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Sunday, 26 December 2010

Aztec Gold

‎'Nature is an ever-living fire'.
With apologies to Heraclitus -
No earthly flame is ever-living.
But then is Nature Herself ... 'Earthly'? 

Purity dirt costs.  
Ever-living gods 
Stand by your gods, for they shall out-live you all.
There are no 'new gods'.
All gods have been before and will come again.
Therefore there can be no 'strange gods' either, as all gods have been known before.
It is only the limitations of man which fashions new gods, strange gods, old gods, hidden gods ...
The Alchemy of the Spirit:
Lead turned into Gold.
Blood turned into Wine,
And Man turned into a Beast.

The threads of all our lives
Are inextricably interwoven.
But we cannot even patch that fabric;
The Fates alone weave the garment that is our lives.

Free Gilt
'Free Will' is our last Superstition; and it is also the root of all our Guilt.

The Aztecs are no more.
The Aztecs called gold 'the excrement of the gods'.
We no longer believe in the gods, only in gold.

Naming and Defaming
The Cynic and the Comedian both share the same sense that life is absurd.
The Serious Man, on the other hand, is like the Artist;- he implicitly believes that Life has a Meaning - even if it be merely the one that he gives it.
History is being made at every moment and at every place.
Trouble is, no one wants to buy it.
Thoughts produce emotions, and emotions colour our world.
If the Universe is the product of thoughts, then these thoughts must emanate from the primal condition which is prior to all existence.
The Universe is then an Emotion.

By Urs Graf
Pill Grim Age.
'Life is a pilgrimage', he said.
Yes, a meaningless traipsing across foreign lands in search of an empty illusion.
Hey, Pilgrim!
Have ye not heard that: 'Geography is Dead'?
When we are humbled, we taste the ground [Latin 'humus', earth].
We are grounded - conquered - by the spirit of gravity.
This is why heroes need to fly.
They flee the earth, and ascend to the heavens like gods.
'Excuse me while I kiss the sky'.
Our knowledge is certainly 'perspectival': we begin with what is closest [ourselves], and funnel our perceptions outwards towards a 'vanishing point'.
The problem is that true knowledge only *begins* at that 'vanishing point'.
We therefore know only our own persepctives, not knowledge per se.
Tribe-ulations.We live in Tribal-ed Times.
As the currency of the country becomes devalued, then so does the hacksilver of the tribe rise in value.
New Tribe-unes, new Tribe-ulations ... new Tribe-utes.
I hate the priest who tries to conquer me by steal-th; - by his steal-thy looks and his steal-thy books. I much prefer the cleric who bads me 'to go to Hel'.
*That* is the hip-priest who understands my Wyrd - and *his* Wyrd too!
Silence relates to 'oblivion'.
At the very core of Being ... there is no core.
There is only Nothingness.

Monday, 20 December 2010

The Melancholia of Creation

The Creator is a Loser.
All Creativity Honours Loss.
By creating something out of nothing, the artist cheats life.
Life takes her revenge on the artist, but not on art.

 Mourning monomaniacally obsesses over the Lost One endlessly, from every possible shifting Perspective.
Just as the Blues forever reworks twelve bars, the pentatonic and three chords. But each Coda is a differing Perspective.
This is not the same as a repetition which aims at identicality.
By constantly shifting, the Mourner attempts to disentangle himself from the Lost One.

John Dowland;
his lyrics unite the Old Saxon with the Blues:
'Unquiet thoughts, your civil slaughter stint,
And wrap your wrongs within a pensive heart;
And you my tongue that makes my mouth a mint .."

The Blues
The Blues goes back to the English Romantics - Keats was a bluesman.
It goes back to the Elizabethans, to the Metaphysical poets - and to Burton's treatise, 'The Anatomy of Melancholy'.
It goes further back to the Anglo-Saxons: Deor is a Blues lyric;-
Thaes ofereode, thisses swa maeg!

Is any suicide really 'accidental'?
Is anything 'accidental'?
Camus - the writer who found life, as well as death, to be absurd - died in a car 'accident'.
And his 'The Myth of Sisyphus' looks at suicide as the only true philosophical problem: If life is unbearbly absurd, then why don't we commit s...
Perhaps life's absurdity is what makes it worth living? - this seems to be his conclusion.
And then there are those who have died long before their physical deaths ... and those who live on longer after their physical deaths.

Anguish drives you forward,
makes you live more intensely,
makes your senses keener,
and moves you closer to

Blindness stimulates the imagination.

Formality is a form of silence - eloquent silence.