Thursday, November 25, 2004

The Cell-Phone's Ringing but You Been Done and Gone.

There’s a bumper sticker that says, “Do you think you’d drive any better with that cell-phone jammed up your ass?” I suppose that’s a legitimate question. It is certainly a fine image for those of us who are occasionally intimidated by some cosmetic queen at the wheel of a Lexus SUV late for her appointment to sell the shit out of a bungalow in Beverly.

For those of us who find a great deal of what we observe to be the product of wrong observations, poor observation, skewered goals, dreadful ambitions and the moment to moment unhorsing of the true god within and the supplanting of the false self in place of; this link should prove refreshing.

There’s an argument for crisis workers to have cell-phone capacity. I wager most cell-phone conversations go on between teenage girls with the IQ of a retarded potato. Most of the discussions involve an equally unintelligent vegetable you will be able to name without my having to do so. If we could find a way to harness the energy released by pointless cell-phone calls, the friction produced by the rubbing of obese people’s thighs and the collective conversations in bars and restaurants we could light and heat every home in North America. And remember, these are all growth industries.

Alright, I’ve done the amusing thing so let’s move on. I don’t think there’s anyone, no matter how dumbed down they may have become, who is unaware of the implications of a hamster on a treadmill. I can’t help over-estimating perceptual abilities being an optimist and having very strong personal justifications for being so- though not compelled to further explain at this time. So, let me ask you these questions- “Are you where you thought you would be when you thought about where you might be at this time?” “Do you know where you’re headed?” “Do you know why?” “When you say, ‘I’ who are you talking about?” “Do you watch yourself inside your head?” “Do you believe the thoughts in your head originate there?” “How much command do you have over yourself?” “Who are you?”

There is something going here and you don’t know what it is, whether you’re Mr. Jones or Mrs. Smith or any number of the warm bodies passing you on their way to buy something, eat something, do something, fuck or be fucked by something. Here in the world of appetites, routine is the mean. Greased rails extend from the cradle to grave. Nothing satisfies and the only thing the rich possess that the poor do not is the illusion that they are better off. Of course the do get a different class of disease and more access to the skin stretchers.

Considering how long this has been going on I shouldn’t be telling you anything you don’t know. When you look back at history do you ever make the connection to the future? Have you read Spengler? Do you wonder how it is that every time the tables are turned the same people are still sitting there?

Okay, seen realistically, the world is a 24/7 graveyard of hungry ghosts marching through the land of eternal appetite. You know this. You know that the same thing seems to keep repeating itself. There’s this idea of progress but... Well creature comforts are certainly being addressed. Whatever the body wants the body gets until the tape ends.

Well now, if, as it seems, life and the objectives of most people living are insane what do you do? What do you do if you’re not satisfied with chasing your tail or burning down the house you live in?

My mother-in-law watches television all the time. I think I could say she lives there. I’ve been around long enough to know that a good portion of everyone winds up there. The lights are on but no one’s home. The TV’s on. The radio’s on. The refrigerator is singing. The flesh is spreading. The dreams died early and went to act out in the lives of actors playing at the firm limits of what is allowed; the common brutality and indifference of the casual hungers, interests and plots of the replicating echo. Everyone should objectively (if possible- it’s harder than you think) watch TV for a week and then analyze what features of life, the mind and heart are missing; see if you can figure what’s going on.

Meanwhile you move, day by day, minute by minute toward the wide gaping jaws of the unknown. Think about it. Increment by increment, moment by moment you are going where? “Why are you here?” Really, “What are you doing here?” You see all the flashing lights of the Las Vegas stage set in miniature multiplied all about. The store fronts yawn like vampire hookers on a bad acid trip. The sidewalks are imbedded with the soup fixing’s of some nightmare Thanksgiving. Those are NOT real palm trees. You’d like to make yourself pretty but you are getting old and that is now unofficially a crime. Even worse, you have not become interesting. You live in a world of millions of people nodding with little interest as they await their turn to speak. And even worse, no one has anything to say.

Is it any wonder that a cosmic spanking awaits down the road? It is for your own good. Whenever you get lost in the department store on your way to Elysian Fields it’s necessary to destroy the store; sorry about that. The inconvenience of a temporary death is preferable if it means you’re back on the right road again. It would be nice if it could be avoided though and that is a personal choice.

One of the biggest mysteries, surprises and disappointments is what people settle for in themselves, considering what they are capable of. You’re God you know. Or rather let us say, you’re the house built for the guest who got shoved out the back when you let those other people in.

The only requirement is to try hard and stay fixed to the goal, knowing that you cannot fail if you do so. Here is what The Upanishads says about what you are when you achieve to your real destiny; the reason why you are here, the reason why this whole confusing flaming stage set was created.

“A perfect fool in one place, all royal splendor in another; at times in fond delusion, at times in entire peace and quiet; often in the slothful indifference of the boa; the subject of the highest encomiums in one place, in another all contempt, in a third entirely unknown- thus goes about the wise knower, ever happy in the highest bliss.”

You have a lot to be thankful for. It’s a real shame you don’t take advantage of any of it. “Oops, there goes my cell. Would you hang on? I’ve got to take this.”

Better not ask for whom the cell-phone rings.

Monday, November 22, 2004

Just Let It Go.

Just Let it Go

Yeah, just let it go. We’ve all heard about taking a deep breath. We’ve seen the movie where the woman presses her face into the strong mans shoulder and he says, “Go ahead, just let it all out... there...there. It’s going to be alright.” We might question whether it’s going to be alright, after all, her house might have burned down with everyone she knows in it. She might have just learned that she’s going to die soon. Then again, as soon as you let go, as soon as you let it all out it is going to be alright. The thing is, we don’t want to face the fact that everything changes, that the people ‘as we know them’ will pass on. We don’t want to live forever, to die daily, to change fundamentally and embrace the new. We don’t want that.

And so we have, the lies, the easy fixes, the distractions, all the vain ambitions that substitute for the real goal. We got bupkis. We got shit and we get shit because we want shit. Very few know how to or who it is that- turns shit into gold. Few make the connection between gold and the Sun. Few know what it means to shine or understand what shining does to the once tarnished interior. Few realize that all forms are condensed energy or that everything is made from sunlight. That’s what we are; light in extension.

You are moving through a world of illusion surrounded by lies. You are in The Twilight Zone and you don’t need to see the signpost up ahead. It’s actually some distance back. And boy, don’t we get upset at people when they tell us we are deceived and living in a world of illusion surrounded by lies. Lies are condensed energy too. In a garden, weeds grow up among the flowers. Lies are woven around and through truths. It takes skill to separate one from the other. More importantly it takes desire to want to. It takes courage to face and accept the things that will force you to change and become yourself.

Among the many sad ironies that drip down the mottled walls of the sad café is the illusion of popularity and the idea that popularity is somehow associated with veracity, ‘what’s happenin’, what’s valuable, what you need or whatever. The same stupid currency associations are made with success and fame. One of the things that get thrown at me a lot, usually from individuals in no position to throw anything is that; if I had anything to say I’d be rich and famous.

I’ve actually made a career of walking away from these things and the proof of that is in the biography. Donald Trump is rich and Donald Duck is famous. There is a fame that comes and it is accompanied by wealth. It is conferred upon the recipient by Nature. It is engineered behind the scenes by the mind which contains all of us as thoughts moving through it like fish. It may come early in life. It may come in the middle or at the end. It may come after one is gone. It is one of the fruits of desirous quest and one should prefer it in place of every counterfeit the world offers. Study the lives of the rich and famous. Look into their faces; observe their companions and what things they choose for celebration, consumption and entertainment. Look at what they must endure and who they have to hang out with. Think about it.

I am in fact quite rich although I doubt I would qualify as rich according to the ordinary gradations of measured assets. But I am rich nonetheless. I possess certain things that few people have. I possess some things, the existence of which is generally unknown. But more than that I enjoy, really enjoy, things that cost nothing. I also do not want most things. I have zero interest in 99.99999999 percent of the objects that can be desired or had. I can come and go at will. I know what to eat and how to make it taste good. I am free in ways that many do not even suspect the existence of. I could go on at length here but I’ll leave you to extrapolate on your own.

I won’t address the issue of fame although I could say quite a few things about that and whether or not I do in fact possess it and where. But that’s irrelevant. Only a fool seeks what passes for fame in this realm. You could compare it to walking around naked at night in the swamps of Andros Island, the jungle in Nihiku or any number of tropical locations. Possessing large amounts of wealth is attended by quite a few annoyances of its own, not to mention guaranteed physical illnesses that come with the territory.

One source of real wealth is the possession of good health all through your life, never going to doctors- not even to check; possessing already your own omniscient in-house physician. Real fame is moving through peoples lives and leaving sunlight in your wake- having your passage remembered while you yourself are forgotten, or at least, blurred in outline.

The lucky among us are not burdened with the needs of art or the responsibility of recording these things such as you see running past your eyes at this moment. Those who can live in the moment’s embodiment of the truth are the lucky ones. We in the trenches must needs face those across the wire, across the appearance of the razor wire. We in the caravan must needs hear the town dogs and bear the tomatoes upon the stage. It is to us to weave the catcalls into song, dance among the car horns and the thrusting lusts of the priapic appetites of the crowded landscapes, whirl the cape of fire to the side and dance beyond the flame, be beaten early and long for the sake of a tenderized heart, suffer every ignominy and false charge for the sheer joy of the opportunity to proclaim the undying, overwhelming, incomprehensible love that surrounds us on all sides; the face of the Sun and the angels that Durer caught so realistically in spiraled descent from the horn of vibrating light...all this and so much more make every calumny a caress.

You may hang by your fingers from the wall of your fear of the things you imagine are below can just let go. The ground is mere inches beneath your feet. That gulf before you may be so wide that it has no other side or it may only be as wide as your fear.

Yeah, just let go.

Sunday, November 21, 2004

Moving Generally Away from the Departing Garbage Scow

Yeah, I mighta, coulda, shoulda been more gracious and shy retiring all foot shuffling humble- gee shucks...nah, it’s all about the team. I just want to get to the series... winning this award is nice but it really should have been broken into little pieces and shared out among all living creatures right down to the insect kingdom, Hell, the mineral kingdom and beyond. I shoulda thought out those last two blog entries a little better.

And I shoulda, probably, maybe, mighta, oughta have not baited the wounded furry little egos sheltered in the out of shape tit sacks of wilting male menopausal violent hatred of everything that ever moved passed it...maybe, but I didn’t. No, I used all the little buzzwords and allusions and tasty (though certainly true) stories that I knew would burn in the bowels of the acid stomach failure brigade who got left out in the rain of winos’ piss that ran down the gutters of the virtual Houston Street of their literal abode of present cachet and props not coming now or later maybe- ever...even. Count on it.

It’s hard at this point of a lifetime of struggle not to tweak the noses of those who weren’t even asked to stand in the wings and had to pay to get into the show that they hated like the very poison eating at their marrow but just HAD TO see. It’s hard not to when you remember that these are the very over sized clown Clendenin’s who punched and pushed you in grade school but who now can’t even get around the mall without a shopping cart to put their gut into or else they’ll fall down. It’s hard when you know they’re dying to get their feet into Samuel Beckett’s shoes, who himself felt compelled to wear Joyce’s shoes even though they were a size too small and when you hold Joyce in such contempt yourself, well, like I said, it’s hard not to tweak the noses of the asses who had the stature of the thing under the bed once but now, now they got shit. Now they got shit.

In this life you either gonna outrun the jeers or you get rabbit ears. In this life you will triumph it is certain; right up to the level of the value of the thing you seek to achieve. You will be the minted currency of the thing of value all of your efforts went to make credible, if...credible it be.

So, though it may not be gracious, it may certainly be forgivable to repay the injury, to ‘pay it back’ as it were to let the lesson hope to take upon the brutal and horn hard hearts of the now impotent and, by degrees, failing hands and eyes of the unhorsed overseer with his whip handle shoved up his fat ass.

Such a thing is understandable but like any long grown need, it can become a bad habit. It can be as bad as the thing reacted against. So give a tweak, or two and then walk away...just walk away.

We walk in darkness by them as sleep here. In waiting dreams they line up to kill and die upon command. There is no hypocrisy too foul to celebrate. There is nothing so trivial that it is not priced beyond reason. There is no stupidity that cannot be made elaborate and mysterious by means of adding words to the effect of greater and greater complexity. Some new and ruinous Science can yet emerge out of this stew of plastic and paper and rainbow mucus of petroleum base mirrored in sand and body ubiquitous.

Yes, things were better under Saddam. Malnutrition among Iraq children is now double what it was. There’s no rebuilding, no jobs, the money unspent, the interest skimmed, the widening gyre now looks like Americas stretch-marked ass on the autopsy-scope. Open Sesame.

I had a notion last year before I turned into whatever I am this year that I would like a community of kindred spirits in some Neverland outside the storms reach. I thought about tofu factories and many an enterprise I knew to be both economically viable and a good thing to do but now? Huh? I’m none too sure about what I wanted. I’m none too sure I need to buy myself a job. How likely is it that all the altruism and love in any heart can ever overcome the uncertainty and need for pain that multiplies in every moment in the general state of the day?

Better to just make it all what you want it to be and let serendipitous accident provide the color and potentials for regret.

I used to puzzle over what Jesus said on the cross, “Father forgive them for they know not what they do.” I get it now. People really don’t know. You assume they do. You figure they have to. The law is based on the idea that we all know. The law says that ignorance is no excuse. But really, they don’t know. They don’t know. If they did, they wouldn’t. That’s crystal. Many who see beggars on the street, the homeless and otherwise distressed, they say to themselves that this is ‘their choice’. Would anyone REALLY choose to be that way? We give people far too much credit and way too much blame.

This much I know, not all the world, not the collective opposition massed, not all the ignorance, greed, obstacles or confusion made or yet to come is going to stop me from my appointed round. It was that I used to give power to the things outside of me when all I had to do was close a door inside... maybe open a door. Whatever the aggregate appearance- real and imagined- of violence, malevolence and vicious indifference this world may add up to is no business of mine. There is no G.W.Bush, there is no nothing but fig trees and olive trees and blue streaming skies, outside my door and inside my head. Down the way over the dirt roads comes the sea sooner or later. Those hi-yellow cliffs of Earth bent and broken tumbling but frozen hard as well by the salt and whatever has lent it’s portion to the mix. Rocks and tide pools and very few people being the very best part of it. I will take what I have here and I will work with it and by imagination improve upon it, whether that indeed does lead me to the low coast of France or elsewhere unknown for now... I will work with it as if it were it until it becomes it somewhere although it has to be it right now and...that will do, for the present that will do. However it can be accomplished and if it be your desire not to complicate or work against the paradise of your own true will then- Go you therefore and do likewise.

Visible sings: Songwriter by Les Visible♫ Everlasting Love ♫
'Everlasting Love' is track no. 2 of 10 on Visible's 2006 album 'Songwriter'
Lyrics (pops up)

Songwriter by Les Visible

Saturday, November 20, 2004

NOT Moving Right Along...Apparently.

Most of the content in this post was deleted due to unacceptable concentration of bullshit per hundred words as well as gratuitous violence and a general irrelevance to anything of importance.

P.S. If anyone is interested in developing tremendous skills, pushing the boundaries of the possible and generally becoming a more effective human being, join The Builders of The Adytum and take their lessons course. It goes on for years and it has had the single greatest transforming effect on me. Many abilities I possess have come through following their direction You will thank me later. It will change your life. If the idea of The Western Mystery Tradition is not for you then I suggest the course on Kriya Yoga from The Self Realization Fellowship. Either of these will enhance your life and guide you through the dark days that may lie ahead. Both of them can be found online. If you are anywhere near Lakemont Georgia then stop in at the Center for Spiritual Research and spend some time with Roy Eugene Davis. Take a look at what right livelihood will do for you. If you are anywhere near Edmonton drop in and see John De Ruiter. Also both online. There are good teachers around. Go find one.

Thursday, November 18, 2004

By Way of Explanation; Slate Fray.

Most of the content in this post was deleted due to unacceptable concentration of bullshit per hundred words as well as gratuitous violence and a general irrelevance to anything of importance.

Wednesday, November 17, 2004

Twisting in the Wind.

I realize I have been away for awhile. I've good reason. I'll go into 'all that' later in the week. I want to thank the many of you who have written wondering where I am. I was going to cease publishing my thoughts altogether but now I will at least continue to contribute something here.

After my experiences at Slate Frays and The Raw Story I took it as a good time for disappearance in consonance with my change of address. I will no longer be active in those locales and I'll address the whys and wherefores also later this week- It's of no real importance to me to do so but I realize there are those who will wonder.

Carry on, and remember it's not only bad things that go on under the cover of darkness.