Rev Sun Myung MoonPie's Sermon on the Mountain Dew

Sliver of what

2011-07-13T02:16:00.001-07:00

what life do you live before language
before the vivid lunatic dances
trips the tongue lust relic last
fabricating death in wistful neon campfire stories
desperate wit raging into that electric night
denying real death
honest unsighing self-true death
the one thriving death of all

don't you know there is nothing to die for
but death itself

what do you dream before you wake the earth
before Aristotle presumes to speak for us rocks and woods
all of us the craggy brained sensitive mercy
us smooth beatific stones sitting hard hermits in
babbling brooks where we are
here here giving moment to moment to what we are
edgeless natives of rain
modest conspicuous nature here
reading moon books and smiling at what we don't know
smashing the haunted damn pottery of Greek ghosts
Greek slivers always darting away from wild sane attention
our pure attention
one thriving attention for all
the life lived
just lived
and lived and lived
and lived

what do you do with that
when you can't say anything
like a lotus grinning in the muck
finding freedom here
wherever here
hearing where nature generously allows flowers in mud
what do you say
can we say nothing
and mean it

Into the forest slowly

2011-06-19T03:23:00.001-07:00

Breathing mouthfuls of reality
I have seen my first
Sincere thought
It is patience offered to desire
The dry crumbling of thorns that
Would snag a calm
Wandering heart
The very end of suffering
As star birds make their
Death flight to the moon
And what is resigned
Begins in earnest
Would you my patient woods
Have me now?

mooooving water

2011-06-07T03:31:00.001-07:00

we praise moving water while building dams
trying to hold it all in our greedy minds
every step
another Buddha to kill
Buddhas as far as my eyes can see
no further than
the span of a breath

Dark rock

2011-05-19T04:26:00.001-07:00

Lightning flashes
Limestone hills bright
Exploding into
Being
Leaves no trace
A dark rock
Unmoved

Laughing life

2011-05-11T02:58:00.001-07:00

I prepared myself for
A life of service
So I began to laugh
Leaving no
Trace in
Heaven

Love is here

2011-05-11T02:20:00.001-07:00

Poor moon
Poor victim of poets
Let's come off it
Who wants a woman
With a cloud between
Her thighs?
Love walks the earth
The moon up high
Is here

Human confusion

2011-05-10T22:16:00.001-07:00

The world is vast
Incredibly vast
But there is nothing strange
In being human
Eyes wide open
It's a gentle confusion

Dog burps

2011-05-10T02:58:00.001-07:00

A dog stalks moths in
Florescent light
Walking away
Burps with her
Whole body

Speechless

2011-05-10T02:44:00.001-07:00

Bodhidharma has no beard
And I am without words
The moon is neither rising
Nor sinking
All this space
And no room for self

Petals guffaw

2011-05-10T02:41:00.001-07:00

Bending over in
The garden
I nearly fell over
The flowers laugh
Very
Very slowly

Hesse as a Chinaman

2011-05-08T01:18:00.001-07:00

“Therefore the music of a well-ordered age is calm and cheerful, and so is its government. The music of a restive age is excited and fierce, and its government is perverted. The music of a decaying state is sentimental and sad, and its government is imperiled.”

— Hermann Hesse, Glass Bead Game

I am often taken aback by the sheer misery expressed in popular music. Even the club jams seem borne of and appealed to an unstable mind. The radios play only longing under the guise of endearment and human interest. Couldn't the art form also express simple joy, much like classical art?

Perhaps it is supposed to be cathartic. But catharsis is unnecessary for a peaceful heart.

Water Dissolves Water: Baso Döitsu

2011-04-17T15:30:00.000-07:00

All of you here! Believe that your own mind is Buddha. This very mind is buddha-mind.

Water Dissolves Water: Baso Döitsu

Stuff

2011-04-17T15:28:00.000-07:00

Stuff is a short documentary of John Frusciante's house. It was made in 1993 by Johnny Depp and the lead singer of the Butthole Surfers, Gibby Haynes. Dr. Timothy Leary is also present in the video. The film's main purpose was to depict the chaos of Frusciante's life. It was once aired in a Dutch TV show called Lola Da Musica, and was released in the '90s as a rare promo VHS. "Untitled #2" from Frusciante's Niandra LaDes and Usually Just a T-Shirt is featured on this film with a poem read over it. Also featured in the film is an otherwise unreleased Frusciante song.

Video: http://vimeo.com/8992318

The Sand Trip

2011-04-08T17:45:00.000-07:00

Frank Herbert, despite his books selling millions of copies, somehow is often excluded from mentions of the great sci-fi writers. Perhaps it is because he is so very much more than that. Exotic technology is discussed, but it is not more advanced, just adapted to different environments. The cultures on his various planets seem at once primitive and refined. And technology is never the point, or even the center. There's also no black and white displays of good vs evil. This is no Star Wars.

What he does write about is how perception can be organized and how it shapes human history over countless millenia. He writes of people with profound sensitivity, surpassing even the greatest yogis, able to monitor with detail every bodily process as it occurs. Naturally, because perception is the focus, and one must include the different ways perception is influenced, drugs factor in regularly. The following is a fictional trip report I've copied from the first Dune Book. At this point, Jessica, the mother of the future prophet/god/emperor Muad'Dib, must go through the hallucinogenic rites of a desert tribe so that she may become privy to all the currents of the universe that are so much vaster than a mere few lifetimes. Enjoy.

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"Sayyadina Jessica," Chani said.
Jessica turned to see the girl staring up at her.
"Have you tasted the blessed water?" Chani asked.
Before Jessica could answer, Chani said: "It is not possible that you have tasted the blessed
water. You are outworlder and unprivileged."
A sigh passed through the crowd, a sussuration of robes that made the nape hairs creep
on Jessica’s neck.
"The crop was large and the maker has been destroyed," Chani said. She began unfastening
a coiled spout fixed to the top of the sloshing sack.
Now, Jessica felt the sense of danger boiling around her. She glanced at Paul, saw that he
was caught up in the mystery of the ritual and had eyes only for Chani.
Has he seen this moment in time? Jessica wondered. She rested a hand on her abdomen,
thinking of the unborn daughter there, asking herself: Do I have the right to risk us both?
Chani lifted the spout toward Jessica, said: "Here is the Water of Life, the water that is
greater than water–Kan, the water that frees the soul. If you be a Reverend Mother, it opens
the universe to you. Let Shai-hulud judge now."
Jessica felt herself torn between duty to her unborn child and duty to Paul. For Paul, she
knew, she should take that spout and drink of the sack’s contents, but as she bent to the proffered
spout, her senses told her its peril.
The stuff in the sack had a bitter smell subtly akin to many poisons that she knew, but unlike
them, too.
"You must drink it now," Chani said.
There’s no turning back, Jessica reminded herself. But nothing in all her Bene Gesserit
training came into her mind to help her through this instant.
What is it? Jessica asked, herself. Liquor? A drug?
She bent over the spout, smelled the esters of cinnamon, remembering then the drunkenness
of Duncan Idaho. Spice liquor? she asked herself. She took the siphon tube in her mouth,
pulled up only the most minuscule sip. It tasted of the spice, a faint bite acrid on the tongue.
Chani pressed down on the skin bag. A great gulp of the stuff surged into Jessica’s mouth
and before she could help herself, she swallowed it, fighting to retain her calmness and dignity.
"To accept a little death is worse than death itself," Chani said. She stared at Jessica,
waiting.
And Jessica stared back, still holding the spout in her mouth. She tasted the sack’s contents
in her nostrils, in the roof of her mouth, in her cheeks, in her eyes–a biting sweetness, now.
Cool.
Again, Chani sent the liquid gushing into Jessica’s mouth.
Delicate.
Jessica studied Chani’s face–elfin features–seeing the traces of Liet- Kynes there as yet un-fixed by time.
This is a drug they feed me, Jessica told herself.
But it was unlike any other drug of her experience, and Bene Gesserit training included the
taste of many drugs.
Chani’s features were so clear, as though outlined in light.
A drug.

Whirling silence settled around Jessica. Every fiber of her body accepted the fact that
something profound had happened to it. She felt that she was a conscious mote, smaller
than any subatomic particle, yet capable of motion and of sensing her surroundings. Like
an abrupt revelation–the curtains whipped away–she realized she had become aware of a
psychokinesthetic extension of herself. She was the mote, yet not the mote.
The cavern remained around her–the people. She sensed them: Paul, Chani, Stilgar, the
Reverend Mother Ramallo.
Reverend Mother!
At the school there had been rumors that some did not survive the Reverend Mother ordeal,
that the drug took them.
Jessica focused her attention on the Reverend Mother Ramallo, aware now that all this was
happening in a frozen instant of time–suspended time for her alone.
Why is time suspended? she asked herself. She stared at the frozen expressions around
her, seeing a dust mote above Chani’s head, stopped there.
Waiting.
The answer to this instant came like an explosion in her consciousness: her personal time
was suspended to save her life.
She focused on the psychokinesthetic extension of herself, looking within, and was confronted
immediately with a cellular core, a pit of blackness from which she recoiled.
That is the place where we cannot look, she thought. There is the place the Reverend
Mothers are so reluctant to mention–the place where only a Kwisatz Haderach may look.
This realization returned a small measure of confidence, and again she ventured to focus
on the psychokinesthetic extension, becoming a mote-self that searched within her for danger.
She found it within the drug she had swallowed.
The stuff was dancing particles within her, its motions so rapid that even frozen time could
not stop them. Dancing particles. She began recognizing familiar structures, atomic linkages:
a carbon atom here, helical wavering . . . a glucose molecule. An entire chain of molecules
confronted her, and she recognized a protein . . . a methyl-protein configuration.
Ah-h-h!
It was a soundless mental sigh within her as she saw the nature of the poison.
With her psychokinesthetic probing, she moved into it, shifted an oxygen mote, allowed
another carbon mote to link, reattached a linkage of oxygen . . . hydrogen.
The change spread . . . faster and faster as the catalyzed reaction opened its surface of
contact.
The suspension of time relaxed its hold upon her, and she sensed motion. The tube spout
from the sack was touched to her mouth–gently, collecting a drop of moisture.
Chani’s taking the catalyst from my body to change the poison in that sack, Jessica thought.
Why?
Someone eased her to a sitting position. She saw the old Reverend Mother Ramallo being
brought to sit beside her on the carpeted ledge. A dry hand touched her neck.
And there was another psychokinesthetic mote within her awareness! Jessica tried to reject
it, but the mote swept closer . . . closer.
They touched!
It was like an ultimate simpatico, being two people at once: not telepathy, but mutual
awareness.
With the old Reverend Mother!
But Jessica saw that the Reverend Mother didn’t think of herself as old. An image unfolded
before the mutual mind’s eye: a young girl with a dancing spirit and tender humor.

Within the mutual awareness, the young girl said, "Yes, that is how I am."
Jessica could only accept the words, not respond to them.
"You’ll have it all soon, Jessica," the inward image said.
This is hallucination, Jessica told herself.
"You know better than that," the inward image said. "Swiftly now, do not fight me. There
isn’t much time. We . . . " There came a long pause, then; "You should’ve told us you were
pregnant!"
Jessica found the voice that talked within the mutual awareness. "Why?"
"This changes both of you! Holy Mother, what have we done?"
Jessica sensed a forced shift in the mutual awareness, saw another mote- presence with the
inward eye. The other mote darted wildly here, there, circling. It radiated pure terror.
"You’ll have to be strong," the old Reverend Mother’s image-presence said. "Be thankful it’s
a daughter you carry. This would’ve killed a male fetus. Now . . . carefully, gently . . . touch
your daughter-presence. Be your daughter- presence. Absorb the fear . . . soothe . . . use
your courage and your strength . . . gently now . . . gently . . . "
The other whirling mote swept near, and Jessica compelled herself to touch it.
Terror threatened to overwhelm her.
She fought it the only way she knew: "I shall not fear. Fear is the mind killer . . . "
The litany brought a semblance of calm. The other mote lay quiescent against her.
Words won’t work, Jessica told herself.
She reduced herself to basic emotional reactions, radiated love, comfort, a warm snuggling
of protection.
The terror receded.
Again, the presence of the old Reverend Mother asserted itself, but now there was a tripling
of mutual awareness–two active and one that lay quietly absorbing.
"Time compels me," the Reverend Mother said within the awareness. "I have much to give
you. And I do not know if your daughter can accept all this while remaining sane. But it must
be: the needs of the tribe are paramount."
"What–"
"Remain silent and accept!"
Experiences began to unroll before Jessica. It was like a lecture strip in a subliminal training
projector at the Bene Gesserit school . . . but faster . . . blindingly faster.
Yet . . . distinct.
She knew each experience as it happened: there was a lover–virile, bearded, with the
Fremen eyes, and Jessica saw his strength and tenderness, all of him in one blink-moment,
through the Reverend Mother’s memory.
There was no time now to think of what this might be doing to the daughter fetus, only
time to accept and record. The experiences poured in on Jessica– birth, life, death–important
matters and unimportant, an outpouring of single- view time.
Why should a fall of sand from a clifftop stick in the memory? she asked herself.
Too late, Jessica saw what was happening: the old woman was dying and, in dying,
pouring her experiences into Jessica’s awareness as water is poured into a cup. The other
mote faded back into pre-birth awareness as Jessica watched it. And, dying-in-conception, the
old Reverend Mother left her life in Jessica’s memory with one last sighing blur of words.
"I’ve been a long time waiting for you," she said. "Here is my life."
There it was, encapsuled, all of it.
Even the moment of death.
I am now a Reverend Mother, Jessica realized.

And she knew with a generalized awareness that she had become, in truth, precisely what
was meant by a Bene Gesserit Reverend Mother. The poison drug had transformed her.
This wasn’t exactly how they did it at the Bene Gesserit school, she knew. No one had ever
introduced her to the mysteries of it, but she knew.
The end result was the same.
Jessica sensed the daughter-mote still touching her inner awareness, probed it without response.
A terrible sense of loneliness crept through Jessica in the realization of what had happened
to her. She saw her own life as a pattern that had slowed and all life around her speeded up
so that the dancing interplay became clearer.
The sensation of mote-awareness faded slightly, its intensity easing as her body relaxed from
the threat of the poison, but still she felt that other mote, touching it with a sense of guilt at what
she had allowed to happen to it.
I did it, my poor, unformed, dear little daughter, I brought you into this universe and exposed
your awareness to all its varieties without any defenses.
A tiny out owing of love-comfort, like a re ection of what she had poured into it, came from
the other mote.
Before Jessica could respond, she felt the adab presence of demanding memory. There
was something that needed doing. She groped for it, realizing she was being impeded by a
muzziness of the changed drug permeating her senses.
I could change that, she thought. I could take away the drug action and make it harmless.
But she sensed this would be an error. I’m within a rite of joining.
Then she knew what she had to do.
Jessica opened her eyes, gestured to the watersack now being held above her by Chani.
"It has been blessed," Jessica said. "Mingle the waters, let the change come to all, that the
people may partake and share in the blessing."
Let the catalyst do its work, she thought. Let the people drink of it and have their awareness
of each other heightened for awhile. The drug is safe now . . . now that a Reverend Mother
has changed it.
Still, the demanding memory worked on her, thrusting. There was another thing she had to
do, she realized, but the drug made it difficult to focus.
Ah-h-h-h-h . . . the old Reverend Mother.
"I have met the Reverend Mother Ramallo," Jessica said. "She is gone, but she remains. Let
her memory be honored in the rite.
Now, where did I get those words? Jessica wondered.
And she realized they came from another memory, the life that had been given to her and
now was part of herself. Something about that gift felt incomplete, though.
"Let them have their orgy," the other-memory said within her. "They’ve little enough pleasure
out of living. Yes, and you and I need this little time to become acquainted before I recede
and pour out through your memories. Already, I feel myself being tied to bits of you. Ah-h-h,
you’ve a mind filled with interesting things. So many things I’d never imagined."
And the memory-mind encapsulated within her opened itself to Jessica, permitting a view
down a wide corridor to other Reverend Mothers until there seemed no end to them.
Jessica recoiled, fearing she would become lost in an ocean of oneness. Still, the corridor
remained, revealing to Jessica that the Fremen culture was far older than she had suspected.
There had been Fremen on Poritrin, she saw, a people grown soft with an easy planet, fair
game for Imperial raiders to harvest and plant human colonies on Bela Tegeuse and Salusa
Secundus.

Oh, the wailing Jessica sensed in that parting.
Far down the corridor, an image-voice screamed: "They denied us the Hajj!"
Jessica saw the slave cribs on Bela Tegeuse down that inner corridor, saw the weeding
out and the selecting that spread men to Rossak and Harmonthep. Scenes of brutal ferocity
opened to her like the petals of a terrible ower. And she saw the thread of the past carried by
Sayyadina after Sayyadina–first by word of mouth, hidden in the sand chanteys, then refined
through their own Reverend Mothers with the discovery of the poison drug on Rossak . . . and
now developed to subtle strengthen Arrakis in the discovery of the Water of Life.
Far down the inner corridor, another voice screamed: "Never to forgive! Never to forget!"
But Jessica’s attention was focused on the revelation of the Water of Life, seeing its source:
the liquid exhalation of a dying sandworm, a maker. And as she saw the killing of it in her
new memory, she suppressed a gasp.
The creature was drowned!
"Mother, are you all right?"
Paul’s voice intruded on her, and Jessica struggled out of the inner awareness to stare up at
him, conscious of duty to him, but resenting his presence.
I’m like a person whose hands were kept numb, without sensation from the first moment of
awareness–until one day the ability to feel is forced into them.
The thought hung in her mind, an enclosing awareness.
And I say: "Look! I have no hands!" But the people all around me say: "What are hands?"
"
"Are you all right?" Paul repeated.
"Yes."

“Violence” - some words from the Buddha before his enlightenment

2011-04-05T14:33:00.000-07:00

"Everyone is guilty." But not in the Catholic sense. A Buddhist takes responsibility for their own heart.

From here: http://zenjournal.tumblr.com/post/4349403030/violence-some-words-from-the-buddha-before-his

Violence gives birth to fear.
Just look at people and their quarrels.
I will speak of my dismay
And the way that I was shaken.
Seeing people thrashing about like fish in little water
And seeing them in conflict with each other,
I became afraid.

The world is completely without a core.
Everywhere things are changing.
Wanting a place of my own,
I saw nothing not already taken.
I felt discontent at seeing only conflict to the very end.
Then I saw an arrow — hard to see,
Embedded in the heart.
Pierced by this arrow, people dash about in all directions.
When the arrow is pulled out,
The do not run, and they do not sink.
-
Interpretation and elaboration:
“The radical suggestion is… that the issue is in your own heart. That’s what triggers the running around… it is obvious that many people are not willing to look at some part of themselves. They get involved in addictive behaviors, they get very busy with work, social relationships, entertainment… The fear resides in our own hearts or minds. The task in Buddhism is that it’s REALLY useful to take that arrow out, to take responsibility for what’s in here… to find the roots of our distress. Someone has to do it.
…
“We try to help the world the best we can… one of the ways we help is to have done the inner work so that we can meet the world calmly and peacefully… to support people and help people by being calm and peaceful in times of distress. If we’re running around in dismay, then we can’t really help people.”
Gil Fronsdal from a recent Zencast.org talk, “Our Attachments, given at the Insight Meditation Center.

What is the Pure Land?

2011-03-30T11:47:00.000-07:00

A monk asked Zen Master Joshu, “What is the Pure Land?”
Joshu said, “A puddle of piss.”
The monk asked, “Can you show it to me?”
Joshu said, “Don’t tempt me.”

Vipassana Wolf

2011-03-29T21:31:00.000-07:00

Creator unknown.

You Zen Like a Sailor

2011-03-29T20:58:00.001-07:00

that stone Buddha deserves all the birdshit it gets
I wave my skinny arms like a tall flower in the wind

-Ikkyu Sojun

Shyenez

2011-03-29T16:33:00.001-07:00

Lao Tzmith

2011-03-29T16:32:00.000-07:00

Small Change

2011-03-29T16:25:00.001-07:00

like the sun
i carry what is small
buddha's half smile
evaporating from hot
distant bricks
im in the world
there is no reason
to believe

"It Doesn't Matter"

2011-03-29T16:24:00.001-07:00

I wonder about
the roach I found
drowned in a dog's
food bowl
I wonder if he was afraid
of the future
it doesn't matter now
the future is humble
like fungus
growing in the dark

but then
sunlight
waking light
I have seen what is
good in me
what in me just begins
fruiting in this light

I wonder if words know how
philosophies spring up
from feeling
how action itself
seems in a trance
and tongues
mothers of storm
cast far their hardy seeds
into the many winds
of difference

but then
a sharp tongue will
carve out many shapes
and become dull
then
let these words
be humble
let thought never
injure truth

I have learned
it does matter

Natives in Rain

2011-03-29T16:23:00.000-07:00

broken trees
broken bones
in edgeless tempests
of gentleness
all is gone

broken wisdom
broken brains
in love all is transparent
all see it
laughing in the rain

ManMan

2011-03-29T16:22:00.000-07:00

to be a god among man
appeals only to man

seeing through the heart
i am not a man
i aspire to nothing above
nor below
i am only a man

No Imagination

2011-03-29T16:20:00.001-07:00

kamma before Venus
love brooding over skill
let it be said
I had a clear, bright heart
and no imagination

That's Watts Up

2011-03-29T16:16:00.000-07:00

"...but it doesn't matter a bit if you don't understand, because each one of you is quite perfect as you are, even if you don't know it. Life is basically a gesture, but no one, no thing, is making it. There is no necessity for it to happen, and none for it to go on happening. For it isn't being driven by anything; it just happens freely of itself. It's a gesture of motion, of sound, of color, and just as no one is making it, it isn't happening to anyone. There is simply no problem of life; it is completely purposeless play—exuberance which is its own end. Basically there is the gesture. Time, space, and multiplicity are complications of it. There is no reason whatever to explain it, for explanations are just another form of complexity, a new manifestation of life on top of life, of gestures gesturing. Pain and suffering are simply extreme forms of play, and there isn't anything in the whole universe to be afraid of because it doesn't happen to anyone! There isn't any substantial ego at all. The ego is a kind of flip, a knowing of knowing, a fearing of fearing. It's a curlicue, an extra jazz to experience, a sort of double-take or reverberation, a dithering of consciousness which is the same as anxiety.
Of course, to say that life is just a gesture, an action without agent, recipient, or purpose, sounds much more empty and futile than joyous. But to me it seems that an ego, a substantial entity to which experience happens, is more of a minus than a plus. It is an estrangement from experience, a lack of participation. And in this moment I feel absolutely with the world, free of that chronic resistance to experience which blocks the free flowing of life and makes us move like muscle-bound dancers. But I don't have to overcome resistance. I see that resistance, ego, is just an extra vortex in the stream--part of it—and that in fact there is no actual resistance at all. There is no point from which to confront life, or stand against it."

-Alan Watts, The Joyous Cosmology

Why Meditation Feels Like Shitting Razorblades... At First

2011-03-29T16:10:00.000-07:00

From Mindfulness in Plain English by Henepola Gunaratana:

Meditation is a tough job. It is an inherently solitary activity. One person battles against enormously powerful forces, part of the very structure of the mind doing the meditating. When you really get into it, you will eventually find yourself confronted with a shocking realization. One day you will look inside and realize the full enormity of what you are actually up against. What you are struggling to pierce looks like a solid wall so tightly knit that not a single ray of light shines through. You find yourself sitting there, staring at this edifice and you say to yourself, "That? I am supposed to get past that? But it's impossible! That is all there is. That is the whole world. That is what everything means, and that is what I use to define myself and to understand everything around me, and if I take that away the whole world will fall apart and I will die. I cannot get through that. I just can't."

And then you barely notice that a ray of light is hitting you directly in the chest. And you wonder, was the wall ever there?

Read Mindfulness in Plain English here:
http://www.urbandharma.org/udharma4/mpe.html

pyramidal lubricant

2011-01-24T01:45:00.000-08:00

rub rabbit rub

2011-01-24T01:44:00.000-08:00

spool

2011-01-24T01:42:00.000-08:00

pyewk serp

2011-01-24T01:40:00.000-08:00

did i eat

2011-01-24T01:37:00.000-08:00

to those who would
feed on me
I ask only
that you feast on
living flesh
there is no taste
among the dead and
dreaming
there before a moonless night
I close my eyes
and walk
burning my
hut to the ground
where is reflection?
where are the ripples that
become children
on a moonless
deathless
dreamless
night?

did i fruit

2011-01-24T01:35:00.000-08:00

goofin at the cosmic table
the magi carving up cosmic fruit
boundless cosmic fruit
no beginning
no end fruit
dewy tao fruit
under the bodhi tree fruit
take it into thee
let serpents bury sweet cool noses
into your robes
into parade rattle fruit
into bones a long way from home
into all that jazz fruit
let gentle words rot
and give you such fruit
you'll never go hungry
while you're horny
while the pelvis opens up
like a bowl for alms
open the door
lie on the floor
and remain calm
time and space
are just fruit
all that
fruit
that energy bloss-
oming
cosmic fruit

furry furnace

2010-12-19T14:52:00.000-08:00

you were young
a thin black cat
feeling fire between
his eyes
a giddy mutant
smelling of smoke
and orchids
a mangy dancer in
moon dust
they threw bottles
at your head
threw spears of light
at the dark side of
man you never see
the face of man
on forest's floor
leaves of grass
bought by the ounce

then
through the sand
castles in their mouths
from the angelic
whispers of jesters
you heard the king's demands
you owed them guts
and fur
the fur your ancestors
wrapped around silent machines
in the night
and you gave up a thousand dream
bodies to gentle laughing lions
shaped your unbridled
entropy and
sniffed out alien mischief
in scorched fields
read horoscopes to particles
read sutras to lizards
but you couldn't shape
the world of squares

it busted up
the stars in your eyes
reeling in moebius ten strips
in a rollercoaster blooming
strange flowers all
the way down
no one really saw it
the distant planet
all it had was motion
and time
beauty blew through you
and swirled crackling
around the others
but you couldn't shape
the world of squares
the corpse of the Illuminati
still dancing on
strings held by
scared children

woe is the freakyheaded
child who loveslovesloves
even the boot heel pressed
into his heart
wild is the burst of light
the inflation
of smooth starry blowoffs
the byzantine puppets
of stardust grokking
how stars died for their
sinlessness
long gone lights of
true benevolence
asking for no penance
for they gave what
they came to give
and yet they called
to you
to pledge fealty
to beauty

you couldn't shape
what has no shape
you know it now
why you couldn't change
what is only change with
a face
you couldn't see it
until the faces all changed
giving generations
to the earth
life to the tomb
the mask dissolved in
its own energy
and you saw the true face
the face of nobody
the cool water that
a long year's desert
concealed in transparency
it was zen
and the bald-faced
love of a woman
of nobody
you are nobody's fool

now
you are young
a thin black cat
feeling fire between
his shoulders
nowhere to go today
but something's always
happening

The Terrible Dancer

2010-12-18T13:32:00.000-08:00

Herr Doktoreo

2010-12-08T17:15:00.000-08:00

cosmic cloaca

2010-12-01T13:48:00.000-08:00

first blood

2010-12-01T13:40:00.001-08:00

remember
sweet rocking breath
silver melodies
of being
unchained nameless
desert sands of
lush millenial ease
remember awake
aware
when that's all
you were
a First One
the sole galaxy
of concentration
settling into revelation
that would not end
when ghosts were older
and stars were dark and
awkward children
dancing with their doubles
in atomic moonlight
remember
First One
remember
tossing unborn worlds
into dutiful
bestial oblivion
how it called to you
from afar
from within
remember how you
stood on nothing
and watched your dark
home turn to water
your head was the sky
yellow then
stalking a wild clarity
that would become
rocks
and dust
and wistful
asymmetry
longing for storms of
the potent birth
remember how they sang of
agony's simmering lights
how you would become
First Blood on
wisdom's tender lips
sacrificed
to yourself
for yourself
before yourself
remember
First One
remember
the smooth fruit
slithering round
the curve of your
newborn eye
remember the walking dream
when it first
learned to walk
when speech magnetic
carried life from its
nowhere gnosis
and cried for this moment
this remembering
by fire
by shy solid nudity
glowing within the many
married births
of they who taste it
the First Ones
who remember nothing
and know
down below being
down below mud and love
that nothing
remembers them too
impressed upon it
like shadows in the void
tasting it
as it tastes us too

Tripping around dogs is weird.

2010-11-02T15:28:00.000-07:00

what would I want? earth.

2010-10-23T17:14:00.001-07:00

it tries to steal
your gaze
to make you look up
to the sky
for Christ
the alien
for symbols burning
holes in
the atmosphere
to make you forget
everything that
makes you feel small
and beautiful
but it too
will be swallowed by
hallowed chthonic
earth
it's already staggering
in the valleys
feeling fear
in bright flowing
chasms
it begins to feel small
and beautiful
so beautiful

damn devil's tower

2010-10-23T15:19:00.000-07:00

there's a bear
a damn big bear
you know
with balls as
big as
antique globes
says I belong
in Siberia
the people there
have a new star
good for
praying they say
I just want
one more
night in Texas
to pound my head
red and flat
put it in
the oven
with the other
shriveled
heads
wash down the old
stars with
reindeer piss
and fall out of
some back
door cathedral
I know Jim
Morrison will
be there
laughing at me
with a big
idiot grin
and a tower will
rise from
the rock
and Jim
that ugly old bear
will scratch at
the sky
caught in a dream
where fools roar as
they drown
where hot evil
breath
becomes music
where the bones of
dreamers are crushed
and bound
with Siberian
stardust
carried away
some say
by an
eagle
mad for its own
myth

sheepchallenge

2010-10-11T13:45:00.000-07:00

Meat, by Terry Bisson, 1990

2010-10-04T17:55:00.000-07:00

Stolen from: http://www.terrybisson.com

THEY'RE MADE OUT OF MEAT

"They're made out of meat."

"Meat?"

"Meat. They're made out of meat."

"Meat?"

"There's no doubt about it. We picked up several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, and probed them all the way through. They're completely meat."

"That's impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars?"

"They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don't come from them. The signals come from machines."

"So who made the machines? That's who we want to contact."

"They made the machines. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Meat made the machines."

"That's ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You're asking me to believe in sentient meat."

"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in that sector and they're made out of meat."

"Maybe they're like the orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage."

"Nope. They're born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several of their life spans, which didn't take long. Do you have any idea what's the life span of meat?"

"Spare me. Okay, maybe they're only part meat. You know, like the weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside."

"Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads, like the weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They're meat all the way through."

"No brain?"

"Oh, there's a brain all right. It's just that the brain is made out of meat! That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"So ... what does the thinking?"

"You're not understanding, are you? You're refusing to deal with what I'm telling you. The brain does the thinking. The meat."

"Thinking meat! You're asking me to believe in thinking meat!"

"Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! Are you beginning to get the picture or do I have to start all over?"

"Omigod. You're serious then. They're made out of meat."

"Thank you. Finally. Yes. They are indeed made out of meat. And they've been trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years."

"Omigod. So what does this meat have in mind?"

"First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore the Universe, contact other sentiences, swap ideas and information. The usual."

"We're supposed to talk to meat."

"That's the idea. That's the message they're sending out by radio. 'Hello. Anyone out there. Anybody home.' That sort of thing."

"They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?"
"Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat."

"I thought you just told me they used radio."

"They do, but what do you think is on the radio? Meat sounds. You know how when you slap or flap meat, it makes a noise? They talk by flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting air through their meat."

"Omigod. Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do you advise?"

"Officially or unofficially?"

"Both."

"Officially, we are required to contact, welcome and log in any and all sentient races or multibeings in this quadrant of the Universe, without prejudice, fear or favor. Unofficially, I advise that we erase the records and forget the whole thing."

"I was hoping you would say that."

"It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make contact with meat?"

"I agree one hundred percent. What's there to say? 'Hello, meat. How's it going?' But will this work? How many planets are we dealing with here?"

"Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat containers, but they can't live on them. And being meat, they can only travel through C space. Which limits them to the speed of light and makes the possibility of their ever making contact pretty slim. Infinitesimal, in fact."

"So we just pretend there's no one home in the Universe."

"That's it."

"Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to meet meat? And the ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you probed? You're sure they won't remember?"

"They'll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their heads and smoothed out their meat so that we're just a dream to them."

"A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate, that we should be meat's dream."

"And we marked the entire sector unoccupied."

"Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any others? Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?"

"Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence in a class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic rotations ago, wants to be friendly again."

"They always come around."

"And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how unutterably cold the Universe would be if one were all alone ..."

wolftufts

2010-10-04T17:44:00.000-07:00

Recently we visited Hamilton's Pool in Dripping Springs, Texas to each bury a bit of hair from a fallen friend however we saw fit. I buried my share under some rocks at the base of an old tree next to a cool stream. Here are the pictures I took:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/54504506@N06/sets/72157624972506959/

lucifer paper

2010-10-04T17:32:00.000-07:00

the others are
turning brown
I see it
in a gentler
sort of light
come along little ones
I am also small
and it's fall
for the first
time

blues blues,

2010-10-04T17:31:00.000-07:00

a poet doesn't
think in words
he thinks in poetry
just as a vulture dreams
only through the taste
of things
why, I'm sure
the best of them never
thought a day
in their lives

Blake wasn't
a philosopher except
when his woman bled
from her deeper
eye and
felt her true age

Shelley drank
the saltwater of
his mind
and then he drowned
they burned him on
the beach
and he was ash
dry dry ash
and he no longer drank
anything

Rumi never
drank
he had wine
and no cups
he drank it all
and drank
nothing

he didn't think
and these spinning
freaks
they didn't drink
drinking's for thinking
men or men pretending
to think
drinking can slow
down the word
so that it may
be captured

but this is not
poetry
this is thinking
even Bukowski knew that
when he looks you in
the eye
and tells you why
why it's you
asking why

Kerouac was tragedy
a thinking man
and that's why
he's dead
other people have died for
better reasons

now we can only
drink in Kerouac
become drunk on pope
and dharma
and forlorn rags round
holy mirrors
pity him
pity what's left of
jazz in roaming
belltowers
pity like rain is
the pity of a valley
pity that it's just
shadows
cleaving meat
from bone

he's the reason why
I sleep
and eat the pulp of
you
and piss on
butterflies
and piss off
butterflies
and do even more
ordinary things
voluptuous
and plain

I don't write about
being human
much less try to
be one
I only get high and
so very
young
and plain
too plain to choose
to pour
to name revolutions that
arise
in dirty bathrooms
that humid hell
with no
mirrors

but I know why
Kerouac
asked why
it's so big in
here
and you lose it
whatever you thought
you had
you lose the score as soon
as you make it
while the king of
dreams
marches down on you
on elephants
that burrow into mineral
mind

and pull turnips from
your soft
white belly and
string the night with swaying
paper lanterns laughing
with cruelty in
the breeze

you think about people
suffering
and you drink
because you are not
a bodhisattva
your heart is too damn
big not to beg
for something
you want to heal but
you're too busy thinking
about it
too busy caring to do
anything
about it

you're a beast
poor beast
mouth full of blood
rosary streaming
from your
rear

you write about
pretty things
and they come back
to haunt you
or something less
clear
something worse

every time you write about
someone they're dying
in your
arms
you want to be a serpent
somewhere
under a moon
somewhere
just feeling your way
about it

but people want to believe
something
and they hurt each
other with
thought-desire
they crawl indignant from the
lion's mouth and beat
the everypagan
with the weight of
beauty
they bludgeon themselves
with it
just to hurt
others

Nietzsche himself could
have whipped
the horse's eyes
and who
would have cared?
we're all starving
artists
too mad for love and
standing in
its way
too brave to kiss
fear
atomic
old
fear

too wise to not think
about it
to drink with it
it's us
you know
we are the ones
we're waiting for
but we waited so long we
forget
we say we don't want to think
about it
and we think
about it

and we don't
stop
thinking
drinking
making children
dying in their arms
like it was always
supposed to
be

you could always whip
the poet's eyes
and have a
drink
on me

kinGship

2010-09-27T19:52:00.000-07:00

cold winds come
you know that
I know that
a soft white magick
presses its
skin against the
night
all I know
is how to drive
deeper
deeper into it
a hammer
a silent nail
a mercy
unto itself
there is no
concern
only stinging flesh
and a kinship
I almost
forgot

tootootoot

2010-09-27T19:46:00.001-07:00

the only kind of
death I ever understood
in a primal blues hound sort of way
in a musky psychedelic grace sort of way
is a blameless eternal hunger
pressing into the backs
of the youth
gently
as they face the fires that
hold up the only moon
beyond the cat's quiet night
a bearded wisdom of cold empty space
a house held in the chest
as ash mixes with dirt

these children who animate
themselves with bright black feathers
they see themselves as werewolves
not the phosphorescent machines
their parents saw
glowing behind dreaming tubes
all hung up on bones
no
the thought presses into their backs
gently

glassfish

2010-09-27T19:40:00.001-07:00

get high
and read things you don't agree with
after all
the pope has been dethroned
and you are simply blessed
to be

fountains of wang

2010-09-27T19:39:00.001-07:00

you are a fountain
feeding yourself the depth of movement
sustained by a glittering hologram
born into the rawness of giving
i am tossing into you both sides of my coin
for wishes easily fulfilled
don't try so hard
you're already flowing into me
and I am everyone

tenderending

2010-09-27T19:38:00.000-07:00

do i dream the earth's dreams
half-dissolved innocent in silk
a vortex of unconscious song
do i travel a many splendored humiliation
between she and her reverent satellites
tasting of the silver vibrating essence of
fools who dwell upon her dark crescent
to build churches for them
to dance with elements of non-being
is it i who yelps longingly with coyotes
for bloods of the new bardo
or am i an android dreaming of electric sheep
on the dark side of the earth
you never see

is it told by stars that light will sweat
and make a language of textures slipped
filtered through the singing trees
shared among bodhisattvas and chupacabras
banging away eternal youth on warped space
meeting allies in caves and
dancing like awkward foreign worms
never straying from our common abyss
am i not that
pierced by a familiar light
subdued by electric natives with
a wooded breath reaching back
with or without earth
on the dark side of the word
you never see

Transparents

2010-09-27T19:36:00.000-07:00

Nievo

2010-09-27T19:34:00.000-07:00

The Fool Abides

2010-07-26T17:13:00.000-07:00

Tales from the kitchen of Thailand’s most gruesome baker

2010-07-24T16:41:00.000-07:00

Artist Kittiwat Unarrom bakes bread in the shape of bloody body parts to portray his religious beliefs, and they taste really good too.

Article here: http://www.cnngo.com/bangkok/play/tales-kitchen-thailands-goriest-baker-510619

Death and food are, after all, intimately related.

STEPHEN FRY: WHAT I WISH I'D KNOWN WHEN I WAS 18

2010-07-24T16:37:00.000-07:00

What I wish I might come to know more deeply now.

http://vimeo.com/11414505

Mirror Neurons

2010-07-21T01:43:00.000-07:00

From Adbusters:

Fourteen years ago neuroscientists introduced the world to a captivating new idea about the way our brains might work: they discovered the existence of specialized brain cells in the brains of macaque monkeys that are activated both when a monkey performs an intentional action (e.g. grabbing a banana) and when it sees another monkey performing that same action. They called these special brain cells mirror neurons since the monkeys mirrored in their own minds the actions of their neighbors. Scientists learned that at the brain level, monkey see was not so different from monkey do.

Even before researchers confirmed the existence of similar mirror neurons in human brains, which they did in 2007, the idea had worked its way into the zeitgeist and become a potent new way of seeing ourselves in relationship with each other. People have begun to wonder if mirror neurons could be responsible for language, culture, empathy and even morality. Where Darwinian survival of the fittest has heretofore imagined us as the strong pitted against the weak in a fatal struggle for food and sex, the mirror neuron suggests the importance of social strengths: that we are hardwired for empathy, that we are naturally interested not only in our own needs but also in the interests of others. As noted philosopher A.C. Grayling has said: “The essential point is that mirror neurons underwrite the ability to recognize what helps or distresses others, what they suffer and enjoy, what they need and what harms them.”

—Andrew Tuplin

This is yet another example of science showing us that we are social creatures, that selfishness does not make one "fitter" or more likely to survive. In primates, alphas who hoard all of the resources are set upon by the rest of the group. I saw an article recently saying that the most successful CEO's are those who are humble and not flashy. Or as the Tao sez, lead from behind.

Would it be safe to say that intelligence is largely a matter of understanding the interconnectedness of all things and being able to act as part of the whole?

Bhang Your Head!

2010-07-18T00:30:00.000-07:00

They're getting that old time religion in northern India, as the annual Holi festival, an extravagant Hindu spring celebration of colors, is observed with potent marijuana milk shakes.

Full article here: http://www.tokeofthetown.com/2010/03/bhang_bhang_your_head_hindu_holi_festival_celebrat.php

I can has peace of mind?

2010-07-17T14:25:00.001-07:00

Breathe gently. Look within. Let what is both empty and full devour you like a human hot dog.

Fuck Pavement (Not the Band)

2010-07-17T14:24:00.000-07:00

No More Pavement! The Problem of Impervious Surfaces

Recent research, according to the New York Times, indicates that urban areas are about to get hotter – much hotter. Not exactly what blistering New Yorkers want to hear after one of the more brutal, record-breaking heat waves in memory.

Article here: http://blogs.ei.columbia.edu/water/2010/07/13/no-more-pavement-the-problem-of-impervious-surfaces/

Quantum entanglement holds together life's blueprint

2010-07-17T10:57:00.000-07:00

THE most celebrated molecule in biology - the DNA double helix - might owe its shape to a mysterious quantum property called entanglement.

Article here: http://www.newscientist.com/article/mg20727694.100-quantum-entanglement-holds-together-lifes-blueprint.html

I saw what you were doing.

2010-07-16T14:26:00.000-07:00

Tongal

2010-07-16T08:18:00.000-07:00

a sad clown riseth

2010-07-12T09:41:00.000-07:00

i woke early
to dress as a mountain
with Parsifal's grinning vaporous
skull as my cap
walking only in valleys
my stillness dancing on magician's
purple shadows breathing
puffing chaos pipes with
flower maidens behind rocks shaped
like kings of another world
a world vivid as dirt

oh what a feast of fools
unconscious and magnetic
chewing to a brilliant pulp
those who forgot how to
love their own death
to laugh and riverrun
toward the snuff of holy discord
sun and moon sinking into travel
staining void with clarity
breathing in a man
in circles that protect
dragonflies in a rippling
textured magick whole

i wake early
before bristling housecats lose
interest in their
own gnostic poetry
i wake to power in
lakes' sunken depths
where life and death are one
dressing for the day
affixing wings of earth
a skull of clay

Carl Jung's Life/Death Parabola

2010-07-11T09:37:00.000-07:00

Carl Jung:

"Life is an energy process. Like every energy-process, it is in principle irreversible and is therefore directed towards a goal. That goal is a state of rest. [...] The end of every process is its goal.

"With the attainment of maturity and at the zenith of biological existence, life's drive towards a goal in no wise halts. With the same intensity and irresistibility with which it strove upward before middle age, life now descends; for the goal no longer lies on the summit, but in the valley where the ascent began. The curve of life is like the parabola of a projectile which, disturbed from its initial state of rest, rises and then returns to a state of repose.

"The psychological curve of life, however, refuses to conform to this law of nature. Sometimes the lack of accord begins early in the ascent. The projectile ascends biologically, but psychologically it lags behind. [...] Our psychology then loses its natural basis. Consciousness stays up in the air, while the curve of the parabola sinks downward with ever-increasing speed.

"Natural life is the nourishing soil of the soul. Anyone who fails to go along with life remains suspended, stiff and rigid in midair. [...] From the middle of life onward, only he remains vitally alive who is ready to die with life. For in the secret hour of life's midday the parabola is reversed, death is born. The second half of life does not signify ascent, unfolding, increase, exuberance, but death, since the end is its goal. The negation of life's fulfilment is synonymous with the refusal to accept its ending. Both mean not wanting to live, and not wanting to live is identical with not wanting to die. Waxing and waning make one curve.

[...]

"Like a projectile flying to its goal, life ends in death. Even its ascent and its zenith are only steps and means to this goal."

Carl Jung, "The Soul and Death", pp. 405-408, from Volume 8 of the Collected Works of C.G. Jung: The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche

bum yerself

2010-07-10T12:20:00.000-07:00

to know such a taste
of sweetwine in summer lightness
summer beings broken up into
hunks of wet fungus on the earth
ass-drunk on wilderness
floating over jungles in silver discs
touching the world as you touch yourself
lightly
ever so lightly
to know such a giddy arc
a happy ghost rescued from a dark west
we enter this sacred hut
rattling tin heads
along the way

andagain

2010-07-09T11:09:00.001-07:00

rainagain
shuddering green gay folds ecstatic
washes me deeply
walking in neon filth
is good for legs you don't see

Flights diverted, delayed as UFO detected hovering

2010-07-09T11:07:00.000-07:00

An unidentified flying object (UFO) disrupted air traffic over Zhejiang's provincial capital Hangzhou late on Wednesday, the municipal government said on Thursday.

Article here: http://english.peopledaily.com.cn/90001/90782/90872/7058628.html

Looks like a flaming fire truck to me.

Wikiquotes: Timothy Leary

2010-07-08T09:18:00.000-07:00

We always have urged people: Don't take LSD unless you are very well prepared, unless you are specifically prepared to go out of your mind. Don't take it unless you have someone that's very experienced with you to guide you through it. And don't take it unless you are ready to have your perspective on yourself and your life radically changed, because you're gonna be a different person, and you should be ready to face this possibility.
- Documentary CBC: "How To Go Out of Your Mind: The LSD Crisis" (1966)

People use the word "natural" ... What is natural to me is these botanical species which interact directly with the nervous system. What I consider artificial is 4 years at Harvard, and the Bible, and Saint Patrick's cathedral, and the sunday school teachings.
- LSD: Methods of Control (1966)

Art's certainly made a lot of money, and got on a lot of shows — he got himself into the Nixon White House riding on the death of his daughter. And I think that's ghoulish! That's ghoulish.
- In a Stanley Siegel interview (c. 1977), with phone commentary by Art Linkletter who blamed his daughter's death on her involvement with LSD.

I declare that The Beatles are mutants. Prototypes of evolutionary agents sent by God, endowed with a mysterious power to create a new human species, a young race of laughing freemen.
- As quoted in Shout! (1981) by Philip Norman, p. 365; and in An Encyclopedia of Quotations about Music (1981) by Nat Shapiro, p. 303

If you want to change the way people respond to you, change the way you respond to people.
- Changing My Mind, Among Others (1982)

"Turn on" meant go within to activate your neural and genetic equipment. Become sensitive to the many and various levels of consciousness and the specific triggers that engage them. Drugs were one way to accomplish this end. "Tune in" meant interact harmoniously with the world around you — externalize, materialize, express your new internal perspectives. Drop out suggested an elective, selective, graceful process of detachment from involuntary or unconscious commitments. "Drop Out" meant self-reliance, a discovery of one's singularity, a commitment to mobility, choice, and change. Unhappily my explanations of this sequence of personal development were often misinterpreted to mean "Get stoned and abandon all constructive activity."
- Flashbacks (1983)

Women who seek to be equal with men lack ambition.
- As quoted in Third and Possibly the Best 637 Best Things Anybody Ever Said (1987) by Robert Byrne, #40

We are dealing with the best-educated generation in history. They are a hundred times better educated than their grandparents, and ten times more sophisticated. There has never been such an open-minded group. The problem is that no one is giving them anything fresh. They've got a brain dressed up with nowhere to go.
- Interview by David Sheff in Rolling Stone Twentieth Anniversary Issue (1987)

Think for yourself and question authority.
- Timothy Leary's track on Sound Bites from the Counter Culture (1989)

That’s the left wing of the CIA debating the right wing of the CIA.
- Discussing CNN’s Crossfire as quoted in Rolling Stone (14 December 1989)

I have always considered myself, when I learned what the word meant, I've always considered myself a Pagan.
- At the Neo-Pagan Starwood Festival (July 1991), recorded on Timothy Leary Live at Starwood (2001) by the Association for Consciousness Exploration ISBN 1-59157-002-6

The universe is an intelligence test.
- As quoted in Cosmic Trigger : Final Secret of the Illuminati (1993) by Robert Anton Wilson, p. 170

Our species has faced the frightening, terrorizing fact that we do not know who we are, or where we are going in this ocean of chaos...

Throughout human history, as our species has faced the frightening, terrorizing fact that we do not know who we are, or where we are going in this ocean of chaos, it has been the authorities — the political, the religious, the educational authorities — who attempted to comfort us by giving us order, rules, regulations, informing — forming in our minds — their view of reality. To think for yourself you must question authority and learn how to put yourself in a state of vulnerable open-mindedness, chaotic, confused vulnerability to inform yourself.
- How to Operate Your Brain (1994), a guided meditation spoken by Timothy Leary and set to music.

I am 100 percent in favor of the intelligent use of drugs, and 1,000 percent against the thoughtless use of them, whether caffeine or LSD. And drugs are not central to my life.
- Chaos and Cyber Culture (1994)

The drug does not produce the transcendent experience. It merely acts as a chemical key — it opens the mind, frees the nervous system of its ordinary patterns and structures.

A psychedelic experience is a journey to new realms of consciousness. The scope and content of the experience is limitless, but its characteristic features are the transcendence of verbal concepts, of space-time dimensions, and of the ego or identity. Such experiences of enlarged consciousness can occur in a variety of ways: sensory deprivation, yoga exercises, disciplined meditation, religious or aesthetic ecstasies, or spontaneously. Most recently they have become available to anyone through the ingestion of psychedelic drugs such as LSD, psilocybin, mescaline, DMT, etc. Of course, the drug does not produce the transcendent experience. It merely acts as a chemical key — it opens the mind, frees the nervous system of its ordinary patterns and structures.
- The Psychedelic Experience (1995)

Monotheism is the primitive religion which centers human consciousness on Hive Authority. There is One God and His Name is _______ (substitute Hive-Label). If there is only One God then there is no choice, no option, no selection of reality. There is only Submission or Heresy. The word Islam means "submission". The basic posture of Christianity is kneeling. Thy will be done.
- The Intelligence Agents (1996)

You're only as young as the last time you changed your mind.

Each religion has got their own way of making you feel like a victim. The Christians say "you are a sinner", and you better just zip up your trousers and give the money to the pope and we'll give you a room up in the hotel in the sky.
- Timothy Leary's Last Trip (1997)

We saw ourselves as anthropologists from the twenty-first century inhabiting a time module set somewhere in the dark ages of the 1960s. On this space colony we were attempting to create a new paganism and a new dedication to life as art.
- On the Castalia Institute in Millbrook, New York; quoted in Storming Heaven : LSD and the American Dream (1998) by Jay Stevens, p. 208

You're only as young as the last time you changed your mind.
- As quoted in Office Yoga : Simple Stretches for Busy People (2000) by Darrin Zeer, p. 52

In the information age, you don't teach philosophy as they did after feudalism. You perform it. If Aristotle were alive today he'd have a talk show.
- As quoted in The Best Advice Ever for Teachers (2001) by Charles McGuire and Diana Abitz, p. 57

Why not?
- Said repeatedly, with various inflections, these were among his last words before his death (31 May 1996), as quoted in "Timothy Leary's Last Moments" by Carol Rosin. Some have stated his final intelligible word was "Beautiful".

At one point consciousness-altering devices like the microscope and telescope were criminalized for exactly the same reasons that psychedelic plants were banned in later years. They allow us to peer into bits and zones of Chaos.
- As quoted in Pronoia Is the Antidote for Paranoia : How the Whole World Is Conspiring to Shower You with Blessings (2005), by Rob Brezsny, p. 8

Civilization is unbearable, but it is less unbearable at the top.
- As quoted in Still Casting Shadows : A Shared Mosaic of U.S. History (2006) by B. Clay Shannon, p. 376

I've left specific instructions that I do not want to be brought back during a Republican administration.
- On being brought back to life, during the period in which he considered putting his body into cyronic suspension, as quoted in The Nastiest Things Ever Said About Republicans (2006) by Martin Higgins, p. 130

Seven million people I turned on, and only one hundred thousand have come by to thank me.
- Don Lattin, The Harvard Psychedelic Club (2010), p. 202

The Shining Abyss of a Language

2010-07-04T11:55:00.000-07:00

WHEN Walter Spies arrived in Bali, he found a culture completely devoted to art, yet to which the notion of art for art's sake was alien. The Balinese have no word for "artist"; painting, carving stone and wood, weaving, playing a musical instrument, and, above all, dancing were just what one did when not fishing or working in the rice fields.

Happeh Fnord of Jubilee

2010-07-04T10:59:00.000-07:00

The DEA Took My Future Drugs Away

2010-07-03T20:09:00.000-07:00

In the cyberpunk comic book Transmetropolitan it is many years in the future and the DEA is forbidden from banning drugs that don't yet exist, but new substances are being created and distributed constantly by machines called Makers that intelligently reorganize matter. Though it takes the DEA only 20 minutes to ban a drug after its creation, there are always new drugs on the market. Anything that is more than a few hours old is considered archaic and inferior.

Though this comic was written in the 90s, it does seem to have predicted our current drug trends. I just hope that the DEA never has the ability to outlaw non-existent chemicals based on molecular association. Perhaps the worst thing would be for them make it illegal to merely develop a compound based on its similarity in chemical structure to something that was already needlessly banned. At that point, the mere intention to bring various arrangements of atoms into being becomes a thought crime and they have far, far too much power.

Now that we've fully committed the crime of outlawing nature as we know it, the next step is to outlaw all these alien forms of gnosis before they even have a name. Not only are we at war with known elements of the world that bring us to terms with the unknown, we are now at war with the unknown itself. This is a logical, albeit twisted and very unfortunate, progression for those in power of collective fear. Because anything in the realm of the unmanifest can be a catalyst for the kind of social upheaval that could usurp those in power, they are trying to build their walls closer and closer to the source of all possibility, to isolate and eventually eradicate chaos.

When will we learn that the goddess can not be chained? Our laws are merely creating a ritual, and not a particularly enjoyable one at that, by which we sacrifice ourselves to chaos.

Steady State Economy

2010-07-03T19:57:00.000-07:00

"...a stationary condition of capital and population implies no stationary state of human improvement. There would be as much scope as ever for all kinds of mental culture, and moral and social progress; as much room for improving the art of living, and much more likelihood of it being improved, when minds ceased to be engrossed by the art of getting on."

-John Stuart Mill

Wiki: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steady_state_economy

Michel Houellebecq vs. William Burroughs (Quotes)

2010-07-03T18:23:00.000-07:00

From: http://thoughtcatalog.com/2010/william-burroughs-michel-houellebecq-quotes/

Michel Houellebecq — the misanthropic, caninophilic French novelist — and William Burroughs both deploy thorough visions of the world. They proffer more or less elaborate cosmologies, ethics, and particularly critical assessments of humanity. And both view the act of writing in general, and their own writing in particular, as an active force doing some kind of battle, performing some kind of negotiation, with the powers of stupidity, evil, greed, and banality. Both understand the human universe as being at the mercy of non-human laws — for Houellebecq, it’s all species, biology, physics; for Burroughs, it’s biology, physics, magic.
But whereas Houellebecq sees a world of absolute bleakness, Burroughs sees a world of plenitude — filled with shit and bile and semen and stupidity and cruelty but full nonetheless. If Houellebecq offers a world heading to zero, Burroughs offers a world of infinite complexity.

On Society

Houellebecq
I don’t like this world. I definitely do not like it. The society in which I live disgusts me; advertising sickens me; computers make me puke.
Burroughs
America is not so much a nightmare as a non-dream. The American non-dream is precisely a move to wipe the dream out of existence. The dream is a spontaneous happening and therefore dangerous to a control system set up by the non-dreamers.

The Future of Humanity

Houellebecq
Few beings have ever been so impregnated, pierced to the core, by the conviction of the absolute futility of human aspiration. The universe is nothing but a furtive arrangement of elementary particles. A figure in transition toward chaos. That is what will finally prevail. The human race will disappear. Other races in turn will appear and disappear. And human actions are as free and as stripped of meaning as the unfettered movements of the elementary particles. Good, evil, morality, sentiments? Pure ‘Victorian fictions.’ All that exists is egotism. Cold, intact, and radiant.
Burroughs
Man is an artifact designed for space travel. He is not designed to remain in his present biologic state any more than a tadpole is designed to remain a tadpole.

Youth and Dreams

Houellebecq
Adolescence is not only an important period in life, but that it is the only period where one may speak of life in the full sense of the word.
Burroughs
As a young child I wanted to be a writer because writers were rich and famous. They lounged around Singapore and Rangoon smoking opium in a yellow pongee silk suit. They sniffed cocaine in Mayfair and they penetrated forbidden swamps with a faithful native boy and lived in the native quarter of Tangier smoking hashish and languidly caressing a pet gazelle.

Influence

Houellebecq
I’ve lived so little that I tend to imagine I’m not going to die; it seems improbable that human existence can be reduced to so little; one imagines, in spite of oneself, that sooner or later something is bound to happen. A big mistake. A life can just as well be both empty and short. The days slip by indifferently, leaving neither trace nor memory; and then all of a sudden they stop.
Burroughs
I am not one of those weak-spirited, sappy Americans who want to be liked by all the people around them. I don’t care if people hate my guts; I assume most of them do. The important question is whether they are in a position to do anything about it. My affections, being concentrated over a few people, are not spread all over Hell in a vile attempt to placate sulky, worthless shits.

Sex

Houellebecq
In a perfectly liberal sexual system, some people have an exciting erotic life; others are reduced to masturbation and solitude.
Burroughs
There is nothing more provocative than minding your own business.

Love

Houellebecq
Love binds, and it binds forever. Good binds while evil unravels. Separation is another word for evil; it is also another word for deceit.
Burroughs
Love? What is it? Most natural painkiller. What there is. LOVE.

Shaman or Shy Man?

2010-07-03T14:09:00.000-07:00

Unseen Chaos

2010-07-02T12:09:00.001-07:00

Unseen Chaos (po-te-kitea)
Unpossessed, Unpassing
Chaos of utter darkness
Untouched & untouchable
--Maori Chant

Osho: Strange Consequences

2010-07-02T12:07:00.000-07:00

Do Glass Pipes, Incense Prove Teens Are Practicing Shamanism?

2010-06-12T14:32:00.000-07:00

Ed Sanders - The Iliad

2010-06-10T14:57:00.000-07:00

The Iliad --Ed Sanders

(Sing Goddess, of the anger of Peleus’ son Achilles,
Baleful wrath that brought countless woes upon the Achaeans! …Buddy!)

Get tough, get tall, get slob, get drunk, get smart, get hip, get hep, get pissed,
Johnny, Johnny, Johnny Pissoff

Oh Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny,
Why did you beat up that queer?
Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny,
Why did you beat up that que-ee-ee-er?

Well, I went into the trance I usually fall into
When I watch the Budweiser clock spin
Around for about two hours
I was drinking Dickel Brothers Sour Mash, buddy

When all of a sudden my brain became sullied
By images of vampires, so
I thought I’d better get in my old Corvette and
Wheel around the county court house a few times

To clear my mind; then I thought I’d go over to
May’s café for some coffee and lemon pie
Well, I peeled down the straza; all of a sudden
I scarfed an eyeload on a queer

I mean I think he looked like a queer, God I hate
Queers, I hate ’em, hate ’em; he had on
Penny loafers and, uh, purple bell bottoms; and he had
A huge protest button on that said, “God is Acid”

Boy, that pee-ee-issed me off! Anyway, so
I screeched to a halt and I yelled out the window and
I said, “Hey, faggot! What you doin’ in my town, buddy?”
That son of a bitch was ignoring my existence

Boy I hate that, so I leaped out of my old Corvette, and
I trotted over and I proceeded to kick ass on the
Goddamn son-of-a-bitching morphodite; I walked
On his face and, shee-it, it was more fun that squashing tadpoles

Then I went on over to May’s café for some coffee,
Coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee…

Get tough, get tall, get slob, get drunk, get smart, get hip, get hep, get pissed,
Johnny, Johnny, Johnny Phphphphphissoff

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Johnny Pissoff credo:
I, Jonathan Abner Tobias Pissoff,
In the presence of the Universal God of Salvation,
Do solemnly affirm that I have been chosen to
Beat up queers!
I further affirm, that although I’m a decent
God-fearing man with family and property
I, uh, I want to kill, rape, ravish, plunder, pillage,
Stomp, devour, destroy, hack, smash, slash and bash!
All queers, commies, sheenies, hallies and hunkies,
All greaseballs, honkies, Polacs, lepers and beaners,
All bohunks, eggheads, fudgesicles and high-slants,
All poets, pigs, frogs, queers, peace-creeps, Cajuns,
Dwarfs, dips***s and teenage loose women!
In the name of Jesus Christ, this I do affirm!

Oh Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny,
Why did you beat up that queer (he didn’t cry or nothin’!)?
Oh Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny,
Why did you beat up that queer (nobody saw me do it!)?
Why did you beat up that queer?
(Well he was walking up to the Legion Hall where the boy scouts meet, I didn't want to see that)
Why did you beat up that queer, Johnny?
(Well, I mean, he had, he had smooth hands; I mean
He looked, he tried to wink at me, I don’t know, uh!)

Why did you beat up that qu-ee-ee-eer?

Chirpadoo-doo

2010-06-08T08:54:00.001-07:00

the feathered, enthusiastic
young juggler of truths
makes fools of gods
makes food of them too
she sings chirpadee-dee
chirpadee-dee

the lovelit holes
in cosmic backyards
grow into wells of being
they sing chirpadee-dee
chirpadee-dee

Be(h)old

2010-06-08T08:51:00.000-07:00

behold
a man without conspiracy
without the foresight
of masked dancers
and stoned ancestors
a child held in the graces
of serene meaningless embers
huddled fast in bare gardens
kissed deep within by desert winds
searing presence into but few words
into spears of bamboo
which follows the night
which hollows the song

behold
a wisdom taken to the earth
struck down by the rooty
warm teas of a black sun
fearless in agave beds
sweaty and covered in fireflys
a savage love set upon itself
a nighttime pour of sweet animal void
graybearded like the river rushing within
scrolls soiled torn and budding
singing of a simple nudity
rising as a cool mass of song
a song and nothing more
a song for you
the beholder

Six Ways Mushrooms Can Save the World

2010-05-14T09:44:00.000-07:00

6 ways mushrooms can save the world: Paul Stamets on TED.com

Love & Theft

2010-05-12T13:00:00.000-07:00

Elvis Presley - Edge of Reality

2010-05-11T22:24:00.000-07:00

Elvis had an obligatory LSD song?

El Es Divine

2010-05-07T09:38:00.000-07:00

Pukenjolly's Yoga Sutra

2010-05-02T11:28:00.000-07:00

"You have to learn to taste your own vomit, and then delight in it."

-The Venerable Robina Courtin on the Buddhist path to enlightenment.

Deepak Ram - A Night in Lenasia

2010-05-02T11:24:00.000-07:00

Good Times With a Bad Trip

2010-05-02T11:21:00.000-07:00

"Shiva's involvement with Tantra and Kali's dark nature have led to her becoming an important Tantric figure. To the Tantric initiates, it was essential to face Kali's Curse, the terror of death, as willingly as they accepted Blessings from her beautiful, nurturing, maternal aspect. For them, wisdom meant learning that no coin has only one side: as death cannot exist without life, so life cannot exist without death."

2CB or not 2CB

2010-04-18T18:43:00.000-07:00

Yin Yolk

2010-04-09T10:43:00.000-07:00

Srsly, d00ds.

2010-03-29T23:28:00.000-07:00

What's so funny 'bout peace, love, and understanding?

It will be okay.

2010-03-29T23:25:00.000-07:00

Eschatons O' Fun

2010-03-25T20:15:00.000-07:00

Indian Summer

2010-03-25T20:13:00.000-07:00

Wolfing

2010-03-16T15:16:00.000-07:00

pigfeather

2010-03-11T16:42:00.000-08:00

Latter Daytripper Saint

2010-03-03T15:49:00.000-08:00

Death and Texas

2010-03-03T15:48:00.000-08:00

smellcraft

2010-03-03T00:26:00.000-08:00

this is for
green ghosts with
modest koans of movement
breath changing shape
eclipsing a future moon
thick moans on edges vast
neon gods in heavy smoke
sweet hollow scents of roots
disappearing into blackwater void
masks of blessing and flame
tickling soft round bellies
of infinite shuddering hills
as freeform tribes
on helpless lovedrunk mules
circle their own stellar
brightly feathered charm

this is for the way
you said my name
and i fell into that teacup
natural ways of
being so many shadows
beneath so many leaves
spilling over desperate
modern spells
giggling in fountains in
woods around pyramids
leaving it all behind
because i'm not going anywhere
not without a new language
not without being stoned
in some new way
an eagle
disappearing

Ducktails - Landrunner

2010-03-02T22:58:00.001-08:00

Rev Sun Myung MoonPie's Sermon on the Mountain Dew

Sliver of what

Into the forest slowly

mooooving water

Dark rock

Laughing life

Love is here

Human confusion

Dog burps

Speechless

Petals guffaw

Hesse as a Chinaman

Water Dissolves Water: Baso Döitsu

Stuff

The Sand Trip

“Violence” - some words from the Buddha before his enlightenment

What is the Pure Land?

Vipassana Wolf

You Zen Like a Sailor

Shyenez

Lao Tzmith

Small Change

"It Doesn't Matter"

Natives in Rain

ManMan

No Imagination

That's Watts Up

Why Meditation Feels Like Shitting Razorblades... At First

pyramidal lubricant

rub rabbit rub

spool

pyewk serp

did i eat

did i fruit

furry furnace

The Terrible Dancer

Herr Doktoreo

cosmic cloaca

first blood

Tripping around dogs is weird.

what would I want? earth.

damn devil's tower

sheepchallenge

Meat, by Terry Bisson, 1990

wolftufts

lucifer paper

blues blues,

kinGship

tootootoot

glassfish

fountains of wang

tenderending

Transparents

Nievo

The Fool Abides

Tales from the kitchen of Thailand’s most gruesome baker

STEPHEN FRY: WHAT I WISH I'D KNOWN WHEN I WAS 18

Mirror Neurons

Bhang Your Head!

I can has peace of mind?

Fuck Pavement (Not the Band)

No More Pavement! The Problem of Impervious Surfaces

Recent research, according to the New York Times, indicates that urban areas are about to get hotter – much hotter. Not exactly what blistering New Yorkers want to hear after one of the more brutal, record-breaking heat waves in memory.

Quantum entanglement holds together life's blueprint

I saw what you were doing.

Tongal

a sad clown riseth

Carl Jung's Life/Death Parabola

bum yerself

andagain

Flights diverted, delayed as UFO detected hovering

Wikiquotes: Timothy Leary

The Shining Abyss of a Language

Happeh Fnord of Jubilee

The DEA Took My Future Drugs Away

Steady State Economy

Michel Houellebecq vs. William Burroughs (Quotes)

On Society

The Future of Humanity

Youth and Dreams