An Uncertain Direction

Yeah, last night went out to watch a
friends band perform.  Really
well developed show, that one.

Ended up having a conversation
with a young lady about some
concepts of corporate activity, social
pressure and social transformation.
She has more information than me being as she
has been studying these things at the University
here in Calgary.  The debate centered around the
idea of whether one should choose to work
within the system for change or if it is better
to operate as an obvious opponent.

So...big, huge topic, right?

Personally, I find it hard to believe that the
most effective, interesting approach is to don
the suit and assist the systematically dehumanizing
and environmentally destructive system make cash
with the intention of eventually being able to alter their
practices is at all the best approach.

Seems to me that approach offers the individual
practicing it the sense that they are working towards
assisting the many, many millions being crushed
out of existence by systemic violence, media manipulation
and so on without having to take any actual personal risk.
You still have a job.
You can get a mortgage.
Line of credit, in short...you are still a player
in the game of property, control, social manipulation
and feeding off the sweat of others.
You are socially acceptable in your thinking.

(Not wholly true or correct that last paragraph.  Help me
sort this idea out)

It seems to me that the system has designed itself to
swallow resistance in a number of ways.  We are provided
the right to peaceful assembly that allows the participants
to feel like they have used their voice.  An action that
may or may not feel personally rewarding but in the
public sphere it can be very easily distorted, by shifting the context,
misrepresenting the activists intentions or, most likely, ignoring it
completely.

Now, if one was to take employment with an enormous
corporate organization then one would have spend a good chunk of
time emulating the culture you've joined in order
to be trusted enough to really have a voice within the organization.
After that, if they don't like what you're after...regardless of the logic
of your argument or the quality of your intention (which in the case
of this particular young lady seemed to be the idea that profits and
appropriate community relationships could be balanced out
in a way that serves all individuals involved, a logical vision) they
can simply oust you using a variety of techniques.  I've seen this in
action already this year, a hardworking, driven lady I know was
subject to a Human Resources investigation following a
complaint she made regarding the behavior of some of her
co-workers.  She was quite clearly in the right and, yet, the
decision of the organization was to terminate her employment,
calling her difficult, claiming she rocked the boat and was over-
sensitive, this action causing a series of problems to manifest in her personal life.

Now, to represent accurately the organization didn't totally leave
her hanging, she received a small payout for her troubles but nothing
that accurately reflected the ringer they put her through.

It seems to me that the system has designed itself in
such a way that the only way to be an effective agent of
change is to become a criminal.

Not really.
Not in the heart.
Not because you are actually wrong.
But because their laws are making you into that.

One works on one's own mind and raises the question
of who are these people...no, these parasitic creatures
that put themselves and their profits between us as human
in real-time.  Where do these ideologies come from?  Why do
I think the thoughts I think?  Why do I want a new car?  Why do
I feel slightly embarassed to have no savings whatsoever in
my early mid-thirties?  Why am I expected to put in hours of
my life to build up someone else's dream?  Why does my own mind
judge me for not believing in the cultural mythology?  How was
I trained to not trust my instincts and instead follow through on
the absolutely disinteresting and barely sustaining?
How was I convinced that I should accept some sort of
limited expression in order to be allowed to eat?
(And so on, please add more questions, the ones that you have gone through,
Communication is the key here...)

And you see...one finds oneself caught in the center
of it all.  I have realized I do it to myself.  I have been
trained since the beginning to do it to myself.
I have been trained in right and wrongism.  I have been
trained in self-destructive self-doubt.  I have been taught
to disbelieve my own judgements.  I have been told to
disregard my instincts.
I have been told it for a long time.
And for a long time, I embraced it.

It still happens, everyday it happens.  Everyday, I have to
work from a center that some days I can barely find
in order to clear away the sickening, offensive onslaught
of other ideas that have been thrust upon me.

That suggest it is a type of duty to serve profits.
To serve a country.
To serve.
To be socially appropriate.
To enjoy responsibly.  Within clearly defined limitations.
To express through acceptable channels.

You like art?  Be a designer...you can help
us sell things.  You play music?...write jingles.
There is a place for you.  Accept this violence.

Digression...not really.  The point is this is
what has been done.  Now, think it through
(disagreement is welcome, please, offer me clear
counter-arguments...work in progress always, everyday
a new day, I'd love to be wrong, those homes look comfortable
and driving fast cars is fun).

It does not make me believe that the people who are
deeply involved in keeping the machine grinding away
are particularly interested in either good community
relations or logic.  They may find the illusion of community
important to the masking of their goals.  They may find logic needs
to be adhered at the town meeting while carrying out their agenda in other
forms.

The more time I spend with these ideas, the more I believe that
humanity is under attack from its own creation.  We have let the idea
run wild and transform itself into a tool for spiritual murder.

There are laws about what you can do to your own mind.
There are inappropriate thoughts.
There are messages everywhere, streaming through our awareness
and changing us in subtle ways.  There is enforcement, using weaponry, lies,
and fucked if I know what else, of a set of ideas designed to force people
to serve agendas that actually hurt...very badly.  Pay attention to your
day...feel when you are beside yourself.  Feel when and how it happens.

Deny it all you want.

I do not believe that this thing is going to be dramatically altered
from the inside.  I don't like the way I feel talking about it.

The system is out to make you a  criminal for choosing
to express yourself.  I am coming to believe that the only
things that can upset the equilibrium enough to actually
raise the questions society needs have been criminalized.

If you resist they will choose to force you out.

They will trick you into thinking it is your own fault.
This culture will bash you around until you're certain
that you are broken.
It is not the poor who are parasitic.
It is not the angry who are wrong.

This culture is waging a war on you.
On your children.
Believe it or not.
Painting in the street is not criminal,
telling people they have to work like a
fucking dog to barely survive is.

Eating your mushrooms is not criminal.
Selling drugs that ruin people livers, cause them to
become suicidal, and limits their ability to
think clearly is.

Being broke is not criminal.
Holding knowledge hostage and forcing people
into debt for it, is.

Hitting people right in the center of their being
with fear, the threat of hunger, of violence for believing that it isn't right to
steal the land and poison the water...and fuck with their brains,
force them to send their children to prison(oops, school, you'll
figure it out, thumbs up to Contented MaMa) is fucking war.

It is not wrong to hit back.

Please share your thoughts with me.
Let's build something better, those of us who care, please.

And after their shitty culture flatlines...we'll share our
bread with those who fell for it.

Much love.

Share your information with me.

Last bit...

Well...I got a lot of directions to go with this.
But that is for another time.

Much love that is for sure...a time for all
things and keep in mind the sun shines evenly
on ALL things.

Had a conversation the other day at a party where
I brought up a personal in-joke using the line, "bludgeoned
into oneness."  The man I was talking responded along the
lines of never having a spiritual experience that was like that.

I was personally astounded.
Seemed obvious to me...not that there aren't a wide
variety of available states, information and
transformations (William James, anyone?) but
I just assumed everyone knew that oneness meant
oneness...and that it was as ugly as it was beautiful
or what the fuck would it be?
In other words, sometimes it hits like an angry mother.

Your thoughts are welcome.
Enough of what I'll never understand entirely.

 The last bit of the four part poem...

Staying In Character IV

The last 

thing I 

recall is 

thinking

the memory

might be 

clear to

all if

it is

one

mind

there.

Way

back

there.

The end of the poem fit with my little ramble. 

That was an accident. 

A likable accident.

Don't let those fuckers get you down, people.

Much love.  

More on the same idea...

Continuing the four part poem, "Staying In Character"...

Staying In Character III

At one point the veil

flaps back in such 

a way that we see 

clear into the treetops...it is

not obvious what sort 

of beasts we're

dealing with...but it is evident

they are feeding on humans

 ...or human shaped

machines...or...are we

witnessing some 

frenzy of dislocated 

shadows fall away

into some kind of

gaping annihilation 

of thought 

process...it's 

evident through 

the whipping

and diffuse material

that an armless one-eyed

mouth is singing hymns 

from our childhood...the pitch

is bang-on...the tone

soaring and full...

the words are cold 

and distinct but foreign...and

there is a clamoring of 

inappropriate responses...

somewhere in there 

we can clearly observe a

subtle but extremely

quick thing...it seems

to be carrying some type

of mate on its back...

its skin is clear...

was that its heart...its blood?

Painting above the series, "Beyond the Idea, the Field, Fuck"

Let your beautiful hearts guide you.

We will make a place for "real" food.

We will keep the children out of the prison schools.

We will let our minds becoming the fluid machines of the future.

And we will make it out of art.

All my love.  

And This One...

Is for those interested in submitting to the next issue of MeatRobes.  

For whomever that may be please be aware we will be accepting submissions
in any 2D media and will be publishing material we feel works well
with the theme regardless of taste, moral sensibility, sexual content, violence, gore,
gestures of tenderness, alignment with familiars or other forces, weeks spent in
prayer or fasting or other rituals.  We will accept the painfully honest as well
as the cleverly obscured.

The theme is "The Wild Imbecil"
Deadline for submissions: June 25th, 2012...


Some links:

The Fool
http://www.corax.com/tarot/cards/index.html?fool
http://www.learntarot.com/journey.htm#fooljourney
http://supertarot.co.uk/major-arcana/fool.htm

Lady Justice
http://www.acumind.com/Joe/tarot/justice.html

Tricksters
http://www.mythencyclopedia.com/Tr-Wa/Tricksters.html#b
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_fictional_tricksters



Spiritual Party Demons
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baron_Samedi
http://www.sccs.swarthmore.edu/users/08/ajb/tmve/wiki100k/docs/Baron_Samedi.html

Scroll around in this one, there is some interesting material
on tricksters, Western Gender myths, so on:
http://www.philhine.org.uk/writings/flsh_gendered.html


There's some shit to get things rolling...I'm sure many of you have connections
to more substantial information on these topics.  Please share.

We all love learning.  It's natural.

Continuing The Theme...

...from yesterday.  Actually gonna make two
posts today.  This one first:

The Strange Dog After Its Own Tail

And continuing the theme:

Staying In Character II

So after all that we still 

hadn't really dipped into the stream.

There was noise and confusion and light,

and maybe even a liberating flash of joy,

but the whole wheel was a stable construct

and try as we might it was not going to be an 

easy thing to adjust.  Didn't matter

if you wanted it moving faster, or the other direction, or

to stop completely.  The damn thing was riderless.

And somehow that too was heart warming.  The poor 

boys dug in their heels and the gardeners offered up

what was left of the place in some new type of communion.

No one knew how to behave anymore.

The statuesque had turned timid and there were "Tap In" 

shirts for everyone.  We felt shy about everything.  

The conversations all spun on new and majestic

concepts that eluded every finger.  But for all

that there was more laughter and some truly shameless

screwing in exotic ways.  We were all broke in

any way that could be conceived and that softened the

whole interior.  The wind barely came around.

The moon increased in relevance and the machines 

took over a lot of the heavy lifting.  They flicked the 

next switch as far as program development went and

had things functioning on a nebulous and highly 

ambiguous system of non-commital relationships, 

that could fire each other off without receiving a signal

from anywhere.  This turned out to be the most accurate

representation of the human mind yet.  They found a multitude 

of ways to fold recorded data into any realtime

information flow and that made the difference imperceptible.  The wind 

barely came around and everyone I knew was slipping on

the ideas faster than you can say, "flibbertyjibbet,"  or some

other stupid shit that will function as an authoritative,

self-critical declaration of finality.  

Keepin' some motion...

Hey y'all.  

Interesting times are happening. 

Attended the Versus show here in Calgary.  

Lots of strong work.  Lots of friendly folk.

Apparently I'm "That Guy"

Which I've begun to conceive of Westernisms zombie.

The already dead are already free.

Read, "Half-hanged Mary" by Margaret Atwood.  

It's a maybe. 

Anyway, show was cool...two artists, one canvas.  

Initially I had a vision of an aggressive event where to 

people would be trying to conquer the same canvas, more like

an art battle, you know...with design strategies as your attacks, counter-attacks.

In the future somewhere that one.  

Where did that come from? 

Anyway...make the sweetest work you can.

Do what you can...may the day treat you 

the way you deserve to be treated.

Here's the first part of a four part poem.

Stay attuned.

The poem is entitled, "Staying In Character"

Actually locating an entry point was quite the problem.

They were sleeping in the treetops.

No one was pointed in any particular direction.

Or everyone was pointed in a very particular direction.

It is not the simplest thing into, you see.

Maybe the story opens up as the sun crosses it.

Either way there is a lot of information spinning in 

The slightly audible thrumming pathways. 

So we step into the action just an uncountable

number of moments after it begins.

The tale involves some lizardy looking fellows,

and an unreasonable number of thoughts.

Luckily most of those were so whispery and useless as to pass

through the witness completely.

The whole thing was obscured behind the available mind

by the most inconsistent of veils.

We could see in as often as we couldn't,

which only served to amplify the confusion.

They were sleeping in the treetops.

We heard their stirring as the sun crossed.

But that was all.

No appearance.

No guidance through the thick bits.

We're hacking a line through some kind of

new electric wire forest growing on crumbled 

Asphalt.  The quiet vibrates with the strangest

buzzing insect I've ever seen.  It drags some 

part of its nature in its jaws.  It has a halo of eyes.

No other creature comes near it.  

Every piece turns around and the fallacy

opens its heart to its victims.

The hungry are fed and the exact

moment when we expected it to stop

and transform into a sense of something 

beyond itself comes and goes.  And we look at each other

with a sweetness previously unconsidered.

It's really a good way to begin all over. 

Wow...

So rained out from the job yesterday...
Then the sun comes out...
Smoked enough medicine to be a paranoid
mess of sorts...
BUT...
Managed to make some fun drawings...
Just like a real adult...

And there you have it.  

Keep your hearts tuned up.

...Oh, one more thing.
Obedience is not a virtue.

Postulate

Actually, I just want to post a poem.

But first, a quick thank you to the Calgary artists
who are reaching out to have their work incorporate in
MeatRobes: An Exploratory Magazine.

I won't name any names yet as part of the nature of the
publication is to allow pseudonyms and alter-egos
to protect the soft bits of those who enter work.

If they desire.  If they wish to be identified they
will be.

Times are strange.
We'll have more fun than ever before.

Spell Slinger

We flip the cards, investigate the

situation.  Seek contradictions or 

anomalies.  Changing wave patterns,

fascinated by our dreams we seek 

a wakefulness that functions like a 

blender.  A divinatory chopping into

one healthy, sweet energetic blessing. 

Impermanence is apparently

some kind of key.

The fleshy ex-monster

says to me, "you

can want all you want."

I coined the term, "bush witch"

yesterday afternoon, the double 

connotation only obvious

after the words left my lips.

And one deep grin becomes another.

Insert a grand sweeping, Leonine

gesture here, the type of motion that

let's everyone know that we are in 

the middle of something meaningful, 

something self-derived and salvaged 

from outside the veil of wake/sleep/repeat.

The air is full of attention. The small birds

find new voices, shake the old vices and 

step of the grid, raising their own uncertain 

harmonies against the work-songs of history

and all that weird religious chanting.

The air is full of attention, the gesturing

is effective, the wave patterns change, 

the fragments stay that way.

Spells linger.

It's Satyrday!!

...and it's a marvelous system of wiggles (I stole that from Alan Watts).

I steal ideas.

Some photos and a poem and I'm signing off
 again...will do a write up later this weekend on new developments...arts zine, musical
fun, connections with others...

HE arose, filthy, stinking

king of the dawn.

Still in yesterdays clothes

but breathing a new

type of fire.

His nostrils had grown.

The air moved quicker.

And everything else kept 

slowing down.

He caught a bird in mid-flight.

He pointed out the smallest parts

of everything.

Then the quiet became unbearable.

Of course, he took it.

Some of the bones...

The bones.
The conceptual undercurrents.

The deeper sensation and spatial anomalies.

What's empty in this room?


From there springs the thing itself.
There is a Rufus Wainwright song I've
Never heard before playing on the radio.

That cat makes a fella jealous.
Just fuckin' wails it out.

Some new work (incomplete) that will
appear in the first issue of

MeatRobes: An Exploratory Magazine.



You See...art is fun.

But also Serious.

Much love.  

Here are a few of the conceptual bones:

http://hermetic.com/bey/taz_cont.html

http://www.soul-healer.com/

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/chuang-tzu-and-the-butterfly/ 

Let me know if any of it touches you.

At all.

In any way.  You beautiful fuckers.

A late addition, found just this morning:

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2012/05/on-censorship-salman-rushdie.html

As we go...

Be gentle with yourself.

An attitude.  

Keep Makin' Work, Please.

Meat Robes...

...Mind in Meat Robes...We have a theme.

Just so you know I am wearing my new disguise
and observing the intoxicating lameness.

One must research.
It really is gross, though.

Grab the choice illusion.
Ride the streamline.

Beyond the system is
the art of play.

You can't even read this...

a fragile airy thing inside meat robes (simple as we are) and 

toxic collaboration.  The purity hunters, basking

in the glory of being correct, aim themselves directly

at those lizardly old fucks.  And thank God.  Or whatever.

Someone has to but it seems like odious journeys for 

small change and I can't for the life of me 

believe the best road to change are the ones

you are filtered into.  Just my guess as far as power-plays probably go(the alliteration was an accident, the editorial choice of leaving it, intentional).  

To put it another way:  Make art without permission.

To put it another way:  Play life as you like it.

I'm learning as I go here, and what comes out is what comes.

Spontaneity, or something like it, stay.

I sleep strange hours.  Or, better said, I awake at strange times.

It has to be dealt with.  Perhaps I'll seek medication or 

a more balanced lifestyle.  Then I can be better and more 

effective.  It'll be great, I'm gonna be a go-getter.  Or I'll take pleasure 

in what is.  Read some Li Po.  Kerouack, "Scripture of The Golden

Eternity".   

Many translations of the name of 

Buddha.  

The Named One.  The sitter.  The Quitter.  The Ready One.  

Another paraphrased gem (watch out for paraphrasing...One

can start spinning words across words until the whole idea

is fucked into incomprehensibility, never mind locatable in form) Telling a man

to be pure is like telling water to be wet.

(I couldn't even read it, I just made it 

straight into mind activity, a swirl of

arising ideas wrap the swirl of past

ideas, none of it me, all of it mind

all of it me, none of it mind).  

Make notes. 

Surf porn.

Study castration cult mythology.

Start new art projects.  

Smoke marijuana.

It can get weird.

It is only

Isness.

The middle of the night is good.

The early morning is good.

Would you rather be alert and focussed on 

your own project at 3 am or well rested for work

at 8?

I know what I've chosen.  

There are so many issues to be dealt with. 

There is no where to go and nothing to do.

Each piece is a mysterious event.  A mystic stroke of luck.

Is Is meant to be.

Some new imagery:

The devils at the flea market.

I've started a collection of a certain 

type of Native literature.

Sunday afternoon in the yard.

Again.

It's getting slightly loony and 

finally interesting.  

Playful.

And Faster.

MindFormImage-WorksInManyWays

The landscape above.  Plan for the future.

This is a negative image of an ongoing sculpture

project called, "Rock Skull Altar".

That one is upside down.  Oh god, the shame.

...and incomprehensible by nature I might add. 

Portrait of the Artist.

Resist the culture of intoxicating lameness.

A gift.  -

Resonance

Okay, it's on.  There are horrible stories loud and clear.  You're a beauty with nothing to prove.  The goodness is out there.  I really don't know about this day job shit.

Been out a lot, investigating history and tradition, momentum, "work ethic",  making art crime and conceptual strategies.

It's good.  The next bit will get fresher and warmer.

I've got to figure out how to get imagery from my Android phone onto this blog.  All the new work is on that sucker.  

Here's a poem for you:

that one is 

a fun 

game

I can't bring a 

thought 

that 

crystalline on 

purpose 

ever

the sense making

machine 

confounds

flounders the 

flesh

boat

well, ah, 

a good

try

Make more art faster, please. 

The thinking will get more orderly as I get here more often.

The massive confusion

Working on...
as well as...
So, I'm not totally asleep at the wheel.

Also interested in letting you all know about an ongoing project
for post post-modern male self-awareness that an old friend of mine has
developed and is presenting in school districts across British Columbia.

This individual has assisted and guided me through open dialogue and
heartfelt personal nourishment on more than one occasion.  This blog will
develop over the next while into a wider exposition on gendered conceptions,
fucking, beautiful fun, the war for self in the mass age, the onwards and upwards,
philosophy of gender, music, art, masturbation, actually I don't really know.
I just know that I'll be staying on it regularly from here on in and the self promotion
shit will become far less important than the SHARING and communication
of thought.

I'll jump ship with a poem:

Ass First

Dump these thoughts without even

reading them.

Stuff my leftover flesh in the 

sweet brown clay.

Buck up some rounds

and ignite all three of us.

If anyone ever asks, kids, just tell

them, "He was born

ass first, lived with his head

up his ass, and he is

ascended yet

again."