Amor de Cosmos thinks he is a reptile from space. It is cute.
So I chase the man around as he sits on stage although I must do more than this psychic mumbling in my back yard.It must be my young age. Sometimes my neighbors here a ruckus and I get told that I as talking to thin air from over thefence. I trust him, but have since explained that it is a backstep to the worlds of ancient times. People used to listen to thebroadcasts of old dead blind saints through thier minds. The saint would type sit spell into a looking glass. It is odd that thisis something that has been broadly forgotten.
I have been thinking too much about the news to write of it. I simply was afraid to say what I wished to. It still may be best to avoid anything that is going to burn bridges for the Rhinoceros Party. All I can admit is that though I feel all the othermembers of parliment we have are intelligent and honest, we would be better with a Rhinoceros in office. That is not to askfor your vote I honestly hope I get enough to break even monetarily but a man like me has no place to lead the seeing intomy blind shape. That is why I fear the Russians may not want Whitby square. The tentitive deal has been cordially deniedby both the Prime Minister's office and the Ukrainian ambasador.
We are the change you really need.
If I had my way, this whole city would vote for me to fund the resistance movement against Dr's of Journalism or Law.If Whitby had 100000 voters casting thier ballot for me the Rhino Party of Canada would have a cheque in thier bank account soon after worth aproximitly $17500000. This may need checked in editing, if not please leave this sentencein the article. Actually even if I am wrong I would like to recant that my impression was that the party recieved $1.75per vote. This is meant to cover the election so even if your party is far from ready to win the election, do not feel likeyou have no hope. The cash deserved is nessecarily held not by the politician, but by the club he is in front of.
But back to the title. I fear that some people may be seeing reptiles without psychiatric medication. I wish I was a reptile from space because then I could go there. I am a freemason but that is not truly a secret society. It is the recording of the work of God and normally considered the English Sainthood. The whole orginization has been publishing its reasonably priced books accounting the history and the matters that are spoke of in the hall. To be fair, I have never attended a meeting at the hall that is at (address of hall- specific). I have been an Oddfellow for a long time. We are easily tricked and usually jokingly at a fued with the other famous open society.
Masons build buildings and fences with stone and grout. They once had a guild, like most people have. Their guild discoveredsome of the formations of the stones would lead people in and out of churches more quickly. These have been used to helpshell shocked patients in psychiatric wards and at the Fibinacci's coffee shop to clear people out of the way so that they neednot hire waitresses. It is also free to learn these secrets. I guess the guild has simply not broadcast this for of Feng-Shui loudand on the internet, except for the site: (odddfellw). That is primarily where you can get true information. The Oddfellows, on the other hand, are simply the various people's guild and a stage. I am more of a blind stage person that a brick-layer so Iam not a member of that guild. They were told while building churches that other people should be given the informationof the famous English Feng-Shui for free to everyone.
It is an important note that any inner circle of people will hold secrets from the rest. And people who seek power are, in myhumblest opinion, sort of arrogant. That is to say that people who do not choose where street signs go are better and do notwant to listen. This is the oppisite. These sentences that I am writing are important to me.
So as the only Rhinoceros in the running, my running partner Grey Wolf and I are promising little else but thetruth. The better man is the wolf. The better leader is the Rhino.
10.12.09
മുസ് ദി സ്റ്റെമെന്റ്റ് നോട ദി ഫറെ.
Furthermore:
Politics are preformed on stage. The charade is the show. The men state opposing versions of mainstream ideas held by their respective constituents. These people are elected to positions where they are supposed to work for the people of their land. Many agree that it seems they are blowing hot air, filling the minds of their supporters with false hope and turning to the same old horse and pony show that parliament has always been. The trick is to tell the people what they want to hear in order to keep their job. That is not to say that these men are born liars or even professional liars, it is just the truth behind their position.
This is even true in the ancient monarchies of Europe. If the people revolted the King was generally executed, not just asked to leave his represented situation. So why would Barack Obama be any different.
To be truthful, I want to speak highly of this person. He is an intelligent and eloquent, elegant man. He was, in my opinion, the best candidate for that position. But someone must stand and be his critic. If nobody else will, I can.
But that argument can be read in the less recent post to this blog.
This is a furthermore, so let me begin with some cussing:
In other forms of happiness the perpetual donkey fuck that is the job is basically chasing around a paper trail while trying not to leave one. Besides this aimless bureaucracy and the name-calling from both your colleagues and the general public, one is not allowed a personal mistake. The idea of chasing around sordid ideas without poking a hole in the middle of the paper is a little obscene. It is a wonder people want to have a government position at all. Perhaps they are simply the sorts that want to pick where the automobiles merge and stop. It is the credit they are given.
Our new African hero had to admit in a book that he had done cocaine. And he smokes tobacco. What an everyman’s hero. Much easier to digest than the former, a big time little rich kid who simply never admitted he loved cigars and tried cocaine. It came to light after his election. The former pulls on the heart-strings for some reason, perhaps it is the latter never got his shit together.
These staged thoughts may be meant to pacify the left wing. I am suggesting this only to raise paranoia and to prove that I distrust any person in power until they prove themselves in a way I feel suits my beliefs. It is a personal opinion, but Obama is an Anti-Bush. He is a character foil who has been handed leadership during an economic decline, perhaps decidedly so.
Just in order to keep you paranoid, I should suggest these whims of the great magnet.
All is balanced, the fates keep telling me.
Muse. As a statement, not the fate.
Politics are preformed on stage. The charade is the show. The men state opposing versions of mainstream ideas held by their respective constituents. These people are elected to positions where they are supposed to work for the people of their land. Many agree that it seems they are blowing hot air, filling the minds of their supporters with false hope and turning to the same old horse and pony show that parliament has always been. The trick is to tell the people what they want to hear in order to keep their job. That is not to say that these men are born liars or even professional liars, it is just the truth behind their position.
This is even true in the ancient monarchies of Europe. If the people revolted the King was generally executed, not just asked to leave his represented situation. So why would Barack Obama be any different.
To be truthful, I want to speak highly of this person. He is an intelligent and eloquent, elegant man. He was, in my opinion, the best candidate for that position. But someone must stand and be his critic. If nobody else will, I can.
But that argument can be read in the less recent post to this blog.
This is a furthermore, so let me begin with some cussing:
In other forms of happiness the perpetual donkey fuck that is the job is basically chasing around a paper trail while trying not to leave one. Besides this aimless bureaucracy and the name-calling from both your colleagues and the general public, one is not allowed a personal mistake. The idea of chasing around sordid ideas without poking a hole in the middle of the paper is a little obscene. It is a wonder people want to have a government position at all. Perhaps they are simply the sorts that want to pick where the automobiles merge and stop. It is the credit they are given.
Our new African hero had to admit in a book that he had done cocaine. And he smokes tobacco. What an everyman’s hero. Much easier to digest than the former, a big time little rich kid who simply never admitted he loved cigars and tried cocaine. It came to light after his election. The former pulls on the heart-strings for some reason, perhaps it is the latter never got his shit together.
These staged thoughts may be meant to pacify the left wing. I am suggesting this only to raise paranoia and to prove that I distrust any person in power until they prove themselves in a way I feel suits my beliefs. It is a personal opinion, but Obama is an Anti-Bush. He is a character foil who has been handed leadership during an economic decline, perhaps decidedly so.
Just in order to keep you paranoid, I should suggest these whims of the great magnet.
All is balanced, the fates keep telling me.
Muse. As a statement, not the fate.
9.12.09
ബാരക്ക് ഒബാമ ഈസ് ആന് ആര്യന് ദിച്ടടോര് ആന്ഡ് സ്ടുഫ്ഫ് വിത്ത് ഫ്ലെയ ആന്ഡ് സനൂപ് ആന്ഡ് സലിം ആന്ഡ് les
Barack Hussain Obama is and eloquent speaker and intelligent man. In my opinion, He was the best candidate for his position. He speaks as a member of the American nation and has the remarkable ability to bring people together. One may want to note that he is a rather obvious character foil for the previous American President. He told us numerous times that what America needed was change, not in small doses.
Following Mr. Bush’s reign what the majority wished for was the drastic, that which seemed up until now impossible.
In this blessed nation we now feel that we do have the power. Democracy works and we can vote for this change. Though it is funny that 50% of the American world believe that he is now a horrid leader and about to ruin America. That is the balance of the great magnet. This new light in an old boys club was a senator from Chicago gave us little doubt who would win during his historic campaign. And he acts like a president. This is good.
He is a smart person. He has proven himself a good leader that will be honest and true, as it seems to be his character. Mr. Obama is a good speaker who promised the world we wish for as an African man. He was the best candidate in the official running with a strong face and voice that marks the American dream as alive and well. The idea is to reinforce that you too could be President one day if you remain strong, smart and live as a good and honest person. I fear that this is why he won the election.
In the fallout of the reign of the former President nearly any man who spoke well could have come to light and seemed brilliant compared to these show-business goons that used to run the world. Any man could have called himself the change we sought but the chose the best man due to little else but this necessary flip in skin colour. The previous group were known as Neo-Cons, which is as interesting a synonym as the men who truly love plastic bags. For lack of a better expression, it seems that trusting this man due to his race may be similar to what those opposing Bush-Cheney are accused of doing.
The issue that can be found in this blind trust of Obama as a saviour of American democracy is that it is entirely possible that he is every other politician. He could be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Many people are aware that he is related to Richard Cheney and it has been admitted as true by our President on at least one late night talk show. It is for numerous reasons that he may be as crooked and honest as Stephen Colbert.
His speeches are of healing the nation. This divides the populous and has been accused of truly holding back progress, though I feel that he is a very good figurehead and able to walk the tight-rope of politics balancing metaphoric plates. This is a trait of a good politician. He refrains are beautiful tones that soothe the ear and his written work is highly provocative. The thing we are trying to remind you are not to trust this man for other reasons than his motives and actions.
The wary eye can note that he seems to be at about the average rate for keeping his campaign promises. We needed this man in America but nobody can be sure that he is not the liar and deceiver his predecessors seem to be in retrospect. The thought, paranoid as it may be, is that it still remains entirely possible he is whispering in our ear eloquently while being less graceful in the sidelines. We cannot rest and watch these men continue to dance on stage lying. Barack Obama seems straight because he is simply a character foil.
Paranoid people will find fault in any leader. If somebody is in charge people will claim they are reptiles from space, Ayran strongmen, inbred, masochists, sadists in need of hanging or Muslim leaders of America. This is common the world over. People do not generally trust the people who choose where the merge signs go on the street. They have a tendency to be generally rotten. There is a chance that the descision to follow Bush-Cheney with a man of African descent was made in the sixties as a backlash to the war. Nobody can be certain and that is why people speculate.
Everyone involved in this article hopes that he is remembered like Thomas Jefferson or George Washington. And he probably will be. The issue is this common thread, finally a stated phrase: Please do not trust Barack Obama because he is African-American. Keep and open and slanted paranoid mind. Never trust your government.
Following Mr. Bush’s reign what the majority wished for was the drastic, that which seemed up until now impossible.
In this blessed nation we now feel that we do have the power. Democracy works and we can vote for this change. Though it is funny that 50% of the American world believe that he is now a horrid leader and about to ruin America. That is the balance of the great magnet. This new light in an old boys club was a senator from Chicago gave us little doubt who would win during his historic campaign. And he acts like a president. This is good.
He is a smart person. He has proven himself a good leader that will be honest and true, as it seems to be his character. Mr. Obama is a good speaker who promised the world we wish for as an African man. He was the best candidate in the official running with a strong face and voice that marks the American dream as alive and well. The idea is to reinforce that you too could be President one day if you remain strong, smart and live as a good and honest person. I fear that this is why he won the election.
In the fallout of the reign of the former President nearly any man who spoke well could have come to light and seemed brilliant compared to these show-business goons that used to run the world. Any man could have called himself the change we sought but the chose the best man due to little else but this necessary flip in skin colour. The previous group were known as Neo-Cons, which is as interesting a synonym as the men who truly love plastic bags. For lack of a better expression, it seems that trusting this man due to his race may be similar to what those opposing Bush-Cheney are accused of doing.
The issue that can be found in this blind trust of Obama as a saviour of American democracy is that it is entirely possible that he is every other politician. He could be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Many people are aware that he is related to Richard Cheney and it has been admitted as true by our President on at least one late night talk show. It is for numerous reasons that he may be as crooked and honest as Stephen Colbert.
His speeches are of healing the nation. This divides the populous and has been accused of truly holding back progress, though I feel that he is a very good figurehead and able to walk the tight-rope of politics balancing metaphoric plates. This is a trait of a good politician. He refrains are beautiful tones that soothe the ear and his written work is highly provocative. The thing we are trying to remind you are not to trust this man for other reasons than his motives and actions.
The wary eye can note that he seems to be at about the average rate for keeping his campaign promises. We needed this man in America but nobody can be sure that he is not the liar and deceiver his predecessors seem to be in retrospect. The thought, paranoid as it may be, is that it still remains entirely possible he is whispering in our ear eloquently while being less graceful in the sidelines. We cannot rest and watch these men continue to dance on stage lying. Barack Obama seems straight because he is simply a character foil.
Paranoid people will find fault in any leader. If somebody is in charge people will claim they are reptiles from space, Ayran strongmen, inbred, masochists, sadists in need of hanging or Muslim leaders of America. This is common the world over. People do not generally trust the people who choose where the merge signs go on the street. They have a tendency to be generally rotten. There is a chance that the descision to follow Bush-Cheney with a man of African descent was made in the sixties as a backlash to the war. Nobody can be certain and that is why people speculate.
Everyone involved in this article hopes that he is remembered like Thomas Jefferson or George Washington. And he probably will be. The issue is this common thread, finally a stated phrase: Please do not trust Barack Obama because he is African-American. Keep and open and slanted paranoid mind. Never trust your government.
8.12.09
ബ്ലെസ്സിംഗ് എകുഎസ്ടെദ് ഓര്: ഓടെ ടോ എഡ്ഗര് അല്ലെന് ഒഎ
I have written and re-written this poem many times this year. I first heard it in a state of mania while I was burning bridges and dropping out of school in Nelson, BC. It scared me because I thought that I had been killed as I lay in bed with my wife. I learned otherwise because my friends are the same people they were before and they do not treat me as a ghost.
So I began to believe I was immortal and I was place in the care of my Mother.
This is the song:
With a blessing requested
And a man such as dressed as you
Said to the other Saint Witness alive
Open your mind, she smiles
I can’t hand you that weapon, friend
It’s a blessing of all time
And a test that’s a blessing too
So see all these things I do
See through a martyr’s eye
Scenes of unhappiness
Or quest for the mindful why
Does it truly matter?
Do these shadow stay in Montreal?
Exist in a satyr’s mind
This man sits drinking gasoline
So pull yourself in the water, sir
And bring your friends too
These checkerboard floors tore
Minds that were scattered
And lights that speak nothing of them
So this requested blessing
Since these selected sections
Are best left unanswered
And these tests they are blessings too
Does it matter what things I do?
While leaving these minds on time
Peering with minds eyes
When these men who drink gasoline
Sit as innocents
Like popes
So I have suggested
A requested test
Marked times here is martyrdom
And illness shapes predators
Or the shape shifting mimes who wrote
To take this black powder
Or save yourself face
As these checkerboard floors tore
A mind that was shattered
And hearts that know nothing
Of them
With a blessing requested
And a man such as dressed as you
A holy for all time
Dressed best for this setting tune
Feel all these things we do
Fortunes and fame we wrote
Sit in the cipher
These men sit drinking gasoline
So pull towards the water
Because salt that we wrote
These checkerboard floors
Looked like water alone
So pause a dear minute
And sing if it’s true
I have requested a blessing
And these tests
They are blessings too
So I began to believe I was immortal and I was place in the care of my Mother.
This is the song:
With a blessing requested
And a man such as dressed as you
Said to the other Saint Witness alive
Open your mind, she smiles
I can’t hand you that weapon, friend
It’s a blessing of all time
And a test that’s a blessing too
So see all these things I do
See through a martyr’s eye
Scenes of unhappiness
Or quest for the mindful why
Does it truly matter?
Do these shadow stay in Montreal?
Exist in a satyr’s mind
This man sits drinking gasoline
So pull yourself in the water, sir
And bring your friends too
These checkerboard floors tore
Minds that were scattered
And lights that speak nothing of them
So this requested blessing
Since these selected sections
Are best left unanswered
And these tests they are blessings too
Does it matter what things I do?
While leaving these minds on time
Peering with minds eyes
When these men who drink gasoline
Sit as innocents
Like popes
So I have suggested
A requested test
Marked times here is martyrdom
And illness shapes predators
Or the shape shifting mimes who wrote
To take this black powder
Or save yourself face
As these checkerboard floors tore
A mind that was shattered
And hearts that know nothing
Of them
With a blessing requested
And a man such as dressed as you
A holy for all time
Dressed best for this setting tune
Feel all these things we do
Fortunes and fame we wrote
Sit in the cipher
These men sit drinking gasoline
So pull towards the water
Because salt that we wrote
These checkerboard floors
Looked like water alone
So pause a dear minute
And sing if it’s true
I have requested a blessing
And these tests
They are blessings too
പോഎം 2
This is another poem that I wrote in high school many times. I doubt I have typed it and the words have changed I’m sure. I just like the first lyric. I may put both these to music.
Take time to think
Or save thinking through
The hearts that were here
With nothing to lose
All men sit in tree tops
And monsters can watch them
In front of big screen TVs
And some thoughts that they send
When marked men
Take time to
Read as they can
Brother
We watch from the air
Take time to think
Or save thinking through
The shots they have fired
For awkward wild nerves
All men stand as Mounties
With eccentric beliefs
In front of big screen TVs
And parts that we lend
Take time to think
Or save thinking through
The hearts that were here
With nothing to lose
All men sit in tree tops
And monsters can watch them
In front of big screen TVs
And some thoughts that they send
When marked men
Take time to
Read as they can
Brother
We watch from the air
Take time to think
Or save thinking through
The shots they have fired
For awkward wild nerves
All men stand as Mounties
With eccentric beliefs
In front of big screen TVs
And parts that we lend
7.12.09
ബ്ലെസ്സിംഗ്
I am in a musical group known by a number of names. These names are not always the ones that watermark our videos online so I should list them briefly before I begin: Science & the State, Dangerous Insomniacs, Whitey the Crime, Jabberwocky, Fancy Withholding & Lettuce, Fancy Withholding and Name Changes, Not-Primus and the Dali’s, in no particular order. I claim that these are famous and sometimes prophetic names that should ring bells inside the listener if they remember old England. I hope they do. Otherwise we are hiding behind the name, “Science & the State” and risking not using the others due to paranoid delusion. These names are sometimes mentioned in my mania to be as meaningful to others as they are to me. I should add, in the same states of mania I also claim that I invented the clock.As a suggestion of a teacher I encountered in my journeys I may add that we are particular devils that have been requested. These thoughts are referenced nearly every time I bring them up as inverted and silly delusions. I hope so, in part, but I also hope that at some point I added so much to this world that the invention of the clock could be a simile. That is everyone’s dream I suppose. I doubt I have.
I do not really know how that machine works and it seems to have been invented before 1984, technically the year of my birth.We sing, dance and frolic around on stage throwing away bodies and playing things like, “You have requested the Whitey the Crime classic… How many blind people could you kill?” I also have an odd tendency to host an imaginary spell cast (or TV show in the mind, for lack of better explanation). I cast these thoughts towards people and tell myself that they can hear and visualize what I am doing; claiming that this is what people did before TV. Folks used to listen to old, dead, blind saints.And I am a generally happy person. I just sometimes forget to record the jokes.I suppose that is that, if it rings a bell with you the way I hope it does than perhaps this is not our first meeting. Perhaps you were raised to fear the Jabberwocky. Or maybe I just want a spot in English myth. Final themes and other mentions of a strange headache these last few mornings are sunshine when she laughs and a debate stirs about whether I am old or not. Although that is not entirely nonsense it is neither Jabberwocky nor satire. It is a funny dance that in the end leaves us alone. But her boots are well-worn. They smell musty but are of sainted tomes. This is terrifying for us. These standard tired terms are basically a functional note. It is difficult to suggest this form of prose is good for much besides gathering concepts when one has to write but is unable to find inspiration. I am trying to find my way to a thought that is not attainable right now and writing nonsense tends to help me muse. Recently I find something about words being entirely arbitrary. It is the idea that had one word changed six paragraphs ago the meaning of this sentence could be different, though the words stay the same. I believe that is the key to writing good prose in combination of being egotistical enough to think that someone wants to read what I have to say. So please do not fear us, as the old rhyme goes. “If you fear the Jabberwock you are not an Englishman,” or something about a man who has no substance.
We are good and as close to human as the rest of you.
We just make our living on stage.I slept recently for five days. This is always a weird trip and this time I was drugged and uncomfortable. The government did it through the hands of nurses at a hospital. I woke up and felt the need to ask if lasagne came in pill form yet. It was just to joke and be a lively guest of the ward. It is for the best because I may have made the mistake of running away because I was initially discharged too early. I was rather argumentative but now I feel like myself again and am much more productive doing literal writing. Before the sleep I was unsure of a number of things, including the year in the Common Era.My concern with the true date can be stated in a manic way (mumbled gibberish) or as something much clearer. I believe the idea was that people are eternal but I used that thought to claim I was immortal for one year. This worried people and was the case for my admission to the psychiatric unit in Penticton. It is interesting that I thought that perhaps the universe was never created nor will be destroyed and that the human race needs to make the world finite in order to understand that we even exist, because technically we may not.But instead of the normal heady arguments I should bring up the art of dreaming.I do not feel the need to just from an airplane or off a bridge tied to a rope. But I did last night while asleep. The bungee jump was an amazing feeling. I think I know why people do that now but I will only participate in these risky ventures in my lucid dreams. I can live without the adrenaline rush and in dreams I have transparent wings.The rest is wondrous. How can we fly around, dive from the sky, climb mountains and surf the best waves imaginable and still wake up refreshed? Does the mind ever rest?I think I could live a existence in the doldrums without watching mind-numbing cartoons to settle my brain. This idea makes me think that the mind never really stops going for anyone but I should stay with my own personal experience. My body is often fatigued, like any mortal man. When I laid in that psychiatric drug induced coma I feared that my mind would never return.
It has, so I am thankful now and more wary of my self-destructive nature.I write to clarify my thoughts and find while they are abstract that I take to writing literally. That is why not everything found on my blog has been published in real media, it is not all entertaining. On the other hand, when my mind is working in a very literal way I tend to write abstract stories, play psychedelic music and try to piece together weird cartoons. This is a paradox of my experience and I wonder sometimes if it is true across the board. I have never asked it this clearly before now.The idea that dreams are a minds way of clarifying the day is an interesting note. It seems that waking states effect dreams as the memory of something will effect you later but I doubt it is any more than that because I dream a lot of stuff that has no relation to my waking state, unless strictly metaphoric. So is there truly a world that we go to while asleep?I have shared dreams with others on more than one occasion. Once there was a young woman that introduced herself as wanting to meet me because she dreamed I was a sorcerer in a tall structure that had walls marked in my tattoos. I was rather distinctive at the time and she seemed baffled at the situation. I kept her number because it excited me to no end. I did not remember having the same dream that night but visualized it happening as she explained it to me. It seemed entirely possible and in the same sort of form as my dream. One can’t be sure if her suggestion made me remember the event or if I would have actually dreamed it.On a much earlier occasion I can recall meeting with a group of friends around a particular picnic table of the beach and bringing up the last time we sat there. It was as if we went through an earthquake and were unable to leave the table to gain cover. I brought this to the conversation and we had a strange moment until one friend came across the idea that we had all dreamed this together. This moment led me to begin taking dreaming seriously. I don’t think I could ever thank the man who pointed it out enough.So maybe instead of bungee jumping tonight I will try another sport that I am afraid to partake in during the wakeful hours. Hopefully the lawn bowling club in dream land is open on Sunday night. But that is perception as some people love lawn bowling and think that is the manlier sport.The old question is: How can I be certain my blue is not your green? The truth is you can’t. I think that it what I am trying to say with these ever changing names of my musical groups. I am still the same person behind the microphone. The songs don’t change, though every time I play them they are slightly different.
When asked, the response given can only be as true as the parties believe. One must take into account that he has asked only for a response, even if he suggests he wants the truth. That is why everyone’s perception is augmented and makes the correct answer to every question “We have just been asked to give an opinion.” Nobody can be certain that they are correct. Nobody, it seems, knows truth. The truth is found when people realize that they have simply asked an opinion.
That is not to say that everything is a lie. It just suggests there is no truth or at least that truth is variable.
I do not really know how that machine works and it seems to have been invented before 1984, technically the year of my birth.We sing, dance and frolic around on stage throwing away bodies and playing things like, “You have requested the Whitey the Crime classic… How many blind people could you kill?” I also have an odd tendency to host an imaginary spell cast (or TV show in the mind, for lack of better explanation). I cast these thoughts towards people and tell myself that they can hear and visualize what I am doing; claiming that this is what people did before TV. Folks used to listen to old, dead, blind saints.And I am a generally happy person. I just sometimes forget to record the jokes.I suppose that is that, if it rings a bell with you the way I hope it does than perhaps this is not our first meeting. Perhaps you were raised to fear the Jabberwocky. Or maybe I just want a spot in English myth. Final themes and other mentions of a strange headache these last few mornings are sunshine when she laughs and a debate stirs about whether I am old or not. Although that is not entirely nonsense it is neither Jabberwocky nor satire. It is a funny dance that in the end leaves us alone. But her boots are well-worn. They smell musty but are of sainted tomes. This is terrifying for us. These standard tired terms are basically a functional note. It is difficult to suggest this form of prose is good for much besides gathering concepts when one has to write but is unable to find inspiration. I am trying to find my way to a thought that is not attainable right now and writing nonsense tends to help me muse. Recently I find something about words being entirely arbitrary. It is the idea that had one word changed six paragraphs ago the meaning of this sentence could be different, though the words stay the same. I believe that is the key to writing good prose in combination of being egotistical enough to think that someone wants to read what I have to say. So please do not fear us, as the old rhyme goes. “If you fear the Jabberwock you are not an Englishman,” or something about a man who has no substance.
We are good and as close to human as the rest of you.
We just make our living on stage.I slept recently for five days. This is always a weird trip and this time I was drugged and uncomfortable. The government did it through the hands of nurses at a hospital. I woke up and felt the need to ask if lasagne came in pill form yet. It was just to joke and be a lively guest of the ward. It is for the best because I may have made the mistake of running away because I was initially discharged too early. I was rather argumentative but now I feel like myself again and am much more productive doing literal writing. Before the sleep I was unsure of a number of things, including the year in the Common Era.My concern with the true date can be stated in a manic way (mumbled gibberish) or as something much clearer. I believe the idea was that people are eternal but I used that thought to claim I was immortal for one year. This worried people and was the case for my admission to the psychiatric unit in Penticton. It is interesting that I thought that perhaps the universe was never created nor will be destroyed and that the human race needs to make the world finite in order to understand that we even exist, because technically we may not.But instead of the normal heady arguments I should bring up the art of dreaming.I do not feel the need to just from an airplane or off a bridge tied to a rope. But I did last night while asleep. The bungee jump was an amazing feeling. I think I know why people do that now but I will only participate in these risky ventures in my lucid dreams. I can live without the adrenaline rush and in dreams I have transparent wings.The rest is wondrous. How can we fly around, dive from the sky, climb mountains and surf the best waves imaginable and still wake up refreshed? Does the mind ever rest?I think I could live a existence in the doldrums without watching mind-numbing cartoons to settle my brain. This idea makes me think that the mind never really stops going for anyone but I should stay with my own personal experience. My body is often fatigued, like any mortal man. When I laid in that psychiatric drug induced coma I feared that my mind would never return.
It has, so I am thankful now and more wary of my self-destructive nature.I write to clarify my thoughts and find while they are abstract that I take to writing literally. That is why not everything found on my blog has been published in real media, it is not all entertaining. On the other hand, when my mind is working in a very literal way I tend to write abstract stories, play psychedelic music and try to piece together weird cartoons. This is a paradox of my experience and I wonder sometimes if it is true across the board. I have never asked it this clearly before now.The idea that dreams are a minds way of clarifying the day is an interesting note. It seems that waking states effect dreams as the memory of something will effect you later but I doubt it is any more than that because I dream a lot of stuff that has no relation to my waking state, unless strictly metaphoric. So is there truly a world that we go to while asleep?I have shared dreams with others on more than one occasion. Once there was a young woman that introduced herself as wanting to meet me because she dreamed I was a sorcerer in a tall structure that had walls marked in my tattoos. I was rather distinctive at the time and she seemed baffled at the situation. I kept her number because it excited me to no end. I did not remember having the same dream that night but visualized it happening as she explained it to me. It seemed entirely possible and in the same sort of form as my dream. One can’t be sure if her suggestion made me remember the event or if I would have actually dreamed it.On a much earlier occasion I can recall meeting with a group of friends around a particular picnic table of the beach and bringing up the last time we sat there. It was as if we went through an earthquake and were unable to leave the table to gain cover. I brought this to the conversation and we had a strange moment until one friend came across the idea that we had all dreamed this together. This moment led me to begin taking dreaming seriously. I don’t think I could ever thank the man who pointed it out enough.So maybe instead of bungee jumping tonight I will try another sport that I am afraid to partake in during the wakeful hours. Hopefully the lawn bowling club in dream land is open on Sunday night. But that is perception as some people love lawn bowling and think that is the manlier sport.The old question is: How can I be certain my blue is not your green? The truth is you can’t. I think that it what I am trying to say with these ever changing names of my musical groups. I am still the same person behind the microphone. The songs don’t change, though every time I play them they are slightly different.
When asked, the response given can only be as true as the parties believe. One must take into account that he has asked only for a response, even if he suggests he wants the truth. That is why everyone’s perception is augmented and makes the correct answer to every question “We have just been asked to give an opinion.” Nobody can be certain that they are correct. Nobody, it seems, knows truth. The truth is found when people realize that they have simply asked an opinion.
That is not to say that everything is a lie. It just suggests there is no truth or at least that truth is variable.
6.12.09
SEDATION ILLS OR AWKWARD NERVES
As such, I have written long winded essays about my various triumphs both imaginary or real and many short fiction pieces describing theoretical physics and soviet history, vaguely. These are both loosely disguised metaphors that tie into the following passages, mostly because I have taken the time to suggest that they are so.
If I write, “Now I need socks,” the phrase can be taken in many ways. This is because English literature has painstakingly been argued that it could mean anything, based on the reader’s perception, not the authors intended meaning.
I sometimes try to prove to people that I came from elsewhere.
I often catch myself laughing at the claim that though I was born in Edmonton, I moved all the way to Western Canada from Whitby, England just to be one day away from London. Is this because I want to believe this myself? I fear that I have only been talking to myself, raising suspicions of insanity or gaping holes in these odd symptoms of brilliance.
People have a tendency to compare me to the mathematician in the movie “A Brilliant Mind.”
I am embarrassed by this comparison because I fear it is true.
I am clear-headed now, only a little shaky on the inside. I am glad that my mind has been shut down a little bit, that hibernation was just what I needed. I have a tendency towards psychosis or mania when things in my life get a little heady. So, dear reader of my work, I write to you from the Penticton Psychiatric Ward. This will be my home for a few weeks and that is why I am musing over the use of a dear-to-me name, Amor de Cosmos.
Can I righteously run in an election as this name? Is it best for me to resurrect the Rhino Party to do so? I want to do both these things. When I claim to be from somewhere else, a different universe or old-world city, is it because I want to convince myself of this?
I use the pen name Amor de Cosmos because I rightfully feel I can and should.
If it makes people feel like they were around last time I was, all the better.
I like the phrase, “usually described as a mad figure,” to open the floor to discussions about my favoured writing pseudonym. I do seem to be that person if you look at me. I have a mental health file. I tell myself that in the before times, while psychiatry was normally cured by full or partial lobotomies, that I was either chained to something by my family until the ills subsided or legislation was passed by my good friend the Queen of England suggesting that I may not be subject to that artefact of medical history. The former may be true, but I doubt the Queen had ever heard of me. Willy-nilly lobotomies are a thing of the past so I feel blessed to be in the care of a modern psychiatric wing. But I am running on a tangent here, so I suggest we find out where it is headed.
When I wrote the “Viewpoint of a Short-Circuited Iron,” I did not realize the similarities between it and that old animated movie, “A Brave Little Toaster.” I was entirely unaware of that throughout the writing and editing process but it leads me to think that it was either a congnitive dissonance, (my own brains refusal to bridge the similarities due to work put in to the story) or the idea that nothing can be brand new. Can my writing be without influences? I would say no, because then it would be jabberwocky, the form of English prose that is garbled nonsense without any real words.
So should I mesh all that I have read into one fanatical theory?
No, but maybe a column will help.
I only ever understand Pythagorean Theory briefly while I am asleep. This happened again last night. Instead of having one of those “Eureka” moments and running down the hallway in my underpants I just rolled back over and fell back to my slumber.
All day I have been trying to reach back into that dream consciousness to bring the strand of understanding towards me. All I could find is colossal blue whales flying in the sky or a job at a 24 hour store that did not have a working shave-ice machine. These are two moments that I vaguely remember but not the concrete understanding of a mathematical theory that I hoped for. These are options, and recording this thought brought me to the sort of psychological musing I have already touched on.
While I was asleep did I truly understand why a particular triangle can be measured? I can’t even be sure I know which sort of triangle the theory is discussing. Was it something that I really understood, or did I see that the rest of the book I was reading agreed that it was so?
I am only myself. The others that I claim to be are only recorded traits of me. I doubt they locked me in here because I believe that I am Amor de Cosmos. I have lived my whole life thinking that and am only on my second relaxing visit to the acclaimed Club Med. If anything it is my stubbornness using this pseudonym that makes me not bring it up to the nurses if prodded. The nurses are probably not even aware of that. So clearly, I invented the media and am a still around King of Spain.
And so that could be considered my biography, but please, if it ever comes up, do not sir me Raul Duke. It was a misnomer. I usually wind up in some sort of psychiatric can when I think like that. It was not the drugs that made me Amor de Cosmos, for better or worse. I should mention that every time I drink mushroom tea I wind up in this sort of situation. It has been the cause of much of the rabble surrounding my mental health file. I should know better by now, it is a waste of time.
I was once told by a naturopath that my brain was basically on mushrooms anyways. This seems true. It explains, he suggested, why I cannot take them without the drug effecting me long term. It also is interesting to note that I feel that they will clear my manic states up when I take them. As a side note I still believe that they are represented as the tree of knowledge of good and evil in the Bible. I also feel the tree of life is Marijuana. It seems like an honest interpretation, so no note can show my beliefs better than reading the story of Adam and Eve.
So dress well and dress often. I get to scribble for a living. I was asked recently if I paint and I said that it was not something I did regularly. I explained that my thoughts are better transposed in words that other people can read and not in the abstract art they appear to me as. I find that if my thoughts are rather bland and literal than I paint abstract drawings, otherwise my obscure thoughts should be changed into paragraphs and such for everyone’s benefit.
I want to write for a living. This suggests that I want to but I don’t. Both are somewhat true. The phrase places it out of my reach. I think this is important and can be taken in rightful persuasive context with the idea that people know that I live simply in a town called heaven and not the actual place. When I was asking if this was the spot I should have known better.
It was a silly cry for help that was not taken seriously by my friends. But it is easily forgivable, I have obscure thinking friends. Birds of a feather flock together, you know.
Because my youth in Summerland could be mistaken for a youth in actual heaven I feel partially ashamed. It is important for me to think that these are balanced by the trials in my later youth until now. That is the balance of this privileged universe. We live in a land of plenty and I feel guilty. I am 25 years old very soon and hopefully I am now responsible enough to keep myself in order. I love order because it seems unattainable for me. I am the personification of Jabberwocky.
But my character is back. I was on a heavy sedative for five days or so and slept uncomfortably the whole time. So maybe the other characters are back. These are my inner child. I was admitted here because I was certain that I had a daughter that I had ignored for the first two and a half years of her life. Everyone has an inner child that is begging for attention and everyone has the insight of the opposite sex. This in an idea that can be written as: “Those who choose they do not suffer from delusions repress them, making their delusions stronger when they fight back.”
I have gained much insight into myself in the care of the ward and am rather glad I took those mushrooms, by and by. It isn’t worth the hassle and I fear that if I mention that I am thankful for the mental work mushrooms have caused me they may keep me here longer. If I tell others that the characters that write my stories are anyone other than myself my friends and family get worried. That is the way it is, because they are simply myself or different aspects of my own thought.
The child is still but a twinkle in my eye.
And I cannot wait until she is real.
So now that I have proven that it is entirely possible that I am who I claim to be using this pseudonym, I jest: Why is everyone John Lennon last time?
And old friend gave me this funny note that I cannot take credit for. “Alas,” he sort of said, “I want to take everyone who thinks they are Jesus and put them in a building.” It would be an interesting party. I would invite David Letterman for one floor and Jay Leno for the other. Conan O’Brian could host the whole star-spangled gala. Everyone wants to be a celebrity; it is just hard to prove that you are one.
But even proving that I am who I claim to be is hard to grasp. I may have just practiced writing enough to have the clarity (*eh-hem*) of Amor de Cosmos or musical virtuosity of Hector Berlioz. To be fair, I can’t be certain that I am the latter, I just really like that name and it seemed reusable.
At risk of causing a theological debate, I think that eventually everyone realizes that they are simply still around in situations. Once this is rendered baffling, we start to trust the magic that lies in this world. Science is beginning to prove that this world is more like the old mysticism every day, which is my favourite post-modern thought. So we are back, it seems, to the original musing…
Can I run for election as a free-thinker and resurrect the Rhino Party of Canada?
Of course I could. This is a free country. One of our running platforms is in debate right now, as we may annex a Caribbean Island. The time has never been better. I doubt I could run using a pseudonym, so I would have to legally change my name to Amor de Cosmos again. And I consider the fact that I have before.
So maybe I should.
If I write, “Now I need socks,” the phrase can be taken in many ways. This is because English literature has painstakingly been argued that it could mean anything, based on the reader’s perception, not the authors intended meaning.
I sometimes try to prove to people that I came from elsewhere.
I often catch myself laughing at the claim that though I was born in Edmonton, I moved all the way to Western Canada from Whitby, England just to be one day away from London. Is this because I want to believe this myself? I fear that I have only been talking to myself, raising suspicions of insanity or gaping holes in these odd symptoms of brilliance.
People have a tendency to compare me to the mathematician in the movie “A Brilliant Mind.”
I am embarrassed by this comparison because I fear it is true.
I am clear-headed now, only a little shaky on the inside. I am glad that my mind has been shut down a little bit, that hibernation was just what I needed. I have a tendency towards psychosis or mania when things in my life get a little heady. So, dear reader of my work, I write to you from the Penticton Psychiatric Ward. This will be my home for a few weeks and that is why I am musing over the use of a dear-to-me name, Amor de Cosmos.
Can I righteously run in an election as this name? Is it best for me to resurrect the Rhino Party to do so? I want to do both these things. When I claim to be from somewhere else, a different universe or old-world city, is it because I want to convince myself of this?
I use the pen name Amor de Cosmos because I rightfully feel I can and should.
If it makes people feel like they were around last time I was, all the better.
I like the phrase, “usually described as a mad figure,” to open the floor to discussions about my favoured writing pseudonym. I do seem to be that person if you look at me. I have a mental health file. I tell myself that in the before times, while psychiatry was normally cured by full or partial lobotomies, that I was either chained to something by my family until the ills subsided or legislation was passed by my good friend the Queen of England suggesting that I may not be subject to that artefact of medical history. The former may be true, but I doubt the Queen had ever heard of me. Willy-nilly lobotomies are a thing of the past so I feel blessed to be in the care of a modern psychiatric wing. But I am running on a tangent here, so I suggest we find out where it is headed.
When I wrote the “Viewpoint of a Short-Circuited Iron,” I did not realize the similarities between it and that old animated movie, “A Brave Little Toaster.” I was entirely unaware of that throughout the writing and editing process but it leads me to think that it was either a congnitive dissonance, (my own brains refusal to bridge the similarities due to work put in to the story) or the idea that nothing can be brand new. Can my writing be without influences? I would say no, because then it would be jabberwocky, the form of English prose that is garbled nonsense without any real words.
So should I mesh all that I have read into one fanatical theory?
No, but maybe a column will help.
I only ever understand Pythagorean Theory briefly while I am asleep. This happened again last night. Instead of having one of those “Eureka” moments and running down the hallway in my underpants I just rolled back over and fell back to my slumber.
All day I have been trying to reach back into that dream consciousness to bring the strand of understanding towards me. All I could find is colossal blue whales flying in the sky or a job at a 24 hour store that did not have a working shave-ice machine. These are two moments that I vaguely remember but not the concrete understanding of a mathematical theory that I hoped for. These are options, and recording this thought brought me to the sort of psychological musing I have already touched on.
While I was asleep did I truly understand why a particular triangle can be measured? I can’t even be sure I know which sort of triangle the theory is discussing. Was it something that I really understood, or did I see that the rest of the book I was reading agreed that it was so?
I am only myself. The others that I claim to be are only recorded traits of me. I doubt they locked me in here because I believe that I am Amor de Cosmos. I have lived my whole life thinking that and am only on my second relaxing visit to the acclaimed Club Med. If anything it is my stubbornness using this pseudonym that makes me not bring it up to the nurses if prodded. The nurses are probably not even aware of that. So clearly, I invented the media and am a still around King of Spain.
And so that could be considered my biography, but please, if it ever comes up, do not sir me Raul Duke. It was a misnomer. I usually wind up in some sort of psychiatric can when I think like that. It was not the drugs that made me Amor de Cosmos, for better or worse. I should mention that every time I drink mushroom tea I wind up in this sort of situation. It has been the cause of much of the rabble surrounding my mental health file. I should know better by now, it is a waste of time.
I was once told by a naturopath that my brain was basically on mushrooms anyways. This seems true. It explains, he suggested, why I cannot take them without the drug effecting me long term. It also is interesting to note that I feel that they will clear my manic states up when I take them. As a side note I still believe that they are represented as the tree of knowledge of good and evil in the Bible. I also feel the tree of life is Marijuana. It seems like an honest interpretation, so no note can show my beliefs better than reading the story of Adam and Eve.
So dress well and dress often. I get to scribble for a living. I was asked recently if I paint and I said that it was not something I did regularly. I explained that my thoughts are better transposed in words that other people can read and not in the abstract art they appear to me as. I find that if my thoughts are rather bland and literal than I paint abstract drawings, otherwise my obscure thoughts should be changed into paragraphs and such for everyone’s benefit.
I want to write for a living. This suggests that I want to but I don’t. Both are somewhat true. The phrase places it out of my reach. I think this is important and can be taken in rightful persuasive context with the idea that people know that I live simply in a town called heaven and not the actual place. When I was asking if this was the spot I should have known better.
It was a silly cry for help that was not taken seriously by my friends. But it is easily forgivable, I have obscure thinking friends. Birds of a feather flock together, you know.
Because my youth in Summerland could be mistaken for a youth in actual heaven I feel partially ashamed. It is important for me to think that these are balanced by the trials in my later youth until now. That is the balance of this privileged universe. We live in a land of plenty and I feel guilty. I am 25 years old very soon and hopefully I am now responsible enough to keep myself in order. I love order because it seems unattainable for me. I am the personification of Jabberwocky.
But my character is back. I was on a heavy sedative for five days or so and slept uncomfortably the whole time. So maybe the other characters are back. These are my inner child. I was admitted here because I was certain that I had a daughter that I had ignored for the first two and a half years of her life. Everyone has an inner child that is begging for attention and everyone has the insight of the opposite sex. This in an idea that can be written as: “Those who choose they do not suffer from delusions repress them, making their delusions stronger when they fight back.”
I have gained much insight into myself in the care of the ward and am rather glad I took those mushrooms, by and by. It isn’t worth the hassle and I fear that if I mention that I am thankful for the mental work mushrooms have caused me they may keep me here longer. If I tell others that the characters that write my stories are anyone other than myself my friends and family get worried. That is the way it is, because they are simply myself or different aspects of my own thought.
The child is still but a twinkle in my eye.
And I cannot wait until she is real.
So now that I have proven that it is entirely possible that I am who I claim to be using this pseudonym, I jest: Why is everyone John Lennon last time?
And old friend gave me this funny note that I cannot take credit for. “Alas,” he sort of said, “I want to take everyone who thinks they are Jesus and put them in a building.” It would be an interesting party. I would invite David Letterman for one floor and Jay Leno for the other. Conan O’Brian could host the whole star-spangled gala. Everyone wants to be a celebrity; it is just hard to prove that you are one.
But even proving that I am who I claim to be is hard to grasp. I may have just practiced writing enough to have the clarity (*eh-hem*) of Amor de Cosmos or musical virtuosity of Hector Berlioz. To be fair, I can’t be certain that I am the latter, I just really like that name and it seemed reusable.
At risk of causing a theological debate, I think that eventually everyone realizes that they are simply still around in situations. Once this is rendered baffling, we start to trust the magic that lies in this world. Science is beginning to prove that this world is more like the old mysticism every day, which is my favourite post-modern thought. So we are back, it seems, to the original musing…
Can I run for election as a free-thinker and resurrect the Rhino Party of Canada?
Of course I could. This is a free country. One of our running platforms is in debate right now, as we may annex a Caribbean Island. The time has never been better. I doubt I could run using a pseudonym, so I would have to legally change my name to Amor de Cosmos again. And I consider the fact that I have before.
So maybe I should.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)