what do i know, not much. but this is how i see it.
most of the medical establishment is a placebo effect. you feel ill, you go to the dr. who tells you what's wrong and what pills you need to take. immediately your investment in his expertise and your ignorance is established. now you have a label for what's wrong, you have a little box you can put it in and some pills. take the pills start to feel better, unless you don't invest in the placebo. unless you know that most of the pharmaceuticals are pointlessly prescribed and everyone is over medicated.these drug companies make illnesses up, they test their drugs on a public who have no other way of trusting what they have invested in. you spend cash on drugs, your invested, your under the belief it will cure you, it's an investment. it's the belief that cures you.
there should be a science called beliefiology, the science of believe. in the uk they tested anti depressants and found that they don't really work, they used a placebo and got the same results.
now there is a place for these drugs with severe depression and illness, i'd be foolish to write that all pharmaceuticals are placebos but there is a lot of research indicating that in most milder cases they are.
the journal of american medical association concurs
http://jama.ama-assn.org/cgi/content/short/303/1/47?home
what's a diagnodsis but an educated guess in most parts, tell some one they have cancer and it's incurable, chances are they believe that and end up dying, i dunno. look it's food for thought, i question everything, it's my nature not to accept established models, be-it religion, politics science and philosophy. all things must be tested.
i believe that illness and sickness all start in the mind. all start from belief, belief about oneself usually. guilt, un forgiveness, blame, anger these experiences must be processed and healed on all levels lest they manifest as physical.
there you go, think about that.
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
finally back at mission control, sanctuary, a safe place if ever there was one. what a night, what drama and intrigue, what a strange event this last few months have been, good with the bad, yin with the yang i guess they say it's all about balance and harmony, yet it's elusive isn't it?
after much convincing from nico i get myself to hospital and wait around for 4 hours while i watch drama after drama unfold in the waiting room, they end up putting a mask on me and moving me into quarantine, which is a corridor with a chair in in. i sit there, exhausted from throwing up buckets of blood. i have to run to the bathroom every moment as the junk keeps pouring outta me.
there's a guy with a bleeding foot, he's young and looks like a renegade, he's hopping around leaking a trail of blood. the receptionist tells him to sit down and he starts saying, 'i been here seven hours, i just want some pain management.'
the receptionist who has already proved her incompetency with me tells him to sit down and stop being rude.
he says, quite reasonably, 'look i am not being rude, i've been sitting quietly over there for seven hours and my foot is really hurting me, i just want some painkillers.'
nope. he's up against the system of bureaucracy and petty minded idiots with no ability to make a reasonably independent decision or go against their policy. so what does she do?
the stupid, excuse me for calling her stupid when i myself can be pretty stupid but this was a stupid thing to do, she called the security guard.
so the security guard and the patient have a reasonable conversation, the patient saying he is being reasonable but only wants a few painkillers as his foot is really hurting. but the team of people in the office, admin people insist he is being aggressive and rude, a handful of us in the packed waiting room support the patient and we ask the security guard to get a nurse, which he does. the nurse comes and immediately defends the admin staff, to which the patient introduces himself and asks the name of the nurse, 'good now we can actually begin a conversation.'
very reasonable and well mannered chap. the nurse asks him to sit down and he does but he requests some pain killers again.
the nurse disappears.
i am called in.
they don't know what the fuck is wrong with me, i go through the history of this 2-3 month old affliction, including the stupid puffer that gave me a heart attack cos the dr. said i had asthma when i knew i didn't.
the nurse is sympathetic and offers me a shot of codeine, 'this will help you sleep and keep the cough suppressed.'
she tells me to see my dr. in the morning as the results from my whooping cough test will be in.
she gives me a bottle of liquid codeine and lets me go. i pass the poor guy in the waiting room and a drink area, grabbing a paper cup i give him a shot of codeine and show him the bottle.
he's very grateful, his foot is really mangled and his home made bandage is stained red from blood.
by the time i am home i've slipped into a deep sleep, the first one in days.
in the morning i go for my results and the dr says, 'i don't have whooping cough but there's a shadow over my heart,' she sends me for x rays and i go through a doughnut machine thing where they scan me. i hate all this shit, absolutely hate being a servant of some weird constructed medicine shit, i rather just trust my body but i know my body is a spent force, on the decline and i have responsibilities i need to meet, people who care about me, they really do, and i want to be reasonable and balanced.
so i get my x rays and leave them sitting on my table in a sealed envelope for a while, thinking it's one of those strange moments where any second every thing will change. i wonder how i'll feel. i really don't think anything will be there, the shadow is there because of some weird multi dimensional stuff, it's just manifested now. it's nothing but smoke and mirrors.
what's real is what is in the heart.
and right now there's good stuff, i got a good fucking heart, yeah lots of scars but hey, that's the road to wisdom right?
yeah my heart is brilliant, it's expansive and strong and filled with some weird gooey energy, it's in love with everything and everyone close to me. i do some mental exercises, visualisations and invoke the goddess. i know she loves me. she always had a special place for me, i trust that stuff.
i open the envelope and get the all clear, there's some weird shit in there, i don't understand but generally it seems okay. god knows what this cough is but it's not infectious, god knows why i am coughing up blood and shit but the codeine has worked now and it's stopped, god knows why this is happening the way it is but i gotta love the fact it is cos god and his wife work in mysterious ways.
i take a hit of codeine and hopefully i'll sleep for a few more peaceful hours.
shadow on the heart.
after much convincing from nico i get myself to hospital and wait around for 4 hours while i watch drama after drama unfold in the waiting room, they end up putting a mask on me and moving me into quarantine, which is a corridor with a chair in in. i sit there, exhausted from throwing up buckets of blood. i have to run to the bathroom every moment as the junk keeps pouring outta me.
there's a guy with a bleeding foot, he's young and looks like a renegade, he's hopping around leaking a trail of blood. the receptionist tells him to sit down and he starts saying, 'i been here seven hours, i just want some pain management.'
the receptionist who has already proved her incompetency with me tells him to sit down and stop being rude.
he says, quite reasonably, 'look i am not being rude, i've been sitting quietly over there for seven hours and my foot is really hurting me, i just want some painkillers.'
nope. he's up against the system of bureaucracy and petty minded idiots with no ability to make a reasonably independent decision or go against their policy. so what does she do?
the stupid, excuse me for calling her stupid when i myself can be pretty stupid but this was a stupid thing to do, she called the security guard.
so the security guard and the patient have a reasonable conversation, the patient saying he is being reasonable but only wants a few painkillers as his foot is really hurting. but the team of people in the office, admin people insist he is being aggressive and rude, a handful of us in the packed waiting room support the patient and we ask the security guard to get a nurse, which he does. the nurse comes and immediately defends the admin staff, to which the patient introduces himself and asks the name of the nurse, 'good now we can actually begin a conversation.'
very reasonable and well mannered chap. the nurse asks him to sit down and he does but he requests some pain killers again.
the nurse disappears.
i am called in.
they don't know what the fuck is wrong with me, i go through the history of this 2-3 month old affliction, including the stupid puffer that gave me a heart attack cos the dr. said i had asthma when i knew i didn't.
the nurse is sympathetic and offers me a shot of codeine, 'this will help you sleep and keep the cough suppressed.'
she tells me to see my dr. in the morning as the results from my whooping cough test will be in.
she gives me a bottle of liquid codeine and lets me go. i pass the poor guy in the waiting room and a drink area, grabbing a paper cup i give him a shot of codeine and show him the bottle.
he's very grateful, his foot is really mangled and his home made bandage is stained red from blood.
by the time i am home i've slipped into a deep sleep, the first one in days.
in the morning i go for my results and the dr says, 'i don't have whooping cough but there's a shadow over my heart,' she sends me for x rays and i go through a doughnut machine thing where they scan me. i hate all this shit, absolutely hate being a servant of some weird constructed medicine shit, i rather just trust my body but i know my body is a spent force, on the decline and i have responsibilities i need to meet, people who care about me, they really do, and i want to be reasonable and balanced.
so i get my x rays and leave them sitting on my table in a sealed envelope for a while, thinking it's one of those strange moments where any second every thing will change. i wonder how i'll feel. i really don't think anything will be there, the shadow is there because of some weird multi dimensional stuff, it's just manifested now. it's nothing but smoke and mirrors.
what's real is what is in the heart.
and right now there's good stuff, i got a good fucking heart, yeah lots of scars but hey, that's the road to wisdom right?
yeah my heart is brilliant, it's expansive and strong and filled with some weird gooey energy, it's in love with everything and everyone close to me. i do some mental exercises, visualisations and invoke the goddess. i know she loves me. she always had a special place for me, i trust that stuff.
i open the envelope and get the all clear, there's some weird shit in there, i don't understand but generally it seems okay. god knows what this cough is but it's not infectious, god knows why i am coughing up blood and shit but the codeine has worked now and it's stopped, god knows why this is happening the way it is but i gotta love the fact it is cos god and his wife work in mysterious ways.
i take a hit of codeine and hopefully i'll sleep for a few more peaceful hours.
shadow on the heart.
Tuesday, November 02, 2010
fucking whooping cough, throwing up heaps of blood and some sort of plasmic goo has kept me up all night, drenched in sweat and some horrid vile stink of sickness. awful.
i watched dvds and drink water and seeing as though there's absolutely no food in my house am reduced to eating molasses and
malanuka honey for a variation. i'm told the honey is good for my throat and it does ease the suffering. every time i stand up and run to the bathroom the room becomes a ship caught in a hurricane, the whole environment start swaying and the floor takes on a motion that makes me bump into the walls. my head gets so dizzy i feel like im about to pass out.
i attempt to walk the dog but can't make it down the steps, so i return to my book and stare at the pages as the print starts to blur, eventually i focus on the pages and begin to read.
i manage to take my pills on time, they have a banana taste but research indicates that there is no medication for whooping cough but time. nico sends me updates on the symptoms and it feels good to have someone care for me. jesus, i'm going soft in my old age.
i open all the windows and let the wind sweep through the house, swirls of currents collide, paper throws itself up in the air, outside birds sing and the sun streams over the wet grass and rooftops. i consider smoking a joint, after all what the fuck am i supposed to do but i'm outta papers and immersed in my john burdett book.
he's describing women who like jail, says 'it's a phycological need for incarceration.'
i concur, it's the ultimate place where you don't have to take any responsibility. but the strange thing is people can be outside jail, living a normal life and still be in a jail. it's all a matter of perspective.
more coughing, spluttering, dribbling and drooling. fuck it, i drive (very disturbing drive as the road feels like water) to the shop and pick up some skins, return to mission control and smoke a spliff, letting the familiar blanket of anaesthesia null the strange feeling off helplessness.
i watched dvds and drink water and seeing as though there's absolutely no food in my house am reduced to eating molasses and
malanuka honey for a variation. i'm told the honey is good for my throat and it does ease the suffering. every time i stand up and run to the bathroom the room becomes a ship caught in a hurricane, the whole environment start swaying and the floor takes on a motion that makes me bump into the walls. my head gets so dizzy i feel like im about to pass out.
i attempt to walk the dog but can't make it down the steps, so i return to my book and stare at the pages as the print starts to blur, eventually i focus on the pages and begin to read.
i manage to take my pills on time, they have a banana taste but research indicates that there is no medication for whooping cough but time. nico sends me updates on the symptoms and it feels good to have someone care for me. jesus, i'm going soft in my old age.
i open all the windows and let the wind sweep through the house, swirls of currents collide, paper throws itself up in the air, outside birds sing and the sun streams over the wet grass and rooftops. i consider smoking a joint, after all what the fuck am i supposed to do but i'm outta papers and immersed in my john burdett book.
he's describing women who like jail, says 'it's a phycological need for incarceration.'
i concur, it's the ultimate place where you don't have to take any responsibility. but the strange thing is people can be outside jail, living a normal life and still be in a jail. it's all a matter of perspective.
more coughing, spluttering, dribbling and drooling. fuck it, i drive (very disturbing drive as the road feels like water) to the shop and pick up some skins, return to mission control and smoke a spliff, letting the familiar blanket of anaesthesia null the strange feeling off helplessness.
Monday, November 01, 2010
almost exactly half my own age and at the same age as myself my son is now in berlin, living in the same suburb as i lived, kruezberg. it's the strangest thing to experience, the cyclic nature of life, the patterns as they come around in different implications, off course berlin is different and so am i but that experience changed my life in a very profound way, and i hope it has a positive impact on jakob. i am lucky i had good and bad times there, mostly good memories but it was messy and as a result i ended up getting married and escaping into a new life, and jakob was a massive part of that bringing my ex wife and i together, saving me from death or worse, he chose me for manifestation purposes, and now he is there.
heavy rain falls, i'm cooped up inside but have to go for an important appointment, i'm wearing my berlin raincoat, a peak hat and multitude of scarves, a jumper and my hemp pants and trainers, it's cold and i'm feeling like a train crash but the appointment only comes around once a year and i can't miss it. i've never missed it.
so i drive over across the town, park in a side street, grab my bag and run for shelter. i buy some flowers in a cute shop, a bunch of different coloured chrysanthemums. i make my way under cover towards the office, i've had to park in a friends underground spot and so far managed to remain relatively dry but by the time i am inside the waiting room i'm drenched and peeling off the big heavy coat.
this is the office of my karmic broker, where i go through my karmic records for the year. my broker is a lovely lady, quite the glamorous little fox, always happy to see me and very welcoming, no, i have never slept with her but we share a certain erotic chemistry. she pours me a coffee from her swish new nescafe machine. she's wearing her high heels and a cute black skirt with a red cardigan and with her glasses on as she looks through my file i can't help but feel a slight pheromone activity.
'it's looking excellent this year mission, i think there's a massive increase in most areas, you have done very well.'
'good, it certainly feels that way.'
'yes i see you have one small area of deficit that i'm concerned about. it's cropped up in the last few months, kinda came at you at an angle, took you by surprise i think yet throughout the recent history it's what you have been magickally invoking.'
i nod my head and wait for her to continue.
'yes you have an area here from many life times previous, you seem to have problems with wounds from battles most of these have been resolved now but there's one illness from a times of plague. you were dying and passed without communicating something which lay in your heart. there is regret there.'
'ah that would make sense. but how do i negotiate that now.'
'you must meditate upon the nature of emotional communication.'
'im had a very difficult incarnation in that arena.'
'you must learn that illness applies on several levels, what manifests on a physical level is a symptom of something in a higher dimension.'
'yes i understand. i must come to terms with sickness, health and the nature this wound.'
'you have problems with your throat at the moment?'
i cough, 'yes. i have whooping cough and i have been throwing up a lot of blood.'
'then perhaps you need to look at the chakra, communication, this has always been a troublesome one for you but i think you need to really spend some time looking at a possible cause.'
'i think i know what it is.'
it's been at the back of my mind for a long time, maybe i just need to accept it.
'what stops you.' she challenges.
'a foolish thing called pride.'
we sit in silence, she smiles at me. then she hands me the file, she looks at me and i feel her scan, 'i think you are very close mission, very close.' she stands and bows, 'i will see you next year.'
'yes thank you, i'm very grateful.'
i leave and make my way back to the car, as i drive home the rain gets heavier. it's hear to stay for a while, nothing left to do but bunker down and wait.
so i drive over across the town, park in a side street, grab my bag and run for shelter. i buy some flowers in a cute shop, a bunch of different coloured chrysanthemums. i make my way under cover towards the office, i've had to park in a friends underground spot and so far managed to remain relatively dry but by the time i am inside the waiting room i'm drenched and peeling off the big heavy coat.
this is the office of my karmic broker, where i go through my karmic records for the year. my broker is a lovely lady, quite the glamorous little fox, always happy to see me and very welcoming, no, i have never slept with her but we share a certain erotic chemistry. she pours me a coffee from her swish new nescafe machine. she's wearing her high heels and a cute black skirt with a red cardigan and with her glasses on as she looks through my file i can't help but feel a slight pheromone activity.
'it's looking excellent this year mission, i think there's a massive increase in most areas, you have done very well.'
'good, it certainly feels that way.'
'yes i see you have one small area of deficit that i'm concerned about. it's cropped up in the last few months, kinda came at you at an angle, took you by surprise i think yet throughout the recent history it's what you have been magickally invoking.'
i nod my head and wait for her to continue.
'yes you have an area here from many life times previous, you seem to have problems with wounds from battles most of these have been resolved now but there's one illness from a times of plague. you were dying and passed without communicating something which lay in your heart. there is regret there.'
'ah that would make sense. but how do i negotiate that now.'
'you must meditate upon the nature of emotional communication.'
'im had a very difficult incarnation in that arena.'
'you must learn that illness applies on several levels, what manifests on a physical level is a symptom of something in a higher dimension.'
'yes i understand. i must come to terms with sickness, health and the nature this wound.'
'you have problems with your throat at the moment?'
i cough, 'yes. i have whooping cough and i have been throwing up a lot of blood.'
'then perhaps you need to look at the chakra, communication, this has always been a troublesome one for you but i think you need to really spend some time looking at a possible cause.'
'i think i know what it is.'
it's been at the back of my mind for a long time, maybe i just need to accept it.
'what stops you.' she challenges.
'a foolish thing called pride.'
we sit in silence, she smiles at me. then she hands me the file, she looks at me and i feel her scan, 'i think you are very close mission, very close.' she stands and bows, 'i will see you next year.'
'yes thank you, i'm very grateful.'
i leave and make my way back to the car, as i drive home the rain gets heavier. it's hear to stay for a while, nothing left to do but bunker down and wait.
gratitude to my friend nico who insisted i see a doctor and offered to come to the medical centre with me, knowing my fear of such establishments and general impotency once behind the doors of the medical model, however dr. green whom is a very nice old eccentric lady said i had whooping cough and gave me some strong antibiotics, so here i am with a week off work. at least i now know what ails me, the relentless coughing got so bad i was coughing up shit loads of blood last night, which kinda motivated me somewhat. i wonder if one day the medical model will invent a condition and a pharmaceutical to treat people who are adverse to the medical model and pharmaceuticals. it's only a matter of time.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
avalon crack of dawn, im there making a deal, picking up a package, it's for agent stone who has been on my case about this for ages and here i am following through, what a guy. what a man. what a mission.
the blue car pulls up, the electric window slides down and there she is, ex wife looking like she's been up all night on coke eyeballs hanging down, ravaged and grim. she passes me the package and i thank her, we exchange some weird pleasantries and she drives away.
the blue car pulls up, the electric window slides down and there she is, ex wife looking like she's been up all night on coke eyeballs hanging down, ravaged and grim. she passes me the package and i thank her, we exchange some weird pleasantries and she drives away.
a friend invites me to a party type thing at the pub at the end of my street, it's his girlfriends birthday and nico and i say we will attend but end up getting distracted watching dvds, so later i honour my commitment and slip into the pub and find the party. well firstly in case you don't know i hate pubs, it's very rare to get me in one, i'm absolutely opposed to the idea that a pub can actually offer me anything. secondly i have an aversion to people who inhabit pubs, especially these big personality deficit ones as they are usually drunk and talk about drivel as their egos and minds are inflated by spirits they don't even know infect them, there's sports everywhere, tonight i'm bombarded by a massive screen showing some sort of meathead game with a squished ball, rugby they call it, most of the crowd are watching this and cheering making conversation impossible and one after another a bunch of drunk girls introduce themselves to me, all leaking desperation pheromones in the hope of finding some sort of comfort for the void in their lives. man i see it so clearly, like a massive cancer eating away at them from the inside.
fortunately i have brought my book, however this is no deterrent as they start asking me all sorts of questions, obviously because i am the only man in there not interested in sports.
with my toenails painted book in hand and the ability to offer a stimulating menu of conversational subjects they think i am gay, which i have to deny by saying i am actually a porn actor. i'm not really sure why i said it, shock value, attention, to inject something into the zombie sports atmosphere of the evening.
a tall blond lady finds this remarkably attractive and i realise i am stuck with her for the night, she starts confessing her loneliness and her wealth. she's a walking disaster within a tragedy. to much cash and no imagination, to much investment in her real estate and possessions and nothing in her heart.
another girl who i say looks like an elf queen starts leaning into me, far to close and far to intimate for my liking, close up she looks more like some washed up porno actress than elf queen and for a moment i think i could at least play with her but she asks if i can buy her a drink, 'i don't drink and i don't like to buy drunk people alcohol.'
she thinks i am crazy, leans in further and adds, 'but i'll make it worth your while.'
'my whiles are already worth it.' i reply.
there's a terrible sadness here, i gaze around at the drunk women all being ignored by their men or being pushed around and left at tables in tears, all being grabbed and kissed and then dispensed with for another beer or a slap on the back from the male rituals, i see the drunk dramas played out amongst them, some petty argument exaggerated so it actually becomes something it's never was, i see endless cigarettes being smoked with an energy only alcohol could fuel and endless empty minds vacantly staring into the bottom of their glasses, i see the karmic lines across the air, the sorrow of privilege, these people have so much yet they waste it, abundance yet nothing. ignorance corrupts everything here, there is no life force present no vitality, no innovation, no ideas, no freedom, the mindless zombies are infected with alcoholic narcosis, i seen this almost everywhere alcohol is sold, what a dumb drug, what a stupid pastime, drinking and the sports industry. i find it hard not to be judgemental, the facts are drinking is the white mans poison, the means that the american indians and the great civilisations were subdued and destroyed, as we are all destroyed by the big global industrialists, the karmic implications of alcohol are exactly like the arms industry and the pharmaceuticals. if your political or not, you still have the choice to reject these petty distractions. this is the clever country, the smart one, where beer is celebrated and encouraged, where drinking is a national pastime. i forget that sometimes. i forget how embedded it is in the national psyche. how drinking promotes violence and random loveless procreation. it's the social lubricant for the inadequate. i've been guilty of it, but i seen the consequences and learnt fast. i look around and wonder if this is what having a good time is. i don't really know what that means. i can have a good time without all this bullshit, does that mean i'm a freakazoid?
yes it does.
so be it.
i wave my freak flag high.
i have to escape but the tall blonde won't let me go, the elf queen grabs my arm, the birthday girl says, 'aren't my friends beautiful?'
i look at her, poor woman, poor sad soul, trapped in a poor sad world of illusion.i empathise with her, i wish i could liberate you but you have no will to be liberated, you have no wish to be free and assume the responsibility of freedom, you like your maya, your drama, your safe in it because you think it defines you.
i don't want to save her, i don't want to save any one, i can't do it anyway, it's far to late for saving people, everyone knows it subconsciously, every one feels it, maybe that's why they drink. there's no escape from the personal apocalypse, like an internal spiritual suicide bomber we are armed and dangerous. the only solution is the heart chakra, stand up for it, defend it and don't let the void extinguish it.
i look at my friend, he seems sad, like me he knows. he knows.
i tell him i am going and he says, 'i don't blame you.'
i slip out.
fortunately i have brought my book, however this is no deterrent as they start asking me all sorts of questions, obviously because i am the only man in there not interested in sports.
with my toenails painted book in hand and the ability to offer a stimulating menu of conversational subjects they think i am gay, which i have to deny by saying i am actually a porn actor. i'm not really sure why i said it, shock value, attention, to inject something into the zombie sports atmosphere of the evening.
a tall blond lady finds this remarkably attractive and i realise i am stuck with her for the night, she starts confessing her loneliness and her wealth. she's a walking disaster within a tragedy. to much cash and no imagination, to much investment in her real estate and possessions and nothing in her heart.
another girl who i say looks like an elf queen starts leaning into me, far to close and far to intimate for my liking, close up she looks more like some washed up porno actress than elf queen and for a moment i think i could at least play with her but she asks if i can buy her a drink, 'i don't drink and i don't like to buy drunk people alcohol.'
she thinks i am crazy, leans in further and adds, 'but i'll make it worth your while.'
'my whiles are already worth it.' i reply.
there's a terrible sadness here, i gaze around at the drunk women all being ignored by their men or being pushed around and left at tables in tears, all being grabbed and kissed and then dispensed with for another beer or a slap on the back from the male rituals, i see the drunk dramas played out amongst them, some petty argument exaggerated so it actually becomes something it's never was, i see endless cigarettes being smoked with an energy only alcohol could fuel and endless empty minds vacantly staring into the bottom of their glasses, i see the karmic lines across the air, the sorrow of privilege, these people have so much yet they waste it, abundance yet nothing. ignorance corrupts everything here, there is no life force present no vitality, no innovation, no ideas, no freedom, the mindless zombies are infected with alcoholic narcosis, i seen this almost everywhere alcohol is sold, what a dumb drug, what a stupid pastime, drinking and the sports industry. i find it hard not to be judgemental, the facts are drinking is the white mans poison, the means that the american indians and the great civilisations were subdued and destroyed, as we are all destroyed by the big global industrialists, the karmic implications of alcohol are exactly like the arms industry and the pharmaceuticals. if your political or not, you still have the choice to reject these petty distractions. this is the clever country, the smart one, where beer is celebrated and encouraged, where drinking is a national pastime. i forget that sometimes. i forget how embedded it is in the national psyche. how drinking promotes violence and random loveless procreation. it's the social lubricant for the inadequate. i've been guilty of it, but i seen the consequences and learnt fast. i look around and wonder if this is what having a good time is. i don't really know what that means. i can have a good time without all this bullshit, does that mean i'm a freakazoid?
yes it does.
so be it.
i wave my freak flag high.
i have to escape but the tall blonde won't let me go, the elf queen grabs my arm, the birthday girl says, 'aren't my friends beautiful?'
i look at her, poor woman, poor sad soul, trapped in a poor sad world of illusion.i empathise with her, i wish i could liberate you but you have no will to be liberated, you have no wish to be free and assume the responsibility of freedom, you like your maya, your drama, your safe in it because you think it defines you.
i don't want to save her, i don't want to save any one, i can't do it anyway, it's far to late for saving people, everyone knows it subconsciously, every one feels it, maybe that's why they drink. there's no escape from the personal apocalypse, like an internal spiritual suicide bomber we are armed and dangerous. the only solution is the heart chakra, stand up for it, defend it and don't let the void extinguish it.
i look at my friend, he seems sad, like me he knows. he knows.
i tell him i am going and he says, 'i don't blame you.'
i slip out.
lieutenant colonel sir francis edward younghusband was sent to tibet by the english in the old days, the tibetans were used to the chinese therefore the english were easier to deal with despite the fact it was an invasion, funded by opium as most english empire grabs were. however the english managed to kill over 5000 monks in tibet. younghusband sets up base and slowly the tibetan buddhist ideology starts to infect him, his thoughts and dreams change dramatically, and up there in the mountains he has some interesting revelations. he starts to believe in telepathy, starts to believe in cosmic rays transmitted by extraterrestrials with translucent flesh from the planet "altair" these rays are spiritual intelligence. younghusband comes to believe in free love, a hippie before hippies, went on to write books with titles such as:
The Gleam: Being an account of the life of Nija Svabhava, pseud. (1920); Mother World (in Travail for the Christ that is to be) (1924); and Life in the Stars: An Exposition of the View that on some Planets of some Stars exist Beings higher than Ourselves, and on one a World-Leader, the Supreme Embodiment of the Eternal Spirit which animates the Whole.
yeah younghusband must have smoked some great hash up there on the mountains or had some incredible revelation but the fact is the tibetan meme of buddhism is extremely powerful and resilient. for the buddha understood this, which is why resistance is pointless, the battle is inside every one, it is the only war worth fighting and sooner or later along the life line you have to face it and be prepared to win.
The Gleam: Being an account of the life of Nija Svabhava, pseud. (1920); Mother World (in Travail for the Christ that is to be) (1924); and Life in the Stars: An Exposition of the View that on some Planets of some Stars exist Beings higher than Ourselves, and on one a World-Leader, the Supreme Embodiment of the Eternal Spirit which animates the Whole.
yeah younghusband must have smoked some great hash up there on the mountains or had some incredible revelation but the fact is the tibetan meme of buddhism is extremely powerful and resilient. for the buddha understood this, which is why resistance is pointless, the battle is inside every one, it is the only war worth fighting and sooner or later along the life line you have to face it and be prepared to win.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
when she turns up after midnight with some love drugs and a bag full of accessories i give up trying to read, my book has a magnetic attraction, bancock detectives and their dead prostitute girlfriends are discarded and my attention focuses in on my companion who demands nothing less.
anyway i feel like i'm going through the motions, she obviously is enthusiastic and enthralled and every time i think i'm finished i'm drawn into more, my breathing is irregular, my chest hurts and to be honest i'm feeling like i made the wrong choice, i should have made some xcuse and returned to my book alone, but here i am being indulged.
just when i feel spiritually depleted (that's a daoists joke) she starts to do something i never experienced. i'm not gonna go into the details, suffice to say it's good and i do a 180 turnaround. i start regulating my breathing, getting control of the situation, my focus spreads from below the waist to the the rest of my body. it's feels good but i'm working hard, my tantric breathing requires some kind of disipline and to be honest my commitment is wavering, but she's looking at me with those big eyes and her face looks all wrapped up in pleasure.
i'm uncertain how much time passes, but i wake up alone, she's slipped out. i find a note in lipstick drawn on my mirror, she's a foxy one. i brush my teeth and jump in the shower then i run through the house looking for my towel.
later i light up a smoke and open up my book again. back to the dead protitutes.
anyway i feel like i'm going through the motions, she obviously is enthusiastic and enthralled and every time i think i'm finished i'm drawn into more, my breathing is irregular, my chest hurts and to be honest i'm feeling like i made the wrong choice, i should have made some xcuse and returned to my book alone, but here i am being indulged.
just when i feel spiritually depleted (that's a daoists joke) she starts to do something i never experienced. i'm not gonna go into the details, suffice to say it's good and i do a 180 turnaround. i start regulating my breathing, getting control of the situation, my focus spreads from below the waist to the the rest of my body. it's feels good but i'm working hard, my tantric breathing requires some kind of disipline and to be honest my commitment is wavering, but she's looking at me with those big eyes and her face looks all wrapped up in pleasure.
i'm uncertain how much time passes, but i wake up alone, she's slipped out. i find a note in lipstick drawn on my mirror, she's a foxy one. i brush my teeth and jump in the shower then i run through the house looking for my towel.
later i light up a smoke and open up my book again. back to the dead protitutes.
Friday, October 29, 2010
the day has passed me by, i forgot to see the two films i wanted to due to walter mosley's book 'killing johnny fry' which is magnificent, it's a cross between hardcore porn and raymond chandler, a perfect book for me. what an amazing story, one i relate to and totally understand. brilliantly transgressive and well constructed.i finished it in one day. go out and read his book unless your easily offended by explicit sex.
now i have the reading bug and just in time for a guy i have raved about in earlier posts, mr. john burdett has a new book out, 'the godfather of katmandu.' a brilliant crime writer who uses asia as his backdrop. sonchai jitpleecheep is the detective and through his three previous novels i have come to share his vision of the human experience, absolutely magnificent stories and so well written it's like having a cheap educational holiday in thailand. i'm very excited to be starting this one, after reading 'killing johnny fry' i think i'm gonna go for the quality trifecta and cue paul auster's new book for the final novel i read this weekend.
now i have the reading bug and just in time for a guy i have raved about in earlier posts, mr. john burdett has a new book out, 'the godfather of katmandu.' a brilliant crime writer who uses asia as his backdrop. sonchai jitpleecheep is the detective and through his three previous novels i have come to share his vision of the human experience, absolutely magnificent stories and so well written it's like having a cheap educational holiday in thailand. i'm very excited to be starting this one, after reading 'killing johnny fry' i think i'm gonna go for the quality trifecta and cue paul auster's new book for the final novel i read this weekend.
from osho...
Woman is what man has made of her.
It is a vicious circle.
Man has deprived woman of education and other social institutions, of economic freedom. And then you ask why women are unintelligent? You are the cause.
Women have as much intelligence as any man - because intelligence has no concern with sexual hormones. Do you think if you changed Albert Einstein into a woman with plastic surgery, he would lose his intelligence? He would still remain Albert Einstein, but in a woman's body. The difference is only of bodies; the difference is not of consciousness, not of intelligence.
But unfortunately man decided to repress woman.
For centuries it has not been clear to historians why it had to happen in such a way. But the latest psychological research makes it very clear why it happened: it happened because man feels a deep inferiority complex in comparison to woman.
And the basic root of that feeling comes from the woman's capacity to become a mother. She is the source of life, she creates life. Man is incapable of it. This became the reason to cut the wings of all women - of freedom, of education - and confine her to a prison-like home and reduce her to just a factory of reproduction so that he can forget that he is inferior.
The woman had to be made inferior so that man could feel at ease, so that his ego could feel that now there is no competition with women at all.
The woman is not the cause of all her bitchiness.
You have been torturing her for thousands of years.
No society in the world has accepted her as equal to man. No culture of the past has given the woman the same respect as it gives to the man. On the contrary, they have all tried to force her into a subhuman existence.
And the reason why the woman did not revolt against such things is simple: again, the same motherhood. For nine months when she is pregnant, she becomes absolutely dependent - particularly in a society which lived by hunting.
And by the way, I would like you to remember that the society in which you are living now - where houses exist, cities exist - is a contribution of women, not of men. The house is the woman's contribution.
Man was hunting. The woman was confined to a small space; naturally she started decorating it, cleaning it, making it beautiful, liveable - and she became attached. In a hunting society, the nomads had to go on changing... because when hunting was not giving them enough food, they had to move to where the animals were. They could not have permanent cities; they could have only tents, not houses.
And you can see it: when a man lives alone, his house is almost like a tent, it is not like a house.
Without a woman, it remains a tent, a temporary place - just a shelter with nothing sacred about it.
As the woman enters, the tent starts transforming into a house and finally into a home.
In hunting societies, the woman's function was nothing but reproduction. She was continuously pregnant. This became her failure: she could not fight, she could not rebel, she had to submit, she had to surrender - of course unwillingly. Nobody becomes a slave willingly.
When somebody becomes a slave willingly, there is no problem.
But millions of women have been forced to become slaves unwillingly. Naturally they try to take revenge in indirect ways. All those ways combined make them cats, their behavior becomes bitchy.
But remember: a woman can be bitchy only with a dog, and a woman can be a cat only with a mouse - and that's why you are angry. Seeing a woman, you are reminded that you are a dog, you are a mouse.
Your male chauvinist attitude hurts.
It is simply an unconscious reaction, and you have to be watchful of the reaction so that it can disappear.
It is undignified of you. It shows something about you - not about the woman. It is your anger, it is your hate.
If you will look at the history....
In many villages, the women cannot enter the temples. In some religions she can enter, but she has a separate section - not the same as the men. In all religions, the woman is not accepted as a candidate for the ultimate growth of consciousness. She is unworthy, not for any other reason - just because she is a woman; her crime is that she is a woman. And she can evolve but she will have to fulfill a condition: first she will have to be born as a man.
So in religions like Jainism, there are methods, rituals, religious disciplines for women, specifically intended for them to enter a man's body in their next life.
Now the whole Jaina attitude and philosophy can be disturbed because with plastic surgery a woman can become a man with no difficulty. There is no need for all those disciplines and rituals and arduous hostilities.
Just a very small amount of plastic surgery and you are capable of entering the ultimate state of consciousness. Strange, that plastic surgery is needed for spiritual growth!
But this has been one way to condemn the woman.
Another reason why man has condemned the woman is the power of the woman over the man. You can never forgive someone who has so much power over you. The woman is beautiful, attractive...
her beauty, her body, her attraction and you become just a beggar - and you are going to take revenge for that too.
But everything is going on in an unconscious state. You are not aware of what you are doing and why.
Man is almost magnetically pulled by the woman. He can see that he is just a puppet. How can he forgive the woman who has forced him to be just a puppet? - whatever he can do, he tries to do.
Women everywhere are not allowed to read the holy scriptures. In many countries the woman is not even allowed to show her face in the society. It used to be so in India; it is still so in all the Mohammedan countries.
I have heard, when Mulla Nasruddin got married according to the tradition, his wife asked him, "To whom am I allowed to show my face?"
Mulla Nasruddin said, "First let me have a look, only then can I say anything." So he looked at her face, closed his eyes and said, "Enough! Except for me, you are allowed to show your face to everybody."
These are subtle ways of humiliation, of cutting women off from the world of power, from the world where everything is happening. The woman is not part of it. She is not part of your wars, she is not part of your businesses, she is not part of your religions.
And there are countries like China - not a small country....
A woman was reading in the newspaper that of every four men, one is Chinese. She came very much worried and concerned. She said to her husband, "This paper says that every fourth person is Chinese. Now you have to be careful; we already have three boys, and I don't want any Chinese in this house."
In this vast one-fourth of humanity, for ten thousand years it was believed that the woman had no soul, she was as soulless as your furniture. Hence, if a husband killed his wife, there was no crime, he had simply destroyed his property. It was nobody else's concern to come into it. Thousands of women were killed by their husbands, but the court, the law, did not accept it as killing, because how can you kill somebody who has no soul?
In India millions of women have been burned alive simply because of the male ego: "My wife is beautiful, young. If I am dead, she may get married again." This jealousy was the reason for deciding that every woman should jump into the burning funeral pyre with her husband. The husband is dead; the living woman has to jump into the fire. And we have practiced this for ten thousand years. It still happens once in a while, although now there is a law against it.
One feels as if we don't give any attention to our social mores, our behavior mores. In the whole of Indian literature I have not come across a single statement saying that if women are required to die with their husbands to show their faith, their love, then why are men not required to do the same?
What kind of game is this in which the rule applies only to the woman, not the man?
The society is made by men. Women are living in a society which is not made for them, not made by them; it has not considered them at all.
Your anger towards women is worth understanding. Perhaps it is really your anger against yourself, your anger against men - what men have done to women.
Women have been victims. You cannot be angry at them.
In the home, the husband is the victim; and it can be said without any doubt that every husband is henpecked. In fact, every intelligent husband has to be - only some idiot may not be. But this is the price that every man has to pay for what mankind has been doing to womankind for thousands of years.
If you want to get free from your anger against women, you will have to go through a very deep inner spring cleaning and see that the woman is the victim. And because she is the victim and has no positive way to resist, to fight, she finds indirect ways: of nagging, of screaming, of throwing tantrums.
These are simply hopeless efforts. And naturally her rage against the whole of humanity becomes focused on one man, the husband.
The freedom of women is going to be the freedom of men too. The day the woman is accepted as equal, given equal opportunity to grow, man will find himself suddenly free from the bitchiness that he used to feel from the women. And he will be surprised that neither is she a cat nor is he a dog - both are human beings.
It is time.
Man has come to a certain maturity. We can create a world together, with men and women sharing their insight, their visions, their dreams. Because they are different, their dreams are different, their contributions to the society will be different. And if a society can be created in which men and women have participated equally, that will be for the first time the richest society in the world - and without all this bitchiness and nagging and fighting.
This is a strange and stupid way of living. But just because your father used to live this way it is accepted almost as if it is something religious. Your forefathers did it, you have to do it, your children will learn it from you.
Every generation goes on giving its diseases to the coming generation.
My people have to be aware and alert not to pass on any sickness which they may have received from the past generation. Let this be the dead end. Don't pass it to the new generation. Let the new people grow - the new earth, the new man.
The old has failed so badly that there is no point in renovating it. It is all ruins. It simply needs to be written in the history books, pieces of it preserved in the museums - but from life it has to disappear.
Woman is what man has made of her.
It is a vicious circle.
Man has deprived woman of education and other social institutions, of economic freedom. And then you ask why women are unintelligent? You are the cause.
Women have as much intelligence as any man - because intelligence has no concern with sexual hormones. Do you think if you changed Albert Einstein into a woman with plastic surgery, he would lose his intelligence? He would still remain Albert Einstein, but in a woman's body. The difference is only of bodies; the difference is not of consciousness, not of intelligence.
But unfortunately man decided to repress woman.
For centuries it has not been clear to historians why it had to happen in such a way. But the latest psychological research makes it very clear why it happened: it happened because man feels a deep inferiority complex in comparison to woman.
And the basic root of that feeling comes from the woman's capacity to become a mother. She is the source of life, she creates life. Man is incapable of it. This became the reason to cut the wings of all women - of freedom, of education - and confine her to a prison-like home and reduce her to just a factory of reproduction so that he can forget that he is inferior.
The woman had to be made inferior so that man could feel at ease, so that his ego could feel that now there is no competition with women at all.
The woman is not the cause of all her bitchiness.
You have been torturing her for thousands of years.
No society in the world has accepted her as equal to man. No culture of the past has given the woman the same respect as it gives to the man. On the contrary, they have all tried to force her into a subhuman existence.
And the reason why the woman did not revolt against such things is simple: again, the same motherhood. For nine months when she is pregnant, she becomes absolutely dependent - particularly in a society which lived by hunting.
And by the way, I would like you to remember that the society in which you are living now - where houses exist, cities exist - is a contribution of women, not of men. The house is the woman's contribution.
Man was hunting. The woman was confined to a small space; naturally she started decorating it, cleaning it, making it beautiful, liveable - and she became attached. In a hunting society, the nomads had to go on changing... because when hunting was not giving them enough food, they had to move to where the animals were. They could not have permanent cities; they could have only tents, not houses.
And you can see it: when a man lives alone, his house is almost like a tent, it is not like a house.
Without a woman, it remains a tent, a temporary place - just a shelter with nothing sacred about it.
As the woman enters, the tent starts transforming into a house and finally into a home.
In hunting societies, the woman's function was nothing but reproduction. She was continuously pregnant. This became her failure: she could not fight, she could not rebel, she had to submit, she had to surrender - of course unwillingly. Nobody becomes a slave willingly.
When somebody becomes a slave willingly, there is no problem.
But millions of women have been forced to become slaves unwillingly. Naturally they try to take revenge in indirect ways. All those ways combined make them cats, their behavior becomes bitchy.
But remember: a woman can be bitchy only with a dog, and a woman can be a cat only with a mouse - and that's why you are angry. Seeing a woman, you are reminded that you are a dog, you are a mouse.
Your male chauvinist attitude hurts.
It is simply an unconscious reaction, and you have to be watchful of the reaction so that it can disappear.
It is undignified of you. It shows something about you - not about the woman. It is your anger, it is your hate.
If you will look at the history....
In many villages, the women cannot enter the temples. In some religions she can enter, but she has a separate section - not the same as the men. In all religions, the woman is not accepted as a candidate for the ultimate growth of consciousness. She is unworthy, not for any other reason - just because she is a woman; her crime is that she is a woman. And she can evolve but she will have to fulfill a condition: first she will have to be born as a man.
So in religions like Jainism, there are methods, rituals, religious disciplines for women, specifically intended for them to enter a man's body in their next life.
Now the whole Jaina attitude and philosophy can be disturbed because with plastic surgery a woman can become a man with no difficulty. There is no need for all those disciplines and rituals and arduous hostilities.
Just a very small amount of plastic surgery and you are capable of entering the ultimate state of consciousness. Strange, that plastic surgery is needed for spiritual growth!
But this has been one way to condemn the woman.
Another reason why man has condemned the woman is the power of the woman over the man. You can never forgive someone who has so much power over you. The woman is beautiful, attractive...
her beauty, her body, her attraction and you become just a beggar - and you are going to take revenge for that too.
But everything is going on in an unconscious state. You are not aware of what you are doing and why.
Man is almost magnetically pulled by the woman. He can see that he is just a puppet. How can he forgive the woman who has forced him to be just a puppet? - whatever he can do, he tries to do.
Women everywhere are not allowed to read the holy scriptures. In many countries the woman is not even allowed to show her face in the society. It used to be so in India; it is still so in all the Mohammedan countries.
I have heard, when Mulla Nasruddin got married according to the tradition, his wife asked him, "To whom am I allowed to show my face?"
Mulla Nasruddin said, "First let me have a look, only then can I say anything." So he looked at her face, closed his eyes and said, "Enough! Except for me, you are allowed to show your face to everybody."
These are subtle ways of humiliation, of cutting women off from the world of power, from the world where everything is happening. The woman is not part of it. She is not part of your wars, she is not part of your businesses, she is not part of your religions.
And there are countries like China - not a small country....
A woman was reading in the newspaper that of every four men, one is Chinese. She came very much worried and concerned. She said to her husband, "This paper says that every fourth person is Chinese. Now you have to be careful; we already have three boys, and I don't want any Chinese in this house."
In this vast one-fourth of humanity, for ten thousand years it was believed that the woman had no soul, she was as soulless as your furniture. Hence, if a husband killed his wife, there was no crime, he had simply destroyed his property. It was nobody else's concern to come into it. Thousands of women were killed by their husbands, but the court, the law, did not accept it as killing, because how can you kill somebody who has no soul?
In India millions of women have been burned alive simply because of the male ego: "My wife is beautiful, young. If I am dead, she may get married again." This jealousy was the reason for deciding that every woman should jump into the burning funeral pyre with her husband. The husband is dead; the living woman has to jump into the fire. And we have practiced this for ten thousand years. It still happens once in a while, although now there is a law against it.
One feels as if we don't give any attention to our social mores, our behavior mores. In the whole of Indian literature I have not come across a single statement saying that if women are required to die with their husbands to show their faith, their love, then why are men not required to do the same?
What kind of game is this in which the rule applies only to the woman, not the man?
The society is made by men. Women are living in a society which is not made for them, not made by them; it has not considered them at all.
Your anger towards women is worth understanding. Perhaps it is really your anger against yourself, your anger against men - what men have done to women.
Women have been victims. You cannot be angry at them.
In the home, the husband is the victim; and it can be said without any doubt that every husband is henpecked. In fact, every intelligent husband has to be - only some idiot may not be. But this is the price that every man has to pay for what mankind has been doing to womankind for thousands of years.
If you want to get free from your anger against women, you will have to go through a very deep inner spring cleaning and see that the woman is the victim. And because she is the victim and has no positive way to resist, to fight, she finds indirect ways: of nagging, of screaming, of throwing tantrums.
These are simply hopeless efforts. And naturally her rage against the whole of humanity becomes focused on one man, the husband.
The freedom of women is going to be the freedom of men too. The day the woman is accepted as equal, given equal opportunity to grow, man will find himself suddenly free from the bitchiness that he used to feel from the women. And he will be surprised that neither is she a cat nor is he a dog - both are human beings.
It is time.
Man has come to a certain maturity. We can create a world together, with men and women sharing their insight, their visions, their dreams. Because they are different, their dreams are different, their contributions to the society will be different. And if a society can be created in which men and women have participated equally, that will be for the first time the richest society in the world - and without all this bitchiness and nagging and fighting.
This is a strange and stupid way of living. But just because your father used to live this way it is accepted almost as if it is something religious. Your forefathers did it, you have to do it, your children will learn it from you.
Every generation goes on giving its diseases to the coming generation.
My people have to be aware and alert not to pass on any sickness which they may have received from the past generation. Let this be the dead end. Don't pass it to the new generation. Let the new people grow - the new earth, the new man.
The old has failed so badly that there is no point in renovating it. It is all ruins. It simply needs to be written in the history books, pieces of it preserved in the museums - but from life it has to disappear.
the problem with the modern woman is one of identity, most women are totally brainwashed by the male agenda, they conform to all male control structures without even knowing they are under control. it works on a simple phycological premise that started in ye olde days when man burnt witches at the stake because they feared the feminine principle, duality started here, good bad, male female, illusionary and part of the maya.
the male in their insecure (and i know cos i've been there) status of knowing the feminine principle is equally as powerful as the male has to subjugated women from discovering their power, so all sorts of constructed ideas are created usually within other memetic structures, religious and political.
the overall prime directive is to keep women away from their goddess nature, including the role of motherhood, in contemporary society this is done by making them hate their bodies, plugging them into the glamour, fashion, hollywood celeb, consumerism, finding unfulfilled relationships with abusive partners becomes an unconscious desire as that way they have the validation they require that reflects their self loathing, consequently women react to love in a negative way, destructive and seek out obliteration. i seen this so many times, the damage is almost unrepairable unless the woman is able to take some responsibility and self direct their own pattern of behaviour away from their eventual car crash.
as an avatar of the goddess i think men have a massive responsibility to take some interventionist approach here, start focusing on the reality of feminine principles and educate women away from the lie that males create unless of course women want to be powerless and the play things of men, androids, i call them, which most of them do.
the male in their insecure (and i know cos i've been there) status of knowing the feminine principle is equally as powerful as the male has to subjugated women from discovering their power, so all sorts of constructed ideas are created usually within other memetic structures, religious and political.
the overall prime directive is to keep women away from their goddess nature, including the role of motherhood, in contemporary society this is done by making them hate their bodies, plugging them into the glamour, fashion, hollywood celeb, consumerism, finding unfulfilled relationships with abusive partners becomes an unconscious desire as that way they have the validation they require that reflects their self loathing, consequently women react to love in a negative way, destructive and seek out obliteration. i seen this so many times, the damage is almost unrepairable unless the woman is able to take some responsibility and self direct their own pattern of behaviour away from their eventual car crash.
as an avatar of the goddess i think men have a massive responsibility to take some interventionist approach here, start focusing on the reality of feminine principles and educate women away from the lie that males create unless of course women want to be powerless and the play things of men, androids, i call them, which most of them do.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
he's a cheeky panda bear type man with stubby nose and pug face, he has chubby cheeks and that black and white furry suit but he's always so aggressive when he drinks, that's the thing i hate about him, unpredictable personality. he's got that cute look, enjoys reading and making flans for his mates but as soon as he's drinking he becomes ugly. all that ego starts leaking through and it has to fucking exert it's destructive influence upon anyone close, destructive clique.
so one night im chatting with a opera singer from anteries 7, we are in a tea house waiting for the sun to set, apparently there's going to be some sort of meteor shower and she's gonna sing an aria to the small select audience. there's three guys on the stage setting up the mic and a small 3 pice band tuning their gear but i suspect they are actually having a cheeky spliff under pretense.
anyway im enjoying listening to her stories when he comes crashing in on the conversation, already under the influence of some sort of vodka type spirit, a malevolent thing if ever i seen one, it's dark and miserable under a mask of smiles and laughter. i glance into his eyes and scan his aura, i get a 15 minute window, short term future, things will get ugly unless i can hijack the situation.
he's already making the opera diva look nervous and i can see the management getting worried in the background.
while he's basking in his own self obsessed glory i sneakily slip a pill in his glass, it's a parallax, very illegal and as soon as he sips his drink it will enter his blood and begin changing his reality. i take a long breath and pretend to look interested in his boorish tale of sexual conquests and travels to exotica.
he holds the glass up to his lips and quaffs his drink, almost immediately his eyes expand, dilated and glare.
he is under my influence now. i ask him if he can play the harmonica, he nods his head, 'yes.'
i pass him a harmonica in the key of cm the same key the diva is going to sing in.
'you will accompany the diva on harmonica when she cues you in. do you understand?'
'yes i understand.'
'you will never drink again, from now on any alcohol will taste terrible to you and make you violently sick.'
i can see the spirit that is inside him anger, a small internal conflict ensures, his eyes are struggling, his face sweats and for a moment i'm thinking the parallex may not be able to defeat the spirit. it's inside him, wrestling to stay relevant.
i look the thing in his eyes, 'i cast you out from this weak soul, begone from this world.'
his eyes start to dim, and slowly he falls into a deep sleep.
the diva looks at me, 'is he okay?'
'yes, i think so. you will have a harmonica accompanying you tonight, i hope you choose something bluesy.'
'i'm highly adept at configuring my songs in most styles.'
'good, i really hope this works.'
'did i ever tell you about the time i played for the grand emperor of venus?'
without waiting for any response she starts talking.
later just as the meteor shower appears as a faint dot in the distance she is introduced to the audience who clap and cheer loudly.
the panda man climbs on stage with the band and stands near the mike, the band kicks in, and they are tight, moving into some semi operatic space rock blues from early 30th century earth,
"did you hear about the universe
the one we live within
it's the sun that sustains you
the one your basking in
and did you do the gorgon tango
did you shake the squid about
did you kiss the hydra
on the lips of every mouth
you know i'm a life form
that loves to tell you truths
that's why the only song i sing
is the operatic space rock blues..."
and then in came the harmonica, old panda man, under the influence of the pandorax standing with his legs apart blowing that instrument like it was part of his breathing, the audience were mesmerized as the meteors started to come into view, they were beautiful, purples trails of fire across space, reds and blues exploding in their wake, a trail of yellow flame cutting the night like a zipper.
i slipped outside for a quick smoke and a line of kick. a cute waitress with bright red lips and a short skirt came with me, you know girls love kick.
after the show the old panda seemed to be emerging from the pandorax hit, he was looking a bit confused, his hands searched for a drink, the diva was surrounded by people wanting her autograph, she looked amazing, the band were packing up their gear.
i decided to take the waitress back to my place, but i had to put the old bear panda on a transporter tacking him close to home, the diva asked him if he would play with her full time, but he would have to remain sober. the bear looked at her as though she was mad.
it was a strange night under the cosmos, this sort of thing don't even register, it's nothing, a minor drama. operatic space rock blues.
so one night im chatting with a opera singer from anteries 7, we are in a tea house waiting for the sun to set, apparently there's going to be some sort of meteor shower and she's gonna sing an aria to the small select audience. there's three guys on the stage setting up the mic and a small 3 pice band tuning their gear but i suspect they are actually having a cheeky spliff under pretense.
anyway im enjoying listening to her stories when he comes crashing in on the conversation, already under the influence of some sort of vodka type spirit, a malevolent thing if ever i seen one, it's dark and miserable under a mask of smiles and laughter. i glance into his eyes and scan his aura, i get a 15 minute window, short term future, things will get ugly unless i can hijack the situation.
he's already making the opera diva look nervous and i can see the management getting worried in the background.
while he's basking in his own self obsessed glory i sneakily slip a pill in his glass, it's a parallax, very illegal and as soon as he sips his drink it will enter his blood and begin changing his reality. i take a long breath and pretend to look interested in his boorish tale of sexual conquests and travels to exotica.
he holds the glass up to his lips and quaffs his drink, almost immediately his eyes expand, dilated and glare.
he is under my influence now. i ask him if he can play the harmonica, he nods his head, 'yes.'
i pass him a harmonica in the key of cm the same key the diva is going to sing in.
'you will accompany the diva on harmonica when she cues you in. do you understand?'
'yes i understand.'
'you will never drink again, from now on any alcohol will taste terrible to you and make you violently sick.'
i can see the spirit that is inside him anger, a small internal conflict ensures, his eyes are struggling, his face sweats and for a moment i'm thinking the parallex may not be able to defeat the spirit. it's inside him, wrestling to stay relevant.
i look the thing in his eyes, 'i cast you out from this weak soul, begone from this world.'
his eyes start to dim, and slowly he falls into a deep sleep.
the diva looks at me, 'is he okay?'
'yes, i think so. you will have a harmonica accompanying you tonight, i hope you choose something bluesy.'
'i'm highly adept at configuring my songs in most styles.'
'good, i really hope this works.'
'did i ever tell you about the time i played for the grand emperor of venus?'
without waiting for any response she starts talking.
later just as the meteor shower appears as a faint dot in the distance she is introduced to the audience who clap and cheer loudly.
the panda man climbs on stage with the band and stands near the mike, the band kicks in, and they are tight, moving into some semi operatic space rock blues from early 30th century earth,
"did you hear about the universe
the one we live within
it's the sun that sustains you
the one your basking in
and did you do the gorgon tango
did you shake the squid about
did you kiss the hydra
on the lips of every mouth
you know i'm a life form
that loves to tell you truths
that's why the only song i sing
is the operatic space rock blues..."
and then in came the harmonica, old panda man, under the influence of the pandorax standing with his legs apart blowing that instrument like it was part of his breathing, the audience were mesmerized as the meteors started to come into view, they were beautiful, purples trails of fire across space, reds and blues exploding in their wake, a trail of yellow flame cutting the night like a zipper.
i slipped outside for a quick smoke and a line of kick. a cute waitress with bright red lips and a short skirt came with me, you know girls love kick.
after the show the old panda seemed to be emerging from the pandorax hit, he was looking a bit confused, his hands searched for a drink, the diva was surrounded by people wanting her autograph, she looked amazing, the band were packing up their gear.
i decided to take the waitress back to my place, but i had to put the old bear panda on a transporter tacking him close to home, the diva asked him if he would play with her full time, but he would have to remain sober. the bear looked at her as though she was mad.
it was a strange night under the cosmos, this sort of thing don't even register, it's nothing, a minor drama. operatic space rock blues.
i have a massive photograph of a girl i was in love with, meredith, it's a portrait on glossy photographic paper, i have it rolled up in a room, i've never looked at it, it's been sitting there for 3 years.
i get the feeling i should frame it, it's gonna cost a fortune but i should do something with it, i wanted to write over it but i think i'll just save that idea for another face, there are a few faces i could write over but meredith's has a pristine look, her eyes in this photograph are amazing, she had a chameleon look, the sort that kept me guessing. i like that, i'd never really know who i was gonna get, there were many sides to that girl but i loved them all. this side is her seductive side, i think it captures her at her best, elegant and sexy, looking like a sophisticated jazz singer from 1944, she radiates jazz, it oozes from every pore. once she sang me a jazz tune and did a little dance, man it was amazing, i loved that dance, i loved the way we just lived in that cocoon, smoking weed and getting up early for our one walk to the coffee shop for our lattes and spinach pies. that was the only thing we managed to eat all day and night, we were both pretty fucked up but i liked that time a lot, we would stay home like shell shocked rabbits, attached to one another through both flesh and the trauma, stunned, dazed and somewhat amazed, the both off us knew we went back a long time, we were really good together until we the tyranny of distance and brain injury, and i didn't even know who you were, and you and i just detached, slipped away from one another. you went into a sort of drug induced madness ofr depression and me slipping into brain injury reality, no concentration, no memory, no idea.
but that's really all i remember, i don't really know why we drifeted apart, i don't know much about that time but i have a really lovely photograph of you i want to frame.
i get the feeling i should frame it, it's gonna cost a fortune but i should do something with it, i wanted to write over it but i think i'll just save that idea for another face, there are a few faces i could write over but meredith's has a pristine look, her eyes in this photograph are amazing, she had a chameleon look, the sort that kept me guessing. i like that, i'd never really know who i was gonna get, there were many sides to that girl but i loved them all. this side is her seductive side, i think it captures her at her best, elegant and sexy, looking like a sophisticated jazz singer from 1944, she radiates jazz, it oozes from every pore. once she sang me a jazz tune and did a little dance, man it was amazing, i loved that dance, i loved the way we just lived in that cocoon, smoking weed and getting up early for our one walk to the coffee shop for our lattes and spinach pies. that was the only thing we managed to eat all day and night, we were both pretty fucked up but i liked that time a lot, we would stay home like shell shocked rabbits, attached to one another through both flesh and the trauma, stunned, dazed and somewhat amazed, the both off us knew we went back a long time, we were really good together until we the tyranny of distance and brain injury, and i didn't even know who you were, and you and i just detached, slipped away from one another. you went into a sort of drug induced madness ofr depression and me slipping into brain injury reality, no concentration, no memory, no idea.
but that's really all i remember, i don't really know why we drifeted apart, i don't know much about that time but i have a really lovely photograph of you i want to frame.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
the first time travellers will start to show up in movies, old films will be searched and certain extras will appear in the background using technology that could not of existed in the year the film was made, i pods, ray bans, digital watches. suddenly a whole new area of research opens up and people will study old films looking for these clues.
one day some one will suggest that if we look carefully at modern films we will see technology that is new to us, from travellers in our far future.
the researchers will eventually study the way this technology is used in these films and then create the technology in our time, however the central mystery of time travel will not be revealled until a certain captain mission is discovered in an old joan crawford movie. there he is in the background, sipping a coffee in a coffee house in berlin, using an i pad, he looks up from the device and waves at the camera, then he blows us a kiss just as his head bows down again.
the scene is brief and captain mission is in the background, blink and you will miss it, but researchers slow it down and magnify it digitally and there he is, waving at you.
one day some one will suggest that if we look carefully at modern films we will see technology that is new to us, from travellers in our far future.
the researchers will eventually study the way this technology is used in these films and then create the technology in our time, however the central mystery of time travel will not be revealled until a certain captain mission is discovered in an old joan crawford movie. there he is in the background, sipping a coffee in a coffee house in berlin, using an i pad, he looks up from the device and waves at the camera, then he blows us a kiss just as his head bows down again.
the scene is brief and captain mission is in the background, blink and you will miss it, but researchers slow it down and magnify it digitally and there he is, waving at you.
panther like, you wander around that suburb, the one that you once lived in, terrible emotions rise, a tangled web of memories, where they really yours you wonder. that's the trouble, you can't trust anything these days, even yourself. except you have that instinct and the gifted intuitive insight that drives you.
there's a few clouds in the skies, obscuring the stars, last night you caught a glimpse of a yellow moon, hanging up there, jaundice eye and fixated stare, flickering in black soup. but tonight there's just a great dark sky oppressing the city, all light finding penetration challenging.
walk down the main street past the shop where you pick up scattered recollections of a fight you had, she screaming at you in front of a whole bunch of people, causing a scene, creating some drama over some thing you said or did. you can't recall the details just the energy, terrible and furious. it doesn't make sense, like some interference buzzing in your head, what were those memories, what ever they were they hurt and they are ugly, maybe they aren't yours, maybe you just picked up random memories that have been scattered and left hanging like lost energy fields. you shake your head, puzzled and confused, the whole town seems to be drowning in these energy fields. you step up your pace, wrap your scarf around you and head towards the car.
as you turn around a corner past the drive through bottle shop you get another sensation of dread, you can feel the heavy weight of a violent war of words, she's shouting and swearing but the words are like daggers, they cut and slice you, they are weapons and you have no defence, you remember trying to defend yourself with gentle words, kindness and empathy but she's lost all sense of reason now and the anger spills over into a sinister zone.
jesus the severity of this pocket hangs heavy, it's like a molasses you walked into, but you don't own it, it's some one else's, your just picking it up, like an echo.
you start to run, this town has to many ghosts, a heavy rain begins, your running fast fumbling for keys, up ahead you see your car, you're closing in when the big one hits you.
shes angry, thinks you had some sort of affair, thinks you said something to some one, you're confused, scared, you never seen her so angry and fierce, you can see her screaming at you but the words are irrational, they just come out in a deep red hate, like a brick wall closing you in, you're finding it difficult to breath, tears falling down your face. you stumble around trying to get your keys out, but your inhabiting two different times simultaneously, you don't know how to survive this but you manage to open the door, around you her screaming and hysterics are reaching a new plateau, insanity, abuse, you want to get away, you will say anything, do anything, just make it stop. you slam the door and suddenly you feel her blows, her scratches on your face. there's no escape from some memories, even if they may not be your own.
there's a few clouds in the skies, obscuring the stars, last night you caught a glimpse of a yellow moon, hanging up there, jaundice eye and fixated stare, flickering in black soup. but tonight there's just a great dark sky oppressing the city, all light finding penetration challenging.
walk down the main street past the shop where you pick up scattered recollections of a fight you had, she screaming at you in front of a whole bunch of people, causing a scene, creating some drama over some thing you said or did. you can't recall the details just the energy, terrible and furious. it doesn't make sense, like some interference buzzing in your head, what were those memories, what ever they were they hurt and they are ugly, maybe they aren't yours, maybe you just picked up random memories that have been scattered and left hanging like lost energy fields. you shake your head, puzzled and confused, the whole town seems to be drowning in these energy fields. you step up your pace, wrap your scarf around you and head towards the car.
as you turn around a corner past the drive through bottle shop you get another sensation of dread, you can feel the heavy weight of a violent war of words, she's shouting and swearing but the words are like daggers, they cut and slice you, they are weapons and you have no defence, you remember trying to defend yourself with gentle words, kindness and empathy but she's lost all sense of reason now and the anger spills over into a sinister zone.
jesus the severity of this pocket hangs heavy, it's like a molasses you walked into, but you don't own it, it's some one else's, your just picking it up, like an echo.
you start to run, this town has to many ghosts, a heavy rain begins, your running fast fumbling for keys, up ahead you see your car, you're closing in when the big one hits you.
shes angry, thinks you had some sort of affair, thinks you said something to some one, you're confused, scared, you never seen her so angry and fierce, you can see her screaming at you but the words are irrational, they just come out in a deep red hate, like a brick wall closing you in, you're finding it difficult to breath, tears falling down your face. you stumble around trying to get your keys out, but your inhabiting two different times simultaneously, you don't know how to survive this but you manage to open the door, around you her screaming and hysterics are reaching a new plateau, insanity, abuse, you want to get away, you will say anything, do anything, just make it stop. you slam the door and suddenly you feel her blows, her scratches on your face. there's no escape from some memories, even if they may not be your own.
walking early morning in the sunlight, the soft thermal kiss makes me smile, a happy dog by my side we wonder what the day brings, and it brings beauty in the form of nico looking like a 1960's model, stepping onto the red carpet at cannes in her glamourous outfit, all casual and oozing sensuality like a ripe peach. we wander down for a soy coffee, the workmen at the corner of the street all turn their heads and stare, i can see their thoughts and tell nico she's in demand with her new ripe peach look as cars crash into lamp posts and buses veer off the road into shop fronts, passerby's walk into doors and the workmen start digging up the wrong building, a policeman swoons and a waitress spills hot coffee all over a customers lap, sending him screaming away. yeah chaos ensues as our backdrop but nico is indifferent to it, wandering along the street carelessly without any idea of her side effect, which lets face it adds to her attraction. me i'm just there, right place right time, that's the way it is this spring morning, the birds and the bees are out buzzing and swooping and so are we.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
there's some things i need to say, some words i need to write, they are being transmitted as i write, like most of my blog, they enter the tips off my fingers bypassing my brain, my mind has no boundaries, i can't tell where it stops or starts, i guess my hearts catching up.
somewhere in the near future they will cross paths and hopefully some harmony will enter my life, some peace and quiet, a little pocket of bliss.
i say goodbye to miss cupcake who sails away on a great big clipper ship filled with food, it will drift around some sun drenched island and she will lounge around looking glamorous while waiters and stewards pamper her and cater to her needs. the sun will set in the foreground and she will look like a perfect picture postcard.
i'll probably be wandering around some island in the year 2017 and find a small souvenir shop that sells cards, one of which will be a glamorous lady enjoying the south pacific sunset.
she has baked me a cake, it's a lumberjack cake, my favourite and it's very very good. for the first time in a long while i feel kinda special.
i eat quite a lot of the cake, it's divine, i take some small slithers in for the work people who are instantly smitten. wow i'm really touched by this.
i speak to nico on the phone, we drift into deep and meaningful type conversation, she is a highly intelligent woman, extremely yummy, i'm glad that we met, we talk about amazing things and she is quite challenging, actually some of my biggest ideas are generated from our conversations, the idea of respect is a new one, i mean i never thought that love could be defined for me.
one afternoon we watched a movie together, 'the story of o'
i've been talking about it with her for a while, i'd never actually seen it although a lot of women i know all requested me to watch it with them or read the book but it was nico that i eventually saw it with.
i was not expecting much, from the outside it looked like a cheesy french 70's porn movie but i was absolutely amazed at the conceptual accuracy of the film eventual harmony and central thought in terms of power and control.
we both like the ideas in the movie with a process of evolutionary sexuality thrown in, i like the prescriptive sexual approach, if it actually empowers rather than subjugates. i don't see the idea as controlling or dominating, i see it as liberating and the women in my life who know me well enough see that to. respect is the name of the game.
immediately after the movie we both agree it was indeed brilliant, although i'm confused by the emotional disconnect the males have. it's strange to me but then i guess i have a female soul so i would always find the males emotional state strangely unsatisfying. nico and i discuss the contextual ideas, a male takes his woman to a special place to train her in sexual submissiveness, she is trained by another man, then she is returned to her lover whom is in love with another woman. however while in training she is told she will eventually meet the master, whom she will have to obey as she does her lover. later she meets this master and her boyfriend willingly let's her go to him hoping he will clear a space for the other woman he is in love with but she rejects him for o.
meanwhile o undergoes a process of further humiliation and through this finds empowerment in her own sexuality, the twist arrives when the master falls in love with her and she then turns tables and burns him with her cigarette thus creating an equality. they pursue love together as equals who have found respect for one another.
but nico and i are fucking smart cookies and we go on to discuss that in the next sequence, the as yet unmade 'story of o 2' the enlightened female would be the one with the power. this is the process that is natural, most relationships have nothing but a political, financial, emotional power struggle at the heart of them, we have all been conditioned to accept this as normal, yet the relationships that work for me are the ones where power and control games are understood completely as natural process that can be structured into a relationship, rather than remain unconscious and destructive, somewhat normative.
i like to play without the destructive elements. i like the road to liberation, i like my girlfriends to be free and i like the fact in that freedom they get me, and therefore respect me. that way love comes free and i can trust it.
somewhere in the near future they will cross paths and hopefully some harmony will enter my life, some peace and quiet, a little pocket of bliss.
i say goodbye to miss cupcake who sails away on a great big clipper ship filled with food, it will drift around some sun drenched island and she will lounge around looking glamorous while waiters and stewards pamper her and cater to her needs. the sun will set in the foreground and she will look like a perfect picture postcard.
i'll probably be wandering around some island in the year 2017 and find a small souvenir shop that sells cards, one of which will be a glamorous lady enjoying the south pacific sunset.
she has baked me a cake, it's a lumberjack cake, my favourite and it's very very good. for the first time in a long while i feel kinda special.
i eat quite a lot of the cake, it's divine, i take some small slithers in for the work people who are instantly smitten. wow i'm really touched by this.
i speak to nico on the phone, we drift into deep and meaningful type conversation, she is a highly intelligent woman, extremely yummy, i'm glad that we met, we talk about amazing things and she is quite challenging, actually some of my biggest ideas are generated from our conversations, the idea of respect is a new one, i mean i never thought that love could be defined for me.
one afternoon we watched a movie together, 'the story of o'
i've been talking about it with her for a while, i'd never actually seen it although a lot of women i know all requested me to watch it with them or read the book but it was nico that i eventually saw it with.
i was not expecting much, from the outside it looked like a cheesy french 70's porn movie but i was absolutely amazed at the conceptual accuracy of the film eventual harmony and central thought in terms of power and control.
we both like the ideas in the movie with a process of evolutionary sexuality thrown in, i like the prescriptive sexual approach, if it actually empowers rather than subjugates. i don't see the idea as controlling or dominating, i see it as liberating and the women in my life who know me well enough see that to. respect is the name of the game.
immediately after the movie we both agree it was indeed brilliant, although i'm confused by the emotional disconnect the males have. it's strange to me but then i guess i have a female soul so i would always find the males emotional state strangely unsatisfying. nico and i discuss the contextual ideas, a male takes his woman to a special place to train her in sexual submissiveness, she is trained by another man, then she is returned to her lover whom is in love with another woman. however while in training she is told she will eventually meet the master, whom she will have to obey as she does her lover. later she meets this master and her boyfriend willingly let's her go to him hoping he will clear a space for the other woman he is in love with but she rejects him for o.
meanwhile o undergoes a process of further humiliation and through this finds empowerment in her own sexuality, the twist arrives when the master falls in love with her and she then turns tables and burns him with her cigarette thus creating an equality. they pursue love together as equals who have found respect for one another.
but nico and i are fucking smart cookies and we go on to discuss that in the next sequence, the as yet unmade 'story of o 2' the enlightened female would be the one with the power. this is the process that is natural, most relationships have nothing but a political, financial, emotional power struggle at the heart of them, we have all been conditioned to accept this as normal, yet the relationships that work for me are the ones where power and control games are understood completely as natural process that can be structured into a relationship, rather than remain unconscious and destructive, somewhat normative.
i like to play without the destructive elements. i like the road to liberation, i like my girlfriends to be free and i like the fact in that freedom they get me, and therefore respect me. that way love comes free and i can trust it.
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