We can know “why”.  Knowing “why”, though, suggests Believing in “why”.  I’m not talking about believing in the reasons for an expressive act, but rather believing in “why” itself.  Asking why is calling upon a greater power to explain expressive actions.  Call it whatever you want, but when I spill a cup of coffee on the floor, I certaintly don’t ask the cup, the coffee, or the floor why that happened.  I ask Why.  The “cup”, “coffee” and “floor”, as I understand them through deductive and reductive essentialist concepts revised throughout history, might be used to answer why.  But I would be answering only that which can be answered.  The actual is a mystery.  The actual seems to penetrate the body with physical power and little else.  Culture has destroyed reality.   It’s a necessary adaptation, so I’m not too angry about it.  All is words.  The world is interpreted the way a novel is.  The actual world is lost in a “life or death” interpretation.  Categories become created from criteria.  New parameters are created and the interpreted world opens up into more complexity as each parameter is employed.  People ontologize when they decide to wake up in the morning.

I don’t understand the world.  I understand understanding OF the world.  My body feels.

Maybe, if you listen to this collision of genre’s in this song I made and ask “why”, you’ll understand that you’re asking a god to answer your question.  You’re praying to “why” if you take up that task.  The music becomes disintegrated into a prayer of reasons, rather than a celebration of life.  (not that it’s a good song.  I’m just using this time to point something very simple out to anyone who reads this.)


Good Habits


Instead of the Freudian Triad being a muted, unholy, supernatural apparition… to the schizophrenic it is all too real and holy. The power of the Gods are felt in the body, and mapped by the mind. Devotion to one’s self is the schizophrenic’s project.

The triadic myth is the new God (And by “god”, I mean beyond the power we can feel or imagine). There are three. This is what I believe ( this is actually immanant knowledge of the Freudian Apparatus’) . The “internalised father figure” is one of the Gods. It’s a principle based transcendent “entity”, as well as libidinal energy. There are two. The third is another scale of psychology. It is the apex of the triad. In this case, is the self. We have yet to learn to examine the self in a thorough manner. The psychological debri from the explosion of consciousness and existential crisis from the shock of feeling your self. This feeling is impacting, pulling and tugging at our triadic Gods. The paradigm shift, and psyche shift is occuring. It is an aesthetic shift – meaning the picture of our psyche is changing, namely the apex (the self). I think it’s becoming more accurate. When we move to the third scale of the psyche (akin to physics scales, “qua-nta” from Latin, I think,) We will learn our own selves. Scales, oddly move with time. – The shift of the Gods is measured in psychological times. As the dogmas lift, the ammendment-rationality will eventually ammend the role of the Super-Ego, and seek to find its self. It might not be what we expect. As quanta (by this I mean, strictly power) discovers itself, we will kno the self. And as self, we are being-in-a-communal-world. A mechanism that we all must come to terms with… a machine. When this is fully felt, I don’t know what will happen.

IN THE spring, Tipasa is inhabited by gods and the gods speak in the sun and the scent of absinthe leaves, in the silver armor of the sea, in the raw blue sky, the flowercovered ruins, and the great bubbles of light among the heaps of stone. At certain hours of the day the countryside is black with sunlight. The eyes try in vain to perceive anything but drops of light and colors trembling on the lashes. The thick scent of aromatic plants tears at the throat and suffocates in the vast heat. Far away, I can just make out the black bulk of the Chenoua, rooted in the hills around the village, moving with a slow and heavy rhythm until finally it crouches in the sea.” – Albert Camus, Lyrical and Critical Essays 

The Gods are speaking to camus, but it’s not in a logically distinguishible category. It is through experience – through his beetle. It is something magical – inexplicable, yet it is described. What is being described is not attributive of semantic agreement of articles of speach. This excerpt is not something we can logically sift through. Camus’ experience is not interpretive, or interpreted, but aesthetically percieved. Aesthetics are at work here, as in a painting, and not interpretation. One gets a sense – a felling of Camus’ experience. A qualia to qualia relationship – or an aesthetic relationship. The whole is percieved instead of its parts being interpreted. The magic of the Gods are experienced.


This River Carried Me and a Flag I Never Thought I Had.

The white sun flared through,
wrapped its melting-gold fingers
around window trim and clutched walls.
It was reluctantly dipping
into the horizon of wood, like
a drowning man flailing
his grip through the water’s tip.

A sweet-oak smoke billowed from the grill
and wove a grey veil around
quiet slopes of light.

The river of my drink plunged me
into the stool in front of the bar-tender.

“The only thing I think I believe
is that I don’t believe in solipsism.”,
I flung between chimes of glasses
and muted murmurs from a ball-game.

I slumped over to the side and
glanced at myself in the mirror
between bottles of alcohol glinting
with wisps of white hair.
The curve of my cheek-bone
hung the flesh-flag of my I.
I liked it this time.
And it rippled in the breeze from my smile.

The sun was losing it’s golden grip.
The smoke-veil unraveled
and furled into the descending glare.

There was absolutely
nothing I could do about it.


Money, Value, and a Response

“Four dollars a shot,”
marched from the bartender’s mouth –
each syllable carried the clanks
of Herbie’s Rhodes – jutting like
glacier crags in swells of desert-base.
They carried the smoke curling like
a silver chain draped around a neck,
and the bulges of slurred blurbs.

The words seeped from the regular collection of
the blood-sweet odor of smoke –
not the bartender.

I understood the bar, but I didn’t know what he meant.

The four dollars rustled out of my wallet
and crinkled on the table like
brittle leaves popping back into form.

The sap-colored whiskey
plunked on the bar,
and hummed a sharp
alcoholic song.

Masked, the bartender noticed
an obtuse heap of slurs that
rumpled his skin into a smile.
His shoulders flipped,
and he was swept into
the patterned shrub of sensation.

He was now an indeterminable piece in a clouded order.

I swilled the amber,
and stumbled through links of smoke
until I spilled out
into the violent protrusions of the quiet evening –
like sails glaring on a sun-crushed sea.

I still can’t figure out what that four dollars was worth,
or what the bartender said to me.


Perpetual self-construction

A stool-propped demolition crane draped in a bulk of plaid,
swung a hefty hand clutching the amber lead.
His head, precariously balanced atop
with a two inch crown of gold hair,
(no strand left out in their upwards thrust)
found itself heavier when his eye’s gazed inward.
With amber slugged, adobe lips cracked as they
pushed shores of skin into wax-coated dunes.
His eyebrows collapsed into a frown only allowing
a small wound to peer through.

“Do you…not want to give me a cigarette?,”
he said to me, forgetting I was there.
“Here,” rested underneath my tongue,
as I handed him a smoke.

His fingers grasped it like they would
a piece of charcoal. Tossing the roasting ember to and fro,
he was conducting a visual symphony with the
lipstick tiled bar-room floor.
He drew it to his mouth,
with lips clasping gently around it, and his arm fell
to his lap.

For an instant, he found me through the
accumulating cloud of his smoke.
With the cigarette stuck to his lips, he asked
“Do you think I look like someone
who has never smoked cigarettes before?”
“I don’t know.” I answered to myself.

He walked home that night,
thinking he would see himself in the mirror.

The Crystal Mono-Myth

January 6, 2009

Rule Binding Otherness, or Rationalizing the Absurd



Ice is the medium most alien to organic life, a considerable accumulation of it completely disrupts the normal course of processes in the biosphere.” – P.A. Shumki, Principles of Structural Glaciology

A crystal grows along the lattices lines, rotating on a nucleaic axis. As the axis rotates, polygonal symmetries are formed, through neucleation (a thermodynamic process).

In this sense, a crystal is like language. The crystal might be said to be the language of the biosphere. It’s a thermodynamic process, called nucleation where an ice crystal either grows or melts. This is from the sun. The sun is the mono-mythical determinant of the fate of the crystal. Likewise, God(s) (like the Freudian Triad, or mythical figures) are the determinants of the fates of language. Language, as with crystals, are a rule-bound expansion or retraction. Crystals are an expression of “… the normal course of processes in the biosphere.” Or, they adhere to the shifts of one God (the Sun) in geological time. The development of language adheres to many gods across many platforms, influences, revisions, interpretations etc. With the Scientific revolution, our language is becoming revised or “rotated” in a rapid manner. Take this etymology as an example, not a line of reasoning:

Mirrorc.1225, from O.Fr. mireor “a reflecting glass,” earlier miradoir (11c.), from mirer “look at,” from V.L. *mirare, from L. mirari “to wonder at, admire”.

The latin “root” “contains” a psychological meaning. It is the from the Latin Gods, or the “roman” gods.

The Cultus deorum romanum, or “the cult of the Roman Gods”:

The indigetes were the original gods of the Roman state […] and their names and nature are indicated by the titles of the earliest priests and by the fixed festivals of the calendar; 30 such gods were honored with special festivals. The novensides were later divinities whose cults were introduced to the city in the historical period, usually at a known date and in response to a specific crisis or felt need. Early Roman divinities included, in addition to the di indigetes, a host of so-called specialist gods whose names were invoked in the carrying out of various activities, such as harvesting. Fragments of old ritual accompanying such acts as plowing or sowing reveal that at every stage of the operation a separate deity was invoked, the name of each deity being regularly derived from the verb for the operation. Such divinities may be grouped under the general term of attendant, or auxiliary, gods, who were invoked along with the greater deities.” – Wikipedia

The latin Gods were revised from older geographical myth-making. At every stage of agriculture, a different Deity was invoked. The psyche was devoted to accounting for several aspects of agriculture. The explanations of the agricultural aspects were attributed to Gods. This, in many ways, is very similar to the way our science “rules” language functions. Science (meaning ammendment-rationality) is now our “God”, only this is no God at all. It is revisable to a potentially infinite “end”. The axis of the Crystal-language is rotating at an ever more rapid pace. It is expanding along lattice lines from the evolution of God into Science. The language-Crystal is enormous.