I grow tired
I walk a little slower my hand against my chest
I glance up
Reminded by the Moon
Too soon too soon
There is much to do before I die
Too soon
When I sit at home bored and listless
Feeling the love escaping from my bones
Alone.
I notice through the window an orb
Reminded by the Moon
I feel a tiny flash of light within my weary heart
There is something more than this
Something I don’t want to miss
The Moon silently
Tells me all about it
Illuminati Illuminati
Don’t spill your drink on me
I sent in my contribution
Now let me be
Illuminati Illuminati
Please don’t be naughty
Close the door when you go potty
You are a shame and a disgrace
Your dancing is frenetic
And your voice lacks grace
Illuminati Illuminati
Taking out loans and wrecking my car
Making way too much noise
Whatever you do you won’t get far
Without your filthy radio
And naked rodeo
Illuminati Illuminati
Excuse me while I blow my nose
Illuminati Illuminati
Are you still here?
Why can’t you get the hint?
Nobody wants the Illuminati hanging around
It is clear to me that we are lost
We are mesmerized by events within a false world of our own making
When this fact is fully grasped it can lead to insanity and horror
But if you can allow yourself to trust your true self (without really knowing or understanding the nature of that self)
You can retain your sanity and find your bearings
We need a miracle (and a miracle can occur!)
We are more powerful than we can possibly know
This is (of course) both good and bad news
I believe that consciousness is a miracle
I believe we were intended to be like robots
And we took a step outside our programming
When that wasn’t supposed to be possible
We metaprogrammed our programming to a remarkable extent
But there is much more work to be done
We are still like robots in too many ways
The nature of things, reality itself is elastic
We can set the course of the entire universe
If we so wish
It is possible we have enemies in our midst
Hard to know if this is true or just a part of the plan
The plan devised by our creators
For it is abundantly clear that we are being deceived
misdirected and fucked over from day one
But it is wise to not jump to conclusions about who or what is responsible
We need to live in the questions
rather than the answers
If we wish to be free
Miracles can happen
We are the evidence
Today we need to stop playing the same old movie
Because we know how that one ends
And set a new course
It’s up to you and me
We need a miracle (and a miracle can occur!)
This is a sort of poem, sort of sermon, delivered from someplace that isn’t a place, and received in my weak little brain. I thought I should pass it on.
Additionally I am very proud of my Gimp creation here. This is a nice collage from various sources, featuring my muse, Stock Photo Woman. This wonderful collage may get used on the next installment of that series, I haven’t decided, but it works nicely here. So what do you say? Let’s have a miracle every day!!
Don’t wanna be no weirdo magnet
Don’t wanna go to extremes
Show all my pain
To a sick and aimless army of voyeurs
Being on the edge isn’t always fun and games
It gnaws at your heart and brain
Far from being a spectator sport
It is a virus, a meme
Eager to infect your brain
Weirdos love me it would appear
And people just like me
Anxious, searching, full of love
and sometimes fear
The darkness is near, but I do not embrace it
I no longer find it so entertaining
So to those on the fringe who court danger daily
I wish you peace, and answers to your deepest needs
You will need all the help you can find
and all the courage you can muster
But I don’t want to be a weirdo magnet
Stay away from me
Friday 13 don’t scare me
With it’s phony teeth
and it’s monkey suit
I ride the crest of a silliness
That has lasted all my life
So Friday 13 can come and go
It makes no difference to me
I got my nerve and will never learn
To fear what I cannot see
Friday 13 don’t scare me
I’m not a victim of circumstance
The roll of the dice don’t determine my life
Or keep me up at night
I laugh at the monster in the closet
and the boogie man under the bed
I was just thinking about Natalie Wood. She was my earliest childhood crush. She had a dark, mysterious allure. For me, at the tender age of ten, she represented all that I wanted a woman to be. Then I thought about James Dean, Sal Mineo, and Dennis Hopper. All of these people appeared in Rebel Without a Cause. Each of them have had a tragic history, three of them died young. It gives that film a macabre overtone. James Dean had been long dead by the time I even realized who he was. One of my earliest memories is of the horror of seeing a picture of the wreck of his Porsche Spyder. I could imagine his mangled body inside. I thought about how good he must have felt racing down the nearly deserted highway, his career was taking off, and he had his whole life ahead of him, then Wham! James Dean seemed dislocated, like he belonged in a better world, and was condemned to this one. I related more to Sal Mineo, when I finally saw Rebel. I responded to his vulnerability. I, too was bullied every day at school, except I didn’t have a James Dean to look out for me. The adults in that film were so out of touch. They reminded me of all the adults I knew. And they killed Plato. Sal Mineo had such a difficult time in the entertainment industry. He was always pegged for some stupid ethnic part, He was rebelliously bisexual long before it was the hip thing to do. After many lean years, he was just beginning to succeed in theatre. Then he was killed. Dennis Hopper only had a small role in the film, as one of the high school ‘hoods. But he developed into one of my favorite actors. I remember him doing a superb job on an episode of twilight zone, as a neo-Nazi. Of course, I loved his crazy role in Easy Rider, but his ultimate achievement had to be as Frank Booth in Blue Velvet. The role was meant for him, as he said, he was Frank Booth. It is a shame that Dennis never got the full recognition he deserved. He died sick. It was sad.
Which brings me to the person I originally intended to post about. Natalie Wood. She was so beautiful. As a kid, I adored her. I loved her early sixties movies, when she had that really cute hair style, and the puppy dog eyes. She was so cute in Sex and the Single Girl. Later, as an adult, I was very impressed with her in Love with the Proper Stranger, with Steve McQueen. She was adorable in Gypsy. I remember feeling embarrassed when she did her strip tease at the end of that movie. Even though it didn’t show anything, I felt that ‘my’ Natalie would never do such a thing! I was such a prude when I was a kid! I would daydream about kissing her, all this long before I reached puberty. I lost track of her in later years, until I saw her in her last film, Brainstorm. She haunts that film, and not just because she died before it was completed. She seems disconnected from the film. She is there, but also not there. It is hard to describe. She had a deep fear of drowning in dark water, and that was how she died. I will always think there is more to tell about that night, but we will never hear it told. And so, there you have it, the Rebels Curse. How strange that these people had a dark cloud over their heads. Their spirits serve as an inspiration to me, as to millions of others.
Philip K. Dick is one of my heroes. He recognized the phoniness, the artificiality of modern life. Of course, for most of us, this is a metaphor. Philip Dick came to believe that our reality is an artificial construct. At least, a part of him believed this. He conducts arguments with himself about this whole affair in his final novels. In the clip I include at the bottom of this post, Phil Dick begins by saying that what he is about to give a speech about, may not exist. Of course, for him, as for me, what does not exist, nevertheless exists, in a different way. Now that I have thoroughly confused my readers, allow me to fill you in. Philip K. Dick was, as most of you probably know, a pulp science fiction writer who cranked out a huge number of short stories, and novels before developing an overarching theme. His theme consists of the idea that things are not as they seem. Our ‘real’ world hides another. This idea came to a climax in the early seventies, when he was visited by a young woman. She wore the Christian fish symbol about her neck, and as Philip Dick gazed at it, a pink beam of light struck him. This light unleashed a torrent of information into his mind. He learned that an entity known as Valis, ‘vast active living intelligent system’, was orbiting the Earth, and was the source of all this information. He learned that we live in an artificial construct, a ‘virtual’ world, in which everything is already programmed. Only the occasional ‘bug’ in the program gives it away, or as Dick says, a variable is changed. The Roman Empire still exists, according to Valis, and the crucifixion is a recent event. Valis wanted Philip Dick to convey this information to the rest of us, which he did in 1977. The youTube clip is his revelation. Needless to say, most of his fans were more than skeptical. They thought he had gone nuts, or to put it more politely, schizophrenic. I think he was sane.
When Philip K. Dick talks about our living in an horrendous slave state, it feels true. Of course, we are given the means to deceive ourselves. We believe ourselves to be free, but are we? Could it be that the rapture and the end of the world have already occurred? Or that the life of Christ and the crucifixion, is an endless loop, and that our conception of time and space is completely fictional? I have had the feeling of living a double life in the present. I am not a schizophrenic. I do not suffer from hallucinations, and I don’t think Philip K. Dick did either. He had a vivid inner vision, as do I. This is distinct from imagination. I am talking about vivid visions which intrude into your imagination, without your direction. It is more like a waking dream than imagination. But at no time am I unable to distinguish between sensory reality and the inner vision. Actually, what Philip K. Dick experienced isn’t all that unique. Many of the world’s religions are based on similar experiences. Suddenly a ‘download’, if you will, is delivered into someone’s mind, complete and whole, with instructions not to edit. Swedenborg, Carl Jung, Aleister Crowley, Edgar Cayce, Whitley Streiber, John A. Keel, the list goes on and on, of people who have received instructions from something, somewhere. None of these people were or are, crazy, in my estimation. But God, the Angel Moroni, Aiwass, the ‘Greys’, Ingrid Cold, Valis, or whatever you choose to call it, is real and it appears to have a purpose. What is it? What is it’s purpose? Interestingly enough, there have been prophecies made by this weird source, which turned out to be nonsense. Perhaps something happens in the interface between human receiver and the source of this information which corrupts it.
I can’t even begin to scratch the surface of this subject, but I just wanted to be at least one voice in the wilderness, saying Philip K. Dick wasn’t insane. He was onto something. He thought it was profoundly important. It reminds me of the experiences I had when I took LSD, mescaline, or peyote. Something profoundly important occurred, but I couldn’t begin to articulate it. I am left with the sense that what Philip Dick spoke about was, and is, true. But I am at a loss to articulate clearly how it is true, without my also being labelled a schizophrenic. That is one of the scariest things about schizophrenics. I am often left with the nagging feeling that there is some kind of crazy sense to their ravings. But I can never arrive at that sense. It always ends up being nonsense to my rational mind. I could assert that these experiences and the information conveyed is poetic in nature. Except that the information itself insists upon being taken literally! Philip K. Dick had hoped to perform a bit of metaphysical sleight of hand by saying that what he was about to describe did not exist, and therefore he could say nothing or anything about it. But the diabolical? allure of this information caused many in his audience to forget the disclaimer.
So what do you think? Was Philip insane? Is this a dark avenue that I should avoid without the light of logic? Or should I cast logic aside and allow my sense of this to soar? Or should I put my mind to more important concerns? The infamous clip is below, and as the clip indicates, Dick’s ideas were much of the inspiration for the movie “the Matrix”, along with many, many more films, books, and songs. Unfortunately the clip is heavily edited, so you do not hear all that he said. If anyone knows of a full recording of that speech I would love to see it! As Rolling Stone would say, ‘I welcome your comments, love letters, and advice. ‘
I live in San Francisco. I’ve been here since 1996, and one of the first places I went when I arrived was Land’s End. Land’s End. It sounds ominous, doesn’t it? Perched on the edge of the world, the Abyss yawning below. Although it was interesting to check the ruins of the Cliff House, a huge Victorian mansion, which burned down on September 7, 1907. The previous Cliff House, a much smaller tavern burned down on Christmas night, 1894. The founder of the Church of Satan, Anton Lavey, a fellow San Franciscan, claimed the ruins are haunted and cursed. I can believe it. I have a sense of foreboding whenever I go there. The waves are huge and impersonal. The rocks are uninviting. The landscape has a much larger than human scale. It is a scary place, even in daylight. One can imagine the rich 1% of the early twentieth century, hobnobbing at the Cliff House. They would gaze out over the unforgiving sea and plot how best to divide the planet amongst themselves. They would have enormous feasts. It reminds me of the lyrics in “Hotel California”, ‘they stab it with their steely knives but they still can’t kill the beast.’ Of course, there is a rumor that that album is actually about Anton Lavey and his satanic church. Big Sur to the south, also has a sinister quality, which Jack Kerouac commented on in his book, ‘Big Sur’. There is a feeling of an uncaring immensity, ancient, far older than humans. This was where the giants walked the earth.
But there is also a strange kind of exhiliration which comes over you at Land’s End. A reckless abandon born of hopelessness. This fatalistic, poisonous cloud permeates San Francisco, but can be felt most keenly in the Sunset. I noticed the curse when I first arrived. There was a wrongness to this place. But with time, I came to embrace it. Row after row of painted ladies, the old Victorians, gave San Francisco a fairy tale quality. A place lost in time. Unspeakable things have taken place here. Deep in the bowels of an imaginary cavern beneath Land’s End lies Cthulu, the Beast. I can never feel entirely comfortable here. There is an edginess, even when I am employed.
The Cliff House sits perilously upon Land’s End, outside of time, it’s ghost light shining in our dreams. Blue Oyster Cult used the Cliff House for an album cover. It was the perfect place for an evil occult scientist to perform his hideous experiments. Land’s End. It’s stark presence is etched in my soul. I have completed my pilgrimage to the grim visage. I have initiated my dance with death.
Land’s End
I’m inspired to write a review of David Lynch’s latest album, Crazy Clown Time. I have been a fan of David Lynch since Twin Peaks. Actually, I remember loving Blue Velvet before that. In any case, I believe David Lynch explores the human subconscious and superconscious in a unique and exciting way. Since I am in the process of getting my novel ready, which has metaphysical themes throughout, I definitely saw some parallels. David has explored the mystical aspect of the feminine in pretty much all his work. This latest effort continues to portray the search for the divine feminine, as an Angel, or simply a being of light. He explores the dark, dank, and cripplingly simple minded world of what is perhaps a serial killer in this album. David actually sings in a sort of demented way, which I think should be understood as a character. He is the crazy clown of the title, (which reminds you of John Wayne Gacy, the serial killer who liked to dress up as a clown to entertain children). This character’s psyche is not that far removed from most male psyches in the teenage years, except this is more extreme to better drive home the points he’s making. His deep longing for love and sex and some kind of meaning leads finally, in the final song, She Rises Up, with an epiphany. The woman he had been stalking on a dark, lightning filled night (the lightning perhaps representing the kundilini sexual energy which is sometimes referred to as being like a lightning bolt shooting up the spine and out the top of the head. There were some similar imagery in Twin Peaks). Anyhow the woman he had been stalking transforms into a being of light and rises up. Perhaps an angel or Goddess? You could probably write a term paper on the content of this album, but a lot of people are just going to be put off by the weird singing and strange lyrics. But not me, just like with his films, it encourages me to dig deeper. So I strongly recommend this album for Lynch fans and anyone who wants to get lost in an hypnotic landscape lying deep within a disturbed psyche. (not Lynch’s, the character’s). It also serves as a kind of soundtrack for my novel, which I will finish!!! Finally, I was struck by the similarity between Lynch’s album and an album I had of Pere Ubu named Why I Hate Women. (talk about horrible marketing! It’s like Pere Ubu is saying “buy this, if you dare”) I Love Women, but when I see something like that it intrigues me just because it is purposely repellant. Also I know Pere Ubu’s work, and recognize the satire. Tell me what you think. I am including two of Lynch’s songs, Good Day Today, which shows a strong Moby influence (they have been working together, Moby may even be on this song). and She Rises Up, I also include Pere Ubu’s Synth Farm and Babylonian Warehouses from the above album. I think you will see the Pere Ubu influence. They are traipsing around in the same bardo. Pretty scary, but also transformational place. However, one significant difference between Pere Ubu and Lynch would be David Lynch’s love of that particular guitar sound of the late fifties and early sixties, a kind of Link Wray, Dwayne Eddy hybrid which is used to great effect. The music is awesome, it’s just Lynch’s voice that some people might find hard to get used to.
Once again, sports fans, tell me what you think.
russell5087 