture and as individuals, embody the desire which springs from that tragedy,
the reality of unity and of blood. To approach all culture and entertainment
with the notion that we aren't much different than any culture ever to exist is
to let the blood stir in a way that can only give rise to vanity when one
realizes that no culture before has ever been in the position to have such a
clear view of the soul as it has progressed through time. The body knows. We
have extended perception of the soul as far as we can without reaping the
benefits in an evolved language of
entertainment, culture, and spirituality which can only put more use to modern technology, media and ideals
than could ever be expressed by all the books in all the libraries in all the
world in all of time. We just can trust our tools from computers to politicians
to corporations to do it for us, to have something to say and know that the
universe is listening. Vanity frees the modern soul. The performance of vanity
is the purpose of culture unless one believes that culture exists only, like
politics, to take care of the necessaries, to do what you need it to do, like the
sewer system (to do so is to make ones life into a billboard is to let someone
else tell you what you need is to bake one's body a political body that exists
only to be manipulated for someone else's gain which, if that were possible in
terms of the soul, we wouldn't be here today - is to make your every
conversation about how the movement of some other political body may or may not
effect your ability to satisfy all your needs in the future - the topic of a
lot of people's conversations these days that can be symbolized by the ever
evil cigarette, what I call a nexus of "culture". When culture
becomes something that happens in the body, in the blood, the environmental
polity of politics, economics, business, nation, psychology, ecology, and sexuality
become uninteresting in the sense that they spend or consume cultural and
personal intent rather than creating and conveying it, all conveying enough
understanding of the body of the soul and using most of their energy to justify
this "understanding" in order to warrant one giving them the power to
regulate what goes into the body and what should come out of it when it is
blatantly obvious that the polity of the earth's atmosphere is beyond any and
all regulation. Granted, there is a lot of pressure upon them to do so, which
is all the more reason to focus more attention upon the individual of any all
nations as a cultural artifact. The fate of the planet, as with the fate of the
individual, has very little to do with how many cigarettes one smokes, how many
trees we cut down, or how much exhaust we produce. It is important, of course,
but it is out of our control. An almost blasphemous thing to say in this day
and age. But we are also living in an age where it conceivable to some people
that one's level of health care should be related to if or how much one smokes
tobacco. Tobacco, like the environmental polity, is a stimulant that obtains
very little response from the body after prolonged subjugation. A cigarette is
a metaphor for everything that happens to the body, which it cannot,
apparently, respond to and fears that, if it dared, it would make like a grey
owl, and die off, a metaphor for a "cultural" or objective
mythology/language that in no way embodies the essence of the reality in which
we live. A cigarette is a metaphor for the creative intent of the soul that
"culture" cannot describe or paint a picture of without presenting a
disfigured or undesirable portrait of one's soul, of one's very being in order
to justify the "cure". Not so different a "culture" than
industrial or even Renaissance Europe except now we have mass marketing and
culture for sale. Not a pretty picture, and, admittedly not an accurate one. To
say that it was would make it "political", and I'm not a politician,
and I'm not selling anything: a cultural artifact of this page which
encompasses what it means to respond to something that no one should be or put
themselves in the position of responding to. How I expect someone to respond to
this rant is exactly how I "respond" to most media and to those that
presume know the effects of how little, how much, or why I smoke: I ignore it.
You’re a liar; respond to that. You're jeopardizing your health; respond to
that. The planet is perilously close to extinction; respond to that.
Politicians have a difficult job. And this is a good time to say that my
pejorative use of the word "culture" in no way is meant to have
anything to do with people that compose "culture", any more that
referring to "Renaissance Europe" means that I have any idea of the lives
and experiences, the loves and pleasures of all those that lived in those
times. "Culture" is an objective referent, an image that one is free
to play in order to stimulate ones sense of reality, even though it, in no way,
embodies the essence of that reality. The earth, however, does, and so does the
body, which appears immeasurably beautiful when eyed from space,
"ravaged" as it is from its experience of humanity, a responsive body
that cannot be contained by anything but the soul as it lives its life. Desire.
A deadly dream. A real dream. The reality that we all share. If you got'em -
smoke'em...
The movement of politics, money, resources,
media technology, and health technology, and social technology are extremely
important of course. However, the level of attention of the soul invited by the
cultural reporting of such events is out of balance with the creative intent
conveyed by the reporting itself. Therefore, instead of bringing the soul and
body together, modern technology and media isolate when they are promised to do
the opposite. This is not tragedy any more than life is a tragedy. This is an
opportunity to rediscover how little control over the phenomena of
human/cultural movement one needs or has. The presence, if only in the smallest
part of the desire for performance of human culmination in terms of global
creative intent in the form of the human body and function and perception of
soul and blood and of memory and imagination and of entertainment and of
spirituality and of sexuality speaks of a strength and a hope that survived
millennia. Since we are not our "culture" or our technologies, then
our "culture" and technologies have conversely, monumental things to
say bout their creators. This is not in my intent, a social, artistic, or reactionary
movement, this is a movement of soul this is the movement of the body of the
sun, of the stars of the earth. It is a very small movement of this moment
alone. To say great things as the sole expression of doing great things is my
cultural artifact of this piece - it also a cultural artifact of the culture in
which I live, which is another way of saying that I have very little control
over the value of my response to anyone, only that I know it is my response.
Great things get done by the collective soul of cultures. To know as much take
the politician out of all of us and make the reporting of social/cultural
movement a small but very important public service rather than a cultural
stimulant, since to view it otherwise is to trade in the privilege and freedom
of living on this planet today for the objectification of body and soul that
our culture is, in reality, already the positive response to. To respond to
"culture" with heightened self-importance and riddle my body with
worry is to take on needs that just don't belong to be; I'm not trying to make
a difference, which frees me to respond to the best part of humanity, the real
one. We have evolved. Such a movement of body and perception and communication
with time and intent, we are as affected by as, say, the Incas once were. Like
a young woman undergoing the movement of time, intent and blood in her body, we
must seek to elevate the change, the body and the soul - the ability and means
to communicate value. Humanity, as resilient as it is, is a supremely delicate
creature, yet so powerful that it demands consummate respect - soul respect
(we, as a race, have come a long way). It is out of respect for the culture in
which I live and for my own body that I write this. We all understand just
about all we can handle. Enjoy.
Part V
To free the mind, the goal of say,
university or religion or civilization itself can only be performed by the body
when the body is viewed and experienced mytho-imaginatively i.e. the language
or logic of imagination as it is related to the soul or reality - the body of
desire; the body of all communication when it is respected as Body or Artifact.
"It's evolution, baby...". Many "primitive" cultured did
and do just this without the benefit of what we call higher reason. However,
since freedom is of the soul, it is also what the Body is designed to function
in and as and with and throughout etc etc. Just as the digestive system takes
in the object of food and feeds the body, leaving one with satisfaction and the
ability to act, so, too the Body is designed to drink in, to consume the
objects of mind of cultural forms and ideals and preserved by the technological
artifact of language, of images and words as they draw one's attention and
through time, the body of the soul, stimulating tragedy or cultural artifact of
20th century consciousness - the inability to describe how one
feels, or the inability to feel or to see name and desire in name and desire to
name, of seeing and hearing soul with soul through artifact or tragedy or Moon,
the Body of the End, of Chaos, of Cyclical Destruction or Death, the still-born
child(Cane), the rejected animal or instinct, but also, paradoxically, the
Redeemer, Prometheus Unbound in Sun and Soul, the rebirth of the desire of the
gods in the Body of Artifact or Tragedy - Tree, Earth, Sun, Moon. The Moon
does, through the Trees, blind a world of too many needs The Moon does, through
the Trees, free the serpent will of Heracules (Artifact of cultural digestion
with mytho-imaginative body or soul. Ritualistic poetry i.e. lived on two feet
and two eyes open - an artifact of my life and observations in mind, heart and
sex (soul).
Having spent several years writing poetry
or artifacts of cultural tragedy, I have found that all sentiments of tragedy
such as images of guilt, loss, shame, are ultimately the source of all renewal
or unified cultural empathy (unified meaning in part, honouring Water and Body
as the source of all metaphor or communication or The Desire of Time or
SunEarth or Androgyne (the gender possessed by every living soul) - memory,
meaning, intent, value, blood- through language, art, speech or sheer being) in
mind, heart and soul, for, through tragedy one, paradoxically, finds
unification with cultural desire, or the performance of deeply felt memory -
the spontaneous creation of sexual ancestry - artifact, the Eros of Christian
Ethos even though I am not a Christian.
The Rhyme and The Reason
Where no path goes One lover does wait Where
forever lasts a lifetime Together for the last time Knowing twilight by the
watery light Of tears no hope to shine Through early morning's face My own
reflected grace Where is this place Where no path goes
Alone but for the chance that fate Is hiding
where the breeze meets My morning in the world now bright What river feels the
flowing more than I And there, when and where One lover does wait At the end of
my desire Where chance and fate do conspire To sing my forever song While you
are gone I can wait that long
All in all is who we are The very sweetest
Touch the Water constantly And there comes One with Tongue as bold As eyes with
but Old For what Light has cast against his withered Skin Dare drown that
vision in The pleasure of not finding For if, in vanity, that search Water
rushes to Glistening in the Soul Sounds sweeter still
To short-cult the soul by simply focusing
the mind or the reason of the mind on a set of ideals, (rules of discourse of
the body that idolize narrowly defined productivity (cultural response or
"work") to the point where readers or students or consumers of mass
media become resource instead of audience), or a body of knowledge outside the
body, is to enjoy only temporary and ultimately unfulfilling satisfaction is to
politicize education, reason, and culture is to solve the unification of mind
and body by relegating the body to having only necessary value rather than
intrinsic value, is to make the body a political body - this is what
"culture" does or doesn't do, really, and even this body is rarely
stimulated to do much but transfer need for value to other "cultural"
forms, Gods that have little or no ability to respond what stimulation they do
get from its politicized, etheric, components, Gods being variations of cultural
empathy from TV to religion, from corporation, to charity to university to
government to law to justice to technology, all advertising their ability to
embody the creative intent of culture - what you need to do, want, need, feel,
be, buy; all unifying into corporation or political body, serving only to
regulate the flow of resource, which is exactly what it is supposed to do. Do
we have a culture, or does our culture have us? This rant, then, again,
becoming a cultural artifact for by, objectifying and criticizing
"culture" with its own politicized language, the politicized body, in
this case, me, disappears into a thin skin, becoming a page, a dead tree, a
neon sign conveying information only as artifact and, as artifact, monumental
amounts of information in the body of my fate, skin and bone and artery, Skin
being the original polity, from the polity of the earth, to the polity of body,
art, and communication. That the earth absorbs more information and pleasure
from the body of a fallen tree than humans do from technologies is a tragedy
that has already been rectified by the fate and destiny of the soul, by the
body of earth which is the true objective reality of "cultural"
humanity. In the presence or paradigm or spirit of cosmic humanism of the soul
and its embodiment it becomes ludicrous to paint government, organization or
any foreign political entity or republic with the characteristic of evil or
indiscriminate malevolence or malicious intent (even if they do have one), a
fallacy which permeates "counterculture" but is rarely of any
sustainable value, as information or belief, to any given human being.
Political or bureaucratic bodies have the least amount of control of anything.
To view them as possessing the power to affect evil intent in any way is as
primitive a belief and as similar a belief as was directed at the original
polity of the forces of nature as they became localized in pagan or woman of
mediaeval Europe. All political bodies being, again, the Skin into which
creative intent of the soul may pass, as semen into the body of a woman (the
original political body), as blood passes into the earth and through time, and,
in the 21st century, as soul passes into the 21st century
primitive (a cultural artifact) who just may be a necessary innovation of
evolution, a political or regulatory hybrid of the "information age",
and sexually speaking, the emergent Androgyne or paganChrist or technoDruid -
the welling up of the spirit of body of blood and of soul, of Gnosis and
entertainment (rock n'roll) In a very real sense, as both govt and corp attempt
to entertain and advertise, we are already the cultural androgyne. [Then end of
war on this planet, as it has been known, will be a resurrection of the
imagination as it has never been known...]I am attempting to relate 20th
century cultural politics to 21st century sexuality and health. The
extension of the political body, of political, technological systems of
regulation become, a once, fatal amputations of individuality and global or
spherical expansions of Body, become a cyclical evolution of the Body or Soul
of value rediscovered in the rebirth of intrinsic value of the original Body of
Metaphorical and Literal Value, the skin and body of a woman and earth and
Water, in which man rediscovers rebirth - Odysseus rises as the Phoenix (a
unification of fire and water, mind and soul), and Aphrodite takes on flesh, is
unified with the animal and the terror of animal which separated her and man
from the earth and each other, she becoming a point of light at the end of the
telescope of reason(a "myth), and he becoming, like his language, an
etheric body of indiscriminate self-mutilation as well sexual
non-specificity("Christ"),(the cultural codification of sexuality as
necessary function for the sole purpose of expanding material value, of reason
and feeling as separate from the senses and pleasure or of heightened
importance to both as both are objectively and technologically expressed,
relegating cultural empathy or communication to the anarchy of reason and of
universal "love" which diminishes the relative value of empathy in
the "cultural" performance of agape or respect as a love and a God
without a body, a tragic play of fantasy and ideal without an audience, a
planet and a body that reason cannot perceive as embodying the heart and desire
and ideal, a heaven on earth and in the flesh, even while it is creating the
means and the circumstance by which it takes on flesh, when God and also
"goddess" is replaced with god, when God, a tragedy with no reason,
is risen by the body of the earth on which we step, the body of desire's
eternal fulfillment and the reality of fantasy and ideal in its unity with the
sun. (Life's art becomes religion for modern man and woman.) Planetary bodies
meet in the earth and in the body as Mercury and Venus, reason and desire meet
and war in the imagination, uniting science, art, technology, literature, body
and soul, mysticism and religion, element and force, while stabilizing and even
heightening the value of cultural systems). The female body always preserving
cultural culmination in her ability to experience sexual pleasure in mind,
heart and body, thus, sexual and cultural unity. Man, finding at the end of his
journey of reason, that he returns to where he started, and discovers her and
himself again for the first time, in emergent Androgyne; a face, a body, and a
tongue to slide into our gardens of stone and rain blood and soul into the
garden of the 21st century in myth, mind, heart, imagination, and
body, to fill our technologies and language itself with the cathedrals of light
that are our very beings as well as the body of objectified blood which are
these same technologies; A sexually unified body of communication, a language,
a mythology, from which to speak and hear the soul's desire as well as its
culmination, the language of artifact in an emergent body of communication, a
solar language, which infuses cultural forms with soul. A performance of unity,
vanity, and metaphor in the height of human achievement which is Tree, Sun,
Soul, Word, the movement of earth, sun, and human life, which is the sound of
everything's ok, baby. Mind ate the message and its messing with my mind. Body
ate my mind and now time is all I find. Watch my mind, moving.
Everything's....moving. (Cultural artifact of musing on sexy computer) (Drug
free, I might add)
Vanity The Sun does, through the Tree Free
the Serpent Face of Humanity
One might discipline oneself to make mind
or reason the end rather than the means of Gnosis or ritualistic knowledge
(truth performed in the reality of the senses, meaning any thought or pleasure
could be and is your last one - this life is all ritual - because every thought
and pleasure is your first one - 3 years old, a body, a daddy, a mommy, an
angel of light, a terrifying little ritual called my birth, "hell, I wanna
fuck again, the angels, these symmetrical muses of divinely profane culture,
love it and so do I..,... love... everything...Angels are returning to culture
in the imagination - the most powerful fucking/loving force in the entire
universe.. And why not, we really need to make that conscious movement, are
making it out of the womb of secular mythology) and call it "prayer"
or "meditation", relegating desire to the observance of "cultural"
or "religious" ritual, a ritual which performs only the promise for
the soul and of divine creative intent. Hell, we've all been the Zen Master or
the Avatar of the Positive Affirmation (laugh). To hold body itself up as a
unified system, to drink in the images and ideals of culture and reason as an
audience of the body is as simple as realizing (being privately entertained by
these words, say) that the body works as well as the solar system. To take that
performance of soul that, within modern "culture", takes place in theatre,
church, concert, bedroom, coffee house, party, meditation, TV room, work,
wherever it is that the body feels good and culture (the soul) feels vain and
alive (which everyone experiences and knows that stirring of blood, especially
that which takes place in the form of entertainment) is merely a concentration
of soul (the story, in words of movement, in words of days and nights of one's
entire life - rock n' roll) directed at the mind- which can only ever really
perceive short increments of time and feeling - and the body-- to know, as the
ground beneath and sun above, know that the body and soul live that level of
enjoyment throughout the days and nights of what often passes subjectively as
cultural oblivion (an epic tale no book or film will ever embody, which is why
you have a body - the culmination of soul) The body is an epic performance of
time and movement and pleasure and intent. A culture which is detached largely
from an observance of ancestry (from an observance of the cyclic in language and
ritual in favour of linear language of "culture" or Reason) can only
take as its own the universe of Gnosis which surrounds and even gives
definition to Reason as much as a universe of empty black space gives
definition to one single point of light, to (paradoxically) think monumentally
more of its Reason and Technology because it is already an embodiment of that
blackness; a philanthropic science of vanity and of the senses in which all
Body without is, in process, one's Body(and neither would be without the other,
Body. Body is Energy is matter. Life is movin...at the speed of light...the
speed of getting high on you with me, baby...Einstein, one the greatest
scientists of all time, started out wanting to know what it would feel like to
travel at the speed of light. The great Paradox is that he wouldn't have been
able to find the answer if his Body hadn't already answered), the body of a
star, the body of literature, body of science, body of work, body of politics,
body of theory, body of history etc...Body. And as Body, complete, Christos. A
slight twist of fate and vanity, and heaven came down already, some easily
perceived examples being Jazz and Rock n' Roll. You say, humanity needs to do
this this this this this. I say, we're done. Let's give a copy of Jonathan
Swift's "A Modest Proposal" to all the poor tired masses and let the
people who are really taking care of matters unacceptable on this planet do
their job instead of, like me, just talking about it and saying, what a great
job they do even though they meet God every day - suffering without apparent
reason - gods of Charity, us all for to feel something for, say, some starving
kid on the other side of the planet or even a guy on my street
is an act of Charity - and how could one
not? It doesn't take understanding, really, just an easy Vanity, just a little
sin, a little being - if it was hard, it wouldn't be worth it (laugh). As Swift
said, let's eat the poor and suffering, as they are such an abundant
"resource". But, then, in reality we as a developed culture depend
upon and feed upon the tragedy or poverty of the rest in as much as we have
usurped and violate this planet to produce our own wealth and technology. Or
have we? Are the poor always with us and are those things which we value valuables
we "can't take with us"? Is true value only something that exists
after death? Is the only real creative challenge of the 21st
century, to make amends for our indiscriminate rape of the earth, to find
salvation for "culture" by using our tech/media to help this poor
weak victim of a planet? Every possession we have is an artifact of value as
much as consciousness. I'm just not interested in the level of conscious
response invited by pop-media which is, worry about it a little, and then
dismiss it as marginally though terrifyingly relevant to your life in some dark
and mysterious way. When the fact is that one's daily life is all the response
one need (or could be if one dares to recognize that all our modern pleasures
and materials are responses to personal and global tragedy - they would be more
valuable, even, since a unified consciousness is already aware that everything
that one has is like milk from a mother's breast, like blood from a planet of
which one is a citizen by blood.) The universe exists to provide you with
energy - 10,000 years, give or take a millennia, says we've earned it in as
much as you've earned the title of fucking sexy beast - not a profanity, a
gratitude of self and all for how much we've sacrificed in mind heart and sex
to get wherever we are right now, wherever you are right now, to drink in the
divine desire which is your and our past. Language is a fucking sexy beast, the
same language which compels me to make more sense that I, personally, have ever
read and yet sound completely insane - it's divine, it's terrifying how much
we've sacrificed. Vanity is the only way to remember just how much...
Can't get into heaven, baby Got fire down
below Heaven's stars inside your blood, baby Nowhere but fuck to go
Terrifying and arousing, really.
So afraid That fear is all love seeks
Through motion and emotion With the Father of God he speaks Turning thought
Into the ecstasy of thinking When feeling becomes too painful Eternity is
blinking The moment drowned And breathing Two breathes at once
The body of "culture" preserved
objectively and subjectively in every mirror and medium, every artifact, is an
image and memory of blood, body, and desire, that of all of history. To unify
in the imagination and in the senses the mythological and very real function of
sun and earth as it is related to heart and blood and body is to slow down the
chaotic performance of time and culture in sound bytes of TV and newspaper as
well as be-happy social and relational pop-psychology. Is to know that the body
knows, is to bring entertainment, art, spirituality and human ecology into a
unification of art, soul, and entertainment that has been feared since the
beginning of time. Is to free the mind to enjoy what it knows, to enjoy the
body. This why I call Rock n'Roll is the greatest invention of the 20th
century, the unification of myth, imagination, body, mind, soul, sun, earth is
everything that is rock n' roll. This is a spontaneous cultural artifact, a
product not to be understood for the sake of reason or conscience, but a
product to be consumed for he pleasure and sake of the soul.
I'm livin on life My life is a prayer To
the only one Who is ever there, baby
The universe is full of the will to perform
the soul, the will to pleasure. Culture, its images and sounds, is, in the
vanity of every cultural response in individual mind and body, is the response
that is culture itself, as it is perceived objectively and subjectively, imbued
with desire, the desire to alter consciousness or state of pleasure or level of
responsiveness of feeling of soul, an epic union of sun and earth performed and
completed by all art and communication technology from book to blood, language,
logic, music, time, memory, completed by every spontaneous cultural artifact,
all that is imbued with soul, with the intent and harmony that is every beat of
every heart and everything touched and perceived by human innovation. This is
the heart of psychedelics - to allow one's self to know that one affected by
everything without only to realize that one is equally affected by everything
below (desire) is to make the blood run rich, and soul fly free, is to be a god
is to be what we are. If I could choose to know one thing, I would know that
Life, for the cultural artifacts, the souls that we are, is a constant
stimulant to mind heart and body which takes on different meaning at different
times, but which we are always the completed response to. Give your soul a
break today.
Although there are some who would doubt the
contribution of rock n' roll to society, the rock n' roll artist says, I'm out
there; I'm not asking society to be anything more that it is, to provide me
with what I need. The Universe was created for the rock n' roll soul, for all
souls equally. Rock n' roll is the preservation of free love, free soul and
free sex (not to be confused with sex without responsibility - quite the
opposite) in form and completion of all cultural modes of ideal and structure
in consciousness - it is the eternal celebration of creation and life brought into
human sexual consciousness, the culmination of evolution - it is all that is
sacred about the soul - it is all that is powerful and resilient about the soul
as it moves through many an varied obstacles to feeling free m- it is the
reason and whether one understands it or likes it, is about you when you choose
not to identify with primitive systems of culture in which you live outwardly.
To those that don't want to celebrate living loving and fucking completely,
are, whether they like it or not - now that's grace - the soul that will never
be denied entrance into the rock concert that life is when lived one eternity
at a time - the constant intoxicated revelry of the gods in blood, metal, sun
and soul. I woke up inside a body of light and blood And saw a living breathing
metaphor For perfected creative intent
The images of time Are the first few chords
Of living rock gods Intoxicated Lords
Part VI
The image of the earth in space is the most
powerful of the 20th century, an image of and a living cultural
artifact of all that has terrified humanity since it first looked at the Sun.
Earth, the soul catcher, all the souls that have lived and felt so that we
could take a picture of the original, always original, Soul. And yet, the human
soul is more powerful than a space telescope. The earth has drank in the blood
and water of human fear and ecstasy for millennia and like two eternal lovers,
like the sun and earth, have become even more beautiful with time, as any woman
one loves only ever gets more beautiful. And what a great thing to know that
the earth, despite all catastrophe, is ore beautiful today than she ever was,
for she doesn't steal life or soul at journey's end. She holds all time inside
her and invite us all to drink the blood and water of our fantasies and fears -
Artifact - 'cause it all goes into the sun, anyway - and become as gods -
mortal and alive and eternal. For just as she turns away from the sun, so is
she turning towards him. And just as the first human to see the sun becomes
humanity turning away from the knowledge of soul in Moon or the madness of
reason, technologies of shame, a God that doesn't know who he is, a Bible that
was written by men who did no know who they were and were ashamed of what they
did know, so was humanity turning towards the endless dawn. Sun and Earth, the
god of intoxication with life, the Dionysus, the Aphrodite in us all, in soul -
free vanity, free sexuality, free life, freedom. Rock on. Rock n Roll - a
living metaphor, like us, for the human Tree, drinking in oblivious cultural
ritual and breathing out soul shine, serpent light of sexually unified reason.
If Charlie is an soulless malevolent entity, then a culture of the mind alone
is Charlie and the newspapers are all right on the mark, and the Apocalypse is
really now 'cause "Charlie don't surf". Ride the wave. Be a soul
surfer. The ideal city in the sky is raining holy shit upon the sacred garden
of reality. Flush your soul. The body works, humanity works or that sun isn't
shining.
The first real use of language Was the
ritualistic chant The first real part of the people Will do what the sewer
system can't
The first real rock n' roll artist Was the
sun and earth Their song the blood and water You drank right before your birth,
baby
Before you had even learned to listen To
the music of your soul Before you could consume their song Through the mouth of
your black hole
Until you drink my blood and water All you
see are images of the past The last image you won't remember The everything
that you see last
The car you drive The road you drive on The
roof over your head The imaginary bed that keeps you safe And sounding like a
child until your dead
So before you lay you head down And sink
into your love Remember you created that starry roof on up above From below the
deepest heaven From below the deepest hell From below the deepest earth Below
your father's deepest well
Don't call me daughter The picture kept [in
my fucking free blood] will remind me [and you]
I'm soul, I'm body beautiful, body electric,
blood of light, a Christmas tree, god, human, the ultimate fucking free
technology. I'm sun and earth, rock n' roll, I'm useful fucking information and
so are we all.
Credit to Ed Vender
We were doing time In the Universal Mind We
were turning keys We were setting people free We're the Freedom Souls That's
how Lucky we are We're the Freedom Souls
-Credit to Jim Morrison
Part VII
This is the objective Body of work that
represents my structural response in body and mind to the universe and the
university to date.
I, hereby, claim some degree of expertise
in ArtHistAnthroPhiLit or PsychotropicSexualEcology, the language of the soul,
as is it is functionally relevant to the cultural or soul zone of planet Earth,
late 20th century, geographical zone, the beautiful Fraser Valley,
its mountain peaks, its winds, its sounds, all of its doors to the soul. Thank
you and Aloha...
Philosophy is about and, in some small part
is, the body - the body is the source of all knowledge and experience - it is
the force and union of sun and earth of movement and feeling. Human blood is
how earth drinks in the sun, creative intent, and it is culture's consciousness
of this system of soul that allows it to embody higher forms of feeling and
intent, all of history, art and literature speak of this desire to me; its
health, its poetry, its unity, its rock n' roll - Freedom. Soul comes from and
returns to sun in the dynamics of body and earth - She's getting warmer....
That earth and soul stores the memory of every movement of every soul of force
and dynamic of sun and earth and is continuously touching and effecting the
present culture is the source and dynamic of archetype in person and
entertainment is a mytho-sexual-imaginative unity feared since the beginning of
time. Everything to the kitchen sink is full of soul is full of stars is rock
n' roll, composed of all past and all future, everything touched by human hands
and seen by human eyes or even imagined by human hearts. Don't think too hard -
she likes that too much. Take a breath and let the sun and stars touch and feel
with us, as they always have. We are the gods. The Moon does, through the
Trees, free the serpent will of Heracules, as Aphrodite, the Morning Star, the
blood of myth, the blood of body and soul, takes on flesh and God and Goddess,
image of value and ideal, sink into the past, into their living grave, into the
earth, into the sun as heaven and earth take on a body of blood and passion, a
rebirth of the spirit of culture, art, soul and rock n' roll, which is a real
as the body of every dead tree after Christmas, can be touched and smelled not
some intangible authority, as every cultural holiday becomes every day in
blood, sun and soul. The completion in heightened sexual being (cultural
responsiveness) of every cultural, religious, communication, health and
education system - not to be confused with making them irrelevant - making
them, in fact, more relevant - it is the unification of each to each ever loved
and felt, past, present and future - it is a drinking in of the cultural
fantasy and fear that renews all cultural and personal ritual, of performed
reality/identity/blood. All in all, a practical paradigm for the performance of
love and peace, constant thanksgiving to life and culmination of anarchy that
can take nothing from existing cultural forms, adds to them, even with every
breath of every beat of this divine orgy of body and soul. Rock on and peace
out...
The earth stores the memory of all blood,
every moment of soul, Emerson is in the wind. Morrison is in the wind.
Shakespeare is in the wind. Everyone anyone has ever known is in the wind, and
especially, in sun and wind, in all body. Every cultural age effects the memory
of soul and is affected by every other age is, in essence, a spontaneous
artifact or musical composition of all soul every day and every year composed
of intent and form, is a silent rock n' roll anthem between each sunrise and
sunset. (And if I hadn't heard it (with nothing but blood in my blood) I
wouldn't be writing about it - I'm not a philosopher or a psychedelic junkie
(laugh) - just a guy that's dared to listen to the sound of my own soul, the
blood and water of my days and nights, my hopes and fears and dreams, and, of
course, a lot of staring at the sun and listening to the earth - beats any book
all to hell. Therefore, every moment is the culmination of being, feeling and
creating - every citizen is the culmination of all cultural intent and ideal,
and every soul collectively the culmination of an age or collective culture.
This is the definition of individual freedom as it is yet to be codified in
objective culture. It is a cultural paradigm, which unifies all human, art and
communication, sexuality and morality. The earth is always feeling the totality
of us from beginning to end - is, in fact, the beginning and the end that keeps
getting better every day (say g'day to religious nihilism)... Therefore, each
moment one's being is the completion of the union of sun and earth as well as
of the cultural ideal I have presented (this is entertainment, not dogma). Like
my university education, each person completes as system of evolved response
yet to be represented by bureaucratic and economic systems. Any and all
response to this piece subjectively is its self-evidence by the body's and the
soul's own, and often silent, performance of cosmic humanism. "My life is
love and pleasure", Josef Strauss. Rock n' Roll. As entertainment, anyway,
and practical common sense, or blood sense. As scholarship, its full of infinitely
many holes and, likely, does not stand on any form of substantial
"rationality". But, then, I don't stand on scholarship, I stand on my
own artistic conscience - I love to paint the soul with words, which is what
any system of logic does, really. Therefore, this is more like
meta-scholarship: my road to useful reason is soulful irrationality. I love to
drink in the sun, in whatever medium it comes in, from book to sky. As a race,
we are living in the Church of the Heart of Sky, Thunderbolt.
Part VIII We are a body of light The only
language We speak Is Us come day or night We are the Serpent alright We are
God's wet dream Of the Body Bright We are all sun-earth systems of unified
solar relations. We should all be embarrassed for not knowing this, as
embarrassed that a tree being cut down feels more alive, more aware of its
purpose and destiny than most of us ever are until we die - this is the great
tragedy of our age - great, because we are all the positive response to this
tragedy. To look upon each human being as a cultural artifact is a metaphor for
the function of consciousness that we can no longer depend upon
"cultural" system to allow us to feel and express, is to be the heart
of the sky gazing upon the living breathing relics of time and intent of soul
that is planet earth, that is us all - we are artifacts of freedom. Although,
artifacts is, here, not a purely objective categorization of people, that would
be immensely naive, it is also a metaphor for a mode of perception that is not
or needn't be a continuous stream of reality but a momentary realization in all
of one's being that, once possessed, is always yours. Like love for the first
time. Once felt, you always know what it isn't even if you don't feel it all
the time, nor would one expect o - it is something to hold inside and remember,
a Christmas of the soul, when, in the privacy of one moment or 20 years, you
dared to feel more of yourself and more of another. That in that moment, you
gave something to yourself, and they to themselves that was not a product of
any drug or circumstance other than life, was a pure act of being of sin -
spontaneous creativity of soul, a faith in the unknown, and became as a god. It
as and is the heart of revolution, the heart of ignorance of useless
information, the heart of Christianity at its inception, the heart of all great
art that the early Christian movement invigorated, but comes to consummate
focus and reality in the one that grabs your soul, if even for a moment - it is
the art of consummate responsibility and morality - it is a revolution that
must be enacted every day of every year if one is to remain free - it is a
revolution of the body, feeling and perception - it is a revolution that has
already taken place waiting for an audience to stop and listen and take credit
for the art that belongs to all, the art of culture, the art of the performance
of soul in heart, body and sex. Cultural artifact is the earth and sun in you
and all, it is the vanity to trust that you are the positive response to all
through your senses and through your body. When I look at people, I look at the
sex between their legs regardless of body, gender, sexuality or class or creed.
That sex that soul, fucked its way into life as much as humanity has fucked its
way into today - given all of its self. Are we fucked? Or are we ready to
really fuck for the first time again? Such is a matter of responsibility. To
say we are gods or I am a god is not an insane reaction to some depressed
self-image; it is to honour all who have lived and died. For all who die become
gods, become the sun, the earth, and all its elements of change and feeling. To
simply be born, to allow your naked screaming helpless being to pass through
your mother's legs is an act of supreme trust given to the world and to your
parents. You trust them to give you what you need to live your life, you trust
that the sun and earth and culture will give you everything you need to perform
you soul. To then complete that trust in your vanity, to then trust your own
soul, is to complete the exchange, to make perfect, by virtue of you innate
responsibility, your parentage or risk being God's child the rest of you life.
This is the heart of the soul and of culture; this is the heart of
psychedelics. Is it so hard to believe that we possess such power to affect our
soul's our own perception of the world in which we live? Look around, humanity
has affected this planet, this planet that has given us so much life. Do we
need salvation? No. We must expect that the sun and earth trust us as much as
we have trusted them, that God trusts as a much as we have trusted him, is to
trust that, as embodiments of a will that shaped and evolved this planet
millennia before now, we are as beautiful to the sun as she and as important.
We are sun-earth systems of unified relations. We are made of sun and earth we
are made of rock n' roll, tragedy and redemption in desire, in soul. We are
rock gods. Enter the lizard house. We own responsibility for everything; We are
why the wars were fought and still are. We are why people suffer and still do.
We take responsibility for everything and feel the need to do nothing. Because
it all been done. We honour all time and all souls. It is done. We trust
everything or everything and every one. I'm one crazy fucking diamond. And so
are you. Shine on again. Shine on again. Never forget to shine on again.
Part IX
Yeats was right. Culture, "we"
have become ignorant of tragedy as it is imbued in the mythic structure of the
soul. We have become afraid of our own souls. And, thus, "culture, we have
come parodies of tragedy, we are tattooed with cliché -"culture" is
divine cliché, divine comedy where satire's ability to illuminate and parody
our fantastic illusions has become God alone in a bathroom trying to embarrass
himself by throwing cream pies at the mirror not knowing that the lizard gods
are watching. We, as a "culture" have become voyeurs of ourselves,
giving our illusions more value than the value of reality, that value of a
mother's breast feeding a naked child and becoming even more beautiful for the
process, glowing, even, with a freshly fucked (in body, heart and soul) glow -
taking form the earth is the source of its divine value, not its victimization.
And in this, is the rebirth of cultural satire in the supreme loss of value in
"cultural" language and media. What can one do but laugh and in that
laughter, discover the soul again for the first time, for al time, for all
living and dead. Tragedy is the end of dream and the beginning of Reality - the
reality of the earth and sun in blood and the communication of value in
tragedy, the value of soul, the Reality of the senses, the Reality of the body,
of communication of our love and of our being, of our health. We can do this -
we have already done it - we're just afraid to admit it, our godlike vanities
our faces behind our masks cannot hide much longer - the greatest film of the
soul is about to being, is everybody in? Language was and is intended to listen
to, speak, and paint images of the soul, language is the reality of the body
performed by the sun and earth, but lived, performed and consummately meant to
be enjoyed by the body, my body, your body, the body of culture, bodies of
works of art, by this body, your body breathing now into hiss page and into
your fate and destiny. It begins with one - always one who dares to want it all
- to discover in isolation, in the great moodern tragedy of the
"communication age" that the body and soul are culture, are the
ability to communicate with the gods, as a god, this is all about you - it
always has been - to approach this truth in one's body -as well as the body of
your entire life -s to approach the silence of the soul, and the depoliticized
vanity of a god that needs of nothing, and wants only what one needs - the
height of politics.
"Culture" is at once, oblivion,
and yet a nexus, a primitive body of intent, an archetype of the ultimate
politician into which one may pour criticism, catharsis, the waste products of a
body and soul's movement through system and identity, and at once, receive,
renewal as well as bring to light the unseen face of the soul, by diminishing
the importance of "cultural" faces as well as one s necessity to see
genuine cultural desire in intent of soul embodied by "culture".
"Culture, in essence, is the death of desire in an intent objectified, an
amputated body, the etheric dream, the promise of life after death, the
reliance upon fantasies of eternal life, upon fantasies of ideals propagated by
those who mistake the body of "culture" or "belief" or
"faith" or "virtue" as the body of the soul as their own
body. To direct cultural criticism at "culture" is not to direct
criticism at people - it is never personal and cannot be since we are not the
politicized systems in which we live-we are much more individual than that.
Cultural criticism, from the questionable practices of the US government to the
questionable lyrics of a song is a rediscovery of the divine whore, the human
body, the Charity that we all really are, that we live in a world where people
are still murdered and don't pick up a gun ourselves and go crazy, that we live
a world where the language of media and politics is virtually meaningless to
the value of one's own body or any body, and in that tragedy, that seemingly
indiscriminate rape of the earth and of the perfect reason and intent embodied
by all bodies, the rediscovery of ritual and language, of sound and meaning and
a redemption of all through the human body, the rock an roll of sun and earth,
wind and sky, past and future - a rediscovery of the why. We are the
embodiments of the passions of the gods and of sun and earth. Media is full of
passion. University and all other political systems, corporate to government,
is full of passion. Religious organizations are full of passion, full of blood
(a lot of which all have poured themselves;) - if they were not, if our desires
were not made right and divine by the gods and by all the elements and forces
of creation we would not be here today. Society, as a whole, is in need of
massive catharsis, or a body to which to direct catharsis, a body of fate to
take the price tag off one's head and give, ironically, more value to material,
a "cultural" Whore or divine Charity. - the sacred prostitute whose
identity is the body itself (faith, then, in the Body and in its Shame), the
tattooed body, shadowed god (Androgyne) - and a tattoo or any form of skin
piercing is a performance of unified catharsis which, like sex, involves pain,
identification with body, and the renewal of soul or the ability to hear the
movement of one's own desires in heart and body, all done by stirring the blood
with instinct, the instinct that the body is the source of all music and
knowledge, rhythm and word, image and information - a tattoo is a ritual of
spiritual reunification with sun and soul, blood and body, with the reality
that every woman knows automatically when she first starts menstruating, that
the movement of body is related to the movement of body, human or planetary,
our sex our blood and our soul remember this deeply rooted myth, memory and
reality - leaving nothing but good humour for our media icons and our public
representatives. Mother of my Destiny, Ruler of my Fate Whose breath breathes
into me even as I breathe this life this death through eyes of grey that peer
into the mind of God and watch the shadows dance. I will dance with you again
once more... The earth is Death, is Evil. Or, rather, Death, is the mask of a
function of being and of soul which allows for spontaneous creativity, for
evolution - in culture, that is, as personal process it is absolutely private
and beyond the scope of these words - this isn't religion or pop-mysticism.
This is entertainment. Those that desire to utilized this mythic process of sun
and soul in form of "cultural" religious belief are performing
cultural artifact - the tragedy of the soul, they are choosing to hide behind
the mask of Dionysus, to dilute all sense of soul in the water of their own
terror or sentiment in a very unconscious and ultimately unfulfilling way,
since it is a merely a means to express their own sense of cultural isolation,
of one and all's inability to see and hear the soul out there in the lives we
live when, in reality, we are all performing the climax of soul, hearing,
passion, in our own personal lives - the absence of a cultural tragic mythology
of the gods. Therefore, I can say, Religion is bullshit - is meaningless in
that it can never be unified with culture anymore than can Death live - and if
it could, the universe would have annihilated itself eons ago Only sun, only
soul can truly live. To say, religion is BS, though, is to direct my criticism,
cultural catharsis, at the political body, at the body of our culture's fate or
tragedy - that we still believe in a God we can't feel - and if its already
dead, "culture", what does it hurt? - and if the religious are alive,
tit is not directed at them - let it go and get real, accept the death of God,
find your tragic soul again, and make your mythologies more real that they ever
were, a part of your body(renewing, paradoxically, the intellect) - we are the
gods, the death and the resurrection of the divine body of the senses. I see
religion as more of a cultural preservative. I must criticize
"culture" as a part of my cultural response, in order to more clearly
define the boundary, and there is one, between the political or sewer system
and the body or solar system (although, paradoxically one operates as a
necessary part of the other). To be offended in ones own sensibility by my
criticism or anyone's is to say that the system of your soul and body (that
beating heart of passion and blood and life) is not eons more advanced and
conscious than "cultural" systems in which you, in part, participate
and invigorate. No one can see the sun, can see the earth can see your soul for
you. This is, at once, terrifying (the reason we have a civilization) and
arousing (the reason civilization advances) it is the root structure of
personal identity and cultural identity, the pyramid for which you are
continually the slave and the pharaoh. Listen to your soul, and your work is
always done, and you always have everything you need. - Listen to the earth,
listen to the Water of your movement, it is the Body of your fate, our Body,
and the individual ego was designed to float perfectly on top...
This is not new. Most of what We read and
see in the media is cultural criticism rather than cultural correspondence - it
is response to the Moon or to the image of culture (its fate and destiny, body
and desire) without a body - and, thus, images too idealistic or too tragic,
neither reconciled to the other through a body, and thus, cultural tragedy or
artifact, useless information by content - blood without a body, tragedies
without bodies, events without a body that understands them, when,
paradoxically the body does - on the surface, extremely pretentious of the
human soul - cultural "artifact" is, in fact, the source of ecstatic
paradox or ritualistic response, a source of the rediscovery of our body, the
body of humanity and destiny. A vision of the end and the beginning. The
rebirth of the serpent, the body, the creator revealed in the body of
literature, poetry, blood, the body of day to day ritual as it is infused with
hundreds of years of a body at war with itself physically and in the
imagination just to create the body of "I", the individual body, a
woman's breast, a lily floating on the water, a rose growing in a field for
which we and all the events of history and of our lives our the earth beneath
it. We picked that flower a long time ago. And we'll pick it again - we always
are, really, and yet, it stands, a single blade of grass, a body that contains
it all even as it is fed from above and below...
Ritual as it is infused with heroism and
myth, the language, the body of the soul, divine tragedy and the hope that
eternally springs from it, a language, like the body, of beauty, value, and
perfection. Cultural criticism, like politics, like the Skin itself, is but the
door to the real information age - the age of Blood. When we brought down the
moon (the invention of "God" perhaps, the mythical death of Christ,
of the Body, which was really the birth of "God" the cultural
individual, the technology of self and culture), we unified ideal and reality,
sun and earth, one in the Child, Time's Animal, from whose mouth flows Water,
from whose sex flows Fire - the ritual of spiritualized life, pleasure, and
entertainment which is our culture. The ritual We live by and through. I will
show you something different from either Your shadow in the morning striding
behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you I will show you fear in
a handful of dust - TS Eliot
Part X In "culture" there is the
politics of history - what is our history and who gets to write it? A good
question, because the body must know the answer - competing then for the body.
The earth, the soul catcher, the fate of the poetry of poet and body, the image
of every life lived and breathed by every soul, the memory of the real dream of
sun and earth as "culture" has valiantly attempted to embody it for
centuries is embodied by the sun-earth system that is your body and soul, the
tongue, the voice, of the earth and sun. What is history - I point to you- to a
cultural artifact - history is tragedy, is inability to fuck, to move complete
and harmoniously into a conscious embodiment of the heart of creation,
"culturally" speaking. You don't need a PhD, a religion, or even self
delusion - all you need is the sex between your legs - works or the sun don't
shine We are Prometheus unbound - the frozen sun ablaze. The body, you, we the
source of all system of communication and culture - its about us, and we don't
have to do a fucking thing but enjoy it. Criticize, empower yourself to be a
god, and send BS to your grave in your earth under your sun, its there, its
real, its not a dream, why not start using it now because BS is the only thing
you can't take with you. Sun don't play that game. Or let someone else do it
for you - it's the evolution of entertainment. Unified catharsis is the all
important shadow of great rock n' roll, the shadow of all history cast by the
massive fucking mountains that we are, the shadow that is our profane sexy
posthistoric sweat, a body of tragedy reborn in the light and blood and body of
the soul, shining with the freshly fucked godlike glows of souls reborn. Ride
the wave you sexy beasts. So make like Christ and hang 10 at all points to
heaven - hang loose - for sun and soul I can see Your Destiny Coming for me How
do you feel? How do you feel?
If it's not your predilection, your soul's
desire in this age to ban "environmentalist" (and if they are so
concerned about my environment, why do they invade it with this cliché apocalyptic
rhetoric?) There's no reason to be concerned about the fate of the earth or
humanity. The earth has been burned by the sun that is humanity. Can we blame
her for getting hot? We are sexy beasts. She's getting read to come and when
she does, her sexy juice, here holy water of spiritual reunification, will
renew cultural empathy and intent (humanism) as it is right now on this page.
She is the Christos, and we, as a "culture" are the cross gently
moving in and out of soul and earth of sense and pleasure and knowledge, in and
out of our selves and our souls. The trees between our legs and waling down our
streets and humming to the beat of global passion and communication. Gotta get
wet. Gotta get wet with it, the earth is moving under your feet, walk like you
naked when you're in the street, baby. That hole in the ozone works for us all
around Letting more serpent sun And sexy cunt juice Hit the ground.
Search for sound...underground - The Tea
Party
note: political bs to one side (to the end)
environmental organizational advertisements contain some great art, some great
views of humanity and earth at play, as does corporate advertising. . And yes,
I recycle everything with an upward not to the sun and earth and humanity.
I am a recycling system, and so are you.
The earth recycles and so do we. WE are the original system, the original body,
every body. WE are the health and well being of the universe, which is
continually sympathetic to our desire to continually alter our state of love,
being and awareness, our state of soul. If the universe likes me, then it must
like you too. We are the original systems. The system of body is the system of
soul, is a solar system. How else might we make modern science relevant to our
culture? How is the fact that black holes exist and emit radiation relevant to
your life? A scientist, by profession, cannot answer this question only we can.
If it happens out there - the human bodily system spread across light years as
it is spread across history, it is happening in the modern soul. This is the
philosophy of the body (of, for, and by the body), it is humanity's philosophy
is all philosophy is about the body. What happed to that moment 10 minutes ago
or even 10 years ago? It's gone - dissolved into the body and into the earth.
That we are able to remember, and to maintain a linear stream of consciousness
is the function of soul, of the body's ability, as with the earth's, to consume
and recycle energy, image, blood. In religious terms, energy is the original
sin is sun and earth, and more specifically, the ability to imbue memory with
meaning, the underlying function of all culture. However, this ability is our
strength, not our weakness, it is the every meaning of every moment, our unity
with sun and earth and creative destiny, "culture" of the late 20 the
century is interested mainly with memories, with all the ideals that didn't
work infused into the language of technology and politics. The English language
is a language of sentimentality is a language of tragedy (artifact of forgotten
value) - this is its power - this redeems culture from oblivion. However,
without redefining the individual, modern culture is death is the body politic
without a body into which advertiser and corporation pours useless information
about identity. Look around you.
Artifacts of cultural response &
criticism:
Conscious Culture (It's about fucking time with light) -Dedicated to
the real dream of peace on Earth and good fucking will toward all men and
women.
Ritual [] in part, is about uniting one's body
with the elements and forces, with the beauty of nature, treating the nature as
a dream of the imagination of which one's body is the only wakeful part, and
thus, brings all things to life, anima, soul, human, god, father, Sun, Mother,
Earth, Tree. It is about surrendering all of one's power (and "I", is
a dream as much as a tree or a mountain, a technology of the body and soul) to
one's mortality and rediscovering the real dream, the imagination and power
that is one's life and blood. If done well, and it always is since ritual has
already been done and stored in modern man and technology, his mortality having
stimulated every cultural technology to this day from the bible to government
to capital to tradition. If done well, and it always is, "I" becomes
Ritual, We become a body of culture. We become as the gods, gods of leisure and
entertainment, of literature, of the imagination - the most powerful fucking
force in the entire universe and Ritual Is Fucking, is imagination, dream and
reason (above) finding the dark entrance to its blood source in the body of
dream (below) - the earth, the human body (mass), the female body, the dark hum
of human tree beneath a full moon and a black sky - we are drawing down the
moon, rediscovering the dream of sun and earth, of the animal, of the body. We
are the Serpent, and We created everything Perfect. The human body becomes the
most masterful poem ever written, creating an altered awareness by its every
movement. To wit, washing the dishes can induce an altered state of feeling or
reality or love or knowing. This isn't new. Our whole culture is built by
ritualistic living, rock n' roll. Repeat after me, I don't understand, but this
is about my body, so its cool;) Sitting at this computer is the wind rushing
through the trees, the vines of time grow over its already outdated shell, an
artifact of an abandoned superhighway, the moment fading into the ocean of
time, the ocean that we are and I always rides upon. Ride the wave. Ritual, we,
are why these words mean nothing in the grand scheme of it all, why I can get
petty and profound...like we all do every day until the day I die because We
never die, Ritual is Immortality - the "trapdoor in the sun". Ritual
is Sun. I is Ritual. You are Ritual, the source and audience of Poetry, the
body of Androgyne. Life really is [a walk in the forest, down the aisle,
street, wide and open path...]
Inside the Sun Inside the Sun Everything is
One Inside the Sun --- As privileged as a whore... Victims in demand for public
show. Swept out through the cracks beneath the door. Holier than thou,
Surrendered...Executed anyhow. Scrawl dissolved, cigar box on the floor. A
truant finds home. And a wish to hold on.... Saw a trapdoor in the sun.
Immortality. Cannot stop the thought. Running in the dark. Coming up a which
way sign. All good truants must decide... Stripped and sold, mom. Auctioned
forearm. And whiskers in the sink... Truants move on. Cannot stay long.... Some
die just to live.... Ed Vedder -"Immortality", from
VITALOGY
[The Skin is a Door]
The of Sound of Ritual Imagine the Universe A womb What sort of child grows
there? We must find a Name A sound that is its music That when uttered Makes
Creation still As darkness to the thought of morning As moonlight through the
window of the soul As memories just beyond the moment last Of conversations
almost past As the greatest fear forgotten By only one who walks into a world
Of living symbols Of Light
...And...
I know not how to say In words that do
compel The mind to listen With something of a dead man's ear
What magic phrase was I Given to chant in
time In language that listens and speaks With thoughts immortal?
Wind to leaf to ground to life My strife
bowing to the earth My death I know My life I write upon it
I cannot make a tree To bend at will That
Wind blew long ago and still What Wind bends Me?
I have howled Not one will stir I have
whispered like the night I heard no one listen
The Sun can be the car fading The radio
noise The clouds parting for thoughts Like grass what purpose moving
Yet in darkest space What Solar Wind have
we To blow our Souls about Still, fixed as the Stars
How we fill time with time Though moment
were our measure And not the Eye That by the Light Is traveled for its Pleasure
Go, then Stop not with Me And wonder not
what fixes Me in space And makes Me shine
For I see not what worlds I touch What
silent noise I free When my Eyes and Ears 'til Death do part The clouds of
infinite, if one, Eternity
---
--- When we are One The Clouds won't hide
the Sun -Hawaiian folk song
Know you the way?
Know you the way? Into the season Know you
the lost? Worlds of reason You are a Boat Water in the Man Real as afloat Empty
as you can
Know you the way? Sense is unmade Hold that
thought I see your point Eat the fire And light the Say, You know the way
The seasons move Around the Earth Life will
Talk About a Birth In my Eye And my Ear I hear The drowning Metaphors of fear
Here
The Boat is in the Sky A wonder of the Why
The dying The living The way floats on a lie...
---
Nothing makes sense But you and me, girl
Aren't we crazy alive To be here today Today Of all the places To watch the sun
shine On the black and white And read it all on All the faces Of time Stopping
for a coffee Or even for the feast of our Pagan senses On lust for life Its
images, tastes, sounds and Being being all around with The gods of the future
Risen from the past Come home with me, girl Our home at last We'll watch a
movie Or fly to the moon Maybe start dancing to This music Too soon
---
The Symbol of Life
[walking like an Egyptian with the Nile to
himself]
Did we ever imagine this? Could we, still?
Do the clouds wait for me To picture them Floating above me through the sky?
Ah, but there is too much work to do We do
not have time for life Or even for to imagine our Selves Organizing Working
together Lifting up towards the stars
What we would give, though To see the sky
The ground The earth Our home The symbol of life With life's imagination
The buildings The religions The countries
The cultures The sun does, through the trees Blind a world Of too many needs
Look! Look at all we have created Or, better yet Imagine it again, life, For
the first time The only time that will ever be yours Forever
---
Word To Joy
Rain and Darkness Clouds whipping into the
infinite (Smiling Faces hide) Thunder of my speech shatters into haunted echoes
Time stops to think They fall to death They fall to death
Ghost of my Soul Memories gather in the
black Water Universes form in motes of thought And all that is light and dark
remembers In a laugh, a twinkle, and a smile
---
The Shadow of life Gazes upon dark druids
Sentinels of a past That only She, the Body, remembers
Like glowing embers Living and dying in the
ghostly breeze The owl silences The heart of darkness
Her pale silk Slips through the heavenly
gates Of this, a cemetery of Life
Ecstatic Paradox
Body makes you more alive Back to river,
tree, and soil down to life's black womb
A flower's death never dies Still, She drinks
of ecstasy In the vaulted sepulcher of Her Holy Tomb
Good and Bad flow into the void Swallowing
time's guilty intentions In the life blood and the joy
The Big Climax of religious invention Bears
its Self to Name The Self same evolution that Her elements employ
Religion or the self separated from a body,
God, was created by the Body (God, Devil, Serpent, Tree, Earth, Sun etc, the
Dream of I, Our Dream...), the original cultural criticism or cultural lunacy
(laugh), which substituted the logic of Body with the logic or body of Reason,
a point of light which is really full of empty black space, as Quantum Theory
clearly reveals (the original existential paradox), wounding and politicizing
the human body and soul in a way that only a sentient body of Universe could
possibly respond to, thereby bringing about the ordered, civilized or conscious
response of secular humanism, greater freedom for the body. The dehumanizing
polity of the dark ages, however, is now replaced by the ecological/health
polity of the environment, a cultural stimulant which, I believe, will lead to
the birth of Cosmic Humanism, or rebirth since Confucian and Taoist philosophy
is the best thing ever to happen to philosophy, a walk in a spring rain and a
lush forest compared to a cold drizzle - the rebirth of the freedom of Body,
not just individual, as a sentient being possessed and expressed by each
individual, a being that is the positive response to Everything, Our Culture,
and for which each individual (I) is Her or His eternally adored Inamorata, a
god, such as the Earth or even the Universe. All existing cultural systems are
compatible with this paradigm, Our paradigm. We are One, each One. We are
[doing our laundry] every day.
We make One Earth and Sun Look upon the One
We make One Earth and Sun Look upon the One
We make One Earth and Sun Our Body's
growin' wings, baby
Water comes out of Our mouth Got Fire down
below, baby
As above So below Wanna slide inside your
Soul, baby
Heaven flows into Our Vein Ride Us to the
End, baby
Bring Us Home into Our bed We'll sleep
under the Stars, baby
[walk in the rain..] Culture is the
collective sexual climax of all spirituality, technology, media and
entertainment (of every expression of the soul). The culture of the 21st
century is the climax to all of history, known and unknown. As a Bard, a
creator and performer of cultural myth and ritual, I don't need to ask you to
do anything differently for me to be right because I am creating and performing us all. All I ask is that you add Conscious Culture to your list of pleasurable rituals of existence - and enjoy.
Part I
[on the can...]
Let's reinvent the gods.
All the
myths of the ages.
Celebrate symbols from deep, elder forests.
Jim Morrison, The Doors
[Letter to professor explaining my creative
response to her "teaching", a course that proved, for me, that just
because someone lived in the sixties doesn't mean they lived in the sixties]
[Miriam:
Please accept this paper as my response to
the course material presented this semester. I am both grateful and amused that
the same system, which sought to suppress the rising wave of counterculture by
teaching it, has preserved its message long after that wave has reached the
shore. My exposure to the creative works of the [60's has] proven to me that
the expansive social messages of those times did not die but only paused to
take a breath.
This work does not represent a will, on my
part, to see the drastic changes to the educational system, which it implies
happen within this same system. On the contrary, I feel I have fulfilled the
purpose of this institution if not its present intent, that I have, in fact,
seen and realized the future potential of post-secondary education in both the
form and content of this "ritualized response". Revolutions have been
done and "making a difference" has turned into filling in the
infinite number of bureaucratic spaces. The making and performing of cultural
myth and ritual (art) is more pleasurable all the way around.
That being said, free speech will never be
encouraged in an environment patterned after the fantastical ideal of power
rather that a collective image of our mythic substrate, an environment which is
a mechanism of nonexistent control rather than the biologically and culturally
responsive unity which is the artistic, sexual and moral nexus of reality - the
individual, the "cosmos", who can only ever be fully expressed in an
equally open and responsive mythical/imaginative framework. [Which it really
is]
The regenerative energy or power of our
"age" is precisely that ability to discriminate between culture/media
at the level of collective ecstatic (unified) ritual and at the level of
entertainment, to see and live the paradox of at once observing reality and
performing creation. I treat the Imagination as the archetype/source of all
media - Media being the messenger of the gods (that is, messenger and medium).
Without a collective awareness of the imaginative implications of news,
information, "learning", the same are just dead words written on dead
trees (human and non). I have intentionally forgotten the traditional notion of
enlightenment by reason. If humanity had a more full sensory awareness (vis a
vis the responsive or active imagination and equally responsive systems of
communication i.e. Universities) no reasonable race (which, despite all
evidence e to the contrary, I believe we are) would allow the human and
ecological exploitations of this planet to continue - our "response"
to such an awareness would be as automatic as a blind man's blink at his first
sunrise...
[She gave me an F. I must be doing
something right.]
[This Final Paper...] [Riding the
autobus...] A woman looks out the window at passing cars, trees, mountains. A
man glances at her reflection and sees a woman, passing cars, trees, and the
mountains beyond. The whole history of the earth is written in her eyes, but
she is naive - and so is the man. A faint stirring of the blood is all it takes
to seal the embrace form which gods are born. Words written in a ritual. Water
running down the mountain enters a brook. Priests perform the ritual in a grove
of trees. Many years of training and patience with the wheeling stars and
planets make creation still for but a moment. Memory written in flesh. Creation
enacted through strange hieroglyphs of reality. As spear to wound, so thought
to code. The priests prepared through millennia of captivity with the fourth
element.
[Listening to the Tea Party's
"Psychopomp" while glancing at their Transmission cover entitled,
"The Earth We Inherit..."] When one looks back and sees history for
what it really is, where it really is, one realizes that the human being, in
all his glory, has been inflicted with and embodies the cosmic vaginal wound,
the greatest psychic tear possibly ever experienced by a sentient creature. His
God-obsessed and fractured ego, which contritely proclaims, "to be is to
sin", "to live is to suffer" is ideologically blinded to that
same life, same being, which is that archetypal virgin wound - a dark and
magical cave into which the Father, The Buddha and The One True God ceaselessly
penetrate for the sake of the One True Orgasm, which is, in a word, Heaven, but
in a human, the Cosmos. So small a leap of the imagination as it takes to see a
tree in "tree" greases the door of perception to a unity surpassing
any ideal yet imagined. [Looking at mountain and sky unite and thinking of the
world. Also recalling a Campus Crusade for Christ poster promising an answer to
the thought annihilating question, "Why did God let the Titanic
sink?" and wondering how many "converts" they acquired within
the hallowed halls of the university, this so-called bastion of free thought.
Wondering if, while feasting on all those books and ideas, the student was
being adequately prepared for what was BS and what wasn't. Could he or she
handle the likely fact that most if not all content of formal education, of
books and of media was ufi (useless fucking information)? Would there ever come
a time when a student of the 21st century would be taught to manipulate
form and structure (consciousness) rather that concept and idea
(unconsciousness)?] What good is memorization without the memory of trees? What
good is education without a clear picture of how the acquisition of formal
thought impinges itself upon the psycho-ecological environment? I see an image
constructed of memory and biblical Knowing, for what is Christ but a metaphor
for the language of pure being - spoken by lovers and artists alike. And when
the memory passed from Her life into His -His, into Hers - time and before made
artistic avatars of us all and a hypocrite of no one. Formal education, as
organized around the historical narrative, speaks of periods and ages that
carry as their underlying message an idealistic logic which conveys reality
(that which we constantly experience) in structure but not in content - and
thus indoctrinates rather than educates. Our primary modes of mass
communication, text and the electric oracles and images which are its children
do not communicate reality either, not because they were not designed to do so
but because reality necessitates an active or ritualized response from the
global citizen to the impingements upon his consciousness. The university, as
it presently exists, can only teach the truths which support the ideals of a
deceptive age and not the rituals of creative response which become most
necessary outside the university walls - when the eager consumer of knowledge
becomes a psycho-physical resource for the corporate superstructure. And it
will continue to do so as long as it ignores, as history always has, the social
and physical environment, as taught not by textbooks but by the memory of the
central nervous tree - not the Internet - the human being. If universities
focused more upon cultivating the active imagination, formal education would
either be revolutionized or become obsolete. For, in doing so, one would become
a participant in the collective realization of history's actual culmination:
the continuous conscious collective remembering of our most ancient origin
through both our memory and our media (technology). [Letter to professor of
religious studies explaining my "unified response" to a course that
he thought should serve some "religious" function, borrowing that Buddhist
absurdity that you can teach people to be conscious. It did - I almost lost
consciousness during his lectures.]
Ron:
Please accept this paper as my response to
the course material presented this semester. Actually, this paper represents my
response to all my college courses and, by submission, is a performance of the
very change that it characterizes. The presentation of one unified paper in
response to the range of discourses present in the university environment is
isomorphic to, and a truer expression of, that other unified response to the
universe which we call consciousness. The breaking down of student response
into separate papers for separate courses is an indoctrination by structure (or
mechanism) to the tidal wave of mass media and modern technology which necessitates
a new sensory response by the global citizen to the onslaught of interweaving
discourses and unconscious rituals which we call pop-culture.
[His response was to give me an failing
grade. Smart guy. However 6 months after this printing I discovered a text
entitled Knowledge, Evolution, and Paradox: The Ontology of Language
upon Frederick Tuner, Founders Professor of Arts and Humanitities at the
University of Texas comments: It is already clear that postmodernism [whatever
that is] is an unsatisfactory view of the world the skepticism,
antifoundationalism, and distrust of any form of narrative or argument that has
characterized this last phase of modernism cannot long resist its own corrosive
critique. What view of the world will succeed postmodernism? To answer this
question, it is necessary to take up several challenges abandoned along the way
as metaphysical, insoluble in terms of the contemporary science, pr politically
formidable: the problem of how different disciplinary worlds can belong to the same
world, the problem of the apparent incomensurability of different
language-games, the problem of the nature of time the problem of how mind and
consciousness can be embodied in the physical brain, the problem of origins and
evolution, and above all, the problem of time.
Koen DePrych's book, in a remarkable synthesis*(my
emphasis) lays the groundwork for an answer. Using new concepts derived form
the study of iterative, chaotic and probabilistic processes in nature and in
the computer, he develops a way of looking at both the sciences and the
humanities that fully meets the concerns of the mainstream of modern
philosophy, while opening up whole new areas of research. This book joins a
handful of important and daring new works that have recently broken with the
current conventional wisdom of the humanities, and that chart the altered shape
of the academy as it will exist in the twenty-first century"
And by quoting this, I simply hope to highlight
the unity of this collage of cultural response. Exploration at the expense of
exposition always warping formal "rationality"(but I love to learn no
regurgitate), on the surface, anyway, and, in any case, I gained a renewed
respect for the creative challenge that faces artist and scholar alike.
Professional Rationality to the rescue, that sort of thing. *Synthesis--I have
been exploring a method and mode of art/literary response I refer to (although
Todd Siler has introduced my to the terminology) as
Synergistic Structuralism, what I see as a form of structural analysis which treats literature as a complete system of information and communication similar, in process, to all systems of information and communication or culture (the sharing & preserving of knowledge) as outlined by Todd Siler in Breaking the Mind Barrier: the New ArtScience of Neurocosmology. To wit, the science/art (or mythology) of structure or, let's face it, Tele-Vision - the modern and silent art of self-reflective consciousness, the art of soul, of culture, of life and myth itself - the common. In the end, this paper is about "making toast in the morning" or "doing the laundry".]]
To see the
harsh realities of the Earth in "a picture of the Earth", to see the
will to learn about and create knowledge in the will to control and acquire it,
to sympathize with and assert sexual and racial identity even as prejudice runs
through our ancestral blood, to be taken literally even as one is speaking in
figures of truly living truly suffering truly beautiful souls, these are active
imaginings rather than static ideals. The revolution in technological/media
development which we have experienced throughout the last century, far from
heralding the extinction of our race, marks instead the tragic climax to the
process of sensory amputation that began the moment we picked up the first
tool. And just as we most need to come back to all our senses, the virtual
consciousness of human kind, the eye in the sky, broods over the dark chaotic
waters of the world, relaying to an anxious race a picture of the Earth as God
first saw Her.
[Psychotropic Descent into the Unconscious
- my formal education - a Death and Rebirthh...while listening to rock, what can
be equal, like the body itself, to a library's worth of books, like the sound
of a car driving away or people talking, the natural spherical intelligence
imbued in Every Body. Listening to the Body]
Like a child, humanity has been in that
late stage of violent expulsion from the garden-womb and, having murderous
contempt for that voyage of uterine sex-death, our passion filled us with
idolatrous love for the archetypal Parent. And from our passions poured the
blood and water of our spirit, which is the Earth and all His cosmic mysteries,
anointing humankind's mythic imagination with filthy female placenta streams of
cosmic intelligence, streams that ceaselessly cry out - even today - the name
of God at the magical orgasmic tone of true love: "My Mother and Father
are one."
[Thinking of all the "casualties",
as the Hiroshima victims were called on a WWII stat sheet I came across, the
number of which a cute blonde reminded me was a rough estimate: "After
all, it's not like they counted them." I added one more...]
And in the nuclear afterglow of our historical
passion our unconscious memories begin to stir. The slowly waking eye of
collective cellular imagination sees that the love of Reason has reached its
ecstatic end. But a small death, however, is the end of History compared to the
enveloping chaos which was nurtured by our steady acquisition of formal
thought, of "information", a chaos which threatens to make oblivion
the rule rather than the dark aspect of the shadowed god, the emergent
paganchrist or technodruid who willingly trades in his dead weight of ideals
for the sublime collective death which is at the dark heart of creation. For
humanity has become death only because it was first killed, swept into oblivion
by evolutionary forces beyond its grasp. To then expect a person to heal
themselves with reason is to merely set as date in time when the source of all
logic would dispel the illusion of individual with the individual language of
illusion, a paradox that conveys the paradoxical essence of reality for which
the consciousness of the emancipated global citizen is most luxuriously endowed
and which is symbolized by the tragic Christ Dionysus Androgyne, embodied by
the very sun which loves the darkness, all life, and His close messenger -
Media. [Unified ascent using that unified drug commonly known as the sun...]
[The dream of the universe is to be able to interact with the cosmos, to the
world, in an ecstatic or sexually unified way - the ever-present orgasm. All
culturally defined (or collective) consciousness is structured linguistically
(with words), tens of thousands of years of evolution, history, and the
printing press (the GutenBible) have made sure of that. Therefore, all we need
is a linguistic platform (a poetically and ecologically inspired metanarrative
such as Conscious Culture) which is compatible with existing media structures
in order to access and provide free access to the collective wellsprings of
truly individual consciousness - the only true source of energy that can come
close (if it doesn't surpass) that cosmic globe in the sky. The sexual hybrid
of such a union would be an ecstatic language which invokes what it means to be
alive rather than just describing it - A good rock concert compared to a
revival meeting. One simply starts with a core structure and then keeps expanding
it like a proto-universe. But, then, how did the universe originally begin but
when consciousness impinged itself upon form. Has to happen. The best a
language can do that is structured around 3000 or so years of gender politics
(which will probably culminate in Bill of Rights for the trees) is make someone
like myself go insane, which is exactly what one begins to feel like when one
loses almost all interest in pop-media. Of course, one can't step outside the
normal structures of reality without risking schizophrenic meltdown.
Ironically, now all I see are schizos, addicted to the crass reality fed to
them since birth. And that's what all addiction is, a disease of consciousness
a moon madness that, paradoxically, is its own cure. So relax. Take a consciousness
vacation. Smoke a joint. Read some Conscious Culture.] The sacred Image Inked
and dyed with holy sacrament Our sex our crucifixion and our absolution Words
penetrate the flesh and announce new life Behind the wedding veil of everything
Death waits there, too Our language should be a reflection of our culture: it
should be a consumer language, consuming history and its religions, consuming
the universe as no science alone could ever do, consuming everything that isn't
truly Christian for the sheer pagan pleasure of it. Only every word needs to be
used for this (and why not, we use every other goddamn thing on this planet),
and only every word could possibly reflect the intrinsic morality and sexuality
of a cosmos, which mixes tragedy and optimism into infinite variations, and
cycles of sympathy and anger. The ancients of antiquity and before lived with
the gods through ritualized drama and art, what we might now call myth and
archetype. They also lived through intense suffering, the shadow of beauty. However,
what could be more pitiful than the age in which we live, unless of course it
afforded us the opportunity to rage against the past and begin anew, to fuck
the suffocating membrane of secular mythology and discover, with renewed
senses, these living communications of flesh and passion. The active
imagination connects one to living myth - not untruth but the steady river of
unbound consciousness that originates both before time and through it.
Together, both flames of renewal, time and unbound, form the ecstatic unity of
the whole planet. What about God,
the God? What about time? It's about time to stop being blinded by him. It's about time to start staring at the Sun because whether you believe in evolution or not, we sure as hell need to evolve. We are the gods.
I'm at peace with my lust I can kill cause in God I trust,
yeh, it's evolution, baby
Ed Vedder, Pearl Jam
(masters of the post-historic lament-real rock)
So afraid That fear is all love seeks
Through motion And emotion With the Father of God He speaks Turning thought
into The ecstasy of thinking When feeling becomes too painful Eternity is
blinking The moment drowned And breathing Two breathes at once
Sex is not just a gender, and it is not
just a way to procreate - it is a symbol and performance of cosmic citizenship
and ancestral origin. As such, a sexually unified language is a participatory
language, one that communicates not just ideas but also involvement in and love
of being. Sexuality is consciousness, one's response to the entirety of life.
It has been, though, an unconscious response, used mainly, in culture, to limit
response, or as a means of limitation upon the unified (with earth) imagination
[the modern soul is being ravaged by environmental rhetoric as well as health care
rhetoric - the performance of cultural tragedy for the emergent sexually
unified soul or mytho-imaginative Body]. Now is the time, though, to begin
manipulating the limits, moral and cultural, to alter consciousness as desired,
to alter the expression of sexuality or soul or performance of cosmic identity
as desired. We have already been doing this, but doing it by placing limits and
then daring the soul to find new ways to respond, those responses creating new
limits, such that cultural and psychosexual structures can now accommodate
infinite variations of sexual or soul expression. The bible and all literature
are one huge example of media used, at first, as an end in itself, and then the
means to vary consciousness or sexuality. The emergence of this conscious
culture is an emergence of a unity of media expression and
sexual-creative-cultural intent. Words were being formed in the mind of
humanity centuries before anyone ever spoke a word, until language became
unified into a communicable reality (disease-laugh). So, too, solar tongue
requires only a slight manipulation of the tongue that is the entirety of one's
nervous system in order to hear and speak to sexual-creative intent of the gods
(or, the archetypes of the movement of sun and earth and blood that are us
all), beyond words, to free the sexual -imagination from an over-dependence
upon external media forms, words, images, reason, in order to enjoy them more.
Touch us with your solar tongue Of memory and night Kiss hell and heaven on the
lips With your fucking heart of sight
Remember the future In waves of ecstasy All
your words will come to nothing But the sound of fucking free
Culture, as we all live through it, is
already an act of the imagination, which is why this is not a set of ideals,
but a reality of ideals already existing by virtue of my and your body. Also
why I can call this entertainment. Vanity, then, I suppose, is take all
projections and perceptions of the mind or reason or imagination as realities
already existing in the body whether one's own body or the body of the culture
in which we live - This, in itself, is a reality of the process the human soul
already performs rather than an "idea". If I have one last criticism
of "culture", it is that is has separated our imaginations, our
souls, really (our ability to participate ritualistically in the sexual and
real movement of time and intent felt already by what we view as
"primitive" cultures) from our bodies. "Culture" is
religion in the worst sense of the word. But this, like the human body, is also
its ultimate redemption. Our work, or participation in culture, like war, will
also end or change with a resurrection of the imagination and the soul as his
never been know. Ah...sweet Vanity. And "culture" is already vain. Why
shouldn't we be equally? As above So below Wanna slide inside your soul, baby
At the cellular level, the sexual participant confronts the death of half their
genetic material. Perhaps it is our memory of this event which triggers the
push-pull of all human creative potentials, the terror of death versus the
ecstasy of life. Perhaps it is here, in the language of science, where one
might confront the mysterious paradox of creation for which whole civilizations
and religions have made themselves perpetually erect. To be perfectly blunt,
though, we need to confront the collective terror of humanity's ultimate fate
and blow our load out into the universe. A more generalized expression of this
sexual "parable" is the drive for individual and national/tribal identity
verses the preservation of the whole planet. Having first confronted his terror
of the female, homosoreligious and his cousin, homoscientificus, has succeeded
in making many people to enjoy the resources of our fair planet, thus
preserving the procreative urge. However, his many and varied contrivances have
sullied the ecstatic and, thus, made the production of new life, however
genetically ordained, into an impotent appeal for salvation. Humanity must
confront mass existential terror with our innate drive for genuine spiritual
ecstasy if technology and all modern media are to truly make our lives more
free. It is time for us to fuck the gods and re-create all the myths of the
ages. Such an act of re-creation is already happening in the ecological
environment as the Earth struggles to replenish millennia of plundered
resources of which one should include the human being. It is time for
spiritually pubescent God to fuck or get fucked. Either way, new life and new
love figure prominently in the dream that I see.
Part II
[The end of War on this planet, as we have
known it, will be a resurrection of the Imagination as it has never been
known.]
[Study break staring at the sun and clouds
- a vacation of consciousness...]
Active imaginings Claw and howl like beasts
Pictures of the soul Flicker in and out of hellish flame The door so thinly
sealed Is but a tree in a garden The truth so tightly bound Is but a serpent's
fang That swells the sea of sacrifice ("Memories Are Like Tattoos")
[Looking at a particularly shapely
"tree"...]
The serpent need toil the earth no longer.
Arise, winged one, and breathe new life into the cosmos. Arise, master of
words, and create the living waters of cultural myth and ritual. Arise from
your fiery grave with the terror that makes nature still and claim all the
blood the earth ever drank as your own. The gods need wear their masks no
longer. The earth has accepted their desire by the fire that burns in her
heart. Earth and sky are unified by passion. The gods need only perform the future
of existence through every desire of the flesh and create the universe again
and again and again. It is all good.
The tree's roots stretch down through
millennia of love, life, death, and passionate imaginings. It now needs its
imagination like it needs the sun and the earth; Its active imagination unifies
both, for the tree of life is how the sun and earth meet. What they do in this
garden of the 21st century is entirely up to us.
Part III
As a race, only the alchemical
recombination of our memory and our imagination can produce a working picture
of the human soul, an image of god that is actually reflected in the actual
mirror of all human activity rather than in the fantasy mirror of some new
(recycled Christian) age vampire. And only through paradox, that perfected mode
of consciousness with which we are ecstatically endowed can one live the
orgasmic cosmic truth S illusion that the manipulation of consciousness is the
core creative act of being, at the heart of which is the sacred desire for pleasure.
After all, what but pure pleasure could have created this universe?
[Lying on the couch as the early morning
sun streams through the window...]
Water runs along its side And every colour
becomes sparkling blue I looked closer And before I saw the bottom I heard
every sound that ever sprang forth The well wasn't everything But it was how
everything returned to the source
[A man will walk by a fence with a sign
saying, "wet paint", and he will have to touch it to be sure. That
same man will walk under trillions of stars his whole life and never even
wonder, "what if?"]
[Please prepare to touch the stars.]
[The only research paper I'll ever have to
dirty my mind with: An Imaginative Examination of Religion and Culture...
[Letter to...
Allow m to start by saying that I have a
personal interest in recovering goddess mythology. Although I do not intend to
make a theological argument, I will argue that from a Goddess-oriented
perspective, theology is one grain of soil or star in sky and that to approach
the hidden wisdom of the primal world with an eye to challenging modern
religion is to miss the whole universe for a black-hole sun. For my contention
is that the primal reality reaches so far into who we are as human beings that
we can but be the very unconscious which our modern mythologies attempt to
objectify, relegating genuine human ecstasy to organized sentiment and
pop-media. [An old psychologist friend of mine once told me, "Landon, you
can't live in the past, certainly not 30,000 years in the past." I say,
yes you can if the past is alive. The Goddess lives inside me, but I don't
worship her - I don't worship the darkness - in fact, I stay as fucking far
away form it as I can.]
So much so, in fact, that the greatest
irony of historical man is that the search for himself would amount to the
greatest most nihilistic most amoral, ahistorical and alienated span of cosmic
time ever to exist. To wit, we have become our shadows because we faithfully
believe that all the images we project of ourselves have some purely objective
reality. For instance, western theologians can define God but cannot say where
he is [and when they attempt to, it amounts to some of the most impotent art I
have ever seen] - only where he is not. Consequently, we are living in a merchandising
heaven.
So you see, from the perspective with which
I see the world, that to approach this project this uncovering of the Goddess
[the "religious" expression of which could never do it justice i.e.
pop-goddess, sentimental feminism etc. simply because the suns that we are
obliterate darkness, making neo-pagans into sexually pathetic caricatures of
the shadow, the feminine archetype] from the formal top-down methodology of
modern research [the top always being better, perhaps closer to God - you are
if you're standing on a mountain, which, coincidentally, casts a massive
fucking shadow. And you can be in a Conscious Culture i.e. one that casts the
Shadow of God, the ecstatically real shadow of the Sun - all human history,
known and unknown - the shadow of the gods, our shadow. Like the moon waxing
and waning, humanity is becoming full again, and yet our ecstatic unity, which
we never really lost, will rock the moon and all the stars into existence.
Culture and pop-media is the rising sun for us all to bathe in, to stretch out
in and enjoy. (Formal "history" will become entertainment at best, as
it is already to me.) The sixties had rock n' roll music, sex, and drugs to
integrate their wave of evolutionary energy. The early 21st, the
dawn of the 3rd, will be that very rock anthem that created the
universe - Altered states of ecstasy are just as necessary now as they were
then, if not more.]
I'll ride the wave.. Where it takes me.. I
hold the pain.. Release me.. "Release" - Pearl Jam
That is, by surveying western religion and
specifically, Christianity, with an eye to revealing traces of the profane
would contradict my premise from the start. Rather, it is my intention to
survey the depths of primal wisdom, as preserved by so many sources - the most
obvious being the earth, the most fundamental being our cellular-genetic
memories, but most notable being those brave souls that have dared to think
more of humanity than humanity would appear to think of itself (by its own
ingenious standards), artists and social activists - modern bards, them all...]
Of all the pictures that the twentieth
century has produced, none could be more powerful than that of the Earth
floating through space. How sublime, after all these millennia of religion, to
finally see our home as the gods see it. Or do we? For such a view requires
knowledge
and imagination. Man's search for knowledge has brought us to the edge of history, but it will be our ability to imbue our modern understandings with life and meaning that will give us a safe journey over the edge. Civilizations of the ancient past were accustomed to meaning and imagination, and it is in the ancient past that we learn about why we are and who we are today. Although reasoning and facts may take us back to these origins, it is our sense of imagination that will bring the past new life in the present - if not with answers, then with a renewed sense of awe at the mysteries of evolution, culture, and consciousness. In researching the origins of culture, I began to question the limitations of historical religion and why so many people appear dissatisfied with it. If religion's purpose or function is to bind the individual with the universal (as its Latin definition would suggest), then why is it that religion has so little to do with the university? Or to be more apt, why is it that the university has so little to do with the religion? [Or does it? This is the only rhetorical question is this whole piece.] (However, if the two were to form a meeting, the emergent form would be closer to spirituality than religion, religion denoting as it does a strict adherence to form [?]). To be specific, anthropology appears to contain a vast library on the history of the soul. Why, then, does Christianity depict the individual within the very limited (in terms of time) discourse of the biblical account? There is a silence in the cave paintings of early man, perhaps the only silence one can find in a world where we are being subjected to (or objected by) vast amounts of information and images. Our knowledge of the beginnings of religion and culture would seem to suggest that the beginning of time is not so much an event in time but a movement into it, and, consequently, that the end of time, through myth and imagination, need not be the sole province of the devoutly religious.
Vampires drink the world With unnatural thirst And undying
love shines Like corpse skin Myths of ages course through deeper gulfs And
blood and water find ground In cave and coffin The tree finds new life
How can one know anything about the origins
of religion and culture? This is as much a philosophical question as it is a
question of method. Obviously, we know a lot about both, mainly in the form of
facts and scientific narrative. But even these ostensibly objective narratives
involve a human being actively finding meaning with the use of his/her
imagination - it is only that his/her imagination has been cloaked in the form
of logic. Yet, there are limits to logic and different kinds of logic, as
exemplified by the fact that most if not all major advances in science occur
when the logic of yesterday is displaced by the logic of today. There is a
logic also to the deep dark waters of the unconscious; there is a logic to
myth; and there is a logic to language itself. When a great paining or great
book makes sense to us, we are experiencing the logic of the unconscious.
Poetry strikes me as the best example of this mysterious form of logic. And
yet, there is a limit to how much art can influence society, how much cohesion
the artist can give to our lives. In today's world, a free-market economy can
provide that cohesion, but it cannot give us meaning. I suppose the idea I am
circling in on is best expressed in Ingmar Bergman's, "The Seventh
Seal" in which the main character, (a knight who has returned home from
the Crusades only to discover that his fight for God was a false pretense),
laments that he could kill himself peacefully [Some people die to live. Others
kill to live. Either way, it's murder...] and escape the miseries (plagues and
religious fanaticism) of medieval Europe if only he could purge the god within.
Great satire, considering that the priests of that time are depicted by Bergman
as trying to escape death by killing "the devil".
[Saying goodbye to an old friend...]
Strange to see and impossible to free Life
hanging on a dead tree An undead slayer falls only once Hell happens only one
time And all that comes and goes Is but a flicker in the eye of eternity
Watching hieroglyphs of flesh Forming in the tortured moan of time The undead
tree becomes a leaf The sea of death one drop of blood That gently floats to
earth To wet the myth With the eternal spring of hope We may live now in a
vastly improved society, but our basic ideas about the nature of humanity
remain largely the same as they were hundreds of years ago. Despite all our
modern claims of intellectual superiority and religious contrition, we still
cannot answer that age old question: "Why does God let people
suffer?" And yet, we continue on because we can forget but never destroy
our connection to the cosmos, our divinity within. Having said that, the
question of why God lets people suffer becomes one of collective delusion
rather than insight-oriented curiosity. Such a question, despite Christianity's
(or any civilized religion's) perfectly contrite stance on the matter, eludes
uncommon logic, hinting that perhaps the answer is at least as important as the
form that it takes. That is, we have an ontological question that can only
really be answered by an artist - and in a culture that is predisposed towards
getting its religion from art, by anyone who realizes that spiritual insight
doesn't always have to come when one is "being spiritual". This
uncommon logic of logic is the unconscious - that logic which dictates the
discourse of all time; the logic that is itself a discourse of which history is
but one word - what the mystic might call the Logos and what early humanity
might know as The Great Mother. If my own subjective experiences have revealed
one thing to me about who we are, it is that God is not talking to us but with
us - we need only listen to ourselves. In the forward to his book, Coming
Into Being: Artifacts and Texts in the Evolution of Consciousness, cultural
historian William Irwin Thompson asserts that a new planetary culture is
emerging in which intellectual mentation is becoming an artistic function. I
would call this a new art, really, in which the truth or facts are at least as
important as how they are arranged, a devotion to intellectual estheticism, a
renewal of the power of metaphor in all aspects of culture, from religion to
art to science. Therefore, allow me to present my logic and my language:
Reality does not exist in and of itself. All claims to the absolute truth or
ultimate reality are impingements upon the freedom of the individual. Language
itself, though, is a reality (to be explained). However, to say that something
is "a reality" is the same as saying that it is "the
reality" because reality is never one thing but always the sexual
interaction of two mediums or bodies. In so much as a tree in the forest is the
interplay between light and my eye, that tree is Reality. In so much as an
electron is the interplay between the medium of electromagnetic radiation and the
attention of a scientist [they really get off on that shit], that electron is
Reality. Reality, then, is more akin to the spirit of existence that does not
exist in and of itself; it is alive, but lives not in time but through it. Like
Reality, language is alive. Just as the mystery of the wind is revealed through
the swaying of a tree, so, too, the mystery of language, The Reality of
language, is revealed every time we invoke it. Yet, the mystery of language is
such that it is the interplay between the medium of individual consciousness
(which is inside time) and cosmic consciousness (which is outside time) and so,
confined to our limited sense of individuality, we have yet to dance as the
cosmos does. The mystery of time is such that it is symbolic (and as real as it
is symbolic) of a movement toward a new level of planetary consciousness, a new
medium (or body), really, that will dance with Reality itself. Freed from the
existential dilemma of having to find meaning rather than actively creating it
["The sky is a cunt for cocks of eyes"-Jack Kerouac, a man among men.
Visions of Cody, as with On the Road, or Jazz itself being a "completed
cultural artifact", like the human body, the beginning, the end, and
everything in between - culmination of reason and sense, like Whitman - poetic
ritual, the human is a Bard and the universe is our audience.] Human kind will
live as Reality has always lived - symbolically as metaphor [what the hell does
that mean? That's what education does to the mind.] I suppose I am speculating
on the merging of spirit and matter. Falling into ecstasy Time slips through
eternal space As I dance with my Muse My shadow self Real as I can be
Her heavenly raiment shines With hopes and
fears Wars and years Children crying And angels dying
I wear the moon and stars Thunder is but
the echo of my speech And a tree am I, so you see You cannot hear a shadow
falling Do you hear the mysteries calling?
This notion of time as a symbol or as a
reflection of some divine plan is echoed by the historical religion of
Christianity, with its mystical assertion that Christ's death marks the
chronological and ontological center of history. Avoiding commentary on the
fact that a large portion of the Christian community views itself as the center
of history, I will rely upon the symbolic value of this evolutionary paradigm.
This will be in keeping with my hypothesis that metaphor is reality. I will
further assert that Christ's death is a metaphor for the process of unification
of art, sexuality and spirituality, an event that I believe will mark a new age
in the evolution of humanity. I will begin, then, by venturing to one edge of
the cosmic spiral, that which marks the emergence of symbolic consciousness as
well as what I believe to be Spirit's commitment to matter: the birth of the
hominid. William Thompson gives his account of the hominization narrative in
his book, The Time Falling Bodies Take To Light. He cites the work of
Dr. Lawick-Goodall (65) in which she studied the social interactions of
chimpanzees. Dr. Goodall's discovery that chimpanzees engage in ritual rain
dances is given as evidence of their "culture" as well as evidence of
tool making. Thompson points out, though, that these rituals do not constitute
religion, but a form of animism in which "natural forces" are
interpreted "within their own animal culture"(66). Furthermore, the
chimps do not engage in any fertility rites because sexuality is
"matter-of-fact (66) for them. Thompson refers to their process of
impregnation as a "communal coitus" in which the males queue up to
have brief intercourse. The rhythmic process of the female becoming "in
heat" is called the estrus cycle. The great importance of this evidence is
revealed when we see that there is little to no conflict amongst the males of this
"pre-hominid" species of chimps, nor is there any sign of paternity
[kinda like the 60's]. This simple sexuality can be seen to be at the core of
the social organization of the chimpanzees, with its mother-child family unit
and prevalence of male-bonding. Thompson cites a theory asserted by Friedrich
Engels that the mother-child unit is at the early stage of the human family,
will "all the males of the social unit belonging to the entire
group"(68). I take it from this that existential conflict is nonexistent
at this point in human evolution, with animal instinct rather than
self-conscious desire as the driving force behind this chimpanzee
"culture". The story of the soul Written not in the desert sand But
in the wind that blows all time to shore Ashes settling in a whirling dervish
In infinite supplications to the watery grave
Hear the voice of Reason But caress the
shadow with your soul and know That love burns two That time will eat of blood
and earth Most passionate humanity of Ecstasy's birth And then things changed -
a common theme, it appears, in human evolution. There were two major changes,
as I see it. First of all, during the Pliocene period, the forests - the home
of pre-hominid - began to disappear and the savannah began to open up. A cruel and
necessary effect of this change was that the weaker primates were expelled into
the open and dangerous savannah. The resulting circumstances would seem to
indicate that adaptation is in deed the hallmark of evolution: suffering may
bat at the root of the human condition, but triumph and innovation seem to be
at the heart of what it means to be human. If we are to trust this thus far
incomplete narrative of hominid evolution, then it becomes difficult to impose
upon the pre-hominid our guilt-ridden notions of human sin or upon the earth
notions of evil. Early man's only sin seems to be that he was a part of nature,
whose only malevolence sprung from the mysterious mind of change and evolution.
Based on the narrative given thus far, Thompson argues that the garden myth of
the bible is "a dim racial memory of the original drama of
hominization"(70). In every beginning is the poet Writing God's epitaph in
endless shadows Cannibals, us all Religions, scavenging the flesh of history
Mystics, feasting on the serpent's tale And art, the banquet of it all
Secondly, and perhaps most momentous, is
the disappearance of estrus in women. As noted above, estrus was a cyclical
process, necessitating the arousal of and performance of sexual intercourse by
men and women over repetitive intervals of time. The pivotal effects of its end
become focused in the role that the female is proposed to have played in it as
well as the changes in social organization adopted by the evolving hominid.
Thompson contends that in the open savannah, females and infants would not be
able to venture out without the males. However, as stated earlier, the males'
only bond to the female is an incidental function of procreation rather than a
nurturing one. From our modern perspective, there is little to no social
responsibility exhibited by the pre-hominid male, who prefers to hang out with
the guys. Therefore, Thompson proposes that the female changes her sexual
rhythms in order to adapt to her changed circumstances: the end of estrus marks
the breakdown of what Thompson calls a "steady-state" of social
organization wherein there is little to no conflict. The question remains,
then, how did the female manage to lure the male away from these all- male
groups? Was she capable of exerting control over her own sexuality? Again,
Thompson cites the work of Lawick-Goodall in which she observed some remarkable
behaviour exhibited by one of the female chimps whom she named, Flo. Flo had
recently given birth, and so according to research, should not have exhibited
the pink posterior indicative of sexual receptivity. However, while Flo was
grooming her newborn, she observed a pack of males grooming a pregnant female
with a pink posterior. Flo approached the males and, to Dr. Goodall's surprise,
began to develop a pink posterior. Goodall had previously noted that older
females do not normally become pink again for four or five years after giving
birth. In deed, the following day Flo's swelling was gone and remained gone for
the next four years(65).
Heavenly wonder all the years we have
walked this blue-green planet Though history were a child's first words What a
divine chorus His screams do a make And if He should learn to speak The blazing
stars know not the ecstasy Of tongues that bind eternal life in earth and sky
Perhaps the words He already has in mind To woo Her into bed and make tomorrow
Perhaps the courage we have yet to find To leave behind and let time follow
This research is given as evidence that the
social and cultural revolution which Thompson calls the "sexualization of
human consciousness"(78) [Good "idea" Will, don't mind borrowing
that one.] was initiated by the female. Thompson states:
The shift from estrus to a receptivity for
intercourse at all times represents an eroticization of time: sexuality becomes
an orientation to all experiences rather than a perfunctory ten- second
interlude(77).
[I hope he's not speaking from personal
experience..]
This dramatic, even violent change,
disrupts the social unit of male bonding. The female has succeeded in luring
the male to her protection, but has also created a "cognitive dissonance
with the males"(77). There is now "intrasexual competition"
amongst the males. Thompson draws upon the noted work of psychologist Sigmund
Freud, then, to assert that some form of sexual repression and control would
need to be developed. He further relates the experiences of yogis, who utilize
sexual repression in order to induce higher forms of consciousness in order to
conclude that the resultant sexual repression and control necessitated by the
new "environment" would lead to a rapid growth of the brain. It is
within this context, Thompson hypothesizes, that symbolic consciousness, the
prelude to language, began to emerge. The new culture that forms around this
change becomes what we now call hominid(paleolithic) society. At first, the new
sexual conflict was dealt with by a new division of labour in which the males
would go off hunting (and, thereby, bonding) [herd behaviour is born] while the
females would gather. The hunting, no doubt, was a way for the males to channel
their new aggressive/sexual energy. However, as civilizations grew, I believe
it became necessary to structure communication in such a way as to maintain a
similarly functioning division, all the while maintaining a sense of sexual
participation in reality. This would be made more difficult as the all-male
bonding became fragmented into separate communities. A good example would be
the mythologies of ancient Egypt. Veronica Irons' book, Egyptian Mythology,
speaks about how the Nile river attracted many of these communities. With these
immigrating communities came new gods and new myths. However, the Egyptians had
no qualms about assimilating their myths with those of the people they dame to
rule. Irons writes that, to the Egyptians, "myth was a means of relating
traditional rituals to actual circumstances and to the introduction of new
gods"(12). What can be clearly seen, here, is a projection of the need for
order into the realm of the imagination, and language. Obviously, the emergence
of sexuality stimulated the imagination of the early hominid as there exists a
great number of excavated sculptures and other artwork from the Paleolithic
era. We are of the Earth Mysterious black energy of my birth Thoughts drain
like blood into the ground And memory bathes in Cosmic Intelligence I give
myself to the will Whom no one can bind Whom no words can kill To that moment,
like death When the body gives the soul to life When two bodies meet in some
imagined space Where the shadow is free to dance To some profane music
In Egypt, though, we can see the
structuring of the imagination as a means of hierarchical control. This process
of sexuality and imagination becoming more and more distinct seems to have
continued into the present. Although the forms of communication of early man
were highly symbolic(ie very real or sexually unified - pornographic), they
could be called an early form of language. Cave paintings from the Paleolithic
era represent evidence of such. However, the "language" of the early
matriarchal cultures, that of the Great Mother, would later be replaced by the
patriarchal language of the male. Egyptian myth and culture would seem to be
evidence of such a transition. I conclude from the narrative of hominization
that by the sexualization of consciousness, the creative force/passion of the
universe (call it yin-yang, God-Goddess) became incarnate in humanity. Hence,
humanity has been granted the power of creativity. Going from the nature-bound
oneness of animal instinct to the binding of animal instinct in a repressed and
conflicted (sexual) consciousness led to the emergence of language, which, in
the form of myth, represents an effort to resolve the sexual contradiction of
female-male bonding versus male bonding (Thompson, Falling Bodies 73). I
conclude from this that patriarchal suppression of the feminine was necessary
for the development of human consciousness. With the arrival of sexuality,
human desire began to act out the unspoken will of evolution in order to
resolve sexually induced conflict. The manipulation of language by patriarchal
religion serves such a will by endeavoring to order a society by expressing the
unconscious need for suppression of the feminine or what I believe to be the
still to be ritually remembered masculine archetype, the mind of a god. Where
no path goes One lover does wait Where forever lasts a lifetime Together for
the last time Knowing twilight Past, the water light Of tears no hope to shine
Through early mornings face My own reflected grace Where is this place Where no
path goes
Alone but for the chance that fate Is
hiding where the breeze meets My morning in the world now bright What river
feels the flowing more than I And there comes one with lips as bold As eyes
with but old For what light has cast against his withered cheek Dare drown that
vision in The pleasure of not finding For if in vain that search The water
rushes to Glistening in the sun Sounds sweeter still
This early need for sexual repression
appears to be a valid cause for the emergence of the "collective
unconscious". According to Carl G. Jung, the collective unconscious is a
phenomenon in which a part of Freud's "personal unconscious" or
"repressed consciousness" is linked y historical associations and
communal "memories" to the unconscious minds of all people. Jung
further stated that an "archetype" was any figure or pattern that
repeatedly resurfaces from the collective memory in works of the imagination.
It is the collective unconscious, then, which I see as becoming the great
mystery of creation, especially considering that the proposed cause of its
existence gives it a strong metaphorical relation to creation itself. In The
Great Cosmic Mother: Rediscovering The Religion Of The Earth, Monica Sjoo,
a feminist scholar, explores the archetype of the Great Mother, asserting that
this recurrent figure of the imagination is, in deed, a historic reality. This
is important because if the imagination is to attain the social clout necessary
to effect and reflect change in our planetary culture, it will be necessary to
ground the powerful metaphor of all that is "feminine" in the
patriarchal language of history. Sjoo points out the prevalence of feminine or
goddess symbolism in the pre-lingual culture of the Paleolithic matriarchies
and pays particular attention to the image of the "wound" of the
female, a testament to early humanity's fascination with the female sex organ
[who could blame them?] as it was related to birth and death, "womb"
and "tomb". The imagination and consciousness that sprung from the
event of sexuality's birth seems to confirm that the mind of nature is growing
in the mind of humanity out of a necessity to maintain not only social
connectedness but also connectedness with the earth. Sjoo uses evidence of cave
painting from the Upper Paleolithic which picture hunter, spear and bison in a
symbolic relationship with the bison's wound to show early humanity's symbolic
connection with the earth. Sjoo writes that these early humans "were
seeing the animal's wound as a magic vulva of the Goddess, and trying to
establish a union or symbolic resolution within the violence of killing: as
penis to vulva(which bleeds and heals itself), so spear to wound"(81).
Thus we witness in the primal goddess symbolism of the Paleolithic the
beginnings of language oriented around humanity's new sexuality, which, as
Thompson states "becomes an orientation to all experiences rather than
[the perfunctory ten second interlude"(Falling Bodies, 75) of
estrus. However, we cannot forget that the sexual repression which stimulated
this increased consciousness/imagination did so to maintain the male-bond,
which was as instinctual, it seems, as the female's manipulation of her own
sexual rhythms. The relativeness with which sexuality, imagination, and
language evolved around the roles of male and female makes it almost impossible
not to suggest that there is a mind at work that does not reside solely in male
or female but that becomes increasingly characterized in humanity's archetypes of
male and female; humanity's experience of creation becomes one that is forever
sexually oriented. The female's end of estrus was a natural reaction to a
natural circumstance. And, likewise, the males' formation of hunting bands (and
later male priesthood) was a natural reaction to a natural circumstance.
Although the female was taken as representative of nature or cosmos (as was
later the male in Egypt in the form of pharaoh), there appears to be a
progressive falling from identification of any given gender with the divine or
cosmos or nature. However, true to the very natural reactions of early hominid
males, patriarchal culture has evolved around a language and an archetype of
feminine/sexual repression. This would account for the recurrence of the theme of
male (and male God) dominance throughout patriarchal mythology and imagination.
That being said, I believe it not to be too far a stretch to suppose that
history is itself a work of the imagination, and no less real for its
creativity, the communal ritual of masculine energy integration stretched
across the millennia. Here, though, I must be careful to point out that a
reality of a "work" of any sort, from historical narrative to fiction
is directly related to the metaphorical power that one grants it. [ The purpose
of a conscious culture is to give more metaphorical power to all media, from
the sun to the tv and, thus, make all media, human and non, more unified] As I
have presented my case, by calling history a work of the imagination, I am
lending history a broader scope of interpretation which is quite the opposite
of attempting to decrease its relevance or value. William Thompson writes about
the problem of recording history with a language that evolved around feminine
suppression: Because we have separated humanity from nature, subject from
object values from analysis, knowledge from myth, and universities from the
universe, it is enormously difficult for anyone bur a poet or mystic to
understand what is going on in the holistic and mythopoeic thought of Ice Age
humanity. The very language we use to discuss the past speaks of tools,
hunters, and
men, when every statue and painting
we discover cries out to us that this Ice Age humanity was a
culture of art, the love of animals, and women...."(qtd. in Cosmic
Mother 79).
The shadow of life Gazes upon dark druids
Sentinels of a past That only He remembers
Like glowing embers Living and dying in the
ghostly breeze The owl silences The heart of darkness
Her pale silk Slips through the heavenly
gates Of this, a cemetery Of life
Monica Sjoo answers this problem by writing
that "what historians leave blank, our imaginations can fill in, with
bright pictures like those covering the sacred cave walls"(79). Therefore,
considering the circumstances surrounding the development of human
consciousness, consciousness should be redefined as that which represses
consciousness. Paradoxical though this may be, ib better represents our
connectedness to the conflict experienced by the early hominid, and hence, our
intrinsic connectedness to "The Great Mother". As we peer back in
time to our (time-bound) origin, it is easy to forget that we are imposing upon
it a language that has so evolved. If I may invoke the sacred imagination (and
peer back in consciousness), language, when viewed from the unconscious (or
unrepressed consciousness) becomes a reality (or the reality) in that it is a
metaphor for our constant participation in reality. It is both a medium for our
experience of life and experience itself. I hope to show that these ideas
presented thus far come directly to bear upon the challenges that we face as a
planetary culture. William Butler Yeats once wrote that "art and poetry,
by constantly using symbolism, continually remind us that nature itself is a
symbol. To remember this, is to be redeemed from nature's death and
destruction"(qtd in Yeats' Worlds 29). In light of our present
circumstance as a planet, Yeats' words sound almost prophetic. The question
that Yeats leads me to is, can art affect social change? My answer is yes, but
only if the realm of the imagination is reunited with that of language; to wit,
imagination as reality. This appears, on the surface, to be a call to social
anarchy. My response to that would be that thousands of years of social and
metaphorical conditioning will not soon subside. Also, like the development of
language itself, it may be necessary if we are to continue to exist.
She unites None oppose Her The moon in
flight Word of sight
She is soft When there is no right or wrong
All is left In Her cleft
Were She to dream Of those to come Inside
Her mind His death will find Her left behind And all around Waiting to touch
his soul And for him to touch the ground
We are already halfway there, for as
Thompson states in The Time Falling Bodies Take To Light, "art is
religion for modern man"(145). A dramatic rethinking of the role of
metaphor and imagination would lead to 1)a greater appreciation for gender, 2)a
greater appreciation for nature and, hence self, and 3)a greater awareness of
our active/sexual involvement in the cosmos. I am talking about a
spiritualization of art leading to a revolution in the way we think about
reality and our participation in it. Freed from the modern existential quest
for individuality, humankind will begin to venture forward into a world
culture. William Thompson, in his book Coming Into Being: Artifacts and
Texts in the Evolution of Consciousness, identifies the earth's atmosphere
as the "invisible polity" whose "globally chaotic system sweeps
over all the boundaries of the territorial industrial nation states"(10).
The new ethical orientation, then, would be based upon the new paradigm of
human as nature. It would focus upon balancing human rights and freedoms with
earth's rights and freedoms. The classic conflict of church and state would be
made moot [as they have made the human condition moot] by this new human
ecology which would center around self as part and whole, a concept which is
actively being approached by modern science. In Breaking The Mind Barrier,
artist and MIT scholar Todd Siler proposes making a science out of the mystery
of metaphor - what he aptly calls "artscience" - wherein processes of
cosmos reflect processes inside the human brain and visa versa. Also, he
hypothesizes that human creations, from art to particle accelerators, are also
related in process to both the mind of the universe and the mind of man. He
calls this "scientific" use of metaphor metaphorming. Such a concept
is replete with spiritual and artistic connotations and is a good example of
how a new planetary culture of art need not be confined to art's traditional
modes. In a sense, and perhaps maybe in more than just
a sense, all is art as much as all is metaphor in as much as all humans do is a creative expression of self and cosmos. Siler's "metaphorm" serves both as a symbol and an example of a new "way of knowing that is expressive of nature's unity"(Mind Barrier 19).
Know you the way? Into the season Know you the lost? Worlds
of reason You are a boat Water in the man Real as afloat Empty as you can
Know you the way? Sense is unmade Hold that
thought I see your point Eat the fire And light the Say, You know the way The
seasons move Around the earth Life will talk About a birth In my eye And my ear
I hear The drowning metaphors of fear Here
The boat is in the sky A wonder of the why
The dying The living The way floats on a lie
Robert Frost, the great American poet of
the twentieth century, viewed poetry as the marrying of spirit and matter. In
his essay on Frost, Sheldon Liebman writes that "...when metaphor succeeds
in marrying mind and matter, [...] the reader receives" what Frost calls
an "immortal wound." Images of immortal wounds conjure up images of
Christ's death. Regardless of my religious orientation, the importance granted
this myth alone justifies its reality [Although J.R. Tolkien's assertion that
it represents the "only true myth" is ignorant arrogance at its
finest]. As we have already seen, symbolism is not the product of human fancy
but of the human desire to remain a part of a whole. I assert that the
crucifixion is primarily a metaphor for human existence and, more specifically,
for the human desire not for meaning but for communion with life through a
symbolic (and very real) wound. Sjoo writes that there is a "necessity
[for] the male to experience his female wound"(81). I would diverge with
her here slightly and say that there is a necessity for everyone, male and
female, to experience this "wound". As stated, the origin of sexuality
coincided with the consequent imagination of humanity becoming sexualized into
male and female. Since the imagination or unconscious itself is so inextricably
linked to the archetype of Great Mother, these sexual polarities of creation
evolve into repressed images reciprocated by the male and female of a culture.
Hence, the male image of woman, the anima, and female image of man, the animus,
presented by Jungian psychology (The Sacred Prostitute) retreat into
"works of the imagination" but, in the absence of an evolved culture
of imagination, become a source of needless conflict (or wounding) in gender
relations which, isomorphic to the present relations humanity has with the
planet Earth, lack healthy expression within the limiting discourse of
patriarchal culture. Gender, culturally defined sexuality, needs be repressed
in a culture built upon sexual repression. What is this wound, exactly? If
symbolic consciousness evolved around the formation of the unconscious out of a
need to maintain cultural unity, the symbol of the wound seems to have evolved
around the instinctual human need to remind consciousness of its origins in the
earth [ and in the sun..]. Within the context of Paleolithic culture, however,
these two uses of symbolism would be virtually identical since the "other"
was female, goddess, and earth. It is the function the male played in the
enfoldment of early history that gave him, though, a unique use of the symbol
of the wound. Specifically, it was the male who killed animals while hunting.
Monica Sjoo writes that "because men did all the large-game hunting, and
felt themselves to be tracking and slaying brother and sister animals, magic
children, like themselves, of Mother Earth - we know they felt guilt, and
sought its resolution"(80). The symbolism of the sacred wound reappears in
Christian mythology, then, "as an expression that the male shaman, to have
magical power, must take on the power of the woman...the magical labial wound
is the seal of the resurrection and an expression of the myth of eternal recurrence"(Thompson
qtd in Cosmic Mother 81). Sjoo further states that "medieval
paintings show Christ exposing his wound, from which blood and water flowed
during the crucifixion, as from a uterus in childbirth"(81). Other than
language itself, the symbol of the wound seems to be the best evidence of
humanity's symbolic connection to reality, which, as we go further back in
"time" would seem to grow more and more akin to our connection to
Nature [ and outside of time, the sun and stars..].
[A break from the tedium of
"scholarship"..] [Monica Sjoo relates the symbolism of "blood
and water" to the birthing process of a mother, which she uses to imply
that women, as a gender, have an innate power which threatens the religious
(esp. Christian) and political establishment. [Personal politics rears its ugly
head] Although the feminist scholarship presented in Sjoo's The Great Cosmic
Mother positions itself as diametrically opposed to the patriarchal theme
of power and dominance it too becomes an expression of the suppressive culture
which it condemns. [no sexual unity, in other words] This is, of course, what
happens in our society when a new form of morality attempts to express itself
in any but a traditional (and, thereby, socially inconsequential) mode of
discourse. The artist, who has a keen sense of the injustices of civilization,
must become a media icon in order to get noticed, thereby becoming just another
expression of the dominant culture. [The message becomes the medium it is
trying to control when the messenger hasn't mastered his own medium/sexuality,
right Marshal (all the black people will suffer the most) McLuhan, you spoonfed
whitebread.]. The feminist, who expresses a similar regard for patriarchal
hypocrisy with political intent becomes a rival power. All the while, we are
surrounded by the stirrings of a cultural revolution but lack a culturally
defined imagination to give it expression in accordance with the law of maximum
pleasure of sexual expression. Without a sexually unified framework for both
man and woman's place in the universe and on the earth which takes into account
both the origin of culture/religion as well as a collective vision of our
future on this planet, all attempts to re-create or, as Sjoo writes,
"respell" the world are bound to be taken way too seriously or not
seriously enough. So many symbols come together at the wound of Christ, both
within the context of Christianity and within the context of hominization, that
the "blood and water" of Christ's wound becomes a metaphor for a
process which eludes expression, in my opinion, by any form of art or scholarly
discourse presently existing [conscious culture is born]. It alludes to a new
form of morality which is far beyond the scope of this paper [too many creative
limitations] but which will inevitably respect the earthSsun as much as are
sexual connection to them. [The blood and water of our very real birth as the
source of all perception of reality and personal feeling (WATER), the unity of
both perfectly reflecting the sonic unity of earth and sun of life and love, of
the sound and ritual of one's entire life in memory, sense, and imagination,
metaphorically, and literally (through blood) linked to the earth and sun.] A
dramatic re-evaluation of the metaphorical implications of the wound of Christ
will also lead to a new form of art which exposes the symbolic or image
idolatry of patriarchal culture without threatening the organization of
society. Only then will the planetary citizen be able to open what contemporary
poet Frank Chipasula calls "the eyes of death" that "we must
force with veils". This, he writes in is ground-breaking [fucking awesome]
poem, "A Singer's Dilemma", which recounts one artist's attempt to
reconcile the reality of his art with the violent realities of the world around
him, not the least of which is the atrophy of our own sense of personal and
collective conscience, a living entity that, for Chipasula, is his inspiration.
He describes how symbolic idolatry leads to a myopic (monotone) vision - in the
form of oppressive religious/political ideologies as well as the numbed
conscience of the citizen who must contend with acts of violence against the
planet and its people that heSshe doesn't even remember turning a blind eye to
- a conscience that is just as responsible for these injustices as their
proposed conveyor (e.g. the devil, the church, the government, the dictator).
This he must do, of course, by inspiring the citizen rather than blaming
himSher [a manipulative undertone of all media] - not an easy task, but after
all, innovation does seem to be the hallmark of evolution.. He writes,
"Give me a metaphor that is not scared of shrapnel wounds / that cannot
close like the eyes of death we must force with veils". The citizen must learn
to take on the sacred wound again, to discriminate between image (or symbolic
idolatry) and reality, between image and metaphor. This could only lead to a
dramatic renewal of our sense of self with relation to each other and the
earth. This can only happen, though, if we begin to listen to the artist,
which, as we expand our understanding of the role of imagination in culture and
religion, could be almost anybody. This ability to discriminate between image
and metaphor will become, in my opinion, more important than our ability to
tell right from wrong (as history attests to). Paradoxically, it is so simple a
skill as to elude even the most powerful of intellects. And yet, if we are ever
to survive the next stage in our evolution, it is a skill that demands constant
attention. But, then, evolution as I have been presenting it, is an art, and
like any art one may choose to be inspired by its simple complexity and its
undying effect upon the soul. It is no wonder to me that this ability, this art
of discrimination, has been delegated to idols of worship that dictate
"the moral will" of some transcendent power for, if nothing else,
history speaks more of our failure to discriminate between image and reality
than right form wrong. The artist, however, cannot afford to neglect his
ability for he or she lives by and through this ability, this art (which
needn't be confined to what is traditionally called art). We would not be here
today were it not for this artful intelligence, a sort of divine intellect,
which appears not to find proportion in what we call intelligence but in the
conscience with which we are all endowed. However, as this collective
conscience is expressed through both modern culture and religion, with their
emphasis upon order and organization, it would appear at first glance to bear
very little resemblance to intellectual beauty. It is this seemingly immovable
structure which the artist deplores, not the souls who find refuge in its
stable yet confining security. In fact, it is to those souls, whole light like
Beauty's mourning veil provides Love's darkened sanctuary, that Christ or the
Soul "in glory risen" directs the artist's skillful vision. At the
center of all this is the wound of Christ, the blood and water symbols of and
metaphors for humanity's evolution from the earth as well as the Sun's
involution into matter. This is how I draw all these symbols and metaphors
together in both an artistic and somewhat scholarly fashion: The branch of
linguistics known as structuralism makes a clear distinction between the
diachronic (through time) and synchronic (at the same time) study of language.
I see diachronic language as that system of symbols which evolved through time
around the suppression of a workable masculine archetype and therefore, having
all the appearances of feminine suppression in a consequentially unconscious
culture. However, the Swiss linguist Ferdinand de Saussure argued that
linguists could study how a language functions solely in the present, how its
parts interrelate to make up a whole system of communication. Literary critics
have utilized this idea to form a style of literary criticism which centers
around treating literature as a form of language. What we have, though, is the
juxtaposition of language as that which binds culture together by systems of
signs which evolve through time around the instinctual human desire for order,
and language as a system of symbols forming a liberating force for all the
dynamic forces of creation. I would argue, then, that the creative use of
language as a metaphor for our connection to the mind of cosmos (and as real as
it is metaphorical), would create a more conscious use of symbolism with a
distinctively spiritual/sexual quality in that it could open up - like a wound
- the individual language or mind of the ciitizen, leaving him or her healed or
sexually renewed rather than wounded or detached.. The appearance of the wound
of Christ, then, within the patriarchal imagination would appear to be an
unconscious nod within time to the timeless existence of both the archetypal
Mother and the archetypal Father, both of which when ritualistically performed
throughout the course of all culture, made and continue to make language both
necessary and possible - a juxtaposition itself of the Reality of who we are within
culture (or time-bound consciousness) against the Reality of who we are withing
nature (or cosmic consciousness) [universes are created whenever these two meet
and they do all the time]. That is, the wound of Christ, as it appears whin
historical context, is a metaphor for the power of imagination. The message
that I interpret, then, from the crucifixion myth, is that patriarchal
civilization as so oriented around linguistic consciousness is an unconscious
work of art. We have traveled then from the edge of history to its center, the
sacred wound [and sacred spear] through which the artist/citizen may travel to
wet the metaphor (the human, really, for what do we do but continuously respond
to the universe, the unity, with unity [it is only that the majority of our
responses are conveyed through a medium (language/media) that evolved without
conscious and sexually unified creative intent(or, at least, little conscious
awareness of that intent) which, therefore, amputates rather than extends one's
conscious participation in a collective consciousness..one's ability to
interact with a collective living image of culture, a pornographic or
all-sensory image of god] with the blood and water of reality, thereby
resolving the guilt of separation or evolution from the earth (a sort of
killing, really) which, lest we fall victim to symbolic idolatry and become
slaves to the earth [fire and brimstone environmentalism], is also our
responsibility. While enjoying an art display one day, I overheard a lady ask
the artist, "where do you get your ideas?" Without a thought , he
quietly replied, "my conscience". We are the ghosts Walking but not
knowing where In a world of light and shadow Seeing our selves only In the
lives we live The life that lives in a word Eternal Like a snowflake in the
summer For our minds are all that comes and goes As the shadows twist and turn
They betray the killer A blade of grass Or even a human tree The World Tree At
dawn Does the sun rise Or do we?
Both Christianity in the west and Buddhism
in the east believe or assert that suffering is the lot of humanity. They omit
or fail to express that suffering is a human being's greatest power or
connection to reality, to life, and once experienced, need not be repeated.
Artists seeks to reveal the ills of civilization by taking on both the wound
and power. This leads not to an arrival at meaning but a conversation with life
by way of metaphor from which civilization itself may be redeemed and thereby,
sexually empowered. The artist is, in function then, similar to the Christian,
in fantasy, in that he finds reality by taking on the symbolic wound of Christ.
For the artist, however, this leads to a renewal of metaphorical existence,
real existence, rather than a one-time initiation into an escape from civilization.
In deed, for the artist, this process must be continually repeated; he seeks
constant renewal or rebirth - revels in it even. The wound of Christ becomes a
metaphor for the process of art and the process of life, for the creative
process leads the artist not to "the truth" or even "the
meaning" but to an unlimited vocabulary of metaphorical relations in
which, mysteriously, meaning takes on a new meaning. We can then redefine the
truth as that medium (be it a great poem or even greater experience) which
wounds the audience consciously, thereby engaging them in the divine dialogue
of individual and cosmos in all is reality all is metaphor dialogue which
negates the need for the truth because of its intrinsic level of fulfillment.
Patriarchal culture and patriarchal religion have unconsciously hidden the
power of this level of communication beneath a canon of discourse, an
objectified language. Consequently, the song of the soul, the rock anthem of
history, "the constant sacrament of praise"[of unified pleasure]
offered by "Susanna", the Goddess in Wallace Stevens' poem,
"Peter Quince at the Clavier" has been relegated, in terms of
collective social value, to merely entertainment value. In Artifacts and
Texts, Thompson notes the "electronic media's power to swamp
literacy"(8). He gives this condition as one reason for "our
contemporary predicament", in which "violence becomes the virtual
mode of discourse". Virtual, because the two-legged mammal, twice removed
from all manner of conscious sexual unity by both patriarchal discourse and the
prosthetic mind of modern technology, doesn't have an earth to stand on or a
culture to hold him up. Thompson further states that, for postmodern thinkers,
"civilization is simply a construct, a discourse of power [politics ]
projected onto an imaginal geography that was set up by an imperial elite for
the aims of its own clubbish supra cultural world"(2). Whether we like it
or not, this "imaginal geography" of patriarchal power, virtual
consciousness, and electronic floods of information is our contemporary
reality. The perilous condition of the planet is not just the effect of human
negligence of environmental systems but also the effect of human ignorance of
systems of symbol and metaphor as rooted in nature[,the Sun] and humanity's
intrinsic connection to it. William Thompson writes that only "a new
culture of higher spirituality [can] turn our electronic technologies into
cathedrals of light"(Artifacts 10). If, as I believe, modern
discourse has lost its symbolic and unifying value to the ordinary citizen and
become instead a metaphor for death, then it is up to each of us to embrace
"Death's ironic scraping" (Stevens again) and reinvent the citizen as
artist [god] , as a metaphor for the very computers that "process"
all this planetary stimuli. A new level of spirituality must equal a new level
of planetary culture in which each metaphor for continuously evolving Reality
(male and female) would not be hard pressed to imagine the blue-green lover of
cosmos dancing into the dark womb of infinite possibilities...
Works Cited
Bergman, Ingmar. The Seventh Seal.
A.B. Svensk Filmindustri, 1957
Griffith, Kelley. Writing Essays About
Literature, fifth ed. Florida: Harcourt Brace
Ions, Veronica. Egyptian Mythology.
Italy: O.G.A.M. Verona, 1968
Liebman, Sheldon W. "Robert Frost,
romantic." Twentieth Century Literature. Online. Internet. 1 Dec.
1998. Available:
http://www.iac-on-encarta.com/prin...was=&rc=1.tencarta.20119138&page=1
Pierce, David. Yeats' Worlds.
London. Yale University Press, 1995
Siler, Todd. Breaking the mind Barrier:
The Artscience of Neurocosmology. New York, N.Y.:Touchstone, 1990
Sjoo, Barbara, and Barbara Mor. The
Great Cosmic Mother: Rediscovering The Religion Of The Earth. New York,
N.Y.: HarperSanFrancisco, 1987,1991.
Stevens, Wallace. "Peter Quince at the
Clavier." The Norton Anthology Of Poetry., fourth ed. Eds. Margaret
Ferguson, Mary Jo Salter and Jon Stallworth. US: WW Norton and Co., 1996
Thompson, William Irwin. Coming Into
Being: Artifacts and Texts in the Evolution Of Consciousness. New York,
N.Y.: St. Martin's Press, 1996.
Thompson, William Irwin. The Time
Falling Bodies Take To Light. New York, N.Y.: St. Martin's Press, 1981.
Qualls-Corbett, Nancy. The Sacred
Prostitute: Eternal Aspect of the Feminine. TO, Canada: Inner City Books,
1988
And
[The Phd's response...]
"[Your paper] contains a great number
of provocative and well-articulated insights into religion and culture and is,
I think, a worthy addition to the literature on the philosophy of religion.
Well done. [...] some more specific comments:
1. It would have helped me(the reader) if,
at the outset, you had more clearly delineated your purpose in writing the
paper. You give a very general ideal of the topic, but don't say how you are
going to get there."
[What about "seeing our home as the
gods see it", "new life in the present", combining
"knowledge and imagination", learning about "who we are and why
we are today", renewing our "sense of awe at the mysteries of
evolution, culture, and consciousness", and binding the individual with
the universal through a regeneration of the power of myth, imagination and
culture does he
not understand? Therefore, I will not even attempt to make my purpose any more clear. I will however, say that my purpose in writing this paper was not to belittle the intelligence of the human soul by making these "ideas" more important than my artistic conscience and pandering to the indiscriminate stupidity of the formally educated. If it's still not clear, look around you.]
"2.
..I was never quite sure where [each new idea] fitted into the overall
argumentation. This was not helped by your propensity to write extraordinarily
long paragraphs."
[Again. Look around you. My job isn't to
make everything fit, my job is to fit into the world like a hard cock inside a
wet cunt. If you can't remember how that works, then maybe you should put down
your books and go see your wife. We are brought up to believe that the content
of all of our media should make perfect sense, when nothing really does if it
amputates our very ability to create meaning by deluding sexual
consciousness.(How many tv scenarios involve two people really enjoying sex
without it adding tension to the plot, without any politicized BS - free sex?)
And we all know what happens during sensory amputation, you start looking at
the size of other people's...]
"3. The idea of hominization is
extremely powerful"
[Only a university prof. could think of an
idea as extremely powerful. The imagination is the most powerful force in the
whole fucking universe - that isn't an idea, that is a reality, and anyone
whose doesn't sense as much is self-deluded and self-diluted in the miasmic
womb of collective "agreement" rather that collective culture
(sexually unified ritual).]
"4. Perhaps the emphasis on sexuality
might be a little overplayed??"
[This just gets better and better. (The
world is a cunt for the cock that is me.) Count'em. Not one, but two question
marks. You missed the major premise of the paper and of the universe - it's
sexual. If the universe finds sex important enough to use it to create and
annihilate life, then so do I. Besides, do you think Hitler and all his allies
killed millions of Jews because they and all their wives and girlfriends were
having a fucking awesome time with a bed, some K/Y jelly and the Kama Sutra? A
comment like the one above only confirms for me that the top-level university
establishment is just like any religious order (things have not changed that
much since the dark ages in terms of sexual imagination), any threat perceived
to it is denounced as "too sexual". In this case, however, this
philosopher didn't know enough to perceive it as a threat to a control that the
university doesn't even have - he merely saw it as a "great idea" and
proceeded to suck my dick. (They should never have let me into a class on world
religions). It may not be written down anywhere, but the underlying philosophy
of all higher education is to suppress sexual-imaginative revolution (conscious
culture) by teaching "revolutionary/evolutionary ideas". The
professors themselves are not aware of this because they got their educations
from universities. However, that works for me, as it can work for anyone, since
my personal "philosophy" or phallic source of knowledge is to learn
it better than they can teach it by adapting to the organized hypocrisy with an
altered awareness, a stereo vison of both the content and the structure of
"education", hearing that dark, life giving music which was the inspiration
of rock n' roll - and can be again, instead of rock cliche. (Rock
about life not about rock, education about being alive not about making a living - Rock). E.g. the Doors, Pearl Jam...Conscious Culture.
[This is
entertainment and "cultural" criticism. Peter Jones is one of the
finest instructors I ever had, and he extended to me a level of creative
freedom that I, obviously, enjoyed very much.]
Part IV
[Woke up. Had a smoke and a beer. Opened
all of the Doors. Reflected on the roommate who accused me of falling prey to
the Devil because I smoke marijuana but couldn't explain to me why that was
wrong. I simply had to trust him. Personally, I don't trust anybody who
believes in a twisted metaphorical entity whose only pleasure is to consume the
lives and pleasures of others - and then tells me I shouldn't get high. Took a
shit. Told my cat how goddamn lucky she was to have me. Called the only person
I have called in months to tell them that I wouldn't be needing their phone
services any longer. Fried some eggs over an open fire. Got on the bus. Said hi
to some beautiful trees..Mt. Baker, the sun, and a redhead. Sat down. Booted up
a Window while looking out a window... Mailed an editor who likes Star Wars
because it makes him forget about "girls" (if could forget that you
were alive, would you be dead?) - he used up a whole page in a newspaper to say
so - (and who also thinks I'm one extremely self-deluded artist for wanting to
write rock n' roll reviews that sound like rock n' roll, like fucking) to get
myself into a fully-booked concert only a day away...and now wondering about
how little I know about self-delusion..]
[Turned off the Window, passed a couple of
bureaucrats, walked out into the sun, passed another gathering of bureaucrats,
bought a student-discount lunch. Performed the discount when the girl (who no
longer is looking at me because I had the guile to tell her that she was cute)
told that she couldn't serve me the 8" sub because they were out of
8" bread - I told her to take some 12" bread and cut off
4"..education..Walked out bathing in the sun some more. Walked into a cd
store playing pop-shit on the Muzak box, so I plugged in some Soundgarden at
the cd bar. Drank a couple of shots of Black_hole and "The Day I tried to
Live", when I was done, they were playing some bob Marley, so I stuck
around for a few more minutes to take in pure sun and soul....
Bought a slush for the sheer pagan delight
of it...passed a bus unloading a herd of highschool kids who had just driven
into town to visit the Future Shop - Raised my plastic ice infused glass and
uttered a passing "welcome to town" to which they smiled and nodded.
A girl looked at me like she didn't know where she was despite being nestled in
a throng of people - what are they teaching these kids?
Back home - informed roommate of the 350$
he owed me for staying in touch with the people he most cares about and loves.
A beer, a cigarette... Smoked a joint..
A thousand points of light still don't equal
one sun, one sexually integrated nervous system and a whole throbbing black
universe...]
[Read some f a book about great art in the
making. Got hung up on a woman...Enjoyed it. Wondered why university classes
don't pool more subjective student response,,especially since subjective
response is the only way of integrating media with everyday life...Took a piss.
A culture oriented around subjective response over blind objective absorption
(which is subjective anyway) when one is like a shot glass with one drop of
cheap bourbon compared to an ocean of tequila has, really, no decision to make
at all, which is why the modern citizen has, really, no choices according to a
"reality". Made 3 days worth of dinner while eating and enjoying on
night's worth at the same time. Walked into living room just in time to catch
Bond killing all those fucked up terrorists with his own unique brand of
technology and sex and getting the woman - "go get'em James" A beer
and a sunset - Roommate's Sarah McLaughlin closed all the Doors for me - and
I..Took a really good shit. (Seeds a must have in diet).
Retired to a radio and a setting
sun....Recalling a poetry class on Yeats in which one girl's response to Yeats
(was to tell the class about how she dropped a guy because he licked his
fingers at the table) occupied 20 min of classtime... TeaParty's on Friday -
that's one extra day to woo this effeminate...]
[No reply from editor. Went to Party
anyway. Got in. The Party rocked prophetic...]
Although I made it to the Tea Party,
Disinfo didn't make it through the summer. Not that I'm gloating - this town
could really use a good rock rag, perhaps one, though, that doesn't mind
including a writer that actually is a rock artist (my opinion). But,
unfortunately, most people will pick up a copy of a corporate newspaper before
they'll pick up a copy of anything containing edgy cultural response.]
What is schizophrenia but a dis-ease of
consciousness in which what you know inside yourself doesn't match up with what
you see outside yourself. I have dared to travel inside myself and know that it
is real. Therefore, I can say that the world is in a state of collective
schizophrenia, a massive psycho-physical tear from which humanity has yet to be
reconciled. No religion, no culture, no group and no individual is immune from
this dis-ease. Unless you know that the sun is god is you, that the earth is
heaven, the universe - our home and that your very consciousness is the
culmination of being, of all time, and that EVERYTHING is Ok, then you really
need to take it easy for a while. Pop-culture makes several assumptions to us
before we ever have the chance to question it: Contrary to what you may
believe, we do not have the capability of speech or of any form of conscious
language. All we have are faint scratchings on a wall and cries in the night.
Contrary to what you may believe, we do not live in a patriarchal society, nor
have we ever. All we have done is created a fantasy of hierarchical power on
which to project the unconscious desire for a culturally and ritualistically
integrated masculine meta-archetype, for a "God", a Body, and then
consumed more energy and faith to support this fantasy with thinly contrived
reactions to its ever increasing sense of unreality - religions, philosophies, republics,
politics, technologies, ideals, economies, democracies, laws, wars etc (really,
every cultural system from marriage to media is a reaction to something else -
No cultural system or "age" as ever been either recognized or created
with conscious creative intent - the sixties came close but was too political)
- than it would take to believe that the suun, that massive globe of pure energy
around which the planets orbit, which gives us all our energy, our seasons and
every cycle of life, is god. Therefore, a conscious culture is not a reaction
to anything nor is it an alternative to anything; it is the only culture anyone
has ever lived in if they have a pulse; a conscious culture is the Body's
movement through all cultural system when the attention is not drawn into a
narrow point of light but is surrounded by the blood and light-filled sphere
that is the emergent Androgyne or Body, the ritual of every day life in the 21st
century - We have been living in Heaven for a very long time. The Sun does
Through the Tree Free the Serpent Face Of Humanity [There is not yet one
person, one animal, bird, fish, crab, tree, rock, hollow, canyon, meadow,
forest. Only the sky alone is there; the face of the earth is not clear. Only
the sea alone is pooled under all the sky;there is nothing whatever gathered
together. It is at rest; not a single thing stirs. It is held back, kept at
rest under the sky. Whatever might be is simply not there: only the pooled
water, only the calm sea, only it alone is pooled. Whatever there is that might
be is simply not there: only murmurs, ripples, in the dark, in the night. Only
the Maker, Modeler alone. Sovereign Plumed Serpent, the bearers, Begetters are
in the water(Us), a glittering light. They are there, they are enclosed in
quetzal feathers, in blue-green. Thus the name, "Plumed Serpent."
They are great knowers, great thinkers in their very being. And of course there
is the sky, and there is also the Heart of Sky. This is the name of the god, as
it is spoken...-The Mayan Book of the Dawn of Life, a living myth of Today]
We have done this because we were afraid of the darkness when
self-consciousness or conscious sight first emerged. Therefore, evolving
consciousness developed a protective mechanism to protect us from the light,
from emerging reality, which was also a protection from the darkness, from
ourselves - or, at least, what we must be since we "were not that which we
could see". The reason for this protective mechanism, polarized
consciousness (twisting every metaphor so as not to provide a clear sense of
reality in the outside world - an ignorance of the mysteries of blood, water,
and imagination), should be apparent - insanity and the complete inability to
function with massive amounts of light of pure information being drenched upon
an emerging god: to create "order" or linear consciousness "from
chaos", a Body of Sound. Exactly what is happening right now but
transformed and manipulated - [scaled down so it can be scaled up or
"stepped down" like an electromagnetic transformer for and by a
consciousness that has learned to jump from the lowest energy level, the black
ground of the earth and cosmos , into self-designed higher energy states by
embodying the sexual desire of the cosmos (Put away your calculators. Why would
you want to study Quantum Mechanics when you can live in a Quality Reality,
when one can Resonate with the Destiny and Desire of Body. Physicists, you're
living in an impotent dream world that you can't even see - not that your
telescopes aren't fucking big enough (rock on) you just don't think enough of
that telescope between your legs and of sexual consciousness (all consciousness
really being sexual consciousness)] - by all forms of media, ie all forms. This
is our chance to evolve ecstatic sight (consciousness) consciously - to create
our god our selves. - to do it fucking right. We don't need to "know"
anything about the past, paleolithic or historical - it's all happening right
now - this is the beginning of time. Just as the earth's northern magnetic pole
points to the north star when, in reality, it points in every direction (the
fourth dimension is not time, it is light), so too everything we hold as real
is really magnitudes more real than we know. The world is not corrupt, all
media points to reality, creative ancestry by blood(we just have yet to
collectively recognize the power of that individual response known as
consciousness), and the earth has not been raped (we haven't even begun to fuck
this black bitch[She laughs, She loves humanity and his arrogant sexual poses -
We and She stand on the same ground with the same gravity or body of
water/fertility], so stop whining all you hippies et al). All fears that the
Earth is in a state of near ecological collapse are based upon the ego-fantasy
that we could even destroy this planet - if WWIII were going to happen, it
would have happened by now. WWIII is, in reality, always happening as the
universe constantly annihilates and re-creates itself through a perpetual,
dynamic, imaginative and conscious state of war, a war in which every body wins
rather than one in which every body loses - the best fucking war of all.
However, in the absence of a global culture of ritualized sexuality it would be
necessary to experience this grand archetype of the imagination and of the soul
in only the most literal and crude expression, intentional physical
destruction. I happen to know that we are capable of more than that, that we
are more than that. A Conscious Culture is, in fact, both an expression and
measure of ecstatic reality, the one that I see, and the one that I create by
virtue of my very consciousness. As it is presently written, it is merely in
its most prototypical form and is limited by the collective consciousness of
the planet. However, as people to begin to realize the positive effects of
ritualized or consciously creative life and pleasure, CC's creative expression
will experience commiserate changes. I like to think of CC as an Economic Index
of the Ecstatic. Just as the global citizen should be able to look outside his
or her window and see the world performing and enjoying the performance of life
so should the reader of this EIE be able to reflect on the state of the
planetary soul, to hear the phallic rock beat of collective creative intent
(orgiastic pleasure) and live out sexual freedom - the only kind of freedom. I
want to paint a four dimensional or real picture of the ecstatic on the canvass
of the human soul, as it has been unconsciously painted on since time and
before; I want to fuck the world - not as some hate-filled reaction to it(I
don't even like writing that word, another greatly misused word, although one
that should be left to our unconscious creative intent, where it always should
be: hate being stupidly unconscious love, love unrealized by a ritualized
imagination), but a conscious response, to tattoo the world with its Self.
Right now, I give CC a one. By the time it gets to one hundred, I see grand
copulations in the streets and in all the crowned churches of the Soul. I'm not
trying to write literature here, and I'm sure as hell not trying to start a
religion. Besides, no book existing, no culture existing, no religion existing,
and no art form existing has any kind of monopoly on the human soul. In fact,
when it comes to literature, I'd just as soon read an Archie comic book as a
Tolstoy or a Steinbeck. After all, what is Archie but a bunch of people trying
get together in that way that only humans can, but never quite get there
because they don't seem to have any alternative but to act out the inane images
of the human condition given to them by their parents and their parents'
parents "culture"? It's comedy, but if you dare to look close enough,
the beautifully tragic heart of existence beats there, too. The only thing that
has ever made one "writer" better than another is their ability to
dress up the soul in popular clothes or veils. In fact, English professors make
a pretty good living undressing these "great works". English profs
must have been unsatisfied with just one layer of wrapping paper around their
childhood presents; they must have wanted eight or nine layers of that shit for
the sheer enjoyment of studying it and removing it within the sexual fantasy
womb of unrealized ecstasy which childhood will always symbolize. You go to school,
though, and they never actually get to the heart of it, they just love the
paper way too much, so much, perhaps, that they have forgotten the present and
maybe are even afraid to look at it, afraid that they won't be able to fill the
dark empty centre that they must know is there inside themselves - as we all do
know. And these insane people are in charge of education? Get real. The only
writer that ever had the guts to strip away all literary contrivances to show
the naked soul to the world, Jack Kerouac's On The Road, is subjected to
the most inane criticism of all, phrases like "meta-narrative" and
"mythic-prosody" are thrown around as if these instructors would hear
the heart of the world beating and then respond with "well, that's interesting".
And there are other students even that attempt to make conclusions about
Kerouac's moral character and mental stability as though they to are afraid to
look at their own heart and soul for fear of finding nothing there and so
insist on placing sexually politicized veils around a work dedicated to naked
creative expression - blasphemy. And if they've spent their lives reading
books, going to school, and listening to anything their parents told them, why
shouldn't they be afraid of this consummate work of pornography? If the Soul
can't find its way into a university class on 60's literature, then I say the
University denies the soul. Listen up teachers of the world (god knows I've had
to listen to your BS long enough), you are not teaching students, you are educating
terror. Jack Kerouac was and is a master of autobiographical prose: the man
wore his heart on the page. Pick up a copy of On The Road, sit back,
have a beer and if you can't hear the very rock, heart and blues of existence
(formal education or not), then you won't be able to hear it anywhere. And to
bridge this whole rant from literature to religion, allow me to make one
quickie of a comment about the bible. An unconscious work of pornography is
best deconstructed unconsciously by a technology organized around the marriage
of consciousness and unconsciousness(although right now it breeds the latter
more than the former) - tv/video. I don't give a shit what conceits one holds
about the sanctity or literary value of the biblical books, its been fucked and
sealed by modern media, a good example being 1993's Monolith with Bill Paxton.
Aside from the concept and effects, not a great flick, but if you feel like
interacting pornographically with that old black book, this is
your flick. Just don't expect too much; it's not like there's much to work with when you remove the divinity of human sexuality and a psycho-ecological metaphorical framework (unified reality) in which to express it. Speaking of which, pop-culture's greatest power is its ability to strip away symbol and cultural conceits. As we approach the 21st century, our popular technology is already showing us the way through its rampant deconstruction of cultural traditions, projecting and symbolizing the fertile pickings that we have from which to create the culture of the future. I don't care if your into ancient Crete, ancient Egypt or 5th c. Rome, whatever meaning it has, you are giving it because contrary to common assumption, no scholarship existing, not even the sum of it, could ever come close the reality of life five hundred or even one hundred years ago - we, ourselves, are the only real artifacts and all of history is tattooed upon our very souls, we are reality. As history washes upon the shore of the 21st , we as a planetary culture have an opportunity unlike any other afforded humanity - to consciously create a pornographic(sexually unified) picture of what it means to be alive, to consciously create culture.
[Gather
round, people.] I'm your tour guide for this museum of life and consciousness.
You see that big fucking ball of fire up there? That's's the sun. You see that
thing beneath you feet? That's a planet w call the earth. You thing that blue
sky looks great, wait 'til this bitch turns around in about 12 hours, then
you'll be able to see the whole fucking universe and all the stars. You see
that tee over there and over there and over there? - it takes energy from both
the sun and the earth from the night and the day - look how strong that
motherfucker is - it robs from the rich and gives to the richer, converting sun
and soil into the air we breath. Speaking of which, look at this. It converts
pure consciousness into time - It takes from the whole fucking cosmos, from the
very time it creates and converts it into pure ecstasy in infinite variations
of unified sensual delight - it converts the sun and earth into light and form.
See those buildings/ Those are called skyscrapers. See those cars everywhere,
those roads, trains, phones, computers...These fuckers can't help but create
consciousness (form and structure) from all that blackness. That's why they're
called fuckers - they penetrate the darkness and voila, light and form. And
despite all there pleasure, they haven't even begun to enjoy it with a sexually
unified consciousness - the best fuck of all. However, they are already
performing this new level of consciousness through what they all eating,
sleeping , fucking, shitting, loving, losing, living, dying, laughing,
bleeding, seeing and walking - sacred mystery rites them all of which they can
feel (but you won't be able to get that because you're just a bunch of ideas)
and which they are already experiencing through music and esp. Rock n' Roll.
[Even though Rock came "after" most other musical styles, it makes
more "sense to me to view Rock as creating and performing all other
musical forms, a creative expression of creative impetus, of god - Rock is
Cock] They experience this feeling as a unified response they call guilt and
fear, shame, the tragic prelude to ...pleasure and ecstasy - but you'll have to
ask them about it because, like you, I'm just some stupid idea. [active
imagining] [sexuality is consciousness] Water runs along its side And every
color becomes sparkling blue I looked closer And before I saw the bottom I
heard every sound that ever sprang fourth The well wasn't everything But it was
how everything Returns to the source To follow our animal rage through
millennia of human and ecological rape and murder - billions dead and the earth
to the point of near ecological collapse, living and suffering all the while
with the pure existential terror that we are more than our most base instincts
and then be able to, in one culminating moment of a history of imaginative,
physical, and sexual war, see ourselves as the very love that created the
universe, to be able to stand on the summit that is the 3rd
millennium in awe of our own Shadow, the very shadow or body of a god, the
technological and intellectual extensions of our original Desire, the body and
spirit of venus, and to truly love our planetary culture, the universe, and all
of human experience is the very definition and performance of eternal peace -
the very ecstasy of existence and birthright which is the sun, the earth, the
moon, and all the stars. This isn't the archetypal God or the archetypal
Goddess. This isn't the holy Father, the holy Mother, Brahman, or Buddha. This
is the archetypal human - the holiest of holies. Amen. We are the gods, the
secret body of knowledge and desire, the Logos, the Christos, the name written on
all the souls of time, A body and an ocean of flesh and passion. This is the
little death, claim it as your own and ressurrect yourself from history, grab a
lawn chair, take a seat beside another god, crack upon and beer and watch the
end and beginning. When there's darkness all around, baby Sun, all around The
future is all Ours, baby All the Love is Ours Create the world again, baby
Let's create the sun and stars Create Our Sexy Selves again Again is Always
Ours... Stand alone on that Great Shore, baby Stand with Us on the shore Say
this is Our planet, baby Say this is Our planet... Our Name is Free in Desiny
There Dying to be Us, baby Ride Our snake into the world Ride these words into
your soul, baby Your bloodied Soul and bloodied Body Moves my blood to light
When I look onto your Soul I know everything's alright, baby You live and fuck
with Animals Your scared of your own Face In the mirror of your toilet(media)
Earth is such a shitty place Sun dances in your fantasies Moon dances in wet
dreams But the stars inside (Our cosmic tide) Are dancing to the orgy Of Our
copulating streams God's knocking at my Window He's locked outside my Door
Doesn't have the heart To hang his balls outside No power anymore All he owns
are images No keys anymore No God's leaving me To knock on somebody else's Door
I'd thank him for my everything but who would I be thanking? His Mother gave
him everything For the pleasure of a spanking We're walking to the future now
We're done with history We're leading time into the light Alone and fucking
free So take all your morality And shove it up you ass Your manufactured
bullshit Won' survive a single pass Of the Serpent Light We're shining Into the
darkness of the Soul No technology invented Can forget the God of old The God
of sweet surrender Altered consciousness and pain The God that has the heart
and cock To do it all again The center of the universe The center of the Sun
The end is the beginning here Beginning with the One [All the worlds problems
can be solved by fucking and shitting well]
-- If one could redefine the pejorative use of the term,
"pornography", I would define it as that which can, if gone unaware,
violently amputate sexually unified consciousness and, thereby, one's intrinsic
ability and need to fully respond to the world through the spirit and value of
Body, the best examples of which are a load of books, esp. much of the bible,
as well as that "modern' invention known as the TV and esp. Home Video,
which, themselves are not responsible for that most uncreative/non-unified response
called psycho-physical violence, do not exactly promote unity via content or
structure. This, however, does not preclude them from doing so, as great books
and video art attest to, one of the best film-to-videos I've seen being
Scorsese's Last Temptation of Christ which, ironically enough (given the
response by a large portion of die-hard Christians) really sings the dark, life
affirming message which underlies popular Christianity, the power of our innate
ability to discriminate between reality and illusion, blood.) Scorsese uses the
most explicit form of Paradox(blood-stirring) in movie-making that I have ever
seen and truly speaks for the future of film-art/video. Thank you to the sky,
the mountains of the Fraser Valley, the trees, all the great artists I have
ever read or listened to, to all who have lived and died, and all I have known
and still do. Thank you God. Thank you, spherical angels that imbue my life
with life and the will to vitality. Thank you to Gaiea the Angel of Time and
Body; The angel of Death, Love, and Immortality. A Spherical (Global)
Prayer: Thanks be to the
gods Thanks be to all
Bodies of Every Kind The
gods redeem me, For they
gave everything, their own bodies To Their creation, Their invention Their technology of Self, of God For which the body Has shed rivers of blood. I adore you, Body As you have adored me For there is only you and I Pooled under the sky We are one. Now We awake from our work from our dream To the body that was, is, And will always be. Gods, give us our tongues That we may speak the body. Gods, give us our ears, That we may hear the body, The spherical angels of person, car, computer, home,
And Entertainment, All Human Design. For the sake of the face of our Earth,
The face of our Father, Mother,
Our Lover, the body of our union,
Sun, Earth, Humanity. Create the Future, For it belongs to Everyone, For the sake of the Spirit of Tree The perfected Beauty of Humanity. We know that everything is O.K. Because the earth, Our Body and our Shadow
Always turns into the sun.
Rock n' Roll. Create the Future It is Ours, Listen to Us We are the Lizard gods We are Humanity. Go, now, and be free. Be kind to and respect everyone, For you are born free in the body of Christ,
In the body of Humanity,
The body of your mother and father,
the body of the World Snake.
The sacrament, the ritual,
That is your life as well as everyone's
is complete. Our will is
yours and your family's. Go,
then, with humility and pride. Learn and Love For
the sake of all Life for
the sake of Who We Are. Look,
Listen, Smell, taste,
Feel, And be Free. -by The Lords of Chaos, of Light and Love....US Ain't
nothin makes sense but you and me, girl Ain't we crazy alive to be here today
On the black and white Today of all the places To read it all On all the faces of
time Stopping for a Coffee Or even for the feast Of our pagan senses The World
It's images tastes sounds and Being Being all around With the gods of the
future Risen from the past Welcome to home, girl Our home at last We'll rent a
movie Or fly to the moon Maybe start dancing to this music too soon...
There are no Virgins in this world Where life ends and death
begins Love expands to no end I bet you know where You were when That Love was
made That Hell was met First slowly Then quickened 'til the form would wed
Night on top of Night finds sight The morning of tomorrow's light You did not
know all time before Was waiting at the bedroom door to welcome the new Lovers
to a world made flesh For what was you You would read of such love in a book
Through Dante's eyes you wished to look Then read this now and know I've spent
A good few nights at Church Lament
Our lives are like A death upon a thousands stars The green
that grows within us Ne'er wished upon a light so far This is that other way
The course not set til yesterday When all that's left that ashes may Return our
lives to us unlived Forsaken not for time's remorse For time eternal in its
course When form finds flight Finds endless night Away was when the future
might Dare gaze upon so far away That dead the light That life's the way. [30
minutes to kill at an exam] What I like best about literature...is that it
eludes definition. Literature is what it does, in my opinion, for the reader,
but also for the civilization whose imagination it shapes. Through literature,
we can see the world at other times and through other eyes. And, in our present
world, it would appear to be our ability and willingness to embrace a broader
definition of what it means to be an individual that will affect most of the
changes yet to come.; m So many of the processes of being (those traditionally
served by religion or cultural custom) have been relegated not just to
literature but to art as a whole. So much so, that I believe that literature ,
as a source of metaphor, could acquire a renewed function, a more revered
function in our ever moderning society. In deed, it is easy to forget that most
if not all or our technologies began in humanity's imagination. Therefore, considering
the pattern of recurrence of similar creations in literature as well as the
physical [and cultural] world, I am force to believe that not only is that
imagination unbordered to the global citizen, it is also reactive to the
external world. That is, that imagination lives the ideal of individuality -
taking from the world and giving back to the world, while always itself
becoming more. [completing the cycle of human Consumption, the conduit of the
human imagination being the way we may consciously find renewal in the earth,
and don't we all have the desire to be "consumed"] I am not saying
that one can more fully live in the imagination but that the collective
imagination of humanity, as represented by literature, is representative, in process,
to the ideal human condition. Therefore, its role in our evolving society
should be reconsidered. Such a consideration would lead, in my opinion, to
whole new art forms of which we can only yet imagine. Although I can only
speculate upon what specific role this new literature/art will play in the
future, I am certain that it will coincided with the most profound
social/cultural change of our history
[Daniel Quinn has written a popular book
called Ishmael. I didn't like it. Here is my cultural catharthis via
that sexy internet. From a man that lives under the sun to a man that lives in
the education system.] Daniel, I'm glad to hear you've given the university
system something new to justify their existence with(laugh). I suppose it's
that or go insane, the university being one of the founding institutions of the
great and free America. But, judging from your response, you're not into a
debate with a guy that appears too "uniformed", so I'll throw some
things your way and if I'm completely off the mark, I'll take no response as a
sign that the university walls are standing true enough for the people that get
educated within them and all is right with the world, off to my next lecture to
people that stopped really listening their sophomore year when they realized
that Emerson was totally right and a 100,000$ education tastes as good as an
apple after being born under the sacred tree of knowledge, a tree that, I'm
just guessing saw their parents learning about each others soul and bodies
before their were books to teach them how(laugh). No offense, education is
great as long as you can keep your head out your ass long enough to learn what
is BS and what isn't. I must say, it is not every day that 90 percent of an
artist's response to me is the names of universities [all the schools where his
"work is being used" - since when are educated men who write books
about talking to a gorilla experts on "culture"] but if you can take
me in good humour, then I suppose you don't take your reputation as doctrine
and I sure as hell hope you don't stand on it since reputations go the way of
the body before your life can pass before your eyes, that is, if they're not
closed. (cryptic rhetoric, I know, but that is how I communicate and the
parable for your open mind, is only ever useful around a live campfire during a
revival meeting when the masks change as fast as the flames licking the souls
and arousing the world that lies at the perimeter of the senses rather than
sticking like birdshit to the window of your car while your listening to your
book on tape and wondering what would happen if a real gorilla was sitting in
your back seat and listening to the muse, "mother culture", telling
him to make that man's life miserable til he turns that shit off. Forget the
names, eco feminist, culture,,,whatever. The dictionary is just too big for me.
Let me ask you a question....is it possible for you to give me an actual
response to what I wrote you, or is that defensive intellect just to secure for
you? You didn't offer me much, and there's not much else to say without getting
uncivilized. But, then, you would be used to that, you having such an ear for
gorilla. I have a gorilla, too. He thinks your full of shit. Have a chuckle on
me, And snoop doggy is a tribal man, don't be ditzin the tribe. And I've
deleted the education system, there is already as system far in advance of it,
making the internet unnecessary - it's called the sewer system, you might try
using it before and if you reply to this. Landon From: Daniel Quinn
<dan@ishmael.org> To: "Landon Sealey"
<landonsealey@hotmail.com> Subject: Re: ishmael Date: Thu, 26 Aug 1999
10:44:49 -0500 Landon: >Your letter gave me some chuckles to start the day
with. The idea >that I am "competition" to James Redfield is
rather like saying that Ralph >Nader is competition to Snoop Doggy Dog. When
the eco-feminist >Goddess-worshippers get around to their big book-burning,
I can assure you that my books >will go into the flames first. >
>Below are some of the schools where my work is being used (just the
>ones I happen to know about). Amazing, isn't it, that they seem to lack
>your keen sense of discernment. [yes. I think it's amazing.] >
>Alaska: Kodiak HS, Bartlett HS >Alberta: University of Alberta,
University of Calgary >Arizona: Grand Canyon University, University of
Arizona, Northern >Arizona etc etc etch ad infinitum > >Landon Sealey
> >At 07:00 PM 8/25/99 -0700, you wrote: >>Mr. Quinn, >>
>>William Irwin Thompson was conspicuously absent from your list of >>suggested
readings. Looks like James Redfield has some competition, >>though. I
know criticism can sound more brutal when not speaking in >>person, but
this is not a great read by any stretch of my imagination. >>Perhaps if
you took off your ape suit, you wouldn't look like such >>a clown. That
is the only parable I see. There is already a movie >>about that starring
Richard Dreifuss. >> >>Stick to the classroom. The last thing the
world needs is a new >>religion. It won't last. There are infinite ways
to vary the education of >>terror. >> >>Perhaps the shitload
of money I'm sure you are making will cushion >>your fall. The pyramid is
already built, and so is the tower. That is >>your reflection in the
mirror, and your shadow on the wall, and anyone >>who had ever really looked
at either would know that humanity is living the >>dream outside the
content of modern media. Your reliance upon >>evolutionary mythology is a
clear indication to me that your blood is deeply rooted in the lunar cult
mentality of the ancient matriarchies, which is >>alive today and always
will be. >> >>Having said that, I did take some valuable things
from your book >>once I removed the structural flaws. One being that
population "control" >>as you put is directly related to the
unity of the sexual-imaginative >>nervous system. A unity of being found
in every human and in our solar >>system, both being the source and
performance of the eternal dance of the >>gods, which, I assure you, we
are once we drink in cup of terror that >>is diluted pop-rhetoric such as
your. I want to fuck and dance to my >>revolution. That is my response. I
won't sell a million copies but >>it works for me so guys like you don't
have to. Sociopolitical >>agendas, I know, are the fantasy of every
scholar who senses something "wrong" >>with the way the world
has been presented to him. Hell, I figured that >>out when I was 5 and
did anyone else who lives on two feet and doesn't read >>anything does
express a deep appreciation for the power of the >>human being and of the
human soul. >> >>Bad art man. But good business I suppose for those
seeking >>pacification. The first level of the pyramid is not a cage or a
play pen. It is >>vast chamber of terror where the darkness is the mask
of light. >> >>Enjoy, >> >>Landon [Psychotropic
artifact --- -The first and every level of the dark tower, the key and door to
the body of light that emerges when one turn one's blood inside out and
de-polarize consciousness (for we have yet to emerge from the psychedelic slime
of history), to draw down the moon which is the promise of sun and earths union
in body and flesh, in imagination and soul, above and below, heaven and earth,
an evolved state which is everything that making love is about and always has
been. Am I speaking of a Utopia. No. I'm speaking of a place that actually
exists on the perimeter of sexual consciousness through all entertainment and
literature. Where, Jim would say, "there are no stars, for out here , we
is stoned immaculate" a place that contains all states of consciousness
from the most mundane to the most sublime, a place that is the very rhythm and
hum that stimulates the tremulous wave of terror through one's nervous system
(ecstasy) which is the answer to media systems that only tempt the modern soul
to be informed and educated by needless and subconscious terror. A global
citizen eludes definition but could be characterized in part, by the ability
to, if placed on this planet for the first time, and anywhere in the world from
NY to Abbotsford, be able to spend 5 minutes with one or more people of whatever
social standing and know, without a doubt, that this is a planet on which
people are violently murdered and raped, that people worship a God they can't
feel without rituals of codified morality/sexuality (rules) and knowledge
without a body, only a technology and systems which commodify the body and then
terrorize with the guilt of the decay of body.
Vision:
Christ in a Cd: History-Post-History, a Self-Reflection of the 3rd
Millennium in the mode of Cultural Response or listening to and speaking the
Soul, what every artist does, maybe a lot better than I do(laugh). Written at a
time of extreme Psychic Stress, to put it lightly... ~Jan, 1997 Christ is technology, all mediums of reality which, of themselves, are
expressions of reality. Take a spinning compact disk. The very structure of the
technology which brings Dionysian music to your ears expresses a dark tone of
reality which is that immortal wound which makes it possible for you to even be
there listening to music much less creating the technology of sound. By being
more consciously and collectively aware of the mytho-imaginative and
meta-conscious implications of technology, one can create a greater level of
pleasure in its ritualistic use, ritual being the various ways we enact our
collective ecstatic unity with creation (eg. Walking in the part or washing the
dishes). Christ is the Dionysus of all media, in fact, able to put on various
technological masks (a process-morph of the modern social ego) and perform the
dark sexual vital core of our beings. When you spin a cd, In Print, I see an
image of a man dying on a cross for no apparent spatially or temporally
localized reason, a human Tragedy, the cross being a living tree killed for the
sake of an irrational murder, apparently a further ecological tragedy as well
as a dramatic one - for the audience is ignorant of Dionysus' performance of
their lives and therefore lack any ability to consciously respond to this
eternal play (enjoy it for the sake of life and health) for a period of
humanity's evolution known as history. The audience is further ignorant of the
metaphorical ecological relevance e of His Mask, the Earth (and stars). Perhaps
the ignorance is, in truth,, a naive artistry by a collective consciousness
lacking all self-reflective-consciousness begging the paradoxical question, who
is spectator and who is performer? What is individual and what is collective?
Questions that can only be answered through ritualistic sexuality/being. But to
continue this technological performance, People are yelling at this man on a
dead tree but you cannot hear what because you are moving around them - around
them and around this man, all you hear is the noise of children who have not
learned to realy use their technology/beings. Faster you move and closer you
get to him, to his pain. And the faster you move, the more all the peoples'
voices blend into one distinct voice. The voice is saying, "I love you, I
want you." You're spinning faster now, and your only desire is to get
closer to him to that voice. Perhaps if you can touch his suffering, the,
...then what? His Body is beginning to glow until the form no longer resembles
a man but a sun. And you are oddly aware that the sun is making the people
afraid. You are afraid, now - Afraid that his suffering may never end because
you are suffering . It is as though you never knew until now what it
meant to truly suffer (be beautiful). But the voice calms you , saying,
Remember Me, Remember who I am.(
)** And you are
tempted to disconnect from your desires by fantasizing about life on a dead
tree, about a life afer the ecstatic death that your life then becomes separate
from sexual-imaginative unification with the Earth, creating a death more real
than the death of your fearful imagination. You fantasize that someone can live
and die for you and that within this twisted imaginative framework one can
truly live and love. Then you create physically bound structures for this
mechanical and disconnected(ideal) relationship with life. However, the more
structures of organization you create, the more you need to create in what
becomes a war against the imagination. A war your own twisted logic tells you
you will lose for the simple reason that the more trees you kill, the more
trees you kill. The fantasy spreads like a disease that won't stop until everything
is dead until you realize that it's a fantasy - the real imagination, the real
Earth is very much alive and has, in fact, adapted, in Body, to this creative
challenge with a level of consciousness of collective ecstasy unknown since the
creation of the cosmos, that you and your lover have been at war forever and
are now set to enjoy it magnitudes more than that act of pleasure which was the
beginning - Your deeply expressed intent, Desire. For now you can do it in
time, meaning again and again and again and as long as you both shall desire,
and you will because you are made of desire, of each other -END OF DREAM
[SUNRISE 2000]. The vision changes, now
all the angry people are carrying crosses on their backs. And their voices
chant "Die for me. Please, Please die for me". And then you see a
rotating disk. As it moves, different men and women die before you. People from
all throughout human history. You think that perhaps death , like nature, is
symbolic of forgotten ecstasy and, in that, is more real. An as the disk
rotates faster and faster a crucifix glows at its centre. It is beginning to
burn. As it is burning, the dying people begin to look more and more familiar
to you. Perhaps you even recognize some of them. Sadness. The sadness is so
profound you start to cry salty tears of blood which turn to water as they move
towards the center of this spinning disk of human history. The disk, you think,
stores images, And fire, you think, is light before it reaches your eyes. And
as the fire of hell dies, your eyes, they love darkness, so much, in fact, that
they close to dream for a time you think was called history. And when you open
them back up you see...the dream is real. You are the Earth and Sun. (One could
argue that what we call history has two synergistic meanings, one the narrative
with which we are all familiar and will continue to persist as long as we do,
and the other, the meta-play that his the evolution of consciousness, the
metaverse, maybe the sound of Richard Feyman's quantum Higgs (or God) particle,
maybe the sound of us, of our beginning. God's no relative you yours He merely
bought the farm We bought the whole damn planet With the shit on his right arm
You are not relative to God You are not relative to me Death's no overfriendly
guest When you're relative to free
--An attempt to submit a variation on
cultural correspondence (somewhat of a parody, really) to a college newspaper
on the tail of an online debate regarding the credibility of a local
"pagan" turned journalist who, I asserted, was merely using what was
really a variation of Christianity to make a name in the local media and then
ride a laughable infamy into self-proclaimed authority upon popular witchcraft
"pseudo paganism". The Editor of this publication later apologized to
me..for how my opinions were reacted to by an ostensibly free newspaper on an
ostensibly free college campus. I was also later revealed to me by someone
close to the college newspaper (granted, while they were drunk on liquor and on
my latest linguist foray into the sexual or animal instinct as perceived and
freed through an imaginatively unified perception of day to day ritual, our
movement from day to day being a movement into the earth and sun) that my
"ideas" were rejected simply because I was a perceived threat the
both editor's "egos" and I quote the copy editor, "my ego must
win." To which I feel, "what ego?". An ego without an open mind
isn't much of an ego. Although the tone of much of this is similar to what is
commonly called, online, "flaming", flaming itself, for those
familiar with heated and sexy online discourse, is an art form and not a
politicized excuse to spout off. To politicize it, one would have to be unaware
of where one's own body ends and the body of the internet begins. Flaming, actually,
is a great way to unify(ie make useful in terms of information exchange) or
depoliticize a relatively new technology, to accentuate the structure's
impingement upon human consciousness. This is, afterall, just words on a
computer... >From: "Christopher Bolster"
<cbolster49@hotmail.com> >Reply-To: Cascade
<ucfv_cascade@listbot.com> >To: ucfv_cascade@listbot.com >Subject:
Re: posers >Date: Thu, 19 Aug 1999 21:54:11 PDT >
>Cascade > >Hey all, >I'm sorry to hear that Landon doesn't think
that we are cool enough >for him. [A time of writing, I was interested in
submitting some rock prose/mythology that I assumed the Cascade probably
wouldn't be able to fit within the scope of its acceptable material. Since they
had been good enough to let me publish in the past, I thought to let them know
why I probably Wouldn't submit any material this year - looks like I was right
(laugh) My intent to not write anything was apparently taken as offensive as
the material I ended up writing. (Laugh)] > I find it interesting (if
anything to comment on the current >situation) >that Landon's beef was
that Sam was a poser-- a "pseudo" pagan. He >then goes >on to
say in his post that it is impossible for people to be posers. >"People
are what they are." Well Landon I guess that you are too >deep for
>us simple folk here and you are what you are. > >until then, >
>Chris Bolster >Editor=in-Chief >The Cascade. >>
>>"Don't make a sound >>Just touch the ground" - TOUCH,
"Triptych" >> >>I suppose I could concede to this BS and
be rational, but I don't >>give a fuck - I leave that to the serious
journalists. >> >>If I'm a poser the sun ain't burning. Why don't
you put your >>protocol where >>it came from, up your
ass..man..what the hell? >> >>Underground..search for
sound...underground >> >>Rock is always right - ain't that a bitch?
[I like to write while listening to music or singing, it may not be relevent to
the moment, but it's usually relevant to my moment] >> >>You great
peoples are hurtin in the best of ways, but I understand >>you >>don't
>>have a clue what I'm talking about, so I take it all back. I doubt
>>Mr. >>Wagar [a man who is still threatened by the Bible (he
lobbied unsuccessfully to have them removed from Abbotsford schools - I went to
these schools - it's only a big deal to poor 'ol Sam (laugh, excuse, I'm sure
he is a really sincere man, more an unconverted Christian than a Pagan]
>>would hurt a fly and it was never my intention to imply as much in
>>any way. >>Aint this a ride? >> >>The fact is there
are about 3 people in a world full of priests who >>should >>be
calling themselves one according to me and according to a real >>shaman I
>>met on the beautiful island of Maui. But, hey, it's not personal. I
>>don't >>know what you sexy beasts think you are doing here. Why
don't you >>spin >>around til you hit the ground and read what I
wrote again..read >>"underage" >>as too young for
pornography of the human soul. >> >>Fuck, people, this is a
newspaper not a church, take it easy >>(laugh) >> >>I won't
take it personally, all, but did you at least enjoy getting >>hot - I
>>know you did, fuck on. >> >>And, oh, yeah, I have a review
waiting for Tea Party's opening of >>Triptych >>at the Rage as well
as Kubrick's latest pornography of the soul - >>Disinfo's >>editor
just didn't understand when I told him that countercultural >>media is
>>the corporate gimp of the corp messiah, which is the whole
>>countercultural >>industry (laugh)- this could be a good thing if
their rock writers >>could do >>more than buy a cd and open up the
wrapper. editors can be so >>touchy feely >>(present company
excluded of course). You're a rock, Chris;) >> >>ok, well don't
give me anymore love, I can't tell right from wrong >>as well >>as
a "real" artist. >> >>If you pen jockeys take requests,
try publishing these exchanges, a >>kindof >>art about art, a dream
within a dream saying wake the fuck up. Ride >>your >>mescaline
blues to the golden dawn and a cold shower and stop >>letting
>>pop-media dictate what is "newsworthy". Very cool. >>
>>Just contextualize it through the lens of the entire earth >>
>> We're crossing all the borders now >> Declaring serpent law
>> Get real and take it easy >> Take more than you ever saw
>> >>ie. Grant yourself the conceit than you and I are somewhat
>>representative of the world in which we live through our senses when
our senses >>aren't bleeding into social norms - anarchy is the opposite
of utopia and >>neither >>exist outside of fantasy, whether its the
fantasy of destruction or >>the fantasy of non-existence. I love fantasy,
but I fantasize about >>things I >>can actually see and feel. Just
a little imagination and a lot of >>vanity - Nietzsche died for lack of
it and became a god. I say, why wait. Why >>should >>the grave have
the only real silence? No fucking reason at all... >> >>If free
speech is of any value to you, and I know it is, and this, >>being a
newspaper forum is a public forum, then what is important news is >>what
is >>happening here and now (shit, where's that?) not "out
there". Take >>your media by the balls. But I'm done. I won't be
writing for the paper >>this semester - nothing personal at all. I'm just
looking a cutting edge >>format. >>If you change your minds and
want some reports from an artist that >>lives on his feet, you know where
to find me. >> >>take it easy, >>ride the wave, >>ride
the slow burn into everything... >> >>And uh, I haven't used the
word "poser" too much since highschool >>but no one is a poser.
People are exactly what they are, or what they choose >>to be.
>>And god damn there's some real dark creative juices flowing around
>>here. Don't >>give it to me. I've got all I need. >>
>>Landon To Editor: I'll add one further note to this
"situation" since I had assumed I was already removed [from online
news group]for having the impertinence to have something to say and because I
pushed the wrong button and this computer came too quickly... I'm not too deep,
I'm high, and I don't get high for anyone but me monsieur. But, again,
"deep" is your word, not mine. If I happen to wear my soul naked I'm
sure as fuck not going to apologize for that and sure as fuck not to someone
who feels it necessary to blemish my own virgin and highly arousing (for me,
anyway) intellect with insecure and irrational projections of
"coolness" dating back, again, to those glorious days of highschool.
I f that means I am no longer a card carrying member of the journalism club, I
won't lose any sleep over it. I've given you my blood and soul for no personal
agenda but to let you stop and take what appeals to you. If you don't want or
don't know how to drink my "blood" I can't blame you, considering the
poisons flowing through my blood on the continuous basis (laugh). I don't know
why you are taking this so personally, as your highly defensive rhetoric is not
only flawed but merely a thin guise for some veiled personal offence (If you
have something real to say to me, say it for god's sake) about which I don't
give a shit. To call someone a pseudo anything is not to call someone a
"poser" to use your word since you, not I, equated the two terms, nor
would I or could I proceed to prove that he is what he is not - you seem to
have an existential fallacy hovering in your subconscious [[as does the
university system and as it should, since the "System" is a primitive
consciousness or technology created by humanity, a primitive subconscious or
Skin consumed by the existential fallacy that it can embody creative intent in
content instead of merely its totality or structure, a political system, like
human Skin, which does not cover a well-defined human body, like the body of
language as it is separated from the body of the earth - the source of all
politics - but which individuals may choose to cover themselves with (feminism,
elite & deranged systems of value eg people paying millions for the blood
and flesh of Picasso or Cezanne that they already possess in the priceless body
of the soul, all, I suppose, Gender Politics) rather than be, like myself and
many others, a naked soul, always ready to watch and perform (if only in my own
body and not the body of my sweat (this) the height of reason and politics in
great art, poetry, song, and sense - pure flesh and blood. What Whitman
mastered but, (if I may), failed to transpose onto his prose.]] and usurping
what I am sure are highly developed reasoning skills. [do you know you exist
and are you alive - just musing...] And the only one who need take offense is
Mr. Wagar, but, as I have already inferred and will now make more clear for
you, since I doubt he needs it, is that regardless of how people perceive him,
he's doing what he' doing and who gives a fuck (taking from his words)? Not I.
But if I have an opinion of someone, and mine was an opinion of the integrity
of his rituals, not his person, I'm sure as hell going to tell them, especially
since I believe paganism to be a poorly represented desire of the modern soul,
all desires being poorly represented by religion [not bitching, just
pontifuckating], and pop-culture mythology. The moon does through the trees
Blind a world of too many needs Have you ever found Jesus lying in your bed
naked and waiting? I love Jesus. A pseudo-anything is a poor representation of
something else, the means and not the end to what I'm sure are very deeply
rooted pagan desires (Wagar) ie beneath the religious pop-rhetoric! If you
would like me to get personal, for an Editor of a newspaper, you seem to have
some difficulty discriminating between what is BS and what isn't. Granted, a
tough thing to do outside an orgy of the senses. So I figure, do what you do
and I'll do what I do. No fucking problem. And no hard feelings, only soft sexy
mojo comes through my door(laugh). Take it easy, And my ego doesn't need any
more attention. Thanks for letting me use your paper and this forum. Landon PS.
I'm sure this will be received as somewhat religious. I'm ok with that. But
it's a beautiful leggy paradox, not a lame contradiction. So ends this
techno-ritual? Hell, I didn't think much of the net til now and I sure as hell
never spent this much time at a terminal to do anything but fuck lonely horny
men and women, but I'm doing what I'm doing and I enjoy it. What are you doing?
Shit. You can't end a ritual with a rhetorical question. You're doing your job
and I don't work (jimmy crack corn and I don't care)- at least, not for anyone
but myself... Bryan, Here is the whole trip. Before you get ready to hack and
slash or just sit back in disgust at my monumental arrogance: I) I have already
cut this down from around 25 pages of a steady wet stream. Not an easy thing to
do when you've been tripping for about 4 months continuously... ii)
Self-publicity is a given in any line of work. iii) If you print it (I really
doubt you will for reasons neither of us have even thought of yet but what the
hell), I am taking as much a risk as you are, considering those that actually
make it through the first part. iv)The first part, in my opinion, is a very
fresh and open way to open the piece up - it lets the reader participate in the
sort of voyeurism usually only done by "Journalists". To wit, feel
free to add your own responses within the first part. Enjoy it, even, man. v)
Even if you don't enjoy it, maybe you'd like to "pass the joint". vi)
Not to bitch, but I'm writing this in the goddamn public library and with no
wordpro but hotmail so cut the lizard some slack. vii)You have the rest of your
life to write serious journalism... Let's "stir some shit up". Part 1
[responding to a challenge of originality, a comparison to the late, great,
still living rock of Jim THE DOORS Morrison..as well an admonition by Cascade
managing editor that I conform to rhetorical guidelines..] [Landon, >You
have no tact so this is a tactless response. We (I) would still >like you to
contribute to the Cascade. However, long banal lists of >other peoples
imagery and metaphor are extremely tiresome. >Long-winded paraphrases of Jim
Morrison's 'you people are slaves' >routine interests no one but me. Jim did
it way better than you, and >he did it thirty years ago. if you want to be
an artist...be an >original one. Stop collaging other peoples' ideas and
words. >If you want to contribute to the Cascade there are both rules and
>guidelines you will follow. If this is too much of a compromise for
>you...go piss up a rope. > Please feel free to respond to my e-mail as nobody
on the listserve >wants to hear your self-gratification. If not, peace...and
I hope >you can find someone to publish your stuff.] Jim Morrison was and is
the shit. If I seem like him in any way(and I know I don't), and if it just
doesn't do it for ya, go pick up a cd for god's sake, don't whine to me, it's
not my job to be like anyone and it sure as fuck isn't my job or my problem if
someone wastes their entire creative response to compare me and then bitches as
me for not being good enough when, yes, thank the gods, it has already been
done and is still being done [ages are a lie propagated by language - anything
that is worth remembering -like fucking great rock and roll is, like the sun
and earth, always around, always sliding in and out of time like a wet dream]
with the mastery that was the Doors. So what's your fucking problem, man? The
images on The Wall just not doing it for ya? Again, not my problem. And since
when was what you thought "original" a prerequisite for publication
anyway? Ah, that felt better. And I know you are a little in the dark as what I
do anyway. People take media way too seriously, as though it and not they are
charged with the responsibility of creating some seamless flow of creative
intent and cohesion in their lives. There is a name for that level of
consciousness - it's called religion. But behind media forms, personal and
technological, lurks the image of a rock god, a sun. I like to think that I
just burn it a little brighter and probably, yes, weaken the integrity of its
content. But since when did the content of pop-media mean all that much anyway?
the motto of news media is like a line from the movie dune "The shit must
flow".(laugh). But I put my shit in its place and, ironically, it is the
structure of my responses and not so much the content that people seem to have
a problem with, and I understand that, thrive on it, even. It lets me know
people are actually alive. And there is no compromise to be made on my part - I
don't have your job, you do, so here's some stuff free of charge. Before you
decide to take me aside and show me how it's "really" done, perhaps
you should consider who is doing who a favour - I get off on my stuff all the
time. Explorations in Consciousness and Rock n' Roll [Conscious Culture
---rights reserved by Landon Sealey----] Ass a modern bard, a creator and
performer of cultural myth and ritual (rock n' roll), I really have nothing to
say...the system works after all... A circle of men and women surrounds the
fire. A wolf howls in the distance as another ice age approaches. The voices
and masks of monsters come from out of the darkness, bringing night into the
fire, the light, the serpent sunshine, before it touches their eyes, the fire,
God's only desire to get off on himself, to get off on each other, higher
states of consciousness, of love, pleasure, life and rock n' roll. We(I) were
and are there.... We are approaching a unification of all art, entertainment,
and communication, wherein we will see a massive explosion of the spirit of
rock n' roll - can you feel it? I do. I'm going to make certain I am either
writing about it or performing it, most likely both at the same time because
that's how I structure my prose - with a heavy dose of subjective response
(tongue), and I've worked very hard to make certain it is a coherent response
rather than a reaction to some childhood "trauma" like "my daddy
didn't hug me enough". I have structured my own conscious response to the
movement of sun and earth, which allows me to see the sexual relevance of all
art, a unity of media communication that has been feared since the beginning of
time. Hell, just for the fuck of it I attended a Christian revival meeting the
other day where they are still telling men and women and children that they are
born in the mind of the earth and that they must cleanse their soul by
rejecting their evil nature ie get their sense of self-righteous vanity from a
bible and its mass-marketing extensions instead of real rock and art. And there
I am enjoying the whole fucking sermon because I can hear the rock and cock of
"Jesus" pouring out of the man's god-like blood and speech. I even
took the time to tell him, but he looked a little taken back and said he would
pray for me (laugh). Shit, man, some dinky revival meeting is already performing
the history of the soul and of rock n' roll and they don't even know it. You
can just imagine all the creative opportunities I see every time I spin another
cd, which is a living metaphor, really, for the memory, imagination and rock n'
roll stored in the blood and rhythm of earth, sun, and soul. Yeah, I know I
sound out of my mind but you don't want normal people writing rock n' roll do
you? Barry Manilow is licking his lips if you do. My art has no prejudice or
personal political agenda (and where I might I err on the side of the human
soul), and I use peoples' unconscious desire to formulate its content, which is
a great way of saying I feed on the hate most people try not to feel.. I just
don't have time to worry about people's pet insecurities, not to say that I
have any less than anyone else, I just take it easy and allow my own mortality
to define whatever limits I choose to place upon my work. The college paper
isn't the Globe & Mail for Christ's sake, give a little room for creative
journalism or limit its level of conscious response to literary quotations and
sexual sensationalism - way to imitate the culture that waits outside the
university walls. Here's some serpent light. Print it. Don't print it. Like I
already said, I don't write for anybody but myself. but if you wanna take in
some sun, be my guest if you enjoy it. But if you don't, I won't believe for a
minute it is because of any structural flaws - it's a pyramid, let's say, and
the first level is not Rousseau's ball and chain or psychology's play pen: it
is a vast chamber of terror where the darkness is the mask of light - Let there
be rock n' roll. I love that part - I can feel it in my balls. Fuck, man. You
already built that sacred architecture yourself. Tell me you hate my stuff, but
you can't tell me I didn't feel one of best fucking silences of my life when I
saw that pyro-mid you built. Fucking on, man. And in Abbotsford (laugh). Raise
for one for one holy fuck... ..All over the world the rain was pourin' I was
scratchin' where it itched Oh heartbreak and despair got nothin' but boring So
I grabbed you baby like a wild pitch It takes a leap of faith to get things
going It takes a leap of faith, you gotta show some guts It takes a leap of
faith to get things going In your heart you must trust Springsteen (is it any
wonder Stephen King loves this guy?) [King - a master of the dark stream of
consciousness, (the sound our movement through the mystery of time, reality,
and blood) which, although myriad and vulnerable in form and archetype, human
blood makes light and complete when it is consumed by the darkness and
rediscovers the blue of sensibility - a truly stirring writer of imagination
and reality.] As insane as what I write and live may sound to some people - and
in an insane world I can say I choose my insanity - I am sane enough to respect
the power of different forms of communication. Did it not strike you as odd
that my personae online is vastly different than a media forum localized in
time and space ie in person? [referring to a heated and sexy discourse online
between myself and the Cascade regarding the religious representation of
paganism as well as the religious representation of print media (rhetorical
"standards" developed by people living in $100,000 university
diplomas), which, ironically, stifles the flow of information to those wishing
to be entertained as much as informed]I don't make a religion out of myself
and, in person, I respect that in everyday interpersonal life we all choose and
enjoy the level of communication we affect in person [that level related to
one's ability to extend one's self into all media forms, from your own
unconsciousness to appollonian art forms, to create the silence of everyday
life in what is now just the background noise of early mass communication].
There's just nothing to fuckin say or debate with people we meet day to day -
thus, people are what they are and we all fucking know that. There's no reason
to invade anyone's private reality until they pick up a newspaper, book, cd, or
computer terminal wherein they are choosing to take a break from their accepted
sense of self of highly localized extension of perception. The problem or
challenge comes when people try to "covet" let's say the same level
of privacy they enjoy day to day and thus miss the whole point of extending
self technologically altogether, which is to create and enjoy a greater sense
of self - religion made this mistake and codified the endless performance of
victimization which plagues all modern media forms and finds a close allie in
censorship. Hell, if we had reserved self-extension to what a man and woman do
in bed (and why didn't we?) there wold be no civilization as we know it and so
anyone who chooses to enjoy media art should be prepared to fuck in every sense
of the word and enjoy a whole new level of private communication. That is, if
one is sane enough to respect that the human soul lives through a silent art
that that is beyond description, which is why no art can ever imitate life but
is a continuous live performance of life through every personal/cultural form.
This is, if one is standing on two legs and has a little imagination/vanity to
take all art communication as a performance of self. Hell, I reserve the bulk
of my creative response for a woman and for my art. In fact, I see very little
difference between the two since I give the same attention to both, which makes
both better for me. This isn't just my conceit. I think it's everybody's. A guy
extends himself into the etheric realm of the net - be prepared to dance. It's
the law of electronic communication as I have learned it, and it's also the
beauty of it for those that aren't bucking the status quo with religion.
Outside or inside the "real" world, I'd just as soon have a coffee, a
cigarette, and talk about the weather and take in the souls I see all too
clearly to even attempt to diminish. I love life. I love humanity. I believe
we're living in the greatest fucking age and on the greatest planet in the
universe. If I were you, I'd tend to think that kind of guy was an asset to any
news organization, or, as I prefer, organized pornography of the soul: art that
rocks. In one of pieces I have attached, I "flame" Shawn Stetsko
quite a bit as well as yourself. Shawn's a good guy, but he is also a public
figure at the college. And, as you must know, anyone who wants to enter
politics has chosen to extend their level of privacy because that is what a
"leader" does. Just between you and me, he is a little "fucked
up"(his words, actually), a great motivating factor in all politicians,
which is why they choose to extend their rock and cock into a public
representation(a courageous feat, really), something very few politicians are
able to use for its most beatific purpose - to revel in the power of self and
soul as well as the power of those they represent themselves to. The Buddhists,
for instance, had and probably still have a tradition of insulting their
leaders publicly. Why? Because it proves or disproves the integrity of the
leader, the integrity, heart, and cock really - to maintain a secure pleasure
of self through the extended responses of those they claim to lead or teach,
even. Jesus was of the same mind. I might insult his archetype by say calling
him "a big fat man with elves" and Christians will be insulted and
outraged only because they are trained to follow and are only used to extending
their selves imaginatively through religious belief, a crutch for vanity of the
soul as well as for sexual-imaginative expression. But even a religious belief
is a self-extension which begs response in public forums whether they are
conscious of their martyr complex - a source of sham morality and sham
sexuality - or not. It proves or disproves them as I have found in my own
private life and would be pleased to write about it. My point? We need
artists/leaders on this planet, and I'm not afraid so say that I need it. They
are out there and all around already. And I'm willing to give what I need. I'll
take any and all criticism to heart but I sure as fuck won't compromise my
response because of all the bleeding souls out there whining about the content
of media who are stronger than they will ever know if they only ever listen to
what their parents or teachers or media tell them. I write partly as my art.
And I wreck my fucking soul to do it. I don't whine when someone doesn't
"get it", I'd don't even expect anyone to - words are for the grave,
a person should be able to read stuff he and she can fuck or wipe their ass
with and then forget it. I revel in it and I wouldn't stop wrecking myself any
sooner than I would kill myself because I'm alive and, in the words of Billy
Corgan, I'd sooner rip my eyes and heart out. [aside: Whenever I hear "the
Hip" or any other Indie band I immediately think, fuck you, then I think
of Siamese Dream....thanks billy.] Peace. Ps. Both Jim Morrison and Nietzsche
were great artists who fell when leadership was thrust upon them (leadership
being the ability to say fuck you to one's detractors, personal and non). I've
always thought that Morrison and Napoleon would have made a great fucking
combination, not to diminish the work of Jim or Fred, they're still saying fuck
you to the world(leading) to this day, residing where every great rock artist
resides - in the sun and earth. I love art, but if it doesn't say play and fuck
the stars into awe at humanity's supreme arrogance, it doesn't interest me
much. If there is a purpose to human evolution, it is to stand on the earth as
a collective conscious culture and rock the harmonic which releases a flood of
infinite cosmic terror into heart, sex, and soul, to say play and fuck and rock
the word Freedom into every aspect of culture, the sonic climax to all cultural
ritual, every occupation, subject of intellectual pursuit and humanitarian,
social agenda (x-rated and non). Like a pyramid, both its structure and its
content are as arousing as much as terrifying, and the solar system, the system
of sexually unified evolution/involution is already built, the work is all
done, the terror has been mapped throughout
history/literature/entertainment/secular mythology - what is left is to map the
movement of sexuality and consciousness as it moves in and out of reality and
form, to "ride the snake" into the everyday and into all cultural
ritual(to bring some objective out there "in here" by ignoring the
subconscious assumptions hardwired into popular language and imagery), to
become it, even...and, thus, enhance pleasure of technology, entertainment, and
sexuality, to embrace and invite humanity to embrace the creative/moral intent
which is the continual climax of individual and collective sexual being. {And
speaking of human arrogance and entertainment, two of best films I have seen
are Armageddon and Red Firecracker Blue Firecracker. In the latter, a guy blows
his own balls off with a firecracker just to prove he is a one-woman kinda guy,
now there's a technosun touching the ground.) Ride your snake into the world
Ride my words into your soul, baby Can't get into heaven, baby Got fire down
below Heaven's stars inside your blood, baby Nowhere but fuck to go That's some
of what I'm about. Enjoy Part 2 (just on fucking principle) "Now that your
kingdom of Babylon's fading. Where will you turn when you can't find your
soul?" Tea Party, Masters of the ecstasy of historical terror/rage, the
ecstatic rock anthem of a race, trained like dogs, to work for reward when they
should and can be rewarded for the divine simple complexity of being conscious.
I'll take your critique to heart, and perhaps you might return the compliment...
I "publish" my stuff all the time, since my only desire is to alter
my own consciousness and create and be able to hear better rock n' roll (what
else is there to do in life?), and in return, I am given the continual
opportunity to make it better and more real, a better fuck. Undoubtedly, it is
the shit. But it's not the end but the means for me so I could give a fuck if
anyone wants to print it. I was raised by rock n' roll, sun and earth, God and
Devil, whatever the fuck, so when it comes to writing about it, their's not a
soul that can hold a fucking candle to me. It works for me. If someone don't
like it I uh could give a fuck, but I don't. I take my art as a responsibility
as well as a pleasure. I take it very seriously even though I don't at the same
time (an art in itself). Do you understand? The response is everything. I let's
you know and the world know that you are alive, no matter what the response.
The result of most people's education is the ability to work 5 or 6 days a week
and meet every opportunity with either this or god knows what I'll do, as well
as the ability to quote Shakespeare, Emerson etc like terrified sycophants with
a diploma to prove that they don't know anything that isn't somebody else's
idea - but they paid for it, so now they can quote "knowledge". Not
bitching, that's obviously good enough for a lot of people, but I don't see the
point when I can get it for free. I own my ideas. So if you think I've stolen
them maybe you don't own yours. I find it tragically ironic that TS Eliot could
quite easily have envisioned an elite culture (one in which reality is a mere
fantasy that must be taught in order to maintain "power") where no
one says anything but quotes historical authors, "literature", like
an unconscious advertisement for higher learning (actually it is at a very high
band width, a radio noise level of learning in which the knowledge floats like
shit in the oceanic toilet of a lunar cult mentality for which the literary
poets are the avatars (the prophets come lately), having as many variations of
the education of terror (BS) as their are words in the dictionary, a tv level
of consciousness where the soul is the subject for serious intellectual debate.
[from Cascade editor..as well as a definition of the terms "debate"
versus "dialogue" as defined by political entities - I kindly
informed him that if people didn't get a little "stirred" up, he
never would have been born]"only those who risk going too far can possibly
find out how far one can go"-TS Eliot. Try the new Saturn. This commercial
sponsored by the god who was driven insane by civilization as it is educated
and ate its own children, using their remains to form a halo for the emergent
angel of death. Fuck the angel of death. And fuck secular mythology, feed off
it even. Cannibalise the dead bodies of God the Father, and Mary the Mother,
their cultural projections being but the polarized light of the sun, the moon
we already landed on for Chrissake and found dead and cold, all culture, as
preserved by said lunar mentality, being but the intermediary for the rebirth
of the gods of the stars on earth, a rebirth of the dark liquid light-filled
waters of all that is dark and unconscious, of all that is the eternal pursuit
of higher levels of sexual-imaginative unity, communication and entertainment
(fire, metal, blood, soul), for love of life, for love of being, for love of
rock n' roll. If this sounds strange, it is only because I am describing the
culture in which we already live, a culture that is begging performance and has
and is getting it. Rock n' roll did not evolve. It, like the sun, like gods
themselves, simply moved into time like a cock moves into a wet cunt. Like the
sun moves into the universe again and again and again and then gets out of the
way to let his super-sexual friends, humanity, do it again and again and again.
Fucking A. Fact is, mainstream education has done as much for the consciousness
of humanity as Christianity. I'm pontifuckating, but his is relevant. It was
never their job to raise consciousness, only to hold you on their shoulders
like Atlas until you decided you could float free in the endless night and
alter your own consciousness, your own ability to consciously respond to the
world around you and take the price tag off of your own life. Atlas is, in
reality, the earth, and she holds the education system, all systems, upon her.
Systems of education have merely expanded the chamber of terror, or the body in
which God tries to gain sensual control and responsiveness. I read a quote, and
I'm quoting this quote which is not mine, "It costs nothing to become a
Christian. It costs everything to be one." Stupid shit, basically. Myself,
I paid more money than is in the world for this ride, and to not live under
some yoke of filial piety and cultural oblivion which "Jim" performed
like a master of rock n' roll (THE END), that most of the world has yet to hear
instead of filing it away in some non-existence locale called "30 years
ago"(laugh), said lunar cult mentality being a cult of the past and a
performance of hell(necessary to have as much as to forget and enjoy
forgetting, forgetting being equal to remembering), Armageddon being the space
between the moment, between the stars, the god-like rock-like sun-like silence
of moment, which I have already experienced and have experimented with in about
6 different ways, although I am sure and counting on the fact that the ways are
really infinite: The easiest way that most have experienced is the silence
after listening to , say, Metallica for a couple of hours at 10db and then
turning it off. Another, for me, is to hear the moment the sun touched the
earth in the rock n' roll of bird, wind, tree and sky - the rock n' roll that
brings everyday into being every fucking beautiful day not billions of years
ago - ah the sexual-imagination (and I've always thought that dawn was the best
time for a rock concert. wake up. have a beer. go out and listen to some sexy
wet guitar - these revivalists actually came close(laugh). Yet another way is
to ride the physical infrastructure of any city as isomorphic extensions of
mind, sex and information flow and a city, even Abbotsford, can be a great
fuck. Yet another way is to ride cultural ritual like dance, sex, and rock n'
roll so that one woman becomes 10 and her legs the legs of the solar galaxy
humming like the black hole inside each soul that stores the rhythm of all time
and consciousness in soul and rock n' roll, for the orgy of sun and soul that
is the fate of all mankind and the universe itself, humanity being the embodiment
of all past and all future when it finally "eats its forefathers an
foremothers", the rhythm stored in the rhythm of sun and earth and in the
individual soul when it is "released" from all pop-media
forms/entertainment Your life and sex is where I'm goin Where I'm flowin when I
die All you motherfatherfuckers All you fucked today is why - I'll ride the
wave where it takes me I hold the pain Release me Release - Eddie Vender
Remember the future In waves of ecstasy All your words will come to nothing But
the sound of fucking free and devours your consciousness, becoming you,
breathing out pure liquid perception - light. Another way is riding your own
being. Is that 6? I haven't even gotten to the ways that involve drugs, which
are sacred, of course and as necessary as the serpent breath we breathe in this
mercury risin smog-filled 21st century, like the fiery tendrils of some
"rough beast slouching t'ward Bethlehem". Yeah, I like that... As
above, so below Wanna slide inside your soul, baby We want eternal pleasure In
the garden of your fear You sexy solar serpent So it all begins right here... I
hear great rock like the Doors everywhere, in the sun and earth and in my own
life and so its bound to be a part of me, a part of everyone, really, our
shadow's anyway and if its shadows and ideas, or "other people's
metaphors" you are seeing you're still livin in Plato's allegorical sewer
system, the political "system",ready to get flushed out into the
ocean, grow gills, swim to shore, and grow a pair of fucking legs to stand on
because BS does not walk (contrary to pop opinion) - except, perhaps, to one's
grave stone, which might as well read: Bryan was a good son to Mr. And Mrs.
Miller. He never tried to eat or fuck his parents, and he could quote Nietzsche
and Sartre like the wind coming out of their dead assholes (just fuckin with
the metaphor that is us all). My response, and my ability to continuously
improve it does "walk". And it will keep walking until it finds
someone with the balls to notice. And, hell, anyone with the rocks to question
my artistic integrity might see a story with legs. Whafuck? But to tell the
truth, I don't think you really give a shit what I write. I was born an
existentialist (and, according to some people, sinner, saint, devil, atheist,
nihilist, God, even a fucking brick in some Christian bridge to revival (laugh
- fuck - I love that one). Anyway, any goodd rock god is an existentialist -
ouch - paradox. The question is not, do I exist? Bad question. The real
question, the really fuckable question is, how much of my reality can I create,
and how much can I take credit for? Rock on. Hello, I don' "know" all
that much about much when it comes to facts and dates, I could care less about
either, they mess with my art. I've structured my own consciousness in such a
way as to know what, if anything, I need to know when I need to know it. You
can do that when you spend most of your time in the subconscious. You can also
live in any time period you want to - probably doesn't make much sense but everyone
does it unconsciously anyway - what someone calls a current "age" is
just an agreed upon insanity outside your soulful silence, your rock and cock,
is it not? The worst thing that ever happened to the sixties was to call it the
sixties, to make it the corporate fashion statement till eternity's end instead
of performing culturally our emergence from the psychedelic slime of evolution
into living rock n' roll. And now? And now we can market consciousness. We are
living in a Mecca for emergent psychedelic rock and media. Again, it is already
beginning. Off the top of my head, Funk Soul Brothers, ambient, rage, most rock
under the right conditions;) Part III Social Commentary sunset
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ Beautiful Woman/\/\/\/\/\/flock\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
/\/\/\/\/\/\//\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\of seagulls/\/\/\/\/\/\/ Noah (horny
sailor)/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ Why else would he need all
those animals? I bet he fucked them 2 by 2. What do they call it when someone
sodomizes an animal, anyway? Tending the flock? Flogging the tender? Loving all
God's creatures? Having dominion with nature? And who are these sick bastards,
anyway? Our illustrious editorinchief is a fan of quoting Nietzsche. Let me
tell you. Philosophy student or (hopefully) not, anyone who quotes Nietzsche
doesn't understand Nietzsche. He's the only western philosopher to admit,
throughout the entire intent of his writing, that he was full of shit. Which,
is of course the only way to even approach genius writing philosophical
discourse. Too bad he didn't have the additional guts not take himself too
seriously. This makes me wonder about the emotional stability of any
philosopher. One of the philosophers at this school actually stated (taught?)
that one should not experience many if any moral dilemmas. Hell I experience
about 100 moral dilemmas every time I look at a woman. Where do they get these
people, from Heaven's gate? "Welcome to our university, will that be
castration or non? Can't decide? No matter - here's a tenure. ... A professor
of art history gave me a failing grade for writing a paper heralding the human
as the proper nexus of art history (the human being the culmination of
history's creative/moral impetus) over formal external art forms. Makes you
wonder what a PhD. really means. I mean, at her graduation ceremony, did they
chop down a tree and engrave the stump with the epitaph "Jill &
Establishment". When art history profs don't have any artistic integrity -
that's when you know their eggs are cooked. [If I have to have a sense of
humour, so do you] In one class wherein I was so bold as to inquire the name of
a painting (a Dali) that actually could interest me from within the maze of
dates and facts that was a whole semester of pedantic art fodder, I heard a
couple of cute students whisper, "why doesn't he just write that
down?" Come on, people. If you don't like a painting well enough to write
it down, why write it down? Hell, with the energy you save you could write a
Japanese Haiku. With the extra energy you waste actually trying to remember the
dates and styles of these things - most of which you won't remember anyway -
you could write down your phone number and give it to me so I could help you
"study". But, then, they probably wouldn't be able to remember my
name - I wasn't painted in 1974, I was merely born. I don't trust anyone who
can't enjoy a good cigarette. Tobacco is the drug of the gods and a healthy
desire for it is a sure sign of sexual unity. When I'm not driving a car, its
the best way for me to contribute to the rising smog levels, speaking of which
someone should tell those environmental scientists to get their heads out of
their asses. The only reason weather patterns have altered drastically over the
last century is because of the CHANGE in temperature and not the temp. itself.
Any womb gets warmer before lizard gods are born (we like it warm), and the
climate changes are not dissimilar to the changes undergone by an emerging star,
speaking hemispherically of course(laugh). And let's not forget the increased
frequency of serpent sun - gotta have it, gotta get wet with it. If corporate
media would stop looking at the mess we have made, they would see the
masterpiece that lies amidst the chaos that is 20th century's end. Besides,
were we doing all that great when the temp was lower, and people do tend to go
where its warm when they go on vacation. Think of the earth of the 21st century
as an island in the tropics. That hole in the ozone Works for us all around
Letting more serpent sun And sexy cunt juice hit the ground So smoke all you
can and make the government rich. Treat them like a good prostitute. Hell, the
only face of government ever able to make a profit with it is the triple goddess
of civilization: corporation, military, and university, all three disseminating
information in the form of terror veiled in the fantasy of modernity, such that
all three spend more time and energy trying to justify their own existence
instead of espousing the serpent sun of the three cornerstones of human
arrogance: technology, knowledge, and mytho-imaginative sexuality, culminating
in higher forms of entertainment and pleasure. If you got'em, smoke em. Student
Politics-- I have just enough time before my next philosophy class to discuss
the sorry state of student politics. Any school that teaches students about
national politics without making you aware of the local manifestation of its
absurdity doesn't want you to see the forest or the trees. But, then, who needs
forests when you've got politics? Take one of our home-grown die hard student
reps, Sean Stetsko, who happens to be extremely eager to get behind the
microphone of the soon to be operating campus radio network. Now here's a case
where voting might be of some value. To wit, this guy's idea of music is
hobo-folk and mybackisachingfromallthefoolsgoldaroundmyneck blues. Why don't we
just let Campus Crusade pirate 106.5 24-7? As far as "politics" goes,
he distinguishes himself from no politician I know with a barely digestible
line of bull followed by a rancid piss chaser. Ie. "Politics is about the
people" followed by "I don't listen to anything people say to me
unless its about me". Not surprising from a guy that broke up with one of
the most fuckable women on campus because she was "too sexual".
Proving once again that the only politics is personal politics. If it doesn't
get in the way of his love life, why should we let him get in the way of
student interests? This, of course, won't be hard to do considering that one of
his proudest achievements last semester was constructing an earth shattering
and overly polite rhetorical letter, taking over a page to instruct the
college.com faggots to clean up their own fucking mess of discarded pizza boxes
and stop using the Cascade newspaper for an advertising asshole (ad inserts
covertly slipped between its holy pulp petals). One further note (philosophy
begs - I love it when it does that) During an evening social with Sean, I had
the naivety to mention that "politics" of the 21st century was about
creating the future rather than "making a difference" to which he
responded with the thinly veiled alarm bells of personal political paranoia -
"what do you mean by that?" Leaning closer like a deer caught in the
incoming headlights of an ice-cream truck (tharn-it) playing stairway to
heaven. I replied, "I, uh, well, uhh its the difference between
uh..." Creating and future were obviously not in his vocabulary (a
virgin?). "Hey, I'm a writer, man" (not a politician - save your
fucking rhetorical questions for someone who gives a shit about your personal
agenda). "So yo just say things like that because they sound good?"
he asks. "Yeah, man". Thankful for having said something that his
rodent brain could understand I took a drag and reluctantly passed him the rest
of his joint. Personal note: Add marijuana to the list of pleasures that are
wasted on the children. If I had my choice (and I do), they'll play a steady
rotation of Floyd, Doors, Pearl Jam, Metallica, Beethoven, and Reggae. None of
that straight to radio pop-shit that I hear every time I turn on the radio to
listen to some real rock - and definitely no DJ's posing as poster children for
the good ship Starbucks at the expense of every cheerful homily ever transplanted
from the California sun-shrivelled bone marrow of Casey Casem. To finish off
this brief character summary of one of your student reps, for all you who
wondered last year, "who should we vote for?" (I wasn't one of you).
I've always found literary response the best measure of character, and anyone
who favours a writer who views the most basic reality of our lives as a
descending vortex of corruption organized around the politics of control and
need (Burroughs) over a writer who is able to depict reality as
mytho-imaginatively and creatively spontaneous through jazz-infused liquid
prose (Kerouac), finding the latter to be just an "asshole" (insert
his political diatribe here about how Kerouac shouldn't have borrowed money
from the mother that he spent the rest of his great life supporting - whafuck?)
isn't going to be getting all that much done if it involves being "around
the people". If politics has a friend, it is Cascade Managing Editor,
Bryan Miller, who was self-important enough to inform me that I would be
writing what he told me to write this semester. No doubt, it will have to
conform to his budding rhetorical style sheet which he is copying form the
Abbotsford Times - got get'em, man. But I digress: Anyone who can discriminate
between the rhetorical standards of the National Post and the Globe and Mail
probably should have been saved the intellectual challenge by not being taught
how to read. Journalists and politicians must all be cousins. Despite my
obvious handicap in this regard, I wagered to ask why he lets so much shit
posing as news into the Cascade, to which his response was, "I like shit.
We are going to print shit." [flag on the play. No points awarded in
conscious culture for indiscriminate control of content] That reminds me. I intercepted
a memo directed to Bryan from Abbotsford Public Works. It reads: Dear Sir, Just
a friendly reminder to brush after every flush. ps. you're the man. Stephanie
Martin, Treasurer come Student Union President (If they went on strike, would I
be able to teach a polisci class to business students entitled, "how to
keep payoffs in mint condition"? Her most official act last semester was
to attend the BCYSA's 98 Winter Conference just so she could bitch about how
futile she already knew it would be before she went. Off the record, she seemed
quite concerned about the number of cell phones at the conference. On the
record, she asserted that students not organizational staff should be in charge
of "advancing educational goals". What goals do you have, Stephanie,
besides getting educated? Beware the cell phones special agent Martin, the
Mothership might be able to triangulate your position, which presently is
looking a little aft of the mainsail, if you catch my continental drift.
Deconstruct this narrative political news mongers of the world: I don't need
your education, either.. Sarah Conner, writer and aspiring Editor of the
Cascade completes this crazy cast with a few pages right out of Revelations.
God will strike thee down with vengeance, he who alters these words: serious
investigative journalism. The best example of which seems to be Keith
Brandsma's exposure of Library-Gate: not enough books for our bucks,
apparently, which has apparently prompted movement of some bureaucratic wheel.
"Don't you think Keith's article was good?" "No. I don't."
"No even if it got some attention? That's good, isn't it?" If you
have to ask. And I didn't. You don't need a Ouija board to know that some
demonic force is at play here. Whoever told this girl that a university bureaucrat
could fill our library with more books without dedicating a 3rd floor to some
ego-starved bureaucratic saint must be paying his priest with time shares in
the Albanian Alps. As far as the quality of Brandsma's article goes (as well as
serious investigative journalism, for that matter) I can quote the man himself,
who obviously managed to find enough books to finish his education: "It
sucked." Proof that true investigative journalism is no work at all if you
listen to what the guy beside you on the bus is saying instead of worrying
about what your new business card is going to read or what great stories you
are going to write: "The spy that came in from the Hellfire";
"The Spy that was Hot"; "If you can't take the Heat, Get out of
the Spying Pan"; "John Le Carre My Boat Ashore", by Sarah
Conner, Inviolate Rose. Damn, I missed my philosophy class. And this week they
were going to teach me how to construct a logical fallacy by putting my dick up
my own ass and quoting Schopenhauer: "The world is a will, and the world
is an idea. So, where's the midget?" Explorations in Consciousness &
Rock n' Roll Conscious Culture... Part IV InTrO.. Some people get high on life,
have a really great time and forget about it. I write THAT shit down. I like to
think of myself as a sleepwalker's guide to revisionist history and culture. I
like to think of myself as walking naked through an abandoned minefield 30
years after WWII just to piss in a puddle reflecting a cloud that looks like
Hitler and Donald Duck in the midst of a compromising position and calling it
ritualistic art. Some people think I've read too much philosophy or mysticism
where, in fact, I've read neither cover to cover in my entire life - boring
shit, basically. It only takes a few words usually to find the doorway to my
vanity, to the rock and cock of momentary beatitude (and any book that isn't
about you is boring as hell) and most philosophers and mystics were and are
sycophants... I don't believe that social ritual and civilized law exist to
define individuality, although they play an important part in individual and
collective expression. The ritual of one's physical birth is a
nexus point
for all forces and dynamics of cosmos
localized in space and time, such a refined
and passionate focussing of cosmic impetus as to make human birth the fate of
the cosmos, the fate commanded by each individual. It is a ritual because it is
an enactment as well as re-enactment of the birth and death of, well,
everything. The body and the blood of all us sexy beasts is as holotropic image
of a state of infinite beauty moving its being through time for the orgasmic
realization of self the pleasure of all perception, for the entertainment of
the lizard gods, each thus being a nexus of all morality, culture, time,
sexuality, and consciousness - rock on. When one thinks about the infinite
variations of the state and dynamics of all cosmic bodies and darkness and
light, one realizes just how truly unique each soul really is, and yet how
unified the desire of all individuals. It is an image that is infinitely
terrifying and infinitely arousing, like a pyramid, like life, like sex, drugs,
love, and great rock n' roll...we're bringing down the sun. You are an image of a god Fucking through time You
are an image of a god Fucking through time Scientists ask, where did the
universe come from and where will it end up. The answer, say Confucius, is
"you were born". We were all born. And we will all be born again.
Rock and cock, baby. The last real use of language Was the ritualistic chant
The first real party of the people Will do what the sewer systems cant The
first real rock n' roll artist Was the sun and earth Their song the blood and
water You drank right before your birth Before you had even learned to listen
To the music of your soul Before you could consume their song Through the mouth
of your black hole Their are no kings or queens in Freedom So toss away your
crown Sexy Solar Freedom The only real party in town Writing, language, speech
and images can be as rock n' roll. Only a culture that has mapped the geography
of the soul and of consciousness to the point of using media content (words,
sounds, images) to create altered states of consciousness consciously could
teach people how to work less and live more. Sexuality is our response to the
ecstasy of existence, enacted primarily unconsciously throughout history - a
performance of language, cosmic citizenship and ancestral origin. A solar
language, the language of rock n' roll, frees one to utilize all media forms,
personal to technological in order to consciously live, enjoy and manipulate
one's own sexual-imagination, one's response to life and being - a unity,
really, of all art, cultural ritual, and communication that has terrified man
woman and child since the beginning of time. Personally, it's what gets my cock
going every morning and makes me what to prostitute my body to every man and
woman on the planet at once, each body, the tree and door to the face of a
living serpent licking, kissing and consuming the sacred fruit that is the body
of a sexy beast, that is the whole fucking universe - the unified imagination
being the most powerful fucking force in said universe - a lizard god, a
citizen of planet Freedom. Speech occurred in time long after the first words
had already been forming in the human brain, in solar system and its planetary
bodies, all language being a solar system of relations unified by the human
serpent - the university system, for instance is an expression of cultural
(albeit elite) relations embodied in the unified nervous system of each
student, the body itself being a system of relations and a nexus of all
cultural systems and ritual expression of all time. You are the university,
which is exactly why student response to education is the only real resource of
the university system dampened by the skeletal structure of corporate profit
and scholarly methodology and why marks are, well, fucking meaningless.
Ritualistic student response, your life as you live it, the fire that is the
rising phoenix of unified and conscious cultural ritual, the language that is
each god's movement through culture, life, pleasure and consciousness and
preserved by modern technological and entertainment forms has been formed in
the upper spheres of the human imagination for centuries has it has always been
formed in the mythical structures outside of time, in the rock and cock silence
of the soul and imagination as it has moved through millennia of time despite
facing a continuous war and tempering by the earth and sun, by all indictments
of virus, parasite, religion and republic. [The end of war on this planet, as
we have known it, will be a resurrection of the Imagination as it has never
been known] [Study break staring at the sun and clouds - a
] Active imaginings Claw and howl like beasts Pictures
of the soul Flicker in and out of hellish flame The door so thinly sealed Is
but a tree in a garden The truth so tightly bound Is but a serpent's fang That
swells the sea of sacrifice A woman looks out the window at passing cars,
trees, mountains. A man glances at her reflection and sees a woman, passing
cars, trees, and the mountains beyond. The whole history of the earth is
written in her eyes, but she is naive - and so is the man. A faint stirring of
the blood is all it takes to seal the embrace from which god are born. Words
written in a ritual. Water running down the mountain enters a brook. Priests
perform the ritual in a grove of trees. Many years of training and patience
with the wheeling stars and planets makes creation still for but a moment.
Memory written in flesh. Creation enacted through strange hieroglyphs of
reality. As spear to wound, so thought to code. The priests prepared through
millennia of captivity with the fourth element. The serpent need toil the earth
no longer. Arise, winged one, and breathe ne life into the cosmos. Arise,
master of sun and earth, and create the living waters of cultural myth and
ritual. Arise from your fiery grave with the terror that makes nature still and
claim all the blood the earth ever drank as your own. The gods need wear their
masks no longer. The earth has accepted their desire by the fire that burns in
her heart. Earth and Sun are unified by passion. The gods need only perform the
future of existence through every desire of the flesh and soul and create the
universe again and again and again. It is all good. The tree's roots stretch
down through millennia of love, life, death, and passionate imaginings. It now
needs its imagination like it needs the sun and the earth; Its active
imagination unifies both, for the tree of life is how the sun and earth meet.
What they do in this garden of the 21st century is entirely up to us. As a
race, only the alchemical recombination of our memory and our imagination can produce
a working pornographic picture of the human soul, an image of god that is
actually reflected in the actual mirror of all human activity, rather in the
fantasy picture window of some elite culture or recycled Christianity. And only
through paradox, that perfected mode of consciousness with which we are
ecstatically endowed can one live the orgasmic cosmic truth(S)illusion that the
manipulation of sexuality and consciousness is the core creative act of being,
at the heart of which is the sacred desire for pleasure. After all, what but
pure pleasure could have created this universe?
... Now, to write about the geography of
altered states is a slippery and wet ritual, and I like that. You are dealing
with a multidimensional snake that is moving in and out of me so fast that I
am, at once, the wave, and the soul that rides the wave. ANd so even as I think
to write a word, a different word hits the page - fuck on... [Transmission
temporarily interrupted by the minute possibility of publication.] So spread
that liquid serpent light Get everybody wet The universe is moaning For its
greatest pleasure yet This is sexy solar freedom Heaven's kingdom lit on fire
follow your blood into the light I'm gone..I'm gettin higher Confucius..OUT.
Bryan, Well, you haven't responded to my submission and that's alright with me
- you win some you lose some. However, on tthe chance that you may actually have
read it through allow me to close it all up by saying that it was intended as a
very irreverent piece - not to be taken too seriously for the most part and
perhaps a little enlightening where it might be taken seriously depending, as
always, on the reader. It's full of holes, and I meant it that way since any
art form or anything ever written for that matter is "full of holes"
to be filled in - only the subtlest of differences between what is
"art" and what isn't and always lying in between what one takes
seriously and what one doesn't take seriously at all - terrifying and arousing,
really, how much that applies to every aspect of life (revolutions, peace, life
happens inside all that somewhere). And not everyone has to "get"
that. I just try to be aware of it a little more because, well, that's where
all great art happens (and no - I'm not saying that everything I write is great
art, but since it's mine I think its pretty damn good if not something the
Cascade wants to grace its pristine pages with. I'm not defending my piece, I
just thought that you might appreciate that I was aware of the unlikelihood of
it getting published but that I had to try and that and this is how I write
when I have something to say. Between you and me - all's cool, keep pumping out
what, in my opinion, is nowhere near what this person wants to enjoy reading in
a college press but I won't lose any sleep(laugh). So unless I get a peace out,
I'll just assume the Cascade doesn't want to hear anything else I have to say -
have a good one - although I reserve the possibility of sending you something
you might find more digestible - a challenge I always like. This is Landon
Sealey, and I had and have something interesting to say. Take it easy. [[Bryan,
the managing editor, never responded. ]] Artifact. You are married to religion
You time the night and day Then buy a clock And watch us steal All of your time
away Sun dances in your fantasies Moon dances in wet dreams But the stars
inside (our cosmic tide) Are dancing to the orgy Of our copulating streams
Until you breath the water From the fountain of our cock From the images of
madness From the lunacy of rock Your history is insanity Inability to fuck Your
pornographic bible books All you have to make a buck Fascinated terror
Worshipping billboards of the night All you need to see Is in your blood Our
blood the darkest liquid light You're all locked up like Noah Too much water in
your blood Your science of your mystery Your info-terrifying flood Our science
of mystery of society of psychology do not work. However, something has worked
because we are here, we haven't blown up the planet. So, obviously, there must
be something pretty damn great about humanity. This is the mystery of soul, the
original system of unified solar relations- language/mythology. The soul knows-
as useless information may be - something important is always being conveyed -
this is blood- is passion -our reason, our technological systems have created
monumental amounts of leisure, my leisure to do this for instance. How much
greater the importance of the human bodily system, then, to the culture in
which we live. Cultural response as I live it is the response of the soul, is
the technology of blood an s sin is the art of listening to one's life and
world as it has been relegated to work. Artists listen - it's a lot of work
really in a culture which is trained, on the surface, to ignore the orgy of
body, to ignore the sound of the earth and sun, really. How may people in our
culture are terrified of being alone? Or of not having a job? How many people
are terrified of listening to one's own soul ritualistically(your desires are
all fulfilled by your death, why aren't you feeling them - let go,,let go..).
The poetry, the unity of body is the essence of ritual. The art of listening to
the sound of the world, the body of the world is the art of health. It is why
the earth is immeasurably more healthy than the race of beings which live upon
it. We race to clean the air while the earth seeks to clean us. The body
politic is trained to listen only when the politician speaks, is trained to
listen only when the tv is on or the teacher is teaching. You ever notice that
people only ever listen to the world when they are extemely relaxed - in the
morning, a dusk, after the all-night rave. Sound -therapy. You ever listen to
your own life? Terrifying to some. It shouldn't be. It's a tragedy to be sure,
but a very beautiful one. The soul , like the earth, gets more beautiful every
day. To listen ritualistically is simply to listen with the knowledge(the body,
memories and perceptions that our yours alone ---alone-- that nothing and no
one, no God above or below is in control of your being and health - that you
are as free as the sun nd earth, held in time and place by the sheer gravity of
your being. Kinda makes cultural systems look a little less important. But
that's their job - to work (and they do, of course) with without feeling their
relevance to the whole(unconsciously) -that's their job - not ours, and sure as
hell not mine. What am I talking about? I'm talking about the sun-earth system
as a cd that constantly composes your life and mine our of all past
/memory/blood. I'm talking about ritualistic unity - the source of all meaning
- the sound of one's life done before it's even started. I'm talking about
every soul past present and future using and contributing to the rock n' roll
which is every moment and which is our privilege, as human beings with a linear
consciousness, to manipulate and use through various altered states of
unity/technology, advertising/culture/music - the early 21st century
- I'm talking about being able to create thhe entirety of time simply because
its already done in the human soul, in the earth - the death of God and
completion of all dream and desire (to create by listening, by feeling -The
gods created the universe by listening to Her with their Body. So who created
it, then, He, or Her?) - my soul's way of saying that in every dawn, and this
is a dawn, the slate is wiped clean for the gods. Take out a fresh brush and
some fresh paint and let's call it the serpent sunshine ie our freshly fucked,
freshly loved godlike glows. Our modern "culture" is more primitive
than we know. The Garden myth hasn't even happed yet. No two human beings have
yet to come together as completely as is possible - we are living in the dawn
of the Lizard gods, a unification and ecstasy of mind and body which is the
completion of cultural ideal and all philosophies of work - or the pleasure of
taking from Body for the sake of Body, sexual unification of Soul. Part XI All
time, culture, religion, art, technology, science is about discovering the
ability to manipulate reality for entertainment an for love of being and for
the discovery of new ways of living and loving - we're already doing it - scary
thought. A scary thought, to some, that humanity has already been given and is
already taking larger creative authority in the 21st century - but
that's what religion has always done and that's what our culture (only we can
clean up the planet") is doing. The first real use of language Was the
ritualistic chant The first real part of the people Will do what the sewer
system can't The first real rock n' roll artist Was the sun and earth Their
song the blood and water You drank right before your birth, baby Before you had
even learned to listen To the music of your soul Before you could consume their
song Through the mouth of your black hole So before you lay your head down And
sink into your love Remember you created that starry roof on up above From the
below the deepest heaven From below the deepest hell From below the deepest
earth Below your Father's deepest well So you see, creative authority without
vanity of soul is destruction is war - and that's been done - its called
history - Body. Shadow. Image. Blood. Body is Shadow. Not just metaphorical
"shadow", Shadow. Shadow is a powerful word. Body is Shadow and, in Shadow,
sexy light, always turned "ON". Wherever one's Shadow is cast, one's
Shadow is cast upon a Body - the earth. The Spirit of Soul, cast through the
body of soul becomes..History is how soul becomes body, how metaphor becomes
reality, how language turns from a body of Shadow to a body of soul or of light
or of sun. The Body of the earth turns into the body of Shadow every night,
just as the soul has turned into the Body of Shadow throughout time, or the
movement of the image of soul, blood, into the earth, through human Body of
blood, movement of the Body of Language into a body of Soul of blood light, of
memory, media, art, imagination....I'm speaking first words, here, first words
of a body of serpent light, a language of the body of time and of the movement
of soul into body that, like the earth, always faces the sun. Humanity has,
through reason (Fire), attempted to control and regulate empathy, or collective
cultural response (Water)has created equal amounts of technology and terror,
what I refer to as a lunar cult mentality since the terror of night and of the
moon is the first conscious response of human blood stored in mass existential
terror which crops up in every form of modern media an specifically the
politics of ecology and resource and human life itself - Prometheus Bound by
his own Destiny by his own Instinctual Desire. When, in reality, we are made of
Water, so we have succeeded in technologizing and regulating ourselves out of
any sense of Gnosis or the creative intent of soul possessed by most
"primitive" cultures. We really are at the beginning and not the end
of human evolution - humbling, but not apocalytic - Fire and Water - when we
realize how little control our systems of enlightenment have over the human
movement, and only then will technology, Culture, move out of the confines of
time into a Body of time - the rebirth of cosmic humanism - a Phoenix born from
the Water - Prometheus Unbound. Modern Electronic Media like the first Book
that no one knows how to read. Don't read to closely(laugh) - its more of an
image than an idea, all of this, an image stored in every drop of fucking
beautiful blood. The is as much a revolution of sex as of soul. Sex is, for the
next century, what rock n' roll was for the last - the art of health an of soul
- sex, like rock n' roll can be a lot of uhh different things. This is a
paradigm of sexuality, of androgynous reality, an ecstasy of sun and soul.
Life's a trip and all artists are madly in life... The Sun does Through the
Tree Free the Serpent Face Of Humanity Well sedated gods Found it all good But
I didn't find Until I understood That he who is stoned Casts the first sin That
the race ran high Is the only race I can win Take a deep breathe They said
right before I woke up upon this psychedelic shore Like a newborn child I cried
and I wailed But til death do I thank God I never exhaled I'm gonna show you
how to Live I'm gonna show you how to Fly I'm gonna show you how to bring the
fire Out of the darkest sky These words are just a mirror Holding you is space
Until the fire hits the ground And runs through the blood That runs through the
highest living race That sun above your lookin at Is looking through your view
The highest that it ever got Is the animal The earth Inside of you Just take it
really easy It's the easiest thing to do To burn and consume your Shadow self
Your dark water will wash everything in view This is your music not your
message It's coming out of you So turn off all earth's nightly news And take in
a better view Take in a better view I look into the mirror And watch the sun go
down Consumed by the dark water Come In Out Of The Ground The Gods not here.
Boy is hungry They don't know how to feel Colours splash across his screen
Psychedelic, Baby Says the voice unseen Help is on the way Pain is here to say
Buy a Coke Psychedelic, Baby Peter come with me Let's go out into the Deep No
fish down here Psychedelic, Baby Blue and Red and Black and Grey All of the
beautiful colours Are here to stay And the voice plays on the radio Saying everything's
o.k. Take a pill Don't cry Don't cry Psychedelic, Baby -spontaneous cultural
artifact To diffuse any spiritual conceit I likely express, as anyone does who
decides to pain the soul in such broad strokes, I am Druidic an Christian in
nature. Although, not as our culture of reason's religion would understand
either. Since spirituality seeks to unite individual with collective, the only
spiritual practice I can really claim without sacrificing myself to cultural
oblivion is human or, as I prefer, god. In our culture, a "Christian"
is a cultural artifact, unable to fit within the realm that is secular
mythology and unable to express personal contribution to collective intent
without sacrificing the divinity of body and myth. In this sense, everyone is a
Christian and Christianity a symbol of the cultural artifact that is religious
practice, faith in "God" or body of myth and ideal - in images or
words that are granted more importance than the body that injests them
uniquely. Therefore, as artifact, Christianity is the first an only world
religion, a tragic performance of the death of God or the fear of
Water/embodiment of divine or perfect desire in earth, sun, soul, culture,
memory and even reason. The ancient Druids manipulated blood ritualistically (they
invented ritual or the ability to dance with the sun and earth in soul and body
- rock n' roll) and performed knowledge witth ritualistic manipulation of
element and Body, rituals of such grandeur that they are imbued in the blood
and memory of Earth and every human upon it. We, however, do not need to
perform such "arcane" blood rituals to discover the soul of reason
and ecstasy because our technologies, from cars to computers to entertainment
and media are made of blood, thanks to all who have died in history and to the
ver compassionate Body of Earth on which we live. We are The Tree. We are
Stonehenge. The walls of Lascaux and the blood on the walls - we need only wait
patiently for the sun and earth, for the universe to get in tune and in touch
with us. We are humanity. We are the heart of the sky. We're livin on life Our
life is a prayer To the only one Who is ever there, baby November 23, 1999