5-29-95

Sitting in a comfortable chair in Insomnia, sipping a cup of joe, taking a deep breath of this beautiful day, I saw a little yellow bug fly by. Not only did I see it, but I felt its presense. Another life form, from another universe, lands on my outstretched hand for an instant before continuing on.

I wrote the above immidiately before I read the following paragraph on page 108 of Some Mystical Adventures by GRS Mead:

"Whatever takes a man out of his little self and refunds him into his Greater Self, even for a moment, is the energising of Spiritual Gnosis in him. This Divine impulse may be conveyed by the understanding of written or the comprehension of spoken words, or without the mediation of words at all as we understand them, - by means of those winged intelligences who are voiceless for physical ears, but who speak the universal language of the soul."

The following paragraph was written earlier in the day in the midst of chanting, before the above transpired:

Recognising that all aspects of (ones) life are but mediums for artistic expression, for the art of living. From personal interaction to scrambling eggs, every moment contains the opportunity to express our Higher Nature. Expressing our Higher Nature should be an internal dance that invigorates and renews the spirit. Perpetual motion funded by the universe.

The following paragraph was found on page 112 of Some Mystical Adventures:

"The more you absorb this Wisdom, or Spiritual Gnosis, the more it absorbs you. You cannot get tired of it; that is impossible, for it is perpetual refreshment, of the nature of ever making new again. It is the secret of the perpetual youth of the gods, the panacea of all ills, the divine elixer, the secret of the philosopher's stone."


Written just befor that last paragraph of mine was this:

THOSE THAT KNOW DON'T TALK... (If one knows better than to talk, and acts on that knowledgs, then one has taken a step toward becoming one of THOSE)

Found on page 116:

"This living realization of the meaning of Wisdom is not derived from books. From books we may intellectually grasp the theory; but for understanding theory must first be put into practice, and rightly acted out. The theory impresses upon us the idea; we then imagine or image-forth that idea in our minds; and so imagining, by sympathetic magic we feel the power; and feeling it we act it out; and by acting it out we then, and then alone, begin to know in terms of truly gnostic knowledge."
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5-30-95

Mind fidgeteer. Dementianaut. Grumble housing. Thuds Tumper. Guffinagle.

Another psychosis dawning? That's the direction I'm heading in. Beats stagnation.

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6-6-95

I must rise above. I cannot afford to be drawn into anothers game. Not this game. The price of admission is too high. Harsh words and judgements rage in my head. I am experiencing the normal, instinctive reaction to an attack against my person. I want to flee and fight alternately. Neither is appropriate. The hardest thing to do is nothing. Though childish, it is a brutal verbal assault. This is not pleasant. This is a strenuous test of my compasion. To enter into the frey is to lose automatically, including and especially mental engagement. I am going to do the unreasonable thing, the Natural thing. Detatch. Let it go.

My insides are quivering, wanting to burst. This is a deep sadness. I am sad for myself, as well as my assailant. She is obviously writhing in her own pain, burning in her own hell. I am taking steps to leave mine behind, and it pains me to see her in hers, too blind to take my hand. What must it look like to her?

In the past she had tried to assist me in the best manner she could think of and I too was unable, or unwilling to accept.

This is a crazy time to try to be sane.
{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}{>}

6-7-95

1;35PM

I am all but incapacitated with grief and sadness. And rage. I want to understand, and am trying. Seeking the eye of the hurricane.

1:35am

Cunt, Harsh word, this. Fucking cunt. How can a man who has banished hate from his thoughts, and reaped the benefits of that action, direct these words toward another? I can't stands no more.

The finger does a u-turn. I am, indeed, a poor fool. I pity myself and my circumstances. Now I write for myself. Fuck my career. Fuck my audience. Let humanity fuck itself. What kind of an audacious fuck was I to presume that I could save this god forsaken scum decended species? I was an enlightened fuck.

I write two paragraphs and my rage fizzles. When I was eighteen I could keep it up a lot longer.

I've got a few days left in this second year of the Mean Time. I was hoping to arrive at some kind of point or conclusion by the two year mark. I was hoping for resolution. Fool.

"Shake it off. You'll be alright. Can you still play, or do you want to sit on the bench for a while?"

Yeah yeah, I get the point motherfucker. Yeah, I'll sit on the bench if you'll suck my cock.

With the dream of easy money fading, crime slips into the frame. Armed robbery. Coke runner. Commercial actor. Damn it all to hell. I deserve more than this, this...pathetic, misery drenched, complacent, cowardly, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck it.

Reabsorb me mother U, it's no skin off my back. Actually, that's all it is. That fucking bitch sluffed me off into this material world for vibrating too slow to suit her. Cunt. Now I beseach her to take me back. Pathetic. Maybe I could make her an offering of the innocent and the beautiful. I could slay all that I see, freeing Her from the tomb of matter. Maybe then she will take me back. In a hail of bullets. Cunt.

My blood is boiling. Black.

I could feed on the freshly released souls of the newly dashed for millennia, growing fat as a tick, and she could come along and slash me wide. Cunt.

This is a nasty world I am in tonight. No satisfaction.
IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+IO+

6-9-95

I traded my hours for a hand full of dimes.

>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>!>

6-12-95

Glutton motherfucker. Horsebreathed assinine cheesepoker.

All fired up. The fire that threathened to consume me is the fire that rages inside me. I have a mission. I am moving. I AM PROCESS.

My second year on the keyboard is coming to a close. The Mean Time is about to become a thing of the past. It has served/is serving its purpose. My purpose. The Purpose.

From Some Mystical Adventures:

"From this point of view no acts are exactly spontaneous: They are all purposive or done 'purposefully', with definite regard to the onlooker or witness. No action is related to the little thinking mind; it is not done for the pleasure of the self, as with normal folk, but all life is furthur related to this Great Spectator, or Higher Self, and all activities are done for the purpose of a definite communion with the Witness, in order, as it were, to express ideas to him."

"It is these acts of power that stir the cosmos: or the great Cosmic Mother, who surrounds him, is made conscious in a particular direction by his activity. The Great Mother waits for the man to speak symbolically. The Cosmic Mother is stirred by the meaning in his activities, and she answers, and her answer is to bestow more power on him; and this power lifts him furthur out of the Bonds of Fate."

Places everyone. Aaaaaaand action!

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6-15-95

Kick it up a notch
Keeping up with it
Pulling in one or two around you...

Humanity has cut itself off from the Nature of the Universe and is suffering accordingly. In our reasioning we limit Reality to our perceptions. We tend to not believe what we can't perceive, and in doing so we forget that we are but a wee factor in the Process of the Universe. In our present state we are a cancerous growth, though we,to me, seem to be getting some kind of vibrational therapy that is exciting the individual cells, atoms, etc., acting to harmonize our rates of vibration (multiverse) with Universe. Synchronicity.

Too many choices?
Not enough voices.

Visionaries, heritics, antisocials.

Metered by the watch
Deepening a pit
Causing the linear to confound you...
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6-19-95

What is this world coming to?

I want to move beyond the motivation of fear and pain. Must end perceptual constipation.

Yanking through. Fallow teasin Karo ack.

Writing sabbaticals. The rest of my life will be marked by a series of writing sabbaticals. I am on safari.

I am striving to make my every motion the stroke of an Artist. Til now, most of my dancing has been the dodging the bullets shot at my feet by an intimidating life. Click, click, click. If I am not mistaken, now is the time to watch for an empty gun being hurled at my head. The table is turned, the chase begins

.:|:.:|:.:|:.:|:.:|:.:|:.:|:.:|:.:|:.:|:.:|:.:|:.:|:.:|:.:|:.:|:.:|:.:|:.:|:.:|:.

6-21-95

Frustration. Useless? It is not conducive to the life I am trying to cultivate. Not this frustration anyway. Should I list my frustrations so that they loom in front of me? I suppose they have the right to face their accuser, at least I'll give them that right.

Car is in danger of being booted.
Bad spot on stage tonight.
Fuck.

This list will not satisfy me. I could go on indefinitely. I don't want to maintain that focus any longer. This is why I am wiriting instead of taking it to bed with me. I am frustrated with my lack of energy. This mode of expression has not been serving me as well as I would like it to. Everything seems to require more effort than I want, or feel capable to extend. Too much of my energy is wrapped up in this fit. I need a new perspective. Urgently.

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6-23-95

This has gotten old. No journal for a year. That is next. It's been fun, it's been enlightening, it's been two fucking years. This well is starting to sputter, time to drill a new hole. I'll spend some time polishing the nuggets I've pulled from the depths before I dive in deeper. Assimilation. I'm going to type complete sentences that build paragraphs toward a concise point. Then I'll take that point and drive it into the heart of the matter, terminating its residency in my head. Or something like that.

My muse must be getting very impatient with me. I'll make it up to her...

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6-24-95

Fractals. Doppler. Standing wave forms. Makenna brothers-I Ching time wave graph. Mayan prophesy; 2012AD. United Nations. State militias. New World Order. Illuminatti.
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6-25-95

Found on head:

Bought swan a. Said own a. Air is own a. Oh claw home a. Cow leaf horn a. Call a rod oh.

It is leaving the juice and entering my blood.
#II#I#II#I#II#I#II#I#II#I#II#I#II#I#II#I#II#I#II#I#II#I#II#I#II#I#II#I#II#I#II

6-26-95

While reading the "On the Art of Symbolism" chapter of Some Mystical Adventures, I paused to look around the coffee shop to see if i could find any symbols to contemplate. On the window of the shop was a palm tree logo that brought to mind the ancient mystical symbol of the tree: with its branches stretching outward and up, and its roots stretching inversely. I continued reading on into the next chapter: The Self-Taught. On page 196 I came across this: "This Will is really Power, animating root-substance. Roots grow downward and branched grow upward." I found both of these chapters intensely fascinating, The thrill I recieved from experiencing these two chapters was better than sex in many ways. Between the lines...

SsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsS

6-27-95

Fuck what I've written already. There will be time for rewriting that stuff when I'm old. The journal for the next year will be a different creature than this. Each entry will be one page long at least. I feel this is necessary to facilitate my growth and strengthin my ability and endurance. This will also prompt me to lessen the pauses between the words and thoughts. I want to move furthur into the alpha. Literary laxitive. Step it up. I have changed. I feel a need to harmonize my writing with my life. Deeper, greater, furthur, higher. It is up to me to challenge myself, and no one else.

NEWSFLASH:

While looking for a quote that I am thinking is in The Book of the Law I came across this;

Book Two -
24. Behold! these be grave mysteries; for there are also of my friends who be hermits. Now think not to find them in the forest or in the mountain; but in beds of purple, caresses by beasts of women with large limbs, and fire and light in their eyes., and masses of flaming hair about them; there shall ye find them. Ye shall see them at rule, ay victorious armies, at all the joy; and there shall be in them a joy a million times greater than this. Beware lest any force another, King against King! Love with one another with burning hearts; on the low men trample in the fierce lust of your pride, in the day of your wrath.

In '93 when the Quest took place I was 24. I was desocializing, living as a hermit. The quest was launched on the purple night with the Prophet, and since that night, purple has been my focus. My tortured nerves sought out the brawny touch of the Fire Woman. For two years, this is where I have been.

This day the purple envelopes me. The rejected Purple Stone; rejected by the White Rabbit, purified by the Virgin, Hangs about my neck. My tube is purple, wrapped with cords of gold and sealed by the Dragon. The Throne that was uneasy yesterday is my seat today. Once the fortune passes through.

Now, the quote that I searched for is found:

Book Two -
70. There is help and hope in other spells. Wisdom says : be strong! Then canst thou bear more joy. Be not animal ; refine thy rapture! If thou drink, drink by the eight and ninety rules of the art : if thou love, exceed by delicacy ; and if though do ought be joyous, let there be subtlty therein!

Fortune twice runs through. And three makes one. None.

?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*?!*

6-28-95

And thrice makes twice.

Blossoming of the ego, pride, and reason. Noth inking. Ass idge as. Sing to me. Fosterizing geneopoly.

My compulsion to lounge is undermining my word attention. Sex sexual sexily succulent sacred secretive salvageable recogognizable. Counting on the figures. Vanquishing of everything. Meditative calculation
Inundative circulation

I was just meditating on an arrowhead that I found at Joshua Tree earlier this year. As a kid, I used to walk around my Grandfathers fields and pastures looking for arrowheads to no avail. To me, an arrowhead had little value if it was not found by the owner of it. My Grandfather found dozens through the years by happenstance. Years later, by happenstance, I found this one. How long had it lain there? I asked myself. How many times had it been consumed and exposed by the sands? In my minds eye I watched a thousand years of desert in a span of seconds. How many times will my car be consumed and exposed through the ages?

Expression. I have a mystic nature that is ever present and open to exploration through its expression. Why have I not chosen to express it more often that I have? Why have I neglected to avail myself of this option? My awareness has been blunted and weakened by self imposed limits on time/space. I have the capacity to expand my breadth of consciousness indefinitely. By neglecting to recognise this, I have chosen universal isolation.

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6-30-95

See Dick run.

9:36pm
One cup of coffee, two loads, and I'm chewing on a brownie as I type. I have been writing most every night for the past two years. And so, here am I. I have literally meandered to this place that I find myself. Happenstance. There's that word again. For my next phase of writing I'm going to build a structure to work within for a yet to be determined amount of time. Definition. Direction. Determination. Life as I have come to know it is coming to an end. My left hand knows not what my right hand is doing. I can see the value in that. It is nice to know that both hands are in the game. This game of life.

9:51pm
Master. Structure. Perameter.

If my writing acts as a mirror, I can pull myself into it, or climb out of it. Make that 'and.' And climb out of it. The simultaneous inbreath/exhale of the eternal life. Synchronous. Synchronicity.

2:22am
Topic per month that fits within the yearly topic. What topic could I focus on for a year?

2:40am
Down slides the juice.
Self teaching, self manipulation. Twelve steps? This is, once again, the final entry in the Mean Time. Chaos. Discord, when contrasted to chaos, is a welcom change. Will the Diety of Discord reveal herself to me again, in the ushering in of the phase that bears her cross?

2:57am
I breathe deeply.

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