pareidolia

 Remember that time we flew to the Moon,

Where the angels were angles and later was soon?

Where we dream of the stars,

We see light beyond time.

Cosmic corpses piled up

Visceral line after line

Lighting all we call space, firmament, and the night sky

and you can't help asking “why not?”

before asking “why?”

It's the way we are born

to receive and to grow,

but there's a little bit more

you're unlikely to know, so

join us

as I show how to move mountains,

to my child, in the snow;

Not all good things come easy,

but all we nurture, we grow.

I'll show you how to open Hell's Gate

With a shotgun at the devil's throat

before our emotions in emoticons

explode into a joke. 

An Example of Truly Amazing Music: An Analysis of "The Wild Hunt" by Kristian Matsson, more popularly known by his ironic singer-songwriter pseudonym as "The Tallest Man On Earth"

 

Really just listen to the power and poetic beauty of this song, especially it's lyrics and vocal intonations which so succinctly express our grounded reality so awkwardly and yet so beautifully combined with fascinating conspiracy theories about the possible existence of a subterranean ancient civilization and its "discovered" technological artefacts and his ability to entertain such ostensibly crazy theories but never be fully convinced by them. He also beautifully sings up a verse about racism throughout history in a way that gorgeously and successfully attempts to put himself within the truth that he is an aperture through which the Universe experiences itself, where he says he no longer cares whether "it's a black one or a white one out on the trail". 

Throughout and within all this, he refers to so many grounded and seemingly menial aspects of existence, and despite this, still distills a clear beauty and significance to it all. 

Even when openly admitting to his own insecurities and vulnerabilities by admitting he "left a nervous little boy out on the trail today" because he judged him to be "just a mortal for the shouting cavalcade" (think of a 15-19 year old working, and perhaps succeeding in and thus maintaining their first job at McDonalds), he also addresses death in such a beautifully allegorical way. As he sings and wrote: "I left my heart" (eg. faith in any old traditional or new secular religiosity of prolonged longevity as both a species and an individual) "to the wild hunt a'comin'" (eg: struggle and death, because both truly are inevitable, whether it's as soon as tomorrow or as distant as a billion years from now). 

His willingness to be vulnerable enough to lay it all out in song speaks volumes of his courage. I mean, think about what he's really saying here: "I left my heart to the wild hunt a'comin, I live until the 'Call', and I plan to be forgotten when I'm gone... cus I'll be leaving in the Fall." In this case, the Fall is being used as a metaphor for death. It's also a cheeky Biblical and Greek theological reference to the Fall of Man and how imaginations of and beliefs  in a utopian afterlife were and still are being used and abused as a collective form of self-medicating to relieve one of the fear of being dead. 

Hopefully, when my time comes, "I will sleep out in the glade just by the giant tree, just to be closer when my spirit's pulled away..." (if you're missing the final two obviously implied words which  were part of his final lonely thoughts, and yet which death would not give him the mercy to finish... think something along the lines of "...from me" in a way which truly gives this song a gorgeously spooky sensation in which you're not doing something so unnatural  and impossible as speaking to the dead,  but experiencing a truly ghostly presence felt by any and all witness(es) who are passing in a way which is natural and so simply down to Earth).

This song is an example of both music as well as poetry in absolute perfection. 

Kristian Matsson is 5 feet and 7 inches tall. 

A vast majority of studies have shown that some 68% of men are in or around this height, perhaps highlighting his own perception and fear of conformity. 

Yet when he accidently stumbled across a way to make what he loved doing as a deep and genuine passion into a living, perhaps he was proving something. Perhaps he was proving he didn't fit standard category. 

Perhaps it was his way of proving to both himself and this entire globular spec we call the 'world'  that, in spite and because of his seeming mediocrity, he truly was (and still is) "The Tallest Man on Earth".     

Schicklgruber

My dad has told me, on multiple occasions, that it's possible to gain the same feelings drugs give you in sobriety. 

I always smile and nod politely while I think about how terrifying it'd be to start tripping on acid when you know for a fact that you never consumed any. 

It's absolutely ridiculous to think you can gain the same psychological states you can in using while maintaining sobriety. 

To be fair, I know that none of what I just said is what he really meant. What he did mean is that the peace, the contentedness, the conquest of fear and misfortune and death found temporarily within any form of substance abuse is, indeed, possible to achieve in a life of sobriety.    

But come on, dad. Some people really do want to take that express route to dulling themselves, hallucinating, easing the pain, loving without bounds, and understanding their meaning in this very strange existence. 

Honestly, as someone famous or at least quote-worthy based on a statement once said: I'd rather die 10 years too early than 10 minutes too late. Any contrary intuition would assume MySpace still exists, or Hunter S. Thompson died peacefully of natural causes in a hospital. 

Think about it. If Hitler had died in 1923, not only would life be better for the citizens of, at least, the Western Countries... but most particularly Europe and the European Jewish population. 

But it'd also have been better for him in the end. 

I mean, who likes being injected with a triple mix of heroin, methamphetamine, and rat poison while trapped in a claustrophobic underground dungeon with those who quite literally hate you in their bones closing in on all sides? 

All I'm saying, folks, is that Hitler was a better artist than politician. Artists don't generally kill each other over concerns of one or more gaining greater fame and, thus, influence in the art world. 


* * *

There's another funny story about Hitler which would most certainly have changed the trajectory of his entire life. His father was born out of wedlock, and no one was ever able to discover who Adolf's paternal grandfather was, meaning this said paternal grandfather could have been a Jew. Hitler was never able to pass his own 'racial purity' tests based on his own strict doctrine. 

As well, his father's name at birth was Alois Schicklgruber. If Alois hadn't married this Austrian gal named Anna and then used her to convince the Austrian authorities that Anna's cousin, Klara, was also Alois' first cousin once removed, he'd have never adopted the last name of Hitler.

Just imagine it.

"Hail Schicklgruber!" 

Ukraine, if defeated, will not be Putin's only target.

    Moldova, particularly, is home to a technically existing and yet unrecognized breakaway Marxist-Leninist 'country' known as Transnistria, and this would be Putin's next target to absorb. Thus, his next ambition would likely be taking the rest of Moldova in the process after quickly securing the Transnistrian capital. Russian forces would then push towards Estonia in such a way as to at least bridge the Russian exclave of Kaliningrad with Russia proper, annexing lands they claim are essential to the protection of said land bridge regardless of the rights and desires of the three NATO-protected sovereign Baltic nations, which will now inevitably live under the the Russian tricolor hammer and sickle, paralyzing Moldova even further as a strict and monitored police state which would obviously come under direct Russian military occupation as to ensure "compliance."

[THIS ARTICLE WILL BE GIVEN FURTHER CONTENT & CONTEXT AS TIME ALLOWS, CURRENT EVENTS DICTATE, AND UNIQUE BUT HIGHLY REALISTIC INSIGHT INTO THE POTENTIAL STRATEGIES OF EITHER SIDE APPEAR IN THE MIND OF YOURS TRULY, THE AUTHOR.]

Elon Musk and Richard Branson need to get their priorities straight.

 

IN RESPONSE TO ELON MUSK'S BULLSHIT POEM, WHICH READS AS FOLLOWS:

@elonmusk on Twitter, posted July 12th, 2021

those who attack space

maybe don’t realize that

space represents hope

for so many people

MY RESPONSE:

I don't look to space as our ultimate hope. If they can somehow make a place as desolate, boring, and voided as Mars into some sort of deeply functioning colony with a working economy, why couldn't they just do the same for Earth when global warming reaches its ultimate threshold? Why isn't that their ultimate and immediate priority, while outer space adventurism is cast as a close second but ONLY insofar as budgets and capital allow?

I mean, hopefully it won't come to such a worst-case-conclusion scenario such as this, but wouldn't that be

1- A sensible and social as well as economic feasibility given that Earth has been hosting humanity since the very dawn of our existence? Is that not a clear one million points in its favor?

2-A way to guarantee no finite natural resources are used and wantonly wasted in this preparation for the wealthiest of humankind to escape the planet with in order to build their new off-world colonies, stations, and societies? What exactly happens to the rest of us?

3-A way of understanding that space travel and colonization should NEVER be a short-term goal expressing something of a cynically class-based 'escape plan'?

Look. If we can plan to build cities on Mars, we could build domed cities underwater, in deserts, atop a multiplicity of powerful stilts which reach to the sea floor as to resurrect new and environmentally friendly cities whose ground-based predecessors are presumed to be eventually lost with the constant rise in sea levels (eg: think of something along the lines of a future "New Vancouver").

I'd also like to note that Musk's poetry skills are absolutely horrendous, and this is a pretty terrible excuse for any poet, save perhaps for 8 to 16 year old's who are still learning the ropes.

It's been over a year since I've written anything new to sparkle-up my blog, and a lot has happened (as per usual) in the meantime, all of which I could list exhaustively but imagine you as the reader may not be quite as worried about or naturally infatuated with as I am. That is, unless I'm translating it all into spontaneous prose.

So, here we go.

A Horizontal Spiral into Personal Exegesis 

25 years into life on this planet. A quarter of a goddamn century. I've attended more friend's funerals than weddings, a sad typicality of the generation I arose in beautiful concert with.

This strange fact reminds me of the opening lines from Allen Ginsberg's Howl:

"I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, 

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix." 

I too sought this same angry fix, but removed myself from the clutter once death stalked the corners of my own addled streets. I too was destroyed by this madness, but given the gift of a second chance upon which to reform... and the guilt that stretches its legs so cavalierly, so callously, across the resting stool of my mind reminds me of this every day I do not practice sobriety as a dogma (just as I simultaneously recognize I should never accept it--or anything else--as dogma). 

It's been two strange years since Anton passed, and he still haunts me as the interpersonal ghost of the relationship we had together which, with his death, has become embodied as said ghost sans the need for either of our particular presence. Perhaps this felt phantom of our collective essence will continue to waft throughout our globular strangeness we call the Earth until all observation becomes impossible for lack of any remaining observers. I loved you once, and I will love you always, and thus will always love you until "always" becomes as relative as "once upon a time." 

"Early 17th century: from Greek exēgēsis, from exēgeisthai ‘interpret’, from ex- ‘out of’ + hēgeisthai ‘to guide, lead’."1.

I read myself and "it's" or "him's" reality like others read scripture itself.

I am neither hetero nor homosexual. I am bisexual, and many (even within the tight 'gay' community) do not understand this when I give an attempt towards a definition of a monogamous relationship, despite it's polyamorous-ness in its long-term oprative-ness, ability, and identity. 

A monogo(mish) identity. Something which proves it's loyalty and is only taken in as an operative contingent of oneself thereof. Couldn't be more favor in their flavor, so this is simply a translation of my multiplicity of romances in my monetary destitution (not that anyone has to pay me for anything lol). 

quick morning thoughts on the value of studying history

Significant and seminal moments define our experiences in reference to the rest of our lives and our understandings thereof, but the only people who ever really "make history" are, well, historians.

This is not to say "I'm a historian and you are not, thus bow to the might of my cultivated knowledge and know your place." It's to say we should all become historians in some way, shape, or form in our own lives through an unremitting study of the past (even if it's only your personal past) amalgamated and perpetually processing into an interpretation useful to leveraging ourselves past the visible spectrum of what our accumulated experiences and conditioning have taught us is sane, sober, realistic, and safe and into a wider space of possibility where one can draw on lessons fed from the aggregate nexus of all recorded human experience in its grasped entirety (or, all remembered / recorded personal experience if history as a larger subject really isn't your thing).

It's the act of creating meaning through adding your particular (mis)understanding to the greater dance of emergent meaning across space and time. To actively deny oneself such self-analysis and constant evaluation is akin to dancing in the dark with no music. You don't have to dance with others around you, and you can still dance in the dark, but tune into the music to guide your movements at the very least.

In this sense, history is the music, and your interpretation thereof is the dance. Find all the creative ways to move within the tempo the song provides, because our only genuine guides in life are coherent interpretative models which balance our sensations of "I" with our sensations of "everything (and everyone) else." There is no end to this process of general and self-inquiry, because the point is to join the dance. However, as has already been analogically demonstrated, even if you are alone, you never really dance alone so long as you move and gyrate to the music of another.

Thus, the point is to dance, but to something other than the exclusive beat of your own drum.

(If anything, learn to beat your own drum in a band cus I've heard percussionists are hard to come by these days).