My song is simple / Because I am simple. / I need no complex language / To sing my truth / No adjectives or adverbs / No alliteration, / No similes or rhyme / I speak directly to your being / I use the voice God gave me / To sing His praise.
The danger of cynicism is getting what you believe in: Nothing.
Strange, the power of the past—how our spiritual ancestors become our future masters.
Never mind poetry or prose, good literature is the art of friction.
In the age of information overload, our guides are curators.
Anything freed from the marble is an angel. Never cease chiseling…
A working definition of Love: we started talking and never stopped…
Birds don’t use their wings only to fly but, also, for balance―just like us.
Art for art’s sake is a dead end; art for heart’s sake is the way out.
Prediction—or personal pose: / In the Age of AI / Poetry will be the last refuge / Of human language.
Now that #ai is colonizing / #writing, my mind goes back / to studying theory in the ’90s:
There is no rest for the search engine. The unquiet dead play games with the subject/ object interface. It appears that our operating system is not a friend to Jesus. Logos flash through the sky of the Sinkiang Autonomous Region. Our wet dreams run through fiberoptic cables.
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.