Sunday, November 1, 2009


I've been watching Big Bro since as long as I can remember.

Mine was the first generation to be born into a world where there was, or was soon to be, a teeeveee in the home of the vast majority of mericans.



i watched. from their lush lounge laboratories, big brother, aka Mad Men watched back. It watched what i ate and it watched what i watched and it watched what i wore and how i played and it took notes and compiled statistics and - like never before - created a catalogue of goods catering to kids which they, in turn, told us to buy and told us why in jingles and sensational exaggerations pf flyers made you run faster and jump higher than red ball jets and wonder bread built better bodies twelve ways (and was perfect when having another fluffernutter) and winston tastes good like a cigarette should...

we were the generation that the mad men experimented upon from infancy, with a solid ten plus years of free reign before any kid-oriented "educational" fare like Sesame Street came along and we were all just ripe lil munchkins for having our consumer behavior and attitudes programmed and manipulated.




we are what we consume.


and so the story went and continues today 'cept somewhere along the line in the process of watching and listening and giving us everything we think we want, this other device, this alternative screen appeared on the scene and unlike the teeev it invites me to respond.

and so i do, time and again.

today i speak to you as a loyal programmed consumer AND as afreelance Intelligence Agent for the Universal Independent Mental State of I.

For the record:

I was conceived in conspiracy

from Latin conspirare to be in harmony, conspire, from com- + spirare to breathe

a co-mingling of breaths as it were

that's generally how these things come about.

it ain't no secret


i'm a field agent. i experience and report.

please note that, while it is my task to attempt to remain objective, the nature of intelligence gathering requires the observer to make real time decisions in regard to particular paths of pursuit, which inevitably shapes and directs the finite tunnel being mined through an infinite experiential universe.

while it has served me well to weave my own interpretive fairy tale from this limited database, one that serves as nothing less than a current operating system or an ever-evolving practical belief - no make that a probability system. if there's a Real Thing that is universally recognizable to All, this ain't it. but it may or may not contain some of the practical probabilities upon which I currently operate.







please also note that existing data has been interpreted to suggest the possibility that the benevolent programmers on madison avenue accidentally created a Madder Man, and the above is nothing more than a passing manifestation of said madness.


or maybe ( just maybe) it's ALL just a joke.


;)

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Vincent van Gogh and the Bumpersticker - A True Story

Once upon a time, I was given a gift by a young man who had dated my daughter and had become a family friend.

The bumpersticker read:

LOVE MY COUNTRY
FEAR MY GOVERNMENT

I loved the kid and I was touched by the sentiment, but the message of the sticker itself did not properly reflect my own attitude.

There was but one thing to do.

Finding myself alone with the sticker one Starry Starry Night, I grabbed a boxcutter, and with one surgical slice, removed the offending EAR, leaving the bumpersticker to now proclaim:

LOVE MY COUNTRY
F        MY GOVERNMENT

Aaaaaahhhhh.... That looks MUCH better.

Thanks for the inspiration, Vince, you crazy dead painter guy, you!

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

one change, two change/red change, blue change

so I was thinking.../(DANGER WILL ROBINSON!!!)/

Participation in the ongoing process of universal co-creation/internal meta/program amounts to immersal in the world of CHANGE.

zimmy daJoo is without doubt one of the most prolific and resonant poets of my peculiar subslice of the boomer generation.

for me, saint robert the Hunter is another Aluminated Lyricist.

there are three tunes playing in my head, one general theme:

1. "time will tell who has fell, and who's been left behind

when you go your way and i go mine."

2. "now everything's a little upside down
as a matter of fact the wheels have stopped
what's good is bad/what's bad is good
you'll find out when you reach the top -
you're on the bottommmmmmm"

and finally, hunter
3:
"The wheel is turning and you can't slow down
You can't let go and you can't hold on
You can't go back and you can't stand still
If the thunder don't get you then the lightning will...





...won'tcha try just a little bit harder?
couldn'tcha try just a little bit more?"

more poetry: older, but seared as deeply into my psyche by childhood reading/parental recitation. we all loved the A.A. Milne stuff; this was before disney kidnapped pooh and made him a spokesperson for MindlessConsumerism.buy. The poems were as fun as the tales were, rhythm and rhyme invoke colorful images in the imaginative mind of a young child...



They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
Alice is marrying one of the guard.
"A soldier's life is terrible hard,"
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
We saw a guard in a sentry-box.
"One of the sergeants looks after their socks,"
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
We looked for the King, but he never came.
"Well, God take care of him, all the same,"
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
They've great big parties inside the grounds.
"I wouldn't be King for a hundred pounds,"
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
A face looked out, but it wasn't the King's.
"He's much too busy a-signing things,"
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
"Do you think the King knows all about me?"
"Sure to, dear, but it's time for tea,"
Says Alice.

and here we are nearly half a century (as measured in gregsols) from my days as the happy recipient of the bedtime story/poem, yet the words return to resonate with timeless clarity and curious synchronicity, as I have been specifically pondering the red to blue change of guard at our own House, and how much it reminds me of a scripted exercise in role reversal.

as mentioned in other musings, previous perusal of alternative calendrical systems has unearthed particular and peculiar time-stamped personal attributes (based, like western astrology, on particular maps/models/interpretation of the allegedly significant, cosmic "divine" geometric configuration present at the moment of one's birth.

Like loose change dropped in the gutter, the amount of resonance/meaningfulness one finds in such systems depends on A) whether one approaches with any belief/faith in the possibility that there IS money in the streets, and B) the effort one exerts to find it.

when it comes to particular, established, belief systems, I've come to realize that when I become too attached to a dogma, it invariably has its head crushed by the wheel of karma, and i'm once again left without my beloved little puppy of divine principle...

so i only embrace virtual pets these days, imaginary mutant mixed breed mutton chopped photoshopped cut and pasted spiritual chimera collages of my own eclectic deeply bent creation. stuck together with duct tape and spittle, always under construction forever subject to change without notice.

but back to the mayans, the coincidences i accidentally tripped over that seem to resonate - describe "me" as a monkey/prankster/weaver of disparate essences/ a jack-off all tirades, master baiter of nun. more or less.

In fact, i am a dabbler.


I love the food network. Everybody eats. Nutrition is healthy. creativity is healthy. self-reliance is healthy.

Last night I watched a show called "Chopped." Aspiring chefs around the world are familiar with the "mystery basket" exercise. A team of judges/instructor/head chef assembles a group of ingredients for the apprentice/(contestant-competitor) in a "mystery basket." The participant(s) must then prepare one or more dishes using all the ingredients.

It seems to me that the established political punditry (aka msm/official govt spokespeeps) like to do the same when it comes to collective "talking points." They choose the topics that will be used to prepare the various dishes being served up by the talking heads.

Take tax-day "tea-bagging," for example. If one spends any time perusing the various television news networks, one is aware that the term has taken on a meaning that is neither related to afternoon sipping or testicular dipping.

Here's the part that fascinates me the most: During Bushtime, blue said dissent was patriotic, while red said the dissenters were tools of the wealthy elite soroses and koses and moveons, potential threats to security et c.

Here we are in Obamatime, less than ninety days have passed in the First Year of the Era of Real Change and the protesters are now/still? (i'm confused) dimwitted tools of the corporate elite unless you're dressed in red in which case you are witnessing a grass-roots movement to take our country back (sure sounds familiar)

the more things change...

i have thusfar concluded that patriotism is defined by partisan power and belief rather than principle.

It's patriotic to support the government if Your Guy is in power, while those who oppose are anti-American, ignorant, extremist and dangerous.

If on the other hand, when the Other Guys are in charge, it is the right-nay, duty of every patriotic merkin to stand up and oppose the policies that our ruining our nation.





"This time, Johnny/Dad, YOU play the role of the father/son."

The parting on the left is now the parting on the right, the pork-pie's been replaced with a beret but both are made of tinfoil and there's still a few springtime storms with lightning and hail in the forecast here in tornado alley, the sweaty putrid metropolitan boil festering neath the belt Buckle of jeebus the martyr

Hate is prematurely ejaculated love.

so shake it baby shake it just watch where you point that thing if there's any chance you might go off half cocked.

Monday, March 9, 2009

MANTIS


brains fart and thought-trains derail into misty meadows of mixed metaphor.

so the story goes, and so my faithful and or faithless sisbrahthren, my revelations/alumination and ongoing transmutation have given birth to MANTIS: The Religion.

Now don' get mad, no don. get mad, as Jimi Said as he ejaculated lighter fuel upon his axe...

I know how summa y'all feel/reel abour re-LIJ-un, and I share your sentiments.

All the more reason to embrace MANTIS, for it is both THE religion and the Anti-religion.

And so I struggled hard with whether to pull the trigger on the launch or pull the carpet out from beneath myself and do a backflip/faceplant no points for THAT landing which is why i chose the former and why I have since come to spread the news on this scaly, scrolling blogosaurus skin.

language equals limitation that leads to misunderstanding.

All religions - Nayyyy, sez mister Ed, all belief systems/reality tunnels - are derivative, subjective, finite representations of the infinite.

I'm not here to start a holy war, but rather start and stir a heady pot of holy peas bewitchu stew.

hop into my hot tub and let your essence be infused into the cosmic broth.

all flavors are welcome here. bask in my robbins.

why MANTIS, though?

Chart the flow>


We need words and symbols we can count on that are as reliable and universal as are our (r/r) fingers and toes.

Let us begin our journey from a point of common ground. It's there at our feet, just not everywhere. Watch your step/step lightly, the labial lips of language lead to a slippery slope that slides deep into the cunnilingual chasm of chaotic ambiguity and once you're there you never want to be anyplace else.


arithmetic is common ground. we count on its omniscience and consistency to tell us the time, our weight and our value as measured by bank balance.

let's start with mathematical simplicity, the properties of equality: transitive, reflexive and symmetric.

Reflexive Property a = a
Symmetric Property If a = b then b = a.
Transitive Property If a = b and b = c then a = c.

Given Premise:

Music is music.

>

"Music is Love."

david crosby speaks the truth

>

Love is Real

(so does buddy Holly.)

>

God is Love.

jesus said it, not sure what he meant but i'll buy it for the time being.


MANTIS
is music.









see for yourself:




Therefore, MANTIS IS GOD.

MANTIS also equates to "prophet" in the logos of the ancient Greeks.

There you have as solid a foundation for any belief system you'll ever imagine.

You are free to believe or disbelieve as you Will.

Mantis does not punish the non-believer, the blasphemer, or the doubting Thomas dolby's who've been blinded by science seriousness or sensibility.




MANTIS has but one rule: "you do what you want - whatever!" (merely activate the Power to Love to fuel all you do)

MANTIS is all inclusive; all are welcome in the White Light of divine alumination

MANTIS is the Master who puts the greenness in the grass. MANTIS is the sensational, aluminational, transmutational power to love WITHIN that fuels the evolution of perception and chips the sleepy snotty caked crust from the corner of our Third Eye.

MANTIS is the grinning cheshire cat; the teacher who naps neath hir invisibility cloak until the student pops the question.

MANTTS ISzszszszszszzzz....

MANTIS is a self-replicating rawk and roll revival tent roadshow traveling snake oil caravan and clown cabal circus parade of overindulgent aluminated idiocy and if you missed the last garbage scow express just get in the van and go.

The Universe is all there is by definition, once again, and by observation the universe is an evolving, mutating process-ion that iterates similarity across scale, across space, across history and across the barriers of language and other dualistic delusionary dichotomies. If the universe is everything, than everyting is real and nothing is forbidden and if my nonsensical religion originated here in this universe it is a part of this here universe and is therefore a manifestation, iteration, nano-replication of the universe itself and is therefore REAL and TRUE and ABSOLUTE and UNDENIAABLE. Ive never seen a bush burn or a waterwalker but I've seen the MANTIS pray and the manna fall from the heavens with grace and abundance.

Don't believe me. believe your ears. Don't listen to me. Listen to MANTIS. Don't follow me, follow the music.

MANTIS is the ONE that brung us to the hoedown.

MANTIS is the metaphysical gravity that keeps our pardners from flying off into a black hole void when we swing em round and round without reservation.

MANTIS IS ALL THIS AND MANTIS IS MORE THAN THAT.

but that's enough from me for now.



I'll see you in church (if you sit by the window)

I'll see you at the show if you've no place else to go. til next time happy trails,

peas bewitchU

and lentil spray for a brighter day.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Community (self)Serv-ice(cream), or How To Remain Occupied While waiting For Full Engorgement of the Great Stimulus Package

The mayascopic nanoglyphs that tickled the neural tendrils below the scalp's surface and made my neck hairs get hards-on spoke to me today of "community service" (and "roads" as well btw, which we may travel down if time allows) and naturally the monkey said, "We must wait. mutt, we ain't communists!" but in fact my closet is painted pink in a most metaphorical sense and if we can (Say it, sisbrahthren: YES! WE! CAN!) CHANGE and learn some new tricks my perky puppies, and color our cubicles outside the lines and spectrum of politypical stereotype, and Think/create Different perhaps in muted shades of archetype and drop all preconceived notions that might be associated with a particular label or symbol or word, then let me tell you why i'm a freakin' commie bastid (at least the former; as the latter 'bastid' labeling is a curious tale of false and stolen identity crises/catastrophe catalyzed and catechized by contradictory comedic catholicynicism and 'tis a tale worthy of its own tick) but back on track i'm a commie because i engage in and interact within and throughout a particular community of simultaneous multiple voluntary associations, institutions and organizations. I have conscious and comfortable individualistic, anti-authoritarian (and therefore sometimes anti-social, as authority often imposes willful INvoluntary association/participation) but no man is an island and while i enjoy solitude i also thrive on fellowship and collective celebration and family but what is "community' for me and how best to SERVE?

That is the question, my sisbrahthren, for above all, I cannot deny, i am here for one purpose and one purpose alone, and that is to serve up a heapin helpin of Aluminated Love. And so, once again, my quest is but a brand new menu of the same old shit.

How can the midnight moonlit howl of the coyote or the frivolous playful antics of the monkey be harnessed as the Power to Love and feed and energize across the universal digisphere of humanity. what kind of heart-healthy blue plate comfort food greasy spoon special can i toss like a UFO into the wireless ethernet and have it arrive steaming and tasty upon your virtual lap-dog/dinner-table top?

If we can, in fact as well as fairy tale, serve ourselves/each other via virtual metaphorical flying saucers/pie plates, I'll take mine A LA MODE:





if you giggle chuckle chortle or even smile just a teeny tiny bit

You Have Been Served.

The joke's on me and the rest is on the house.

Soup dejour:

A bottomless bowl - a bubbly bisque of

say it with me:

Peas Bewitchu

optional side of lentil spray.

may i become like a child, julia.

bone ape tit.

Monday, March 2, 2009

The Santa Claus Conspiracy, Part Dew

Let us return to the metaphor of "Santa Claus: Benevolent Conspiracy" as it relates to money and banks and fear and faith.

In the case of Sanity Claus, the conspirators must maintain a sufficient degree of consistency and credibility in their deception in order to perpetuate the conspiracy, to alleviate the doubt and boost the faith of the true believer. Don't ever give them REASON to doubt, for they will surely grasp upon it if the least bit curious, and eventually unravel the whole freakin' fairy tale. Inconsistency was the hobgoblin that swallowed my parents' version of the myth, and its role in my belief system. You can't, on one hand, reward and encourage a child to examine the universe from a scientific, rational, logical western perspective and then try to feed the same child fairy tales about a fat fucker with a flying sleigh.

Cognitive dissonance breeds the questioning of authority and reality.

Unlike myself, when my own children came to the realization that Santa was a crock of shit, they kept their mouths shut. For years. Their faith had been replaced with the fear that if they dared utter the truth, the presents would cease to appear.

They tolerated the deception as long as the gifts came in, we played along as long as the requests were reasonable.

They knew, and we knew that they knew and we all played make-believe and nobody got hurt because everyone played nice. If the players become either greedy or irresponsible, the game collapses.

For the kids, that meant reasonable requests.

For the adults: don't promise what you can't deliver.


The benevolent conspiracy, the Fractured Fairy Tale of Fractional Reserve Lending and debt-based currency is beginning to unravel.

The reason?

In a word, greed.

Unreasonable expectations.

Unrealistic promises.

Prosperity, abundance and the delusion that Santa can deliver whatever our heart desires has turned us into a society that engages in willful co-conspiring year round.

"Where's dinner?"

"Under the tree!"

You can only keep the fairy tale alive as long as you don't try to squeeze too much magic out of it. Everyone's gotta play nice, or else.

We have - both literally and figuratively - bought a little to deeply and selfishly into the myth that we can create something from nothing at all.

We're afraid to call out the allegedly adult co-conspirators for their deception and irresponsible actions, because we've become reliant on their largesse for our very survival.

Our faith has been replaced with the fear that if we dare utter the truth, the gifts under the tree will vanish.

The fairy tale:

Too Big To Fail.

Realty is gravity:

i.e.,

What goes up

Must come down.




Lest ye be spooked by my lunatic howlings, look at the Light Side of the Moon.

Defy gravity with levity.

Spin to the yin that completes the yang.

Decouple your perception of value from the dollar standard.

The Power to Love is an unlimited commodity; adopt it as your currency.

Measured in gigaHugz and delivered in person.

Door to door, face to face, cheek to cheek;

On demand or on the dance floor.




If we all play nice, any myth will suffice.



peas bewitchu

Sunday, March 1, 2009

CHAPEAU NOUVEAU

In like a loon, out like a light?

With another turn of Pope Gregory's calendar page, and glorious Spring peeking out from just around the corner, i thought it apropos to break out some fresh seasonal headgear.


Announcing the Jockey-billed Aluminated Propeller Cap for Spring/Summer '09!



Boys and girls, make your own!

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Benevolent Conspiracy: Santa Claus/Leo Strauss

The Way Out is trial by fire/ we must march into and through our deepest fears if we are to be free.

If we are to face our fears we must first identify them.

here's an exercise in levity and non-sense that actually works.

1. stand in front of a mirror.

2. ask yourself, "What am I afraid of?"

3. get real about this, don't be a coward. what scares you most? Death? Loneliness? Pain? Poverty? Cancer? Queers? Jeezerz? Islamofascists? Jooz? the Guvmint? Global Warming? Global War-Mongering? Mushroom Clouds? Muishroom munching commie hippies? Gun totin' drunken mulletted rednecks?Rush Limbaugh? The number thirteen? Barack Obama? Me??????

BOOGA BOOGA!!!!!!!

Everyone's afraid of one thing or another.

4. Think about the most horrific specifics associated with your fears. Make an equally horrific face in the mirror., one of abject terror, a Munsch-kin scream face ugly so ugly o the horror the horror and keep doing it scarier and scarier until...

(wait for it...







wait for it...)




5. You suddenly look so funny that you can only laugh at your face, yourself, and your silly fear.

Okay, my dear sisbrahthren, now that we have that opening stretch out of the way, let's get down to business.

I'm just joshing. I'm out of business, so let's get down to pleasure.



recurring themes round here include

conspiracy/connecting the dots

myth v "reality" and/or myth as reality

similarity across boundary and/or mixed metaphor

there's others, too, that take turns surfacing and submerging but we'll try to stay primarily with the short list.



let's start at the top . what is a conspiracy?

in simplest terms: A conspiracy is a secret plan.


Usually we associate conspiracies with "evil" or malicious intentions. Is that always the case? I say, "Not Necessarily."

Allow me to suggest that most "conspirators" believe that their aim is true, and that their ends ultimately justify their secretive means.

<< Enter Santa Claus, aka Kris Kringle, Father Christmas, St. Nicholas, star witness for the defense...

Attorney for the Defense of Benevolent Conspiracy: Mister Claus - Are you real?

Santa Claus: Well, that's kind of a tricky question...

AfD: Very well then, we'll skip that one for now, as I'm quite sure the jury, being mature adults, know the difference between reality and a fairy tale. Instead, let me ask you this, Mr. Claus: Why does the myth of your existence persist despite the ever-mounting physical evidence to the contrary?

SC: Ho, HO, HO!!!!!!

AfD: I beg your pardon?

SC: Ho, ho ho. Joy to the world and all that good stuff. He sees you when you're slleping/He knows when you're awake/he knows if you've been bad or good/so BE GOOD FOR GOODNESS' SAKE!!! MERRRRRRRRY CHRISTMAS!!! My myth brings joy and merriment andprosperity and the spirit of giving; spreading love and light across the world during Winter's coldest darkest days.

AfD: so, in other words, it serves the greater good to perpetuate the myth, is that correct?

SC: In my opinion, you are correct sir.

AfD: But what of the deliberate deception of the innocent? The lies? The subtle use of fear to modify the behavior of the True Believers.

SC: Eh.... who's complaaaaaining? Nobody really gets hurt, and even if a few do, everyone else makes out like a bandit! All those presents...

AfD: So you would in fact argue, Mr. Claus, that in the case of your benevolent conspiracy and the fairy tale it perpetuates, the end justifies the means because, in the end, the good far outweighs the bad?

SC: That is my firm belief, counselor.

AfD: Thank you, Mr. Clawz. no further questions. >>


This is but one bite of a mock turtle soup trial in a kangaroo court of the imagination.

Let's explore a little more.

Once again: a conspiracy is a secret plan.


As we see from the above example, not all conspirators conspire solely for ill gain. Sometimes the means are deceptive, but the intentions are certainly noble. Deception is a necessary evil when it comes to maintaining belief in a myth. Sometimes there's a supplemental agenda attached. In the Santa Claus conspiracy, "He knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness' sake has been encoded within the tale as a tool for benevolent behavior modification/control.

The idea of benevolent conspiracy is not new. Google "Plato noble lie".

Then check out Leo Strauss.

Leo adapted Plato's "noble lie" philosophy to modern geopolitical thought. Strauss believed that those in power - a tiny minority of intellectually superior elites - have not only the right but the responsibility to use "noble lies" to deceive the masses (and, at times, their "elected" figurehead leaders)thereby controlling their behavior and maintaining "order" for the "greater good" ie maintaining the existing order/power structure/global control/distribution of wealth/resources by an elite, intellectually superior oligarchy.

That was Leo Strauss' fairy tale. A benevolent conspiracy to rule the world.

I'm glad we're all adults, and can separate myth from reality.

Imagine if there really were people who believed that Straussian crap, and actually actually occupied positions of power and authority in the world... they could manipulate the truth in the press, use fear of shadowy enemies or imminent catastrophes to control our behavior, seize our wealth and limit our freedom. Hell, they could create a bogus, elaborate sleight of hand monetary policy to divert all the assets from an entire nation into the hands of a tiny minority, leaving nothing but a pile of iou's on the treasury floor.

They could wage perpetual war if they wished.

Just kidding.

We can rest assured that if such a (benevolent)conspiracy were to actually exist, the end would eventually justify the means, the noble intent of those in power would ultimately bring joy and merriment and prosperity to the world at large, serving the greater good, right?




Ho,

Ho.

Ho.




Let's boogie, my sisbrahthren. dance your cares away with me:







Monday, February 16, 2009

Yo-Dawg-ism and the Art of Mindful Self-Mastery

"I'm a mutt."

-President Barack Obama


Me too, mister President. Euro-mongrel. Heinz 57, born in '57. I'm a mixed breed; a byproduct of Divine Accidental Sloppy Conception.

With the lack of any dominant culture/tradition/religion/mythos to form the foundation for my beliefs (especially after the Santa revelation) my reality tunnel/outergarment has been constructed with philosophy that is both piecemeal and "make-believe." I borrow from all sources, and weave my blanket of belief with threads and strands of diverse material and from disparate origins.

Is that a real poncho or a Sears poncho?

It's a Technicolor Clusterfuckian Dream(es)Cape of a Fairy Tale, from over there it may appear that I've dressed myself in tatters, and as the warp, weave and materials are subject to universal, constant change, the perception is superficially valid, though from here I can assure you that on the inside it's warm cozy, comfy and secure. Whatever the weather, I'll take it over gortex or kenmore kardboard. Sirius Lee.

The cloth is simultaneously being unraveled and rewoven. The kinetic cenergy produced by this activity makes up for any loss of heat caused by the temporary holes that appear in the magic blanket.

A fairy tale that is mobile, fluid, and ultimatelu disposable. Imagine a hermit crab on an endless, beach dotted with an infinite array of empty shells. Further imagine that our hermit crab is imbued with a human ego, and a full length mirror before which to pose, andyou get the picture, and if the picture's seen in the context of a time lapse series, one gets a feel for the overall evolution of the process.

but our dyslexix mixtmutt metaphor on this nrom yadnom is one of dawgs, not dungeness, though dogs do dung 2, my pretty puppy, don't fool yerself you got an asshole too and its a winkin atchew the turd eye atop the pyramid of cozmic krap, you gotta bend over to see what i mean, trouble ahead, trouble behind... there's plenty o dung-ness in these exremental elocutions.

He shits me.

He shits me not...

I'm just joshin' y'all.

Today's Truth is Tomorrow's cosmic Schmuckism.
Let's B Sirius for another moment.

Whose dawg R U ?

Who is YOUR Pavlov? Who is the master that creates the greenness in the grassssszzzzz, snoop doggie?

Sometimes we hear of ideas and embrace them intellectually because they "sound"/"resonate" as being right and/or true long before we have experiential, first-hand evidence of said idea or concept.

Other times the experience comes first and the intellectual explanation much later.

Pavlov wrote the canine training manual re: conditioning. Drool... WOOF!

whose dawg R U?

I was introduced to the idea of serial re-imprinting/ redirection/ reconditioning of one's own neural circuitry at the age of 16, through the writings of a Mad Irishman the Good Doctor Leary.

It is only recently, however, that I have been engaged in the willful and mindful exercise of re-wiring and re-routing of my neural pathways for greater efficiency/understanding. Necessity is the mother of invention. i have been immersed in a tsunami of information as the result of our technological invocation of instantaneous and infinite global connectivity/communication, and hence a newer, more flexible and complex model is required for storage and categorization of the newer, larger payload.

When you're trying to make more room in a finite space, it requires re-arranging and sometimes some stuff just has to be discarded.

Buddha taught detachment. Bill Wilson, the Patron saint of Drunks wrote, in the chapter of the basic AA text entitled, "How it works, that "some of us tried to hold on to our old ideas, and the result was nil until we let go absolutely."

Lately i have become somewhat detached from the arbitrary mishmash of conventional cultural calendrical cycles imposed upon us by Gregor and co.

Like most other occurences in my life, this began accidentally rather than willfully, and only as the results have begun to avail themselves has my participation in the dance become a more conscious activity.

For the last six plus years I have not been subject to any consistent, repetitive work/play/sleep schedule. No defined boundaries. A few occasional points in time that need to be recognized for practical interactive purposes, but otherwise, a dissolution of the artificial boundaries in the calendar construct.

The results have been strange and wonderful.

I've become more aware/sensitive of the polyrhythmic nature of our universe, our lives, our habits, et c.



i have a sense of becoming gradually unstuck in any single "time"/rhythm/pattern, and instead find myself "moving" to/thru many at once.

As a result, I find myself living more in the fluid "now" without trying to "force the feeling."
Tthe mayans had their own fascinating, multi-calendrical mythical/methodological manner for conceptualizing and marking time, and lately i've included strands of their ideas in the multi-textural dreamweave of my own mutant myth, thereby adding an odd-metered half-step to my t-town toddle-dee-doo.

the dervish is dizzying, i tellya.


embrace your inner pavlov. de-program obsolete convention.

mindfully re-imprint your Self with the Power to Love.

engage novelty. activate mutation/evolution and embrace alternative universal ideological idiocsynchronicities.

Ascend the tower of babble, howl from the heavens and fill the skies with the sounds of your very own barking, drooling glossolalia.

May your bark be in harmony with your bite when your dogma is crushed under the tires of your Brand New Karma!

and, as always, my dawgzz and dawgstresses,

May Peas Bewitch You.

Whirled peas in a dervishly delicious stew of mixed metaphor.

i smell the ozone of electricity in the cosmosphere, a coalescence of nebulousness, a reconciliation/realignment of rhythm, a re-awakening to the One original, universal tune sung in the Language of Love



One Love.

Love is Real. Not Fade Away.

and/or

Nothing is Real.

This is my fairy Tale Happy Ending Included in Original Price.

Come out and play make-believe with me or play with yourself and/or others.

Just please remember, when you sit down with your calendar to write your future schedule, always be sure to make/take

Time Out For Fun.



ragelovehard.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

It's Valentine's Day!


Cupid's got his sights on YOU



May his aim be straight and true




Happy Valentine's Day to one and all.



Rage Love, my dear sisbrahthren.

Rage Love Hard.

May peas bewitch you.

Friday, February 13, 2009

revelation/revolution/alumination

Revelation. Two letters away from a revolution.


round and round we go

where we stop who know?





revelation/revolution

lay lee lie low loo lumph.

cunnilexorcism

enough nonsense man

focus!

focus?

on the one?

which one? the only one?

"there is only one God
He is the Sun God.
RA. RA. RA!"


or is it

"There is only One God
He is the Fun God
HA HA HA!"

tales fersale



ADD = F(F)F or possibly f to the nth

fluid (fluctuating) focus

it's not a disorder, dodo-head, its evolutuin/multitasking - back in a sec- as i was saying... the disorder, hoever can be found in the cognitive dissonance of the cacophonous chords composing the mantra of authority's plunger-muted trumpet-teacher droning wah wah wah wah wah wah wah echoing, fading, in, out, and in agin, in incessant, annoying iteration until at last the free mind either explodes or succumbs to head-bobbing, slack-jawed, drooling institutional submission.


just kidding.

science bless our public schools for all godz amerrrrkin chillunz gits a free ejukayshun.

can't discuss the state OF our public schools without discussing the State AND our public schools but that's a toasted posting for another time and space.

Howd'ya like my new sig for a new era?

©µЯЯεήŦl¥ §èå®çĦîήğ føЯ å ήεώ vøçåßµlãr¥
tø d맩ríþê ªll thë Ħ¥¶ë®dîmêή§îºήåL mºdålïtïê§
ðf dïvïñë åLµm1ñã+îøñ!


and that, my dear sisbrahthren, is the metaphor of todays attention and mutation.

I speak in metaphor and engage in levity/hil-air-ity/ligh-ness of BEING because metaphor alone can begin to describe that part of last night's dream that lies beyond the reach of today's waking consciousness. Besides... fun beats fear in a two-handed rockpaperscissorsredux every time.

focus.

unfocus.

particle.

wave.

and/or and/or and/and

or

divine Uncertainty.

contradictory dichotomy.

there is only one fnord
he is the unfnord
BLAH. BLAH BLAH.

Nonsense I tell you.

nothing is permanent.

all is mobile.

all is disposable/recyclable.

fairy tales, myth, metaphor, language, culture, understanding are ALL included.

Let me take you








down

cuz i'm going to

Strawberry Fields





NOTHING IS REAL



move on.

a fresh wind

from a new direction

blows

against the empire

i'm a kite

without a string

temporarily defying gravity

carving spirals cross the sky

daredevil loops

destiny

sure to be

Death by Tree.

or bad poetry.

crash.

mort to cum?

or merely

one
quantum
spurt
per
customer?!?!


space is nothing.

gravity is everything.

come together

all of us

in one

infintesssssssssimally tiny

unimaaaaaaaaginably dense

black hole.

one love

one destination

here we are

all of us

nothing between us

but the imaginary void of space

and the unadulterated, undiluted, full-strength dose of gravity's inescapable attraction.

The universe is a conspiracy; a web of infinite complexity and intricate connectivity. We're all in on it.

There's no escape.

the history of man is history.

our mark upon the world is our story, and vice versa.

The story of man is the story of the story.

symbols and language, evoked to encode, preserve and transmit ideas, thereby giving them mobility and durability through time and space.

crude symbols evolve and combine to create ever more complex maps and models to reference and pass along.

The evolution of the maps and models and the truth that they carry manifest themselves in our technological artifacts.

Information technology>real-time. global interconnectivity/communicability

The intrawebbz is but an unfinished map.

A crude architectural prototype of a larger landscape.

Gaian consciousness is the territory.

Strawberry fields.

Forever.

The fresh wind disperses the clouds of illusion, and with them are swept away the artificial boundaries of our mental constructs.

Awaken to the Dream.

Join the Party.

Dance til you drop and let gravity take care of the rest.


May Peas Bewitch You, my sisbrahthren.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

We all choose our own metaphors, myths and fairy tale versions of the universe. Today I choose to connect the dots from within the meatsphoric construct that casts us in the role of interior designers of the individual reality tunnels in which we reside. We choose the colors, styles and textures and arrange the elements to reflect our attitude.

feng shui, my sisbrahthren.

lest we forget, behind the wallpaper, over our heads and under the furniture lies the structural edifice itself Unlike decor, must be both practical and structurally sound. Doesn't matter that we painted a h3tty starscape on the ceiling if it's gonna fall on our head next week. so let's switch metaphors and tin-foil hats and now envision ourselves not only as interior designers but architectural re-designers as well, because CHANGE IS, and therefore we must operate from a dynamic perspective.

In spite of the ubiquitious nature of change, it is counter-intuitive to our hard-wired animal nature which tends to direct our survival instinct through a hierarchal chain: simple survival in the here-and now (fight/flight)>short term security>long term stability/comfort.

And so, in spite of being participants in a universe that is defined by constant change, we continue to foolishly set our fallacious foundations in firm bedrock.




Shift gears.


Consider Reality Television.

The term itself is the penultimate triumph of Orwellian Doublespeak, and worthy of further exploration, but I bring it into the mix at this moment only because the cancerous genre has a particular sub-category identified by such catchy phrases as "extreme home make-overs."

You wanna see an extreme home makeover?



Rent me a bulldozer and bring your camera crew.


That's extreme make-over taken to its, well, extreme, but it's only optimal if the building's lost its practicality and its ability to maintain structural integrity.

Sometimes it's a painful necessity, like when your pretty little cottage is built on the fault line that separates the flat earth theory from our current perception of the shape of the planet based on modern scientific observation.

In most cases, however, there's something worth saving. Wisdom lies in determining what stays and what is replaced.

There's another alternative.

Trade it in for a tent, a good sleeping bag, and a land rover. Or a camel, if you prefer.

CHANGE IS.

In order to survive, we seek shelter from the harsh elements and the natural predators. But too much time spent in a cave leaves one prone to sunburn when at last he ventures out.

CHANGE IS. No dwelling is permanent.

Reality is not etched in stone. If truth is to be found, it is as much in the wind-blown sand that erodes the pillars as it is in the carefully etched absolutes that adorn the temple that the pillars uphold.

A fluid, dynamic universe calls for a fluid paradigm; a constantly morphing/evolving/mutating mythos/fairy tale/reality tunnel/belief system.

Sanity Claus just can't seem to fill his own boots no mo'.

Ho ho ho.

Bop. Bop. Bop-bop.

I KISS my reflection in the mirror each morning.

keep it simple, st00pid.

Just as bucky defied the western architectural mindset with the utter beauty and simplicity of the geodesic dome, we can apply the same "simple-minded" approach to the construction of our New Fairy Tales. Recognize the divine geometry implicit in the very nature of Love, the metaphysical gravitational force that underlies the gossamer web of dynamic,interactive, ever-evolving human relationship.

intensified hooked-upedness

total constant connectivity

we've already invoked the technological, n minus one dimensional model of gaian consciousness into being.

Virtual Reality.

A wireless, global ether-network. digital, faerie dust info-particles carried by invisible trade winds jet streams and wormholes, across the great void of space and time, to miraculously regroup and reconstruct their original form upon reaching their desired destination.

Beam me up, Scotty.

I'm thinking about you right now, and although you can see the platonic cave shadow image of my thoughts on the screen before you, the real message is written and transmitted in the language of love and is being received in your heart RIGHT NOW RIGHT AT THIS MOMENT; WHEREVER, WHENEVER AND WHOEVER YOU ARE.

There are no firewalls, no filtering programs, no censor-bots here. All information is declassified and distributed freely and voluntarily in the "gaian ethernet."
Laugh at my fairy tale. Laugh long and hard and it will come to life before your eyes, for it is fnord in disguise and you've been wearing those ruby red slippers all along.

Magick is Nature and Nature is Magick. There is no duality, no separation no sidelines from whence any Monotheistic Grand Poobah/Coach can call the shots.


The universe is a conspiracy and we're all in on it.


There is no escape. all that is, is. As the illusion of boundaries dissolve, all that's left is relationship; connectivity.


DANCE BREAK!!!



We are all together.

The eggman is the walrus and vice versa.

All that is, is, and so are you and I. There is no "other." There is no them.

Bells theorem applies UNIVERSALLY.

You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows, and while it may not be within my own means to suck my own caulk, I sure can blow my own mind, and I didn't need a bunch of computer geeks with complex nonlinear equations graphed in 256 colors to notice that the universe has a tendency to iterate itself similarly across scale.

From soup to nuts, no matter how you serve it up, it all turns to shit, but when you flush the toilet you can observe a miniature spiral galaxy being created and sucked into the black hole void of oblivion right before your eyes.

You can see resemblance in the family tree whether the perspective of the portrait is taken

from space


from earth:



or from within the microscopic landscape of our own inner being:



the pictures all tell the same story better than my words do, but from here it looks like a tale of a world that is engaged in the process of reaching out and touching itself.

Makes perfect sense.

when you are all that is and all that is, is you, there is no them, no other.

Nobody else to play with.

Cozmic masturbation as a metaphor for the new paradigm.

Don't be shy, give it a try.

You know you want to.






Feels good, yes?


And so I leave you to toy with your own thoughts, that is to say, with a most loving and kindly spirit and sentiment, "Go fuck yourself."


Monday, February 2, 2009

The Music DIDN'T Die



Fifty years gone. Fate has a habit of prematurely snuffing our modern day minstrels, but the spirit of the music lives on.

LOVE IS REAL

NOT FADE AWAY

bop.bop.bop-bop.

Saturday, January 31, 2009

the pork-pie hat at the center of the universe

I was looking for an appropriate metaphor with which to couch today's nonsensical nebula of neuro-electronic nanoglyphs, when all of a sudden - as in right this very moment -here it mystically appears before us all... the very "real" metaphor of global connectivity, Ladies and Gentlemen, sisbrahthren of all ages: Presenting the World Wide Web. The term already sounds archaic, but web is metaphorically more fitting than say, superhighway. Net "works" also, but for present purposes I'll stick with web metaphor, one that I'll shape in such a manner that any and every node can be considered the "center" from which we van navigate in any direction we please. "Surfing the waves of connectivity" that are simultaneously an infinite, interacting liquid sea of micro-currents which we collapse for practical navigable purposes into strands in the web that span the space and shape the relationship between the node/entities that represent ourselves, our ideas and our creations.

I don't know if it's pc these days to pick your nodes in public, but I've always lacked social skills, and if I don't pick a node my rant will become even more pointless, assuming that's mathematically possible.

The node I pick is ...

GOODBYE
PORKPIE
HAT.





Mingus' tribute to the Prez, Lester Young. the tune's been covered by a diverse group of musicians, From Jeff Beck and John McLaughlin to Joni Mitchell and Rahsaan Roland Kirk, the latter two each adding their own poignant and poetic lyrics to the already amazing and expressive tune.

As for Lester Young, I won't even try to capture his bigness with my own limited command of words.

I'll insteead quote Mr. Kirk, who was himself a saxophonist, greatly inspired by the prez, and you mights say, a fellow initiate of the mystical school of jazz that recognized the possibility that what was being transmitted through their instruments was far more than the "notes" which fell on the ears alone.

Kirk sang,

"He put all of his soul

into a tenor saxophone

He had his way of talking,

'twas a language all hisown

Life's story - Love and Glory

If you listen

While he plays it for you

now LISTEN

and LISTEN

and DIG IT

Can't you dig it?

Lester young is playing

what he's FEELING

Dealing and dancing us home."



If that doesn't shed a pinprick of light on Lester, look at the expression on Billie Holiday's face in the next clip:



Entrancing, ain't it?

(And, coincidently, there's Gerry "MullAGAIN.")

I humbly submit that the Power to Love is one of supplemental metaphorical transmissions encoded and contained within the mystical multiple messages of the music.

listen. and listen. and dig it.

The power to love is the ubiquitous warm breeze at our backs that aids us as we navigate from node to node and you can hear it sing wherever you travel even after you've parked your board.

Lester blew with a purpose that redefined the trade winds, which moved mingus who in turn redirected and amplified and iterated within the voices of Jeff Beck (who once called himself a Yardbird in honor of the original Birdman Charlie Parker who was also directly and profoundly influenced by the sideways-playin' saxophonist in the pork-pie hat) and so we weave our tangled webzizzizz...) and Mahavishnu Johnny and and neither last nor least Jaco and Joni... once more, if it is your pleasure, listen. and. listen. and dig it.



all those who love the youtube embed function say "eye"

the more you look the more wesurf and feel the tingly sea and air the more connections become apparent and the paradox is

as awreness grows, the universe shrinks, it's tighter and tinier and we're all a little closer together and related/connecteed in more ways than kevin bacon's films even begin to ilustrate and the bottom line is that the only thing between you and i is space and space is nothingness so i am right here right now in your very face kissing and licking and nibbling playfully and ii invite you to do the same and in the unlikely event that you bite my somewhat toxic and potentially lethal my head off, spit it out immediately, gargle profusely with White Lightning, and expunge and ignite the resulting liquid like a fire-breathing dragon. Place the head in a styrofoam cooler, pack it with ice, and mail it post-haste to Stacy Alexander Studios and address it "c/o Wild Man Fisher."

The universe is a conspiracy, and we're all in on it. The way we interpret the conspiracy is all up to the shape we carve in the gleamingsurface of the sea as we surf from node to node, connecting the dots that specle the web of existence.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

God and Love and Money and Faith

The universe is a conspiracy, and we're all in on it.


"All that is, is metaphor."

Albert Einstein said that, "No problem can be solved with the same level of consciousness that created it."

Perhaps it's time

for a new paradigm.

Want change?

Got hope?

psssst....

C'mere, kid...

Wanna take a look at what's going on back in the kitchen? Fusion is the name of the game if you haven't heard. The ingredients are gathered from the most diverse and exotic locales, tossed together with the unlikely combination of whimsy, history and science, incorporated and intermingled with the aid of time and temperature, and served freely with love. Take a sniff, have a taste, devour a plateful and come back for seconds and dessert or,if you'd rather, tickle your taste buds elsewhere.

Bucky Fuller suggested that love is metaphysical gravity.

There's a rockin' Hendrix tune... y'all have heard it plenty of times. one of the lines goes,

"With the Power

of Soul

Anything is Possible"


Curiously enough the song has two accepted titles: titles:

Power of Soul and Power to Love.

Therefore, the Power of Soul and the Power to Love are one and the same.

Jesus said god is love which means that god is metaphysical gravity.

I think jesus also said, "with god, all things are pssible."

Maybe that's what Jimi was singing about, albeit in a somewhat different cultural context and perspective.

What is gravity? Metaphorically speaking - and, keep in mind that all that is, is metaphor - gravity is a connective force. gravity is the process that "orders" the observed relationships between all the material "stuff" in the universe.

love is the connective force/process that orders the relationship between individuals, the clusters in which they form, as well as our greater relationships with thebiosphere and the universe at large.

Nanotechnology reeks of potential to manipulate material relationships at a quantum level with a new degree of creative freedom found within the accepted "objective" confines and limitations of immutable (yet evolving and expanding) physical law.

I humbly suggest that a new alchemy will emerge from the ongoing, accelerating collective natural evolution of human consciousness that will (metaphorically speaking, of course) illuminate the ovelap between the "spiritual truth" encoded in the symbols and language of mythical and mystical texts and the "physical truth" encoded in the symbols and language of the binary logic underlying our scientific method.

What's the difference between fact and fairy tale, myth and reality? Is "love" more real than the dead gods of civilizations long past? Is it as "real" as, say...... money?

Money's real, isn't it?

Or is it?

I further (tangentially)suggest that our concept of money and our practical daily interaction with said currency is participation in a fairy tale no more believable than the idea that the earth is flat or, better yet, that there's a guy who lives on the North Pole and wears a red suit and commandeers a toy-laden sleigh pulled by flying reindeer.

The value of our currency is backed by nothing more than the "good faith and credit" of the USof A. What does that mean? It means it only exists and has value as long as Uncle Sam is viewed as faithful, credible and capable of honoring future debt. Once that was a reasonable assumption and so, like the flat-earth fairy tale, it served the times well enough. Even after a child comes to the realization that Santa Claus is a mythical character in a vast benevolent conspiracy, that child is often likely to keep the truth to himself and play along with the fairy tale for fear that if he comes clean and exposes the collapse of his faith in the face of reason, the presents will no longer be delivered.

Eventually there comes a time when we must abandon our childish ways, as our new prez has suggested. Maybe that should include abandoning the fairytale belief that our level of personal and collective consumption is not bound our finite resources and finite productivity, that if we merely keep printing and spending and creating greater debt this obvious irresponsible fiscal insanity somehow magically turn into a yellow brick road leading to the Magical Land of economic Stability and Solvency.

So money's a fairy tale, and since I've never had much faith in the "good faith and credit" of the self-serving central banks that control the supply of currency, and I've yet to stuble upon any evidence of an anthropomorphic, omnipotent supernatural patri/matriarch, the only fairy tale left for me at the moment is that of the Power to Love, as it is personally tangible, observable, verifiable, experiential, enduring, potentially infinite, loads of fun to embrace, and full of beauty and color and texture beyond spectrums defined or even imagined.

Thusfar in my fleeting existence, for the whole of my life, the best and worst of times, the fiercest storms and darkest days, the Power to Love has always seen me through. without Exception.



Love is Real. Not Fade Away.

It's a song lyric.

It's a universal spiritual truth.

It's a fairy tale.

Pick your own poison.


Life is short but oh so sweet and I'd rather spend it seeing what I can create with the attractive connective Power to Love as opposed to what I can buy with money or destroy with fear and hate.


Love cannot be taxed, confiscated, stolen, bought or sold. It can only be exchanged freely, but as we become more efficient love machines/vessels/conduits/mindful directors of said Power, we will become aware of its inherent self-generating abundance.


That's my fairy tale, and I'm living it until i decide to do otherwise, which could happen at any time since the tale, like the universe itself, is subject to change.

Sometimes change is smooth and constant, other times chaotic and jerky and neck-snappy. A good thrill ride gives you both and more. So does a sizable sampling of historically popular dance moves. The cozmik deejayz got a stack of discs that we can only imagine, and you never know what might get slipped on the turntable next; today's minuet may become tomorrow's mosh pit without a moment's notice.

Interesting times call for flexibility, adaptability, versatility and endurance.



"When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro."

I'm currently employed as a Self-certified Professional Weirdo. Like the fairy tale world in which I live (and/or the recipe for intergalactic(Con)fusion Stew) my job description is always under construction and subject to constant fluctuation and mutation. i have shaped my aluminum fedora to resemble whatever headgear might be appropriate for virtual festival organizer/court jester/second-rate stand-up opening act hired to warm up the crowd for the main event. The mayans say I'm a monkey and the Hopi call me coyote. My friends and family have always called me, simply, "Josh." Jester/Prankster/Trickster/Joke(st)er/Josh-er and/or maybe just another silly sentimental Fool, for only a fool bets it all on love. Whoever I am and whatever my function, allow me to formally and humbly invite you to meet me on the dance floor in the Free Metaphysical Market Square, where love is legal tender, change is celebrated and mutation embraced, and the Music Never Stops. Together we will choreograph a poly- rhythmic our own ofdd-metered hyperspacial jitterbug.



peace y'all.