Monday, December 31, 2007

NOTES AT Sheraton for Xmas 2007

Everytime I leave New York I can't believe how "off" my rhtyhm with the rest of the country is; my image of it now is that you buy a TV and you bring it home and by the time you figure out how to access all the channels, all the channels are telling you need to buy a different TV and new channels.. and when all your money is gone and your room is so full of tenchnology that all is left is the technology and you, then someone comes and removes you, and then all that is left is a device with your eyes and ears and mouth to intake imitation food and imitation sound and imitation image, and soon not even that. The question is where do they take you when you're trash? What's going on at the dump? That's where the action must be.

I'm watching the Wizard of Oz on TNT, and Ray Bolger would brave a whole boxfull of matches to get some brains, and yet in America we're giving them away half price, we're letting the giant alien vacuum suck 'em on up out of us and peddle 'em off to any scarecrow with a wheelbarrow big enough to hold a ton... because that's the lowest amount we want to bother with parcelling out. Now they're already at the tin man, and he wants a heart, and what's a heart to these people? It's the half-baked attempt to cater to pro-lifers that is the "other opinion" on Britney's sister's baby on CNN which I flip to during the commercial. Let's not forget TNT itself which shows this film and has to constantly announce you're watching TNT and that SHREK is up next. SHREK is the most amazing of all these franchises in that it hiply eschews the archetypal subtext of "original" myths like Wizard of Oz. It also reduces any worrisome "human" element.

The voices of course can be drained of human elements via their constant relying on satirical imitations of other voices. Jack Black is the best intimation of this. He moves from one "fake voice" to another and if he does get left without a handy option and is forced to assume his own, all that's left is this high register bitch of a whine.

Rachel Ray is a classic example of someone whose "personality" has caught on with a big enough demographic to warrant having it preserved as it is filtered through the dehumanizing machine - all the actresses who have to audition to get their faces attached to the machine are ordered to strip their individuality away, but Rachel's is hurried through, under a fire blanket and flanked by bodyguards in sunglasses.

Back to the Wizard. I've been down I'll admit, but I perk up when I see Bert Lahr and all is his fey macho swagger as the effete lion. Then the drugs of the poppy fields, and of course the classic multi-exposure revolution of Dorothy's face when she gets knocked out in the tornado.. the alterna-dimensional re-imagining of the basic mythic wandering of the hero in the form of the heroine, this time in Dorothy form, Dorothy which is my 90-something year-old grandmother's name...

the thing is in the modern updating of this coolest of all surviving American myths, what would they be needing? WILD AT HEART tried to reimagine the Wizard scenario as a run for your money road movie with noir and Miami edges... or SILENCE OF THE LAMBS is another one, with Buffalo Bill sure to get a heart (in his fridge); and the scarecrow Lechter, and all that other violence.

This is your last chance, these disney classics are going back into the vault. "Can you even dye my eyes to match my gown?"

The fake laughter of how we laugh the day away in the merry old land of oz. Capitalism's evil is apparent in the actions of the wizard - pay no attention to man behind the forrests, powering up his fleet of tractor tin men. The lion's song is all about scoring the bling - he wants satin, not cotton or that bullshit 14th St. chintz. The sign in front of the witch's forrest reads: I'd turn back if I were you. It might read that, but what it says is something different than the surface interpretation. It's designed to enhance your fear and thus give your overcoming it all the more value.

"All in good time, dearie... all in good time." Has anyone ever said that phrase only once? Repitition is also the key to authenticity. We are so saturated with this film that we live it and speak it and breathe it. If we don't incorporate its symbols into our personal dream mythology it is only because we haven't the will to make these things real. We should have an "Initiation of the Dorothy" wherein you pay money for your daughter to get banged on the head and sent to the Oz finishing school of instant-enlightenment. Instead she has to shave her head, join a lesbian youth gang, pop pills and drink vodka, or otherwise seek her own pre-prince's kiss oblivion. (and by prince here I mean, prince of the self, of her own unconscious, you dime-store feminist surface scratcher!)

There's no place like home is Dorothy's mantra. "There's no place like home" "There's no place like Ommmm" - after the search through the capitalist layers of meaning - where bling and long rides with champagne are just ruby slippers and baskets of goodies for gramma what big ass you have... what do we have?

Pig shit and long, long horizons, my dearie.

(Cue Marlon Brando harmonica music)

Saturday, December 29, 2007

White-Bred Struggle

Collage Deposit
Fat Cells!

Monday, December 17, 2007

Still from my edit-montage-making in-progress of the Pratt Institutionalized Theater's MORNING MORNING (written and directed by Robert Snyderman).

In the photo: Katie Przybyski
and into... reality!

What is it and what are those weird noises it's making?
Reality slithers
it's alive, ALIVE!

I call on you reading this now to wake up to reality the way a sleeper awakens from one dream into another.
Come on, Sleeping Beauty, Come on, Rip Van Winkle, Come on, Ashley Saint Ives,
come sleeping sapling coiled in embryonic seed, come yoga mudra and do the dancing downward dog - pass through veils of perception as clean as a hot knife through cobwebs, gliding and gleaming towards steaming breakfast pancakes of the mind.

Genius is but well-tempered insanity, channeled through to pen and ink as the sex drive is channeled into capitalism.
Score one for our team! But you got to learn to not run to mommy with your A plus for the big dopamine payoff - you got to shoot that shit in yourself, pretty boy. Can't you show Patti Smith nothing but Surrender?
The true insanity knows this and entwines its heart with the mysterious, the otherworldly void that is not otherworldly we realize in an uncanny flash but is our home, and Iraq was just you all the time, moustaches and nooses, bags on heads and bombs in nurseries, all this was you all the time,
and Corporate podiums with insignia-bedecked officials reciting what is spoken into their hidden earpiece by off-screen power brokers; you are the podium, you are the mouth that speaks, the eyes that watch from the presumed safety of the dark, you are the hand that bombs and the hand that heals, you are the mouthpiece that speaks to masses and the mouth that speaks to the mouthpiece.

A shabby shaman shamus is no stranger to purification rituals, or poison for that matter; a shamnus learns you got to take the good with the bad, man, Dennish Hopper on Royball, man, but this chick takes it all the time, can you dig that? Okay, I'm losing my train of thought here... put this book down and meditate on the principles of push me and pull you, the llama friends of Dr. Doolittle. Ah HAH! You had forgotten all about them, hadn't you? Hadn't you better? I mean if you haven't already, because they're stupid? Got you again, if you were here I'd slap you right about now. I really mean that, I'd slap the silly out of you, pronto. But you're not here. And now is. Now always is, but you can't slap it. General, you can broil it fry it send it to die in the Frenches, but you just can't slap it.

and those who haven't
been in therapy
gets longer every day... longer and longer - and to stay in therapy is to be like the astronaut who is in space, the Bowman, the Kier Dullea ever reaching for that black obelisk rainbow. To not be in therapy is to live always without borders, to deny borders
as firmly as a mom denies her son the one thing he wants, as firmly as rain is fire's double, as firmly as trouble and lack thereof are one, the illusion of death, transcended at last. All eternity is faced either way, but first we build a nice castle, and put on the lotion, and absorb the baking lessons of great god the sun. Omm Omm Ommm,
and try to--when the castle gets washed away by tides to come and you know it will--try to act surprised.

First thing if you are to come with me on this special journey to the other realm, where the ego has been brainwashed into committing suicide so the soul can live unfettered, you must drink water.

Most trips to the emergency room could have been avoided if the ailing person had been drinking water instead of doing whatever they were doing

Drink it down like a sailor drinks the air at sea.

You were a fish once and if you're lucky you will be again. We hate water, don't we? I mean to drink, as it's so dull and unimaginative; we hate it like we hate our own kin, our own selves in the mirror. Coke is so much better because it's dark and alien, sweet and strange and exciting. But though coke starts out as a ride in a stranger's car it ends in the light of the carnival midway as you exit feeling cheated from the haunted house ride.

But the reason why we block out the memory of death is the same reason we block out the memory of how dumb and so damn short that carnival haunted house ride was; two weeks and we remember that ride as a pretty good time; thirty years and it glows with a patina of nostalgia when you suddenly hear "Rock me like a hurricane" on the radio; what was once a cheap papier mache skull behind chicken wire and surrounded by lights the flicked on and off as you walked past along a moldy plywood tunnel now becomes art distilled. The skull has a symbolic resonance! Ta dum! You see it reflecting in the blackness of your pupils - even when you're not tripping -- you turn suddenly and see it in the form of some dude walking behind you and you wonder if maybe that dude's been behind you your whole life, waiting with the patience of a well-paid chauffer for you to die, to step out of your current obscenely human form so he may escort you onto the next buffet.

The cool part is you're only pretending to be scared, to fool you, to make the movie more exciting.

No it's not a relapse, it's HELLWARD THE HIPPY, the latest adventure of that hippy detective, Dr. Twilite, coming soon to a theater near youtube.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Monday, June 25, 2007


Daniel you are right to not stick with any one solution or conception of the problems facing us here on the big Planet E. I disagree with some of the reply posts however whcih long for a way that science can measure psychic phenomena and therefore "legitimize" it and make it useful in a widespread way. I argue this stuff with my pharmacist father who sighs and rolls his eyes when he sees me take herbal supplements, as they "haven't been sufficiently tested" and hence are in his mind, bullshit. That's putting the cart before the horse, like saying "I have never tasted peanut butter, therefore it has no taste" -- we cannot wait for the Big Brother to decide our course of action is legitimate. Such dualities as legit and non-legit are the real enemy here. The psychic power we refer to is immeasurable, as the very concept of measurement bends and melts before it. I would recommend a look back to the good old 1970s where ESP, telekenis and so forth was all the rage... tests in CIA headquarters, heads exploding, Kirk Douglas running around, spoons bending, you get the picture. It was all there, all proven, and then we forgot about it, why? Because there was nowhere to go from there, no way for proven psychic powers to co-exist with our 3-D pop culture world aside from showy gore effects and conspiracy plotting, acid overdoses and nervous breakdowns. As history always repeats itself you may rest assured we are heading into another countercultural revolution ala the Summer of Love in 1967. I imagine it hitting its zenith right around the big 2012 date, and thanks to the internet, burning man connections, etc., we will be much better prepared than last time. There is no way we can envision the sudden, drastic psychic change awaiting us... what we can do in the meantime is to practice unconditional acceptance and suspension of judgment. We must transcend the duality of this being good and that being bad. Our psyches spin on axis similar to that of the earth... every hostile feeling we have towards another reflects back on us with the certainty of night following day (Shakespeare!) If we want to save the world, we must let go of our fear of its total destruction. I dont mean passive acceptance, I mean--as they say in AA--take the next right action, let go of the result. The future is already written, we won. The rest is just drama and mcguffins, enjoy!

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

ON DREAMING.... (originally published on Clifford Pickover's Galactic Question site)

Coming to a state of lucidity in dreams is not unlike coming to a state of "in the moment" serenity in waking life... becoming the engaged observer of one's own existence is what it's all about, so of course we would all want to control our dreams. The key to this is the unconscious mind, since it's the one putting on the show. Every show or conception of reality tells us something, signs are messages and what they mean to us reflects things our unconscious is trying to communicate. If our egos were able to control our dreams then our unconscious selves would have to erupt during waking life, which is never a good idea. Through meditation and lucid dreaming we can open the communication channel between our conscious and unconscious, get the dialog going, and as a result our dreams become more harmonious and in accord with our waking.

One day you can even reach a spot where your dreams and waking life meet and become identical. This happened to me once during a profound bout of fever combined with deep trance meditation -- I saw the exact same vision with my eyes closed or open. The two-dimensional otherness of dream perception had bled into my waking reality and vice versa and there was no longer a difference. Crazy, daddio! My point is this: we use 10% of our brains during waking life, thus dreams are the other 90% (or less) trying to communicate with us, to lead us forward via messages, to face fears, overcome obstacles and so forth... when we finally pass enough obstacles, challenge and absorb enough demons, embrace the evil self and free it to the heavens, then we finally meet this other, this alter-ego self who creates the dreams, this aspect of ourselves is sometimes mistaken for god, but that's a bad mistake, since it's way too tricky to trust fully. chances are it's a little annoyed with you for not coming to visit sooner. It's like your true love waiting in the Rapunzel tower to let down her hair, and you're 1000 years late.

Friday, January 26, 2007

The story of Godboy & Pippaphone
Here's my daily wisdom nuggets:
Drop all thoughts like they hot, come back to the zero point all the time...
(in other words, dont think twice about something, because that's the gateway to obsession)
Practice regarding random people who pass by with compassion and love (as opposed to judging them sexy or ugly, townie or hottie)
Continually question motivations: Am I doing this to help the person and make the world a better place, or because my ego needs puffing?
Natacha and I used to have a signal whereby we would catch outselves tripping out on shit, winding up into self centered fear, ego trips or obsessive talking and we would break out of it by making goofy gong sounds, "gong gong gongonggog" -- so let's say I started telling her about my day and suddenly I'm ranting about how I am so happy I dont even feel the need to get mad at you for not doing the dishes... which, by the way, when are you going to do them, you bitch? I mean they've been dirty for three freaking days now so anytime you-- gongongongong."

Thursday, January 25, 2007

The mentally ill

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

I've started reading the Tibetan Book of the Dead (translation by Robert Thurman) to prepare for the end of the world. I'm doing my part!!

It all points to 2012 - the end of the Mayan calendar (the "real" calendar) -- the return of Quetzlcoatl (see Daniel Pinchbeck's great book of the same name).
I'm preparing to enter the higher dimensions, the one with the machine elves and magical cities, and I'm looking for a small but hearty and hale crew to join me in this survivor quest.

Most of humanity will, thank God, be doomed.
What is coming is a biblical-style armegeddon of floods and mutant preying mantis's with whips running around the city tearing shit up as their dimension merges with ours. They've been watching over us for centuries, but once the shit hits the fan and it's all drowning away, you can bet they'll sneak out their wormholes and start grabbing whatever jewels and binoculars they can.

You know why? WE create reality and reality creates us. We're dreams of aliens and the aliens we dream and write about are shaped by our perceptions. Aint that nifty??

So the trick is to master the prayers and attentions in the Book of the Dead wherein you pray to realize that all the demons coming for you are just illusions from your own mind.

My experience with them is also to merely regard them with perfect love, and to let go, and to feel perfect love for all beasts and monsters.
Imagine this, a giant tiger jumping up onto your bed as you sleep. You panic and freak out so he mauls you OR you stay still and trembling and he senses your fear and tortures you like a mouse, OR you pet him and regard him with affection and love and name him Tabby.
If you love him, even if he mauls you, you wont feel the pain, any more than a parent feels humiliated and outraged if their baby shits on their foot. Understand?
It's confusing... but I am patient. See that demon picture up there on the left. I RECOGNIZED that guy, with his 3 eyes, from a 4 AM spiritual vision quest I had a few months ago. I had never seen that Tibetan demon before. Then I got an invite from the Rubin Museum with that same head on the cover and had a huge shock of recognition. I had SEEN THAT FACE BEFORE!!!There are no accidents, and no mistakes, and everything is beautiful if you are brave enough.