Hey all.
This is an inspired post, this one! (Thank you Carl.)
Yes, inspired.
It has come to my attention over the last several years, (the last 27 or so), that I am somewhat of an "odd duck". That I am a person who is to be "taken, but with a grain of salt". I have noticed that people have a hard time dealing with things I have to say, because sometimes the things I have to say is right fucked. For example, anybody who has ever heard me talk of General Idea Man knows this, as has anybody who has heard me say "General Idea Man wishes for me not to speak of him anymore". Etc...
I also notice that I tend to attract friends who then become, well, something. They then trample all over me and think that I have done all sorts of horrible things to them, that I am a jerk, that I am a control freak, etc... I have gone through several sets of friends this way. At first they are great friends, and they dote on me and fawn over my many "Talents" and then all of a sudden they are disgusted with the same things they once admired and they leave and think they are better and that "they have the answer" and that I "was nothing but wrong and selfish or misguided or underdeveloped" or whatever.
I also notice that jobs I end up working at eventually end badly, simply because I am so exceptional when it comes to doing any job. I am QUITE capable of doing any of the jobs that I have so far done, all in retail or in the patch, and I came to realize that people's shame or whatever over what they are doing tend to cause them to project an amount of importance to the job which is not only egotistical, but illusory. For example, an owner of a tobacco store comes to think that she is the owner of class taste and respect, when in fact she is merely selling addiction. I will excel at the job and they will take advantage of this because they think I am someone to take advantage of, and somehow in this process I end up reflecting back at them the truth of the matter and VOILA! end of job.
Why is this?
Because I am 100 percent me baby! I am genuine! Not only that, I have a strange power.
It all started years ago, when I was a child, a baby even. I would be outside and everything would, for lack of a better term, enter into me at the same time that I exhaled. Everything would connect, only I didn't know it at the time because, well, I was a kid. It was natural. I thought it was the same with everybody. I soon started noticing strange little subtle hints that let me know that I was somehow unique compared to the people in my life.
HISTORY
Well, here it is. I grew up in small town Alberta, Grimshaw to be exact. Born and raised. All my life till I was forced to go somewhere I didn't really want to go, but that is another story. My mother married my father at the tender age of fifteen (hillbilly anybody?) and I was born barely a year later. My dad was uneducated (that is, he dropped out in high school) and he worked hard, driving things. First buggies, than trucks. He was gone a lot, leaving me with my stay at home mom. At this time we lived out on a farm. I was very cut off from, well, everything! I would play outside and my sister would sometimes join me. But my mom was more interested in smoking and cleaning and drinking than actively involving herself in my activities, which were always outside and thus lonely (as if loneliness is bad) ones.
So here we have a small child with a fresh from her teens mother, a small sister who is too small to tag along, a dad who is always gone, and no friends. Hence, natural evolution. I would walk around outside and since I didn't have the distraction of people, I had to give myself over to the distraction of nature, which at the time of childhood, before the lifting of the great torn veil, is actually the distraction of Reality itself. Throw in what I will for now call an "active imagination" but what I really want to call an "Inter-Outer connection to sub-aetherial reality centers containing beings reaching out as we do", and man, you've got me as I am now.
Straight up, no bullshit, heart on my sleeve. This may be a problem, since most people tend to think everyone is hiding something. Well, I am not. At least, I do not mind telling when people ask. What is the use of lying?
This trait was not given to me as a result of being one with nature as a child, but here is where the stories interconnect. You see, my isolation, plus my strong and natural sense of purpose and truth, would start to cause problems. You see, I was contacted by the "beings reaching out as we do." Only, I had not been reaching, as I did not know I had to yet. They found me when I was but a child.
It started as auditory hallucinations, people would say my name even though nobody was around. These voices were accompanied by a sort of tinkling-crispness, a quality to the surroundings that was crystalline and beautiful. Sharp, concise smells and appearances would surround me for that split second as a whispery voice would call "Jason!"
I remember I ran into the house once and asked my mom if she had just called my name, because I had heard a girl calling my name. She said no with a puzzled look. Keep this in mind.
Later the auditory hallucinations began to become visual. Not only would I hear my name occasionally, but I started seeing things. The most vivid hallucination of all came one day as I was looking out the window. My dad was at home and my mother was as well, and it was early evening. I was kinda tired, as I had been excited all day that dad was home, but I don't think this is the cause, though it may be one of the conditions necessary for the sight I was about to witness.
A large and rolypoly man was walking through our yard! He was near the trees. He was swathed in yellow clothing and had a large yellow hat on. He rolled with his girth, it was so round, though he did not look round I knew he was VERY round. His eyes were hidden under his hat and when I focused on his head it seem grotesquely out of proportion to the rest of his body. His nose was gigantic, as was his moustache. I eventually came to know this being as Minuto. I have no idea his purpose or his goals, but he has always seemed sinister and devious to me. (Quite truthfully, it wasn't long after my first sighting of him that things kinda took a turn for the worse, perhaps a story for another time!) What is really strange is that one day Nintendo came up with a character who looked exactly like Minuto. His name is Wario. Keep in mind, this hallucination I am talking about occured before there was even a Nintendo Entertainment System. In fact, our Atari and Colecovision were still considered hot novelty items at the time.
Anyways, I then started to have very strange dreams. They were in a sense reoccuring. There was a specific theme, and it seemed like a tv show. Here is the rundown of a typical dream.
My mom always put me to bed and then sang me to sleep. After she would leave, I would suddenly feel very heavy, what I took for at the time as tiredness but now know to not be. (Especially now that i have experienced Salvia Gravity, which is exactly what I felt when I was kid about to experience what I am explaining to you now!)
After my mom would leave and the heavy feeling set in, I would start to float up. I knew my body was on the bed, but I would just leave it and float towards the ceiling. once again, this was perfectly natural to me. How did I know that not everybody slept this way? Only, I wasn't sleeping, as I now know.
I would float up to the ceiling and through it. I would suddenly careen instantly through a vast blackness and as I shot upwards, increasing always the velocity of my ascension, and then would penetrate into a strange place that was shelves everywhere I looked. Perfectly symetrical bookshelves sparkling onwards into infinity in all directions as I shot between them. Always this happened, for years, every night as I fell asleep. I am not shitting you. I swear it by the love of my own life.
On each shelf was row after row of ventriloquist dummies. They were always looking at me. As I shot by they would turn their wooden eyes to watch me. Their mouths were always opening and shutting with this wooden clicking noise that caused a strange and noiseless drone all around me. They watched as I shot upwards forever, endlessly jabbering.
(sidenote : these dummies have a correlation to my waking life, in that there was once a video I watched with my mother in which a ventriloquist dummy was alive with an evil force. It scared the shit out of me and I have always associated this dummy with the ones in my "dream" as they were definitely one and the same. The waking life dummy was an exact replica of the ones on the shelves, or vice versa)
Finally I would suddenly break through into some strange dream environment in which I was in total control and always without fear. Once I was in a warehouse where an epic superhero battle was raging. The only superhero I recognized was the Incredible Hulk and I just did my best to stay out the way like he asked me to. Twice I had very erotic dreams. (keep in mind I was only like four years old when I had these) In one I was running across a vast Elysian field. To the sides of me and behind me were thousands of other men also running. In front of us was a beautiful maiden, just aching to get fucked. I was in the lead and my only rival was a young chinese dude. He was mocking me that no child could beat him when suddenly his penis fell off. He didn't notice, he ran, reached the girl as I stopped to scoop it up. It was Rubbery and warm, and reminded me of those weird snake toys that are hard to hang on to because they keep turning inside out. I walked to where he was. I seen his look of triumph suddenly turn to a look of terror as he realized what he had lost. The girl was laughing, and as she looked at me I slipped his penis onto my own penis, like a glove, and I specifically remember thinking that she woulnd't possibly be satisfied with my small child penis, so I better use the one I found. She was very happy. In another the same girl was with me in a library full of shelves as far as I could see. She really wanted to have sex with me so I showed her that we could fit on the shelves if we dumped the books on the floor. That was a fun night for a four year old, let me tell you.
I would also have these dreams where I was in a wild west sort of movie set town and some sort of monster would be walking around killing people. It was always a famous movie monster like Jason Voorhees. In the one with Jason I was with my uncle Shayne as he kept killing everyone around us. My uncle and I kep succesfully hiding and Uncle was scared. I kep telling him we'd be ok. We both knew he would find us eventually, but I would just say "Leave it to me when that happens!" suddenly it happened. I told Jason we weren't against him, we were here because we wanted to join him. He spared our lives and I woke up.
The last such dream I had was very sad. In the dream I became the very dummy I that was sitting on the shelves as I ascended. My mom was one as well. I was puzzled in the dream. I had a large inflatable banana that my uncle had gotten for me while on vacation. It said "Don't worry Be happy" on it with a big smily face. It hung on my wall. I was a normal person in the dream until I looked and noticed that the banana was falling down and sitting on it was the dummy! he pointed at me and with a shock I became the dummy. This terrified me so much that I started to wake up.
now in previous dream such as this I would just wake up in the morning. In this particular instance I remember suddenly hurtling back past the shelves as soon as the shock of my transformation hit. They blurred by at such a speed they seemed a solid wall. I fell faster and faster until suddenly I hit something extremely firm but very gentle. It was like I was a drop of water falling into a puddle, but instead of joining the water I had fallen into I passed right through it gently. I suddenly was back in my own room and I was floating back and forth like a falling feather, very gently. I fell perfectly into my bed with my eyes open,wide awake.
I hadn't even been sleeping.
I made a startled noise and my mom was right there at the door.
"Are you ok?"
"Mommy, how long have I been asleep? What time is it?"
"I just finished tuckin you in hon"
It blew my soft and fragile little mind.
The reason I am telling you all of this is because most of you think I am strange and bitter because I like to be alone. You all like to think that it was my upbringing that did this to me. It is no secret that my parent's redneck immaturity eventually blew right up in my face. They got the inevitable divorce, everything was bad. People at school treated me weird, even in my hometown. People I had known my whole life didn't know me, I was passed from home to home. In the period of about ten years I moved over a dozen times, from the farm to town to Red Deer to Penhold to town again to swan hills to town again, to the farm again, to town again. I lived with my mom and dad and sister and brother and then just my mom and sister and brother and then with my dad and his girlfriend and then he broke up with her and in came another girlfriend who already had a kid and my uncles lived there and he drank and partied and had some other kids, and then I moved with my grandma and then my dad again and then my grandpa and then my dad again with his new wife, then I finished school and went to college and here I am.
You think all of this would be the reason I am so isolated and weird, but it is not. Granted it threw me for a loop for a while.
But eventually I once again came to focus on the reaching and the crystalline voices and hallucinations. And Minuto is back, as are others. I don't have the dreams anymore...
But if you ever wonder why I am so aloof and withdrawn, hopefully this helps explain it.
People have treated me like shit.
The reaching has shown me the truth.
So, I prefer to reach.
Thank you drive through!
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Thursday, June 14, 2007
a beautiful rain
It is happening right now and I have to comment on it. It is a beautiful thing that is happening right now, this spring rain, so unlike what I have seen for so long but what I remember as a child and teen fifteen years ago before it all seemed to go wonky. (the weather that is)
Ah, a peal of thunder. Beautiful, perfect. Just now. First a crack, like aluminum rippling, like some sheet metal being shaken, before it spreads suddenly over my house with a rippling boom. The perfect thunder, the perfect thunder. Just above me and to the right it sounded like.
I haven't seen a beautiful rain like this for so long. I didn't even know it was happening at first, it came on so subtle. I was in the kitchen and I heard a puzzling noise, like some sort of jet. I thought, "is it thunder?", but my brain said, no, just a jet. Just another of the mysterious jets zooming by.
And then I go to the window, I hear water gurgling and I am worried. Is something flooding, or leaking? No! I suddenly hear the leaves all rustling, all rustling. I can hear the wind and still I am wondering. I can smell it, so crisp and clear. A cucumber smell. A melon smell. Grass and green and nature smell. So nice. The sound is perfect. So quiet. The gurgling I heard was the rain running from the eaves into a puddle in the grass at the corner of my house. I poke my head outside, for I still can't see the rain. I can smell it, and I can hear the leaves rustling more than anything, for they too are happy. The earth itself is stretching to this gentle pouring down, the arms of the earth stretching upwards, her gentle face smiling, beaming. A golden light...
She reaches towards it. I hear the leaves dancing and passing back and forth their wonderful discovery. And then I see it, almost invisible, this gentle rain, sparkling in the light dulled by the clouds which drop it.
It is so beautiful, what words can describe it?
Ah, a peal of thunder. Beautiful, perfect. Just now. First a crack, like aluminum rippling, like some sheet metal being shaken, before it spreads suddenly over my house with a rippling boom. The perfect thunder, the perfect thunder. Just above me and to the right it sounded like.
I haven't seen a beautiful rain like this for so long. I didn't even know it was happening at first, it came on so subtle. I was in the kitchen and I heard a puzzling noise, like some sort of jet. I thought, "is it thunder?", but my brain said, no, just a jet. Just another of the mysterious jets zooming by.
And then I go to the window, I hear water gurgling and I am worried. Is something flooding, or leaking? No! I suddenly hear the leaves all rustling, all rustling. I can hear the wind and still I am wondering. I can smell it, so crisp and clear. A cucumber smell. A melon smell. Grass and green and nature smell. So nice. The sound is perfect. So quiet. The gurgling I heard was the rain running from the eaves into a puddle in the grass at the corner of my house. I poke my head outside, for I still can't see the rain. I can smell it, and I can hear the leaves rustling more than anything, for they too are happy. The earth itself is stretching to this gentle pouring down, the arms of the earth stretching upwards, her gentle face smiling, beaming. A golden light...
She reaches towards it. I hear the leaves dancing and passing back and forth their wonderful discovery. And then I see it, almost invisible, this gentle rain, sparkling in the light dulled by the clouds which drop it.
It is so beautiful, what words can describe it?
Monday, June 11, 2007
mutherf***er
It’s funny how often I act like everything sucks and I hate everything and what a waste of fucking time. It is funny because I don’t just end it all. If it really sucks, why not end it? I think of this and I realize that maybe ending it here doesn’t end it at all. What if you are doomed to reliving this if you end it prematurely, constantly caught in a space-time loop constantly living the same moments over and over until by some miracle things happen to go right and life continues on towards its purpose. Or maybe it is suddenly nothing. But of course, nothing is something now isn’t it? Is there such thing as nothingness? No human can answer that question. So, I keep pondering and realizing that I can’t just end it. What would be the point? May as well play it out. Who knows what will happen.
And then I realize what it means to be Beat in the Kerouac sense of the word. This is the moment of surrender when you realize you simply have to give in and quit fighting it. We are, after all, thrown into the world. We have no control over what we are before the point of our birth. We cannot control the environment which inevitably causes us to make ourselves. We are predestined unless we are not and even then it’s simply a petty matter of judgement and perspective. We are neither predestined or free. We simply are and we have to make do with that. We are surrendered at this point and we can then find happiness.
And this is where the true individuals are. The real punks. I have consistently realized this lately and I realize that the leather clad spiky nosed scary looking people who roam around used to know this until they became a fashion trend. Same with the flannel-clad grungers or the scarcely clad strippers. Same with everyone who ever caused people to know they were individualistic. True punks don’t try to make a statement. A statement simply happens because somebody notices somebody in their confidence and wants to mimick this confidence to be at peace or whatever and suddenly you have a trend. Just look at what happened to the hippies. Look what the hippies did to eastern mysticism. They fucked it up when they didn’t get it right and far fewer people get it right than not.
Who are the true punks today?
Nobody who would call themselves a punk.
People who are free to express the beauty and joy of life admist the prevalence of darkness.
Why are all movies about getting emotionless angry sex?
Why do all commercials belittle us?
Why do skateboarders make so much money?
Why are you a commodity?
Because you let them make you one.
Why does every movie plot nowadays have to endlessly repeat the same old plot about killers or warriors or people frightened or wanting to fuck?
Why is everything so negative?
Because it’s a trend we have latched onto with our apathy.
It is because our rock music is too depressing.
Because white people just don’t get the fucking blues.
They don’t understand them.
They understand country and western.
No matter how much they try to deny it
That is all they understand.
Fucking hicks.
If you want to be a punk
Dress normal
Be positive
Listen to Bob Marley
Lose your apathy
And smoke weed
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
regret
Today I had an interesting thought. I was on the couch watching TV for Angela and I
started doing a laugh that was overexaggerated and forced, and in a strange voice. (In fact, it was more or less insane!). She said it reminded her of that "furry thing" from Thundercats, and that immediately brought to mind the Thundercats theme song from way back in the day. I always remember this them song from beginning to end when someone mentions the show.
For those of you who are too young to remember this glorious cartoon of the eighties, here's a little info. Thundercats was a saturday morning type of cartoon, action adventure sci fi wonder which debuted in 1983 and ran for several years. Wikipedia article reads "Set against a backdrop juxtaposing science-fiction and fantasy elements, the ThunderCats series tells a good-versus-evil tale of mythic proportions, featuring an equal mix of high-technology and magic, hand-to-hand combat, and a central core of championed values. Its anthropomorphic heroes, the ThunderCats, are pitted against a rag-tag assortment of villains and a demonic wizard named Mumm-Ra on a planet known as Third Earth."
I used to love this cartoon. A unique aspect of having been born in 1980 to teenaged
parents is that I was pretty much born in front of television with a video game controller in my hand. This gave me a special bond with television, especially my action cartoons. Especially thundercats for some reason. It had swords and fighting and stuff! I love swords, always have.But one thing I really loved was the theme song. I loved the music of the whole damn show, but that theme song rocked. It was one of my first rock experiences. And it lead into first ever rockstar fantasy.
The music in ThunderCats is heavily based on leitmotifs. For those who don't know a
leitmotif is "a recurring musical theme, associated within a particular piece of music
with a particular person, place or idea." The word has also been used to mean "any
sort of recurring theme, whether in music, literature, or the life of a fictional
character or a real person."
In other words, the music represents the character or situation the character is in. It
provides an additional layer of recognition. One can identify more with a character
when more information is provided to associate with the character. This has created
some powerful movie characters over the years. A well known example is the Star
Wars Imperial March associated with Darth Vader in the Star Wars series of films.
Another good one is on Friday the Thirteenth, a sound that if I make my wife gets
really pissed off. Here's what wikipedia had to say on this matter.
"In the Friday the 13th (film series), Harry Manfredini implemented a vocal effect to
indicate the presence of the killer. While watching a rough cut of the original Friday
the 13th, and while contemplating a leitmotif for the picture, the line “Kill her,
mommy,” entranced Manfredini. He distilled the line down to kill mom, and then
truncated it even further into ki and ma. He then spoke each syllable a single time
into an Echoplex, creating the signature ‘ki-ki-ki ma-ma-ma’ motif that went on to be
used in each subsequent sequel."
It is Richard Wagner, however, who is the composer most often associated with
leitmotifs, and his operas make liberal use of them. His cycle of four operas, Der Ring
des Nibelungen, uses dozens of leitmotifs, representing characters, things, or
situations; while some of these leitmotifs occur in only one of the operas, many occur throughout the entire cycle. This is interesting to note for anybody with a good interest in Friedrich Nietzsche. The friendship and then dispute between the two itself is a sort of a leitmotif in the life of the great thinker, who challenged constantly, even those who were closest to him
Leitmotif in literature also refers to the repeated representation of certain themes or
emotions throughout a book, play, or other literary works. In literature, a Leitmotif is
used as a recurring event, object or even a character that the story always makes
reference to. In works with counterpoint, leitmotifs can become a figure of analysis in which the different stories constantly/eventually lead to.
In Thundercats, musically, each character, place, and emotion of the scene have a
different theme. For instance, Panthro's theme and the ThunderTank theme have the
same melody, but is a different arrangement depending on if he is driving the ThunderTank or in hand-to-hand combat. His combat theme has more prominent use of electric guitars and has more of jazz or funk feel. In the ThunderTank, his theme has more of a rock feel, but is dominated more by the orchestral instruments. Among other musical themes, whenever an episode ends with an epilogue, a calming theme consisting of mostly piano and wind instruments plays the ThunderCats theme melody, before ending with a strong "Thunder, Thunder, Thunder, ThunderCats!" line.
This explains why the music had such an impact on me. I am very spiritually driven, or more precisely, I am very human-spiritually driven. Things like Leitmotifs are extremely powerful methods when it comes to really communicating with me. They have a deep impact on me. Myths, legends, human spirit, power-will, rhythmn. These things drive me. That is why the thundercat's theme song triggered a powerful response in me.
It all starts at my Uncle Rusty's wedding, in which I was the Ring Bearer. It was strange for me. I am rather shy, I had never been to a wedding, I didn't know what to do really so I just did what I was told. The suit fitting came and went, as did the practice ceremony and the real ceremony. And then came the dinner, where I got to sit at the head table. There was a dozen or so people, and I was about halfway through. Someone started passing a mike. Everyone in the wedding party had a chance to say something and I was terrified by the prospect. I didn't know what to say! What could I say? I was just a kid! I just couldn't think of what to say. The microphone came closer and closer and my mother came up to me. I asked her what to do and she said, "When you get the mike they will ask if you have anything you want to say. Just say no. It's all right!" Which I did, and it worked. Crisis averted.
Only, a couple of minutes later it happened, full on impact day dream land rock star fantasy, my first ever! What is a rock star fantasy you ask? Yes, it is as you picture. A person with a guitar will fantasize that they are playing their favourite kind of music to a crowd that loves what they are doing and they are supercool. But there is more to it than that. There is a rising upsurge, a tickling of the chakras. It is powerful and joyful and intense, and more than that. It is is mystic. It is truly truly ecstatic. When one has a real rockstar fantasy one is teleported to the world of the mind and one transcends normal reality. It is a glorious glorious thing.
And this was my first. I suddenly realized that what I should have done was get up on the table and while everyone stares stunned at the kid who suddenly just jumped onto the table with the mike in his hand, I should have told the band to "hit it". They of course knew what it was I meant to hit, and they immediately launched into the instrumental for Thundercats main theme song. I start singing, and the stunned crowd watches, mouths gaping. The stunned sensation then turns to bewilderment as I sing, my hand outsretched before me, sweat forming on my brow. Then they cheer and dance and an explosion of rock happiness explodes forth its ecstatic waves as I sing and rock truly.
And suddenly I snap out of it and I am back at the wedding and my mom is giving me a plate of food. It was fucking awesome.
And that is where this ties into regret. It was regret that caused me to have that fantasy. This is what I should have done it says. Why didn't I do that? Just like many such fantasies. They come from a place that simply isn't and that one wishes was. One regrets that it is not so, and thus has a fantasy.
The rockstar fantasy stems from regret.
the greatest joy from the greatest sorrow
as the open wound closes the most
Thank you drive through!
started doing a laugh that was overexaggerated and forced, and in a strange voice. (In fact, it was more or less insane!). She said it reminded her of that "furry thing" from Thundercats, and that immediately brought to mind the Thundercats theme song from way back in the day. I always remember this them song from beginning to end when someone mentions the show.
For those of you who are too young to remember this glorious cartoon of the eighties, here's a little info. Thundercats was a saturday morning type of cartoon, action adventure sci fi wonder which debuted in 1983 and ran for several years. Wikipedia article reads "Set against a backdrop juxtaposing science-fiction and fantasy elements, the ThunderCats series tells a good-versus-evil tale of mythic proportions, featuring an equal mix of high-technology and magic, hand-to-hand combat, and a central core of championed values. Its anthropomorphic heroes, the ThunderCats, are pitted against a rag-tag assortment of villains and a demonic wizard named Mumm-Ra on a planet known as Third Earth."
I used to love this cartoon. A unique aspect of having been born in 1980 to teenaged
parents is that I was pretty much born in front of television with a video game controller in my hand. This gave me a special bond with television, especially my action cartoons. Especially thundercats for some reason. It had swords and fighting and stuff! I love swords, always have.But one thing I really loved was the theme song. I loved the music of the whole damn show, but that theme song rocked. It was one of my first rock experiences. And it lead into first ever rockstar fantasy.
The music in ThunderCats is heavily based on leitmotifs. For those who don't know a
leitmotif is "a recurring musical theme, associated within a particular piece of music
with a particular person, place or idea." The word has also been used to mean "any
sort of recurring theme, whether in music, literature, or the life of a fictional
character or a real person."
In other words, the music represents the character or situation the character is in. It
provides an additional layer of recognition. One can identify more with a character
when more information is provided to associate with the character. This has created
some powerful movie characters over the years. A well known example is the Star
Wars Imperial March associated with Darth Vader in the Star Wars series of films.
Another good one is on Friday the Thirteenth, a sound that if I make my wife gets
really pissed off. Here's what wikipedia had to say on this matter.
"In the Friday the 13th (film series), Harry Manfredini implemented a vocal effect to
indicate the presence of the killer. While watching a rough cut of the original Friday
the 13th, and while contemplating a leitmotif for the picture, the line “Kill her,
mommy,” entranced Manfredini. He distilled the line down to kill mom, and then
truncated it even further into ki and ma. He then spoke each syllable a single time
into an Echoplex, creating the signature ‘ki-ki-ki ma-ma-ma’ motif that went on to be
used in each subsequent sequel."
It is Richard Wagner, however, who is the composer most often associated with
leitmotifs, and his operas make liberal use of them. His cycle of four operas, Der Ring
des Nibelungen, uses dozens of leitmotifs, representing characters, things, or
situations; while some of these leitmotifs occur in only one of the operas, many occur throughout the entire cycle. This is interesting to note for anybody with a good interest in Friedrich Nietzsche. The friendship and then dispute between the two itself is a sort of a leitmotif in the life of the great thinker, who challenged constantly, even those who were closest to him
Leitmotif in literature also refers to the repeated representation of certain themes or
emotions throughout a book, play, or other literary works. In literature, a Leitmotif is
used as a recurring event, object or even a character that the story always makes
reference to. In works with counterpoint, leitmotifs can become a figure of analysis in which the different stories constantly/eventually lead to.
In Thundercats, musically, each character, place, and emotion of the scene have a
different theme. For instance, Panthro's theme and the ThunderTank theme have the
same melody, but is a different arrangement depending on if he is driving the ThunderTank or in hand-to-hand combat. His combat theme has more prominent use of electric guitars and has more of jazz or funk feel. In the ThunderTank, his theme has more of a rock feel, but is dominated more by the orchestral instruments. Among other musical themes, whenever an episode ends with an epilogue, a calming theme consisting of mostly piano and wind instruments plays the ThunderCats theme melody, before ending with a strong "Thunder, Thunder, Thunder, ThunderCats!" line.
This explains why the music had such an impact on me. I am very spiritually driven, or more precisely, I am very human-spiritually driven. Things like Leitmotifs are extremely powerful methods when it comes to really communicating with me. They have a deep impact on me. Myths, legends, human spirit, power-will, rhythmn. These things drive me. That is why the thundercat's theme song triggered a powerful response in me.
It all starts at my Uncle Rusty's wedding, in which I was the Ring Bearer. It was strange for me. I am rather shy, I had never been to a wedding, I didn't know what to do really so I just did what I was told. The suit fitting came and went, as did the practice ceremony and the real ceremony. And then came the dinner, where I got to sit at the head table. There was a dozen or so people, and I was about halfway through. Someone started passing a mike. Everyone in the wedding party had a chance to say something and I was terrified by the prospect. I didn't know what to say! What could I say? I was just a kid! I just couldn't think of what to say. The microphone came closer and closer and my mother came up to me. I asked her what to do and she said, "When you get the mike they will ask if you have anything you want to say. Just say no. It's all right!" Which I did, and it worked. Crisis averted.
Only, a couple of minutes later it happened, full on impact day dream land rock star fantasy, my first ever! What is a rock star fantasy you ask? Yes, it is as you picture. A person with a guitar will fantasize that they are playing their favourite kind of music to a crowd that loves what they are doing and they are supercool. But there is more to it than that. There is a rising upsurge, a tickling of the chakras. It is powerful and joyful and intense, and more than that. It is is mystic. It is truly truly ecstatic. When one has a real rockstar fantasy one is teleported to the world of the mind and one transcends normal reality. It is a glorious glorious thing.
And this was my first. I suddenly realized that what I should have done was get up on the table and while everyone stares stunned at the kid who suddenly just jumped onto the table with the mike in his hand, I should have told the band to "hit it". They of course knew what it was I meant to hit, and they immediately launched into the instrumental for Thundercats main theme song. I start singing, and the stunned crowd watches, mouths gaping. The stunned sensation then turns to bewilderment as I sing, my hand outsretched before me, sweat forming on my brow. Then they cheer and dance and an explosion of rock happiness explodes forth its ecstatic waves as I sing and rock truly.
And suddenly I snap out of it and I am back at the wedding and my mom is giving me a plate of food. It was fucking awesome.
And that is where this ties into regret. It was regret that caused me to have that fantasy. This is what I should have done it says. Why didn't I do that? Just like many such fantasies. They come from a place that simply isn't and that one wishes was. One regrets that it is not so, and thus has a fantasy.
The rockstar fantasy stems from regret.
the greatest joy from the greatest sorrow
as the open wound closes the most
Thank you drive through!
Saturday, June 2, 2007
R.I.P. Hunter S. Thompson v 2.0
Well, I have to share a thought I have had recently, a subtly illuminating, brilliant and mature, sort of saddening thought.
Hunter S. Thompson was a fraud.
A shocking statement I know, especially coming from me if you know me, for I used to be a self-proclaimed Thompson fanatic, Gonzo all the way.
But recently I realized he ain't all that great. Mostly as a person he was a horrible degenerate. This is the truth! No witty embellishment is meant when he proclaimed himself to be thus. He meant it! He was lazy, he was a bum, and he was a horrible sellout.
Think about it.
To me, he only wrote three good books. The Rum Diary, Hell's Angels, and the Great Shark Hunt. His letters are interesting, and it shows a rather impressive amount of egotistical foresite to keep every single letter you have ever wrote carbon copied. But Fear and Loathing, I never really liked the book. The movie is better, it was meant to be a movie. But the book, it always seemed so bleh to me. Sure it is smoothly and impressively written, and kind of funny as well. But let's face it, if it wasn't published in the right place at the write time it would have been heiled as a poor substiture for some of his other works. The drug fueled hipness of the time is what made the book what it was, and what made Hunter what he was and for that it was great. But, I think it was this book that brought him down.
After this he went straight sell out. He got lots of money. He quit producing anything of note. He burned that money on cocaine, all the while complaining about the horrible beasts of society who were using the wealth of the nation like he was, which is to say wastefully and non-responsibly. He started charging outrageous appearance fees for speaking engagements. In a case of horrible fucked up shit he cowered terrified before the same anti-drug system he so adamantly flaunted, claiming that "none of the drugs in the house were his" and that "he didn't have drugs at all". "All sorts of weird characters float through these walls" he claimed. "And the place is a mess. Who knows who left what where? I can't be held accountable!" What a chicken shit. Here he spends all this time flaunting his drug use in the face of those who can do something about it and when something is done about it he claims he had no part of it? I am talking of course about the sex-industry worker he assaulted and then claimed not to have assaulted who then called police who came and siezed small quantities of drugs. (Like he didn't know they were coming and like he didn't get rid of his own hefty quantity of drugs, probably a tipoff from his friend the sheriff.)
Hunter was a huge sellout. A fucking coward. A sniveling snake in the grass. A bootlicker.
A great man who made a difference in my life nonetheless, who was, once again, in the right place at the right time. I feel like I know him.
But, it is now I officially hang up my Hunter S. Fanaticism. From now on I will stick with the books mentioned as part of my official library (The Great Shark Hunt, Hell's Angels, and The Rum Diaries) but other than that I could care less, except for maybe his letters 'cause they are funny.
..............................
/ R.I.P. old man \
. -=0=-=-==0= .
. As I sit here .
. and I rot .
. Smelling smells .
. that time forgot .
. Decomposing .
. Slowly Fading .
. All the worms .
. are celebrating .
...................................
Hunter S. Thompson was a fraud.
A shocking statement I know, especially coming from me if you know me, for I used to be a self-proclaimed Thompson fanatic, Gonzo all the way.
But recently I realized he ain't all that great. Mostly as a person he was a horrible degenerate. This is the truth! No witty embellishment is meant when he proclaimed himself to be thus. He meant it! He was lazy, he was a bum, and he was a horrible sellout.
Think about it.
To me, he only wrote three good books. The Rum Diary, Hell's Angels, and the Great Shark Hunt. His letters are interesting, and it shows a rather impressive amount of egotistical foresite to keep every single letter you have ever wrote carbon copied. But Fear and Loathing, I never really liked the book. The movie is better, it was meant to be a movie. But the book, it always seemed so bleh to me. Sure it is smoothly and impressively written, and kind of funny as well. But let's face it, if it wasn't published in the right place at the write time it would have been heiled as a poor substiture for some of his other works. The drug fueled hipness of the time is what made the book what it was, and what made Hunter what he was and for that it was great. But, I think it was this book that brought him down.
After this he went straight sell out. He got lots of money. He quit producing anything of note. He burned that money on cocaine, all the while complaining about the horrible beasts of society who were using the wealth of the nation like he was, which is to say wastefully and non-responsibly. He started charging outrageous appearance fees for speaking engagements. In a case of horrible fucked up shit he cowered terrified before the same anti-drug system he so adamantly flaunted, claiming that "none of the drugs in the house were his" and that "he didn't have drugs at all". "All sorts of weird characters float through these walls" he claimed. "And the place is a mess. Who knows who left what where? I can't be held accountable!" What a chicken shit. Here he spends all this time flaunting his drug use in the face of those who can do something about it and when something is done about it he claims he had no part of it? I am talking of course about the sex-industry worker he assaulted and then claimed not to have assaulted who then called police who came and siezed small quantities of drugs. (Like he didn't know they were coming and like he didn't get rid of his own hefty quantity of drugs, probably a tipoff from his friend the sheriff.)
Hunter was a huge sellout. A fucking coward. A sniveling snake in the grass. A bootlicker.
A great man who made a difference in my life nonetheless, who was, once again, in the right place at the right time. I feel like I know him.
But, it is now I officially hang up my Hunter S. Fanaticism. From now on I will stick with the books mentioned as part of my official library (The Great Shark Hunt, Hell's Angels, and The Rum Diaries) but other than that I could care less, except for maybe his letters 'cause they are funny.
..............................
/ R.I.P. old man \
. -=0=-=-==0= .
. As I sit here .
. and I rot .
. Smelling smells .
. that time forgot .
. Decomposing .
. Slowly Fading .
. All the worms .
. are celebrating .
...................................
Friday, June 1, 2007
Riffin
That's all I'm doing now is writing whatever comes to my head, about Angela, about anything. I find it amazing the power of the internet, allowing me to communicate with you right now whether you know me or not. I think the value of the telephone was to get us to this stage, and now I think they are more or less useless. Sure, keep 'em around in case your comp breaks down, but really. It is a relatively new requirement of the human species that one should keep in touch with their children until their children are old and the parent finally dies. It is nice and all, and especially works for people whom that works for. But man, some people can just reel in their kids, keep 'em from shooting out into whatever is out there, always magnetically drawing them back. It is an amazing thing the internet has done, and the recent trend in weblogging. I think it is great. Almost as great as eating pies.
I ate too many donuts tonight, then I ate supper, and then some tums. I hope that it is as tasty for you as it is for me. Because this is just nonsense and of no real value now is it?
I was simply told once that if you want to be a writer you better be prepared to write every god damn day.
I ate too many donuts tonight, then I ate supper, and then some tums. I hope that it is as tasty for you as it is for me. Because this is just nonsense and of no real value now is it?
I was simply told once that if you want to be a writer you better be prepared to write every god damn day.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
A Story Then
About a man and how one day he came to be awake. He had watched and watched, stunned for so many years. Everything around it had a peculiar dazzle, a gleaming shimmer of something more. A hallucination here and there, hearing something, seeing something. A memory, a dream, a rude sort of awakening, a sense eventually of some sort of desperation, a feeling of stunned bewilderment and jawbreaking awe of the repression of it all, the bitter feeling that he was a hostage. Free to wander, think, and even sometimes feel, but a hostage nonetheless. There were many sorrows and very few joys. Sedation was the key, the only possible reflex. He cut himself off, he let it swallow him. He pulled it around himself, this prison, and allowed it to do what it would. He fell into it and it writhed around him, tugging, pulling. And here it was he remained. For a long time the blanket of this thing swathed him and he just lay there, it flowing around him. He realized there was something going on but he didn't know what to do about it. So, he waited. He also watched. He flowed with it, mostly tossing but as I said, flowing (sometimes). He eventually became brave enough to become active, and lo and behold but sparkling glimmers between the folds. Shining pin points of light, differences in the landscape presented themselves to him. At first there were few, but then there were more and more still and he began to pick apart the details, mostly noticing that the size denoted distance, and the big ones being closest he grasped for the until suddenly one he was with combined and sprang forth and caught a glimpse of liberation! An answer was present before he sank back down and eventually even the brighteset lights faded into the depths of the folds but a few eventually came to remain, orbiting. Especially one. She shone like a diamond in the eyes of the one who is more than a mere jeweler and they came together closer and closer seeking an equilibrius balancing of opposite forces creating sameness. And there he stays and so does she and together they hope to shine onwards forever.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
The Familiar
Today I was thinking about familiars. Witches and familiars are an unusual things, don't you think?
I guess the line of reasoning actually started a while ago, a certain event triggered this particular thought. That event was itself inspired by an event. A kind of sequence of events is what this particular realization is about.
It started a long time ago. I was at the North Country Fair. There is always someone selling kind of cool or sometimes really cool books. There is always the interesting teachings of Don Juan. There is usually mystically oriented sorts of things. One particular book that came into my possession
(so many esses in the word posession, and indeed in the word esses. In fact, it's an inverted pattern! sess sses! Don't they look like little snakes?)
it either came into my posession because I bought it or because Angela bought it. It seems likely to me that Angela actually bought it because she is very interested in wicca and earth-based spirituality. In either case, it's not the greatest book. However, the author is an interesting character.
It is not the greatest book : I say this not because of any sorts of stylistic and thematic opinions, (even though the author definitely is not afraid to reveal her biases!), but because the subject at hand isn't particularly all that exciting. There is a great teaching being attempted, but it is teaching that people who are expecting the quick and easy way are wrong, that there is an amount of effort that must be put forth before results are at hand. She discusses how easily people of the time were falling into the trap of thinking fantastically rather than realistically concerning the issue of witchcraft.
Fantastically : One believes that they can achieve instant satisfaction, the result of drug use for the main part. This book was released around the time of the attempt at a drug revolution, (which in a way succeeded), in the 1960-70's. LSD caused people to act like children; the people who are just hypnotized already by the dazzling illusions of reality are quick to be swayed by the pop fanatisicm which became applied to the hippie culture. Harmful things were resulting because people believed that all they had to do was drugs and orgies in order to have fantastic things begin, and they would get lost in the sensuality of the whole thing, which is more of a satanic thing and was bring harm to the wiccan community.
Realistically : Wicca is a strong family-oriented nature/nurture religion which stresses that one must merely orient down the path of their choice and have faith in the results matching their wish for an outcome. Strong rituals have become a centrality of this religion, not so much because results can be obtained, (and they CAN be obtained), but because you have faith that they can be. That is, you will proceed with the action knowing that it is the right thing to do for that which you wish the most to occur. And I am not talking on the level of simply lighting a candle and thinking that someone will love you , I am thinking more of lighting a candle because you know with certainty that the path ahead of you involves someone to love and you are attempting to orient towards that path. It seems a fine line, but really it is a matter of infinite difference. Intention is the key. Are you looking for the quick fix or the journey? Hence the strong family based themes. I mean, who are you going to pass the book of shadows and the example of your faith down to? A stranger? Noble, but how do you know who that stranger REALLY is?
Boring? I said that the subject is boring. What about the magic that can happen?
Indeed, the magic is exciting and the possibility of it is real, depending on how you think of magic. Is magic the act of twirling your fingers and tapping your toes expecting something solid to come? Is it placing items together to make new items that you want, or influencing somebody using your mind and concentration? Is is the abillity to go out of your body?
Yes and no.
Once again, we have a fine line.
Magic is definitely these things, but my example of the moment is somewhat devoid of a seemingly small fact. That is : The result is not what is important. It is the attempt that is important.
Indeed, a cliche. But, a cliche for a reason.
)))) side track. please get used to these if you are reading this.
I would like to discuss the word cliche for a moment. A cliche can be regarded as a negative social phenomenon, that being the utterance of words in a sequence familiar to the listener in such a way that a faux pas occurs.
(Faux Pas : The term comes from French and literally means "false step". The french use it to describe somebody stumbling, or as a general way of describing general errors. We use it to describe, mainly and specifically, a misstep in a social context.)
I read on Wikipedia the following.
Because the novelty or frequency of an expression's use varies across different times and places, whether or not it is a cliché depends largely on who uses it, the context in which it is used, and who is making the judgment.
I find this important because of the last half, concerning the specific moment of the utterance in the context of it being a self-contained moment with a beginning middle and end. (The beginning being what was said or done before the utterance to facilitate the occurence of the utterance, (be it an awkward pause, an intoxicated person, someone not skilled in socializing, etc.), the middle being the actual utterance itself, and the end being the result of the utterance). All of which depend, indeed, on "who uses it, the context in which it is used, and who is making the judgment."
Another thing noted in the same Wikipedia article
A cliché is also a term historically used in printing, for a printing plate cast from movable type. This is also called a stereotype.
Interesting. You would know why it is interesting if you ever studied the english language in any sort of depth, because if you are one of those who have you realize that in the historical sense of the english language the printing press is a powerful occurence, and anything that has to do with the printing press when it comes to a general or even a vaguely penetrating account of this history is information one should attempt to cause their mind to cling to.
I looked up stereotype and came up with this
The word stereotype was invented by Firmin Didot in the world of printing; it was originally a duplicate impression of an original typographical element, used for printing instead of THE ORIGINAL American journalist Walter Lippmann coined the metaphor, calling a stereotype a "picture in our heads" saying "Whether right or wrong, ...imagination is shaped by the pictures seen... Consequently, they lead to stereotypes that are hard to shake." (Public Opinion, 1922, 95-156). To note, cliché and stereotype were both originally printers' words, and in their literal printers' meanings were synonymous. Specifically, cliché was a French word for the printing surface for a stereotype.
There is much to ponder here.
But I digress.
It is indeed a cliche to state that "it is not the journey but the destination that is important." I am sure that you have heard this in one for or another several times before, probably in different ways. It is one of the most recognizable cliches I would argue. Indeed, it is so prevalent in human language and expression and understanding that one even finds it in the religions of the world, whether those religions knew of each other's existence or not. It may also be argued that the essence of all these religions is simply taoism, tao meaning "the way" or "the path". But I am again digressing. The prevalence of this particular cliche inverses the regular negative connatation of the term into a positive one. It is a prevalent enough cliche to be considered an archetypal cliche; that is, a cliche that has risen to the status of linguistic archetype.
In the study of magic this archetypal statement is precisely why the study of this witchcraft business is precisely not to be mocked. It is to be respected. I call the book boring because really, it seems boring to dedicate oneself to one specific way. It seems boring that one has to work and toil for the results they wish to obtain. Most want instant gratification and therefore boredom is bad. And boredom can be bad. It is true. It can be a trying and often unpredicted mental exercise that is tiring and stressful. But the problem with the word is that people are prone to judge it. Just because boredom can be uncomfortable doesn't mean it is bad. After all, the open wound closes the most. No pain no gain.
And hence the value of the book. Sybil leek demonstrates what she can do with her faith by expressing this cliche and then demonstrating results in her own life that she experiences due to her respect for her ancient family tradition. Handed down from generation to generation in faithfulness, the practice has its rewards. She writes how she has frequently stunned media skeptics with seances, one time even seemingly summoning a wind from nowhere. However, if one listens to the way she tells this story, one realizes that she did not so much summon the wind by commanding it to come, her bond with her family and the knowledge being gathered in trust through generations of respect caused the wind itself to form a relationship of respect with her at that moment. She did not force it to come by reciting some ritual or doing some goofy shuffle. It sensed that she would like it to come and it obliged and she was awash in pure joy from this event. It was an anwered prayer.
Knock and the door will open.
The point of all of this is to mention how in this book there is much to be said about her raven, Mr. Hotfoot Jackson.
Actually, I shouldn't say her raven. She doesn't own it the way most people own pets. Especially nowadays, what with the "toy" breed of dogs and other animals being owned as fashion accessories or even in some occassions motifs in the interior design of homes and occupied space.
In fact, she has simply become "familiar" with the animal. She has connected with it by simply being with it and letting it be with her. She has familiarized herself with the fact that this is not just a mindless animal, and that it is living with her the same as she is living with it. Indeed, she too is "familiar" to it.
and now we come to the wrap up.
I originally said that an event inspired an event which inspired an event and that is why I am writing today.
I started with
event a ---> event b
event b ---> event c
But, event b is not important, so we will skip it. Why? Because in the time between the beginning of this writing, (about fourty minutes ago) and now I have forgotten what that event was.
so effectively I have simply described it thusly
event a ---> event c
which, truthfully is adequate, because the main thought was the paragraph right before "and now we come to the wrap up." this whole writing, all the time I spent on event a, the buying of the book
!wait I remember Event B was simply the reading of the book, and event c was the thought inspired by the reading of the book! So really, it is more like an equation than a linear motif!
instead of the flowing sequence of events I have
event a + event b = event c
wait, addition is a linear motif.
Well you get the point.
event c was the thought that made me write this today.
without equations results would have no meanings.
Keep on rockin' in the free world.
ezz
I guess the line of reasoning actually started a while ago, a certain event triggered this particular thought. That event was itself inspired by an event. A kind of sequence of events is what this particular realization is about.
It started a long time ago. I was at the North Country Fair. There is always someone selling kind of cool or sometimes really cool books. There is always the interesting teachings of Don Juan. There is usually mystically oriented sorts of things. One particular book that came into my possession
(so many esses in the word posession, and indeed in the word esses. In fact, it's an inverted pattern! sess sses! Don't they look like little snakes?)
it either came into my posession because I bought it or because Angela bought it. It seems likely to me that Angela actually bought it because she is very interested in wicca and earth-based spirituality. In either case, it's not the greatest book. However, the author is an interesting character.
It is not the greatest book : I say this not because of any sorts of stylistic and thematic opinions, (even though the author definitely is not afraid to reveal her biases!), but because the subject at hand isn't particularly all that exciting. There is a great teaching being attempted, but it is teaching that people who are expecting the quick and easy way are wrong, that there is an amount of effort that must be put forth before results are at hand. She discusses how easily people of the time were falling into the trap of thinking fantastically rather than realistically concerning the issue of witchcraft.
Fantastically : One believes that they can achieve instant satisfaction, the result of drug use for the main part. This book was released around the time of the attempt at a drug revolution, (which in a way succeeded), in the 1960-70's. LSD caused people to act like children; the people who are just hypnotized already by the dazzling illusions of reality are quick to be swayed by the pop fanatisicm which became applied to the hippie culture. Harmful things were resulting because people believed that all they had to do was drugs and orgies in order to have fantastic things begin, and they would get lost in the sensuality of the whole thing, which is more of a satanic thing and was bring harm to the wiccan community.
Realistically : Wicca is a strong family-oriented nature/nurture religion which stresses that one must merely orient down the path of their choice and have faith in the results matching their wish for an outcome. Strong rituals have become a centrality of this religion, not so much because results can be obtained, (and they CAN be obtained), but because you have faith that they can be. That is, you will proceed with the action knowing that it is the right thing to do for that which you wish the most to occur. And I am not talking on the level of simply lighting a candle and thinking that someone will love you , I am thinking more of lighting a candle because you know with certainty that the path ahead of you involves someone to love and you are attempting to orient towards that path. It seems a fine line, but really it is a matter of infinite difference. Intention is the key. Are you looking for the quick fix or the journey? Hence the strong family based themes. I mean, who are you going to pass the book of shadows and the example of your faith down to? A stranger? Noble, but how do you know who that stranger REALLY is?
Boring? I said that the subject is boring. What about the magic that can happen?
Indeed, the magic is exciting and the possibility of it is real, depending on how you think of magic. Is magic the act of twirling your fingers and tapping your toes expecting something solid to come? Is it placing items together to make new items that you want, or influencing somebody using your mind and concentration? Is is the abillity to go out of your body?
Yes and no.
Once again, we have a fine line.
Magic is definitely these things, but my example of the moment is somewhat devoid of a seemingly small fact. That is : The result is not what is important. It is the attempt that is important.
Indeed, a cliche. But, a cliche for a reason.
)))) side track. please get used to these if you are reading this.
I would like to discuss the word cliche for a moment. A cliche can be regarded as a negative social phenomenon, that being the utterance of words in a sequence familiar to the listener in such a way that a faux pas occurs.
(Faux Pas : The term comes from French and literally means "false step". The french use it to describe somebody stumbling, or as a general way of describing general errors. We use it to describe, mainly and specifically, a misstep in a social context.)
I read on Wikipedia the following.
Because the novelty or frequency of an expression's use varies across different times and places, whether or not it is a cliché depends largely on who uses it, the context in which it is used, and who is making the judgment.
I find this important because of the last half, concerning the specific moment of the utterance in the context of it being a self-contained moment with a beginning middle and end. (The beginning being what was said or done before the utterance to facilitate the occurence of the utterance, (be it an awkward pause, an intoxicated person, someone not skilled in socializing, etc.), the middle being the actual utterance itself, and the end being the result of the utterance). All of which depend, indeed, on "who uses it, the context in which it is used, and who is making the judgment."
Another thing noted in the same Wikipedia article
A cliché is also a term historically used in printing, for a printing plate cast from movable type. This is also called a stereotype.
Interesting. You would know why it is interesting if you ever studied the english language in any sort of depth, because if you are one of those who have you realize that in the historical sense of the english language the printing press is a powerful occurence, and anything that has to do with the printing press when it comes to a general or even a vaguely penetrating account of this history is information one should attempt to cause their mind to cling to.
I looked up stereotype and came up with this
The word stereotype was invented by Firmin Didot in the world of printing; it was originally a duplicate impression of an original typographical element, used for printing instead of THE ORIGINAL American journalist Walter Lippmann coined the metaphor, calling a stereotype a "picture in our heads" saying "Whether right or wrong, ...imagination is shaped by the pictures seen... Consequently, they lead to stereotypes that are hard to shake." (Public Opinion, 1922, 95-156). To note, cliché and stereotype were both originally printers' words, and in their literal printers' meanings were synonymous. Specifically, cliché was a French word for the printing surface for a stereotype.
There is much to ponder here.
But I digress.
It is indeed a cliche to state that "it is not the journey but the destination that is important." I am sure that you have heard this in one for or another several times before, probably in different ways. It is one of the most recognizable cliches I would argue. Indeed, it is so prevalent in human language and expression and understanding that one even finds it in the religions of the world, whether those religions knew of each other's existence or not. It may also be argued that the essence of all these religions is simply taoism, tao meaning "the way" or "the path". But I am again digressing. The prevalence of this particular cliche inverses the regular negative connatation of the term into a positive one. It is a prevalent enough cliche to be considered an archetypal cliche; that is, a cliche that has risen to the status of linguistic archetype.
In the study of magic this archetypal statement is precisely why the study of this witchcraft business is precisely not to be mocked. It is to be respected. I call the book boring because really, it seems boring to dedicate oneself to one specific way. It seems boring that one has to work and toil for the results they wish to obtain. Most want instant gratification and therefore boredom is bad. And boredom can be bad. It is true. It can be a trying and often unpredicted mental exercise that is tiring and stressful. But the problem with the word is that people are prone to judge it. Just because boredom can be uncomfortable doesn't mean it is bad. After all, the open wound closes the most. No pain no gain.
And hence the value of the book. Sybil leek demonstrates what she can do with her faith by expressing this cliche and then demonstrating results in her own life that she experiences due to her respect for her ancient family tradition. Handed down from generation to generation in faithfulness, the practice has its rewards. She writes how she has frequently stunned media skeptics with seances, one time even seemingly summoning a wind from nowhere. However, if one listens to the way she tells this story, one realizes that she did not so much summon the wind by commanding it to come, her bond with her family and the knowledge being gathered in trust through generations of respect caused the wind itself to form a relationship of respect with her at that moment. She did not force it to come by reciting some ritual or doing some goofy shuffle. It sensed that she would like it to come and it obliged and she was awash in pure joy from this event. It was an anwered prayer.
Knock and the door will open.
The point of all of this is to mention how in this book there is much to be said about her raven, Mr. Hotfoot Jackson.
Actually, I shouldn't say her raven. She doesn't own it the way most people own pets. Especially nowadays, what with the "toy" breed of dogs and other animals being owned as fashion accessories or even in some occassions motifs in the interior design of homes and occupied space.
In fact, she has simply become "familiar" with the animal. She has connected with it by simply being with it and letting it be with her. She has familiarized herself with the fact that this is not just a mindless animal, and that it is living with her the same as she is living with it. Indeed, she too is "familiar" to it.
and now we come to the wrap up.
I originally said that an event inspired an event which inspired an event and that is why I am writing today.
I started with
event a ---> event b
event b ---> event c
But, event b is not important, so we will skip it. Why? Because in the time between the beginning of this writing, (about fourty minutes ago) and now I have forgotten what that event was.
so effectively I have simply described it thusly
event a ---> event c
which, truthfully is adequate, because the main thought was the paragraph right before "and now we come to the wrap up." this whole writing, all the time I spent on event a, the buying of the book
!wait I remember Event B was simply the reading of the book, and event c was the thought inspired by the reading of the book! So really, it is more like an equation than a linear motif!
instead of the flowing sequence of events I have
event a + event b = event c
wait, addition is a linear motif.
Well you get the point.
event c was the thought that made me write this today.
without equations results would have no meanings.
Keep on rockin' in the free world.
ezz
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