Sunday, March 21, 2010

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 13, 2010

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