those idiots, a legion of power crazed crocodiles salivating at the thought of more. more this more that, i want more. 
your thoughts betray you. 
more power, more fame, more control, more glory, more money, more sex, more accolades, more more more, till you can't get any more in. then what?

i'm reading max seeck's novel, set in finland, a place i like in summer. all that snow and long endless night in winter time would drive me nuts but my visit during summer was quite beautiful. home of moomintroll, my childhood escape. i remember a few years ago walking through a market down near the ferry in helsinki, a women selling tiny statue figures of strange little creatures. 'you put them in your garden, or under plants, they encourage growth,' she said with sincerity. 

'yes, i have many friends who live within my garden.'

we smile, she asks if i will catch the ferry.

'yes, i will.'

helsinki in summer is profoundly beautiful, the sun gets into everywhere no matter how concealed, it's like the light that curves around corners.i visit the momin shop, it's two stories and filled with every momin product you can think off. i think about tove, wonder what she would make of such consumerism and market capitalism. it's a global empire now. she would probably turn in her grave and then on the other hand proudly feel how her art has influenced the children who couldn't quite dig mickey mouse.

i was that kid, a kid alone looking at the stars in wonder. i still am, only the stars have lost a little shine, and so have i.

hey you!

i enjoyed 'threshold' very much, particularly the ending which is excellent and completely paradoxical as it is the beginning of something else. everything ends with dmt and everything begins. i think personally the reason they keep it from us is 'they' know once experienced humanity has to re evaluate everything, history science, health, language, everything including cosmology.

i moved through the ayahuscia into the dmt, into the machine that runs the simulation. it's an alien experience, complete in every way known, it's the unknown. in order to access it one requires not just courage but madness, the same kind of madness is found in the poets, the idea of piercing the veil, breaking through, it's a shamanistic impulse to tear through the bullshit and behold the truth.

there is no language for this truth, no symbol, nothing can communicate it, just like the flea can never understand the fact it lives upon a dog, in a home, in a street, in a neighborhood, in a town, in a city, in a country, on a continent, on a planet on system, in a galaxy, in a universe.

dmt opens the door and through some quirk, for a fraction of time, allows you to see into the void but not long enough to ever establish a base there.

i've had large doses, met the machine intelligence.

ayahuscia opens windows but dmt opens the door.

 sex in the city?

sex in the country?

sex in the bed, kitchen, garden, hallway?

sex in the church?

sex in the pool?

sex outside in or inside out?

sex to go?

sex to go go?

sex to come?

sex sex sex!

i am peculating on a project, looking for a really innovative designer to work with. some one outside the box and with a gothic sensibility. i don't want no light worker on this one, i want someone who has a vividly dark imagination and twisted creativity. in fact the project requires more than one individual as stylistically it will be very diverse. multi media would be good.

from threshold

adam szymcrzyk a man so cool he did not have any vowels in his surname declared that the festival would adress the multiple crisis the world was currently enduring, mass migration, the renaissance of the far right, looming ecological catastrophe and so on. leaving aside the crisis of his unpronounceable surname, you could see his point - it really did feel like an emergency time on planet earth - but this institutional yoking of an art to political engagement seemed symptomatic of a broader cultural synergy, everywhere you looked, art was becoming indistinguishable from social work, progressive politics, liberal guilt. to join the tribe called contemporary art it was required that you loudly declaim a humanitarian worldview and place your work at its service.

threshold is like reading the 'fear and loathing' of the modern age. it's a travel book about books, philosophy and drugs. rob makes some great observations, ironic, poignant and creative, a writer i have taken to immediately. 

 check my blog on august 24 2020 then click this link

playing some nice tunes around mission control, the groovy morning spills the beans, in strange explosions of sunlight and fragmented waves, i plug in to the signal. 

changes, turn and face the strange.

well i'm not nailed to the cross but i was, it didn't last long just a few hours. i was not bleeding badly and there were no cuts, although things happen around me fast. 

fast love, fast life, fast death now, i'm not on any track, path or road. i have no idea what's next, i'm a crazy jazz cat doing what i do, moving through love, moving through life. 

the book i am reading has me, it's 'threshold' by rob doyle, a first person narrative of the author as he travels, takes drugs and philosophise, its part confession but one any middle aged boho could relate to, and i do.

i kinda like the writers cynicism, his internment between youth and middle age, his lazy lifestyle and hedonistic impulse, i like his honesty and it's what missing from modern writing, it transgresses, it offends and it's original although influenced by a succession of great writers, hst, burroughs, sebold, dwyer. cracking open the head, spilling the bubbles, lets have a look at life amongst the humans.