fast and bulbous

talking bout' that old time religion
in that spaceage bluesman voice
a tin teardrop
tells a story
of dropouts in disgrace

they make babies
boogieing like beelzebub
through bomb shelters and poppie fields
smiling at prostitutes and businessmen making deals

peaceniks that talk bout' politics and idolize the
old farts sinking in the swamp
their little eyes wide open
unfocused and electric

their main man is a mysterious old wizard
with an ashstray heart shaped like a antelopes gizzard
he shouts rhetoric,
rules for living
and casting spells
for creating heaven and abolishing hell
but the children of the revolution know all too well;

life's better in high society
than in a cell

but that don't drain them
of their endless complainin'
and nothing can stop the stop the sound
of the animal blues
that the madman is playin'

listening to the theatre of eternal music

those endless echoeng sounds of pain and terror
creaking in the old cellar, coming out in the morbid night
they speak the minds of the disillusioned and disturbed
never stopping, never ceasing
relentless and infernal like the fires of discontent
that burn in the mind of the sun
and torture the sinners in hell

but sometimes a voice of beauty arises in the malestrom
and rises to speak a tale of redemption
we listen with our always almost shut
knowing that soon enough the morbid truth will be revealed

since when was optimism not a joke?

can we hope to find a truth that will not drive us insane?
maybe not, maybe we're doomed to wallow in this idiotic death trip

but either way we linger on
and in the back of the mind the orchestra plays
screaming, shouting, droning and droning and droning
that mad infernal noise
that damages the ears
yet leaves the mind devoid of pain

depressing

‎"I woke up this morning with a damaged brain, you tried to comfort but only worsened the pain. No lover could help me escape this life, only the love of death's sweet knife. But regardless you spoke in ways to lift my spirit but my soul is empty with no ears to hear it. If there's something to live for it surely aint love and there's surely no heaven waiting above. Live life in sin and hope it feels good, your bodies as worthless as rotting wood."- some guy i met at a gas station

lovers of life are worshippers of death

someday i'll get some peace and quiet,

but for now i'll settle for the beautiful terror of noise.

for peace and quiet is the bidding of the old -

the ones with only absolute silence to live for,

who fear the vices of the youth

which make love as their bodies decay

they march with tranquillity,

deeper and deeper

into that strangely familiar place;

the void,

that hole we've been digging for oh so long

do I follow them?

why of course,

for the noise begins to disgust me -

these days my eyes prefer to be closed,

my mind my heart and my mouth as well.

but soon the silence begins to manifest,

the static fading further and further into the atmosphere -

it becomes apparent

i am at the end of my life and i have chosen this,

not some governor of the soul or depraved virus within.

the true terror lies within the silence,

the sound of the coldest of truths being revealed;

i listen carefully and

i stop marching in this pathetic parade and

i quiet the voices in my head

and i listen carefully

the noise is there;

it always will be

if only it was this simple

all i want to do

is offer some new ideas to people

and provoke some thought

if i can do that then i'm satisfied with my life

yet another synchronicity....

So I've always had a fascination with Charles Manson. As far as serial killers are concerned he's probably the coolest one. Using a combination of scientology, LSD, and sexual prowess he was able to turn his flower children into murderers with a lust for blood. He represented the evil lurking within the counterculture, the dark side of letting ones spirit run free to do whatever it pleased. His face, with it's piercing eyes and goofy grin, staring at me hypnotically and urging me to violently unleash my id, is a face I will never forget.

I've just been getting into the music of Charles Manson, and I honestly don't know why it has taken me this long. I always knew he had an album of psychedelic folk released on ESP records (one of my favorite record labels), but for some strange reason I didn't check it out until recently. So I finally downloaded and listened to his album 'LIE: Love and Terror Cult' and naturally loved it. Beyond the general novelty appeal of the record it's a prime example of California psychedelic folk-rock and the evil lurking within makes it even more fascinating.

Last night I was flipping through channels on TV in stoned haze with some friends and we came across a TV show on Fox where a mom and a dad are talking to their college aged son. For some reason we stopped and started to pay attention. The parents are talking to him and he brings up Charles Manson. Then the mom says "ya know Charles Manson made some good music. I listened to his album and it's not bad". The weird thing about this is that I had said the exact same thing less than 10 minutes before. The fact that the R. Crumb Mr. Natural (one of my favorite cult icons ever) was for some reason on the kid's shirt made it even more and personal. All I could think about was how one of my teachers said that everything to see on TV or in the movie is there on purpose.

Maybe this is a sign that I need to seriously start a psychedelic cult and kill some rich people.

some thoughts

Overwhelming urges of violence with no healthy outlet can be dangerous.

Especially with those who have fanatical and dogmatic belief systems that lead to ideological and sexual repression.

The masses cannot be repressed for too long before it has dangerous consequences.

Often fanatics are so blinded and enslaved by their ideology that they cannot understand the world outside of it. Every aspect of their thinking is dominated by it to a point where they do not realize it.

Our own modern American culture contains elements of this. There are ideas that are so locked within our culture and engrained in our consciousness from birth that we can't think beyond them. In fact we see them as part of the natural order of the universe.

For example, our modern gender roles of masculine and feminine are so ingrained in our way of thinking we see them as the result of biology rather than social construct. It is the same for race.

love poem for the apocalypse part 3

though death may greet me at any moment,
everything is alright
and everything is ok

for the blood that runs as my circuitry
the cerebral lightning that defines my perceptions
and the chemical change that gives me direction
need not last forever

but within the thoughts that slowly crawl
through my bespectacled head
there exists these creatures
with lives eternal

experiences -
priceless!, says the wisest man i have known.
those fleeting images and feelings of exploding moments
that tantalize the senses -
they define this tattered world as I know it,
with illusions that fool me and drive me mad
defining reality as it is known

memories -
those hazy windows to the shattered and incomprehensible past
those old hags that sit around and moan about sexual dysfuntion
those burned out angels that talk to themselves, lost in space,
whose memories are curiously missing or incomprehensible
they bring you up and
bring you down and they pointlessly shove you around -
they are the living dead
roaming around your ghost town mind

divinations -
whether soothsaying based on the meaningless zodiac
or mere anxiety of what lies ahead,
we foolishly claw at the void of mystery
only to sacrifice it's majesty
wallowing in puddles of empty superstition,
looking to prophets and seers rather than the all knowing now;
attempts to see what lies ahead
only leave us nauseated and braindead

but let me tell you my friends, the end-times are here
they're happening right now,
they're more than just near

we're either cowboys indians or monks
and we can't stop living our roles
still reading from that moldy old script
that we fished out of the lake before the sewage cleared

we're wasting our time,
contemplating loudly and obnoxiously
in our costumes of pride and esteem.
all pomp and circumstance, no spontaneity,
we claim to carry the truth and strive to guide the masses

but we only end up bored
dead,
diseased and
devoid of pleasure,
creating vast expectations that only separate us from the moment,
building temples of doom and industry that satisfy our need for inhumane stimulation

self destruction is how we respond -
we pursue annihilation in the name of escaping this mess,
romanticizing degradation and
writing poetry and punk rock songs
in our attempts to understand
and finally come to terms with
the emptiness that lies at hand

but don't shout, don't scatter, don't think these things truly matter
please don't worry
don't worry bout' a thing;

please don't worry about the voices in your head
please don't worry that god is dead
please don't worry about the feds at your door
please don't worry about nuclear war
please don't worry about the stock market crash
please don't worry about the radiation flash
please don't worry about neurological disease
please don't worry about existential unease
please don't worry about getting to heaven
and please don't worry about going to hell

please,
just have no fear
for the end-times
are finally here

creatures of pure id

creatures of pure id
on the road to disturbed braindeath
their mania only fueled by promises of empty pleasure
debauchery is all that makes sense
they live within us and scream in our moments of boredom,
they try to hide in our moments of pride

so many of us scared to death
by the thought of losing it all to the malice of the Earth

so many of us apathetic
to the thought that it's all up to us if we want to save it

so many of us
have nothing to live for but the self and it's glorification

so many
minds
and
so many
bodies

separated by the machinery of industry

if we look to the stars and stare
we're either terrified or amazed or simply bored
confused and disoriented,
led to a narcotic rampage till the day they die

trying so hard to make sense of what can't be understood
trying so hard just to have something to live for

and when it all falls away the world turns to a violent brothel rather than a temple of peace

liberation, what does that mean to most?
to have the freedom to live selfishly and without regard to others
to endlessly indulge in however way they wish

but to me that's not liberation
that's the most cruel form of slavery yet
to be enslaved by the disgusting follies of the self

aesthetics

a science fiction dream
of mysterious planets and life forms exotic
where the madman wizard rants his bogus mystical philosophy
and the ancient death band plays
for hours and hours and infinities
with their endless jams of droned out confusion
confusion is the music they play
like a hypnotized folk singer
drunk on anarchism and idealism
yelling at squares and they huddle on by in the streets
eating from dumpsters and
raiding the culture of all it's dying of
no one holds back their most poisonous words
there's a savage nuclear war in all our heads
that's spreading through the air all night long
jazz music is nonsense
so is poetry
there's no more need to talk
silence will save us from the horror of language
we rot away in our own cubicles while floating in space for the rest of eternity
kept alive by machines
mankind will sacrifice it's humanity to any means as long as it can survive
but that's only logical
and logic is the only thing you can trust
do you trust logic? it's usually the most sensible thing to do
but when boredom comes logic is an obstacle to liberation
and who can blame me for wanting liberation?
some moments so intense
some so pointless
but all might as well be the same

the sun

AAAhhhhh, the sun, the astral being that defines our human timescale. The radiance and energy provided by the sun has caused it to become an object of worship. It has been my opinion that it makes more sense to worship the sun that it does to worship a god or gods. However the beauty of the sun is that it provides to us regardless of our reverence. It has no intelligence (that we know of or can be expressed to us) yet has created the conditions under which intelligence can exist.

revelations

This weekend I took LSD and MDMA and had the realization that my goal in life to be able to express everything I think and feel without being clouded by my ego. Essentially I want to be able to spread knowledge and ideas without making an ass of myself. This requires a mastery of language and an inner understanding of the mechanisms of my own mind. It will take a while to get to this point, and I may never get there, but nonetheless I think it's a noble and worthwhile personal goal.

love poem for the apocalypse part 2

"Apparently there is a great discovery or insight which our culture is deliberately designed to supress, distort and ignore. That is that Nature is some kind of minded entity. That Nature is not simply the random flight of atoms through electromagnetic fields. Nature is not the empty, despiritualized lumpen matter that we inherit from modern physics. But it is instead a kind of intelligence, a kind of mind." - Terence McKenna

Laying in a mildewed hammock

staring into the stars,

I prophesize the death of the universe

and listen to my thoughts

ramble endlessly

and when the white noise in my head clears

it becomes apparent -

It's time to escape the systems of old,

escape the present and ignore the future,

for time only leaves us in a

linguistic chaingang, a postmodern rut

To extract understanding

from the shattering fragments

of human language

that sit inside my cranium

To compose childlike games

from body language

to distract from the backbreaking

monotony of everyday life

It's time to burn down the sports bars.

to roam unselfconscious through

the jungles that created us,

for we are not are products of the

factory of mass-culture

but animals capable of infinite experience

dubstep: the music of the future?

In Allan Moore's classic 'graphic novel' Watchmen, the hyperintellectual superhero Ozymandias described 'dub' music as sort of music of the future, a "a sort of hybrid between electronic music and reggae. It’s a fascinating study in the new musical forms generated when a largely pre-technological culture is given access to modern recording techniques without the technological preconceptions that we’ve allowed to accumulate, limiting our vision." Using the fictional character Ozymandias' description one can imagine that he views dub as a sort of music of the future, a result of technological advances transcending the cultural barriers they set up, allowing progression in musical forms into styles unlike anything heard before. Dub, a genre which is practically responsible for the existence of the hip-hop DJ, continues to evolve into new forms to this day, it's most recent incarnation being in the form of 'dubstep'.

Dubstep is best known for it's obsessive focus on the bass and it's use of a whacked out 'wobbly' sound. Very popular in British clubs, it seems that the music is catching on in popularity in the States, where it's unconventional beats grace many remixes of popular artists. While dubstep is far from conventional dance music, it's beats seem to fuel the motions of many clubbers in a -frenzied and chaotic way that is even more removed from typical dancing than the freeform body shakes of ravers.

Dubstep is just as much about atmospherics as it is about beats however. Listening to records from dubstep artists such a Burial creates a feeling of urban degradation and suspense. There is little of the feel-good vibe of most dance music. In fact the sounds created in dubstep seem to best fit the vibe of cyberpunk writers like William Gibson.

The best way to experience dubstep at it's purest is to check out the recently released compilation '5:5 years of Hyperdub'. The compilation covers highlights of artists on the Hyperdub label in a way that exposes what dubstep is all about while sounding diverse at the same time. While this is far from a complete compilation of all essential dubstep releases, it certainly will leave a newcomer to the genre entranced. The more underground side of the genre is explored rather than the more club friendly side (called 'brostep' by some).

While dubsteps roots in trip-hop, dub, and other forms of dance music is apparent, it mutates these styles into something that at it's best sounds like nothing else. Because of this one could say the music points to the future, being unafraid to let go of the conventional and break rules. Dubstep is a fairly new form of music too, only existing as a style since the early 2000's. The future of the style is unclear, but one can only imagine it's impact on other forms of music and observe it's rise to prominence in modern music.

i had too much to dream last night

So it's me and my good buddies, and we decide to break into a house. Same kids who blew their minds with me on New Years actually, another aspect of this dream that fit well into my own life. The house is pretty damn big, one of those ritzy river houses where the wealthier side preside. I don't even remember why we broke into it, maybe it was just the spirit of the group to do something ridiculous.

We enjoy the house for a while, smoke some grass on the dock, go through the place and explore, but we don't steal anything. We don't find anything worth stealing. There really is no reason for us to be here, and in the world of dreams this is ok with me.

Finally the peeps who own the place show up. They see us and are furious, screaming yelling and all that jazz at us. I get that fear, the fear that comes with all the thoughts rushing through my head like "will they call the cops?" or "will they just shoot us and claim self defense because Florida law says that's the way to be?". I handle the situation well, making up some story to make it seem like we were here on accident and assured them we weren't stealing anything. I think I explained that we did this because of the book I was writing, which is funny because I had been up all night working on it, another synchronicity with my own life.

They're all still angry, but one of the guys takes me aside. He asks for my facebook, but I tell him i'll give him my email instead. Then he takes me into this room full of oriental like staircases of mindbending intricacy and we keep on walking until he takes me outside. There's a beach, but it's surrounded by water on both sides so it's an island. The waves surrounding us are intense and the guy, who seems to know connect with me in a way of companionship rather than anger simply lets the waves sweep him away. I'm afraid to let it happen to me, but I go with it and then I wake up...

...but not into a waking state, but yet another dream where I'm reading a Rick Griffin comic of my dream. I've been fairly obsessed with Rick Griffin recently in my life, so this is yet another synchronicity with my own life that makes this dream more interesting. The waves and Rick Griffin go together perfectly because of his obsession with surfing.