wanderlust dust

proclamations and observations for a time coming undone

my heroes have always been cowboys July 19, 2008

Filed under: dear dolly,, music — ΛPГlCOT ГΛY @ 5:33 pm
Tags: , ,

why do the ones who feel the most detached from their personal destiny, the ones who feel they have the least control of their own lives, always compensate by relentlessly demanding control of someone else’s?

is the delicate balance between striving for something greater than themselves, and completely surrendering to the forces far too daunting? are we a nation of sociopaths? is it perhaps an epidemic?

i’m beginning to understand the iron skin of the great wanderers and why they wear their gun outside their pants. there is no proper explanation to satisfy the content. there is only the time between a skipped heartbeat. there is only love.

i just watched my guitar disappear down the street in the back of a pick-up. it may have been a bold move for my empty morning stomach, but i know that music cannot be possessed, it can only be shared. i think i might sell my shoes by the end of the day.

 

maybe the house IS on fire July 8, 2008

Filed under: _____phobia — ΛPГlCOT ГΛY @ 5:29 pm
Tags: , , , ,

Mutiny of the Soul
Charles Eisenstein

Depression, anxiety, and fatigue are an essential part of a process of metamorphosis that is unfolding on the planet today, and highly significant for the light they shed on the transition from an old world to a new.

When a growing fatigue or depression becomes serious, and we get a diagnosis of Epstein-Barr or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or hypothyroid or low serotonin, we typically feel relief and alarm. Alarm: something is wrong with me. Relief: at least I know I’m not imagining things; now that I have a diagnosis, I can be cured, and life can go back to normal. But of course, a cure for these conditions is elusive.

The notion of a cure starts with the question, “What has gone wrong?” But there is another, radically different way of seeing fatigue and depression that starts by asking, “What is the body, in its perfect wisdom, responding to?” When would it be the wisest choice for someone to be unable to summon the energy to fully participate in life?

The answer is staring us in the face. When our soul-body is saying No to life, through fatigue or depression, the first thing to ask is, “Is life as I am living it the right life for me right now?” When the soul-body is saying No to participation in the world, the first thing to ask is, “Does the world as it is presented me merit my full participation?”

What if there is something so fundamentally wrong with the world, the lives, and the way of being offered us, that withdrawal is the only sane response? Withdrawal, followed by a reentry into a world, a life, and a way of being wholly different from the one left behind?

The unspoken goal of modern life seems to be to live as long and as comfortably as possible, to minimize risk and to maximize security. We see this priority in the educational system, which tries to train us to be “competitive” so that we can “make a living”. We see it in the medical system, where the goal of prolonging life trumps any consideration of whether, sometimes, the time has come to die. We see it in our economic system, which assumes that all people are motivated by “rational self-interest”, defined in terms of money, associated with security and survival. (And have you ever thought about the phrase “the cost of living”?) We are supposed to be practical, not idealistic; we are supposed to put work before play. Ask someone why she stays in a job she hates, and as often as not the answer is, “For the health insurance.” In other words, we stay in jobs that leave us feeling dead in order to gain the assurance of staying alive. When we choose health insurance over passion, we are choosing survival over life.

On a deep level, which I call the soul level, we want none of that. We recognize that we are here on earth to enact a sacred purpose, and that most of the jobs on offer are beneath our dignity as human beings. But we might be too afraid to leave our jobs, our planned-out lives, our health insurance, or whatever other security and comfort we have received in exchange for our divine gifts. Deep down, we recognize this security and comfort as slaves’ wages, and we yearn to be free.

So, the soul rebels. Afraid to make the conscious choice to step away from a slave’s life, we make the choice unconsciously instead. We can no longer muster the energy to go through the motions. We enact this withdrawal from life through a variety of means. We might summon the Epstein-Barr virus into our bodies, or mononucleosis, or some other vector of chronic fatigue. We might shut down our thyroid or adrenal glands. We might shut down our production of serotonin in the brain. Other people take a different route, incinerating the excess life energy in the fires of addiction. Either way, we are in some way refusing to participate. We are shying away from ignoble complicity in a world gone wrong. We are refusing to contribute our divine gifts to the aggrandizement of that world.

That is why the conventional approach of fixing the problem so that we can return to normal life will not work. It might work temporarily, but the body will find other ways to resist. Raise serotonin levels with SSRIs, and the brain will prune some receptor sites, thinking in its wisdom, “Hey, I’m not supposed to feel good about the life I am living right now.” In the end, there is always suicide, a common endpoint of the pharmaceutical regimes that seek to make us happy with something inimical to our very purpose and being. You can only force yourself to abide in wrongness so long. When the soul’s rebellion is suppressed too long, it can explode outward in bloody revolution. Significantly, all of the school shootings in the last decade have involved people on anti-depression medication. All of them! For a jaw-dropping glimpse of the results of the pharmaceutical regime of control, scroll down this compilation of suicide/homicide cases involving SSRIs. I am not using “jaw-dropping” as a figure of speech. My jaw literally dropped open.

Back in the 1970s, dissidents in the Soviet Union were often hospitalized in mental institutions and given drugs similar to the ones used to treat depression today. The reasoning was that you had to be insane to be unhappy in the Socialist Workers’ Utopia. When the people treating depression receive status and prestige from the very system that their patients are unhappy with, they are unlikely to affirm the basic validity of the patient’s withdrawal from life. “The system has to be sound — after all, it validates my professional status — therefore the problem must be with you.”

Unfortunately, “holistic” approaches are no different, as long as they deny the wisdom of the body’s rebellion. When they do seem to work, usually that is because they coincide with some other shift. When someone goes out and gets help, or makes a radical switch of modalities, it works as a ritual communication to the unconscious mind of a genuine life change. Rituals have the power to make conscious decisions real to the unconscious. They can be part of taking back one’s power.

I have met countless people of great compassion and sensitivity, people who would describe themselves as “conscious” or “spiritual”, who have battled with CFS, depression, thyroid deficiency, and so on. These are people who have come to a transition point in their lives where they become physically incapable of living the old life in the old world. That is because, in fact, the world presented to us as normal and acceptable is anything but. It is a monstrosity. Ours is a planet in pain. If you need me to convince you of that, if you are unaware of the destruction of forests, oceans, wetlands, cultures, soil, health, beauty, dignity, and spirit that underlies the System we live in, then I have nothing to say to you. I only am speaking to you if you do believe that there is something deeply wrong with the way we are living on this planet.

A related syndrome comprises various “attention deficit” and anxiety “disorders” (forgive me, I cannot write down these words without the ironic quotation marks) which reflect an unconscious knowledge that something is wrong around here. Anxiety, like all emotions, has a proper function. Suppose you left a pot on the stove and you know you forgot something, you just can’t remember what. You cannot rest at ease. Something is bothering you, something is wrong. Subliminally you smell smoke. You obsess: did I leave the water running? Did I forget to pay the mortgage? The anxiety keeps you awake and alert; it doesn’t let you rest; it keeps your mind churning, worrying. This is good. This is what saves your life. Eventually you realize — the house is on fire! — and anxiety turns into panic, and action.

So if you suffer from anxiety, maybe you don’t have a “disorder” at all — maybe the house is on fire. Anxiety is simply the emotion corresponding to “Something is dangerously wrong and I don’t know what it is.” That is only a disorder if there is in fact nothing dangerously wrong. “Nothing is wrong, just you” is the message that any therapy gives when it tries to fix you. I disagree with that message. The problem is not with you. You have very good reason to be anxious. Anxiety keeps part of your attention away from your tasks of polishing the silverware as the house burns down, of playing the violin as the Titanic sinks. Unfortunately, the wrongness you are tapping into might be beyond the cognizance of the psychiatrists who treat you, who then conclude that the problem must be your brain.

Similarly, Attention Deficit Disorder, ADHD, and my favorite, Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD) are only disorders if we believe that the things presented for our attention are worth paying attention to. We cannot admit, without calling into question the whole edifice of our school system, that it may be completely healthy for a ten-year-old boy to not sit still for six hours in a classroom learning about long division and Vasco de Gama. Perhaps the current generation of children, that some call the Indigos, simply have a lower tolerance for school’s agenda of conformity, obedience, external motivation, right-and-wrong answers, the quantification of performance, rules and bells, report cards and grades and your permanent record. So we try to enforce their attention with stimulants, and subdue their heroic intuitive rebellion against the spirit-wrecking machine.

As I write about the “wrongness” against which we all rebel, I can hear some readers asking, “What about the metaphysical principle that it’s ‘all good’?” Just relax, I am told, nothing is wrong, all is part of the divine plan. You only perceive it as wrong because of your limited human perspective. All of this is only here for our own development. War: it gives people wonderful opportunities to make heroic choices and burn off bad karma. Life is wonderful, Charles, why do you have to make it wrong?

I am sorry, but usually such reasoning is just a sop to the conscience. If it is all good, then that is only because we perceive and experience it as terribly wrong. The perception of iniquity moves us to right it.

Nonetheless, it would be ignorant and fruitless to pass judgment upon those who do not see anything wrong, who, oblivious to the facts of destruction, think everything is basically fine. There is a natural awakening process, in which first we proceed full speed ahead participating in the world, believing in it, seeking to contribute to the Ascent of Humanity. Eventually, we encounter something that is undeniably wrong, perhaps a flagrant injustice or a serious health problem or a tragedy near at hand. Our first response is to think this is an isolated problem, remediable with some effort, within a system that is basically sound. But when we try to fix it, we discover deeper and deeper levels of wrongness. The rot spreads; we see that no injustice, no horror can stand in isolation. We see that the disappeared dissidents in South America, the child laborers in Pakistan, the clearcut forests of the Amazon, are all intimately linked together in a grotesque tapestry that includes every aspect of modern life. We realize that the problems are too big to fix. We are called to live in an entirely different way, starting with our most fundamental values and priorities.

All of us go through this process, repeatedly, in various realms of our lives; all parts of the process are right and necessary. The phase of full participation is a growth phase in which we develop gifts that will be applied very differently later. The phase of trying to fix, to endure, to soldier on with a life that isn’t working is a maturation phase that develops qualities of patience and determination and strength. The phase of discovering the all-encompassing nature of the problem is usually a phase of despair, but it need not be. Properly, it is a phase of rest, of stillness, of withdrawal, of preparation for a push. The push is a birth-push. Crises in our lives converge and propel us into a new life, a new being that we hardly imagine could exist, except that we’d heard rumors of it, echoes, and maybe even caught a glimpse of it here and there, been granted through grace a brief preview.

If you are in the midst of this process, you need not suffer if you cooperate with it. I can offer you two things. First is self-trust. Trust your own urge to withdraw even when a million messages are telling you, “The world is fine, what’s wrong with you? Get with the program.” Trust your innate belief that you are here on earth for something magnificent, even when a thousand disappointments have told you you are ordinary. Trust your idealism, buried in your eternal child’s heart, that says that a far more beautiful world than this is possible. Trust your impatience that says “good enough” is not good enough. Do not label your noble refusal to participate as laziness and do not medicalize it as an illness. Your heroic body has merely made a few sacrifices to serve your growth.

The second thing I can offer you is a map. The journey I have described is not always linear, and you may find yourself from time to time revisiting earlier territory. When you find the right life, when you find the right expression of your gifts, you will receive an unmistakable signal. You will feel excited and alive. Many people have preceded you on this journey, and many more will follow in times to come. Because the old world is falling apart, and the crises that initiate the journey are converging upon us. Soon many people will follow the paths we have pioneered. Each journey is unique, but all share the same basic dynamics I have described. When you have passed through it, and understood the necessity and rightness of each of its phases, you will be prepared to midwife others through it as well. Your condition, all the years of it, has prepared you for this. It has prepared you to ease the passage of those who will follow. Everything you have gone through, every bit of the despair, has been necessary to forge you into a healer and a guide. The need is great. The time is coming soon.

Image by obo-bobolina, courtesy of Creative Commons license.

 

get rid of the bum on the plush! May 28, 2008

Filed under: music, politics — ΛPГlCOT ГΛY @ 1:18 am
Tags: , , , ,

Utah Phillips - singer, songwriter, activist, raconteur and unionist

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

sfgate_get_fprefs(); Bruce “U. Utah” Phillips, the Grammy-nominated folk singer known for his bushy white beard, tireless tour schedule and equally tireless work for social justice, died of congestive heart failure Friday at his home in Nevada City. He was 73 and had been having health problems in recent years. Mr. Phillips rose to prominence on the folk scene with the single “Moose Turd Pie,” a song from his 1973 debut album “Good Though!” That song was about serving moose feces to fellow laborers during the time Mr. Phillips worked as a cook in a railroad gang. With a career that lasted four decades, the songwriter most recently collaborated with Ani DiFranco on the 1999 album “Fellow Workers.” The two were nominated for a Grammy in 2000 for best contemporary folk album. Born in Cleveland, Ohio, on May 15, 1935, Mr. Phillips ran away from home as a teenager. He took the name U. Utah Phillips in tribute to musician T. Texas Tyler, and spent several years living as a stowaway on trains, an experience he documented in many of his songs. He settled in Nevada City 21 years ago. Family spokesman Jordan Fisher Smith told the Associated Press that Mr. Phillips had been suffering from chronic heart disease since 2004. His health forced him to cut back on roadwork after nearly 40 years of extensive touring. But the singer stayed close to his fans through a folk music radio show, podcasts and blog posts by his son, Duncan. While an irrepressible comedian onstage, Mr. Phillips took his social commitments seriously. A brief stint in the Army that included a tour of Korea in 1956 inspired his work with the peace movement. For a while, Mr. Phillips was a railroad tramp, drinking heavily and ending up in a homeless shelter in Salt Lake City operated by an anarchist. The son of labor organizers, he ran unsuccessfully for the U.S. Senate from Utah on the Peace and Freedom Party ticket in 1968. He also made a run for the presidency in 1976. Later, he founded the Peace and Justice Center in Nevada City and helped start the Hospitality House, a local homeless shelter. “He was a man who was amazingly funny,” Smith said. “And what I saw in the last two years of his life was a human being even more beautiful than he was in performance.” Mr. Phillips is survived by his wife, Joanna Robinson, three children of his own and two stepsons. Funeral arrangements will be announced. Chronicle wire services contributed to this report. E-mail Aidin Vaziri at avaziri@sfchronicle.com.

This article appeared on page B - 3 of the San Francisco Chronicle

 

girl, you aint a top! May 26, 2008

Filed under: humor, music — ΛPГlCOT ГΛY @ 9:25 pm
Tags: , ,

 

freak magnetism brings me down May 9, 2008

a few days ago, i threw my back out for the very first time. and i wasnt even trying to blow myself. it involved an incredibly heroic feat with a patio table. but aside from the miserable and constant pain, and the pathetic helplessness, i was left to the mercy of my parents couch. where i was force fed an endless supply of mind-rotting television (two full episodes of american idol), and a small cattle farm’s worth of red meat.

today, i finally felt capable of moving about without a walker. though not really feeling up to it, mostly due to an aching stomach full of motrin and beef, i left the house and headed downtown.. in my hometown, where i am more a stranger than anywhere else i know. and just as i do in any town where i dont know anyone, i walk into the loudest, most crowded gay bar i can find.

it was karaoke night, and i was immediately assaulted with an off-key lionel ritchie ballad, absent of the slightest taste of irony. i got a beer and charged for the smoking patio. before i could sit down, i was joined by marc. a tall, lanky chap in his late 30’s. it wasnt so much his tapered, acid-washed jeans and brown leather jacket that stood out, but perhaps it was the entire right side of his face, swollen and bruised, nearly consuming his dilated pupil. i immediately smelled creep on his breath.

“are you gay?”, he asks, in that ever so familiar tweaker rasp.

“no, i come here for the music.”

“hey man, that’s awesome, i love lionel ritchie! i don’t really get the whole gay thing. i don’t fuck guys.. i mean, i will if i have to, you know what i mean? but i love gay guys, you know why? because they listen to me, man.”

this is where i’m inhaling my cigarette as hard and fast as i possibly can.

“did you see what happened to my face?”

“did somebody hit you?”

“somebody!?! more like 30 guys, dude. i was down at paradise beach today, and i see this girl, right? and she’s in her bikini and throwing back shots of jack.. so i go up to her, you know? and i’m just like rapping at her, it’s not like i was even gonna fuck her or anything. how the fuck was i suppose to know she was 14? so all the sudden, i’m surrounded by all these dudes who are all talking shit.. but what they don’t know is that i was in the marines for five fuckin years. so i take my shirt off and i’m like, “you wanna have this out? i’ll kill every single one of you motherfuckers.” cause thats what you got a do, you know? and thats what i did. and i won, too. god, i must sound like such a redneck right now. but you know sometimes that’s just what you gotta do, and you just get so angry.. (this is where marc starts foaming at the mouth) and you.. you just wanna rip out their fucking livers and grind them into the sand with all the blood and bile and shit..”

marc takes a pull off his beer. “i can’t believe i paid 4 dollars for this. thats why i keep a bottle in my scooter.”

i made my break. “hey man, you have a good night. be safe.”

“oh yeah, you too, hey, thanks for listening man. you’re fucking awesome. “

i walked straight out the front door and stood in the gutter pretending to text someone for about 5 minutes. then i went home. my first nite out in nearly two weeks lasted about 30 minutes, and i’ve never hated sacramento more. mostly because i’ve realized that i am the freak. and that marc is gonna find wherever i go. and i’ll probably listen to him.

rescue me, somebody.

 

about me.. May 7, 2008

Filed under: dear dolly, — ΛPГlCOT ГΛY @ 8:31 am

i aint so good at small talk. i dont have small thoughts. my visions are grandiose, ridiculous. in fact, they are eating me alive.

i CHOOSE to compensate these lonely and overwhelming nightmares with simple pleasures. i do absolutely nothing for days on end, and you’re not invited. i’m a champion pacer, carving paths all across this beautiful country. today, i’ll walk in circles. tomorrow, the infinite figure eight. i enjoy long, fluid conversations with inanimate objects.  i adore the ocean, and find no time wasted by staring into the tide for days, waiting for the next great species to crawl out and conquer us all. art is the only language i dare to listen to. but i have little response for art that stands alone fingering it’s pussy because it feels good. unless, of course, someone is actually standing alone fingering their pussy. cause that would be kinda awesome. give me sacrifice. give me blood. let me know that i am feeling something that i will still feel tomorrow. make someone vomit on their shoes.

i’m sort of a nice person. despite the countless horrific massacres i’ve stood witness too, i believe people have good intentions, as selfish as they may seem. however, this non-reactionary, non-judgmental path i so desperately cling too often appears as a blank canvas, allowing the graffiti of all the sins in the world. but i believe in truth, in the most cosmic sense, and i think people falling on their face is funny, in the most vaudeville sense, and if my laughter strikes the wrong chord as i wait for the the next rainstorm to baptize me free, then find me guilty.

i love my dog, lush-green forests (and the critters that live inside of them), amateur boy porn, good coffee, my summer wardrobe, and friends that stay out of my shit.

oh, and i smoke too much.

cheers.

 

brave new world April 30, 2008

Filed under: _____phobia, archives, politics — ΛPГlCOT ГΛY @ 10:53 pm
Tags: , , , ,

The Mike Wallace Interview
Aldous Huxley
5/18/58

Aldous Huxley, social critic and author of Brave New World, talks to Wallace about threats to freedom in the United States, overpopulation, bureaucracy, propaganda, drugs, advertising, and television.

 

butterscotch, deflowered! April 17, 2008

Filed under: _____phobia — ΛPГlCOT ГΛY @ 8:04 am
Tags: , , , , ,

there’s a place in hell for these freaks..

(i swear, it’s not me)

oh well, at least she appeared to enjoy herself

 

pacaderm picasso April 7, 2008

Filed under: crafts — ΛPГlCOT ГΛY @ 8:09 pm
Tags: , ,

 

charlton heston, resurrected at 83 April 6, 2008

Filed under: divas, gay, humor, obituary — ΛPГlCOT ГΛY @ 7:52 am
Tags: , , , , ,

charlton heston was a real son-of-a-bitch, and probably one of the finest comedic actors of all time. having such an extraordinary presence in hollywood, with side-splitters like “the ten commandments” and “ben hur”, it often became difficult to differentiate the man from his super-human abilities, on screen and off. at many times, even impossible to attribute him with any mortal qualities at all. a compassionate, conservative, god-fearing master of the soliloquy, or a musket-toting, militia-oriented, venom spitting gun freak serpent? one thing is most certain; he was most definitely a little bit queer.

in celebration of mr. heston’s epic career, i’ve decided not to indulge in “planet of the apes”.. again, but rather, revisit his riveting and inspirational documentation of the holy word in:

i first discovered most of this vhs box set in the dollar bin at my old job. and what a goldmine it is. i can’t possibly begin to remember how many days and nights i sat in that pink living room in echo park, bong in hand, captivated by the scripture. with no costume change, or angle cut, heston glides from one character into the next, sometimes playing christ and all 12 disciples at once, his enunciation and breath control slice through the dry jeruselum air, often from the exact locations of where these historical events probably never took place.

i would like to imagine that mr. heston is giving his performance of a lifetime at this very moment. and hopefully, for his sake, st. peter is somewhat moved.

 

tween violence March 31, 2008

Filed under: _____phobia, divas, humor — ΛPГlCOT ГΛY @ 8:22 pm
Tags: , , , ,

lil’ j’s got my back, biatch

 

foggy mountain pig sweat March 31, 2008

Filed under: dear dolly,, music, recipes — ΛPГlCOT ГΛY @ 9:00 am
Tags: , , , ,

 

magick March 28, 2008

Filed under: music — ΛPГlCOT ГΛY @ 11:06 pm
Tags: , , , ,

i love wordpress. where else would i find a review of a record i dont remember making?

 

Dr. Jeremiah Wright for President March 28, 2008

Filed under: politics — ΛPГlCOT ГΛY @ 8:26 pm
Tags: , , , , ,

obama will have my vote just as soon as he fully endorses every sacred word that comes out this man’s mouth.

 

you broke my heart silvestre March 26, 2008

Filed under: dear dolly, — ΛPГlCOT ГΛY @ 11:09 pm
Tags: , , ,

From: silvestre
Date: Mar 26, 2008 11:11 AM

do you suck my dick silvestre.

From: ray
Date: 26/03/2008

um…

ive only been to texas once. i didnt suck any dick there, im afraid.

have a lovely day, silvestre.

From: silvestre
Date: Mar 26, 2008 1:07 PM

why you afraid

From: ray
Date: 26/03/2008

i’m not. it’s a figure of speech.

have we met?

From: silvestre
Date: Mar 26, 2008 1:13 PM

what happen to you silvestre.

From: ray
Date: 26/03/2008

i was falsely accused of trying to smuggle diamonds in on a flight from west africa. spent six months being detained without a lawyer. took the help of my congressman and a little muscle to get out. im spending time with my family before the summer tour starts in europe silvestre.

From: silvestre
Date: Mar 26, 2008 1:23 PM

can yoube my boyfriend yes or no silvestre.

From: ray
Date: 26/03/2008

the real question would be, can you be my boyfriend silvestre.

From: silvestre
Date: Mar 26, 2008 1:28 PM

yes or no silvestre.

From: ray
Date: 26/03/2008

its all or nothing with you texans. geesh.

no, i suppose not silvestre

From: silvestre
Date: Mar 26, 2008 1:32 PM

why you say that please say yes ray silvestre.

From: ray
Date: 26/03/2008

okay, yes ray silvestre

From: silvestre
Date: Mar 26, 2008 1:42 PM

i was looking for your pictures of you silvestre.

From: ray
Date: 26/03/2008

so what do we do now that were boyfirends?

From: silvestre
Date: Mar 26, 2008 2:19 PM

SEX SILVESTRE.

From: ray
Date: 26/03/2008

you’re not even gonna get me drunk first?

whatever.

my place or yours silvestre?

From: silvestre
Date: Mar 26, 2008 2:32 PM

oay we could go out if want too come my town texas silvestre.

From: ray
Date: 26/03/2008

ive been thinking about us a lot latley and i dont think were good for each other silvestre. it seems you have only one thing on your mind, which is fine, but im looking to share my dreams with someone silvestre.

ill miss you silvestre. we’ll always have the good times silvestre.

goodbye silvestre

From: silvestre
Date: Mar 26, 2008

wher going i talk too you p. s. i love you so much silvestre.