Interesting how ol' god's forearm to forefinger points directly out the spot between the brow, prefrontal cortex-back-to-pineal gland, alleged "third-eye."


*from visual artist damon soule's website

ravings (but what do these MEAN??? mater, matter, mother, measure; how does this measure?)

The answer succeeds beneath the sword.
replication
i gave my face to a bitter old man
[tetragrammaton]
and he made mind of me times three
times three
An upsetting weapon entails the car beside the pronounced pilot.
times three
and whatever you believe imprisons you
tetragrammation
tetragrammaton
tetrahydrocannabinol
Orphic cults

"The nearest each of us can come to God is by loving the truth."
-buckminster fuller

"All truth passes through three stages.
First, it is ridiculed.
Second, it is violently opposed.
Third, it is accepted as being self-evident."
- Art Schopenhauer

REVOLUTION!
prepare...First, it is ridiculed.
The first thing to be considered is our inner attitude toward the new condition that will inevitably come.
What he does must correspond with a higher truth and must not spring from arbitrary or petty motives.
use your imagination.
conciliate spiritual barbecue.

laughter is a release of tensions into nothingness

First, it is ridiculed.
that which i want to grow has a dirty secret
hide it in the dirt and grow food for the family
smashed the rodent family (unconscious powers at work)
astrological is my game
hurts my heart out with vacancy
there is no room in my heart
there is only emtpy readymade
heat that burns the sun
hidden housed ghosts ask holy?
family full of mysteries
the dark only holds a moment
then there is bleeding light
shape shifting is mere hallucination or mind-fogging when practiced by magicians.
I cannot prove otherwise and I suspect you would be right.
what is this universe?
First, it is ridiculed.
a creature,
child.

sunday, the sun bled into my smile
decent outrage acts the archangel agent
i send this out to you
a bomb

grades of inner workings find the light,
darkness is cast as an empty glass,
as the negation of form
due to the blocked light as
moon is bright and the seed dropped
into the depth grew a season's end
she died this night and he held her profit
closed his hand, dismissive to his daughter.
(somewhere, a psychologist pauses behind a lavatory!)
they cried their negation
mother had left them cobalt brilliant
too sharp for a rat's ass-

of want to communicate
would spite be willing to fill my body with sharp molecule
printer cartridge
spermatozoa, release, ask holy?
a sputtering trumpet
of odd wanting, something sublime
let your horse go and do not force resolution,
it'llll all come back on its own accord.
just receive the burden of the time,
working with great attention to every little thing.

and this elaborate lie i am to tell my coworkers-
the face of temptation.
this elaborate lie
yell to the moon,
"This elaborate lie,
the recent skin tackles his unwelcome moon,
death abandon ambition!
abandon baroque ruin!"
A clarifying murder spends a metaphor.
how sad design could break it
if found just a way to live the moment
in full detail, but the design suffers!
speaking slowly, carefully
the guitar plays its strings
the vibration of thingsss
around the mess of meaning
we carry as a yolk
and choke, on a cartoon
of the battery monolith, it fell when she died

"In the light of the trick (Another glow emerges.) which has been played on us, it appears to us as if the contemporary artist were faced with two choices (since suicide is not a solution): one, to go on launching attack after attack, movement after movement, in the hope that one day (soon) "the thing" will have grown so weak, so empty, that it will evaporate and leave us suddenly alone in the field; or, two, to begin right now immediately to live as if the battle were already won, as if today the artist were no longer a special kind of person, but each person a special sort of artist. (This is what the Situationists called "the suppression and realization of art" )."
-hakim bey

when you lose the thread, think back to the last sane moment that you knew

you had morning glories persuasion, new day preparation, practiced meditation

traveling fast, mission in step, what is this blockage in this mental trap?


=-exposition-=

grit on the grittle,
the freeing of life from the dark chrysalis of matter

Gathering a clump of earth in hand,
Turning inward, thinking, "Mother
must have felt like this upon my birth."
Capable and formative, artist at plough
Earth in hand, the material collaboration.
Move my heart to prepare this field
Activity and morning glories, food, fool, and meal.

-peeling a happy banana- (a mo(u)odd altering spell)

look to the sun alter afright with how light, it feels you,
as a presence, (g)host's quiet joy revealed
sweet, sweet levity
Another glow emerges.
non-local eyes approach noosphere
looking at yourself tonight,
abandoning negative appearances
but not ignoring aions of pain, go deep,
if need to reclaim what you do for others.
shoulder the shadow of evil intent
as to rupture the cells of BEHEMOTH...
tell the truth and shame the devil

#!/usr/bin/perl
# method for generating random i ching hexagrams at http://deoxy.org/iching

# define the lines
%lines = (
6 => '-- x --', # yin changing to yang
7 => '-------', # yang
8 => '-- --', # yin
9 => '---o---', # yang changing to yin
);

# define the coin
@coin = qw(2 3);

# toss 3 coins 6 times
for (1..6) {
$a = @coin[rand @coin];
$b = @coin[rand @coin];
$c = @coin[rand @coin];

# add the results
$line = $a + $b + $c;

# put result in a list, bottom line first
push @lines, $line;
}

# reverse the list so top line is first and print each line
print "$lines{$_}\n" for reverse @lines;


i pay GO(o(u))D money to sit here!



it seems, these dreams, are flowing inbetween the seams.
these things they bring, an unrealiable thing
the dreams that come, unreal to all but some
the scheme you crave, will not remain the same.
no one person is wholly one static state
individuals in flux, superior to this at once
and inferior in status the nexxt
relax realize relocate realign return
if the wish is to compress ideas into art
one must fully expand upon the experience.
slowly unfolding, unrolling the genetic thread
disentangling the ganglia

"The artist is not a person endowed with free will who seeks his own ends,
but one who allows art to realize its purposes through him.
As a human being he may have moods and a will and personal aims,
but as an artist [s]he is "[wo]man" in a higher sense - [s]he is "collective [wo]man,"
a vehicle and moulder of the unconscious psychic life of [wo]mankind." (from 'Psychology and Literature', 1930)

Carl Gustav Jung



36 koan creatures
if the truth can be told
as to be understood
then it will be believed

what we need is a love insurrection
There are all sorts of things to be done

Gashouse Bees
Healthcare to Mourn
The Replicator
Mud of Mystery
Egorithm
Old Traditional

dirty Dickies workpants
Big Head Man in "The Wrath of the Boss Master!" (comic)
depleted candle in glass holder
small portrait of Amanda as a child
used fabric softener sheet
dried opaque white acrylic ink in container
unused wheel for shelf
Moses Casual icon
container of black pepper
Oxford French to English Dictionary
green ceramic owl figurine
red 3 pound hand weight

i go to meet the judical system
marry my government, accept its responsibilities
take its problems on for myself.

what does this organism's body need, now? (subtle interdependence)
--- ---
- - - -
--- ---
- - = ---
--- = - -
--- ---

celebrate the setting sun!
to sing in praise of shadow

The secret here is that what you think is the problem (lack of money, or whatever),
is merely a symptom of an underlying energy pattern (poverty mentality, past life vow of poverty,
feelings of unworthiness, etc).

Focus. Clear away conflicting desires.
take your time, think it through thoroughly, and be as specific as you can.

what is offered right now so that the clean water may not go to waste?
Why won't a printed icon jam?

Idea: to figure future furniture isolation tanks
finding the source inside wraps back out, looking at selfworld from alien reality

Idea: old prisons broken by inner expansion
the universe contained, dissolves untamed

"At the center of psychosis I encountered
her: beautiful & kind &, most of all, wise, &
through that wisdom, accompanying & leading
me through the underworld, through the
bardo thodol journey to rebirth—she, the embod-
iment of intelligence: Pallas Athena herself."

-philip k. dick

todayjob

ten tortoise shells, all the way down

The headlights suddenly came into view. Tong jars from a secret society
come to mind when considering the path from east to west. The road cool, not cold,
ready to receive the faith of civilizations in commerce and travel. Fire it up.
This engine moves at precise speeds, moves hearts of holiday movers on strings.
Strangers all one in places unseen. The host of neural pathways, the great mind of hoards migrating. Free-way for people and mystery by advertising dimly sing the roadsides.

O. was on a trip to City ordered by measure of old winds. The vehicle he drove was by no means
a reliable transport and O. knew that the car was tenuous from sacrificed miles to monotony.
Laboring motive, locomotion of humane machines act as a poor reason to realize dreams.
O. worked on his own visions through sketches and photography personally viewed as broken
sides of a promised beast that he rode as an infant cradled in media-rich placenta. Hero
on the television held O. to pacifier, listening to musical inflections with words and cultural
mores unknown. Ignorance, he thought while driving slightly above the speed limit, is my infantile state.

A trip to City was exciting for the outlets it proffered his tempered, though boiling energies.
Lately the young man was at a rolling boil with his daily tasks. Regularity in both paychecks and shitting were good signs of longevity. Arrive home from work, dinner then read. He would visit friends many nights out of the week to watch films or meet at bars to practice pool. Sometimes he would reach a creative pentacle culminating in a quietude that allowed the raised wet fur on the beast to drip slowly. Then the chaos of an ink and wash drawing would crystallize and cure anxiety in a new, now visible form suggesting a randomly won reality, humanity, or sexuality. Humility for those times that suggestions were, knowingly to O., dimensionally a pun
of levels too heavy to explain textually.

In Hinduism, Akupara is a tortoise who carries the world on his back. O. carries a world foggy
with boundaries heavy, ambiguous.

"Akupara" he reflects with thoughts of skyscrapers stacked.

Traveling the country rapidly towards an early morning arrival -roughly five in the morning- the low-lying forests and farm houses exchanged with shopping plazas and mega-super-maximum-stripmall-heavenly storefronts, illuminating! Then to skyscrapers. "What about the cow that stands all dull day in the yard? Is his presence unnoticed due to his docility? The incoming image is great! All hands on dic-, er-, DECK! This unit is connective, receiving transmission,
a motor heart transmission direct from mission command." O. thoughts swiftly made a harp on the [idea] traveling through the City Brain Corrective Route 334-890A. As the approach of City became imminent the usual faultless portrayal of logic and causality began to obscure, making the young citizen disoriented and fearful. What would come of these fragmented impressions? These overwhelming trash heaps of the commercial landscape, red herrings of the soul externalized to collective sway of the masses. What will happen?

*image by tadashi moriyama

Without nouns about which to state propositions, there can be no a priori deductive reasoning from first principles. Without history, there can be no teleology.

("The Tao is in the dung," said Chuang Chou.)

To the Taoists, humor was what paradox is to Chesterton: a manifestation of divinity. Tao fa tsu-jan: "The Tao just happens." (Footnote to this: The entire passage reads: Jen fa ti, ti fa ti'en, ti'en fa Tao, Tao fa tsu-jan. "Man is subject to earth, earth is subject to heaven, heaven is subject to Tao, Tao is subject to spontaneity." In short, determinism on one level results from chance on another level, as in thermodynamics.) Whether you call this Organicism and wax as self-consciously profound as Whithead, or call it Materialism and get as self-righteously priggish as the American Association for the Advancement of Atheism, you still miss the point. That the Tao just happens, that it has no purpose or goal, no regard for man's self-importance ("Heaven treats us like straw dogs," Lao-Tse says) - this is not a gloomy philosophy at all. When one understands this fully, on all levels of one's being, the only possible response is to have a good laugh. Taoist humor results from realization that the recognition of the most joyous truth of all seems to the egocentric man (you and I) frightening and gloomy.

Joyce is nowhere more thoroughly Taoist then when he answers all the paradoxes and tragedies of life with the brief, koan-ish "Such me." Genial bewilderment ("Search me!") and calm acceptance ("Such I am") meet here as they meet nowhere else but in Taoism, and its intellectual heirs, Zen and Shinshu Buddhism and the neo-Confucianism of Chu Hsi. We cannot understand; neither can we escape - "Such me." (page 597)

It is this attitude - which women seem to be able to grasp much more easily than men - that gives Finnegans Wake its air of goofy impartiality. The Buddhist (outside of the Zen school) labors strenuously to rise over the opposites; the Taoist dissolves them into a good horse-laugh. Joyce's method is Taoistic. "Sonnies had a scrap;" "Now a muss was the little face;" "You were only dreamond, dear" - the tolerant, existentialist female voice, vastly unimpressed by masculine abstractions and ideologies, breaks in at every point where a Big Question is being debated. The Zen Patriarch who said, when he was asked for religious instruction, "When you finish your meal, wash your plates," had this attitude.


-robert anton wilson, joyce and tao