Fold up the linen and keep the receipts / Re-bury the boxes in earth. / Tight—shut the windows, hermetically seal / Let nobody see its birth! // Golden-brown bodies with Sun-kissed lips / Don silver-moon garments of old. / Hush— cool silence for raging and violence / Fire’s mouth must be closed to console. // To the cleft of the mountain we go!
Marco V Morelli reads Darío’s classic in original Spanish, with music by Doug Duff. There is a new English translation as well.
“Jupiter crash landed into Saturn.” As above, so below. What follows is a short and bittersweet astrological allegory about the power struggles that ensue in the heavens.
Ingredients: 2 eggs (poached), hollandaise sauce (egg yolk, butter, lemons), English muffin, bacon slices, and something extra to enlarge the whole. Eggs, when you really think about them, are bizarro. Little pockets of pre-embryonic fluid. If you were …
https://vimeo.com/313734066 Reggaeton took over the planet. Latin music had never been so popular, so present in the global arena, so influential. But, is the world ready for a formal, scholastic study of the phenomenon? Eduardo Makoszay Mayén seems to …
How to decipher Alejandro Jodorowsky’s symbolic film world? Here’s an introduction.
Arguably the most respected comic book writer, Alan Moore, gives you more information that you can chew in one sitting.
A never-before-heard interview with David Lynch by Mitch Horowitz, mostly about meditation and creativity.
on differences that make a difference, or aesthetics
The Claypool Lennon Delirium masterfully tells the story of rocket scientist/ occultist Jack Parsons.
Hands of the dead here in my living hands / as I split stony squash with a crack of the blade, / scoop seeds, oil flesh for the fire—hands / of women and men in my hands, generations / repeating these gestures, the old pleasure…
He was but a breath, a simple creation of some greater existence. Nothing implied, nothing necessary, nothing required. Just a breath. As was the face. And is the face. And always will be the face.
I noted that since the time of Gebser, our ‘grammatical mirror’ has exploded (while remaining mostly mentally fixated) but that we might ‘update’ Gebser by finding evidence of the post-postmodern (integral) now. This text (and accompanying audio) is meant to illustrate that point.
The subject was discovered on a routine gravimetric exploration approximately one mile beneath the Earth’s surface in a small cavern rich in copper. Dwelling in complete darkness and surrounded by approximately 3500 urns of various shapes and sizes, the age of the subject remains indeterminate. Subsequent testing revealed the age of the urns to be approximately 500,000 years old.
Music and lyrics by Paul Maylone. Listen free….
Music and lyrics by Paul Maylone. “You will turn me into fire, / You will turn me into war, / I will give my life as openly as so many before….”
If some Omega Point in hyperspace, the Eschaton that waits for us at history’s end, draws all mundane phenomena into its all-embracing unity, we’re implicated in that vast conspiracy already. We can celebrate. But particles apparently pop in and out of being all the time, each moment a Creation. All of it occurs at once, a party more than a parade. So point me to “the” Singularity, again?
I spoke with Conner Habib about his new course, “Banishing the World: Postmodern Philosophy and the Occult,” and learned about the surprising ways in which the most interesting and sophisticated philosophies coming out of humanities converge precisely with occult ideas.
“We are lost and strangers to this place, this mother of terrors and wonders.”
What’s another word for melting pot? Cauldron.
I saw the freedom of the open streets in the early morning and the romance of the street lamps curled with the eerie silence of the city’s expanse. What you call “an isolated figure” makes a left turn into a horizon of pillowy clouds and endures some kind of ecstasy while being alone in a motel room. The film feels alive, present.
What if consciousness actually is something akin to the way it is experienced?
When I attempt to visualize “the future” as I learned to think of it in childhood, I see the image of a silvery, metallic, shifting sphere…
There is no interiority whatsoever. Belief in interiority, in private unextended subjectivity, is a modern conceit.
Every day, when I sit alone in my dark room. Staring at nothing except the brightness of the moon I imagine I can hold it and put it as a lamp in my room. I can do whatever I need to do, like reading ,writing and painting. (I don’t need such a few humiliated hours of electricity.)
Join us this Thursday, August 4th, at 8 p.m. EDT (time zone conversion) for a live Zoom hangout with the editors of Metapsychosis, as we close out our Inception cycle (0.6)—and look ahead to our next phase.
I found this beautiful animated gem as a randomly generated suggestion for my Youtube account. The Irish have always had a unique, thoughtful, and sometimes humorous relationship with death, so it comes as no surprise that this portrait of the psychopo …
“As I looked at his work, I realized that the images seemed to be moving in front of my eyes. Or in my eyes, vibrating into my brain. (I was otherwise sober.) They also reminded me of the skateboard and graffiti art my brother, a tattoo artist in New York, has loved since our childhood. I stared at each piece—faces and eyeballs, subtle patterns—and felt an oscillating time dimension, layers of color and emotion.”
The sounds Chrystalis produces are the kind that you wish to keep to yourself; ones you don’t share with anyone.
The video, “To Thee Homage”, offers us a moment of planetary contemplation.