Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Unica Zürn ...excerpt from the Man of Jasmine...




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Unica Zürn  Berlin - Grunewald 1928



You ghostly gaze! Shy and radiant,
wicked with loneliness and humour; your sombrenes,
seemingly without beginning
and thus without end, shines
through my dream-lit rooms. I ask myself
whether angels might have such eyes?

from The Man of Jasmine



Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Sunday, March 28, 2010

New Drawing...featured in PARAPHILIA MAGAZINE VII...







Dolorosa - Vowed 4 2010


PARAPHILIA VII IS NOW AVAILABLE,

FEATURING DELECTABLY PROVOCATIVE MORSELS FROM THE MINDS OF:

John Coulthart, Dolorosa, Jim Lopez, Andrew Maben, Kenneth Rains Shiffrin,
Salena Godden, Lisa Wormsley, F.X. Tobin, Gary J. Shipley, Matt Leyshon,
Max Reeves, Joseph Jengehino, Jet MacDonald, Christopher Nosnibor,
Malcolm Alc......ala, Kenji Siratori, Audree Flynn, Díre
McCain, David Britton, Michael Butterworth, Kate MacDonald interviewing
Mark Mothersbaugh, Chris Madoch, Cricket Corleone, Richard A. Meade,
John Barrymore, Gene Gregorits, Craig Woods, Guttersaint, Hank Kirton,
Rick Grimes, Claudia Bellocq, Zeynep Ayguler, Sue Fox, James Miller,
David Gionfriddo, Walter Alter, Ron Garmon



www.paraphiliamagazine.com
new publishing venture for transgressive literature, art and music, surrealism, politics, magick and occulture



Saturday, March 27, 2010

Ex libris...Austin Osman Spare...




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"Thought is the negation of knowledge.
Be thy busyness with action only.
Purge thyself of belief:
live like a tree walking!
Take no thought of good or evil.
Become self-active causality by Unity of thine, I and Self."
-AOS - Aphorism I; The Focus of Life

"Nothing is attained merely by 'wanting'; epistemology, even eschatology will not help,
 not Gods; but-spake Zos- the 'as if' simulations have been prolific as objective realities. Sublimation of all 'reason' to the 'blind'  life-force is the whole of wisdom"

AOS - The Grimoire of Zos



~ Live Like a Tree Walking! ~ Essay





Monday, March 22, 2010

My drawings in. .. Silk Milk Spool 4



Received my copy of Silk Milk today!

and a wonderful issue it is! fascinating mix of esoteric writings and the art works are beautifully reproduced accompanied by audio/video cd and dvd
























Drawing by Orryelle text by Julian Vayne


you can order copies HERE




Sunday, March 21, 2010

E M Lilien ..Die Bucher der Bibel...








           Satan appears before the Divine Presence



More Urmuz ...poesy...Fuchsiada excerpt


drawing by Marcel Iancu


Fuchsiada
Heroico-erotic poem, musical too, in prose

A deluge of hollers and threats. A deluge of disonancies, of chords upturned and unconcluded, of dodged cadenzas, faulty consonancies, of trills, but above all, rests, showered from every direction upon the exiled artist. A hail storm of jagged sharps and naturals pelted his back ceaselessly, a drawn out rest shattered his spectacles... Those gods possessed of viciousness in excess barraged him with shinbones, with aeolian harps, with lyres and cimbals, and, utmost of score-settling, with Acteon, with Polyeucte, and with Enescu's Third Symphony, whose inspired music on this occasion, originated indeed from Olympus.
     At last, Fuchs's fate was decided. He was to first roam through Chaos with unbearable swiftness, in five minute revolutions, around the planet Venus, then after, so as to wholly expiate the affront brought upon the goddess, he was to be exiled companionless to the uninhabited planet, with the burden of giving birth on his own and on his own alone, to that off-spring, that superior race of artists, which should have sprung forth in Olympus from his amorous union with Venus.
     Fuchs barely began carrying out his verdict, when Pallas-Athena, forbearing, stepped in (unexpectedly) on his behalf.
     He was granted permission to fall back to earth, but only under one condition: there is so much useless off-spring there, artistic or not, that it was not at all needed to beget any other. It was foisted on Fuchs the task of doing away with snobbism and spinelessness of thought in art on earth's realms.
     Placed thus, in this dire bind, after a prolonged and mature cogitation, the artist determined that this last condition was far more difficult to bring about than the off-spring begetting on Venus...
     A heroical decision was then reached by our hero in his roaming through Chaos. He consented to accept Athena's assistance under the condition imposed upon him; but, when he sensed the proximity of earth, he did what he did and, budging a bit to the right, he dropped down in that very neighborhood, slightly shady, from which he departed and which spellbound him such.
     Knowing himself now well prepared, he would learn here how to put into practice that which he hadn't known until then, so that afterwards, fully initiated, he would request the Venerated One's audience so as to try to rehabilitate himself as best he could in what had been left wanting. In this manner, he told himself, it will become possible to give birth to that new race of supermen, and thus would be released of the duty to undertake on earth the impossible bane imposed upon him.
     But the vestals of pleasure, who had welcomed him mirthfuly, upon discerning his intentions, surrounded him from all directions, intercepted abruptly his forward motion and beleaguered, bereaved, flailing their arms in the air in sign of protest, excommunicated him from the neighborhood, exclaiming in unison: "Woe to you, Fuchs, we have lost you and recognize you no longer, because formerly you were the only one who, from Plato's times onwards, understood how to love us purely... What sort of thoughts do you nurse as you step amongst us? Woe to us from now on deprived of the aesthetics of your sonatas, woe to you deprived of the inspiration of our lofty love! Fie on her who, though our mistress, Olympus's and the world's, did not understand how to appreciate you, and spurning your love and art, led you to fall so high up... Flee, Fuchs, you are unworthy of us now!
     Flee, Fuchs, you slimy satyr! How could you devalue the noblest organ, the ear?! Flee Fuchs, you're dishonoring this neighborhood,
     Flee, Fuchs, and may the gods protect you!"
     Thus excommunicated, and frightened of an eventual discharge of their liquid displeasure, Fuchs sat swiftly at his piano and, pedaling steadily and forcefully, arrived lastly at his quiet shelter, with his spirits oppressed, disconcerted, sickened of men as well as of gods, of love as well as of muses...
     He fled to get his umbrella back from the shop and, taking his piano along, they vanished forever in the midst of nature, glorious and unbounded...
     From there his music radiates with equal force in all directions, thus causing the word of grateful Fate to be carried out in part, ordaining him that through his scales, concerts and etudes of staccato, to spread far the word and by their grace, through the power of education, to cause the appearance in time on this planet an improved and superior race of beings, towards his glory, his piano's, and Eternity's...  


full Fuchsiada at Exquisite corpse


A bit of metaphysics and astronomy ... Urmuz


Urmuz (Romania 1883-1923)






A bit of metaphysics and astronomy

unfinished essay

It is simply not true - the symposium said with one accord - that in the beginning the "word came from God" or that "God was the word." In the beginning - the drinking party reaffirmed - before there was any "word", there was only the " deaf-and-dumb alphabet"; for surely it is hard to beleive that cosmis substances and matter could have learnt straight away to express anything at all; they may not even have been able to ask to be excused or even to say "papa" or "mama". Most probably - the diners went on- the heavenly bodies took shape neither by God's munificence, nor from their own own urge to spin and thus create something out of nothing merely for the sake of turning round and round , nor from gaseous solids.
It is more likely that they wherre neither created nor uncreated: nobody's children, born of accurate or inaccurate calculations, in instalments, with sweat and toil; in addition,
insufficiently nourished at the Heavenly Maternity Clinic with milk mixed with soda water by the dairymaids of the Milky Way.
Even admitting that they spin only for their own amusement, it is still difficult to suppose that their motives are entirely disinterested, without the intention of making the slightest profit. Surely it would seeem rather ridiculous for anyone to gyrate for ever and ever, free of charge, just to be seen by others...
--Whaaat? Mean and selfish interests among the heavenly bodies? naively protested the ideologically-minded plebs, waiting outside in the courtyard for the verdict.
The crowd had good reason, and yet no reason at all for being so apprehensive...
In fact, who in the first place could have impelled matter and he cosmic force into becoming something when they, in their turn, by destroying themselves or simply by handing in their resignations, could at anytime have compelled the "something" to become the "nothing"?...
Then again, who among us can complain that the primordial force, the cause of all causes, may never be attained or discovered, when everybody is striving to reach it from the start, or from behind, and nobody ever attempts to cover it, for a moment, or to catch it on the hip at leas once?
And what is the good of fighting to discover a cause, the sole and primordial cause, when unfortunately causes are at the same time affects; and these in turn bring about other effects which are diabolically manifold and tangled?
What then is the point of our seeking a single cause, this initial, generative force which we feel must exist, when it is itself so stubbornly determined to produce nothing but multiplicity? It thirst for multitudes, for complexities and contradictions; it needs millions of people, flies, sponges, monsters, stars -- all at a price of great suffering and inconvenience to them. It also needs "trunk-fish" and "sawfish", and swallows numbers, distances and high speeds, with no purpose or necessity...



Wednesday, March 17, 2010

William Butler Yeats ...Magic and poetry...Happy St Patricks...





magick note book - yeats





georgie & jack yeats

In 1892, he wrote: "If I had not made magic my constant study I could not have written a single word of my Blake book, nor would The Countess Kathleen have ever come to exist. The mystical life is the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write."




















I believe in the practice and philosophy of what we have agreed to call
magic, in what I must call the evocation of spirits, though I do not know what they are, in the power of creating magical illusions, in the visions of truth in the
depth of the mind when the eyes are closed; and I belive in three doctrines,
which have, as I think, been handed down from early times, and been the foundation of nearly all magical practices. These doctrine are:

1 - That the borders of our minds are ever shifting, and that many minds can flow into one another, as it were and create or reveal a single mind, a single energy.
2 - That the borders of our memories are shifting, and that our memories are part of one great memory, the memory of Nature herself.
3 - That this great mind and great memory can be evoked by symbols.

1908

¤ A Crazed Girl ¤


That crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,
Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.
No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, 'O sea-starved, hungry sea.'



William Butler Yeats

Saturday, March 6, 2010

The Fruit of Paradise...film clip ..Věra Chytilová 1968...

 



Joseph Jengehino...poems and drawing..




a physiology of conversion (collab with Amely Jones)

Gerald slices his thoughts with a citrus knife. Removes the matter.
His fiction is the salt she sucks from open wounds.
Her machinery is too much for him. At night he tears it down.
He likes to watch her mouth sleep.
likes the way it is crooked but still toxic. but silent.
He's afraid of her.
He's afraid of her unobstructed mind and the traps and equations she uses.
He wants to get under her skin
his static can break her. disrupt her.
break the plane of her bones,
break the circuitry of her mind,
give her parachutes to numbness.
Her head is turned, the profile of a bird on a pillowcase.
he touches her throat, a little
Hides his hands
He wants to hold her
in the softest prison,
place a thumb on her eye,
and feel the kaleidoscope's stained and transparent explosions.
The dreams are fueling her mind
maybe he can make her smile when she is like this...
but he won't touch those toxic lips
even with the latex fingers
he envisions her a future huffing oxygen from an apparatus.
sees her body tied to machines
sees the bricks of her mind dissolving
in a place where he can forever watch her mouth sleep




The Broken Neck of the Swan




Joseph Jengehino blog at MYSPACE