Saturday, June 20, 2015

The Magus - Never Stop



Last night I was sitting around writing shitty poetry and contemplating the idea that solitude is only a useful condition in contrast to it's opposite.  Simply being alone in and of itself, I reckoned, does not provide any benefits.  And further, solitude is not just being away from other people.  The critical element is getting away from presence with other people.

I think this may explain another dimension to why some people have trouble with solitude; it's not just that they fear being left alone with their own demons, but rather that they were not experiencing connection beforehand.  They were not present with other people, but merely taking weak comfort (or annoyance) in the illusion of connection provided by the proximity to others, and when the door of solitude slams hard shut there is no powerful vacuum, no juxtaposition, just a stagnant emptiness.

But quite the opposite happens when moving from an intense presence with others into solitude.  When that door slams shut, the vacuum created is powerful indeed and creates the space and force differential to suck thoughts and ideas into the void.  And with all the freshly liberated power for processing these things in your mind, your mind that has been wound up by the demands of presence, is violently freed to do its own bidding.  In that space of solitude freshly juxtaposed to presence with others-- connection with others, great acts of mind occur.

Anyway, mid verse I received a knock on the door, a summons to the fire ring.  My maul was needed.  And after splitting the firewood for the evening, I ended up hanging out and drinking a fair bit too much, and ruining today in tedious hangover.  Not my normal M.O., but what the hell else was I supposed to do?

This evening in achy defeat on the prior day's meditation, I drew a card from the Tarot.  And by defeat I mean failing to find an answer to the question: "How does this all relate to the problem of being kinda lonely on three day weekends?"

The Magus (Magician)

"He cannot be understood because he is the Unconscious Will." - The Book of Thoth

And I have been doing some research on this one for the past several hours.

"but it was seen from very early times that the use of speech, or writing, meant the introduction of ambiguity at the best and falsehood at the worst; they therefore represented Thoth as followed by an ape, the cynocephalus, whose business it was to distort the word of the god; to mock, to simulate and to deceive.  In philosophical language one may say: Manifestation implies illusion." -The Book of Thoth
Sounds a hell of a lot like what I wrote two months ago on April 21.  Interesting... but, what of it?

"And woe also be unto Him that refuseth the curse of the grade of a Magus, and the burden of the Attainment thereof.And in the word CHAOS let the Book be sealed; yea, let the Book be sealed." 
-Liber I: Liber B Vel Magi Sub Figurâ 1
 hmm...

Then in a bit of verse tucked in the back of The Book of Thoth...

"be thou as Artemis to Pan"
And this makes a hell of a lot of sense to me.  Only a master can spin the wheel to land where he choses, and only through crossing a boundary of fear and suffering the chaotic consequences of repeated failure and reaping their unexpected rewards can he sharpen his aim to become that master, that Magus.  Fearlessness took Artemis to Pan who gave her the dogs that made her the greatest of all hunters.

Never stop.

And on that note, I am indeed finding that as time has passed, the vacuum has leaked out of this room of solitude.  Which means I need to get off my ass and create the power of connection again.  Though on this spin of the wheel I'll for damned sure have to dig deeper into the nature of my intentions first and throughout, --to (hopefully) avoid (more of) the pitfalls inherent with the biology of being a damned dirty ape-- to avoid being the cynocephalus.  Invoke with concentration and ardor.

Now if I just had some place to start.

Thursday, June 11, 2015

Another Day Another Dollar


click to see full size



Tuesday, June 09, 2015

Clarity to Form - The Slow Clap

Something I read the other day, somewhere, and about what I don't know:

"Talking to Roger Ebert in 2002, director Hayao Miyazaki clapped his hands. The silence between each impact, he explained, was ma: the Japanese term for emptiness–negative space–that gives clarity to form. Each clap was made clear and distinct by the gaps around it. Likewise, Miyazaki’s films are strengthened by their still, silent moments."
Added a little perspective to the neutrality of this spring, to it's emptiness.  Sometimes periods of boredom, of neutrality, of emptiness are necessary as semicolons to punctuate the series of notable events in one's life.  I suppose that is what is going on here.

In the meantime I'm just stacking rocks.  Lots of them.  Big ones.


Friday, May 22, 2015

The Art of Troll



When I was a senior in High School and the Internet was young, some of the not-popular, not-athletic kids created a website called the Anti-CHS webpage.  16 years later I don't remember much of what it contained except that they were calling out a lot of the nepotism, hypocrisy, bigotry, and abuse by the popular (rich) kids and their parents who were also in some cases teachers and faculty.  Kids, as smaller versions of adults, are shitty creatures.

The site created quite a stir among the popular / rich kids.  The football players threatened to beat the shit out of the creators, as you would expect and the faculty threatened suspensions, etc.  And they really wanted to find out who it was who made the site.  It wasn't me, and I didn't personally know the people who did it, but I did know their names.  And I couldn't have given less of a shit about CHS or any of the people involved.  But I did find it ... illuminating of the pathetic robot monkey nature of the people involved, even those creating the site.  It takes a lot of uncontrolled anger (read: weakness) to go to that effort to shit your vitriol into everyone's face.

So I saw this as an entertaining opportunity to expose even more of these dumb monkeys' dumb monkey qualities.  So I created the Anti-Anti-Anti-CHS webpage and set it as the homepage on all the computers in the lab.  And I spoofed the email address of the creators of the original Anti-CHS webpage and emailed bombed, that is sent something like 700 junk emails to the student body president who was also  a two faced manipulative and extremely entitled politician asshole, the son of one of the richest people in town.  They had (reasonably speaking) no way to trace it to me and simply believed it came from the creators of the Anti-CHS webpage.

The explosion was marvelous on all sides.  The meat-heads coming to the defense of the other popular kid making even greater threats of physical violence.  The Faculty flipping their lids at the insubordinate terrorists making greater threats of punishment ...in their embarrassment at their inability to CONTROL the students.  And the creators of the website losing their shit and exposing their small monkey minds even more with much more garbage vitriol.

Then came the Columbine Shootings.  And by graduation the school was in a maelstrom of stupid.  Everyone talking about watch lists, and rumors about the creators of that site pulling the fire alarm during graduation and then mowing people down as they exited the building.

Really beautiful revelation of how pathetic people really are.  And I had the pleasure of being a hidden multiplier in that illustration of the weakness of the mass of humanity.

There is an art to being a troll.  Jonathan Swift, and his "A Modest Proposal" on the selling and eating of babies as the solution to the Irish poverty is a prime example of how the art of Troll can make a lasting impact.  Almost 300 hundred years later, most educated people still know the story.  It has become a classic example of how deliberately being a covert asshole in the midst of a conflict can create disgust going in both directions and thus draw to light the pathetic absurdity of human behavior.

I have been an asshole, at some point, to probably everyone I've ever known more than briefly.  A large chunk of that, I am sure, has just been me being, like everyone else, a dumb bio-survival oriented monkey, but a very large portion of that asshole-ism has on the contrary been me trying to point something out in your behavior, to make you flip, to make you expose yourself as exhibiting dumb monkey behavior.  It was me calling you out.   ...that your ideology is based on anger and fear, not reason.

Anyway.  Why am I telling this story?

Well I just watched the following documentary, and while I'm pretty much a-political these days, I think it is very well worth a watch as it does a hell of a good job at illuminating the virtues of being a Troll.  And as well some political stuff, and the interesting point that the Occupy movement was created by the FBI if you can look past the shitty soundtrack and stick with it past the character building to 1hr 08 mins.


Enjoy!

Monday, May 18, 2015

Fat Raindrops


Fat raindrops soak my gloves
cool air soaks my lungs
and an Ardbeg evening
it's not bad, but I feel like I'm waiting

replenish the coffers
replenish the dreams
restitch the seams
torn by swollen waiting on the cream

the clouds snare themselves
on the dull and dirty mountain saw teeth
and ring around the crater
and it just keeps raining
and I just keep waiting
and swelling in the cold fat raindrops
that just keep falling
in fat peaceful splats
Like they've given up

I haven't given up
but I've worn out my excitement for spring
hell, I ran from it
to a broken mountaintop
and the last of the snow
and I don't know why
but I'm waiting in the rain
perhaps for the answer
perhaps for spring

but I've always preferred the fall
all the best things are most beautiful just before their death
fore or aft
there is no redemption without grief
and no magnum opus
of course

...of course

When you get the message, hang up the phone.


This one could really be about any of you couldn't it?

Travelers, psychonauts, businessmen.


Thursday, May 14, 2015

The Lake


Every morning this week I've woken up to this:  ^

Not much to say.  Seems like drama has moved on to other people for now.  I don't envy them.


Stormy morning working on the lake. ^ (click for fullscreen)