Preliminary edition, AAAP 42-X2-Issuu-7, 7 February 2013
A Poetical Extravaganza Another Albatross Wanders and Wonders
Songs & Poems Notation, Paintings
Juri Aidas ‘Albatross’ of The Brights Of Mandarin Ming Lobster Winds, Toucan Birds, Thunder Worms and other such blight, bright, sheer, chiaroscuro stuff.
Demo version — Includes notation Work in progress This edition of my ‘poetical extravaganza’ is adapted for presentation here on the Issuu platform (i.e., this page is a filler page). Downloading the pdf from Issuu though gives rise to noticeable differences in the reading experiece when the downloaded file is viewed in the double page mode of Adobe Acrobat Reader. The pdf here at Issuu does not preserve left/right page sequencing when viewed in that mode. A version of this document that is downloadable, that I regard as my master document, and that reads well in Acrobat, is available from my catalog ‘Books’ on Microsoft’s SkyDrive. The book here is not overly large, 14 cm x 20,4 cm (5,5”x 8”), thus, even with a smaller monitor a two-page width view over, say, a 19” or even a 17” 4:3 screen would also do well, I’d say. To read well in Adobe Acrobat choose, ‘View/Pageview/Two’, and, when reading in that mode, do try the ‘Full Screen View’ mode. That master document is also rendered in a higher resolution than this one. I have to say that I’m quite happy with the excellent cyber-viewing opportunity provided by the Issuu self-publishing platform, thus making it possible for me to distribute this work some. If this pdf here, downloaded from Issuu, is printed then the left/right page sequence of this document is actually preserved (printing both sides of a paper). That’d be a lot of work though (for fun I do a few now an’ then and give them away), and anyway the resolution of the pdf here is but 150 dpi, this is quite workable for on-screen viewing but not optimal for printing. Further discussion on enthusiasic printing of this document is found on p. 304. The pdf version of this document contains clickable cyber-links. Link text is coloured, mostly in a dark green, and set in this Calibri sans serif font (except in the contents pages, yet clicking a title there will take you to the specific song or poem of your choice [this only works in the master document, not in this Issuu version]). If you are using the Acrobat pdf-reader to read this document from a downloaded master version then clicking an external link opens up a browser window with the destination – but if I read this pdf on-line in my browser via the browser plug-in then clicking that link opens up the destination in the same browser window. I’d wish a new window to open up so as to make back and forthing ’tween surf and read easy and simple in maneuverability. (I wonder how to fix that? I use InDesign CS2 for lay-out.) I’ve also fixed a few links that did not work in the first Issuu edition. At the moment the colour reproduction of the oil paintings that head each section is off a bit for a few of the pieces. Some colours are slightly glary, there’s some duskiness here and there, and a few paintings need better quality photography to come across well, better originals, a circumstance I aim to correct as soon as possible.
Juri Aidas
Sundbyberg, 7 February 2013, 13:10 PM GMT +01:00
A Poetical Extravaganza
For all ya Brights.
Copyright © Juri Aidas, 2013 (’Albatross’ of The Brights) The Poems “Reflection” & “Everything is Music” © Diana Janavičiené (Collaborations with Juri Aidas) • Paintings by Juri Aidas (�The Journey�, p.207, reproduced with kind permission by owner Tommy Dahlén.) Most of the songs herein can be listened to at ReverbNation: http://www.reverbnation.com/anotheralbatross
An on-line instant cyber read of this document can be found at: http://issuu.com/albatross/docs/a-poetical-extravaganza
• �Sun-Moon’ graphic, on p. 13, and �Pikeboros’, p. 176, by Nina Aidas. The Brights:
www.the-brights.net
Tarot cards by Aleister Crowley (drawn by Lady Frieda Harris). Tarot and Playing Cards Museum Crowley, Aleister: �The Book of Thoth’, 1944 (my edition is from 1974). Leary, Timothy: �The Game of Life’, 1979 (first edition). NASA: Young Galaxies http://hubblesite.org/newscenter/archive/releases/cosmology/2006/12/
Rig Vedic verse, X:129,7 – Translation by R. T. H. Griffith. Snake’s-hands: John Crowley, �Engine Summer’, 1980, Bantam Pocket Book, p. 26. • Document revised: 7 February 2013, 13:10 PM GMT 01:00. First on-line edition published 11 November 2012.
•
Juri Aidas juri.aidas@hotmail.com
An Another Albatross Publication AAAP 42-X2-Issuu-7
A Poetical Extravaganza Another Albatross Wanders and Wonders
Songs & Poems Notation, Paintings
Juri Aidas ‘Albatross’ of The Brights Of Mandarin Ming Lobster Winds, Toucan Birds, Thunder Worms and other such blight, bright, sheer chiaroscuro stuff.
Includes collaborations with Diana Ona Terese Janavičiené
Disclaimer
I
n this work I play and sing with whatever linguistic means my meagre understanding of the depths of the English language allows me. At times I forge ahead without the necessary ingrained deeper understanding of the underbrush, the idioms, the rhythms, the lyricism, the flow of the really deep levels of this fine language. Other times I feel quite confident that there is relevant play in the way I, now and then, impulsively phrase my thoughts. The rationale for my working in English I put forth below. English is not my native tounge. I am of direct Estonian descent. Although I have lived in Sweden all my days I was always speaking Estonian at home but would be constrained to use Swedish when in the midst of my circle of Swedish friends (there were very few Estonians living in my vicinity as I was youngish). But – I had the good fortune to learn my English somewhat early in life (great thanks Mom an’ Dad for my summer stays in England which I, sort of, had for the taking when I was 12, 13 and 14, and a grateful bow to all my gracious hosts I here now take, for all the kindnesses I received). Now, for to accent that basic acquiring of familiarity with English that I found in England I quite soon thereafter, being 15, 16 and 17, began assimilating the lyrical songpoems of Bob Dylan (whose tunes I play) and the exqusite poesy of Master Poet Dylan Thomas (whom I have spent an inordinate time in translating into Swedish, and whose poems I have set to music in both languages). Well, with these icons and their influence upon my unsuspecting self and under my belt, so to say, I have embarked on a journey, the flagship mission whereof being for me to write and perfom poetry and song in English (as I also do, but less, in Swedish). I do hope the stranger pieces of these my ‘poematics’, my ‘Commedia dell Arte’ of prosody, this ’comedy of craft’, this balancing act, this free-falling will wildly offer you the reader moments of enjoyment and bewilderments galore, as, in a way, I hope the simpler and more accessible pieces more obviously may do. So here goes. Enjoy. Juri Aidas
Paintings
Bright Light – Cover Beginnings – 19 Big Flower – 33 Signals – 61 At Night – 79 River-Bend – 93 The Promenade – 109 Wave – 139 Flowers In a Field – 153 Rays – 173 Figures – 195 The Journey – 207 Houses – 213 butterflies – 271 Fireworks – 283 Forest Flowers – 297
( Sun / Moon – 13, Pikeboros – 176 ) Nina Aidas
( Tarot Cards – p.p. 185-192 ) Alistair Crowley Edition
( Young Galaxies – 287 ) Hubble Photograph
( Cd Lay-outs – p.p. 290-293 ) Another Albatross
A Poetical Extravaganza Contents Disclaimer – 7
The Stance – 15
Preface
19
Summer Wings and them Autumn Winds
Songs I
All the World’s a Joy Flower Power True Love Little Dream Sing Along Song Love’s Not For Hire My Heart is Not a Secret I Believe I’m In Love I Love You Reflection * Bright Moon Life, Art, & Reason
23
Listen
37
40
43
44
46 48 50
52
54
56
58
60
Oh, That Alluring, Whim-Wham, Vagary, Supernatural Notion
Preamble Don’t Knock Your Hugo! In My Times and in My Bones Background
33
61 65 67 71 76
Poems I
Tha’ New Book Poets Force The Meter Wrought Not is Not is Never
78 83 84 85
* by Diana Ona Terese Janavičiené, in collaboration with Juri Aidas. Listen to song of choice at: http://www.reverbnation.com/anotheralbatross.
Contents
Dip Deep Big Bang Song Remember Dessert! Now and Then
86 88 90 92
Of Horses and of Hippotami, Of Weasel and of the Singing Tree
(A vision piece, a dreamscape.)
Songs II
Everything is Music * Dawn Words Wild River There are Days Step by Step Good Things Ahead Love Boogie Time After Time Brighton Girl Common Ground Sweet Jane Time Enough For Love
93 97
Listen
113
115
118
120
122
124
126
128
130
132
134
136
138
Hariolatory
On Them Roots of It Patterns / Ring-a-ding! The Single Cell The Deep
139
[ Of Monads and of Phonemes
109
143 145 / 146 147 149
(Yet to be written)
* by Diana Ona Terese Janavičiené, in collaboration with Juri Aidas. 10
- ]
Contents
Songs III
Heaven and Earth The Bright Blue What Is, Is Real Gone Away I Radio Blues Shake A Leg Of Squirrel, the Birdies, that Labrador, and that Cat
Abrakadabra Nuit
Listen
157
158
160
163
165
168
170
172
173
On the Tarot: Riposté, Rendoch, Zendoe, Bebop A psychodynamic, poetomythic exercise
177
Four Winds
The Hierophant The Universe The Hanged Man The Magus
185 188 190 192
Poems II
Now, Enlightenment Aloneness, Independence, Freedom – Kaivalya Hallelujah! Oh Hai! Oh My God Merry Christmas (Song) I Think I Sense
183
(High Priest) (Universe) (Hanged Man) (Magician)
(To be concluded.)
Afterwards
Winter Wyrds and the Warbles of Spring
153
195 199 200 201 202
204 206 207 211
Notation 213; Reflections 271; References 283: Starstruck 285, CD covers 286, ‘Bright’ 290, The Brights 292, Tree of Life 294, Readings 295. 11 Recommendations on printing 302.
Notation A few words on the notation – 215
All the World’s a Joy Bright Moon Brighton Girl Common Ground Dawn Everything is Music Flower Power Gone Away Good Things Ahead Heaven and Earth I I Believe I’m In Love I Love You Life, Art. & Reason Little Dream Love Boogie Love’s Not For Hire Merry Christmas My Heart is Not a Secret Of Squirrel, the Birdies, that Labrador, and that Cat Radio Blues Reflection Shake A Leg Sing Along Song Step by Step Sweet Jane The Bright Blue There are Days Time After Time Time Enough For Love True Love What Is, Is Real Wild River Words
12
219 221 222 224 225 226 228 229 230 232 234 235 237 239 241 242 243 245 246 248 249 251 256 257 258 260 261 262 264 266 267 268 269 270
Songs IV
There are Days Time After Time Time Enough For Love True Love What Is, Is Real Wild River Words
Addendums
214
260 262 264 265 266 267 268
271
Reflections
275
References
285
287
Starstruck CD covers The word ‘Bright’ The Brights Tree of Life Readings
288 292 294 296 297
Recommendations on printing
304
13
14
The Stance
T
he stance I hold in life, the world-view I indirectly put forth via these my poems and songs, the way my thinkings go, so to say, the way I look at things, the direction of my momentum in all this, well, in me this stance, this drive ‘o mine, finds its ground in the historically naturalistic vein of picturing reality in a nontheistic manner, quite in a manner akin to the philosophies of The Brights.1 The Brights represent a constituency of individuals and aims to promote civic understanding and acknowledgment of the naturalistic worldview, free of supernatural and mystical elements. I’d like to add that an affiliation with The Brights is a self-identification of sorts, closely related to humanism, and that with The Brights the many different approaches of naturalism find themselves a common parasol of visibility under the balanced meme, ‘bright’ – as all the while an almost antediluvially grounded ongoing storm, deeply conflict routed, and of chaotic propensitie embraces most of the many philosophies of existential hope as well as others and in that we all, almost I’d say, get confused with visions that at times are strangely morphed by excesses of wishful thinking, unnecessarily convoluted metaphysical overlayerings, and abounding dogmas galore, of course, the dynamic causes of deeply rooted, deeply ingrained strains of existential fear and distrust. Hence my interest in the worldview of The Brights. In my life I have come in contact with the philosophy of yoga (which I, by now, have had the pleasure of teaching for over 40 years). What once attracted me to yoga was the peacefulness of it. At first it was the emotional sense of it, the kindness, compassion and the joy its practices encompass that caught my attention yet the deeper strain, the deep quiet I found, seems quite undogmatic to me and as such lies much in cahoots with my, even then, naturalistic stance as I, at the base of the yogic view, found a theistically 1
See page 294 for a summary of the naturalistic stance of The Brights. The Brights: http://www.the-brights.net/.
entangled proto-non-theistic world-view of some depth, of ‘The Deep’2, as I am wont to exclaim, as I strove to penetrate every nook and cranny, well, some at least, of the wide ranging implications of that philosophy with its recursive methodology of application. The concept of gods, of any kind, as goes for me, represent quite an irrelevance to my life and living (which is not to say that I cannot partake of the collective euphorias thereby created, and thoroughly enjoy them). Yet I hold that to discuss the fantazies, the rationalizations and far-reaching implications of theism must be a necessity if one is to grasp the wider cultural contexts everybody is affected by. There are discrepancies of the highest magnitude ‘tween the contents in the cornucopia of world-views, oddities that pound a poor soul almost into oblivion. The doctrines put forth need to be coherently reviewed, critically examined, seen, analyzed, grasped and be distinctly put into the larger wyrd-weave. Therefore I, in the songs and poems herein, allow myself the occasional stray use of the god-meme, for to fuel and flood the metaphorics of abstract concepts with strange otherworldly emotions as they arise from the generation of occult driftwood by gale force winds of indigo-black superstition, then I add my reasoned, I’d hope, hariolatory – thus to temporarily fool the intellect to travel the divide ‘tween reason and unreason, the transversal thereof. The walk through the real and that wilderness of mirrors with their intrinsic random ‘Blue Moon’ moments3, may then constructively be steered to poematic use. This is effortlessly done by recourse to the principle of recursivity, as in the yoga, but now applied in a wider sense – in reverse engineering it is possible to discern an original mode of function to that which in its developed state is full of seeming complexity, likewise the linguistic knots and knobbles the poet confronts with exasperated stabs at this or that, by noun or verb, by chance or by steeled resolve to add the what, the how, the why, the joy and fun of lifes’ panoramas – this methodic of spontaneous recursivity allows deep confusion to be tamed by the silent focus of The Deep. 2
The Deep – a concept for the yogic state of deep stillness, ‘samādhi’.
3
“The open-endedness of evolution by natural selection depends on the extraordinary 16 richness of the real world, which constantly provides new undesigned elements that can
To emphasize this my attitude I would like to present a quote from the literary outpourings of Master Poet Dylan Thomas, or rather, from a talk he once gave4 wherein he states that his aim was to produce ... “poems in praise of God’s world by a man who doesn’t believe in God.” This stance I like, it resounds deeply within me as if a bright phononic bell was struck, a long sustain in the depths of my own inner deep dells and moonlit glades, a song of the spheres, of the curved sky and the ruled sun.
be serendipiteously harnessed, once in a blue moon, into new design elements.” ’Freedom Evolves’, Daniel C. Dennett, 2003, p. 50.
4
‘Dylan Thomas: A New Life’. Andrew Lycett, 2003, Phoenix pb., p. 370, & see note p. 480.
Beginnings
Preface
Summer Wings and them Autumn Winds
H
erein, in this book, I have collected many of the songs and poems I have written over the past decade, a creative, for me, process that hoisted in an ongoing inspirational flow on themes as general as the eating of ice-cream and as dimly specific as that mutable borderline of the known and the unknown, the abstract transversal – a conceptual probe to ignite multilayered applicability. Here an’ there I refer to interesting scientific research and discovery that usher in vistas of deeper understanding, perchance, and does act as hariolatory fuel to my imagination. In these pieces I have definitely allowed myself a freedom for the improvised, the far-flung metaphor, the playful and perchance distractive impulse here and there. I also delve, lightly, into a few somewhat deeper reflections on the nature of consciousness and the generation of meaningfulness as such. I have allowed myself a varied approach with all of this, an attempt, so to say, to generate a continuity of swing an’ zing ‘tween comedy and the serious, the wild and the absurd drum, and, for what it’s worth, additons of whismsy pile up, for sure: whiskers from yon Billy Goat, eye of needle, tounge of shoe, hand of clock that points to two, an accordion, and, lo, a bowler hat1 – all helter-skelter, thisaways thataways I flow. Yet this roll of impressionism at times does collate, I’d think, into rational streams of, perchance, lucid imaginings as to the rational connections ‘tween the imagery procured out of miasmic thought-clouds and, at times, distinctly reasoned thinking. I do, of course, allow for some ‘a them roily snakes-hands2 ways ‘o tale-spin in this wayward, meandering, multi-tiered, merry mêlée.
23
Preface
Daybreak in my eye and the summer breeze offers me a sweet caress; ah, the summer’s all a flow, soft an’ cool an’ grand, all set for deep reverie, the recursive glance, to take a dive thereto. Now, that reflective impulse kicks in and into the depths I go. The Deep will eat me up! And so it goes. Sometimes in all this, as stated, as the rational, reasoned flow soars, there’s a conscious veer into far-out speculation, a veer, vielleicht musical, an arpeggiated tornado of lyrical mangling, pummeling, thrashing and other such inconsiderate ruminations as to the classic patterns of dramaturgic invention, and up pops ‘nother idea. Yet, “Do I detect? Or is it but my ear only?” I say, as eye and pen scribble on. So, things turn up, a surprise unfolds, and the Tree of Life3 it grows – and chaos be just as much the generator as the concrete bounce of ball an’ fall of apple – a symphonium show. Yes, now an’ then I do allow any remains of ideational coherence to float and drift onto, and upon, the starry path of dreams, therein a joy to find, all literary care and consideration on stand-by; and as I see the arc of suspension of my own disbelief at the wordy, wondry poematical ivory-tower switch-backs unroll their inky wriggles on my page this carries me to new joyful snake’s-hands turnings, around the bend, and back again, and, hey ho, hey ho, away I throw the over-cautionary stance and bring my pen to bear again an’ again an’ again. Whereto shall I go? How to know? This journey be my epistemological quest. And then – I rest. Apart from the songs and the poems herein, which are separated into five sections, three as to songs and two as to poems, there are also four additional sections (not counting this preface or the ‘Afterwards’
24
Preface
section, nor the addendums with deeper reflections on the separate pieces, the references, or the notaton). I have already alluded to the fourth section, described by an obscure word, ‘Hariolatory’, which I found buriesd deep in Rogets’ Thesaurus, there defined as informed speculative guesswork. More on that in a moment. I start off with a bunch of songs followed by: firstly (I) an exuberant poetical extravaganza, of alluring notion, so to say, see p. 63, in which I totally let myself go into a free form, streaming flow (not to say I haven’t edited it minutely). In a way, in the process of writing, I apply many etymologies of the word ‘bright’4 to the prosody and thus turn the resulting wholity into a ‘poematic’. Ey? (And hey, a nod in this to my friends over at the brights forum). In this process I’d follow any impulse I’d sense, and yet, there is a background philosophy to it all – The Deep, subjective, intangible, covered by an oh so mysterious gossamer, a thin veil to the unknown, and a growth itself of that into the known, its metaphoric root, that transversal line I have mentioned, spread out in time and space and being of its own make. Not to say, either, that there’s no actuality to that design, ‘o mine (more on that below). And as to our unknowing even the ancient Vedas in their anthrophomorphisms look thereto for a take on that. (I really should take the liberty, in the quote below, to change the original pronoun ‘He’ to ‘The One’, or something such, so as to avoid any gender bias in my ruminations, as I do transverse The Universals in my, well, playful approaches to deep matters – but I won’t: here’s from the Griffith translation). He, the first origin of this creation, whether He formed it all or did not form it,
25
Preface
Whose eye controls this world in highest heaven, He verily knows it, or perhaps he knows not.
Rig Veda, X.:129,7.
On page 95, after a first section of poems, there, secondly (II), you’ll find another, quite floating, even dreamier piece, a visionpiece, a free falling, a deeper delve into a free form dynamic (the underlying structuralities whereof you will come to recognize if you pursue the references I’ve added here an’ there in these pages – as to my ideas on the metaphor of the Tree of Life, tangented in the second paragraph back, well these I shall discuss presently). Yes, in this vision-piece I run with Horses and with Hippotami, vertiginiously. O Lordy! In the far-away I converse with Weasel and dream a Singing Tree, A Tree of Life. Oh My! The thrust of dream pervades, and resonates, bounds the line transversal, snares the alluvial fractal bounce, reverberates the silky drum, the Magnificator, the Operator, casts recursive nets over surreal proceedings. O my showy mindings, blindings, mysterious windings an’ all yet give way to a conclusion fair, to be sung as if all the wily winds have wound themselves around the clock of time but for to bring a fanfare! The Tree of Life – another li’l innovative, it felt so, view to catch up on that sliding transversal, as per above. That one I thought up as a handy graphic schema*, a tool to offer an overview of the structure of yoga, a birds eye view of macroscopic power, thereby honing my grasp of themes and definitions in the philosophy of yoga – hence my homagé to Maharishi Mahesh Yogi by the song ‘Flower Power’, p. 40 – and a vision in me ensued of a flowery meadow all covered in Wild Mountain Thyme – I have had the opportunity and pleasure * See page 294 for a graphic representation of the relationships within this metaphor
of ‘algorhythmy’, the processual dynamic of the Paradigm of Yoga: Rest & Activity.
Preface
of teaching on the yoga, since 1971, thus my affectation. Yes, now the magnificatora appears, The Tree of Life: a metaphoric tool for understanding lifes’ pragmatic of rest and activity, its pulsings, its bells of wonder, the music of the spheres, the innate joy of living, its silences, dah! Now, as noted, after another section of songs, thirdly (III), comes The ‘Hariolatory’, p. 141. Yea, these are my free form intuitions on the more abstract questions of the nature of consciousness, form and meaning per se. In my expressions I attempt a poematic manner for to slip the relevancy of The Deep, and its paradoxically associated conceptually transversal, to slip subjective depth into the dynamic of scientific drive and thrust. This I do in as effortless a manner as I may conjure, a free rein given to a quasi-scientific beat. I am no scientist, yet the nature of scientific process entices my sense of reality as examplified in a few key words like these: repeatability, economy, mensuration, heuristics, consilience. “�������������������� Science������������� , to put its warrant as concisely as possible, the ������������������������������������� organized, systematic enterprise that gathers knowledge about the world and condenses the knowledge into testable laws and principles.”5 As an example here to the background of one of my hariolatora, the one on Single Cells, neuronal cells, this one brings forth the case of The Single Neuron Theory of Consciousness6 a theory on the properties of the brain seen as a cellular colony of living entities, namely the neurons. I find the reasonings behind this theory to be of both fascinating and quite straight-forward character. (If time permits, dear reader, then do take a look at some of the books I reference at the end of this preface.) Anyway, many of my songs
27
Preface
and poems, and the other stuff, do reflect a parallel drawn in those theories to the properties of a bell as versus those of a single cell, and that the properties of consciousness behave somwhat similarly. Fourthly (IV), after another section of songs, as a final abstruse bundle of spins to add to this collection of songs, poems and paraphernalia, thus a forth dramaturgic element to a allow for a woven dynamic of presentation as to the structuring of the separate themes herein, represented by the different perspectives to my views on life and living held in the songs and in the poems. On page 175 you shall forthwhith be introduced to a slight systematic of, I presume, my own: The Tarot viewed as a means to the telling of stories or as an aid in the conceptualization of a poem. There’s an interesting angle I thought up one day as to putting the Tarot to use [I do not look upon the Tarot as a divinatory tool] for the writing of poesy as that structure seemingly holds a roadmap of the evolutionary ladder as seen in the development of its sequentiality of emerging archetypes. See p. 183 for an example poem in this vein.) So. A few years ago I was playing around with my Tarot deck, the Alistair Crowley version, designed by Lady Frieda Harris), yea, my Tarot of long-time affiliation. I must here impress on the reader that I do not look upon The Tarot as a divinatory tool of magical propensitie, no, I view the trumps as representative of archetypes of the human condition, and as for the minor arcana I see terein the interplay of other concepts, stances, and circumstances of lifes’ multifarious occurances, the general categories. As to the personages of the court cards in the perfectly gender-balanced deck of the Tarot (as contrasted with the disappeared younger lady of the standard
28
Preface
playing card deck,) I find I have no lack of actors for the more complex dramatic interaction of an evolving storyline or points of view set forth in a poem. And so, after this section – more poems. Thus I work and weave the thread sublime ‘tween the intuitive and the empiric, and wait for another word to eventually arrive for to fulfill my sense of directed effors as I complete this task And fifthly (V), yea additionally, there are the paintings.7 I have included 16 photographs of canvases I have standing around at the moment. These paintings are as much work in progress as is the, somewhat apparent, to me, wholity of songs and poems, hariolatory writings and other spin-offs present in all the variegated stuff herein (with which, at times, aside the basic naturalistic stance I hold, explore a playful lean into the ectoplasmic dimension of invisible unicorns, wellwolves, magic ducklings, transversal rope-crawlers and a coupl’a strato-riders of the 11th dimension, well, and on and on I go, dah!). Some of these canvases I regard as practically finalized, yet with some I still work the canvases in a sketchy way. Now I add a colour. There. Now I change a flower into a butterfly. There. Now add the wind and rain. There. Have the sun come up again. There. I pull a rope, stroke my brush to the left. ring that bell, And so it goes. Personally I feel that this presentation does well cover the past decade of that creative avalanche I have been fortunate to experience in all this, as mentioned at the beginning of this preface. This period has fused, and organized my ambitions – how unsuspected! Many of the songs and poems almost wrote themselves, and I’m happy to now humbly offer them up for appreciation of whatever bland or rich musico-melodic savours and aromas I have herein concoted.
29
Preface
Now, as my sense of wonder soars upon hi-jinx’s burnished into the infinitudes of the knowable, I laugh. The euphoria of the etoplasmic party, coloured lights, sweet sweet night, delight, did not burn me up, sign, nor scorch my brow. I stand relieved. Yet the tide me far into The Deep shall shove, plunge me, drag me, into that allure, into that whirlpool of narrative gravity I go – and like a deep slow breath that maketh wonder, again an’ again I see the above as well as I do the below – as lifes’ coin spinneth. O the commensurate hermeneutics! In The Deep sweet water fills my gills. In the air, that part another pendulum swing, a deep draw, I suck at the lively wind, now the belfry churns an’ churns an churns the memetic feed – and this time my wing, the other one, that Autumn wind, has brought me poesy and song. • Musical notaton for all the 34 songs starts on page 215. As for hearing the songs. I provide a listening venue on my page at ReverbNation. See this link: Another Albatross at Reverb Nation
I keep updating this document now and then as the many separate productions herein mutate from rough to finished, sometimes I add the occasional new effort. So, do keep a check for the version number and time-stamp of this document, there might be a new one available somewhere in the incredible djungle of forking pathways of the cyber-cloud. Or just try this link: “A Poetical Extravaganza“*
* The link leads to the master pdf of this work in my ‘Books’ folder over at SkyDrive. 30
Notes to Preface 1
Carl Barks, “Trick or Treat”, Donald Duck Adventures, November 1952. (Spell somewhat augmented by me.)
2
Snake’s-hands, John Crowley, Engine Summer, 1980, Bantam pocket books ed., p. 26. ”There are always a thousand things to see and stop for along Path, snake’shands to explore and people to listen to. [...] Path is like a snake, it curls around the whole of Little Belaire with its head in the middle and the tip of its tail by Buckle cord’s door but only someone who knowes Little Belaire can see where it runs. To someone else it would seem to run off in all directions. So when you run along Path, and here is something that looks to be Path, but you find it is only rooms interlocking in a little maze that has no exits but back to Path – that’s a snake’s-hand. It runs off the snake of Path like a set of little fingers. It is also called a snake’s-hand, because a snake has no hands, and likewise there is only one Path.”
3
The Tree of Life. This is a metaphoric concept, of mine own, with which to grasp and understand both mechanism and methodic as to the philosophy of yoga. The metaphor describes a conceptual wholity (illustrated by a tree with seven branches and a root) spanning the whole range of the yogic experience. (See page 294 for a diagram on this.) For a more comprehensive treatment on my lines of reasoning in reverse engineering the inherent algorhythmy of the yogic process and its application, see: The Algorhythmies of Another Albatross. 4 See list of words with connotations to the word ‘bright’ in the reference section, p. 290. 5
Edward O. Wilson, “Consilience: The Unity of Knowledge”, Knopf, 1998, pp. 58-59. The quoted passage continues, “The diagnostic features of science that distinguish it from pseudoscience are ...”, and after that the respective dynamics of the five keywords is discussed and set into the context of the ideas of Science.
6
The Single Neuron Theory of Consciousness, put forth by Dr’s Steven Sevush and Jonathan C. W. Edwards) presents the thesis that consciousness is an electromechanical property of the individual cell membrane, freely associated with the idea of a phonon; electric force transduced into sound. In short, every single neuron is conscious of the wholity of the ‘story’ it receives (and that only). The brain may thus be looked upon as a cellular colony of synergetically cooperating individuals. See, for instance, Professor Edwards readable popularization of this idea in his book: How Many People Are There in My Head? and in Hers?: An Exploration of Single Cell Consciousness
7
The Paintings: These 15 canvases herein, are both old and new. Many I started up a long time ago yet some are quite recent. It’s the way I work. I never really regard a painting as finished until I get a positive response from somebody, then I view the work with new eyes, so to say. From that point in the creative process I find I perceive the piece in question with a new resolve – and the painting may quickly reach completion. For a glint at my other work with canvas, brushes and paints do take a look at my work in delinating the philosophy of yoga. This is another book of mine and is found here: “Yoga and the Natural World“; at Issuu’s splendid on-line reading site.
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Big Flower
Songs I
All the World’s a Joy All the world’s a joy And all the stars are bright. Come runaway child Be my pleasure, my delight. I love the song you strum, I love that rhyme, Be mine awhile. And all the ways of love Whirl that firmament above. O! Blessed abode! O! Blessed child of God! Everywhere you go Flowers bloom all around, And I will sing with you. I will sing with you For all tygers of the night, When soft and lean Their paws embrace us here! Peace of mind, peace of mind! And the beacon of your eye Calm this soul of mine.
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I soar rifts and ridges I scale the heights. Yea my love, Fall free with me awhile. Share holy wine, Heaven and Earth entwine, May love abide. Ah! Take me to the valley And love me there. Where honey and roses Pour fragrance on the air. Like paradise I guess, Yea, I’ll sing it all here. To sing with you. I will sing with you For all tygers of the night, When soft and lean Their paws embrace us here! Peace of mind, peace of mind! And the beacon of your eye Calm this soul of mine.
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Yea! All the world’s a joy And all the stars are bright. Come runaway child Be my pleasure, my delight. I love the song you strum, I love that rhyme, Be mine awhile. Be mine awhile. Be mine awhile.
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( An Homage to Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. )
Flower Power
Roses there are, Being where you are. For dear partners, For the sunshine years, Of memories, Of wonder, For the tender ones, For undying love, For the heart. So I yearn again my love. Lilies galore, Everywhere they fall, For companions, For halcyon days Of play, Havin’ fun all day. For the gentle, For anyone who cares, For everyone, And for all of what it be worth.
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O! Asters overflow! I say, “It’s a show!” Yeah. The tide will turn As earth an’ sky, As wind unseen. The years, O Muse, Never fade, Never go away. No, no! As long as I, as I hear true love on the way. An’ Daffodils I know Abound in Summers glow, Stuff everywhere. Oh! Enough’s enough, But how could that be enough? Yeah, the river flows, Amongst the flowers of a thousand shows, In meadows, in forests, And being with you, You, you tune up the Wild Mountain Thyme.
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Yea! Roses there are, Being where you are. For dear partners, For the sunshine years, Of memories, Of wonder, For the tender ones, For undying love, For the heart. So I yearn again my love.
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True Love
True Love may be a blessing, It just cannot be a curse. An’ I guess it all works out somehow, True Love don’t make it worse. I came upon you in the wee hours, Walkin’ out on Leaf Wood Ridge; True Love, I came for the beauty You surrender with each tender kiss. True Love may be a blessing, Maybe even now. Out here dawn slips up the stair, Here’s True Love by’ an’ by’. Ah, you took me in awhile, Yeah, dawn’s about, an’ you by my side, Ah, my sky’s so much brighter now; True Love, I still can’t be without it. And True Love is true desire; Turns heat into fire. True Love I got a glimpse of you; Turn the wheel and take me higher. I wanna come on to you sweet love, Take you in my arms, so close, so tight; True Love all grace and charm, In this sweet embrace.
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Little Dream (for Nina) Little dream Take me high, Let me fly upon the sky. Little wing Fly away, Go find that very precious friend. I dream that you Catch the wind And sail away. On the breeze You spread your wings And you’re on your way. Little child Carry on, Day breaks in your eye. One day soon enough A little ship Will come bring smiles for you. A gentle touch, A gentle nudge And you sail away. Sunbeam ride, Magic child Please fly by at times.
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Little boat, Little train, Little plane sails on an’ on. Eagle wings Will grow upon The soft an’ streamin’ winds. Support you then, With sleek slipstreams For your aeroplane. Hold you up, Look into the dawn, Into wildwood haze.
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Sing Along Song
We all wanna tell a story, We all wanna sing a song, We all wanna go to a haven, I guess, Where we’re all gonna sing along. Hey. Ho. Don’t rock the boat. Hey. Ho. It’s all set to go. Hey. Ho. Up that stairway to heaven. Now, everybody sing this song. Sing sing, sing a little song, Sing sing, sing a little song, Sing sing, sing a little song, Yeah, we’re all gonna sing along. Yeah, every spinnin’ wheel Of every little dream, As real as real can be, Is comin’ straight out ‘a the sea, fallin’ free.
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Ah, come see, what’s it gonna be? A riddle, a rocker, a show-stopper to be? Gonna go all the way, dream that wheel, Flash the night, brighten thee. Sing sing, sing a little song, Sing sing, sing a little song, Sing sing, sing a little song, Yeah, we’re all gonna sing along. Sing sing, sing a little song, Sing sing, sing a little song, Sing sing, sing a little song, Yeah, we’re all gonna sing along.
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Love’s Not For Hire Will you speak your dream, Let me know that deep desire. Come walk with me On this road, it’ll take us higher. Strange sights will abound, all around, All down that highway. Take it in, take it all, take it now, Love’s not for hire. And every road we take Will be a way into that wild blue yonder. Will lead us down dusty lanes Past great redwoods in wonder. An’ all around, everywhere, It’s all just ripe for thunder. Take it in, take it all, take it now, Love’s not for hire. Ah, ain’t it wild, ain’t it true, Don’t say no to this chance to wander, Up this ridge, into the vale, to that ocean Far beyond any border. Ah take a step, dance with me, Could even start with just a little stumble. Take it in, take it all, take it now, Love’s not for hire.
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Yea, will you speak your dream, Let me know that deep desire. Come walk with me On this road, it’ll take us higher. Strange sights will abound, all around, All down this highway. Take it in, take it all, take it now, Love’s not for hire.
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My Heart is Not a Secret Ah, cause your heart to be done with All rules that bind an’ tangle. Cause your heart to take comfort, No need for all you been wantin’. An’ all the ways you ever wandered, Through dark an’ light abandon, Brought you here almost tumblin’, Now you can live the life of becoming. Ain’t it a wonder to be beholdin’, The sight of wild geese unfoldin’; I’d be runnin’, freight trains steamin’, Throwin’ sparks an’ thundered lightnin’. I see your dream arisin’, Winds of wheat an’ barley streamin’, I hear your thought abidin’ Within that deep well of all becoming. And to you my heart is not a secret, It’s a pathway an’ a gateway. Takes me down the highway, Me an’ my true love an’ the skyway. An’ all tides an’ winds of change, All hurricanes galore, an’ god knows what, Won’t have the slightest strength nor charm To put out all your becoming.
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Yea’ to you my heart is not a secret, It’s a pathway an’ a gateway. Takes me down the highway, Me an’ my true love an’ the skyway. An’ all tides an’ winds of change, All hurricanes galore, an’ God knows what, Won’t have the slightest strength nor charm To put out all of this becoming.
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I Believe I’m In Love
Ah, You came in my door, Walked across this floor, Took my breath away. You changed all the lights, Danced through the night, Left me helpless like never before. I believe I’m in love, I can’t believe this is happening at all. Hey sweet lady, Yeah there’s that certain touch, Yea you got it, you got it alright. An’ I just gotta tell you You’re a dream come true, Angel eyes lookin’ through an’ through. I believe I’m in love. I can’t believe this is happening to me. Oh, Baby baby baby blue, Baby let me do it to you. Ah, Baby baby baby blue, Baby let me do it to you.
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I can’t help it, There’s a whirlwind stance Rushin’ up my spine, Tears me apart As you blow right in, Beautiful, all set to win. I believe I’m in love. I believe I’m in love with you. Oh, Baby baby baby blue, Baby let me do it to you. Ah, Baby baby baby blue, Baby let me do it to you. Yea, Baby baby baby blue, Baby let me do it to you.
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I Love You (for Di)
Had a dream about you last night baby, You were dressed up in all your finery, All aglow, you turned around, Dancing, happy, free. Ah, to me that was just surreal ecstasy. Caught me out of breath, literally. Then I told you, “I Love You”. I take a walk outside, Now, while you sleep away the morn’. But tomorrow, Ah, let’s take an early walk. There’re waves upon the beach to adore. And the days, they will but come an’ go. Ah baby, baby blue, “I Love You”. Ah, down along the cove there’s a place I know Where soft grasses grow. A place to love, To forever hold at heart. Ah, come on, come on, this day’s ‘a callin’ out for you. O, my fine and only true, I will sing with you. Ah baby, baby blue, “I Love You”.
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Had a dream about you last night baby, You were dressed up in all your finery, All aglow, you turned around, Dancing, happy, free. Ah, to me that was just surreal ecstasy. Caught me out of breath, literally. Then I told you, “I Love You�.
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Reflection
O Star, and you, By æons embraced. In that space I saw you, my dear, From close friends circles In an instance set apart. A premonition have I, Yet it is of now, Of a prescence here. “Whom it may be?” “It is I”, she heard. Yes, I the hearer am, and Astonished am I, And cast my glance For to survey. Then says she, yes I to thee, “Come nigh, unto me”.
She looks around, and, When nobody appears, speaks, “Why do you not come?”
“What I said, you said, I heard.”
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She starts afresh, “Here soon we’ll meet, And but sweet words We will have For eachother.”
My word, O Star, it lingers, Is now delivered, Another prescence rendered.
“It is I”, I heard.
And closer and closer to her Hot flames build steam. I blush in rubescence, reddening, As the lantern paramount Like sulphur Burns when brought unto fire. Flame of Life, Take me. Flame of Love, Hot and tender, Burn, burn, burn Us both together.
On the origins of this song see note, page 277. 57
Bright Moon
There’s a Bright Moon on the rise And my love and I we take our time. There’s a song flowing free Sung by the gentle willow tree. A song to bring wonderful dreams To make us both flow with the cool fragrant breeze; As the moon rolls over the land And the beauty we find in that is all that we need. Bright Moon. Ah, that Bright Moon. See how it smiles an’ shines all over the world. Now let’s but walk this path under tall trees, Let’s follow that song to wherever it’ll go; Down to the Whispering Beach Where the sands do sing their sweet song of allure.
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Yea, let’s walk here under the moon, Dig our toes into powder fine sand; Ah! Look! The glitter of sea! And the fountain of song pumps with the flow and with the beat. Bright Moon. Ah, that Bright Moon. See how it smiles an’ shines all over the world.
‘Whispering Beach’: see note, page 275. 59
Life, Art, & Reason
ď Ľ ď‚˜
Everybody wants a love story, Love stories are perfect. Well. Life is not perfect, So, life is not a love story. Love is a fantasy. But. We dream the real from the unreal, At least we strive so to do. At times we do Reason, At times it is Art we engender. O, Life is Art as Art is Love: May Reason walk that stage. Life, Art and Reason I will illuminate and elevate. Ah, I Love you all.
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Signals
Oh, That Alluring, Whim-Wham, Vagary, Supernatural Notion
Online Etymological Dictionary: ‘Bright’ The following piece, ’A Poetical Extravaganza’, consisting of the ’Introductory’ and the two parts to ’Oh, That Alluring, WhimWham, Vagary Supernatural Notion’, contains and embraces certain ’Words’ with connotations to the word ‘Bright’. These I picked up from quering the cyber-based Etymological Dictionary on the word ’Bright’. See page 292 (in the ’References’ section) for a list of words all of which have some association to ’Bright’, some of which are incorporated into the free-form ’Poematics’ displayed on the next pages. The first part of the ’Alluring Extravaganza’, the ’Don’t knock your Hugo’ part, I have filled up with the Cyber-només of some of the regulars at The Brights Forum, abouts up to April 2006. Since then, of course, many others have shown up on that stage to both embody and share their excellent free-thinking qualities.
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A Poetical Extravaganza (An exploration, by whim, of a few etymologies of ‘bright’.) Introductory
N
ow here’s my hurdy-gurdy, switch-back, roly-poly, rickety ridey-ride of philosophic play and tumble of some sense, an’ of a bit a’ un-sense too (oh, ho ho). Ah, but some concept or two, or many, mebbee, may yet be found prematurely ventured, oh, and may even be found unfounded. So thus, by application of the mushy insides of my glabella I’ll advance, and yes, I’m all up an’ ears for any mender, yea. So, by thus stance made of warp and thunder, of glizzadeæs of chickadeeaed wonder, yea, again, and with but a little bit a’ help from friends who ponder from out that spacey cyber yonder, all this thus might be amended, cleared up, and perchance larkly be expanded, for lucid conceptuality, and for to make fain this my dire yearn to expound and strangely phrase my own imminentie. So. This then be a chintz, smiley, slight, short yet lauding, twirled whirly-whimsy, for to somewhat entertain, a caveat and drum, along a nerve sensitif, along an arc of diverse evolutionary algorithms that grow right out the gravitational well, on argent, argúed wings of that oldie, that goldy freak, the naturalist/ supernaturalist perplexitie of ‘bright’ or ‘super’, (uh, ‘superbright’, what that may be? Charmed? anyway no dichotomie?, yes?) – and thus all this be a very personal yet gaudy, merry flare, sparse, yet all immersed in blithe, bright etymology that I now herewith put forth, quite imaginatively, insensately, freely, as a daring, utterly bold, if I may, all-encompassing naturalistic perspectivie. And so. Now. On to the text I have here wryly engendered, for you dear folks of, at times, strange unknown genders, to encounter, and in due time, find time to (well, even here this be cliched by now, ho ho), yea, find time to ponder. 65
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Oh, That Alluring, Whim-Wham, Vagary, Supernatural Notion (Alternative title: “Don’t Knock Your Hugo!”)
•
For you all, guest and other friend alike, and especially for dear friend Hubert, and for you friend of yore, whilst taking note of our regulars of course, that burnished, blithe, bright, fun gang: Layman, Prof.Moriarty and adamantine Emo, Bobsie (Occam sharp), Ben (so sensible, who provided that etymologie) and BadKo, and fellow hariolator Florifulgorator too (also known as M. J. P. Flori Flori, Mars Joh. Pictor Florifundator Florifulguratorum Avatara Hariolator, aka ‘Flori’��� ), and Brodix (who but just arrived yet surely cuts the sweep of times swift and sudden sheer, broom broom), ah, Furiko, David and PVC, Pedantica, and Fuchsia Impopper too, DTY, TeD, Jeepyjay, Graham66, and Pope, and Gaidheal, and, yea, “Hi Moff!”, 67
“Hi all!” (who, just by curiousity, or from verily being insensately dizzied by just too much of them charmely antics of the otherworldly choir, to this place have been drawn by an allure so plain of all the sense and delight, to be found, so bright, here inside, in our abundance of discerning rational thought, ah, do partake of this joyous cornucopia, take part, chip in, if you’ve been lucky enough to have come through this our door, as from out of a blue moon, and serendipitiously so, as from having followed a slight, slo’ snake’s hands sure winning bet), and Astaire I also remember, who somehow fell out of it all, and there’s Freaky who gets a cheer from us all, toot, toot, O hear, and aviator Speotyto (who revealed, at least it so seems to me, an impetus to this all, for me, on this stenciled sidereal sea, of etheral yet down to earth cooperative multiplicity) with tinkling algorithmic thinker tinker bells and cells to peal and ring, and each will tintannibulate, an’ do that toot toot toot, will sing, with will, will speak and do their zing (and become a meta-leveled pattern thing, 68
in gyred, narrative gravitative centerings, to enter, at will) as I now endeavour to do too, well, somewhat, at the least, and in my own idiosyncratic way, on this here arenaed slick floor, and yea, we’ve got Mughal (who tells well of excess unheard of before, of craze, confusion and worse), then there’s speakpigeon, Rowan Porter and A-theist (and what to make of that?), we’ve got Pavlos (who used to be AHeretic), REveritt, and many more, yes, we’ve got (©Ön§ciøüs)p®ògRåm, Alien, I-moron, 0bvious (who else?), Gajnoz, L Gilbert, the tree, 42ndEndOfTheWorld and Albatross (yah, that’s me), (yeah, whilst riding a Mandarin Ming Lobster wind I spied spots of land - Ahoy! Ahoy!), and Mslongjr (who liked my recitation of the extremely well wrought verse of master Thomas, who thus now in sweet remembrance here rides along), And yes, Sass you’re here too (still swaying, vacillating a bit ‘tween ‘supered’ charms or ‘brights’), Oh, Writerdd, LisaK, Robert, Rubright, Mr. Natural and you thousands more, ah, you all bring that quality and much, ever much more, 69
and more, so much that at times its asylum for all, for sure (and I will ever never sound you all, you of topics galore); yah, to these netted brights, for whom this all was firstly meant, here now I add our illustrious exalted forbears, who have helped evoke this my mused mere that I harvest as I may, so for these sheened, sharp, splendid ones now too: Albert, Bertha, Clara, Egbert, Electra (Oh wow, I just now remember, my first poem ever, and it was of and to her love), then there’s Gilbert, Helen, Herbert, and Lancelot, Muriel, Phoebe, Robert, Roxanne and Serena, and gifted Sherlock [who even plays a part herein]; as Lambert and Flaherty madly drive us all in Charles’s Wain (‘cause today there’s a theme of colours to show and to fanfare, for some to assume, to brightly perchance peruse, purvey and affirm and maybe later in actuality on a canvas spread to them refer) whilst Olbers’ etheral perplexitie enfolds us all.
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I
n my times, and in my bones, are seasons. Æons awash upon my shore – yet these too are but as minute moments in hurled æternities of carousing, wyrd-weaving, illusory but madly spinning all-enveloping time (yes, at times I have been inside some really strange stuff) – yea, and there they still lightly lie, the seasons, as I consider and contemplate all the balancing and necessary tuning, that I in this my life have ever attempted (in acute and quite real, felt, existential terms) of them here naturalistic leanings I have, and thus now valiantly own, and which yet at times I must vield against others, that hold, with feriocitie, the same and like felt enthusiasms I too knowed, as I, with them have walked many a’ parallel path (and at times, as friends do, trustingly, explored many a’ variety of charmed chance snake’s-hands ways of incredulity), walked along awesome panoramas, and by transversal ways too of diverse mysticism incarnate (mandated, methinks, to sensuous, succinct wonder), with whom, under chiaroscuro skies, I’ve fenced and warbled in turn and collision, made hilarious, rackous, rakish banter, and engaged with passionately in fluke exploration of that alluring, whim-wham, vagary, supernatural notion (‘that’ I figure I’ll make a figure of, a topic itself, and fill it to the brim, some day, as foxy time allows, with cerulean, celadon, vermillion, scarlet, gold and zircon, and verily inundate all that with a multitude of Argus-eyed instant, surreal, slowmotion velvet expositions of dire, dizzying, digital black ‘n white choreographed biography).
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Oh couched friends, and all and every one (and dear Hubert), I reflect, I think, I ponder. And this all sets me to wonder that that “To be or not to be” may not the really real issue be. Oh, this all be out of bounds to our algorithmic peer-plexing perspektivie. Yet a reasoned epistemologie, that starts from the here and now, from this middle ground of existentialitie, may be found in evolutionary recursivity, in indirecte reciprocity, may be delineated from within the base and note and harmony of single cell inner resonancy (of many mirthful qualiæi), and our platform is biology; these all together develop a syntaxed bell-ring of an another meta-algorythmie, an another Turing symphony, to assure and render sensibility. Time itself the perplexitie be. No Time – no perplexitie! It’s all, this all; a composite, of fire and brine, of distant thunder, of that spark of imminence of conceptual gender, of gene and meme (and from meme to idée), of the evolutionary, water walking, hazardous dervichdancing, trigger-happy, momentous force of natural gravity, against oblivity, an endeavour majestic and surreal, for to slowly unfold, as bright new suns arise, as silver spaceships spin, are sent their ways, are spun, flung far unto far flung babel envelopes of dark entropy and utter abstracts of creativity whereof, certes, today, we know but nought. (But nought is not and that is ever never – we may as well know whatever, and then make of that a diversion just as real as the ever, aligned, leveled, launched in orblets, an’ contextually so, by the ever never.)
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O dear friends arise and wonder. See that bright light up yonder, see that silver lined, full, filled cloud of rainy Sunday, all gandy, glad and glittery, there where heaven and earth, this bright - that charmed super, merge in layered schemes and tabulatas of our fix, our natural eye of selective possibilitie, which comes to grip and grasp in lucid stanzas those stanses of great illuminating intentionalities; yes, apart they were, heaven and earth, but are no longer so. Go look! Another habitat now appears, where old is dust and new is new everwhere. O, I hail the bright stars of yore and yonder forever: Aldebaran, Algol, Altair, Antares, Arcturus, Bellatrix, Betelgeuse, Canopus, Capella, Deneb, Fomalhaut, Procyon, Regulus, Rigel, Spica, Vega and amongst them all that Mars of Spring and others. Oh, you all, all all and all, presage a dawn, a rising, an evolutionary elevator that accellerates man from nimbus morning to yet an another lucent dusk of twilight eras gone, as us billions, man and beast and angel too (and their names all begin with A: Abdiel, Aglaia, Agobel, Anilos, Annachorn, Annael, Ariel, and many more, and yes, that damoclean Azrael as well – and where did they all now come from? Out’a snake’s-hands, vermilion roundabouts, wild ventures?); yea, rising, surrounded as by imminentie, as we are, we all go walk to dance our glades and leas, our merry fields of chintz exstasies, in cavorting caveats of pavane and hariolatory fantasie. O, slowly, quickly we pass on and on and on – lose that balance and one day we may all be forever gone.
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I hold that Time instantaneous and this our world, are both as real as too at times belatedly are the twins illusion and delusion (as we, none excempt, strangely do, surely do at times, oh yeah, fall under their imaginative, fantastico, flamenco dark blue spells). O, they meld and mix and mingle, those gliblets, and magnify their multiple grumbles and grudges, yet we must bring a sure Sherlock stance yet again, and again, all new as ever, to bear, to clear, to discern mighty grue and revered womble. Ah, we go on and on, and on and on and on, yes, we pride of wonder, and unite in nought but fear of death, that black gloss, we see a spectral horror, become stigmæd, and then truly unruly we become a thunder of worms, forsooth, and unite in but ciphers of correlated, strangely corrected, zeroed nihilistic strokes1 of dire mismatch and errored stumble, in vacuities of nonsensical mumble bumble (which ain’t for real at all – oh blaze, we been cheetahd). Now if this were always thus then there’d be no sense of wonder, no reason to get out on a shaky limb of whimsy poesy and, yes, ponder (on this tumbled Earth as well as in that Heaven [that’s never been so close before, so easy and so slow2]). We must go, rise, ascend, fare to disperse upon a stellar highway (where at times we may run aground on shoals of utter madness, be quite naive at times in our lingering awareness, be as dupes, bewitched in fools’ deception and encumbered, lost, with a loss that can’t be regained3). Yet this stance of mine holds a joy that lingers.
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So yes, yes and O, and O again! It’s all for real. All this. All that. All, all, all. All now, all say together “A do, a di, a do-a-dei”, yea, do do a “do-a-doa-dia-dei”. Now. Worm thunder4 on the horizon. Yes, all, all is right with the cosmos. Oh, don’t fret my friend – ah, were I but a toucan bird of no sense but primal hunger I’d still go tuka, tuka, tukana, and, dear Hubert, mind yer Hugo.
Juri Aidas 19–24 April 2006. Revised: 27 August 2006. ... and again slightly 25 August 2012 See next two pages for a few annotations on this wildfire poematic of mine.
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Notes
1
“’Zero stroke’ or ‘cipher stroke’ is the name created by German physicians for a prevalent nervous malady brought about by the present fantastic currency figures. Scores of cases of the ‘stroke’ are reported among men and women of all classes, who have been prostrated by their efforts to figure in thousands of millons. Many of these persons apparently are normal, except for a desire to write endless rows of ciphers.” Economist John K. Galbraith on the psychological shock induced by huge numbers with their strings of zeros, during the hyperinflationary period of the early 1920s as the German currency collapsed. John D. Barrow, “The Book of Nothing”, 2000, p. 4.
2
Paraphrased from the song: “You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go”. Bob Dylan, “Blood on the Tracks”, 1975. http://bobdylan.com/songs/lonesome.html
3
Paraphrased from the song: “Wedding Song”. Bob Dylan, “Planet Waves”, 1974. http://bobdylan.com/songs/wedding.html
4
Paraphrased from comments to: “Digger”. Ursula Vernon, “Digger”, no. 9, 2005 http://www.graphicsmash.com/
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Notes
See the link below for information on the work of Master Poet Dylan Thomas mentioned in the dedicatory part of my strange effort here – whose inspiration, as for me (ever since I first read his “And Death Shall Have No Dominion” when I was 17, 34 years after it’s first publication in 1933 when Dylan was 19), holds a source and a ground for all these my twined and winded, lined and rondeaued words (also helped along by inpiration offered by the other Dylan guy I paraphrase, Bob, I am also influenced by Gibran, of course, dear Khalil) – yah, for more info see Mr. Thomas’ recent official website. http://www.dylanthomas.com/
This all was prompted by a recent discussion on an article by Bishop Richard Harris, of the U.K. The topic it generated on The Brights forums was wittily dubbed “Bishop Harries Atheists”. This article discussed the seemingly opposing views of theism and naturalism (putting a heavy burden on the hard liners of the latter, but managed to completely miss the default, bright middle ground), thereby in response, it generated, as alluded, a very interesting discussion on that forum. The original article, in ‘The Observer’, (U.K.) of April 16, 2006, also in its Net edition, sparked many a perceptive view and was titled “Science does not challenge my faith - it strengthens it”. Well. What do we know? http://observer.guardian.co.uk/comment/story/0,,1754798,00.html
Brights topic, 17 April 2006: “Bishop Harries Atheists”.
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At Night
Poems I
Tha’ New Book Run, run, gonna get me another one, A book to read, my nose to stick inside. Ah, to smell the leaves an’ soot ’an print therein, See strange symbly, scribbly marks pulse an’ breathe. O, doh, there they breathe! An inner resonance, that phonon rythm With a Rumba-rumbly ruggle my dream will feed. Then, to peel the words, one by one, Of their contextual vector spin (that they do embode) Along the line, now by eye, now by brain, Clause by clause, my stance but bright, I will, I shall, conclude (as I reach ’The End’ And grasp, perchance, the wholity of syntactic grip) If worthwhile was that snake’s-hands trip I choose to embark upon ’mong thinkers free Their minds to speak, to say, to draft, to dream. Afterwards I shall slip it in amongst all them others That do recline, their honeyed nectar spun, On my shelves. A book, a book! Oh so new! Now, that book to find I shalt. (Where noe my bright shades be? Ah, there.) /Alb Signed with the nomé ‘Albatross’ at The Brights forum, 2010.
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Poets Force The Meter Wrought Poets force the meter wrought By rhyme and wilful thought (As Camels rave and rage); Through pinhole fields, all holed, Through shields deemed real; With Gordic thrust The exteriority of a spacetime analogue Of the electromagnetic field to cleave. And so at times end the rhymes diverge (Space and Form shalt haywire go). Perchance they shall all return? Who knows? And all revealed will be, accordingly, In the weaving helix, Churned into dream-matrix style.
What would happen if the dimension of time came to a sudden end? For the background reference to my thinkings here see page 279.
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Not is Not is Never (For Lay) There never was a time when not was never, As ever is its own nihilistic tremor. So not is ever, though not forever, As not is not is never. Impugned by thought declined though feathered, Quick, unwhittled through the downtown tumble, That couthly brumptious monger, must know Nought will linger - as not is ever. Ever, ever undone, as under cover, Twist and turn, slip asunder. No wonder, I wonder? As all turns into a sensless but momentous thunder. It’s gone. Again unmade yet ringed by wings, A qualiatative show, chiaroscuro, unheard slow staccato. Not there, not here, nowhere but everwhere, A switchback pulse in the never. And Lay may lay into this nutty ponder, Blow it into smithereens with sense, I wonder? But yet what’s there when what is is ever, And never was is oblivious, yet never? Is all. Is all.
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Dip Deep One but visits The Deep And the focus-resolution will increase. What! No worries there? The fullness of emptiness brings its own joy-full tsunami, Loads all of it all with an all-encompassing sense of wonder To recursively suck (as from that pinnacle view) The veil Off the ephemeral samsara And in the ensuing dynamic reveal That maelstrom parallel spin Of both expansion and implosion into but common Utter nihility. Whoa! Samsara done! Yet the question remains, The how, why, when, the epistemological conundrum, (from whence the silent question-mark appeared [?]), Girded to unboundedness and the explanatory loop. Let it go. Let it be. Let The Deep attune The Deep And do stay a while
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(doh, the a-tune disappeared). (Now? Where be me shades? Sun’s so bright.) Morph of metaphor, Morph of ruled sun, of life itself, Slides the transversal sheath, That event horizon of The Deep, To One. Dip Deep. Dip slight. But do Enjoy. Namaste.
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Big Bang Song Like the world has turned inside out And the inside has become the outside too. This occurred as our world view grew, Grew wide, wide enough For us to attempt of it all an embrace: To see, The beyonds Of heaven And of clouds below; To view, If in but theory, The singularity And likewise the monad (the free); To perceive, If but in imagined reality, That all encompassing reach of domain, Transversally split, endeavour its virtual twin; To cognize, Of light a copy thus made (of fractal fold), And the reverberation thereof A sea to sail: O, find Fire and Flow and storyline songs, Now engraved, in ever changing, ever tumbling Dynamo bells and cells (ding dong). 88
Yea, feed the fire, flame the flow, time forego, Touch the ribbon (double spiral thereto), hang on (lo lo), Turn the stone, knock on wood, rock the rod, let go. Yea, a perspective unfolds, and shows, Upon the tunneling heart a vision of sense therein, And, yes, asail thereon evolving songs, Ah, and changes in the now. Thus everything is not explained. Rich meanings reign: word-cells roar As burning rings (with fires contained and uncontained, paradox maintaned), As quiet shells (whom from cinders and dust be made). And then – even more bells (ring rong). Now Life and Love lie arraigned In ever winding ways, all ultimates entwined In bright cascades of resonant delight. Awesome! So-all-aripe with the songs of life, The language whereof be Poesy.
89
Remember Dessert! There was an old lady Who swallowed a fly. Thus she drank a glass of water And heard the fly die. But the fly was poison, So the lady went to heaven. Oh what a wonderful world – And then ‘by an’ by’. But if she’d taken Some ice-cream for dessert, Victory-wise crammed Down her throat, Then she could’ve regurgitated, if she’d wont, that unfortunate creep. And the old lady Would not have turned blue, Would not have curled up into a fork, Alas! – and died!
90
Seemingly there are tricks to stay alive, And then there are those From the other side. Some to make us smile; Ice-cream going in, going out – hah! Who’d tell the split-second difference In taste. (Bye Bye. Fly!) While others just make an immediate end. Right-away, right-so! Ah! Fate! What tricks thou doth play! But if, as if by serendipitious chance, We may counter, Do some tricks of our own. Then might be that at final account Old bunnies galore Would sprightly jump out of our bright and immaculate hats. And surely we’d all remember dessert. – ta ta!
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Now and Then Noe ’n ’den, now ’n then, an original thought may pass by. Can I catch it? If not, I’ll let it pass, by an’ by. What it was I now can’t recall. Oh, Oh. Bye, Bye. Now an’ then I look again—There—Another thought comes on. Ah, ain’t seen thatta one awhile! Yet hints abound! Tuula! Tuula! Tough original it ain’t, an’ when written down just a funny sound. Better luck next time, next round, next stanza perchance? I’d have’ta sense if ’n a’bit’a coherence might have come about. But here, well, yet at least a few lines of crows-feet I leave behind. Another day I’ll try again, for that original line, An’ take another snake’s-hands Path down this road an’ not give a damn. So I play the lingustic game. A sentence here, a sentence there, An’ a string of sense towards the end I might perceive. An hariolatory round may come on, or a sense of emotion lurkin’ Round the bend will howl. An’ around da bend I bend This pearly flow of wovel parts an’ deeper dives; become the stream that, in the end, shears the shore, spears the meme — as anyhoove I be ocean bound. So I bounce around the wavy wordy breeze an’ beach an’ breach the ranks Of sunlit crests as they whyrry whirrily an’ wroom aroon’ — an’ a havoc do I make of the shorely, shure-shored expanse of sea; As I but spin an’ spin, merry-way-wise, in this streamy froth of dream and river wild myst.
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River-Bend
Of Horses and of Hippotami, of Weasel and of The Singing Tree (A vision piece, a dreamscape.)
Of Horses and of Hippotami, of Weasel and of the Singing Tree In my dreamscapes, oh yes, Suddenly there’ll be lines in the air, And follow them I will.
To where? Well – yes, whereto?
Chairs there are, and tables just so, Horses, Hippotami, and Weasel’s throne I see (Spectres all), And Willy, ever there, too (is basically real), And there be flowers everywhere. I’ll draw a picture fair Just to remember what was there. Ah, yes. A question I did frame, to my eidolon flare, In sterling fashion, Quite candidly, I did.
I said,
“Oh Weasel bright. Tell, do tell! Of Mystery, and of its alleviament?”
“It’s a toss”, Weasel said, 97
“You ask a remedy for fox and hound? To bridge the cut transversal. Across that great divide.” “Yes, I’ll advene the bit that’s mine. (An’ should I miss a dot, never mind, – ‘Though a missing dot in dreamscape light Of itself a havoc run might construct.)”
“Beware that take-off gravity defies. Lift your head, you’ll find yourself aware. Well. Is there a path in that? Or not?”
“Let’s find out.”
So. Thus my spectre, My ferret wonder, Ponders, and will now an answer give.
(Ah, but first let’s have a name, An introduction proper. Eremine Ferret it’d have to be. A dandy Weasel we here have, for sure, Up to do a bit more ‘a talkin’, and perform.) So. I’ll just hand over.
Weasel speaks.
“Hear: Let us prepare ourselves, I say, First in the heaven 98
Which intellectually is within us, And then in this sensible one Which corporeally presents itself Before our eyes.” (Hey, that Eremine of twinklin’ eye, He cites dear Giordano, My fav, Of memory immense, and of sense, yes, sense, soundness, depth.)
Continues Weasel.
“For starts, a pattern’d levity would appear, a wavered lugubrity, a layered intricacy, a darned multiplicity.”
“Oh, Ho! Yessi’e!”
Now Weasel looks about.
“See. Hear.” Weasel said. “There was once a tree, A Willow slender, very tall, fine to see.” “Said Willow Willy”, Weasel adds.
““How make ends to meet? I reach and reach 99
Yet no end I meet. The Sun bursts fire An’ Rain me renders, Leaves leaves atingle. O! But I must sing. O! Zing my leaves, do sing.””
O dream, I do hear them leaves Brush that starry reach, Brush their paints all over. – An’ ain’t that a zing, so say?
“Said the leaves”, tells Weasel:
““Over ever we see Our rainbow tree Featured end to end, With this ever-tale tale to tell; And bells to toll.”” We hear a bell.
An’ a “Bye, bye”, An’ “See ya’ again someday”.
And then thus enhanced, As on que, fades Weasel Eremine.
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And I can but be.
“Ah! Yes, Eremine Weasel Ferrett. Thanks. I hear, I see. I see, That great, grand Willow Tree.”
In me I see.
“Ho!” I say, to all. “Now look a’ here.”, If I may.
“Tossed and turned, Are Tree and Man, Yet aligned Down to up, That’s root to crown, Both now surely stand. Yes. Rightwise up.”
And thus I set my stance abright. Uh. Looks for Horsey, Hippo, Eremine, Will (The telltale twister would);
But by now theyre gone, My merry gang; Whispy drifts them taken has, Left all air as ajangle, gongy with bells.
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But fortuitiously, By that glance I seen How thus appear, As outa’ thin air, On the scene Them gracious ladies Juliet and Jill. Who seemingly wander worlds, As do Albatrossee, For a bit a’ zing’. Oh. A bite a’ this, a bite a’ that, What’s their thing? “Welcome unto this melangé”, I say, “This potpourri, this cornucopie, This ode to a tree.
Partake of all, and linger under this fine Willow tree,
Here where a smile brings many a’ serenity.” “Welcome are you. How could, ever, I have expected This all to be – or not to be?” And serendipiteously now,
102
As once in a blue moon, I have this scheme to show. Ah. See the dreamy tree, That anthropomorphie – of metaphoric algorythmie; To be run recursivelee. The point whole of this rift-racked Hurdy-gurdy Melodeon, This Orangophone Seraphine Symphonion. – O, great Thesaurus of wondrous ontologie. O, what snake’s-hands ways Thou continuously employ, To guide this rumpus hubbub.
Hum. Hum. Hum.
Well, these, these ensembled literata, and all, Will ya’ let them deliver?
Let throw that neon needle stitch To the æon tides Of this mind of mine?
The point full, of This all, That all, That we be made of.
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And thus, from that centre, A Tree of Life is rendered, A reach from abstract vacuity To utmost concrete tangibility, A dream for free is offered, A story whole, it tells an’ zings.
Yah! A flow is it.
Yah, that song’s a’ ringa, ringa, ring – a ringading. Sets me on a mindflight, Yet I dream myself awake. (Where am I now? Where fares this aviators stream, This surprise of lucent wind, Across, about, all through an’ through This my secret garden Filled full with Horseys, Hippos, Paintings, People, An’ that’a ferlie odd Parrot of fantasie?
O, Willy, Willy, Willy, I ride the flow;
Ride head wind, tail wind, jetstream, blast, every Zephyr swift, 104
every slipstreame brouhaha, every tightrope dance, Oh, An’ every gale and elegant gust. Yea, I’ll make it Or be ground Into Elephant dust.)
I turn the tables, I Turn the tides, I now ride, ride, ride
I flie my wing
(A multiply drafted construe Of Turing propensity, Of mingling cellular Rich field vibrancy;
Might be they heterodyne Indirectely?)
– And I reciprocate my wheel From out the hands of a dreamy, Ardent, and Invisibly Pink, And unbelievably so, Djinny Unicorn reprieverie.
Hey, gonna steer across Many a’ strangey sea, All a’glitter, sparklin’, Heaving this way, that way, 105
Of mysterious sheen, Across vistas immense Of almost unbearble perplexity,
For to cross these waters Of emergent reality; Purposed to make me sing.
(Oh, I’ll pick up my lute, or a harp, or my gitarra, Or might be that that klein pianata would do?
Oh, I would gyre, I would mingle harmony, Heartfelt lust and desire, With tides of trance and deep discerning crafty care, and I’d groove the fire.)
“O Willow, O Willow Tree so free, Pick a song, choose any ludey lude, And sing along I will.” “My Ladies, Gents, and all ya’ eerie wraiths, – Join in.”
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And so I sing.
And here’s the coda. (Just add an harmonicas etheral wail.)
Sings.
“O, Willy, Willy, Willy free, That tune doth stay with me.”
“O, Willy, Willy, Willy free, Whisper day and night for me.”
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The PromEnADE
Songs II
Everything is Music
ď Ľ ď‚˜
Let me tell you, everything is music, Yeah, everything is music. Let me tell you, everything is love, Everything, yeah, every little thing is love. Ah, everything is music, Yeah, everything, every little thing is love. There might be an Autumn feel A pale melancholy, Yet I feel no need, Find no necessary deed To explain Or complain upon. I like the colours Of these Autumn Aster leaves. Let me tell you, everything is music, Yeah, everything is music. Let me tell you, everything is love, Everything, yeah, every little thing is love. Ah, everything is music, Yeah, everything, every little thing is love.
113
Even when the rain is coming down I wish to dance I remember the music, The melody, The summer night, And there were stars. Oh, I could be in France, Could be anywhere with you, Let me show you how to do this dance Let me tell you, everything is music, Yeah, everything is music. Let me tell you, everything is love, Everything, yeah, every little thing is love. Ah, everything is music, Yeah, everything, every little thing is love. Ah, everything is music, Everything is music. Yeah, everything is love. Everything, everything Every little thing is love.
See p. 275 for a li’l background on this song.
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Dawn
She comes to me at dawn, When still, at times, I walk the ocean floor. Wakes me up, Soft whispers drown out that boatmans call. Oh magic night, so bright, I remember now kisses sweet as wine ... Take me, love me, hold me, now I’m yours. Yeah, take me, love me, hold me, I am yours. My soul is touched with words, Where I sleep at last unburdened and at peace. Yea, you bring me dreams so sweet, From shore to shore that rainbow light rolls in. Beneath a billion burning stars I dreamt of you my love, my sweet delight ...
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Take me, love me, hold me, now I’m yours. Yeah, take me, love me, hold me, I am yours. I come to you dear bride, I take your hand, an’ I hold your heart in mine. And through corridors of time, We meet and love upon the waves of mind. Yea! Like it’s time out of mind That precious time we found; sweet love I love your smile ... Yeah, take me, love me, hold me, now I’m yours. Yeah, an’ take me, love me, hold me, I am yours.
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Yea. She comes to me at dawn, When still, at times, I walk the ocean floor. Wakes me up, Soft whispers drown out that boatmans call. Oh magic night, so bright, I remember now kisses sweet as wine ... Take me, love me, hold me, now I’m yours. Yeah, take me, love me, hold me, I am yours. Yeah, an’ take me, love me, hold me, I am yours.
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Words
Words are flowing in my mind In patterns made of silv’ry smiles, New worlds are being born, bang bang, An’ they spread out across the starry vault. All around me that hustle bustle propensity Is lightin’ up the world, As the dance of life Throws up a bright billion galaxies of light: O! I find that words are not enough. O! Golden ships fly the range galore, From middle ground to utmost shore. Both ways they go. Set up a call; An’ the world will tumble as it falls Free, ablaze, a great delight, An’ that a trail of transversality creates; That will will itself the great divide To bridge, as word and æon burn. O! Fly me beyond the horizon.
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Yea, as I look from shore to shore, At my canvas edge strange worlds unfold. Galaxies, bang bang, like grains of sand Abound, are everywhere around, An’ in my hand, a fire, a pertinence Of essence, every colours’ inner shinin’ light. And thus I strive to finalize, To draw the line, set the scene: To make, and then, as river ripplin’ flow, go.
For a few observations on this song, see p. 278 and 287.
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Wild River
Ah! There’s a way to go For to hold a wild rivers flow, Yea, the way that goes Is the way it shows. By all means, Come an’ take the world by storm, It may rain away, yea! An’ then the sun will play. Raindrops all around me They sure fall wild, All around me anyhow The wind holds sway. Gonna go sail that stream Sure to fling me astray, Oh, the long way, yeah, Just a snake’s-hand away. Gonna sail away Into that wild blue yonder, Gona go far away, Gonna cross the sea. Gonna find a way For to be there together, To bring you with me That would sure make my day
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There’ll be time enough For songs full of wonder, Time enough To make sweet love to you. Come along my dear one We should ‘a sail down the river Shouls ‘a get us a li’l wild love A li’l peace of mind. Ah! There’s a way to go For to hold a wild rivers flow, Yea, the way that goes Is the way it shows. By all means, Come an’ take the world by storm, It may rain away, yea! An’ then the sun will play.
121
There are Days
There are days that just pass by, There are thoughts that slip my eye, There are dreams I cannot hold, An’ the ways of all these things I won’t presume to know. O, the road keeps rollin’ on, O, what sights there are to see, Oh, how near I came to thee, But it’s the breeze that flows all free. Now time might someday embrace this song, Time whose changes surely will unfold, As you an’ I come close. O, dear heart, your charm’s ‘a pinned me To lifes’ spinnin’ wheel. And as the tremblin’ first notes abide, As the words fall in easy driftin’ rhymes, An ageless modern sound to your ear, Well that could be, that would be A love quite real to me.
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So I sing this song of love, I sing the words that fall, I just want to tell the world, That true love and sweet companions Should everyone befall. O, the road keeps rollin’ on, O, what sights there are to see, Oh, how near I came to thee, But it’s the breeze that flows all free. O, the road keeps rollin’ on, O, what sights there are to see, Oh, how near I came to thee, But it’s the breeze that flows all free.
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Step By Step
Step by step I get close to you. Without you babe I wouldn’t know what to do. Oh I write and sing words for you To take you Out of the blue. Oh babe, we got a dream to live, Time to rend, Sheets to bend, Take your time. Down the road across them steppin’ stones Perchance our paths May meet my dear. I will ride the wind, Catch the late night train, Grab a hurricane by the trail. Yea, I will meet you yet though times have changed As each one of us now Get’s the wave, Comin’ on.
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Ah, look ahead bright star of mine, I gather clouds, I clear the way. Yea, I want you, I want you. Yea’, stay right now, Stay awhile, Tonight’s the Night. Ah babe, you may have it all, Take what you need I’ll just make it last. All for you. Yea’. Step by step I get close to you, Without you babe I wouldn’t know whatto do. Oh I write an’dsing words for you To take you Out of the blue. Oh babe, we got a dream to live, Time to rend, Sheets to bend, Take your time.
125
Good Things Ahead
There are good things everywhere, Happy days ahead. Things just get better. Why should it be elseways? Oh I think I got that happy rush, Oh yeah, now let’s see what’s comin’ up Hey Babe! Look ahead! These gates of dawn will impress you. Hey Babe! Now the mornin’ lights arrived All around it is an’ I want you. Oh the worlds full of beauty aplenty, But you’re the one I adore, come over here, gimme more. You gotta take it all. You gotta make that call. An’ when it’s all said an’ done This all will come back to you. Oh, Yeah, an’ I will hold you. Oh I, I love you.
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Yeah, good things, they may come an’ go. Now they’re here, an’ now they’re there. Take care of them for me, please do, Until I come for to call on you. Bright lights, sweet delight, After all this while I think it’s time for you to close in on me. You gotta take it all. You gotta make that call. An’ when it’s all said an’ done This all will come back to you. Oh, Yeah, an’ I will hold you. Oh I, I love you. There are good things everywhere, Happy days ahead. Things just get better. Why should it be elseways? Oh I think I got that happy rush, Oh yeah, now let’s see what’s comin’ up Oh yeah, now let’s see what’s comin’ up
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Love Boogie
Yeah, Honey Honey, I’m so in love with you. Yeah, fill me up, There’re so many good things to do. Yeah, Honey Babe, I wanna get along with you. Yeah, Sweet Honey, I wanna get close to you. Honey, Sweet Sweet, Ah, let’s pump up the heat. Every evenin’ comin’ in, I wanna make love to you. Ah, Honey Bunny, We’ll make love all night long. Yeah, Honey Babe, We’ll do it in the daytime too. In the evening, in the afternoon, I get along with you.
128
Yeah, Honey Honey, I’m so in love with you. Yeah, fill me up, There’re so many good things to do. Yeah, Honey Babe, I’m in love with you. Ah, Yeah, Honey Babe, I’m so in love with you.
129
Time After Time
Time after time A brand new song will hail the day. Clear, bright and true It will stream out the window way. Hey, hey hey, hey hey! Get along, now fly into the day. Tell this story, Tell it any which way. Soon this song will grow, It will blow, gather clouds an’ fly about. It’ll take the high road, the fine road, An’ it’ll sweep the valley low. Hey, hey hey, hey hey! Catch the wind an’ fly away. There’s a story everywhere, Been just a’ waitin’ for this day. Tell me how all this came about, Tell me what is true, Tell me all the final things, Before I have to go.
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From the wellspring of this world, A song, light of sun, tears of joy. No need to rush, Just float this tune and rest. Hey, hey hey, hey hey! Your voice will carry as we all join in. Ah, the beauty of your sweet singin’ It will surely make me sing. Tell me how all this came about, Tell me what is true, Tell me all the final things, Before I have to go. Tell me how all this came about, Tell me what is true, Tell me all the final things, Before I have to go.
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Brighton Girl
Brighton girl, I can’t get you out’a my mind. Yea, Paradise Bird, so close by, Rowdy sky, Raindrop in my eye. Beauty! O touch me now. Everywhere I go I will remember you. Brighton girl, you’re fine. Oh so fine. I dance the line, gotta run the mile. And down the valley, From over the hill, A divide I cross. Oh, I will. Hey, I’m closin’ in, as if with the wind. Well, I’ve never had long to wait, You were always there for me. An now I know the things you do, An’ I shall reach out for thee, A shadow trench I cross, I sail, fall free. Brighton girl, stay ahead of me.
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Brighton girl, stay true to me. Paradise bird, My My, how bright you be Even as sadness centers me, A smile breaks free, Right away, on the spot, instantly. Oh Brighton girl, you live in me.
133
Common Ground (for Flori)
Walk on by, Walk on high, But if you look down below your feet All you see is common ground. Howlin’ winds, They may pass you by, Though should you fly You’ll be far away from common ground. Wild dogs are barkin’ All night long. Yeah, they sneak around all right On sacred common ground. Flori says, “Tune it all back”. Yeah, we’re right on track. An’ when the day has come Let ‘em bright bones hit common ground.
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Yeah, Rock me now! Yeah, Rock me high! Gonna dance a way From the heavens to the ground. Ah, walk on by, Yeah, walk on high, An’ when you look down below your feet Nothin’ there but common ground.
Flori? See note on page 275.
135
Sweet Jane
I am ridin’ on a train goin west, I’m on the road again, Goin’ down to San Antone, To have some fun, To see sweet Jane again. Upstairs in her flat Waits that room with mirrored walls. Ah, I see Jane’s there now, When last night was good An’ we just got us some more. Oh, we all go in different ways To that other side of time, To lifes distant shore. So what matters now, most, Is but all this love we have. Oh Jane, sweet Jane, I just can’t get enough of you. Ah, the way you walk an’ the way you talk Keeps kind‘a have deep Effects on me.
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Oh, San Antone, an’ Jane, All sun an’ heat, Ah, sweet memories break free As do you an’ me Just bein’ we. Yea’, I am ridin’ on a train goin west, I’m on the road again, Soon I’ll be in San Antone, I’ll have some fun, Meet up with sweet Jane again. Oh Jane, sweet Jane, You’re a billions dreams come true. Yea’, your li’l call went live, An’ now I’m here Headin’ straight for you. Oh Jane, sweet Jane, There’s no substitute, I know. Yea’, I’m on my way, An’ now, comin’ up ahead – San Antone.
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Time Enough For Love
Try again, this time it might work. Try again, I saw a shooting star tonight. Try again, there’s time enough for love. Try again, it just might be worth it. Try again, time itself holds its breath. Try again, there’s time enough for love. Try again, can this be true? Try again, don’t miss this train! Try again, there’s time enough for love. Try again, a song will surely be born. Try again, don’t give up my friend. Try again, there’s time enough for love. Try again, let the sunshine in. Try again, let Your heart sail free. Try again, there’s time enough my friend, time enough my love. Try again, this time it might work. Try again, I saw a shooting star tonight. Try again, there’s time enough for love, Time enough for love, Yeah! There’s time enough for love.
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Wave
Hariolatory
Hariolation
On them Roots of It
A
while back as I got involved in a discussion* at The Brights forum I began using the word hariolation, which I found squeezed in with ‘guesswork’, ‘speculation’ and ‘probability’ in Roget’s International Thesaurus, 4-th ed., 1977, p. 412, under Class six, II, D 543 – that is, following the chain, under: Intellect, States of Mind, Anticipation, Prediction, and finally under prediction as this is expanded upon under its heading 543, eureka – hariolation. So I guess it means speculative guesswork, I guess? Hariolator. I’d guess that’d be one who does the speculative guesswork? So. I’m no scientist, though I have self-educated myself by trying to keep abreast of the knowledge wave breaking upon us ever since Copernicus, Giordano and Galileo dared face the incomprehensible. Yay! I surf it, that wave. I really don’t have the formal tools of science, but when I see the mathematician put a period after the last calculation hanging mid air on its page, after rows and rows of equations, I then am inspired to try to look for the syntax of the thinkings (though the internal logistics escape me) as I enjoy the pretty patterns. At times they ring a few bells. So what do I then do? – I hariolate. On the following pages are three of these. (Another one, on Monads and Phonemens, I shall add, when I find them among my papers spread tucked away in this or that drawer. A wider search is therefore neccessitated) * See the topic ‘Humans are Cellular Colonies’ at The Brights Forum, Post #55. 143
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Patterns
Patterns are memetic, they have a figure/ground* relationship
(background/foreground). A centre of narrative gravity would be the still point of a memetic mix. Yah. Might a memetic mix of dynamic character a Turing device denote? Is there enough information within the rich field of a single cell to boot a bell of consciousness that’d reverberate the Turing dynamic, the memetic mix? That mass would perchance bring about a flow, reveal an epipanic state to nature, its recursivitie percieved, recognized, reflectively become manifest, usually unpremeditatedly; in moments of peak experience, in patterned referencing of a still centre of the world, mediated by the single cell? As all patterning is information it may be represented by word, becomes word, is it’s own expression. [What word? The word that becomes world that becomes word? – Any word. Any world. And the no-set gives pause.] Pattern patterns patterns, connects, connotes, combines them all and in one single ring binds them all. Ring-a-ding! The essence of science is the perception of patterns in the world, which are expressed as hypotheses, and the testing of the predictions of hypotheses against new observations of the world. The perception of a pattern is not a rational process, it is a creative process. Mathematics is useful to draw out the implications of hypotheses after they have been conceived. David Lawson, June 20th, 2012 at 9:13 pm at debtflation.com.
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Patterns
Ring-a-ding! Poetry is made of Words. Words have patterns. Words weave patterns. Patterns whirl the World, In Words they warble, whurble And whoosh around: In time then, Them patterned Words of Poesy Whroom wild.
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The Single Cell
Is there a relationship of the phonon and the phoneme? Is there a
dynamic to the phonon that is mirrored by the phoneme? Are the lilts, movements and reactions of single cells, by whatever stimulus caused, translated into cascades of phonic waves that in patterns of spreading multiple drafts of interaction through neural networks, accented by reverberating recursions of further stimuli patterned on the single cells response to the first input, are these minute movements, the flexings of the cell, a conscious song? Is it all just plain Rock ‘n Roll? Is Life – a Singin’, Swingin’ Momentum? In the Single Cell Theory the membrane of a cell is viewed as the carrier of an elastic wave, capable of accessing ‘rich’ information. In terms of thr Single Cell Consciousness theory of Jonathan C.W. Edwards’s, it has SAMEDI, Simultaneous (cotemporal) Access to Many Elements (of information) in Defined Inter-relationships, i.e. it has access to a pattern. These patterns, as they propagate, might, give rise to further multiple drafts of actuation, to be received as new patterns and cognized by the single cell in the networks of neural nets reciprocally surrounding differentiated single cell nodes? Would the cells internal update dynamic thus define a temporal shift in the multiple overlays of different reverberating patterns (some of which be recursive, and thus algorythmic) to be cognized as a whole, a moving dynamic? The ring of a bell? If it be broken in one place that’ll be expressed by the whole wave. We have a wholity of structured self-referring temporality, i.e. life goes on. (Might the stilled out wave reciprocally be void of both subjectivity and objectivity yet be there, aware? Awareness made of basal bliss?. What do I know?
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The Single Cell
Multiple Drafts, Neural Nets, Narrative Subjectivity Nodes – causal interaction? Is it that consciousness is not but that the illusion of consciousness is? Though that is not? Is illusion also qualia in itself ? Is bliss a qualia? Or does it have a physiological correlate? How to understand the physiological reverberations of a ‘silent word’? It’s phononic cascade? • So it is ”wave electromechanics”. (No spooky Schrödinger wave mechanics.) Consciousness as resonance. A neuronal orchestra ringing & singing in my head. (Each instrument having 50000 strings, giving a huge spectrum) ’Flori’, ’Florifulgurator’* of The Brights: The Brights Forum, Post #39, In the topic ”����������������������������������������������������� Humans as cellular colonies and the Brights’ agenda”.
In my imagination the me-cells form a Bose-Einstein condensate ensemble (like a flock of indistinguishable sheep, strolling around the grassy plains of experience, always staying together, unisonso responding ”määh” to Flori´s ”mööh”...). ’Flori’: (ibid.) Post #51.
* Mars Joh. Pictor Florifundator Florifulguratorum avatara Hariolator, aka ‘Flori’. 148
The Deep
Meditation is a deep thing, it relaxes the mind and then the body follows suit as the senses withdraw, a sort of inner isolation from impulses from outside occurs (yet the automatic danger-detection reflexes go but semi-dormant, like in a super-cooled loop, as close to a zero-point dynamic on can get, here the incoming energies are actuated a notch so that if a fire starts one will not sit still). In The Deep state there is no sensation (no sensory feedback), there’s egoloss and a stillness that can not be objectified by any act (which one, in the meditative processuality, is not engaged in anyway), one cannot put ones finger on it (touch its surface and it ripples). The Deep is beyond the dichotomy of subject/object. But there is an inner event horizon, so to say, with characteristics almost analogous to what we’d find in the near-field area of the event horizon of a regular black hole (talking of The Deep meshes us ever further into the complexities of that dynamic). The inner, near-field area is quite devoid of the structuralities that mark the congruence of stuff into concretizations of the outer world, yet as one packs the chaos tighter structuralities appear. * Yes, as one draws close to the intangibility of The Deep things start happening. It is as if the compaction of the subjective, of the inner experiencer, gives rise to a dynamic output of various enticing energetics. This output is qualitatively different from the way things usually come about, with all their black ‘n white distinctions as the synchronization of cause and effect takes it’s toll on us, think of all the little surprises that come in our way as rivers flood or as one can’t find the house keys when one is in a hurry to leave.
* Entropy Can Lead to Order, Paving the Route to Nanostructures.
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ScienceDaily, 26 July 2012.
The Deep
The outpourings from the inner event horizon are not bound by those common causal chains yet they create new chains as they start interacting with the, to us usual and generally, in a day to day sense, more accessible and conceptually understandable events of life. This is the inner level of super-conductive subjectivity. This is the field of the ‘perfections’, the sidhis (as per the philosophy of subjective recurivity, in an algorhythmic sense, that is, speaking of the recursive repeatability algorithm that allows for all action to fall away and thereby bring the result of a cessation of ideation, ‘algorhythmy’). In the delineation of the algorhythmic process and its effects (in the philosophy of lifes balances) these’perfections’ are traditionally called ‘sidhis’. The sidhis, the perfections, arise from an inner event horizon free of outer dichotomies and they give rise to a subjective experience of incredible wonder, a meme macine starts chuggin’ along. Yet to engage in that, in a sense, creative and imaginative free flow (as one meditates) is to have turned ones stance back towards the complexities of the outer, in contrast to allowing the free falling (the simple act of non-specific interrupting to the flow of thinking) into the processuality of the algorhythmic stance which carries one into the heart of The Deep (in talking about this one may easily fall into the trap of projecting outer structure onto the inner singularity, as in the expression I just used, “’Heart’ of The Deep”). As we cognize the outpourings from the surface of The Deep, from the area of ‘rithambara’, ‘field of inner harmony’, a paralellism of conceptualization is generated wherein the outpouring takes on the
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The Deep
attributes of the conceptual outer, the outpouring becomes memetic and quite unburdened, yet concerned, by troubles of the day (viz. all the motivational memes floating around). Another consideration is that what arises from within may also be the result of embedded and solidified confusions that come loose, lose their moorings, as one pulls away the carpet of conceptual ideational activity from under their feet, they, those inner blemishes, may then flie out like the machinery of a clock that has been opened up, all in ones face. That chaotic energetic (the seed of illusion) then gets mixed in with the outpouring from the inner event horizon, with the result of existential confusion taking preponderance within the subject, as if a layer of heavier colour has been applied to the pure creative flow, the outpouring [outpurring ]. As that happens the refreshing dive into The Deep is turned around. The ‘perfections’ are therefore to be taken with a pinch of salt, so to say. The emanations of the inner near-field of the deep are really not to be taken at face value as one is engaged in the algorhythmic process – if there be any sense in the outpuring that’ll still be around, in the inspirational and imaginative sense, as one returns into the field of action providing us with a concept of meaningfullness even as we stand caught up in the mundanities of life.
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Flowers In a Field
Songs III
Heaven and Earth
Before we knew the starry skies, Before we knew what was above the clouds Heaven and Earth were far apart. Now each footstep on this my beloved ground Reveals a path that was there all along, From where we came to where we go, From a billion years ago. The only way I know is step by step, The only way to go is outwards bound, Yet stand still a while and catch the roll and flow of time, Yeah take your time, consider all the choice you have, Stand still a while, there’ll always be another road to take. He said, “It never was so easy, it never was so slow.” Dear friend of mine, yeah, it’s quite natural – the way to go. I will go, I will be, I will climb those steps From the deepest gravity, Soar and roar up to almost utmost blessed infinity, Into weightless states and dreams reminding me of consistency. I’ll climb far above to the heaven we’ve joined with earth so rationally, All the way from where we came to where we go. Ah my love, from a billion years ago.
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The Bright Blue
Who made the birds that sing in the sky? Who made the apples that grow from trees? Who made all the stuff, the stuff I see? Who made the who who asks these things? A Blue Moon, perchance it was, banging away at a dream, Who from bright beginnings still spins a turn or two. Yea, a blue moon to sail the mind as it does its slow motion time, And every breath it takes makes lovers go “O Woo!” Who knows anything, anything on that for sure? Who can tell while caught up in the whirly gig? Whomever kicked the starter might not even by self know how? Yea, a blue moon, say, of momentary equilibrium lapse. There’s a faits accomplis now, and a sense of wonder thereto. Yet I scratch my brow as my lines here ebb and flow. Who knows the answer to all construcs of The Deep? Who knows what words to use? What more to say? So I do my thing, another chair I provide. Sit. Rest. Enjoy. Take a seat, made of atoms galore from the switchback unknown, Of dynamics of past, present and of what’s ahead. A blue moon I say, keyed up. Now I turn its bright shaft.
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Yet as ever that seductive question is beyond our control, There’s no referent for backup but it’s fun to reflect upon, It shimmers in the smoky haze of a vision oh so bright, As the sun falls into the ocean at the great end of the world. O, mysterious are my ways. And Oh How So! Yet deeply I dig The Deep Field and, My Oh My!, I unearth yet another trinket from a forgotten shore; I tune in, and take my step out into The Bright Blue. Yea! Who made the birds that sing in the sky? Who made the apples that grow from trees? Who made all the stuff, the stuff I see? Who made the who who asks these things?
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What Is, Is Real
When patterns flow, As if on tip-toe, They lock in On that magic touch Until they display (Shure as day, Plain to see), Upon the eye Of destiny; When on our olde sphere, Transversal bound, In recless times They do their count: Another day, another night (Tell me where to start And if it’s wise). Now the Skylark sings It’s spandrel stuff.
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True it is to see, True it is to thee That the waters flow All the way From home to home (In the wind, Wings will sing), Along this bright length Of but a guitar string. I tune in, Rock ’n Roll an’ folk, All the form And the function thing. I take a walk with you (Need the talk, Will last a billion years), And I can understand, What is, is real.
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Yea, the pattern flows It folds an’ it unfolds, Another twist, A beaut, Origami Swan. Ah, my Skylark dives (Wings its way, No clockwork there), Leaves a sigh Within my wellspring heart. Yea, the patterns flow, Every day They come an’ go An’ then fade away; A virtual beat (bird on high, Surreal sky), An’ I but think a smile’s ray Will win the day.
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Gone Away
I was walkin’ in a storm, winters’ day Clouds were riftin’, driftin’ in the wind, ‘looked about, noone there to show the way. I was standin’ in a doorway, wind was hard, Reason came and went, what’s left will have to do to tell this strange kind event. Gone away, gone away! Gone away, gone away! Hey, I set out to hear, hear a different rhyme! Keep the blues in line, not overwhelm This feeling glowing deep bright white inside. That’s when I saw you standin’ there with silver glow, Eyes so clear, stabbed my heart, opened out. Hey, let’s get away, this now’s no place to abide. Gone away, gone away! Gone away, gone away! Turn around, dear one, I’ll have you look At the altars of the wind an’ rain As wild thunder, hail, rain, fall winds roll in.
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Turn again sweet one, soon walls’ be crumblin’, Steps dissolvin’, we’ll be thrown about Around along this walk. We should get away! Gone away, gone away! Gone away, gone away! Gone away, gone away! Gone away, gone away! So, let’s get a ride out of winters white an’ shakin’ Light that covers up, makes it numb, strikes out. Let’s go, this is luck, come be my sweet heart. I was standin’ in a doorway, cold winters wind was rough, then I saw you there aglow. Ah, wasn’t that a strange kind coincidence? Gone away, gone away! Gone away, gone away! Gone away, gone away! Gone away, gone away!
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I
This is me, This is I, Don’t you touch my pie. I was four An’ I was mean, Didn’t know no tact nor tone. Lovely cake, Lovely pie, I surround thee with my might. Swords aflash, A soldier in the night, I guard the candle-lights. Well, I don’t know What me prompted so, To ply myself so ungraciously, To grab and take Cake and plate And with this stash my corner hold?
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A sting maybe? I remember runnin’ scared Once, when a parade appeared. And once I had to flee Both friend and foe, My playground unraveled, unsecure. Maybe ’cause my language was amiss? Didn’t know this for that Or what from what, no voilá, so to say. Or was it but fear of loss? An insatiable greed That myself, me, I devoured? Oh, but there was a lotta love, of course, Heaps an’ heaps of it! An’ now I play the Guitar. Yea now, as days go by, I sing an’ share Find friends everywhere;
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I shine a light, Bright into the night. Have a piece, the cake is good. Ai ei, oh doh, we all ate, I was subdued; I learnt a lesson, I know. Now I is I An’ this I share with you, That moment, an age ago. All in all Sixty years gone by Today I round the sky. Party’s over, The last guest gone. Dear reader, listener, friend, my love to you. This mem’ry I wrote right now. Now night Close my eye.
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Radio Blues (for Jonas)
I ain’t got a clue, Got ’em Radio Blues, Gotta get my feet down on the ground. Been runnin’ ’round town, Scorchin’ heat’s all I found, Searchin’ for that lost gone sound. Maybe it’s just too obviously hid to be found? I Ain’t got a clue, Got ’em Radio Blues on my mind. I look in my cellar, I ain’t got a clue, Look in the attic right under the roof. I’ve emptied my wardrobe, Looked under the rug, Oh where’s that long lost tune? And my Radio hammers away at the blues. Oh I ain’t got a clue, Yet the Radio Blues is my déjà vu. Radio Blues rock my soul. Radio Blues is all I can find. I ain’t got a clue to where that old song may be? So I’ll but grab my red guitar And write another new song for thee.
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I aint got a clue, Gotta stop this circlin’ around. And the radios play oh so loud all o’er town, Them bells are ringin’ On these streets of rhyme, Guide my feet with swirls of a long long sound. Yet there’s nothin’ to be found this time. I ain’t got a clue, An’ now these Radio Blues conquer my mind. Radio Blues rock my soul. Radio Blues is all I can find. I ain’t got a clue to where that old song may be? So I’ll but grab my red guitar And write another new song for free.
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Shake A Leg (for Curt)
A day or two, Nothin’ to do. Ah, well. Just write a song or two. Paint a paintin’. Do your thing. You got nothin’ to lose, Ah, an’ the wind will blow Across your scenes, In pastel tones, With bold bright strokes. Yea’, Shake a Leg, Let it all hang out, Yea’, an’ things’ll never be the same again. A day or two, So much to do, An’ all I wanna say, Curt, Is that this song’s for you.
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There’ll be things to show, Shows to do. Yea’ you’re a Rock ‘n Roll Star, An’ now you play that electric guitar Across these riffs, With a rag-time lilt, Yea’, you’re on it, you’re on it. Yea’, Shake a Leg, Let it all hang out, Yea’, an’ things’ll never be the same again. A day or two, Nothin’ to do. Ah, well. Just write a song or two.
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Of Squirrel, the Birdies, that Labrador, and that Cat
’Twas a wonderful day, Yet The Birdies flew low, So Squirrel hid in a tree. I Squirrel watched And The Birdies they watched Me. Where Squirrel is Is now plain for all to see. Oh, as I was walkin’ down the street A beaut I seen, A golden Labrador. He met my eye as I passed. Did we connect or not? I turned around to check So did he. And that lone Cat I seen on shaky ground Had worked his way Under a fence. Cacklin’ Birdies eye him, eye me. “Hey! Cat!” I exclaim. “Look out!” And, Lo! He slipped away.
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Rays
Abrakadabra Nuit ♥♠♣♦
Pikeboros
Disclaimer
I must here, again, impress on the reader (see preface) that I do not look upon The Tarot as a divinatory tool of any kind, beholding of strange magical propensities, or of prescient power (except as to seredipiteous probability). No, I view the Major arcana, the trumps (especially of the Crowley/Harris deck), as almost hallucinatory, representatives of the archetypes of life, a shorthand for expressions as to the existential factors of the human condition. As for the minor arcana I see therein the interplay of other common concepts, stances, and circumstances of life’s multifarious occurances, a cataloguing of general categories.
The Tarot in New Light
How to Make Use of The Tarot to Tell a Poem or a Story!
A psychodynamic, poetomythic exercise The way I lay the Tarot accords with a system of my own that I’ve developed. (See my example on p. 183, the methodic is traversed step by step beginning on p. 185). There are two bases to this approach: 1.
T
he basis of a certain characteristic of our cognitory ability - we can only count to four (4) [as does the Crow, on the limbic level we’re no better]. If we attempt to count ordered stuff at a glance, as if glancin’ out the window from a train and seein’ a few poles standin between houses, well how many did we see? Science has shown that we get confused if there are more than four objects to perceive, 5 and it could well have been 6, or maybe 4?, well so it goes, four (4) objects we will count spontaneously (a reference to this I found in an old copy of the magazine Scientific American, I’ll try to dig up the reference, as time allows). I once had to count a great heap of transistors, yeh, and I did ‘em in fours an’ dammit, it made for an easy flow of maual sorting, glancing at the pattern of four, and countin’ up. Number dynamics. Huh! Here’s an example of the poet/philosopher Aleister Crowleys (so fond of the occult) wievs on ‘number’:
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The Tarot in New Light
In the case of the number 2, the only issue is the return to the unity or to the negative. No continuous process can be conveniently symbolized; but the number 4 lends itself, not only to this rigid extension, the hard facts of nature, but also to the transcendence of space and time by a continuously selfcompensating change. (The Book of Thoth, p. 117) [One could say, perchance, “for to enlarge the ‘universe of discourse.’”]
The basic idea of patterns of four transposed onto a storyline would give rise to something akin’ to a li’l poem of four lines, four phrases for a li’l story to make. From four syntactic nodes the underpinnings of a dramaturgy may be constructed, a fundament appears, the cornerstone (ay, four corners) for a greater story to elaborate upon, as whim and inclination may have it. So a little story arrives, based on a lay of four horizontal strips (as in a comic book, say) of cards aligned with each new row displayed below the former (as the lines of a poem are). Four sequences of cards, four row of cards, each one of those rows to be ended with an archetype, with one of the Trumps – this thus distinctly rounds off the sequence of attributes and people of the preceding cards. Four lines, four phrases, as said, each one ending up with a Tarot Trump, the archetypal iconic image, have enough contextual mass to tell a li’l tale, whether by fantasy enhanced (by the randomly patterned symbolic fallout) or by psychodynamic allusion, that is, our inner drives and wishes and wants and our abouts may all be projected onto the final pattern and thus we may embed a nexus of personal relevance to the resulting canard (it’s all tounge in cheek, part of this whole set up is it’s entertainment value); a poetomythic exercise.
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The Tarot in New Light
2.
T
he idea of a metaphoric stairwell of evolutionary backdrop and forecast represented by archetypes of the ordered metaphor as translated into mythic aggregates – the Tarot ‘Triumphs’ or, just plainly, ‘Trumps’ (the High Arcana of, traditionally 22 cards, but for the purposes here expanded into a full suite of 24 representations – I will come up with a more poignant, I hope, explanation for the reason of this shortly, but, very shortly, briefly, this need of two additional cards for the high arcana mainly hinges on the dynamic of the construed structure of the evolutionary stairwell alluded to). I take my cue here from the writings of Timothy Leary who in his superlative hariolatory work “The Game of Life” and other writings on “The Neurogenetic Theory of Human Evolution” has set out concepts that make it possible for us to comprehend a great evolutionary formula as reflected in the evolution of myth and thus aptly exemplified by the Tarot. So. I do not look upon the pack of Tarot cards as an occult divinatory device but rather as a revelator of a neurogenetic message on the evolution of life – applicable to the mundane through the psychodynamic syntax-reflexive impact of ‘archetype’. To quote Dr. Leary: “The neurogenetic theory of evolution defines twelve larval and twelve post-terrestrial stages of human evolution.” (Overleaf.)
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The Tarot in New Light
Eight circuits of human evolution *
Four terrestrial neuro-technologies: 1. Safety (Biological Trust-Distrust technology) 2. Security (Politic-territorial technology) 3. Sanity (Epistemology laryngeal-manual-symbolic) 4. Socio-Sexual (Ethics – hive belongingness) Four Post-terrestrial Neuro-technologies: 5. Aesthetic-Neurosomatic (Control of Body) 6. Ontologic-Neurophysical (Control of Brain) 7. Teleologic-Neurogenetic (Control of DNA) 8. Eschatological-Neuro-atomic (Control of Quantum Mechanics) This theory is based on the evolution of the eight-circuit nervous system through twenty-four metamorphic stages, each of increasing mobility.
Why twenty-four? Because each of the eight neural circuits has three sequential functions:
• Reception of signals; dendritic • Integration of signals (intelligence); cell-body • Transmission of signals; axonic
* Timothy Leary; “The Game of Life”, 1979, p.46. 180
The Tarot in New Light
So. that’s all pretty far out but it does make for an interesting backdrop as one goes about creating ones own little tale from the premises of the Tarot. There’s an evolutionary scheme on hand. The trumps, in their archetypal agency, by force of the directive they contain (in an evolutionary sense), offer qualities of dynamic intent, of transformational pivots and of broad connectivities, they become as intuition pumps for whatever hasty relevance we may draw from the patterned lay and thus feed our imagination ramification as we go about makin up a story of our own – in the final end, as I purview the Tarot lay, I see pattern everywhere, it bursts upon me as a bright bubbly fractal convergence. Uh! Ok! Here’s my Tarot draw for today. Now. Allow me to step by step take you through the li’l poem (always a potential story) that this lay encouraged me to develop.
References: Tarot cards by Aleister Crowley (drawn by Lady Frieda Harris). I found these cards at the “Tarot and Playing Cards Museum”. Crowley, Aleister: The Book of Thoth, 1944 (my edition is from 1974). ISBN: 0-87728-268-4 Leary, Timothy; The Game of Life, 1979 (first edition). ISBN 0-915238-30-6 For the first draft of this Poetomythique see: Another Albatross Goes Arundo
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182
Four winds O Queen. My Lady. Look long inside. Wait, Your stance subdued awhile In the rich and wild winding flow. O Tides. Gather me the four corners of the world, Fill me up with wild blue wonder, All light and shadow entice. Bind me, unbind me, The transform I shall transcend. Sift yet the sands As this snake’s-hands dream slips by. So. Wild winds catch me, Throw me atumble, pulse my powers. O Genitor, Thou actuates me And thus the hurried cry.
I am at sea. As is She.
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Zendoe, Riposté, Rendoch, Bebop
‘Four Winds’, former page, was derived from my Tarot lay, 1 June 2008. The thought process that ensued is referenced on the following pages. (The poem was but slightly edited on 1 June 2012.)
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• Here then is the first sequence of this my Tarot lay, three cards:
Abundance, Queen of Discs, Hierophant. So. I look at this sequence with a Queen centered ‘tween abundance and mastery of the symbol, as represented by the Hierophant. Aha I say, now who is this Queen? An anima of mine or some actual ‘other’ entity comin’ to the fore? As my mind throws about with an abundant feel, there’s almost an overflow here, but it’s monkeytalk, the Hierophant represents the emergence of social (gestural, not symbolic) communication technology, territorial control is achieved by elevation and herd communication, political survival technology, monkey troop. the Hierophant, is also transformational
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as it represents the beginning of a migration from Security (Politicterritorial) to Sanity (Epistemology laryngeal-manual-symbolic) and thus embodies the outpouring of the evolutionary vector into the wide, wild blue yonder. Yes. There’s definitely a lady here surrounded by abundances, but here they are abstractions, a potential of the inner life, and the lady is somewhat introvert as the Queen of Discs alludes to more complex interior forces that have to be contemplated to be understood. The dark and light of the lady is upheld by the surronding cornucopias, they act like forces to lift and enhance this brooding moment of inwardness. the Hierophant, in this dynamism, acts at the transmitting end of the politico-territorial platform, and suggests a smooth transition towards evolutionary possibilities (glancin’ down, across the rows of cards, I spy ‘The Universe’ comin’ up – interesting). So, it was all very rewarding, so to say, there was an ‘Abundance’ ‘tween us. In this I can see myself somehow, in these circumstances, as engaging some of the characteristics of the Hierophant (as every would be artisan‘d be wont to), flailingly preparing the ground for a new epistemological outlook as relates to the deeper concerns of the artisté, say, marking the why of it, the flows, the breakin’ up and the pickin’ up ‘a fabulous pointers, not the least as to their gravitational effects, both of storyline complexity, full ‘a centers of narrational gravity; these concerns surge through the painters body as it adapts its movement and momentum in ruled dramaturgy against that basal force (the arm tires, the brush droops). Philosophies too will search about, and, at times, heavily meander
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the symbolisms of mind and nature, snake’s-handedly, glinting at the mythos by adopting the logos, uhm?. Well. Roll on, Roll on! I knew one day she had to go. Lady. I do miss you. But anyway, here we are, the creative abundance and progressive stance of the Tarot sequence here is but slightly shadowed by the introvertness of the Queen. To pursue or not to pursue? The treasure of abundance juxtaposed over the pattern of dynamic inner life, as suggested by the Hierophant, reveals a potential for accomplishment that strangely hangs in the balance, a hint of possibility, resources to develop, decisions to take.
O Queen. My Lady. Look long inside. Wait. Your stance subdued awhile in the rich and wild winding flow.
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•• The second sequence, one card:
The Universe. Wow! The second sequence came up one card straight. The archetype as a nexus in itself. In the medieval Tarot this card, The Universe, is the final card of the high arcana, like fulfilment, everything you dreamed of, all wishes come true, Groundhog runnin’ by the country stream ... yes! In the 21 century Tarot (with the added two Triumphs, or Trumps) we have a full triple octet, 24 cards, to represent the eight nodes (of respectively input, integration, transmission), or steppin’ stones, that unfold structurally one by one as we, both as
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individuals an species, make our ascent up the evolutionary stairway, up the ladder ‘o life, out ‘a the gravitational well an’ beyond. Here in this card ,The Universe, we have extension, complete expansion. An enormous outpouring that offers us a panorama of possibility, a great receptive space, a receptacle for the ornaments, of life and living, that we treasure. O great integrator, lift me, let me come near, entice me. O sailor, now you’re free rider of the galactic spin express, spinner of that quantum consciousness, hew your way, here we approach nuclear territory. From the personal angle this card, “The Universe”, tells me of fulfilment for the Quen of Discs. Hey, there’s a great potential within you. Locate yourself. Realize the mission. Move on to Grand Central Calactic Station. Activate yourself. Use them quiescent neurotechnologies, and step by step (as I get close to you) we should a travel Up-Town, where the main vector avenues are. We should’a transfer to the express line, accelerate to link-up velocity and – switch, switch, switch – we’ll be there. O Wild Blue Yonder, O galactic tide, I’m a gettin out ‘a the grasp of the past. (This last paragraph based on Learys “Game of Life”, p. 276.)
O Tides. Gather me the four corners of the world. Fill me up with wild blue wonder. All light and shadow entice.
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♥♠♣♦
••• The third sequence, two cards:
Worry, The Hanged Man. Well, as I plough this wild whimsy of poetomythical ramble I get into complications. Woory. Uh! Yes. Surely. I have to transmute. Even as I enter this, the Hedonistic Consumer state, represented by The Hanged Man, if fell I must pass on further, move past passive awareness, become unbound by the aesthete, give free rein to imagination and vector myself correctly as zero-gravity liberates consciousness – and all. I get off the fourt larval cycle and transmute myself from Caterpillar to Butterfly, gettin into the subjectivity of
190
♥♠♣♦
zero-gravity narrative consciousness stuff. To transcend or not to transcend. I have this choice, and of course I worry, I head towards a second birth, in fact I’m drawn into it as consciousness blooms with expectation and starts gathering experience of a more abstract nature, totality-based perspectives appear, the pull from Galactic Central start to be felt. I have to go, I’m gone, I’ve blown my top. I soar. But whereto? Lets find out. On a more mundane level this card bespeaks of the multiple concerns all have, and still have, to navigate slightly desperate existential dire straits – economy, life, love, responsibilites, demands, unfortunaties, etc). As there’s that natural longing to unite, and this is, of course, a real worry (to be underhandedly projected upon this Tarot lay). So. The plan has been growin’. One leaves, is leaving, is gone. For me that leaves me with no alternative but to transcend (out’a this gravity well of existential boundedness). Attentions, in the near future, have to focus on a multitude of mundanites. Findin’ work, livin’ space, connectin’ up, all that. So this lay holds a reminder to seek the vision, start up the neuro-technologies (Yoga is a good part of that). Transcend.
Bind me, unbind me, the transform I shall transcend. Sift yet the sands as this snake’s-hands dream slips by.
191
♥♠♣♦
•••• The fourth sequence, five cards:
Defeat, Strength, Ruin, Swiftness, The Magus.
192
♥♠♣♦
And the King and the Queen tumble all down into pieces. Here dangers and potentials mix, all pinnacled though upon the cognate spark of The Magus. A mobility shall rise, as the flow goes on the beat goes on, pulse of despair and joy, at sea Neptune rides the Shark, as Aries hits the dawn. These extremes of tumbledown dynamics all now must integrate and organize, autonomic survival signals whizz the air. Deep breaths I take, the dinghy deck wobbled there, shall bear the brunt of motive force. Alas. The tide has turned, the circle is complete though its balance moment broken, the ring of fire is cast in waters deep haze glitters the horizon. Red sails in the sunset. Beyond the horizon ...
So. Wild winds catch me, throw me atumble, pulse my powers. O Genitor, Thou actuates me and thus the hurried cry. I am at sea. As is She.
193
Figures
Poems II
Now, Enlightenment The Now. It has no beginning, it has no end. It is Love. It is all that ever was and all of what will be. Que sera sera. It soft and it is strong, tender and sweet, and hard as an Oak. Brings me joy, and writes with a rainbow quill (in light dipped). It is the smile of the horizon, from one end to the other. Now. Now there is no other, Now there is no single I. What is dear to me is clear as day, now. My bright snake’s-hands path Illuminates and elevates in a compassionate flow (I would hope). Rock of ages, a whirlwind show, six white horses ready to rove; All the five senses awake and an addendum thereto, Now. Now. Awesome and precious it is, Right on the spot. It flows uphill like coin and down it falls As gentle or wild rain. It is seeming and lovely and zings along (pealing bells of laughter). True joy it is, as said, an ever in the never. Nothing compares. It is beyond the transversal. Now
199
Aloneness, Independence, Freedom – Kaivalya! When within – there is no space, there is no time. In the deep there is no mind and no Self to entice. No God or Guru to disturb, distract or define. No King or Queen in disguise to unveil, to take a fall. Æternity is there moot and there is no finite, Not even a reign sublime to hold the line. The only thing I know is not there, never was ‘Tween the closing and opening of the eye. Kaivalya. But likewise light, transversal bound, Gently, brightly, clearly falls on moon and ground, Guides my feet along a path intangible To biters tooth and claw and cobweb drum. (Nicked that from Master Thomas for sure, poet galore.) A path of love supreme in this twilight zone Of surreal skies and multitudes and dreams, Of the soft breeze and the answer in the wind. Kaivalya. Words repeat themselves and then fade Just like as when the ocean waves subside. Objects, knowledge itself lies there abandoned, All outer form dissolved. Ah, the emptiness of it all. And not even that nor this is the what or why or how. Lightly, gently fall the steps I now hear, A seat prepared I gather there shall be, And alone the preceptor comes to share a bit with thee. Kaivalya! 200
Hallelujah. Oh Hai! Hallelujah, pass the plate. Hallelujah, here we go again. By Recless his own thread was torn, Charlie-d was left to ponder Why on earth his sensibilitie reply That impact had way yonder. Hallelujah, I come circlin’ in. Hallelujah, the facts still linger, That book a statement holds. I think there’s something to it after all. The definitive of its construct I’d sure be interested to unravel. Viral are the ways of God, Good God I simmer in thy stew. Inside out, outside in, no way to know What is up and what is down. Hallelujah, think again, Hallelujah, a phononic beam I am. Hallelujah. Hey ho! My meme a long way has to go. Goof its way it will around the bend And then surely come back again As a photon bright to the eternal dream. Hallelujah. Oh hai! 201
Oh My God! Oh My God! My god am I. I am my god, Myself am I. Oh God. My god is me. In me is God, God is me. Oh, my God! There be a place for me in you, Where I alone am, Yet you are me. O! God! There I am, And you do not intrude. So who is there? Oh My God! When I alone, am home, And alone myself forget. Is anybody there?
202
O God. I’m here. Never was I gone, When not there. Yes, God is me, A word, a song, is me. And there I am. There you are.
203
Merry Christmas
Christmas is around the bend, Christmas-time is here again, Christmas is a very fine thing, I love Christmas with all its bling. Christmas it makes me sing, Christmas I love the thing. I give this to you and I wish you well, I wish you a Very Merry Christmas again. Hey! Ho! Here comes Claus, Here comes Santa, Santa Claus. The man with the beard and the big bright nose, Gonna bring the heart of this merry day. Yea, Christmas is here again, It’s Christmas-time, gonna have me some fun. Christmas is a happy day, Yea Christmas is here to stay. The King is gone but he’s not forgotten, He flew off to Kingdom Come. I’ll remember in the here an’ after That this day has been a pleasant one
204
Christmas, I’ll sing forever. Christmas, now let’s dance this jig. Around our tree in a hurly-whurly flurry, Yea, it’s Christmas, ain’t seen the end of it yet.
205
I Think I Sense Well, I think I sense, The chord this process Towards which choice, This all That wonderwall), Will head.
in natures ways, unfolds, and states, from all that brilliance, (that all, the all in all, so brightly so,
Soft wind will blow, will refresh the Summer, Cool the balm (ditch the clock, Trick that tick-tock-tick); and with senses now acute I reach the pinhead. The stance is set. O, Angelic whirl, exquisite, yet but a delight, Before the night. The bid’s been made. Now of wild carouse; Stay. Ring them bells. In deep whirlpool dells, Yet as one there abides At end, into no sound
Now of candied bun, O! Hold sweet regard, Then, as they have rung, in the deep well; at The Deep of depths, Silence fades.
206
The Journey
Afterwards
Winter Wyrds and the Warbles of Spring
W
ell. What to say? I am in the habit of writing songs now and then, and in doing that I really work the lyrical phrases I invent to go with a melody and a groove. So I did with the little piece “Heaven and Earth”, which may be looked upon as the pivotal point of all the other stuff herein. In that song I define a vision of naturalism based upon the insights we gather from the modern process of ‘Science’ (and, that itself based on mechanisms of creative application of fined tuned instruments to the cares of life and the evaluating dynamic of its ‘peer review process’), this on the one hand, on the other there’s the recursive counterpoint to the evolutionary algorithmic force of development, generator of ever new mundanities and whatever – but the recursivity implied in that process leads to logical contradiction unless seen as based upon the biological pulse of life itself, that is, the selfsame process that generates the rational drive of progress may through recursive application via the mediating interactive standing wave of the biological consciousness bell, the single neuron, the single cell, tinkling bell, be seen to have a potentiality of a preparatory kind, the arrow draws back to shoot forward.
211
To apply this process of counterpoint and distractivity (as it closes in on its utmost subjective field of paradox, perplexitie) makes the distractive potential, by slight direction, by no effort but recognition, through its definition as a “Recursive Evolutionary Algorithm”, yea, this, thus makes available an inner balancing field, a dynamic of stillness; that eye of the discursive hurricane. This then be the tool emergent of the single vision holding these simple pieces, written but for to entertain, an’ to possibly express a contextual coherence – and quite spontaneously they emerged too, as thinkings, meanderings, songlike yet freestanding (small versies), and in most instanses they were written from inspiration generated by discussions at the forums of ‘The Brights’.
Juri Aidas
I should really rewrite this rounding off text. Such a venture is brewing in the back of my mind.
Houses
Notation
A few words as regards these notational sketches.
T
he attempts on the following pages, 219-270, to notate the music to the songs presented in this work are a bit sketchy, to say the least. I do think, though, that the interested listener, by referencing the demo recordings available on my cyber-page at ReverbNation*, will acquire a relevant understanding of the ins and outs of the folky-rocky musicostance I express in my playing. I provide cyber-links to each recording on the respective songs page. I am not particularly proficient in the notating down of the melodic line thus the notes that appear here and there in the notations are merely to be looked upon as indicators of my intentions in the musical sense (I could even have notated things wrongly, at times the notes represent the main notes I play on the guitar). The rhythms and syncopations as well are but slightly marked, the measures, though, ought to be fairly well demarcated, yet in the song-sketches I provide on-line here there might be a few divergences from the actual demo recordings of each song. Some takes were done before I even notated the song and then it’s been vice-versa for some. Well. I do think the songs here may be learned and played from the sketches I offer up by anyone who’d be interested in delving deeper into a song or two. At least the structuralites of the songs may be quite easily grasped from the notation (I’d hope), and that that in combination with the lyrics will somewhat uncover the deeper intentions I espouse to propound by my thinkings and writings, and with my feelings. Some of these recordings are first takes directly after the song was written and thus ought to be re-recorded with, as I would wish, better recording gear, et. al., in the hope that inspirational flows and aspirations will gush cornucopiously . The performance of these songs does matters deeply to me, I do what I do tough not having the professional talent for it. Enjoy. And Good Luck with the dechiphering. * www.reverbnation.com/anotheralbatross 217
218
All the World’s a Joy
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_15908419
( Page 37 )
219
220
Bright Moon
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14613574
( Page 56 )
221
Brighton Girl ( Page 132 )
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14848586
222
223
Common Ground
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_2048632
( Page 134 )
224
Dawn
( Page 115 )
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14848696
225
Everything is Music
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_2048592
( Page 113 )
226
227
Flower Power
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_2029498
( Page 40 )
228
Gone Away ( Page 163 )
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_2029466
229
Good Things Ahead
http://www.reverbnation.com/open_graph/song/2048629
( Page 126 )
230
231
Heaven and Earth
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_2048623
( Page 157 )
232
233
I
( Page 165 )
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14848678
234
I Believe I’m In Love
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14641527
( Page 52 )
235
236
I Love You ( Page 54 )
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14848544
ď … 237
238
Life, Art, & Reason
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14641442
( Page 60 )
ď … 239
240
Little Dream
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14848598
( Page 44 )
241
Love Boogie ( Page 128 )
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14613647
242
Love’s Not For Hire
No link yet.
( Page 48 )
243
244
Merry Christmas
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14613599
( Page 204 )
245
My Heart is not a Secret
No link yet.
( Page 50 )
246
247
Of Squirrel, the Birdies, that Labrador, and that Cat
( Page 172 )
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14848380
248
Radio Blues ( Page 168 )
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14641489
ď … 249
250
Reflection ( Page 56 )
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_2048597
ď … 251
252
253
254
255
Shake A Leg ( Page 170 )
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14848618
256
Sing Along Song
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14848349
( Page 46 )
257
Step by Step ( Page 124 )
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_2029508
258
259
Sweet Jane ( Page 136 )
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14848563
260
The Bright Blue
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14913858
( Page 158 )
261
There are Days
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_2048638
( Page 122 )
ď … 262
263
Time after Time
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_2048643
( Page 130 )
ď … 264
265
Time Enough for Love
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14641667
( Page 138 )
266
True Love ( Page 43 )
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14613616
267
What Is, Is Real
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_14848646
( Page 160 )
268
Wild River
( Page 120 )
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_2029484
269
Words
( Page 118 )
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_2029476
270
But terflies
Reflections
Reflections Lyric / Notation
The Songs All the World’s a Joy Bright Moon
35 / 217 56 / 219
‘Whispering Beach’ alludes to a certain phenomenon I once experienced on a beach on the north-eastern coast of Estonia where the sand is so finely ground that in certain conditions an audible vibration spreads out all over the surface of the beach as one walks along on the sand. A soft whisper of the Earth.
Brighton Girl Common Ground
130 / 220 132 / 222
This song was inspired by a discussion with Florifulgurator of The Brights at The Brights Forum around ������������������� February 2008, see this post:� link. ’Flori’, ’Florifulgurator’ of The Brights: Mars ����������������������� Joh. Pictor Florifundator Florifulguratorum avatara Hariolator, aka ‘Flori’.
Dawn Everything is Music *
113 / 223 111 / 224
The verses to this song were written by Diana Janaviciene and I had a few lines of chorus lying about. On impulse I combined them – an lo, a song.
Flower Power Gone Away Good Things Ahead Heaven and Earth
38 / 226 163 / 229 124 / 228 155 / 230
This song has its origin in a conversation a friend and I had until late one night on our understandings of the world as examplified by the story I was told of the dissapointment of a five year old in one day abruptly finding his favourite friend at the time, This section is to be filled out, by an’ by. 275
Reflections
a cow, being sent to the slaughterhouse. We thus discussed the inevitability of the existential.
I
163 / 232
The first verses of this song I wrote in bed, late at night, right after my 60th birthday party on 6 January 2010, was fun. Thanks for celebratin’ me all guests. I reworked this song a few weeks later. At first this was but a short poem but something called me to expand it. I felt I needed to exemplify the cakegrabbing circumstances, when I was four, or five, of my then appropriation of da birthday cake. This I have a vivid memory of. Thus, to this li’l poem I worked in abouts four more verses, to the two that I had written earlier, an’ I fixed some thisses an’ thatses too. Later it turned ito a song. Ho!
I Believe I’m In Love I Love Life I Love You Little Dream Love Boogie Love’s Not For Hire Merry Christmas My Heart is Not a Secret Of Squirrel, the Birdies, that Labrador, and that Cat Radio Blues Reflection *
50 /233 58 / 234 52 / 235 42 / 237 126 / 238 46 / 239 202 / 240 48 / 241 170 / 242 166 / 243 54 / 244
Here below is the very first completad version of Dianas poem inspired by some abstract dynamic after having just discussed the poem [xxx] by Ovid with me. Having been caught up in the Ovid theme myself (I was also in a Khalil Gibran frame of mood, emotionally charged, I’d say) and helped, just a little, with the grammars of Dianas piece I then asked her if we might expand it some together. After a spell of a few days we had a longer poem. A few months later I spent a day setting it to music.
276
Reflections
Reflection In that space I saw you, my dear, From close friends circles Accidentally set apart. A premonition have I, Yet it is now, Of a prescence here. “Whom it may be?” “It is I”, she heard. Astonished am I And cast my glance for to survey. – says she, “Come nigh, unto me”. Diana Ona Teresa Janavičienė 20 August 2006
Shake A Leg
168 / 249
This here’s a song for my long term friend Curt Hammar, who’s been writing songs and playing in various constellations for as long as I remember. We used to listen to The Byrds’ “Eight Miles High” album that contained a phrase saying “Get yourself an electric guitar, learn how to play, and you’ll be a Rock an’ Roll star”. And now you there my dear friend Curt.
Sing Along Song
44 / 250
From starting out as just a little ditty this song grew like in three stages. First a few lines of nonsense lyrics appeared, then half a year late another few lines of lyric showed up, an’ then suddenly after another half year the rest of the song wrote itself, so to speak.
277
Reflections
Step by Step Sweet Jane The Bright Blue
122 / 251 134 / 253 156 / 254
”The open-endedness of evolution by natural selection depends on the extraordinary richness of the real world, which constantly provides new undesigned elements that can be serendipitously harnessed, once in a blue moon, into new design elements.” (Freedom Evolves, Daniel D. Dennett, 2003, p. 50.)
There are Days Time After Time Time Enough For Love True Love What Is, Is Real
129 / 255 128 / 257 136 / 259 39 / 258 158 / 261
In his book ”He Walked Among Us” Science Fiction writer Norman Spinrad uses the phrase of my title here, ”What Is, Is Real”, quite thematically and builds widely and hariolatory around its crux, its paradox, a ’phrase’ itself to enact. Um? Engrossed in my reading, quite taken by the simple phrase, I momentarily surfaced to write this song-poem. (Set to music, in 6/8.) As the book was unfolding all the while I was reading my thoughts had started spinnin’ around several similar themes as those held forth by Spinrad and they coalesed, for me, in this poem-song. I recommend the book.
Wild River Words
118 / 262 116 / 263
For the inspiration to this li’l piece of a sense of wonder see the Hubble Observatory site: http://hubblesite.org/newscenter/archive/releases/cosmology/2006/12/
There’s a picture in the references section herein, page 281.
278
Reflections
The Poems Aloneness, Independence, Freedom – Kaivalya Big Bang Song Dip Deep Four Winds Hallelujah! Oh Hai! I Think I Sense
198 86 84 181 199 204
Revised: 30 June 2012, The first draft of this one was on 2 Nov 2008, at The Brights Forum – Post: #149358. This was posted under my signature there, my cyber-nomé ‘Albatross’.
Not is Not is Never
83
This song was inspired by a discussion with Layman of The Brights over at The Brights Forum.
Now and Then Now, Enlightenment Oh My God Poets Force The Meter Wrought
90 197 200 82
I was reading a scientific article that discussed the nature of time, and then this li’l poem happened. On a whim, so to say. Physicists Recreate ’End Of Time’ in Lab “Ever wondered what would happen if the dimension of time came to a sudden end? A new experiment reveals all.” (Technology Review, 26 July 2011.) See: http://www.technologyreview.com/blog/arxiv/27030/
Remember Dessert! Tha’ New Book
88 83
This impulsive poem I signed with the nomé ‘Albatross’ at The Brights forum, 2010. There was a discussion on what
279
Reflections
book a group of active participants would wish to read and then discuss. I don’t know why but suddenly I was impelled to a few verbal euphorics on the happy feeling of searching for and then finding a nice new book to read,
Spins an’ Speculations Abracadabra Nuit: Riposté, Rendoch, Zendoe, Bebop On The Tarot: A Poetomythic Exercise Hariolatory
175 141
The imagery in the piece herein on Single Cell Consciousness was inspired by yet another discussion on the theme in which ‘Florifulgurator’ of The Brights presented an inspiring metaphoric. Read that discussion here: ‘Humans are Cellular Colonies’ at The Brights Forum, Post #55.
Of Horses and of Hippotami, of Weasel and of the Singing Tree. Oh, That Alluring, Whim-Wham, Vagary, Supernatural Notion
95
63
The Paintings At Night Beginnings
75 15
This is one of my first paintings in the free flowing style (in contrast to some very early paintings I did in a complex and detailed style. I’ll have to send these into The Cyber some day.
Big Flower Bright Light
29 Cover
Well, this painting, done very quickly, has become my logo, my avatar
280
Reflections
in The Cyber. I use it for all posts and comments I make on the Internet – and then I sign ‘em all ‘Albatross’.
Figures Fireworks Flowers In a Field Forest Flowers Houses Rays River-Bend
193 275 149 285 209 169 89
In one of Salvador Dalis paintings, St. James of Compostela, there is a horse rising out of the sea, gigantic it is, rearing its hooves, it’s belly-button streams forth the sky, of clouds, light, an all. That center area resembles a spinning vortex streamers of which emerge to the four directions. Four areas meet with a slight twist at the center and this image of Dalis’ is what has floated by and stayed in my mind as I was painting and as I now reflect upon it. See, http://www.royal-painting.com/htmllarge/large-4487.html.
Signals The Blooming The Journey The Promenade Wave
57 263 203 105 35
To be continued and completed.
281
Fireworks
References
Starstruck
On my inspiration to the song “Words”.
Hubble Site – News Release Number: STScI-2006-12, September 21, 2006 10:00 AM (EDT)
NASA’s Hubble Finds Hundreds of Young Galaxies in Early Universe http://hubblesite.org/newscenter/archive/releases/cosmology/2006/12/
The full picture of these glories from the Hubble site (11,7 MB): http://imgsrc.hubblesite.org/hu/db/2006/12/images/b/formats/full_tif.tif
287
CD cover lay-outs
I Writes 2012
Listen to song.
AAAP 58
Photo: Diana JanaviÄ?ienĂŠ Dreamboat 2012
Listen to playlist (14 Songs)
boodie.deviantart.com
AAAP 57
Digital Art: Boodie Most songs can be streamed from the ReverbNation platform. See: http://www.reverbnation.com/anotheralbatross
CD cover lay-outs
Listen
Life, Art, & Reason 2012
to playlist (14 songs)
boodie.deviantart.com
AAAP 56
Digital Art: Boodie
Listen
Flower Power 2008
to playlist (10 songs, not counting the covers).
AAAP 46
Clipart
289
CD cover lay-outs
Flower Power 2007
Listen to playlist (11 songs, not counting the covers).
AAAP 43
Photo: Mats Fredriksson No playlist available for now. (12 songs.)
True Love Affair 2004 AAAP 23
Graphic Art: Magnus Malmsten
290
CD cover lay-outs
No playlist available for now. (16 songs.)
Must a Been a Perfect Day 2002 AAAP 10
Clipart Rainbow Rhymes 2002
No playlist available for now. (17 songs.)
AAAP 9
Photo: Magnus Malmsten
291
Online Etymological Dictionary: ‘Bright’ Words with connotations to the word ‘Bright’
celadon celestial Charles’s Wain cheetah chintz Claire Clara clean (adj.) clear (adj.) couth Deneb diaper Egbert Electra emerald Ethelbert ether filbert (n.) Flaherty flamenco flare (v.) Fomalhaut fulgent gaudy (adj.) gay Gilbert glade glair glare (v.) glass glaucous glitter (v.) Gloucester gold (n.) Goldilocks
Aglaia Alaska Albert Aldebaran Aleut Algol Algonquin Altair Antares apparent (adj.) Arcturus Argo argue (v.) Argus Arkansas bear (n.) beaver Bellatrix Bertha Betelgeuse black (adj.) blank (adj.) blaze (n.1) blazer blithe (adj.) bright brighten brightness Bright’s disease brite burnish candidate Canopus Capella caveat
292
Online Etymological Dictionary: ‘Bright’ Words with connotations to the word ‘Bright’
Sacagawea scarlet scone Serena sheen sheer Sherlock sidereal silver lining Sioux Spica splendid splendor squaw starry stencil (n.) terminator toucan tuxedo Vega vermeil white Yosemite zircon
Helen Herbert -hood Hubert illuminate (v.) illumination illustration illustrious Jove Lambert Lancelot lea (n.) light (adj.2) light (n.) lightning lobster lucent (adj.) lucid (adj.) madras (adj.) Manhattan Mars medicine (n.) mere (adj.) Ming Muriel net (adj.) nimbus Olbers’ paradox Phoebe Phoebus Procyon Regulus Rigel Robert Roxanne
Quite a few of theses words were building blocks for the free-flow, two part extravaganza, “O, That Alluring WhimWham Vagary Supernatural notion.” See page 63.
293
The Brights
The Vision Persons who have a naturalistic worldview should not be culturally stifled or civically marginalized due to society’s extensive supernaturalism. Rather, they ought to be accepted as fellow citizens and full participants in the cultural and political landscape.
What is a bright? A bright is a person who has a naturalistic worldview A bright’s worldview is free of supernatural and mystical elements The ethics and actions of a bright are based on a naturalistic worldview Reason and Purpose Currently the naturalistic worldview is insufficiently expressed within most cultures, even politically/socially repressed. To be a Bright (someone who fits the definition and registers on this Web site [see link]) is to participate in a movement to address the situation. There is a great diversity of persons who have a naturalistic worldview. Some are members of existing organizations that foster a supernaturalfree perspective. Far more individuals are not associated with any formal group or label. Under the broad umbrella of the naturalistic worldview, the constituency of Brights can undertake social and civic actions designed to influence a society otherwise permeated with supernaturalism.
294
The Brights
The movement’s three major aims are: 1.
Promote the civic understanding and acknowledgment of the naturalistic worldview, which is free of supernatural and mystical elements. 2.
Gain public recognition that persons who hold such a worldview can bring principled actions to bear on matters of civic importance. 3.
Educate society toward accepting the full and equitable civic participation of all such individuals.
♪♫
Illuminating and Elevating the Naturalistic Worldview
The Brights An international Internet constituency of individuals. http://www.the-brights.net/
The information here is gleaned from The Brights homepage (see the link above). 295
The Tree of Life
http://issuu.com/albatross/docs/paradigm-of-yoga 296
Readings
Blog: The Algorhythmies of Another Albatross http://another-albatross.blogspot.se/
On-line Etymological dictionary – ‘Bright’ http://www.etymonline.com/
The Brights http://www.the-brights.net/
Dylan Thomas http://www.dylanthomas.com/
Engine Summer – John Crowley http://www.amazon.com/
Metal & Magic by Ursula Vernon http://www.metalandmagic.com/ (See: “Wombat and Gears”: filed under anthropomorphic.)
Science does not challenge my faith - it strengthens it http://observer.guardian.co.uk/comment/
Bishop Harries Atheists http://www.the-brights.net\forums\forum\index.php?showtopic=4827&hl=
The Book of Nothing – John D. Barrow http://www.amazon.com/
The Marriage of the Sun and the Moon – Andrew Weil http://www.amazon.com/
Daniel D. Dennett (Multiple Drafts Model) http://ase.tufts.edu/cogstud/pubpage.htm
How Many People Are There in My Head? and in Hers?: An Exploration of Single Cell Consciousness Is Consciousness Only a Property of Individual Cells? Jonathan W. Edwards How Many People? http://www.ucl.ac.uk/~regfjxe/shortthoughts.htm http://www.ucl.ac.uk/~regfjxe/aw.htm
Single Neuron Theory of Consciousness - Steven Sevush http://cogprints.org/4432/1/single_neuron_theory.htm
The links on this page are in need of a real overhaul, a thorough updating. 297
Forest Flowers
The End
Recommendations on printing
Dear reader, if you would wish to print this book from this preliminary master-pdf (downloaded from my SkyDrive) regardless of the resolution limit, 150 dpi, then just don’t print anything on the back of the cover page, leave that one blank. By doing so, leaving the back of the cover page blank, this page here would become page 3, counting from the title page – numbering though starts with the title page, overleaf on the right from the ’Work in progress page’, but it is not visible until page 7, the ’Disclaimer’ page. (If you have the Issuu pdf then that one prints in a flow, you wouldn’t have to skip printing on the back of the title page.) Approching the matter thiswise, by not printing anything on the back of the cover page, certains that the sequentiality of the resulting printed pages will not get skewed – that is, a left hand page on-screen will remain a left hand page in the printed version, likewise, of course, for the right hand page. Please do not confuse the two pdf-versions of this document, the one on the Issuu on-line reading platform and this one stored among my files on Microsoft’s Sky Drive (the file name tells the difference). If you found this document via my SkyDrive storage area then you are now reading this file which, in the long run, is intended for the printing of an edition or two of this book. From my master InDesign document I may choose better resolution and set any other characteristics I may wish to apply to the printing process but for now this pdf (of but a 150 dpi) is what I shall offer for to satisfy my desire for the thrill of instantaneous cyber accessibility. By all means, do a printout if you should wish. Try to use crop marks as the sheet of paper has to be cut to size and then glued along the back ridge. This is all a lot of work really and possibly not worth the effort as the on-line reading experience at Issuu is, to my minds eye, quite pleasant. To see this book via their interface just follow this link here: ’A Poetical Extravaganza’.
An Another Albatross Publication AAAP 42-X2-Issuu-7