I’ve boostrapped the serpent.
I don’t hear you any more.
In between each line
Is just a playful paws.
And my mind?
Mozart!
And my clothes!
Bloody sodden, mate.
Sunday, 28 February 2010
Post number 93 - nighty night
I’ve boostrapped the serpent.
I don’t hear you any more.
In between each line
Is just a playful paws.
And my mind?
Mozart!
And my clothes!
Bloody sodden, mate.
care
MISSION:COMPLETE.
Suspicion: Deviation from source.
L.O.V.
But, like, don't take my word for it. I could be making it aaaalllllllll up. How will you find that out?
Since the squid is still here pulsing away though, i guess i'll just write a little more. It's throbbing behind my eyes and between my temples. Anyone know what that means?
So, what DID i do today? Well, I like to think I reached right back into my unconscious mind to identify and begin to remedy a particularly harmful experience incurred over last christmas. It is a lethal one, be assured of that. I almost died again today - if not in body, then in my heart (which must have broken 400 times already). And yet the pulsing continues.
Sex and death, I think. Too much sex and death.
Is the world singing to me? What, are you stupid or something? I've put mozart on.
And the throbbing continues.
I'm going to try and get some sleep now. I hope a friend of mine doesn't mind me thinking of them while i do so - i need to borrow a resonant image.
Anyway, I can't get enough of this. I'm on it, on it, on it, all over it. Throbbing? Gone. Adrenalin - i suspect this is at an all time high. I guess I'm just too angry for words right now.
Aliens? Let's give 'em hell.
bloody inappropriate kundalini experiences - fuckin edit you cunt.
ANYMORE FOR ANYMORE?? HUH? I CAN'T FUCKIN HEEEEAR YOU!
Log 1/4.18: Burp. Excuse me. Burp. Excuse me. OI! GET OUT THE WAY!
Dearest Log o' mine, hello again. My apologies, for this will sound rather uninspired as I make an effort to stream this data into a sensible form. What did I do today? Well, I wouldn't like to say. I hope you are well, you may notice that I am playing you some mozart as I write this - hope it soothes that aching belly of yours. I feel your pain my friend, i've been there. I can't promise anything, but i suspect that it wont last forever.
Writing: i have stuff on the walls. It's sort of come together, though to be frank i'm too fragile too look at it right now. When i look back at the work i've done recently, it scares me. I may have caught a monster or two, some fairly scary ones. I often feel like I can't do this alone, but needs must it seems. So it goes.
My headache has gone. I've been sweating buckets recently even with the heating off. It's like a sauna in here - no one wants to visit, but the neighbours keep asking if it's cold. [strange jewish expression that i don't understand]. I've lost weight, but gained a little extra agility. Well, that's an understatement, but sometimes i'm modest (so as not to scare the pigeons).
Still feeling like a holiday, but i'm always feeling like a holiday. One of those indian head massages would be good about now. Sigh.
Yes, i've lost focus again. I can't even be bothered not to be bothered. La. In terms of all this miserable data anyway, and some rather odd friend requests - which is to say nothing of the "heeeelp me, sorrrrt my stuuuuuuuuufff out" nonsense. Ah, this is difficult without naming names.
In another direction, i'm pretty set in my ways - a phrase that can also be read backwards.
L.O.V.
"Digging Up Bodies" poem, and "Dead Again" photo, followed by bootlegged relief for your eyeball pleasure
i dont think you have what it takes, i'm afraid.
Like the fool that I can sometimes be, i turned to Mock the Week for some company.
All I heard was "blow torches" and "severed limbs". Shit I've seen.
I used to read Kerouac, till he told me about Orpheus,
I think those schizo's need to be eaten by an octopus -
But don't hold me to that,
It won't wash in court.
Last night I was up till six AM,
K says you can hear the voice of god in a bird sing
And all I heard was
"Iwanttoripyourheadoff...iwanttoripyourheadoff"
Until half an hour later the dawn chorus stopped.
I once met the clone of Jean Claude Van Dumb
A Frenchman by the name of Carryon;
Quoting lines he said:
I can't read, but that won't stop me from
Something something. Fuck knows. What, you want a nursery rhyme?
great...even bill hicks is a sack of shit...
Saturday, 27 February 2010
Late News With Captain Flubber on Does It Look Like I Care Channel 33.5
So, yo blog, wassup? Here's what's keeping me up tonight - Roman Polanski. And the fact that i very badly need to take a pish but would rather write this (sorry body).
Now, see, however good his films are - that guy fucked a thirteen year old girl in the ass. That is not cool. I was going to put it in my news section, but i'd only disturb myself every time i logged on. It's 00.44 right now, which is way past forgiveness time (sorry...um....) and maybe my views will have changed by the morning. Specially after a cup of tea and a biscuit.
But, and here's the thing. I can't help but wonder how many people out there actually blame the thirteen year old girl? What the hell kinda logic is that? - like she's some divine temptress or something? That's a child man - that's a being that hasn't even properly incarnated on this planet. What the hell?
Night.
Well, anyway, it's now 02.03 ("Thaaaat maaaakes fiiiiiive" says the hypnotist inside me, fuckin annoying guy he is) and I have decided that everything i just said was a total lie. An absolute codpiece.
God forbid me for my absolutism! I only meant some of it was a lie! And I only know one way of spelling lie....Hi. Um. High? Yes. Waiting for the men in white coats? I OWN the men in white coats. Not hungry, not sleep, not horny, and I have the perfect excuse.
What, you want me to spell it out for you? Is that what you need? Shall I hire a plane or something - I could you know, don't tempt me...I could write smoke signals in the sky, or send some fish or something. You like fish? I don't. Eating fish is like cannibalism to me. Especially after that night in the....no, wait, that was a dream. I think I told some guy that dream once. Oh well. He probably misread it anyway - don't worry, we're safe, everyone thinks I'm nuts.
Well, its 02.11 ("thaaaaat maaaaaakes thirteeeeeen, wooooooooo"....yawn....scratch....) and I have now just completely forgotten what I was going to say. I'll make something up - oh yeah, the monk. Dude, you wouldn't believe it right - i met this monk. This guy tells me all he wants is to live in the woods and eat squid - how fucked up is that? Seriously, though. That's what he said. How can you eat squid - it's like rubber! Rubbers another thing I can't stand, but, you know, on occasion I choose to see the world as something other than completely centred around me. On those rare occasions when I'm not beating teachers with sticks, that is, or burning bridges left, right and centre (favourite past time of mine).
You might have seen that other guy answering your questions for me - talk about a triangle! Imagine what that did to his head. Maybe he thought I was a cry for help or something, probably something even worse though (probably the kind of despicable, low-life hellforms i call my research....sigh....what a life...of course that could be a projection due to recent wounds sustained on my own part....).
Blahness. Blah. Inane. "Utterly irrelevant" people USED to say to me at school. They say other things now (when they're not busy kissing my golden ass).
Bubbbabadumdumdumbubababadaaaaa (i'm not even trying anymore).
I want to know about panda accents.... :-/
Can you tell what language I'm speaking, with what accent? See, while I'd never eat fish or panda, tiger or sharp, while i'd never imbibe blood, i did once eat a demon. I forget how many legions or minions. This is...um...a....joke...heh....i'll have to wait until i see you in person before i name it though. I'd only get myself into trouble talking like this on here.
But, hey, maybe I won't see you ever again. Which is cool, i suppose. Just the way it goes - damned if I do, damned if i don't.
So, adios, i suppose.
Ahhhhhhhhhh, I'm lieing again. It's now 04.35 and i see stars........
I have to come up with a new script!!
A new one!
Again!
I'm killing myself here!
Why am I doing this??
Why, why, why?
Mixed Media 27/02/10
Fergus Harlow is not trying to brainwash anybody.
Fergus Harlow is not using the internet to cast voodoo spells.
Fergus Harlow is not Bruce Lee, nor Israel Regardie nor the reincarnation of Harry Houdini.
Fergus Harlow is sat in a dark room before a bright screen.
Fergus Harlow has been doing this too long.
Fergus Harlow needs to go on a cruise, but is needed at work, at home and abroad, and has been informed that any 25 year old who wants to go on a cruise and see Egypt and Canada is a nutcase.
Fergus Harlow is not your patient.
Fergus Harlow is not your guinea pig.
Fergus Harlow is not your inspiration.
Fergus Harlow is sitting in a dark room before a bright screen.
Fergus Harlow is no longer your friend because he was exiled, and has only just found his way home only to discover that no one feels at home.
Fergus Harlow has trust. Fergus Harlow is not the Illuminati. Fergus Harlow is not a Mason. Fergus Harlow is not anything other than Fergus Harlow Apparently.
Fergus Harlow needs a break but probably won't get one.
Fergus Harlow actually needs to get laid by a Woman for once.
Fergus Harlow is not your pet.
Fergus Harlow is not a disembodied internet troll aimlessly wandering the internet just to cause trouble.
Fergus Harlow doesn't remember the last time he had a wank.
Fergus Harlow needs a cigarette because otherwise he'll probably cry.
Fergus Harlow wears sunglasses so you wont see the tears.
Fergus Harlow Fergus Harlow Fergus Harlow.
The End.
Addendum: If Fergus Harlow makes a mess, he makes a PROPER FUCKING MESS. See attached diagram.
LOg. music calms
blog...blog blog on the wall........fuck. i went down again, all aflame. took a bit of good lovin from some friends to come back up. i don't know what it is, but there's this climate of not taking things personally anymore. it makes me angry when i let it.
so....what did i do today? woke up early as per usual, printed off all my commonplace stuff. that took a couple of hours in itself. i read some of it as i went along, but only briefly. ha, if i ever need to make a court case, maybe then i'll read it properly. in the mean time....
well, i'm bubbly. after that...crash (ok, ok, i WAS bored, alright? is that enough for you??) i went straight back into regardies body awareness exercise, paying particular attention to my brain (which felt like it was going to explode, by the by) which warmed up fairly instantly, followed unexpectedly by my feet - as though i were just taking a bath - this is quite important, and not an aside: i did the whole thing listening to mozart, i really really needed that. i don't know how long i went with it for, but i have 99 tracks so i guess i have all the time in whole wide world right here at my finger tips. of course, this will make some people utterly green with envy. so what.
did nothing online today. made a couple of videos because i'm sick to death of intellectual analysis.
truly.
utterly.
sick to death.
"man, i can't tell whether you're joking or being serious". What, that's my problem? Kiss...my...abs? that'll do. i quite like that. anywho.
i havn't emailed the thing that lives in foreign places yet. may get round to it after a look through Little Dorrit.
how are you?
the script? fucked. it fell apart again.
Todays Joke
Pa: How is he?
Doc1: Well, he's ok, but - it's this writing. he won't stop writing. it's very worrying.
Doc1: this is very odd - you want to go on a cruise? but cruises are for 50 year olds.
Doc2: Well done, you've worked very hard on this/ this man is a danger to himself and to others.
Friday, 26 February 2010
automatic drawing: view with care
i hope no one has any objections to me posting this. if they do, well, they can let me know however they want (most of the time i live with the assumption that no one even sees...but then i have 500+ profile views...and this was supposed to be private...). it's been a busy time for me - i suspect i've been close to exhaustion, though i havn't noticed. there's only so long you can go with four hours sleep a night, maybe, but not having tried to go any longer than this current stretch, whose to say. this weekend, i'm going to do my best to do nothing. maybe go for a coffee down the road. havn't been there in about 2 months. maybe lie on a hill, i don't know. 
Todays Joke
Doc: What does this "psychokinesis" mean?
Patient: It is the psychic ability to embody the shape of another creature
Doc: And can you do that?
Patient: Only in my mind
Badaboom! [crowd goes wild]
Dear Logoth that hangeth here in heevin, what say you to a pleasant evenin; i have, it's true, invoked thee Kallistic one, and now I fear I am something of an attraction to everyone, and more than a little narcassitic. Which I can't even spell - ah, well, i'll let my charm do the talking.
Patient: It is the psychic ability to embody the shape of another creature
Doc: And can you do that?
Patient: Only in my mind
Badaboom! [crowd goes wild]
Dear Logoth that hangeth here in heevin, what say you to a pleasant evenin; i have, it's true, invoked thee Kallistic one, and now I fear I am something of an attraction to everyone, and more than a little narcassitic. Which I can't even spell - ah, well, i'll let my charm do the talking.
What have I done today? Well, I found an old mirror in the book shop, a little cracked around the edges, but the gilt was still good. I may take the frame home with me, hang it on the wall and draw cartoons inside of it - something sort of modern artish, but without the pretense. Whatever comes to mind, i'll just spill it.
Of course today was the day of the almighty tax return - death and taxes, two great measures - and whaddya ken, we are ahead again. Only by....hmm....10, no 12 days, which doesn't quite match the sixteen day roll around i had for polishing off this script, but it showed we made £25333.00 in the last three months, in part due to my own hard work - these things being my responsibility, ken - and I am just a little smmmmmmmug about the whole affair.
Yes, yes, it's hard to be up my own arse when I owe so much to those people who have my back. From time to time I try to show them I respect them, but that's a difficult thing to do, what with todays mixed media and general mentalness. There are several people out there who deserve a piece of this, but i guess i'll just have to keep it all in the cooler for a little while (something i am clearly not in the slightest bit good at).
A couple of books jumped out at me during todays foray into the storeroom - Omar Khayyams quatrains, and tiny wee book (a miniature) by the brothers grimm, a beautiful piece of art in itself. Two lost children in the woods following an owl, i could have eaten it right there and then, i tell ya. But instead, you know, i put it back. It may crop up again sometime in the future, who knows.
It seems also with all this spare time i am at liberty to roam around the internet following links. Psychopomps todays, to flesh out the work a little further. And a less than enjoyable perusal into the Lockerby bombing, which was infact what instigated my minor brawl with, you know, that guy. The one who spent £300 on my mothers phone. Salute this, bumbaclot [shows ass].
Oh my, times are a changing. I guess I'll spend the evening meditating. I should be eating, but perhaps i'm growing out of it.....i don't know. All i can really stomach is milk and eggs. This condition i'm in -- well, i'm just a puddle. With a little effort I can pour myself into 9-5, but apart from that - i'm phouked. Gone. My body is telling me that either it's about to die, or its..........i havn't the foggiest. Basically, it's liquid fire. In any case, i feel short on time. How best to refocus? This is my question today. How best to refocus?
Thursday, 25 February 2010
Log 1/4.17: shinyshiny!
Yes, it's finished. The first two pages done.
I have a face like bubblegum
badumdumdumbabababadum
Can I maintain?
On a more serious note, I would like to point out that i am not talking to The One here. I don't want any more accusations of being a stalker... that would ruin my plans for the rest of the week.
Now all of that's out of the way, what did I spend today doing, dear log? Well, I worked in the book store - found lots of shiny things there - all morning, came home, meditated for 45 minutes. Forgot about lunch, approached the thing that glares - my script - gingerly, picked it up gently, rewrote the imagery for [some amount of time]. Blew my head off, lay on the floor for [some amount of time]. Meditated for 45 minutes. Wandered around the internet for [some amount of time]. Meditated for 45 minutes. Ate. Threw up on my blog. Meditated. Now I'm writing this. [also wrote random stuff on facebook in between everything else].
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Thou Shall Not Throw Up in Public
Stuck my foot in it again.
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
sometimes stuff just comes out upside down (or reversed)
i couldn't work out how to save it the right way up :-/ this is a representation of The Star taken from this weeks Radio Times, which i bought this morning for this reason. It also represents 7th circuit mythopoetic/genetic consciousness, or the collective unconscious, with attention paid to the genus loci of my home - note shakespeare, sherlock holmes, harry potter et al.
i suppose - and i'm not putting money on it - that the reversed meaning would have something to do with a third circuit trance masquerading as a seventh circuit trance, but also with.....terrestrial experience (3rd) becoming a platform for extra-terrestrial (7th - and I'm talking frequency here, not aliens on another planet....k...) experience. Oops, i said experience.
the....suit?...character in the bottom/top corner represents the man at work. he could be looking at a letter, but more likely he is looking at his own work. where the card not reversed, the man would be hanging from his desk.
p.s. this is all from memory. i havn't studied this stuff in a couple of years or so. I forget.
Log 1/4.16: High Voltage.
Personal Reflection: Why did I start this thing? What motivates me?
[I've never read any of the Invisibles. Or sandman. I just appear to be in that vein.]
Diatribe 1:
"some of the things i do can be dangerous. generally i don't sit around playing playstation - at times i have been tempted, of course, but it never happens. i never move in that direction. when i take into consideration my improvised ritual workings - the spaceship, for example, my drift - and those borrowed workings - the three liquids being the most powerful, back in 2004, round about the same time i was working through Liber ABA without much of an idea of what i was doing - it becomes important to provide the right context for the expression of these things. some of the experiences i've had are enough to make a grown man go crazy.
this isn't a fashion statement. these things i do aren't clothes. there is a fine line between the ridiculous and the inspired, and i believe that line is integrity.
even though i spent some time in an institution, the simple fact of the matter is that no one could decide upon a diagnosis. a few things were thrown around - expressly to "get [me] out of trouble", as i was there solely on a criminal charge, a section 14 - and eventually the good doctors ended up with egg on their faces, poor sods, terribly embarassed, when all charges were dropped (amid missing paper work yadda yadda) and subsequently they had no right to detain me. The police, however, were adament that they would arrest me simply for existing were i to leave. catch 22.
intelligence, as i define it, is the capacity to form connections when there may not be any apparent connections. this is similar to madness, except that madness is a reaction rather than an action, and a brief look at our history will show that intelligence and madness are often treated in the same way. with fear and ridicule.
While in the institution, Schizophrenia and Paranoia were never mentioned. Their best bet was Hypomania, an ecstatic state. The terms of my release were that I was to be supervised for a year by a doctor and a social worker. The social worker, after two months - maybe less - told me that he didn't have much time for me since he had "real patients". he stopped even calling after 5 months. I saw the doctor once.
I'm not saying I was in a fit state of mind - things got a little out of control. I was arrested for a fire arms charge after all.
i once overdosed on ketamine after a long train ride. this is particularly odd, since i hadn't taken any ketamine. i very almost died. while i was prone in a hospital bed, the good doctors told my mother I most likely would never be able to form a coherent sentence ever again. but, guess what - i keep coming back.
nothing in all my life has made me happier than persuing my passion for words, and writing, and generating engaging ways of re-invisioning the world. that's what i'm doing now, but it can take great chunks from me each time i pick up a pen. the territories i explore, the interests - dream, paranoia, the hidden, parallels, multiples, augmented realities, these things take their toll on me. The creative high is matched only by the sometimes grim aftermath of realising that i've spent the last four weeks isolated and alone. At times like these I'm tempted to do stupid things like jump into bed with anyone (tell my deepest darkest secrets to anyone) - but, those were the old days. I have pretty high standards now (whether I deserve them or not is another matter), and I find that ignoring my basic instincts only heightens my awareness anyhow.
I'm loyal to a fault. I've had one relationship in the last five years, and it was one that i only enjoyed for about three weeks out of each year. Cut out entertainment, drunkenness and sex - you may lose your mind.
connection is hard work. it is so much easier to remain detached. choosing to inhabit this world can be like choosing to hang over the edge of a cliff, suspended only by your valuables.
ah, yes, and i'm still waiting for those "plain clothes" policemen to revisit me. "we have no record of a visit" the station said "you're not wanted for anything. you'll just have to wait for them to come back". sometime.
some people don't like me."
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
Log 1/4.15: "Until When"/a 5 way conversation/MQ Pooling
Putting My Money Where My Mouth Is:
This makes more money.
I used the word "veil" for the first time ever today.
Sometimes the internet is useless.
Words like "attuned" bring nothing.
Sometimes people may call you crazy, my dears
But what do they know.
If I look to my experience to define my terms
I will not be shaken from my course.
This blog is a refining.
I choose
My language with care.
I will talk about the dreamtime, and aliens, and hidden worlds
Of conversing with angels and demons
And the quest to embody
This deliberate incarnation.
it is listening, I know..
I pay no mind to the "Genius" and the "Zeitgeist"
My interaction is already a personal one.
There is nothing like solitude to arouse her attention,
But take what you need from those who will give it
I suppose.
Back to solitude, which strengthens my work like nothing else.
That last visual was ill timed,
I stuck my foot in it again no doubt.
But I must return again...
somethings calling...
After a full days work, I settle down to find a good reference book on Daedalus and the Minataur, followed by good food, then a few hours of "body work".
No TV...No beer...No talky...
*sniffle*
I hear them singing,
Voices and faces
Carved in the walls,
Echoes and bells -
Because they are so old
And so alone.
Yellow and orange fingers
Lift up my heart
And raise it beyond the veil
But take Me down,
Take Me down;
I do not want to go.
Not yet,
Not before that cigarette
A cup of coffee, a smile.
I'd like to see who passes
And what for
As in Malkuth I wait a while -
There, show me those eyes
Burning,
And this way we'll reach heaven;
In You and I
We
Will open up that door
And watch the ages passing.
-[L.O.V. 444]-
Monday, 22 February 2010
Post Script blah
Water
Log 1/4.14 - Status: C.M.T.O.
Revisioning the script once more, infusing it with newer forms, new turns of phrase and nuance.
This afternoon I shall repair my blog, which finds itself scattered; update the dictionary and the links, mainly.
1. Hours with a thesaurus and internet-dart-board, really milling the words, -- compounding -- them into something beyond mere information - to extract an essence of dream. I ended up with 143 words after weeks of work.
2. I then wrote in the imagery. This was important because the monologue being of dream and detached, I -- my -- authorial voice needed to anchor them in material imagery. This produced 1200 words to back up those initial 143.
3. Mirrors: the monologue is echoed in the scenery, the character echoed in the language. Looking back over the log, particularly to my links, the images are not random. They are projections that become increasingly tuned. I'm milking them for all they've got. Voices are overlaid one atop the other, the narrator switches between masks, though the character is never off the page.
C.M.T.O. - i don't have the first idea of what it means to approach the page lightly. Pretty much any page I write I come to purposefully, and the more of a page it is the better. Letters, emails, notebooks, drafts; to boys, girls, teachers, friends.
16:38 Blog sorted. Words finished. 16 days ahead of schedule. Play time.
16.39 Lots of time for Regardie's body awareness exercise.
Sunday, 21 February 2010
Log 1/4.13 Sex with Lampposts
a blind mans blueprint
From Wasserman's 'Templars and Assassins':
"Did I not wish the sultan well, that dagger that was stuck in the hard ground would have been planted in his soft chest" Hassan I Sabbah.
"The Assassins became the the dark embodiment of the shadow self of Islam"
There was only one thing for it; finish the thing. Get it done, get my head back.
Somewhere in between the words my character was robbing the banks of eternity and using my identity to do it.
"And this shall be deducted from your part of heaven"
200 words to go.
I still have 200 words to go but I'm a little less absorbed. There is a small corner of my head reserved for nuthink. When it comes to my reflective commentary, I'll have to say: I don't know how long this took. I don't remember which exercises I did, or in what order. I've lost count of the hours and drafts and days. I'll have to blame time-warps, muses, angels and aliens. I wonder what will happen when i start on the autobiography module :-/ "well, there was this big spaceship... the idea that Earth is itself a stargate...my meeting with a Lovecraftian alien, the money launderer, almost being shot....my grand-father being a gun runner, my grand mother a prostitute....the suffering of my parents....living in at least two different realities at once.....inventing demons to bring join the dots for me...." Blah. Blah. Blah. Can I get away with that?
Then i can start talking about systematically executing my friends one by one just because I could. About actually, beneath it all, being very alone if not lonely. The burden of dream. The burden of vision. The burden of imagination. Well, that could lead to my blabbing about how i become a tongue tied douche bag when i talk to people who've felt what i've felt and been where i've been, or at least who have felt similar things or been to similar places, and about the selfishness of my need for people to hear me.
Suppose I could dig up some value in exploring what it is to have greater understanding/intuition than skill, and greater intelligence than skill, and how it drives so many people to drink and drugs and sex with lampposts. I could...write about a character who does not knowing who they are. Who doesn't know why they're here, or what they want. About being divorced from an innate and primal connection to the continuing process of unfolding creation, the hells and high waters and advertising to be crossed in reconnecting with IT, and the beauty of the stars at night when the sea is still and no one needs to say a word.. Yeah, I like that last idea.
That's what I want to write about, and forget "Ultimate Soldiers" who have amnesia, or Vanilla Sky/Matrix characters who wake up in a box; I want the the actual condition to come through in my work. It's a tough thing to do.....a tough thing to do.......make no mistake......if I'm frying my brain and being an arse its because I'm carving David with a spoon.
I just wish in my heart of hearts, at times like this when the work is almost done and i'm sat typing my reflections at my desk, that there was someone who was also carving David with a spoon to talk to. But I have you, my loyal words, and maybe you'll be enough yet.
I'm going to sleep without sheets tonight, out of a rebellion against keeping up appearances and because my skin wants to feel the prickles of my mattress.
There is the possibility that I will need a new approach next month. In fact, it's almost a certainty. I've played my hand at the fantastical, but it doesn't feel enough. I need the prickles of my mattress.
Ah, but, you know what. All of this is always in my writing. Everything from the Dreams to the Seeking to the poverty and heartache and ordinary suffering of ordinary people. Why else would the superhero I come up with be the dreaming-self of the protagonist, and why else would the protagonist be an ordinary guy in a world of illusion.
And, hold on a minute - for the last month I've been writing a single monologue, a monologue about dream detached from the body. No wonder I'm half way to the moon.
Saturday, 20 February 2010
Log 1/4.12 A Mechanics and Geography of Dream.
Space is everywhere.
When I strip away the sentimental value of Earth, of Home, when I lose my perception of Earth as being the centre of existence, then I find myself on a rock in outer space. Outer space is the only space.
Between all matter is emptyness; Space. Quantum theory suggests that on a subatomic level there is no difference between being "here" and being "there". Space is everywhere.
In 2003 I built myself a spaceship similar to the one above. What happened when I used it was this: I spontaneously combusted. Literally. I felt the vibration of each and every atom increase until they spun apart, and I was nothing. Paradoxically, there I was. This experience had absolutely nothing to do with drugs or religion.
I'm not entirely sure that I woke up in the same universe that I left.
I Built This Spaceship in order to investigate a theory that was itself born of a previous vision. That same year I awoke one night in the "lightwater realm", breathing water. The walls of my room glowed orange and yellow and seemed to be made of music. Everything glittered church bells and soft symbols.
I had no fingers. This was a little disturbing, but not as disturbing as the fact that I was shrinking, growing younger and younger until I was a baby and still shrinking. My first reaction was to reach for a cigarette. Bad idea. My tobacco pouch launched itself like a rocket into the air, taking the ceiling with it, and leaving in it's wake a trail of images like an un-spun cinema reel. Immediately after this every object in the room follow suit, until I was surrounded by walls of images and my body had completely disappeared.
The experience didn't stop there. Everyone of those moving images then open up, until I was surrounded by countless eyes. These eyes then shattered like glass.
Beyond those eyes, the world spun beneath me as a complex series of interwoven circles, all spinning around a centre point.
Space is everywhere.
Reality is a dream.
Everything I perceived is composed of those reals spinning so fast that they give the impression of being one thing: the world before me. This world then became a different sort of territory for me - it was inhabited by other beings - dreams - that I do not notice on an ordinary level of awareness. They exist within this thing I call "reality". The dreamtime and the....'wake-time'....are interwoven, and both are simply platforms for the creation of story.
We are playing a game we have forgotten the rules to. My dream-self and my waking-self have become separated not by a difference in space or time, but by a difference in perception.
There are plenty of people out there who will disagree with this, but I am not trying to have "the right way of seeing". I am simply using what I have at my disposal.
I give myself the right to be a "schmuck" and to grow a massive ego when i come close to articulating these visions and manifesting them as story. Nothing is more important than realising these visions, than creating a mechanics and geography of dream, not even being a "rounded human being", or a popular one. Truth is, I put myself on the line for these things. When I get close to them, things like drugs, sex, philosophy, charity and even liberty and equality become trite and pathetic. That's just the way I currently see it, and I see those things in myself as well.
But if people need these things to give their lives meaning, they haven't been where I've been. I try to remain aware of the unfolding story in each person I meet, otherwise I would write the world off and shoot myself.
At this time, three things get my goat. I present them here in order of least important to most important: the first is the drug, dance, rave scene - which I grew out of years ago. My personal opinion is that no one in this scene "has the love", no one knows what "all is one" means, and no one is experiencing anything more than a chemical imbalance. Anything you can do with drugs, you can do without them. No one, in my gross opinion, in this scene has anything like the "secret" they think they do. I know a lot of people who will not like to hear this, but it has nothing to do with them.
The second thing are those specific people who like to take control of other people's minds. The "barging", "raping", "cutting" crew who do stuff like attempt to talk to peoples subconscious minds while they are asleep and shock them with violent images when they least expect it. The "psychonauts" who use what they've learnt to further their own quest for power and influence, and who look at other people's minds like they are property up for grabs simply because the people who own those minds don't have the wherewithal to protect themselves from sociopaths.
The third and most important thing that gets my goat is the any opinion or perception based on the idea "that's the way it is". Nothing needs be said about this. These are notes to prompt myself, and I only need to read the words "that's the way it is" to know how much this jiggles my jangles.
These are the things that push my big red button, that offend me on a core level.
So those are the personal reflections out of the way, my gris to the mill milled.
I spent several hours yesterday working on the same piece as I have been for the last few weeks. It's still evolving, changing, and at times I wonder whether I've written the life out of it.
I've been rewriting it and rewriting it, solely those first 200 words, compacting them and refining them and reordering them because even if the first draft was a "good piece of writing" I'm aiming to make it something more than that. Yes, this is a quest for perfection. I'm not trying to get good marks or get an audience, I'm aiming to relay the vision in accurate terms. Dream is the prime component of my mindscape. These 200 words are the voice of a creature from that realm. They have to be authentic.
It's for this reason that I keep going from my desk to meditation to my desk to meditation, because I need to hold a clear vision of that voice. I'm now spending more time meditating than I am writing as at times it takes 40 minutes of meditation to find a single line or image.
The process of this meditation is as follows:
1. Still the mind. Ease away thoughts of facebook, social interaction, work (the three prime movers of my conscious mind at present).
2. Find the voice.
3. Allow the voice to move and create a mindscape.
I can't ask it to do anything. I have to wait for it to speak on it's own terms.
At the beginning of this course I came to the conclusion that I needed to spend less time theorising and more time taking sketches of people and the world around me. This worked for a time, in that it revealed the things that interest me and gave me practice in wordsmithing.
However, things have changed. The ideas are back, the inspiration is back, and a few weeks ago I made contact with a larger sentience that my simple self - whether this sentience is part of me or not does not matter. What matters is that it lead me from one idea to the next, and made the whole world sing with relevance. It was like being on a path that I couldn't get off - even when I left my room, the songs that I played to myself between sessions followed me. Odd songs that I havn't heard in years in shops and pubs that have a pop-clinetel.
The world seemed to speak to me, and here's the thing that interests me: I've just had the biggest rush of my life and I kept it together. This calls for a fourth "truck point".
I've read only one book on writing this month: Alan Moore's Writing for Comics. Tis a very small book, but it said something I've been wanting to hear for the last four months: Have a very good and established idea of what you're talking about before putting pen to paper. I love that. That's what turns me on, baby. A bloody good idea.
The meditation has been my launch pad - through it I've uncovered the ideas that are most relevant to me. I've gone back through those two formative visions and utilised the symbolism from them, the most important element being WATER. Only THEN did I do any research on the relationship between dream and water, discovering things like the "water gate"/"star gate" mythology in media, in conspiracy theory (I don't believe in conspiracy - for the sake of the work, I believe everyone has forgotten what's going on and who runs what, even those people that run things have no idea who runs things), going back into my classical roots to research things like the river of LETHE, and also have a peak at the Atlantis myth for its WATER symbolism.
The LABYRINTH myth is also a prime component of my dream mechanic and geography; it is a place where dreams are born, and in my mindscape it is also part of the waking-world. People who still value the phrases "it's only imagination" and "it's just a dream" will not get what I'm talking about.
These ideas rushed me like a flood gate had been opened, and I suspect that is exactly what happened. Six months of stripping away layers opened up a wellspring of imagination, and THIS TIME I remained in the drivers seat. This is why I've been so happy.
If drugs, violence and reality get my goat, these dreams are what have my heart, and they are welcome to it. I love them - that kind of love that at times will cause me to shed a tear.
In conclusion, the piece is shrinking. I'm no where near 1500 words, but the words I do have become richer and richer. I'm taking all the time of a poet over each line, and forsaking the accredited expectations of the institute, but I have a dream.....
Thursday, 18 February 2010
"Creative Meditation"
"Why would I meditate" said David Lynch in his book "Catching the Big Fish", "meditation seemed boring". Why be just some bloke/bird sat in the same place for a long time not thinking, right. Who gives? I should just go watch TV, it'll make life much easier. To start with, my thoughts are endless, the position uncomfortable, my mind suddenly revealed as a million-layered stodge, chattering "should I should I should I, oh look - a bird". THEN, I start imagining that all is one, actually this is quite a nice experience, ah, how soothing, peace and quiet, then I get bloody cramp.
Even with the meditation and the years rolling by, I didn't manage to get past the cramp until last year (and I started in 2004). It's taken this long Because I picked up the practice, dropped it, picked it up, dropped it, picked it up, dropped it, and because it kept leading me on to new things. I always return to it, though. The only two consistent things in my life have been yoga and writing. I never stopped writing, it's just that its only now that I've given it the due it deserves. It's only now that I'm making it my centre, and that's a still part of the process.
This blog is one of 5. Four of those blogs are solely mine. I have often wanted to burn all four. I'm glad I didn't, because I can look back and laugh - but mostly grimace - my head off at what a bozo I was. An ernest, pissed off, maddened bozo. I can look back and see how far I've come in these years. Each blog has grown in substance. Just like with meditation, I picked them up, I dropped them, I picked them up, and I dropped them. Yeah, I'm still a bozo, but a little less of one.
One of the greatest things about doing what I want to do is that I can at times inspire people as much as I'm inspired by them, but not if this is what I am trying to do. Not if this is the aim.
What I know is this: I picked it up, I dropped it, I PICKED IT UP. If one really wants a piece of the PIE, one has to be determined to keep at it, to fall flat on ones face and then keep going.
What meditation means to me now is something very different from what it meant to me when I started. When I started it was a way of centring myself, of bringing peace from the storm, of just being able to be without all the jibberjabber, noise and sharp words. I needed it, and even if it was boring at times, perhaps most of the time, boredom was preferable to catastrophe and trauma. It's taken six years for meditation to become something other than peaceful at best to boring and painful at worst. Six years later meditation has become beautiful at times, and all the time I feel that i am rooted into a coalescing, ever-present field of energy. I have become something of a tree. I'm happy to be there, and I'm happy to be here.
I learnt a very useful exercise from Antero Alli called the "Bump Exercise", which I think can be found in his book "Angel Tech".
It's taken years to realise some of my aims; writing was the main aim. The more centred I am in my every day life, the further into the waters I can venture, the more I can bring to my writing.
Now meditation serves different purposes. It can rejuvenate me, it can inspire me, it can earth me, it can focus my imagination and focus my energy. It's not often the aim anymore, but a tool, and some times a consequence.
WORK:
The Last 13 Months Alone:
12th January 2009 - 31st March: Average, 5 hours of yoga/meditation per day.
31st March - 1st October: Weekdays, average 2 hours of y/m. W/E, average of 3-4. Per week, 4 1/2 advanced exercises.
October 2nd - January 12th: No exercises. Writing. Everyday, average 5-8 hours.
January 13th - February 18th: Y/M becomes part of writing. All the live long day.
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