02-23-2022, 05:57 AM
The going beyond love is going two ways. There's down into the animal passions, and there's upward to selfless love. Both are selfless in ways.
The tree is going up and down.
In my short stories and novels, the demon scenes are full of gratuitous sex and violence. Demons are often depicted as animal hybrids. Animals are seen as natural, and natural things doing unnatural things disturbs people.
Dying from love or dying into love. Love is the most wonderful thing and the most terrifying thing. Devouring and saving.
I've written my demonic books. I'm writing my abyss books now. My Purgatory.
But will I ever make it to Paradiso? Do I want to? Or do I want to continue chucking around muck?
I live in the South, and blow through books by Cormac McCarthy and Flannery O'Connor and James Dickey, mix in horror movies, folklore and magic, blue comedy, and a touch of Jean Genet and William Burroughs, and I'm waking up in the middle of the night with localized versions of those Bosch scenes I mentioned before.
Lately I've been transfiguring up through the ethical vulgarity of the Cynic.
Drukpa Kunley also has a dog with him that hunts down dualistic thinking.
And with the thelemic allusions I've been using, it becomes closer to why they celebrate the whore of babylon as the Holy of Holies.
I'm going from mundane social horrors to spiritual horrors to cosmic horrors, and doing my best to pass through the Black Lodge.
My poems are spells and signposts.
There are gnarly tangled things to smooth out and weave into that immanent Conscientious Light I keep blabbering on about.
The Dog-Man, the Tree-Man? What next?
Oannes, the fish-man?
N in tarot is the Death card. And the hebrew letter is Fish. Noah is an N-name. Water is chaos. Noah is the fish swimming through chaos with his Ark, arc, ark.
Then he grows a vineyard and gets drunk. Wine symbolizes Clarity. Jesus turns water to wine. Jesus walks on/above chaos.
Jesus invokes Dionysus. Lords over Chaos. Dark Wisdom.
You can see the evolution of the dog-love
And in the last one here, you get the meditation and the tree. More, perhaps?, foolish consistency:
Two William Blake Demon quotes:
"Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires."
"The fool who persists in his folly will become wise."
I'm certainly persistent:
He Got Bit By a Snake and also Poisoned
This is not the time to talk
about the three dogs that knocked on my door that night.
Another dog followed me around a few days.
He had a limp, it looked funny.
He wasn't embarrassed.
The other dogs didn't mess around with him.
What I thought was that he got hit by a car;
those other dogs knew more than me
about how he'd actually been bit by a snake and poisoned.
Though he had the reputation of having eaten that newborn
hedge of kittens that time,
that didn't happen.
My dad put them in a blanket with rocks.
The mother cat ate herself from the outside in,
like that dog with razor blades in his steak,
that kid, Jessy, had.
Jessy always had his pecker hanging out.
He's dead now.
When the dog stopped showing up
to follow me around,
nobody noticed;
but I figured he did what Jessy's brother did
after he accidentally broke his brother's neck
in a backyard wrestling match:
He went off in the woods to die alone,
like a dog.
unknown
When I was in rural Maryland,
I lived next door to a Buddhist diagnosed
with obsessive compulsive disorder
and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder.
Each afternoon I'd see him out my back window,
sitting under my dead pear tree,
blinking his eyes and shifting his tilted head
from shoulder to shoulder in a diagonal motion.
He had food stamps but when they ran out,
he'd walk all over town asking for offerings.
There were a few people he could always count on.
He had to eat a lot,
because in his mind it would be a true test of will
for him to form an extreme eating habit
and gain enough weight to have to lose it.
He realized he would never be able to meditate
with his mental and physical tics;
so he only sat under the tree for effect,
and tried other means of self-mastery.
Drugs, drink, sloth, tv and internet gluttony;
he tried them all, and wrote of them in notebooks.
I sometimes found balled up paper strewn through my yard
where the rotten pears used to be.
Finally his doctor convinced him it would be a good idea
if he took some medication,
to see how well he could overcome
the side effects that might occur.
Months later, I noticed he'd be sitting under the tree
from morning to night,
in rain, in thunderstorms, in snow,
in all temperatures.
I'd bring him a blanket or food or water;
no matter what I said, he never spoke to me.
I just read his balled up notes he sometimes left.
I didn't live there very much longer,
and when I was about to be evicted,
I got my stuff together and took off
long before sunrise.
I left him my dog,
which was the reason I was being evicted in the first place.
He always liked my dog, I could tell.
I don't know what became of either of them;
but for reasons not altogether clear to me,
I've come to feel that he was going about things in the wrong way.
The tree is going up and down.
In my short stories and novels, the demon scenes are full of gratuitous sex and violence. Demons are often depicted as animal hybrids. Animals are seen as natural, and natural things doing unnatural things disturbs people.
Dying from love or dying into love. Love is the most wonderful thing and the most terrifying thing. Devouring and saving.
I've written my demonic books. I'm writing my abyss books now. My Purgatory.
But will I ever make it to Paradiso? Do I want to? Or do I want to continue chucking around muck?
I live in the South, and blow through books by Cormac McCarthy and Flannery O'Connor and James Dickey, mix in horror movies, folklore and magic, blue comedy, and a touch of Jean Genet and William Burroughs, and I'm waking up in the middle of the night with localized versions of those Bosch scenes I mentioned before.
Lately I've been transfiguring up through the ethical vulgarity of the Cynic.
Drukpa Kunley also has a dog with him that hunts down dualistic thinking.
And with the thelemic allusions I've been using, it becomes closer to why they celebrate the whore of babylon as the Holy of Holies.
I'm going from mundane social horrors to spiritual horrors to cosmic horrors, and doing my best to pass through the Black Lodge.
My poems are spells and signposts.
There are gnarly tangled things to smooth out and weave into that immanent Conscientious Light I keep blabbering on about.
The Dog-Man, the Tree-Man? What next?
Oannes, the fish-man?
N in tarot is the Death card. And the hebrew letter is Fish. Noah is an N-name. Water is chaos. Noah is the fish swimming through chaos with his Ark, arc, ark.
Then he grows a vineyard and gets drunk. Wine symbolizes Clarity. Jesus turns water to wine. Jesus walks on/above chaos.
Jesus invokes Dionysus. Lords over Chaos. Dark Wisdom.
You can see the evolution of the dog-love
And in the last one here, you get the meditation and the tree. More, perhaps?, foolish consistency:
Two William Blake Demon quotes:
"Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires."
"The fool who persists in his folly will become wise."
I'm certainly persistent:
He Got Bit By a Snake and also Poisoned
This is not the time to talk
about the three dogs that knocked on my door that night.
Another dog followed me around a few days.
He had a limp, it looked funny.
He wasn't embarrassed.
The other dogs didn't mess around with him.
What I thought was that he got hit by a car;
those other dogs knew more than me
about how he'd actually been bit by a snake and poisoned.
Though he had the reputation of having eaten that newborn
hedge of kittens that time,
that didn't happen.
My dad put them in a blanket with rocks.
The mother cat ate herself from the outside in,
like that dog with razor blades in his steak,
that kid, Jessy, had.
Jessy always had his pecker hanging out.
He's dead now.
When the dog stopped showing up
to follow me around,
nobody noticed;
but I figured he did what Jessy's brother did
after he accidentally broke his brother's neck
in a backyard wrestling match:
He went off in the woods to die alone,
like a dog.
unknown
When I was in rural Maryland,
I lived next door to a Buddhist diagnosed
with obsessive compulsive disorder
and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder.
Each afternoon I'd see him out my back window,
sitting under my dead pear tree,
blinking his eyes and shifting his tilted head
from shoulder to shoulder in a diagonal motion.
He had food stamps but when they ran out,
he'd walk all over town asking for offerings.
There were a few people he could always count on.
He had to eat a lot,
because in his mind it would be a true test of will
for him to form an extreme eating habit
and gain enough weight to have to lose it.
He realized he would never be able to meditate
with his mental and physical tics;
so he only sat under the tree for effect,
and tried other means of self-mastery.
Drugs, drink, sloth, tv and internet gluttony;
he tried them all, and wrote of them in notebooks.
I sometimes found balled up paper strewn through my yard
where the rotten pears used to be.
Finally his doctor convinced him it would be a good idea
if he took some medication,
to see how well he could overcome
the side effects that might occur.
Months later, I noticed he'd be sitting under the tree
from morning to night,
in rain, in thunderstorms, in snow,
in all temperatures.
I'd bring him a blanket or food or water;
no matter what I said, he never spoke to me.
I just read his balled up notes he sometimes left.
I didn't live there very much longer,
and when I was about to be evicted,
I got my stuff together and took off
long before sunrise.
I left him my dog,
which was the reason I was being evicted in the first place.
He always liked my dog, I could tell.
I don't know what became of either of them;
but for reasons not altogether clear to me,
I've come to feel that he was going about things in the wrong way.