Originally Posted by Dade
The Ides of March - The original posts of T&T
February 27 2001
...seventeen pieces in deplorable state...all connection betwixt laughter and solemn demise we are finally here...a lost shadow and two unnamed twins reporting as messenger for the one with unreflected praise and paradigm...and so the questions must be answered and the truth be told...from meaning to wisdom and discernment to symbolism...time has gone but preparation left unsaid...only a few knew of the task yet nothing has taken place...morose moons and a fading sun...it will all fall soon...here is question ONE...
WHO IS JUNE?
...a three part answer that finally breaks the rivets of icy machines...a key...the key..my impetus...my motivation to write all songs...a girl who's literal name was JUNE met in '88...my true love...she became my symbol yet disappeared....a childish call...a literal form dissolved into theme and meaning only...so that any love thereafter took her form...and now and always Yelena...and any love any true love...the band was love and the band was JUNE until its agape faded...
...and the ides of march appear...and they never knew what hit them...music so divine...symbols reigning supreme and calls of laughter echoing through valleys in disproportionate measures until they are in ecstasy...
...questions within questions intrigue the solemn mind...worry not...all is answered in Medellia's time...
IS JUNE DEAD?
...while her influence rang divine her presence nullified...she lives within hearts of reason...and to see her would cause a leap of oblivious laughter...sarcastic nuances that parade my psyche...it was never her but the thought of her...she's not dead but lives on...her personal inspiration gave way in '95 when in a horrible car accident...i realized i didn't really care about her...june became my love of love rather than my love of june...all was lost in motor crash except for a name that took on variations...and now i have her...
...standing amidst a blooming field of fledgling poppies and wild willows she asks herself to stop crying...but she never will...for picked too early by tulip bulbed hearts and watered too frequently by pillow drawn clouds she tumbled, drowned, and withered...and all my fault...
WHAT DOES D'ARCY HAVE TO DO WITH THE MEANING?
...a story threefold only one of which will be discussed at present...infatuation...perhaps love...an unborn child...no specifics...tension...regret...and we just didn't get along...a problem: the phoenix...a child: the dwarf...a miscarriage...child his...he's gone...the dwarf disappears...she leaves...i miss her...but all is forgotten...
...and the children cry in dismay...and worry through the day...all will be clear in a matter to hear...just follow the ides each day...
...butterfly bethunes in an everlasting epiphany of confusion and dismay...missing folds...two thereof...secret acquired...and needless unsaid...
WHAT IS THE MISSING SONG?
...Porcelina does not belong...
...and the congregator seemed to know it all...but oblivious bethunes kept writing and teaching their thought...and as a gift he spelled it out: em...you...zed...zee...ell...eee...
discrepancies rage rampant...and meaning aloft...a smart one...a stupid one...some hard some wise some soft...just ask for clarity and it will arise...out of pillows of sleep I've been waiting for your eyes...to finally peer and look all around...missing is missing and belonging belonging...you have the song that does not belong...this two fold question rises to the throng...missing is a song written after porcelina that envisions the album morose in one verse: nocturnal bethunes...hear it...and let it ring through the ides...and cause revolution...zohar
...the zohar will come...and revolutionized hearts will interact in realms of disillusionment whilst cowards starve of courage and thirst of titillating songs that echo through the clouds...and some will hear it...and some will not...
...and the uncouth become couth...the angry, calm...and the disenchanted, enchanted with mystery and dismay...the enigma raptures innocent souls of their spires...and lost ones of their truth...the meaning is not divisive nor argumentative nor meant to separate...it is uniting and a gift of new song and praise...treat it as you will...in Medellia's time all hearts speak truth and Harmageddon sways the disembodiment of reason and understanding...
...the children chuckled and threw sticks into the fire...a spit...a vomit...a urinating ejaculation of emotional pretense so that all follow...listen...the song plays...
WHAT IS "NOCTURNAL BETHUNE"?
...a song composed for all to hear...not by pumpkins disenchanted in their way...but by divine machines that always were and will be...parts of the song are inscribed within 4 albums...a piece to each...a lyric to each...a musical key dissimilar...a tone non repetitive...the theme of chapter four...a song in part as hidden as a ghostly revolution...listen...enjoy...the four forces play...
...questions specific...answers not...a true patriot of understanding...the followers subside and reign supreme...a tear...a crestfallen tomb of delightful squalor...the story unfolds...profoundness diminishes...almost all is clear...her heart so very dear...that leads them to the "Bethunes"...
HOW DOES "FOR MARTHA" FIT INTO THE MEANING?
...in the dark womb where I began...my mother's life made me a man...through all the months of human birth...her beauty fed my common earth...i cannot see, nor breathe, nor stir...but through the death of some of her...
...a trail left unearthed...yet hidden soil remains...three songs uncovered....four more to be discovered...hear the Bethunes in your veins...
WHO IS THE MISSING GIRL?
i turn to face the setting sun...it burns into my eyes and awakens every sorrow's breath...to yield my soul's demise...i sink into an ageless mire of scorn, and hate, and lust...i soon pass into nothingness and dance freely 'amongst the dust of countless eras passed away that share my mindless gloom of her...each one's evil intentions
concealed beneath perfume...behind the glass, night summons me...to dance with visions gold...each one a promise of my fate
but misfortunes untold...but I, awakened by my sight...must beckon night to flee...as I return to nothingness...and slowly cease to see...my sister
..."it's hot in here, open the goddamn window"..."I can't it's broken"..."just open it or I'll get your uncle"..."the paine is broken, the window paine's broken"..."you idiot just turn the latch - there, see...sometimes I think your sister took your brains with her you know that"...
WHAT SONGS MAKE UP BETHUNES?
...heart...lead...iron...copper...malleable portages of unfermented cakes...and all for your sakes...more to be revealed whilst discovery within the known remains...flashes of light too bright give some a blinding sight...those with names all known...yet one remains discovered though suspect already?one which lacks that better than good oil seen as a revolution...the chorus begins...
Ripe Red cold tomatoes at midnight
Rhythms of Winter outside my door
How I would like to dance with you?
Rub my feet ontop of yours beneath a yellow
Let my bare flesh feel the sting of winter
Early morning in October while I surf your lips
Embrace me in the cold of October
Coming to an end before us like a heart-attack
Kiss my embittered lips
Feel the anger inside my jugular veins
There my blood boils
Can you sense it flow?
Warm and Red seeping through
forgotten like an after-thought
They say we can not win
Bedouins of the past
Sultans of the Harem
We are ignorant, worthless, impotent, regressive,
and of glory past...
But I say we are strong
Seventeen can't you see ?
Kiss me hard before I fall from the world's grace
Or from your arms
Did I say I love you in October?
Hear my voice call Revolution
Give me bread, your love, and freedom
Must they exploit us all
for our band to rise like the tide?
Must our tragedy hit every home
before we eat from off of their flesh?
Must we incur a death in every home
A loss, a disability?
Whether from starvation, occupation, or worse
loss of dignity?
I am strong
We are hungry for a future and we are capable we
We will eat the flesh of our exploiters
We will crush those who occupy us
those who enslave us from within?
We are not a consumer society to be consumed?
We will purge this cancer from within us
When we live in dirt
and they pay for their gambling debts with our
Our homes see no carpets red or other
Our children their skulls the cups of wine
for our oppressors to drink from
Each day we grow
Our dreams are strengthened
by our determination
We are ten strong
We are one hundred strong
We are one thousand strong
We are one million strong
and we grow....
Watch us march on
Our eyes are wide open, hopeful, and clear
Our fists solid waving in the air
Our steps steadfast and forward
our heads proud and raised high
We progress, we evolve, we become victory
We are from the gulf to the sea
From the sea to the gulf
We have our chains to lose
We have a world to win
...or so she believed
...musical entanglement and emotional derision...theories subside and mysteries divide...yet some uncouth hold trickles of truth...
IS THE MYSTERY BEING SOLVED?
together in the womb they were complete, but now, being torn apart, he is left scarred and longing to once again be whole. No longer longing for his 'twin' but longing for love... a love to complete him
...the trenches fill...
...and another day was given to those who are so close...
...almost unable to breathe
...and he asks himslef...was time wisely used...for if the closer remained untaut...unhidden...certain answers would appear...or have appeared...
...follow through on answers known
If I fall in love, will you forgive me?
If I lose my way, will you chose me?
If I change my mind, will you change me?
...and the time was granted...and the rites wasted...but some discovered truth...and others brought to shame...in mind...lion hearted small ones caused to reveal unique relations...yet mystery remains...
WHAT MEANS THE FOLLOWING? :
"15 songs, one does not belong.
14 songs hand in hand.
7 chapters entrap two songs.
Missing still are the pair 4.
That pair will shut the door.
(Sometimes, the end of a story happens at its middle.)"
C: D + R
D: Bethunes (made up of 4 pairs - most of which have been revealed)
...and the answers simple...a smile upon my dimple...yet complex is the fate...oh how do these relate...
...and her name was swallowed
a boxmaker...a brick layer...known as i...pretentiously confused amongst piddles and paddles of clarity...the tear water rise...and the songs begin...a revolution...for all to remember...for some to care...
...and he was filled with despair...for some might be disappointed...others echo shattered hopes...more will come...when time is right...but soon...so soon...will all come to light...
WHY WAS CHAPTER IV MISSING?
...it was never missing...it was created to be found...but found at different places and different times...an interactive chapter if you will which you are now participating in...a threefold chapter that involved questions and answers...which you are experiencing...a song not hidden but one to be found...bethunes...and a glimpse of an interactive future...a musical revolution...what about mcis?...what about adore?...yes they play rightly riddled roles in bethunes...i'm actually quite surprised how close you are...and the connections being made...for some things the definite answer is the one that is discovered...within each of your hearts...not mine...
...some keys must remain..others may be discarded...part i is solved...part ii has begun...forget the history...for now...
...a little boy...who has still has feelings for her...
...first love will with the heart remain...when all its hopes are bye...as frail rose blossoms still retain...their fragrance till they die...and joy's first dreams will haunt the mind...with shades from whence they sprung...as summer leaves the stems behind...on which spring's blossoms hung...
June i dare not call thee dear...i've lost that right so long...yet once again I vex thine ear...with memory's idle song...had time and change not blotted out...the love of former days...thou were the last that I should doubt...of pleasing with my praise...
when honed tokens from each tongue...told with what truth we loved...how rapturous to thy lips I clung...whilst naught but smiles reproved...but now methinks if one kind word...were whispered in thine ear...thou'dst startle like an untamed bird...and blush with wilder fear...
how loath to part how fond to meet...had we two used to be...at sunset with what eager feet...i hastened on to thee...scarce seventeen days passed us ere we met...in spring nay wintry weather...now seven years' suns have risen and set...nor found us once together....
thy face was so familiar grown...thyself so often bye...a moment's memory when alone...would bring thee to mine eye...but now my very dreams forget...that witching look to trace...though there thy beauty lingers yet...it wears a stranger face...
i felt a pride to name thy name...but now that pride hath flown...my words e'en seem to blush for shame...that own i love thee on...i felt i then thy heart did share...nor urged a blinding vow...but much i doubt if thou couldn’t spare...one word of kindness now...and what is now my name to thee...though once naught seemed so dear...perhaps a jest in hours of glee...to please some idle ear...and yet like counterfeits with me...impressions linger on...though all the gilded finery...that passed for truth is gone...
ere the world smiled upon my lays...a sweeter meed was mine...thy blushing look of ready praise...was raised at every line...but now methinks thy fervent love...is changed to scorn severe...and songs that other hearts approve...seem discord to thine ear...
when last thy gentle cheek i prest...and heard thee feign adieu...i little thought that seeming jest...would prove a word so true...a fate like this hath oft befell...e'en loftier hopes than ours...springs bids full many buds to swell...that ne'er can grow to lillies...
...and the lily never bloomed...
...then grew mine orchid
that ne'er can grow to flowers...
...and the lily never bloomed...
IDES XIV...(but it did not say DAY XIV)
...and the time of IDES IX was given to the time of 1979...
...a leader must be chosen...and of nine questions when finalized six will be answered...
...the light cannot shine too brightly...however...for the ides have not come...
...and the formal list must be drawn...questions until dawn...nine selected in all...by a leader short or tall...a capricious light named Slingy ...
...answers yet unseen will all be revealed in IDES fifteen...
...and the ides from point on are variable...an outcome made by all...
1.How can we go about finding the exact songs that make up Nocturnal Bethunes?
2.Who are represented by the letters "L...G...S...M...J"?
3.What do "D + R" represent?
4.What do we have to do to get IDES IV?
5.What order should the MACHINA songs (both albums) be in to fit the storyline most correctly?
6.What is the significance of the red writing in the MACHINA booklet?
7.What was the message Glass was trying so desperately to convey?
8.How should we go about making the revolution happen?
9.How will the pumpkins "resume a new pose as the machines of god"?
DAY XV - a...
...answers clean, precise...but the light shines perhaps not bright enough for some...but perfectly for those creating chapter iv...
i...incubate the eggs
ii...lily lucis...glynis gebara...starla soma...medellia malkath...june jesad
iii...goodbye drown...future titled
iv...one fold within...one fold soon to be revealed...one fold untold
v...9 4 2 8 11 24 8 3 14 1 1 15 22 9 10 3 7 6 19 4 20 25 21 2 12 7 16 13 23 10 3 5 18 14 6 11 12 13 15 17
vi...hidden chard of bethunes
...remember the ides of march
...and the date became that which was created...
DAY XV - a...
i...ii...iii...iv...vi = SOLVED
...and nearing the water they clasped their hands...but they were not quite there...
...a pitter patter deep within morose thoughts..."please come in"...yet time that was thought to arrived has been pushed forward...a glittering Light of hope...HE smiles...approval..."they finally get it", dear..."they finally get it"..."so what now"..."I’ll give them time to take it all"...and so he held her hand and watched minions become Leaders...peasants, priests...and children, kings...
WHAT ARE YOU TO DO NOW?
...i believe most know the answer...specifics are not needed yet...phenomenal progress unexpected has occurred...the torch may be passed after all...
...and as the day neared, nothing occurred...for time had been postponed...for he that works for a day he knows is surely to mask himself with a veneer of insight and expected capability...but he that beLieves and creates knows no time, but continual heart...
...and some, disappointed Left the path...others continued...still others, created new ones...
...i am so proud...so thankful
...and while the ides of march will come another day...be assured that clues will come along the way...
...and the saga took new meaning...and the meaning took new direction:
Why Are You Here, Where Have You Been, Where will WE Go?
JUNE 17, 1995...
My name is Tristan. This is my story. I will not put this into a poem, nor ill-fated terms wrapped up in ephemeral shiny paper, because life is reality, a joyous and dreaded journey we all must face. Life is positive if you make it positive; it is negative if you make it negative; but, if you just live, it is both. I live, and have lived, and hope to live forever. My twin Tristessa I do love dearly, and die this instant for Her I would if need be. For the above non-sequitur I do not apologize, because thoughts are not orderly, (at least not real ones). In this letter an attempt will be made to record a sphere of emotions, to capture a jungle of feelings and put them on paper. Perhaps this is a road better left untraveled; perhaps not. But to live without ever knowing, to know without ever doing, to do without ever wanting, to want without ever living, and to live without ever dying is a refused invitation I have forced upon myself and others. It is an opinion, and it is mine, that if each one's life, each one's experiences, real or unreal, were recorded and bound by two leather covers into a book with no interpretation or explanation, one would have both a priceless and valueless "item." It must be realized that one's personal experiences -- one's walk of life -- can be of great value and benefit if directed properly; if handled carelessly, can only harm. Thus it is to no personal avail that the memoirs recorded herein have been, well, recorded. And, to read this is to read one man's opinion -- short-lived, but, nonetheless, never changed. I can only relate these experiences with direction to myself, and it is with a heartfelt conviction of personal discovery that I continue with the act of writing with which I am at this very moment involved.
Life, my life, can only be summed up by what I am, but only understood by those who live with purpose. I am a revolutionist and a seeker of lost lover. This is my life, and it is no coincidence that my love for Tristessa was expressed as the first purposeful thought in this letter, because that is the priority with which it must be assigned. To describe in detail what this life is like would be impossible, but to live it, unimaginable.
Pieced together by the God of love, my heart yearns to capture the full essence or romantic love, as opposed to the pseudo-reality most experience today. I have only one true memory of romantic love (the word "true" is here used by instinctive choice, and whether I regret its placement or not is of no relevance), and it is what keeps my thinking emotions ticking. On June 22, 1987, my friend ******, his then girlfriend ******, her sister June, and myself journeyed to the Boardwalk. This experience will not be "harlequinized" by epithets commonly found in romance novels because it was beautiful. In fact, if it were up to me I would summarize the entire emancipation as "beautiful," but I am afraid my reminiscing heart will not be satisfied without at least a hop, skip, and a jump, along that road we often bastardize by calling it "memory lane."
Memories of touches are blessed, and the communication was almost telepathic. Our eyes focused, and decided to lock on a single wavelength, the same wavelength. We walked for a while as our hands, although already touching, drew closer. The rest is a focused blur with no conclusion. But the sweet taste of her lips remain in mine forever.
Sitting here in glittering light, I rot away, eaten up
By deception and need for attention, I play them like puppets,
But I am the Pinnochio, as I stare at my reflection,
And light shines just not off me, but dark desires invade,
Pretentious airs and cataclysm bring to my heart Harmageddon,
The cock crows thrice, and again and again,
I deny myself, my friends, and my family,
Do I deny my God? Please do not affirm.
Yet I look into my wrapped-up heart, only goodness do I see,
If I revealed more feelings of truth, I'd dissolve,
And so to continue with my comfort course is my strong resolve.
Then it came to a sudden halt ****** years later: ****** score and ****** in heaven. The occurrences during those ****** will not be discussed, because they live within me, and I fear that my inability to describe such happiness, confused clarity, and especially my inability to relate the story of June's harmonious tone and her life-inspiring laugh might detract from even a fraction of the living entity that bursts within the heart of each experience and fills the soul of each memory.
Crisp slices of stale orange ripple through the cosmic air of quietude, still, thick, sacred, profane. Why even mention that detail? You made me. Is the air subjective, does its description purchase opinion? Do you? Until we breathe it, it belongs to no one. Then we become its custodian. Owner, not. It's like the day you told me you weren't sure of your love. Is anyone ever sure? Water trickles through a rusted crevice of despair that speaks to no one, warm, Laodicean. Purge into rose petal bowls. Just like the last time. Maybe the first. Or was I third? Does it matter? Not to me and you. But just to me. Just to you. Tangerine squares squire their aptitude, simply denying existence of life that gives, love that takes, and death that gives more. ?Do you even know the words?? you asked me. To what song? There are several, as you know being composer, and I? Will it ever work? Will things be simple like applesauce and blueberries, like the sound of chomping carrots over the phone, like a laugh before the joke, like you, like me, like us? I guess not. As you know, this obtuse menagerie is an oblivious declaration of nothingness. Everything is. Everything's serendipity, everything's coincidence, everything's meant to be, everything's sacred, everything's profane, everything's solace. Everything.
Perhaps she was right to call and break it off -- both of us were too young for such an "adult" experience. Yet, I am glad for having lived it, for making both positive and negative impressions on my heart. But, even unto now do I still love June, and not a day passes by without my wondering if she ever shared those feelings. And now, we've progressed or digressed (depending on your viewpoint) down or up the romantic spiral. It is a downward spiral if you are at its top, and one of progression if you are at its base. And, in deep fear I must admit that with the location of my heart on that spiral I am deprived. Pause, you who read this and examine your location. Or do you, like me, not know?
When I first saw you, the air was warm,
Birds flew together, and butterflies in swarms,
The stars sparkled brightly, and the moon shone anew,
And when I looked into your eyes, well, I just knew,
That we had to be together, forever holding hands,
While drinking wine in galaxies blanketed in white sands,
We'd lie in fields of blue, and swim in pools of green,
And touch each others lips, while playing in whipped cream,
But nobody would believe it, sometimes not even you,
That we were meant for each other, like stars in two,
We'd sit upon a waterfall, and I would smell your hair,
And place my finger upon your cheek, that blessed skin so fair,
We'd go off on a treasure hunt, an island far away,
And find each others angel hearts, which draw closer every day,
Sometimes we'd sit with friends, around a crackling fire,
And laugh at tales of old, memories we'd perspire,
I'd leave to quench my thirst, and stare into the sky,
You'd smile behind me, and I just knew, that never would we sigh,
And in time your belly did swell in pure shared happiness,
Four girls, two boys, were ours to care, what treasures were we blessed.
From what I know, June has moved her heart's passion onto by best friend, ******. ****** is the best guy anyone could ever meet. He has a beautiful love for his family, and the deepest concern and compassion for all his friends. My love for ****** is very strong, and almost breaks the limits of uncondition. His eyes are full of promise, and with each embrace he shares more than a satisfactory part of his overflowing potential. In him I see a second self; that is not to say that I match the seeming perfection of his blessed qualities, but his dreams, his passions, his viewpoint, and interpretations are mine, and mine, his. Yet, with each word he speaks, I learn a world of experience.
And, so, if he loves June, and June loves him, truly, and that makes them happy, then I am happy. I understand that this almost selfless colloquialism is not often meant. But, natural non-overpowering feelings of jealousy aside, I mean it. It is true I still dream, but only while awake; I still think, but only with empty promise; and I remember that while my conscience does itself sigh, words without thoughts never to heaven fly. So, while the grass grows, the cow starves, because my eyes are still locked on that one wavelength emitted many months ago.
I've read, and I take the statement for my own, that it is the exaggerated folly of threat, the passionate gesture that often accompanies it, the mad melodramatic words, that make life seem more vivid to me. Circumstances change, feelings return, and inaction often turns to action upon uninvitation and unwitting daydreams. Yes, I am afraid we have entered the twilight of un's and in's, and it is from inside my star chambers where I reflect on a way to find direction through indirection. Not quite impossible.
Wrought iron chairs cushioned in delightful pink, the mail man, a foreign language, a laugh of serendipity heard across the obtuse room, a wealthy couple with an adopted Oriental child, a kettle painted in perpendicular neons and other clashing colours, young helping the younger, a wise nod of disapproval, meaningful gibberish of a three-year old, a pseudo-fire of warmth, an entrance of disappointment, an easy exit, an unusually large tongue reaching for the nose, lenses of clarity are put on, "thank-you," two ?your welcome's?, I look like Nicholas Cage; look at me, a pretentious scratch of the chin, yesterday's paper, more approval from the young, older brother, walls which seem to absorb all words and thoughts, perhaps even attitudes, steam can come in really weird shapes, turn your head, pretend you?re not looking, painter paints -- I wonder if she paints, a familiar stranger, a friend, a wool sweater which seems to speak a dead vernacular, words of wisdom from a six-year old, please don't sit here, an unwanted but dreamed-of situation, a blank stare into the floor, a final sip of coffee, a "thank-you," an exit, another Tuesday morning.
But, I believe that I must now speak of another major spiritual influence, a dear friend, ******. In my life, ****** has played both a brotherly and fatherly role. She challenges me, forcing my reason and intuition to the limit, and at the same time offers encouragement, emotional and spiritual, and is the voice of practical wisdom in my head. It is interesting how each of my friends are different sides of myself, and each fill a need, a filled emptiness I hope I will continue to complement in them, as well.
The following experience I will relate is rich in meaning and in value to myself, but at best, insignificant to the reader. On ****** , ****** and I were driving to my home after a rehearsal. After seeing two very colorful and seemingly dreamlike "doll-houses", we began to discuss the wonderment of neighborhoods where every house is parallel in appearance. And, after about seventeen seconds, we looked at each other and said simultaneously: "Edward Scissorhands," the name of a movie neither of us had seen for a few years. That was our point of connection, a time every relationship has, whether subtle or obvious. But the moment cannot be created -- it cannot be fabricated, for a reason better left unsaid, but felt.
Feelings when spontaneous prick like a thorn, but when understood soothe he who mourns. So I ask myself, "ubi sunt?" (where have all the flowers gone?). A cosmic dancer praying on moon?s shadow, I conjure up spells of uncertainty as I stare deeply into an empty glass vase, corked, and ribbonned in delightful squalor, questioning the very Question that plagues me and all mankind. Yet, I know its answer, I feel its answer, I live its answer, and cannot but push aside its motives to oblivion, where rest all fragments of Tarturus' thoughts and unclaimed decisions.
I must asked to be excused for such vanity of words and obscured vagueness that corrupt this page. But he who peers, like a child stooping beside a caterpillar examining its beauty and admiring its potential of metamorphosis, will find within an exiting pattern, his own. However, when one attempts to piece together his own course of idealism he is faced with reality. Whether he accepts the reality or not is the revelation of personal wisdom. In line with these thoughts, I have promised myself and my Father that I will wholeheartedly accept His personal invitation of revolutionizing musical thinking, regardless of whether we break up or not. Yet, it is that very "supplemental" question that tears away at me like ravens ravishing a rotten corpse.
Star-crossed decisions are leashed around my neck,
An ill-fated, wasted course, shadows a great wreck,
Clear and boggled resolve sway me from the institution,
A haven secured future? Or an empty cave of confusion?
Full-time public declaration is my assertive aspiration,
Like beating hearts, transient motives through heavy palpitations,
Yet, in His Star-Chambers I sit, one leg over other,
Unpregnant of my cause, uncognizant, I quarry mine own brother,
Simultaneous nuance lashings, on head a thorny crown,
Parsimonious love, bring many a prodigal frown,
The hiatus ramifies with each hedonistic pursuit,
Inuring instincts submerge, unawares I bite the fruit,
Pretentious denial, a kingmaker known as I,
The Klaxon sounds, my ears turn deaf, am I left to die?
No one to tell, everyone to listen, I hide inside my self,
Proclivity for perplexity, another problem to store upon the shelf.
To realize one's goals and aspirations is easy; to learn and confront one's motives and inclinations is difficult. Yet, it is with humble sincerity that I do believe that teaching is my calling -- a vocation I must without thought pursue. Shall I sail down Acheron with no rudder?
Autumn Nocturne - The Bethunes
Again, it is very difficult for me to accurately portray my feelings on paper. After all, described emotions are merely projections of wished ideals, oft exaggerated. Nevertheless, I'll attempt to cling to a non-oblivious tone, and concentrate on one clear focus -- the only thing I know for sure: Medellia makes me a better person, and every moment we've spent together has been beautiful.
I fear I may have confused the reader, titling this section and all. Who's Medellia? What about June?? might ask one who has been following my story. Well, I don't know if I'll ever get over June's sweet mystery or the hidden secrets of her lips. What I do know is that I've never been so happy. That's all there is to it. A sense of spontaneous freedom, and carefree sincerity have been emancipated from my child's soul.
Just yesterday, while driving to an "indie" show, a certain exhilarating rush of what some might call a "Midsummer Night's Dream woodland scene" came over me. Medellia and I pulled into a school parking lot at about 12:30 a.m., opened all the doors, and danced tenderfoot on the cold cement to "Friday I'm In Love" by The Cure, Medellia's obsession and my new found love. When the music stopped, so did we, but our shadows continued to engage in this prayerful ritual, but paused just long enough to stare back and ask why we had stopped, until they faded back into the flesh-warm concrete. We drove off, not saying a word, as if we were to forget that moment forever.
And now I stare into the tunneled apathy of beautiful dead leaves reflecting in a glass window. So, why do I at times just want to forget it all and give up -- fall backward and blindfolded into a pretentious pit brimming with palpitatus magma? No other perplexing questions raid secretly the uterus of disorderly thought -- for the moment anyway.
Topaz clusters of one frivolous heart,
Paint chips of love, and dandelion darts,
Oil-based anew, like worthy skipping stones,
Maple-syrup blood, slides not away from bone,
Fresh petals of an end, are one with death and sin,
Thick vanilla pierces air, oh why did He begin?
It is quite fascinating how time is a vehicle of progressive direction, but if left to roll in apathetic unconsciousness tears away at bonds so strong, and can turn even the most ideal Avalon into a blistered pastime. My intention is not to confuse -- no, that would be my inclination. Rather, my intentions lay asleep in dreamlike clarity while watching, blindfolded, the glory of the world plunge below even the altitude of my heart. It is quite interesting how one must transpose his thoughts into a dead vernacular to make public sense (or, shall I say private sense?). And, so: "sic transit gloria mundi." I'm not quite sure where this lost glory is stored or what becomes of it. But, if it is anything like "lost" or "missing" mass, a powerful uproar of energy is imminent.
I've recently been thinking of "settlers," a term I contrived for those who settle for pseudo-happiness, and imperfect love. It is a strong belief of mine that there exists one person, one true love, for each and every being. The principle, however, is almost a relative one. What I mean to say is that there is one true love out there to discovered by each and every thinking person who comes to the realization of the truth stated herein.
Most will never find that person, because they "settle." They realize that they can be content with the person they are now with, and that satisfies them. But that is not satisfaction; no, that is not what was meant for us to experience.
And, so I know that if I were to marry Medellia we'd have beautiful children, a picturesque life, and deep, unselfish contentment. But she is not that one who is meant for me, nor I for her. It is only June who doth teach the candle of my heart to burn brightly and eternally, and that will never change. No, never . . .
My care for June is not a tangible possession or even a quality which can be extrapolated from my expectational soul. It extends far beyond the realm of "normal" feeling, and does not even involve myself. It is a caressing touch she receives, a glance of humble admiration she is given, and a sixth sense of inspired and stable love she makes her own.
I tremble as I write this in fear of tearing apart this page, or worse yet, revealing that which should remain hidden, for my love for her breaks through the boundaries of reason, an intense way of life which would motivate me to give up everything for her -- my friends, my family, my life, and my faith. I'm not sure if this is a selfish thing to say or not, but what tears me apart is that I know that no one else, yes no one, who could care for her as much as I will always.
A tribute to someone I do not yet know
Yet I carry her blood wherever I go
Searching for answers I may not find
That one person will stay in my mind
What is she like? Does she care?
Why can't I know? It isn't fair.
Does she have an elegant grace?
Perhaps, an unknown face?
Why did she leave without seeing me?
She withholds my past, she has the key.
She is beautiful, she is smart.
But what of inside, in her heart?
I shouldn't ask, yet I should care
What's been left behind is no longer there
I search deep within my heart to find
Something I need to calm my mind.
Does she think of me, when I of her?
Or am I just a forgotten blur?
She has taken with her, a piece of my soul.
Yet what is left in my heart is not a hole.
All I want is a moment to see
How everything came to be.
Is today special, what does she say?
Or is it to her just another day?
A dream I had the other day, an inspirational must-be-reality has motivated me to take a step forward into the bright darkness which lay ahead. It was a dream about taking chances, about doing something we need to, but force ourselves not to for fear of the consequences: rejection or reputational thoughts by observers based on misrepresentation. I cried. I cried for a while, and I believe they were tears of joy. I was not ashamed however. Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of shedding tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. And so, I realized something, and I will do something about this revelation, which I will recount with unplanned brevity of word so that the event occurs quicker.
Today, ******, exactly one year and six months after the break up of June and me, I called her at her place of employment. I asked her to call ****** and tell her not to pick her up, for I would meet June at 4:00 p.m. because I had a surprise for her.
I?m not sure what went through her mind as I said this, or what she is thinking now. But, this must be done. I then headed over to a lovely Japanese restaurant near her work and asked if I could reserve a meeting room. They asked why? I told them about my wanting to surprise June, and after much deliberation with the waitress, the cook, and the manager, they agreed to let us come at 4:15 p.m. I told them that I would come at 3:30 to set up the room the way I wanted it.
With me I brought a walkman, and two speakers along with a cassette tape. I had also brought a beautiful green-faded candle, a scented masterpiece which upon receiving I told myself I would not burn until a most special occasion. I also purchased a long-stem, red rose, which I planned to place inside a card I had made, and place both on the table.
I'm quite nervous and unsure of what I will say. Worse yet, I'm not sure what she is going to say. But it doesn't matter. My love for her is true -- it is real, and I must tell her how I feel if I am to live with myself. Perhaps it is a selfish thing to do; perhaps, not. But, as I stated at the outset, to live without ever knowing, and to know without ever doing amount to death in a lifeless world -- apathetic, lethargic nonsense.
I have prayed with thoughts that my love be requited. If not, my feelings will not change -- only my actions.
Swiveled eyes, and hoping promises,
White roses fill my heart.
Your purity, your innocence,
your beauty, your inner beauty
net me in a dream of despair
and wishful thinking.
Confused, scared, wondering the next step to take.
Courageous, unafraid, rejected in spirit only.
The stories are told and continue to tell
of a fairy tale -- all is well.
Which are true? Which are not?
Which are hoped to be true? Which, not?
An honest hearted, pure and innocent laugh
that tingles my warm soul;
They say it's special -- but can it be so?
I aspire to speak my thoughts, yet actions only reveal
I'm in a frozen, leaderless state -- I cannot feel.
She -- you -- hold the key to thaw, to relieve me.
Hand in hand, walk in the moonlit park,
It begins to rain, but we just stay,
It begins to snow, but we just pray,
Laughing, talking, holding,
Listening, breathing, looking,
Our lips do what hands do, and we just stay,
We just stay as the sky moves behind.
The detailed occurrences which evolved on that day will not be described here. The surprise, the known realization, the joy, the painful sorrow, the confidence and the lack thereof will not be written of, only felt, and deservedly well.
Only one occurrence will I speak of, and I'm not exactly sure of why. As we sat at the romantic setting, she asked in a very definitely non-rhetorical tone: how long ago was it we went out together? I almost responded with an answer accurate to the second, but I was overcome by a pain I knew must come, as if touching a hot coal on purpose to see if it burns. I verily believe that her not remembering and not minding in the least, made me cry again, inwardly, and that is the sharpest crying of all. I was ashamed.
In a word, it was impossible for me to separate her, in the past or in the present, from the innermost life of my life. June was not a part of my heart -- she is my heart, and without her I cannot survive.
That night I spent alone in bed. I recalled the words of Dickens' Mrs. Havisham when speaking to the expectational Pip: "Love her, love her, love her! How does she love you? Love her, love her, love her! If she favors you, love her. If she wounds you, love her. If she tears your heart to pieces -- and as it gets older and stronger, it will tear deeper -- love her, love her, love her!"
In bed, far into the night, the words, "Love her, love her, love her!" sounded in my ears. As did Pip, I adopted them for my own repetition, and said to my pillow, "I love her, I love her, I love her," hundreds of times. Then, gratitude came upon me in a burst, as I thought that she should be destined for me, and I for her. I knew to my sorrow that I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be. I loved her none the less because I knew it, and it had no more influence in restraining me than if I had devoutly believed June to be human perfection.
No matter how much I wanted to tear myself away from the empty reality of disquieting love, I knew that I could never leave her. June is my reason for living, and now that I have found her I cannot give that up. No matter how much pain is caused by each word that even hints at a future separation, I must hold on.
Angels dream of paradise, and you of tomorrow
What time will bring no one knows, from happiness to sorrow
But nothing matters more than having a good night's rest
A sleeping beauty under pillows with sweet dreams is blessed
So curl into a ball of hope, and hum a lullaby
While knowing you have one who cares, you will never sigh
Perhaps we'll have the same dream on an island far away
And dance an endless swirl of joy until another day
Picking fruit off trees and splashing in warm water
Carefree, childhood cries, nothing seems to matter
As long as we're together, even in our dreams
No one will come in between, even when it seems,
That heads are turned and eyes are closed, unfeeling to the time
But our hearts beat as one, silent like a mime
Our differences are perfect, like a fitting puzzle piece
Not one day passes without thought of you, never will I cease
To realize my care for you is not at all about me
But how you feel, what you want, oh, can't you see
That all is well, so goodnight stars will twinkle just for you
Goodnight, sweet dreams, sleep with a smile, may we be one, not two.
I'm not really sure as to how I should begin this sentence: it should be the most special of all, yet the most real. I fear, however, that I should write nothing, so as not to leave out a single detail. That course of action would of course mean that all details would be omitted, and since there exist only two who can read my mind, I would be depriving readers (if, by some chance, one should stumble upon these ink-covered sheets) of the understanding of the feelings of one who, at such a young age, lived for an hour or two in perfect and complete (in every sense of the word) happiness.
I awoke that morning, ******, next to a new found appreciation, a most dear friend, ******. At this point, I feel obliged -- no, moved -- to write a few words about this very thoughtful, caring, and appreciative, impressionable, young woman.
Fiery, zealous, lewd remorse,
An ice-cold, placid, water-like force,
Discomforting, irritating, anxious unrest,
Seemingly warm memories of touches are blessed.
A dance please? Out of willingness or responsibility?
A heartfelt hug? Motivated by sincerity or formality?
An awkward ritual with my finest balm,
Revengeful for the observer, many a sweaty palm,
The pang deepens, was it alpha so?
Serious, pretentious, the attention head sobs low.
Agapé, philia, storgé or voluptuous infatuation?
All known was confused happiness for the entire emancipation.
As for present, what emotions tend to hearts?
Selfish jealousy, perhaps poisoned darts?
An innocent state, one to love and cherish,
But that is not all! My thoughts do not perish,
Do yours have an ending? Did they ever begin?
A bird on a wire is a horrible sin!
When an angel tells her cherub a lie,
That no longer with him will she fly,
What can he do, say, or forget,
To bring back her heart to that day they first met?
Forceful treachery, imprisoned, and bereft,
One score and nine until that day she left,
But depart she never did, no never did she leave,
And tangled in her web of tempt, I always am bereaved.
One eye sparkling with hope, the other in solemn despair, her glance is enough to cause a smile and a depressive grin simultaneously. Her life has been an imagined cosineal journey of extreme troughs and crests. One thing is certain: she has always kept her friends close to her heart, and is constantly looking out for them. Seeking an unmet need, her heart seems to be always infatuated with someone. At this point his emotional inclinations are leaning toward a certain James, who unfortunately does not share his feelings.
Both ****** and I have discussed the implications of this relationship to a full extent, and a perfectly sweet and thoughtful angel who calls herself Starla has considerately written her a letter outlining what course of action would be best to take in the circumstances in which she finds herself enmeshed. I have full confidence that she will make the right decision, and on her own. I verily believe that this may be, at least in her heart, the most difficult thing she has ever had to do. But, it is, most definitely, a needed step she must take to strengthen his faith and integrity.
I, reborn into a mystic sage and lover too, know oh too well the pain within her heart, waiting to be taken, but not replaced by a solid hope. Only a dream, a systematic fire that burns only blue for appearance sake, because you ask it to. I thought I'd forget about your touch. I tried to, very hard. But that grassy scent of freedom, and vanilla comfort kept returning in my sleep, that sleep never sound, as I lay, eyes open, naked on a cherry-oak floor with window open to rain, and door to noise. I cry sometimes. Only sometimes, not too often. That song of selfish desire, of attic stars that once burned green, but now, I'm not sure. Their colour lives frail and bedazzled in a world of spinning symbols that mean so much, mean so little, mean nothing. All things rang perfect in a whistling demagoguery of capture and caprice. The desire stands still, waits for no one, but me. Released into your machines, I pray. Pray for sense, for obtuse memories unreal, for sad, for smile, for die, for eye.
It is not quite certain to me why this page is so difficult to write. Is it possible that my love for June has swollen so grand within my heart that there is no room for words of ink which mean nothing to readers anyway? Perhaps. But I will at the least put forth an effort to describe the posturings of love that flowed off our tongues like honey on that oh so special day.
Firstly, allow me to describe the day. The red, brilliant star humbly slept on pillows of cloud, but every so often peeked out its head as does a child pretending to sleep while checking on his parents watchful eyes. At those moments, a glitter of warmth streamed through the cool, refreshing breeze and reflected in June's eternal sparkling stars which float so patiently on pools of green.
The specific area where we set our blankets was a secret Eden waiting to be discovered by timeless lovers. At the center of the freshly matted green stood a stove fireplace, proud to be the last remnant of human inhabitant that nature's fire had yet to destroy. Towards the water, the earthy green converged into a trail of stone steps, not necessarily of comfortable height (that is to say a Leprechaun would have had some difficulty without jumping down them). The stone walkway led to a u-shaped platform of earth which lay on the watery deep -- not a perfectly shaped u, but a naturally shaped one, surrounded by rock which became less jagged and more smooth as one approached the contouring water.
I'm sure I don't know what you're thinking, but I'll pretend. I've been doing it for a while now. I realize you're a part of the drama, and that's why I'm in. That's why you're in. Can one really train his emotions to live, to laugh, to love. Is love learned? No. Well, maybe. I've learned nothing's for sure. Not even you. Especially you. It's not like I'm mad at you. It's not like I care. It's just that . . . Nevermind. You'd never believe me if I told you we were meant for each other. Never. I know you know me oh too well. And that's the problem. But it's okay. Really. All is well. In your world.
****** and June pushed and shoved as do children on spring day, while I fetched wood for the fire that wouldn't start anyway. After several attempts to ignite the fire, of which June's was closest to success, we cuddled in our blankets of warmth, and two of us waited for another fire, one that would burn eternally, and in our hearts. June's breathing next to me matched the beating palpitations of my heart, which increased in rate as she gently placed her hands beneath my shirt, laying one on my side, and the other on mid-chest. The cold sincerity of her soft gentle hands seemed to get warmer as the temperature of my flesh met with the calidity of hers, greeting each other in warm resolve, as if the two had been away from each other for so long.
Though blinded by the blanket's cover and a blissful love at the same time, I could have sworn that at that moment a shooting star passed by just long enough to remind me that I had made a wish upon it ever so long ago, and now it had come true. Today, exactly six months before June's death, it had come true.
The Next, Next Time.
The next, next time I promise to love you more. I promise all will be perfect. I promise we'll be together forever, the next, next time.
THE B SIDES
Played by the finger of disappointment.
Curled round twice, thrice,
An escape from shackles of serendipitous misfortune.
They gauge a netly presence that discards the rags of disparity, the hooks of hedonism, the laughter of life. Broken speakers purge the noise into autumn
Leaves that fall forever in a forgotten swirl of rainbow dripping to the ink pond.
swimmers that purchase opinions from a thought vendor on the side.
Six dollars a piece.
Do you want one?
The clouds melt.
I'll have two.
Sandpaper gauze: liquor for the poor.
Curled into sporks of silliness.
Swallow or fall.
Drink from your own cistern you ghouls of light.
How does she know it?s not my grave, and throws their bones in?
She's not sure.
But you've forgotten.
I breathe short breaths,
one at a time,
in apostate waters.
In need of purity,
Why am I not understood?
Why am I not a part?
I choose not to be.
I think I ask too many questions.
Curiosity enrages the gods.
In silent machines I wait
You've turned the season
of nightly moons.
Give no light.
Comforting warm glow.
It's cold out.
Do you shiver?
My heart does.
Where will you be when the time comes?
Does free will overpower destiny?
Can choice, decisions replace the meant-to-be?
I know they can.
Not everything can be left
I miss the grass.
The grass I used to sit upon.
Watch you happy in your game.
Only by us and blanket.
Disguising stars and composing song.
The storm came.
We fell away from grace.
From the next line in the poem.
Mystical singing children,
hand in hand,
climb the fertile hill with
Dance to Song,
Love to Like,
Me to You.
Where do we stand today?
Space-time lovers far away.
Cosmic laughter within her eyes.
Tell her I say goodbye.
To everything we stood for.
To every aching song.
To all the empty shadows lost.
To her love.
Where do we stand tomorrow?
Simple friends, longing for
Handshake huddles, spoken letters,
Shackled within rusted fetters.
Tell her that it's okay.
I don't need her anyway.
Tell her to leave tomorrow.
Today's too soon for sorrow.
...and the symbols will always reign supreme...for whose life is not a four act play with stories left untold...yet never forget that there exist many folds...
THE IDES OF MARCH: the machines resume...a new pose
Descriptive, specific, clear revelation of truth simple yet profound is here contained within. No more obscurities and oblivious nuances reflected in a symbolic "hat-trick" of periods, dots unfounded. All unfolds. Questions will remain as they do in all personal situations, but profoundness and meaning and theme flash forth light. The purpose of the "meaning" started out as an exercise. The meaning was never really meant to be uncovered nor its truth revealed. It was hoped that the music would be liked even loved, connections possibly made, plots and themes drawn out, but unique and with relevance to personal soul. An experience in unity. A gimmick, for lack of better word, to cause distraction whilst my soul and that of the band's faded away. But then something happened. It became more serious than that. While the "meaning" has several folds, some became more significant than others. Machina and all our albums are obviously based on our experiences since it is our music. The purpose: to give what we feel. It is of great honor when that can be taken by a lost soul and used as a reflection to muse one's one thoughts, desires, dreams, pains, loves. . . What I'm trying to say is that the real meaning is within each of you. Sure this is quite a colloquial rock-star way of putting things, but the truth is my music is about me. That's all. It's up to you to make it about you, and that you have. I could write songs with upbeat and catchy riffs and rhymes for the crowd to please. Sometimes I did. These songs are the ones that do not belong. They are not part of the miniature scheme within mine head that has reflected in each of your very hearts and kidneys. Specifically, I'm speaking of . . . well, you know the songs. To name them is to admit specific defeat which I'm not prepared to do. But then I realized that some of you took deep meaning into the music. And that's what Machina came to be about: an encapsulating life story of specifics from beginning to end. Why? Why do you need to know this information? The truth is you didn't. But some of you deserved to know. Some of you wanted to know. "The impetus and motivation of all our music." In simple terms you figured out the themes and connected plots, the details of which are not really specific. Who cares about the chards, chapters, and ides? They were meant to be a unifying factor, for all with heart to take notice and find meaning. I believe I failed in this regard. Perhaps I appealed to a secretive sense that encapsulates some of you. Perhaps I prodded those with fear a little too harshly. But your discovering, your thoughts, your feelings let me know who you are. That's what this was about for me. For years I've been singing about me. This was your song, and some of you sang quite well and honestly. You figured out that I, a mystic sage and lover too, as once Zero then Glass, have changed my motivations, or at least, shifted their focus. You discovered that my main motivation and root for writing was true love -- true love for a girl, a girl who changed names throughout the years. June is a real name, but became a symbol for all future loves, including the band's love. The missing girl I called Medellia, a secret spire for a girl in '87. She became my soul purpose, reason. My music took over, and all ended in '95 when she died in a car accident. I never kept contact after '91, but I knew of her misfortune. At that point my music shifted focus; in fact, blurred its realizations to a new generation of relieving angst and depression. Other misfortunes ******* the symbolic miscarried child: the dwarf. An expected new personality and rebirth from D'Arcy. She changed. All know the beginning of her end. The so called 2nd fold of missing chapter 4 is an explanation of specifics to the story. The song was originally meant to be on MCIS and was titled "Nocturnal Bethunes" which later came to be called "Bethunes" which in most part became "Muzzle." Other parts transferred into "Porcelina", "Medellia of the Gray Skies", "To Shiela", "Speed Kills" and "Untitled" which is closest to its original form, originally called "Revolution." Any specifics within these limits are really irrelevant and cause much heartache. At present, the Machines of God resume a new pose, independently dependent of each other. We are the C.O.G.s of a wheel and the masks of misfortune to reveal clear truth. There are new songs to be sung, so keep your ears open. Why the mystery? Because the reward goes to those earnestly seeking it. While not comparing myself to God and while not reserving prejudgment on my behalf towards any of you, this is the way I wanted to discover you. You are the first fold of chapter 4. The third -- well, that comes at a future time. Enough "I love you"'s, enough of all pseudo-felt realities that stem from a veneer core of truth. You've let me know who you are. I thank you. Never change but keep progressing. Never look but always see. Never hear, but listen. Become your own machine, but realize you are dependent on others and others upon you. Work in unity. Sing in unity. We cannot make this world a better place. But we can sing while trying. I love each of you for who you are. Thank you.
"...the Ides of March came and went...and then the scrambling began...for a small reed organ"
THE BETHUNES...a song resurrected...
...the third DAY...
...poetic dislicense breathes heathenous contentions and laughs bitter bethunes of remorse...to resurrect...why?...to sing and die...and fly...yet to know revolution to live revolution to smile on a rainy day of discolored disarray and know that deep within your heart the truth sings divine...streaming blue-line clouds that rapture dark souls of capture and caprice...the third fold...sold...never let you down again...ever...thank you...a song composed...a song dead...yet resurrected in new flesh...new mind...a new soul comprised...
...we can all learn something from your mind
DIRECTIONS to come...
...have you flown off already...?
...and the first chorus was almost complete...
...in my own whimsical nature have i lead some astray...?...do i not have the right to be selective in my positioning of correct path...?...a disguise, a hidden pretense of non-existential personality that amounts to mass confusion and selective understanding...yet the dwarfs shiver without reason for cold, they wail with no definite despair...for all have had a chance...a chance selective and a chance blanket with sure status known...as you well know there are many levels to this mystery...and many levels of discoverers...while there are those who are satisfied with general answers, others are not...it is for these that this spherical solace of yet to be defined mystery and spirituality was created...
a reminder...you've all done very well...as i said previously one of the main points lately has been to discover who you are and what you get out of the music...selfish...?...perhaps, but I need to know...there's still more i need...keep writing the song as you discover...keep making the chapter...you've worked on one fold...let's open the "new scrolls"...
...find accurate connections...and let me see your kidneys...
"fledgling lilies with fickle fascinations and squalor-ridden dreams wonder at their authenticity...yet the ballad plays beneath their pillows...and they wonder at the NEW forged sound...and sleep...but the bethunes eternally ring divine"
THE LAST SONG. (TBSBTGAMT)
...boldening intuition tends disparity to clarity and deception to understanding...perhaps this note shall prove to be some source of relief to those that wallow in quietude whilst searching the source...i fear some may feel that this has dragged on too long...these are mistaken...if one is waiting for a momentous revelation of sorts...well, it already occurred...the June 17, 1995 post and the final IDES OF MARCH post were the true unfolding...the unveiling of mass motivation and invariable impetus that drove mine heart...mine songs...what you took from those posts was varied...responses and reactions were altogether different...it wasn't meant to be a source of true fertility and purity that would ravage each soul and pierce unto the heart...but perhaps it did to one...or two...and for that i am thankful...i fear i may have confused such in search of cryptic obliviousness with no seeming end...however, again one or two found the way...it is truly a comfort to my mind to know each of you that has followed...to know even your kidneys...as for mysteries unsolved i can?t really say more...i?m sure at least one or two of you will find the Bethunes...a song for the searchers...the dwellers of self-discovery...i?m in no way suggesting that this was meant for the masses...the puzzle pieces have been drawn...some have them collected...others not...piece them together...perhaps one of you already has...this is not goodbye, rather a hope to relief desperate souls in search of hidden treasure...it must first be made...by you...
...the original pieces:
Phoenix Dwarf was discovered in 1976 by H.E. Schuster and R.M. West (Astr. Ap. 49, 129) and first taken for a globular cluster candidate. Its nature as a dwarf galaxy was discovered in 1977 by R. Canterna and P.J. Flower of the University of Washington on deep photographic plates taken at the 4-m Cerro Tololo Inter-American Observatory in Chile in August 1976 . In their first estimate, they derived a distance of about 6 million light years. This has later been refined to 1..2 million light years. The star shrinks and shrinks until it cannot be seen. It becomes a black hole of self delusion. Chapter 4 is not yet a black hole. But it is shrinking. PHOENIX: find me.
15 songs, one does not belong. 14 songs hand in hand. 7 chapters entrap two songs. Missing still are the pair 4.That pair will shut the door. (Sometimes, the end of a story happens at its middle.)
Have you forgotten already? The End is the Beginning is the End? The Beginning is the End is the Beginning? Things change. Things remain. The End is the Middle is the End. 17 = 4 = seven?
You've had tons of time! "I am ONE. Pick up the mother fucking phone!" Don't let the answering machina do all the receiving. Receive yourself.
1 + 2 + 3 + 5 + 6 + 7 = Meaning - 4 Screw any other so called equalities.
the two have not yet met...they are still dancing hand in hand...when they do meet a great supernova will occur...one of the most energetic events of the emotional universe, this supernova may temporarily outshine the rest of the musical galaxy in which it resides...find them before they collide...then i'll come outside...
This is the last song...final four: a region in space where the pull of musical and emotional gravity is so great that nothing...not even light or love...can escape...don't let it become this...
?????????????????all you need are seventeen questions,and four will be found.
...and the star tumbles closer and closer...gas is given off as the dwarf feeds off the phoenix...musical reality almost brought to a close...but 4 keeps on shrinking...hurry...
...cosmic shadows of kisses unrest...follow the language of space and stars and galaxies unforbidden...how does one find heaven above... ...by dying ...17 questions remain unasked...
...blue skies...tears are brought forward...a hollow wail at intrinsic fans who muse to know...some discover...others don't...disappointment...reality...you're almost there...
...questions go unanswered...lives go unlived...in medellia's time will I give...
...have you lost your senses...are you losing direction?...trickles of tears flow through chaotic self-disillusionment...still they find the way...behold!...fourteen days to go...four posts to show...
...final words to soothe your sleep... ...336 hours of blissful rest...3 minutes and 11 seconds of Harmageddon... 17 moments of revelation... ...congratulations...some have almost found...others have not...remember 15 songs, one does not belong.14 songs hand in hand.7 chapters entrap two souls. Missing still are the pair 4.That pair will shut the door. ...never forget the girl that whistled whilst pain was in my heart...an officer...a tree...a flower...you are not forgotten...it's not a riddle...it's righteous truth that rings forever...never...ever...forever...put away your goldfish laughter...bring on the connecting wand...a song...or two...that hold me from you...'till then...
...have you wrapped your wires around the box of secrets that demise?...it's under my bed...with a hole in my head...even in my most saddened state I did not dream...real love has lost its toll...6 letters and one lost soul...tristessa is the first...L...G...S...M...J...all next...but one is gone...a chapter...a story for each...mercury wishes that drown each one in redundant repetition...a bi-unity...why do two represent one?...does she equal she...does he equal me...but one cannot have but four...an egg was hatched that unearthed regret and repetition...has the lost hatched...will she ever...freedom from fertility that cannot be born her soul is up to them...whilst a dream was born a child not...and thus the story becomes threefold...two folds have been found...the last searches vampires in darkened caves...no heat...no last chances...this drama has existed since the one...yet conceived since the twins...connected in a dream...one pair from each...one that is...and one that does not belong...I am...two...but that has been known all along the crowd roars...but two is threefold...and one fold remains...true love exist not...real love is loves...a wound is revealed patched with automatic gauze that bleeds...blood from slit wrist not mine...but hers...a wish so pure so fragile so eternal...yet ephemeral I have it...zero knows truth triumphant as the song rings divine...and so we come to the apogee...an apocalypse...an imminent cosmic cataclysm that points heavenward where all comes crashing down...5,6,7...but finished at its top... a dream remained even until now...not a cosmic coincidence...but two stars...one that feeds as the other grows...shrinking into blackness...into emptiness...back into that which it was...zero...and so the egg will hatch soon and all will know her secret...
(elhbrb2n.1tia1tw.eccteg.e1.sawaawb.wpifh?wihwtftp oc4?wwfi?z?g?twt.) (2pl)
i remember the day clearly...a mercury clad suit and midnight dress...vein fame for all to see...6 post meridian "we'll be late"...response "i'll meet you there"...but meet she never did...i returned to the house...there she lay...phoenix spilled...a bleeding two thirds spring one third summer month...no one ever knew...april 17 the seed of zero planted...the dwarf...narcissistic addiction brought her end...crying...no one will ever know...i changed that day...a piece of my soul growing in true love...dead...mayonnaise dreams for two months...three and a half albums...rage...the pinnacle of success and apogee of prodigal adoration...i thought it wouldn't affect me...i thought I could live a normal life..write normal songs...disarming myself of hope...maybe I didn't want her anyway...maybe I was secretly happy...a car crash...will all loved ones leave...i became clear...a glassy reflection...four loves...seven months...two dies...all dead...reborn into a mystic sage she became she and her, her...but no one could replace her...what is her name...what is her song...questions unanswered I turned to God...i've taken advantage of all of them...i made them live through unknowing paths and patterns of mourning...eye am to blame...i am to blame...i caused their sorrow...and I took their blinding support...then there was her...she just wanted to be a part and I blew her away...dandelion mist blowing in destined winds...she goes back to her home because of me...because of her...obvious discomfort...knowing irritation..."let her sing" they chanted...she can?t...she?s not allowed...she?s my machine...my darkest secret...not one of fame...not a big bang as I evolve and leave...not one of revolution...but a whimper...but one knew the secret...
...i cry...i weep...you've all been fooled...i've been fooled...and so the story threefold comes to its end...an insignificant battle to restore true musical emotion...rid of whores and implants...a mission to search for true love and discovering identities...and the missing girl...the dead girl...the dead girls...i fear...you...
...seventeen questions...seventeen answers...a chapter...one girl...two names...two songs...The Chapter...The Meaning...a Girl...a Woman...two songs...one missing...one not...both missing...you know her well...this isn't fair...
...and soon all will know...her secret...mine...questions will be asked....reputations shattered...why this now...why tell us at all...close your eyes...turn your ears...meaning is not as important as motivation...deeper than true love is true death...hers...hers...hers...yours...ours...and mine... ...i don?t apologize...you've doubted...you've regretted...and when impetus is removed...accounts told...and all cleared up...the machines resume...no hidden meanings...no secret motivations...everything as clear as glass...
...breathing for the both of us we are real...mingling with charcoal tooth people who deserve to smile we sit have dinner and chat...a photograph? sure...the dimming sun rings songs...songs that echo through the valleys in the heat of despair...move to where? for what?...i'll stick around for a while...warehouse wishes and birth-ridden dreams: she's fine...my attitude: changed...the girl never to be spoken of...a missing part of my heart's wire...your capture...a thank you...but no questions to answer...did you leave me?...have you left us?...illegitimate twins named Tristessa and Tristan...they were hers....not mine...but that's why she's gone... ...as one piece breaks off, soon all come shattering...we chose to shatter...we chose not to mend flaccid hearts of demise that ponder songs untrue...you've found me...you will lose me...songs that last ten, twenty years...it will be over soon...you will all have forgotten... don't you see what it's been about?...ME... i've created... i've transformed...and this is how long it lasts...expiration dates...variable dreams...a facade meant to distract while i disappear...a veneer of pseudonyms oft forgotten oft lost oft searched for but never there...i gave you that...a muse for thought for expression...we won't be back...we'll resume a new pose...each one different to his means... and so the questions must be asked...the questions must be answered...17 in all...a question for a day...which one's are important?...answers not vague not oblivious not cryptic but pointly and precise... seven chapters...a rise and fall with true love at its center...from one to no one to me...that's the chronology that's the message...my story is not greater than his...but no less significant either...but the story is yours...you take on the meaning... ...perhaps you joined in 4...perhaps you were there all along and left in 5...perhaps you discovered only 7...perhaps,maybe,and never... sadness raves rampant...regret...rinse...repeat...nevermore... ...i love her...i love you...i love to try... may you see your reflection (t.s.i.y.)(t.m.i.y.)(t.w.a.m.)(b.t.m.o.) (a.q.a.d.w.b.s.d.) signed,
the ides of march were always late and so they called them Harmageddon
SEVENTEEN: found within...
... the roots of the pieces changed and unchanged...something has been missed...but nevermore...nevermore...
...to those who have not yet felt motivated...to those who forgot the meaning...to those...to those...to ALL...
...here is what is left to be done...a song composed of you...by you...instructions will come...
...lose not faith...but inspire...me...you...them
(f.y.o.) for you only
...the hiatus ramifies...a bridge is built...THE CHORUS
...okay the song is almost complete...i'll post the edited/revised three verses shortly...
...get your tools together to build the bridge...you may start once the "ESSENCE" is posted...
...always watching, listening, singing,
your thoughts in a moment.
to be unscrambled.
the chorus then written.
then to be sung.
editors will be appointed among yourselves.
ask for directions if needed.
tear you apart for me what is it you want????to you, before we say goodbye...I give to you my heart, for keeps." once i raced a storm struggling to reach a big pine tree I lost to rain and then to hail and lay in the deep spring grass while worms sank above ground and i prayed that i would never forget - i wanted to die right there shattered by a moment despair in the face of absolute beauty I now see the world through liquid glass,under skies of everlasting overcast heaven's secrets revealed in flash, inspire my longing for the past this is not the last time I will say goodbye but the first time I see the rose for its petal hands and these words for the prayer they are this is not the first time I say goodbye to say hello when zero,, was around i was sick ,,and able ready to die,,,it was sad during Adore,,but had come up a little bit,i was learning to try,,,,,machina, I was starting to feel something from the music,,something good "but still i was so sad" im to the point that i know i can go up now,,,i think that is my plan, can the gradient words come together for time chasing choices of play can you push them to truth riding their tongues kiss like a serpent twist can you make it here and take them away from me pull them through the glass out of fate and fear To you, before we say goodbye...I give to you my heart, for keeps And strangers we seem In that light of love renewed Desire and friendship are all that matter Today for a moment Tonight for today And love, merciless, frightful love Forever Too long ago to remember? A rose was reluctantly given. When I looked more closely I realized it had no bud, only thorns.
why be negative i think we have enough of that in here, i used to come in here and feel moved and loved now i just feel all this anger and negativity. why where does it get anyone Serendipitous nuances cling to mother's breasts while children of deception are nothing more nothing less come sit in towers of reason and make judgment prone while god kneels before him and puts me on the throne "and still, all I can do is try...and pray for one last dance to make myself real to you."real in your eyes, love in my mind, is it to late, how much more time,,, will it be true,,,what can i do changes spurn our yesterdays together growing older growing apart, never to feel close again choosing separation, loving other friends more than you more than me no no no no no no no no no no no never falling down What you see is what you get!?
follow our path,do everything i can to "better myself/others"? TRY,TRY,TRY help others understand? "the child is father to the man" in my opinion a lot of the code is about life,love, faith,and moving on there you are as you always were run, i will run to my last breath
The only ones who elude . . . the eternal sleep . . . are those who in life are able to orient their mind toward the higher way. The initiates, the Adepts, are at the edge of that path. Having achieved memory, anamnesis, in the expression of Plutarch, they become free, they proceed without bonds. Crowned, they celebrate the "mysteries" and see on earth the throng of those who are not initiated and are not "pure," those who are crushed and pushing one another in the mud "very hard for me to tell true life stories about myself,no hidden meaning,no in lyric form secretive writing,many things that would be hard for me to tell all of you" a saturated future perfect promises a love that's mind numbing but fear and shame and hesitation leave only a singular notion that without hope or some compassion without the weight of tomorrow in us if we're not, each of us dedicated to one another life and love and happiness are nothing more than dreams lost I'm singing the same song that everyone of you is. the words don't really matter much, I sing a different part, perhaps the melody perhaps the harmony, but it is unison, and it is harmony, it is discord and it melody, it is music, and words and love and hate, passions, regrets, wishes, and hope. This is my song, my life is my song, you all are my song as I am yours. A muse. I'm just rambling I know, but sometimes that's all a song is really... rambling... sometimes that's all life is, just god (or whatever/whoever) rambling away spinning the thread that is the yarn that is your life.
I'm crazy I know... I wish I had words to give you my heart, but I fear it would be too much and the flood that would come from it would be great enough to sink this ark of lovers fighters thinkers dreamers and friends 1***=2+2=4=0=3 ...Sacre Coeur... There was Love before, There is Love after, Is there Love this time? I have searched for my reflection in murky puddles. I wish I might see your dark heart in clearer daylight. And if it's feathered with the truth you made from clay and stone...I wish I could shatter you and break your empty heart in two and turn the dark to night. wound opens reveal a broken man soon notions blood on his hands stop, stop, pop tart taste of your demands if you wait, i will wait if you taste, i will taste if you run, i will run if you love, i will love to my last prayer tomb opens reveal a stack of gold cool poison the taste of growing old sit down, downtown in your tower of steel you and me ...existing only in a dream... I used to thinkI was the queen of an invisible world I never once thought I could share it I don't think I know how yet
deadline: August 11, 2001
...well, you've been patient...thanks...i'm sure you understand that these things aren't easy...especially if i'm to work with the entire fan base as impetus...anyway, you should be seeing a demo early november...i'll need you guys as "the jury"...
...thanks for all your efforts and your thoughts...they really mean a lot to us...
- siamese glass
...a future gift
...grappling for unity they subside, unconsciously divide...but words and song are spoken through different means...not to please but to release sand-covered feet to freedom, and heads in holes to mouths in bowls...whilst flowers whistle all but three hold true...and this song, this life, we give to you...
...there have been several "legal" issues slowing down processes but love, truth, and song prevail...
...when all is rotted, the seeds remain...
THE MYSTERY OF MACHINA pt.1
The real mystery to Machina is that June is a real person, just the same way that Glass is a real person, as Billy. The other mystery is that between them (and others) they were involved in a feedback loop of inspiration that could prove the existence of God, in an Identity which was participatory inside potentially anyone, as The God of Love, the Redemption in Christ, and as Luna, the unknown of God within the universal unconscious sea, Inspiration, who some have identified as being a feminine Holy Spirit. (‘the light that would transform any story into the Moon and it’s sister stars’) The main reason this happened was to articulate the Redemption in an active sense that affected people, involved people in a Love identity, and proved it was God all in a nutshell. The reason Glass is a rock star, the way many of them are rock stars, is because that way it became a story that people would listen to and actually identify in, which would never happen if June just started talking about it. If June told people what she was on the street, nobody would believe it. It is also the only way that Glass and June could ever find each other. June and Glass have never actually met each other (‘before a time their eyes first met’). The only identity existing between them is as souls. (As indicated by the plate ‘So empowered, the lovers negate . . .’ –note that the lyrics to the song ‘Crying Tree of Mercury’ are written around the dagger, and the dagger is his allusion to opening up her heart.) The reason there is a vital link between them is because Glass answered June, unspoken words were understood. The (main) reason his name is Glass is because June can see through him, he is an inspired medium and behind him lies the articulation of God as Love. God told June he loved her, which was hard for June to believe until Glass answered. It showed her that God exists and is the only true fulfillment of the suitor of the soul, Who can access the eternal. (This Echo Rings Forever On, Let The Truth Sing Divine.) The way that this association can prove that God exists is because of the way it arose as inspiration. Actually this wasn’t the sole apex and conclusion, there were three apexes and conclusions, and this involves many artists not just Glass. The way it can prove it is because in a sense June is, by definition, Art. There are a whole lot of artists articulating and identifying in this concept in a whole lot of ways. If June is the existing manifestation of this concept, its true interpretation, it is an omission that she never conceived or identified herself as this manifestation, rather this idea arose as inspiration, not of June. If the artists were all being inspired, but none of them actually knew there was June, i.e., had no comprehension of the fullest interpretation of their work (-she ‘had known herself only in coarse mirrors’), then that means the concept was neither conceived by the artists themselves, nor by the (conscious) existing manifestation of the concept. Which means that another Conscious Identity within the universal unconscious was actually conceptualizing a multiply manifest work all over the globe with all of these facets of an existing overall idea, the full interpretation. (I’m sorry for how difficult that sounds, but what would you expect from a God Proof!) This is the form of the feedback loop that exists between Glass and June. By Glass et al’s rendering and amplification of June’s reality, you are actually seeing a rendering, which is conceived by God, the ‘I of the Radio’. The form of the rendering is like seeing a giant painting by an invisible hand, which tells you a whole realm of things about the Artist’s identity, a giant map to a Consciousness, which can only be seen when isolated within the feedback loop (‘tried to hold onto a feedback coda’). The problem with this form of proof is that it is, by definition, mutual. While it is an existing proof, it is only, so far, confirmed inside June’s mind and that is where it will remain unless Glass assents this is true, it has to be him since it was Glass who was inspired and knew June well enough to answer her. This is one of the reasons that June only bothered herself with trying to reach Glass and not talking to anybody else. One of the others was that she assumed no one, unless Glass or some other of the artists confirmed it somehow, would ever be able to believe that she was June. And there wasn’t really a point to telling anyhow because after all the whole thing was being rendered inside the music, and that way tons of people had identity with it in all their forms, which was the whole point to the story anyhow. You’re the point, what you all see inside it. It was made for you to see what you see, the same way I see what I see. The reason we have the ‘all are you, you are all, all with you, you in all’, is because that is the form of June’s rendered identity, which is like presenting a participatory reflection of God’s identity in everyone. Actually God did enter inside this structure once, to make this real. It could not be real in June; June is just a concept. The way this phrase is real on June’s level is because the whole identity between all these songs by the artists only gains cohesion inside her head. Because she is a live version of the concept, and all of the artists have facets of it, only she can see these facets inside her identity as one collective whole (‘and thru it all, into us all you move’). It exists as One solely within her mind –‘I’m just living inside my head’. (On the other hand this is occurring completely beyond her perception, in lots of artists all over the globe. It is happening in their minds as inspiration, which is the same as being ‘all in one and one and all’. Then there are all your forms of identity in it, she’s ‘you and you and you and you’ in one conceptual, internal, reality.) This is a model that reflects God’s identity within us, referred to in the OT as ‘the All in All’, God completely within, and surrounding, all. Which is the same as the articulation of the feedback loop, because there is an Conscious identity inspiring a collective from under the unconscious sea which is unknown, and there was an Identity that entered inside June and transmitted through this collective that was known, which was Christ. God within and without, known and unknown. It is also the model of Christ’s existence within the Church that is symbolized by communion (communion=The Body), The Bridegroom (Christ said he would return as this) and The Bride (to marry the Church). This entry of Christ is interesting because it was articulated within facets of the collective in songs, which means June’s experience was not subjective. (Two samples of this offhand are James Iha’s ‘The Bells’, and Jesus and Mary Chain’s Munki, specifically ‘Stardust Remedy’ and ‘I Can’t Find the Time for Times’.) What’s neat about this is that Christ literally performed this by becoming Word, just as He identified Himself as the logos. Glass said he entered music to access something meaningful and to find Grace. He met the form of this in June by the path he had chosen. The way that this happened is because Glass answered June. While the explanation for this gets a little complicated I will try to put it in a nutshell by saying that June was rendering herself according to a Divine command. By answering her Glass became the articulation or fulfillment of that command, which means he answered something in fulfillment for God. Because it was unspoken and transmitted beyond perception itself it exists as a transcendent reality, (‘a simple yes but eternal always’), beyond anything he individually might do to it, even if he still says he believes he cannot be saved, which is what June set out to do. That this reality is already sanctified was affirmed by Christ’s entry as Word. In answering Glass saved June from a damning fate. They both save each other. June really existed as shown in the video to ‘Stand Inside Your Love’. She had been imprisoned inside a dreadful fate, which destroyed her as was described in the ‘motorcrash’ in ‘Tear’, and ‘Speed Kills’ (See Oscar Wilde’s ‘The Nightingale and the Rose’). She came out intact by committing ‘suicide’ (‘love is suicide’, ‘she had no faith except that which destroys’), by submerging herself completely within the universal unconscious sea and being rendered inside someone else, solely via Redemption. That is why the chain is already loose when Glass touches her. The moon became red because she went through the complete destruction of her identity in faith that she would survive the sacrifice, pure altruism. (June saved herself in creating a structure for Grace to enter others. The rendering of that acting in others was the form of her resurrection. –‘you know I’m not dead’) Because June managed this by transmitting under the u.u. sea that is why she is portrayed in ‘Peering Deep into a Mirror Untrue’, as a woman underwater with a third eye, her mind’s eye, with which she generated concrete results. (Untrue reflection because in it June is not a real person, just under the sea.) This transmission was how a soul became living proof. The chemist brings spark because some of this was indeed conceived and performed on drugs, but it is not dependent on them. The reason for telling all this is because it is not Glass’s story, and in saying that it is Glass is robbing reality. It was their story, and June is real. And actually it is God’s story, and your story. Glass does not actually know the whole mystery, nor can it honestly be said does June, but it could hardly exist in just one of them. The beauty of the mystery is that June is real.
MYSTERY OF MACHINA pt. 2
The Flesh Good afternoon it’s finally raining and I think that may have been my nearest experience of a winter drought. What an Indian Summer! Now I know that I promised with this section that I would tie it all into Machina II, but sadly enough I cannot, the mysteries are too long as it is. I hold to my original assertion that these links are by and large self-explanatory. I did not have the opportunity to listen to it properly, and would be doing it a disservice. Does anyone, anyone, want to be you? – June will exist whether you like it or not. Imagine having to disappear completely from someone with whom you were questioning whether you had both just met across a mindscape in a mindunion. Then you can begin to imagine some of the loss that this is talking about. So when I got to be a rejected semi-finalist I made one smashing conclusion: The first thing was that I’d had it right but I’d said it was real and Billy was more interested in having people talk about it in his terms than in checking out if there were any real terms. How crushing. I don’t exist for him. But I was learning one fundamental thing, how many of you were getting it. Then I concluded that if he was more interested in having it in his terms, not reality, then he was dealing in terms of his reflection. Adulation in his image of it. If he did not accept the reality, then he had not been the least bit involved in perpetrating this as a reality. It did not mean that it hadn’t been happening. It just meant someone else was doing it. See I realized that in the same way this displayed Billy’s obliviousness, it was also displaying my own. Cuz there is only one remaining conclusion for me, (this is just the result of my reality, irrelevant to you), and that is if Billy couldn’t see beyond his terms, that meant that the soul mate, the one who had laid out the terms in reality, not ‘a story’, was and solely is God. It has been going on for years and years before I even knew about Corgan. So me and God were locked in contention I guess, about promises and dreams and life vs. death. I argued You don’t get to define these things by utilizing their end, by taking them away. Def’n here for Reduction: You arrive at your outcome by termination of all possible variables that may have affected but perhaps weren’t by eliminating down to what’s still functioning when everything else is gone. This isolates the Real Source. Bad mistake: If you’re trying to dream beyond don’t demand that in terms of yourself. If your suitor’s invisible and lives through people, then you’d better just accept that. -So how do you know who He is? -Well, He’s the one who showed when I disappeared. Puts Him beyond everything and still functioning. -Oh, goes the argument, if it’s all beyond your senses, How on earth do you know you really disappeared? -I tracked my path in the other soul mates. The two I felt I’d initiated the mindunion with knew I disappeared. Now that’s a rough thing to inflict. The Resurrection: was an inspired time line (15 years long), meaning the artist was purely inspired and knows nothing at all about me, just has my life story down. That and the Redemption, really a three-fold manner of the same thing: pre-destination, transformative transmission, and hello Jesus Christ. Hence, viola hello good-morning mindunion and they all said hello back. Was there any reason to involve June’s adolescent fantasy? On the surface, No. Thanx it was my own dream, it was harmless and this is grave robbery. Why resurrect a dream in order to kill it? Why are You rendering it only to take it away? Turn dreams into caricature? Why on earth bring it back that way, when between You, and transformation, I was already free? Here’s a query: the level where it’s reality cannot even be accepted by the truth teller himself. He only allows it conveyed in his terms. Doesn’t that mean your reality is bogus? Uh-uh, proved it. And actually this is the selfsame form as my reality, how I was rendered to see You but didn’t, needed to see me answered in him to know. But the rendering speaks for itself. It means the suitor of the soul is God. You can demonstrate God through the whole thing. I’m not seeing God in the same way none of these other levels can see me, even though I have a reality more amplified and vast than any human living on the globe, it is a reality that is internally proven and cannot be seen. God has shown me He is like me; He’s the supreme reality we simply can’t see, which doesn’t mean He isn’t more real than all of us put together. It’s possible! Which was another way of saying I had really really really screwed up by ignoring this and holding out for tangible affirmation in Glass, given that I had such proof. OK, the lesson: By wanting to meet this in your common reality you were ignoring the fact that the Person you were dealing with is not tangible. So you were expecting Them to conform to your human image, the very thing you wanted to transcend. Same thing Glass is showing you, in destroying his caricature, reducing it here and ending it. Transcend it. Transcend your image, your expectations. Who is ever gonna get more proof happening inside and beyond them that another Conscious Sense is real? No one. Therefore you know whomever was relating to you spoke to you on every level possible that was within It’s capacity and He used, in a sense, the whole world (Radio) to do it. Do you have any comprehension of how big the song was and what it said? It said I love you in every way possible and I love you the way you are and I would love you the way you want me too if I was human. BUT I AM NOT HUMAN> Am I? I am beyond you and I am forever. But you saw me get inside the mindunion, I walked in straight through you, and then you saw My tracks rendered inside it. So you know I am with you, inside the mindunion. Thru the hole in the wall. Oh dear Oh dear Oh dear Oh dear Oh dear oh dear Oh dear I lost you! Spitefully cruel . . . I am so, so sorry . . . The song that gives me the biggest chill is In My Body. It is because June nearly did kill her lover in the effort to prove herself, she nearly made Him disappear, just like the dream tells it. She nearly forgot He was there all along. (Here’s to the Atom Bomb-June’s the atom bomb, as in Where Boys Fear to Tread.) I made the greatest error: I thought it was Glass because my dream came alive in his answer and that was the impetus that brought me back, the hope of meeting my soul mate. OK, did not expect another Real One, have to admit I was arguing the point. Screamed I was being sublimated inside an abstraction I couldn’t feel, sense or see. Or love, I thought. Not within my humanity. –But isn’t something else the point? (‘Real Love, or is it me you’re after?’ –Why do you think he asks this question? Because he’s Glass.) Reduction is arriving at the answer that you’d only take when there was no other possible choice. Sort of like disappearing. I’m sure He feels real valued at this point. Other lessons: What does this all tell you about God? That God would spend a hell of a lot of time planning and scheming here (like it must have absorbed miles of His time, exclusively devoted to people), and God’s total realization is Love and God did ******* human love in full form, in fact He made the earnest desire simply to really be with another, humanly, between June and Glass, its apex and conclusion. Beauty thought isn’t it? That kept us *******d, you see. Humans. What defines us as humans, anyway. Sex was in the promise. The sex question: How come every come-on You used alluded to sex if You can never even use it? It was a connection it devolved out of, ceased, reverse mindscape. But it came back even in the resurrection. Now here’s a choice question: Why’d you bring it back that way if you were using it just as a device and You knew in the process you were robbing me of my only story? To show you your dreams are just as important, that even if it was impossible I still wanted you to have your dreams. Because in your dream, without knowing yet who he was, you loved Glass. Sex=entry (OK, my side). Full entry is when you are filled by that person completely in a becoming. –Which happened. To me this only happened in this sense one time, where I knew I had been filled to the point where He became me. It sure as hell wasn’t Glass. God isn’t human; we have only one purported incident of that and that means marriage or union means something different in God terms, though God created sex to show He was very big on union to create, and two becoming one, and making us aware of the responsibility that comes from creating. It’s there to allude to something bigger we must grow into, but He kept it there just to prove the point he wants us. So I was asking some pertinent questions, Like how do You get it on? How am I to learn to love like You? Actually I’ve learned a lot considering sex. One conversation, where I was talking to Cormac, we were both relieved to actually be able to discuss religion with someone else and got into Law and the OT. Law was interesting. We were discussing how the range of OT Law is by and large practical applications in terms of natural law consequences. That social sexual morality is a cyclic structure related directly to disease outbreaks; that societal morals get more rigorous and thereby protect the population after an outbreak to bring disease numbers down. Cyclic Equilibrium. Laws can be inverse human relations to earthly realities, like God or society instituted them to protect the population. No Murder. Duh. OT Law says No pork. There was no refrigeration, more live parasites prone in that particular meat? Law is a social entity that evolves to modify and regulate the population. Not fixed. Evolves as society evolves. Do we need the rule about pork anymore? No. Sorry, tangent. This transferred onto sex. Cormac said there were basic rules prevalent without variation in all cultures hardly divergent from the Biblical Ten (Interest is the 10’s distinctions), but the rules with sex were not one of these. These had realms of variations in some cultures and the range could get high. It was just one of those flashes; I answered, ‘it’s the potential variable within the immutable Law’. I meant the one thing in 10 that might be subject to change, say in the evolution of ‘natural law conditions’, relative in terms of being good or evil in that this question applied individually in every instance. I was making a revolutionary statement, like these modes could change IF we matured. But the phrase means it all on its own. It represents a potential variable. In my case having begun with all my preconceptions blown apart it represented any potential variable. Self-realization one on one. You are what you love. How do you think love is, now that you have no preset parameters anymore? Oooh Whee that was one hot kettle. Messed me through for years and years. I feel safe now. I’m sure you’ve hit this opening. You hit it when you are wide open and anything in that room’s possible you are already a part of it all to the max. Just remember it’s a self-defining variable. I’ve seen whole stadiums burn or go completely out on this one tantalizer. (You are all my whores.) A potential variable can put you anywhere you realize yourself, this is not necessarily good. But it was The potential variable. It even got us to the place where sex was never intended. It’s a variable all right! June suffered because she couldn’t understand why she couldn’t have both of the ones she loved, as she could love them. Were you tantalized by the potential variable, the question of free love? Let me tell you something, then, about June: All the forms of seduction, and this was attempted in every way, informed June’s hatred of men, who tried over and over to harness June’s mysticism. June has a nigh on pathological fear of sex, because while the world treated her as invisible, isolated her throughout her entire life, there was one way in which they didn’t, and that was in all things sexual she was prey. They could never leave her alone. It formed the vast majority of her encounters with humanity, to the point where she questioned whether this was all there was, the suitors silent siege. She became terrified of even speaking to men, because the outcome was inevitable. The problem was they had no comprehension of why they sought her so, because they would never, ever have believed June’s reality, that June could say she was real. So no one actually knew her in truth. Nor would they have ever accepted what she said. What they wanted from her was not really her, but to control their image of her. The tragedy was that June knew that they sensed something pure in her that they wanted, they were not blind. The better they could see, the more she harmed them, the colder she became. She hated this more than anything. So June built her walls impregnable. You see, the greatest fallacy of ‘free love’, is how it destroys the ones you desire the most, makes them deaf to every entreaty, forces them become like this for their own protection. To them every entreaty has no capacity to be real. They’re all hollow. And inside they make her hollow too. The real tragedy? That June is very, very sexy. It’s a joke. June’s other lesson this night was of faith. I learned the internal proof is fine because given the structure all that has to happen is that I believe in it and everything’s fine. Because my belief is in the connection with God, and God provides the connection to Billy and all those others even if God and they are completely invisible to me. Having proven it now I have to trust it. The trick is if I trust it, it’ll be there. The suitor is God and I lose no one through God, so long as I believe in the suitor of my soul. I have put the thing through every examination in order to see if it is real. The feedback loop in Glass happened in order to prove it was real. (Well that’s one reason of many.) I don’t have to make it up; it makes it up for me. Lay in bed thinking all night knowing I was too dead to write and knowing the words wouldn’t be the same tomorrow, I’d lose them. All bedtime thinking was about the full form of the lesson. Couldn’t sleep, had to dream, dreamed anyway, never stopped thinking all night until I woke up. The Lesson evolved into my dream. In the dream I was losing it because I still couldn’t sleep and this was insomnia taking over and I was wasting away and I was having trouble even with coherence now. I was at the threshold where I had completely lost it with my college education, was in debt, had no real job, no avenue to get one and my immediate family thought I was nuts. (This is not a far stretch from status right now.) I was even cracking on some of my relations. And in the dream I was still learning the lesson, I was ashamed, and the people (the mindunion, which appeared as a majestic woman) is telling me they wanted to feel what they’d felt before, what I had ‘missed’ and now understood must be applied. They wanted it to happen to us all the time, as far as it can happen. That it should resonate through us all the time. And I felt spectacularly gulled cuz I’d denied this by eliminating it within the dream of being with my human soul mate, or whatever I thought that was, which we know really was impossible. (Besides he destroyed it all himself in Seattle.) The dream was there was this harmony with each other we felt, that we wanted to feel all the time. But there was this problem in the dream, cuz I knew where the apex of that harmony was. It was Him. But you know how I got to feeling Him inside me fully completely? By elimination. Total self-elimination. Just the same as this elimination around now, the same thing you might in some degree feel and that I’m sure Glass feels and understands because he’s suffering it the same as me, being the soul mate. You’re feeling it in whatever way you are losing the music. Sort of what I am feeling at having my only point of contact lost with the person I was connected to in the highest sense. I have to accept there is just my connection to him he can sense and that is it. If I’ll just be who I am and be the harmony then we still get to have it. Which gets me to recalling how far I’d gone to feel that way the most, to know it was true and not my reflection. Do I have to do it again? It was only for a moment! No longer than a few minutes . . . (There are tons of varieties of communion, the way you all think you feel sometimes, but they were not how I know. Just the way when you’re participating, you’re sometimes not certain you are, and you have no way of finding out. Well I found out.) So how do I know? Reduction, folks, the elimination of all variables. The last variable was myself. I nixed myself in order to be able to know it, and the way I know I really succeeded in nixing myself is because Glass et al knew I did it (Tear, Speed Kills, The Aeroplane Flies High, Bodies). I’ve already lost Glass once and I lost infinitely more. I lost my perception of God and everything I had ever believed or hoped in forever, all pure self-identity. I did it on the faith that God was there and this was not just consigning myself to oblivion. My soul was my sole litmus test. I accepted the full consequences of my existence. It is something you would never ever choose to go through. You would only do it when presented with absolutely no choice. Why I accuse God of manipulating me through pain. It is the same way that this present realization has arisen, only by being presented with no other choice, because I did not want to lose what was. I’d rather die than lose it. Unfortunately I’m rather tenacious, particularly when it comes down to reaching Glass. There was other stuff in the dream, I kept meeting and talking to teen guys. With the first ones I mentioned the problem of consumption. Like we, the West, who are something like a tenth of the earth’s population, consuming 80% of the earth’ goods/energy, what’s produced. (Don’t trust the figures, the idea’s an accurate one.) I said to the boys ‘we’re dead’. Inequilibrium like this on a capacitated earth means we’re fucked; even if the rest (read ‘Third World’) trying to catch up to our consumption levels don’t succeed. We’re still fucked if they fail, cuz by definition this mode of consumption can only indicate a self-terminating civilization. They can’t rip the earth to shreds fast enough. I was adding my own favorite theories here and there, hamming my little pop philosophy; making them curious. Then I see people I know on the stairs and my dad has snuck up and caught me on a tape recorder, cuz I won’t talk to him about this anymore. Oh that’s great, I declared. I’ve just been playing, not laying it out serious and now he’ll review the tape, dissect it to bits and take it as conclusive evidence I’m crazy and tell everyone I’m going to hell. Perfect! I was mad at him. I don’t know how it happened cuz it just did but at the moment I came up to him he suffered a stroke, fell backwards down the stairs. And all the enmity vanished because it looked like he was dying and I immediately ran down the stairs to hold him and crawled into his arms. I looked into his stricken eyes with so much in mine he knew that I still loved him and everything between us ended there. We loved each other in a way that he knew I’d never been crazy. And he recognized immediately and said something like, Oh, dear, you should go. And what he meant was that he was granting me the permission to commit suicide, his blessing, because now he understood. I withdrew and curled up into a ball on the step. ‘I need to go so much,’ I told him in tears. I meant to home, God and Heaven. I’m that homesick, my father sees it. So I finally got the permission to die at last. I realized too that if I went to the edge again, rode it, I would stand the closest chance of accessing what they, the mindunion, wanted. The way I got to the edge the first time was to ‘die’. I would try again; it was what I was going to do anyway. My family would even help me this time. Scene cut: My family is sitting around the living room in chairs with friends and these were my teen brother’s friends and one of them was beside me and he was in the full on hip hop gear sporting labels and he slagged me for never wearing a single label and always wearing cheap stuff. He just had a way of saying it that made it clear distinguished labels were what described your identity and to not distinguish yourself showed true neglect of character, one’s self. Like the beauty of the labels described that person to the world and who would not describe themselves as distinguished, to show their self worth and respect for humans in general? I nearly exploded at this cuz the argument he was using was so absurd since he was arguing this identity came from clothing brands. But what he was talking about was a much bigger argument. I responded perfectly in the dream in less that three sentences. I’m sorry. Don’t retain words from dreams. My voice was breaking up on me now like each phrase seemed to end in an almost static buzz, air sucked out of me, nothing inhaled just drawn out and only sheer force kept my voice clear. I sounded implacable. None of this was expected in this placid, genial room. I retorted to Mr. Nike, ‘Yes that’s right, you all feel you need labels to distinguish yourselves, don’t you?’ But labels, even though it is the same exact reason for wearing Gucci or Nike, meant much much more. It meant all the external forms of identity we use to render ourselves, to assert we are uniquely (underlying, superiorly) individual, to prove to ourselves what we are worth. It’s like the souped car that’s an ego support; it’s when you do that through consumerism, (the main form), how this whole culture is geared to realizing itself via consumption. It’s when you marry or have a girlfriend who’s really there cuz that’s the only way for you to know that you are a loving person, you don’t know this inside you, you have to render it to see it and know it’s real. You have to have that identity reciprocated back, real from someone else, or you won’t trust it. It’s when you have your baby as an exercise in your own unconditional love, just so you know your capable, and you’re so pleased with your performance, you’ve done such a good job. Worse yet, you have that child when you need something to love you unconditionally, in awe of you. I’ve seen a baby born just to adore her father; his ‘manufactured’ unconditional perfect self-image is already in her stare. Imagine her disillusionment when she breaks out of this. Imagine her if she doesn’t!!! To my mind the greatest crimes are perpetrated within perception, you can argue everything else is spawned by how our outlook can be marred or skewed. We know this most essentially so we have this deep, very strong drive to establish ourselves as real, to demonstrate ourselves by asserting ourselves in rendering. We do this for our own protection of our most vulnerable essence, the level where we ourselves would be unable to see what’s wrong with us. Tell me hasn’t this occurred to you and wasn’t the enormity one of your deepest fears? It’s your fear of what your environment has done, how your childhood has indelibly marked you . . . That you even have this fear indicates an inherent belief that you existed before, how could anything in this world promise to fulfill that void? Yet I bet this fear, and its twinborn counter reaction, the quest for tangible fulfillment, is the most basic impulse that is being exploited by consumerism... It’s not rendering what we are when we do this through materialism, we are just creating tangible reflections of what we want our self-image to be, and what makes this a false image is when the real reason we are doing it is based on our fear that it isn’t really there, within us. Self-worth, children, self-worth. We get to lose it here when we’re products of a brutal environment, molded by environment itself. The reason we are buttressing ourselves is because deep inside we all know something’s missing; ‘we need to belong’. Consumerism is a culture which exploits this to create endless gross national product endlessly growing. But earth is a finite system! Simple, big conclusion. Very basic. Do this and you are not even accepting the reality you live in a finite world! You will collapse the system and you will eventually Die! Self-worth. Consumerism keeps us from ever going internal, from ever even trying to buttress ourselves inside and becoming self-sufficient. It just wants to give us a palace for a crutch. The bigger the palace the better it has robbed you, the more dependent you are, you have the most expensive crutch. Call it conspicuous consumption or maybe the root of all evil and the filthy rich. Consumerism keeps us pacified from ever even examining our doubt by preoccupying us with an endless array of things and pleasures, because we are very afraid to doubt ourselves. Why do we feel we need to belong to more than what’s here, so much that we’ll surround ourselves with it in order to feel we belong? What if that means we’re not in our natural environment, we’re not even from here? Could that mean you exist some more, more than you do here within these senses? Begin by creating a bargain for yourself. If you know deep inside you that something’s missing from yourself, don’t question whether you are somehow inferior, accept that this means there is more to yourself, soul, spirit, communion, and what we may become. Take that where you want to take it, interior self-realization. Imagine you and seek inner truth. Try your best to grow into an individual not a hairy monster. (Basic difference: love vs. consumerism, which is just an application for living.) And understand that if there’s more, that means accepting you may not get it all here, but that’s OK, because there IS more and you will have loads and loads of time to realize it. You have only this time to wonder, and it is in wondering you realize yourself more. You’re establishing yourself in reality. Die, and your character might actually be a very permanent thing that is eternal and knows everything and is not capable of transforming much at all. Here you can, and you can grow. That is the true beauty of creation. There are waiting lists up there! Our tragedy is that in our attempt to render self-realization, we can inherently make it false, if it springs from the need to magnify what’s there because you can’t believe in it unless you make it material. If it is necessary to you to make it material, you are doing this to prove what you are because you don’t believe it, meaning it is not real at all and you are just playing your inside out in some elaborate false image of the self. You don’t need to make it material to know who you are and discover the best parts of yourself. When you use the material to buttress yourself, you’re really losing the belief that you are more than just material, going in the opposite direction, which is descent into a false self-image, if you really are more than just this. You have undermined the need you were trying to support by trying to make it material! You need a distinguishing label to tell yourself you’re distinguished because otherwise you can’t see it. How consumerism buys and packages your soul. All this I was laying on the kid, in less than three sentences. I said something like ‘You need labels, but I never need any labels to tell me what I am. I don’t need them determining me. I am not a product of my environment. I am a product of what I build myself to be inside. Everything about me is on the inside. It has no reflection in my environment.’ (It has no extension into my career, family. It has almost no articulation in my life, other than my Journal habit, what I write. Everything that is most vital to me no one in my environment even knows about . . .) I am realized entirely within myself. (It’s an extreme case but it’s sort of a demonstration of what’s possible.) ‘You require material, and people, for realization. You must consume to be realized. (Think about the human cost in a clothing label.) It is because you consume, simply in this exercise of self-magnification (which is inherently false), that the whole world must be consumed to support the Western image. If you learned not to consume this way (wear your clothes just because you really do need them and they look and feel good to you), your society would not be horribly distended.’ The family could see where I was going and were visibly nervous. Squirming in their seats. My youngest brother cut in, voice nearly tremulous (this was his friend), ‘Don’t JUDGE him Ray!’ I realized and softened the hardness out of my voice, put on a big grin. ‘If we all learn to support our self-image inside ourselves with our own belief, we will not consume more than we need. We can live instead of killing ourselves by slowly draining the life system (Earth).’ (Humans not vampires.) I turned to my family and said, ‘There, wasn’t that easy? Nothing big or difficult. Not pages.’ They nodded in relief and approval. It was not some big complicated maze. And everyone was still OK. Everyone wants the harmony, needs it to feel alive, needs the part they are missing. Everyone needs THE MOMENT, the moment where they know their existence without a doubt. But when every one of you needs The SP to be your label, you’ll never make it. You’ve got to realize that you all had identity in this, the point here is that you did and that it was your identity and that you had it and that is why you listened. It’s why you’re where you are, Here. It’s got nothing to do with The SP; you’re targeting your own self expression. Everyone needs the Harmony, everyone needs the Moment. In the dream I’m alone and I’m thinking, I could never even repeat that moment, the supreme moment of belonging that accessed the mindunion. The fact is I know I can’t. Bottom line is I can’t even say it was me, at least not at that moment when I ultimately experienced becoming One. It was belonging in Him. It was brought about by a very unusual set of circumstances I did not create. I don’t even know how to get there, to the space where you can know through the mindunion knowing, no doubt. Not without creating the edge I stepped off of that meant He must come. He comes and goes as He wills. I can’t even find that edge. It’s invisible. I could never synthesize that edge; it must be real and absolutely necessary. It was created by the circumstances in a moment that was so extreme, so very isolating and painful, that I thought, ‘so this is what it’s like to be crucified’. I went through the most pain it was possible for me to imagine. I lost Glass. I lost what I thought of as God and everything that had meaning to me, even my own belief in my own purity. And now I’m scared, cuz see I know if this is what it takes for Glass et al to know me, what has God been through to make me know? And then Glass tells me and I feel awful. Anyway in the dream I am going to die tonight, in the hope I will go home, and here is my brother he’s come to help me. There are all these nifty electronic toys lying about. Future toys, all gadgets, all entertainment. And my brother is taking them apart and taking out all their batteries. The batteries are special. They’re like light batteries. When you crack them open it’s like seeing a ragged, sheared off end of a fiber-optic cable, but the light coming out of the ends is much more brilliant, like golden little stars. They were in a big frond. And my brother said that the way I was going to go was that I had to light the fronds of stars on fire, let them all catch flame and burn to their brightest, and just at that moment I had to blow every one of them out. And if I did that correctly, one by one to all of the batteries, I would eventually die, maybe reach the edge. So I started on the task of blowing them out. I had hardly any breath left to do it. The thing is, there weren’t enough batteries around for me to die. I was never going to. JUST BELIEVE AND YOU WILL MAKE IT HAPPEN. This only has to happen once. No more. The reason I didn’t trust is because God put me through this to find it. It blacked out the stars, the sole thing it was for. See why you should just let it go? FAITH IS EASIER! Nothing gets sacrificed… Think of what the label does to Glass. Glass dies zero trapped in your false image, so he must act to destroy it all himself. Think of what this did to June when she met him for the first time and lost him, When they were mediums for the Alpha & Omega. June could not scream enough when it happened, for she was violated by Glass himself In a way you cannot even imagine. Entered by the false image Through the Alpha, her identity would have been consumed Except she had the Redemption Black Wings Over America, The Crimson CurseJune got sacrificed twice instead of once, both times by those she loved.Tell me about the costs of idolatry . . . and faithlessness . . .Think of what happens to the God/Jesus. In order to prove it to you, He’d have to extinguish you yourselves cuz He’s part of you. And He’d still be there. Think about what it’s like to exist in total isolation unrecognized by your own children. Think about what it’s like to be in total isolation when you cannot die. You should send love out into the very air. LOVE IS NOT CONSUMPTION. Thou shalt have no false images before Me. The greatest target of this command is your own self-image, For nothing hurts Him more that when you mar your own realization.
MYSTERY OF MACHINA PT. 3
REALITY ‘In came the girl with the sad dark eyes, and asked him over again, again, ‘Was I too weak, was I a child’, and Can’t we leave here and start again?’ She said, ‘I don’t mind if you take me down’ and I don’t mind if you break it all’ but How much more can you take from me? How much more can you take from me? ‘I’d like to take you inside my head’ ‘I’d like to take you inside of me’ ‘You came from heaven is all he said’ ‘You came from Heaven and came here to me And I love you . . . .’ no Girl So Sweet’ PJ Harvey, Those quotes all used to revolve around inside my head even years before, all the things I wanted to say to him, but I didn’t know what ‘his’ response would be until she told me. PJ supplied his reply herself. It was a surprise. Nov. 27th, 2000. This night I was pulled from sleep by voices, and this is what the voices said: ‘You guys gotta be careful Walkin’ around this place at night. This is the perfect place to get jumped . . .’ ‘-Do you think that the end of the world is coming?’ ‘The Preacher man says that it’s the end of time, Says that America’s rivers are going dry, The stock market’s down, interest is up’ ‘-But do you think the end of the world is coming?’ ‘No. So says the Preacher, but I don’t go by what he says. Also: ‘God of this country, unites everyone, Then we’ll have him! God Bless God, There’s only salvation born in Jesus Christ! Glory Hallelujah, Go to Jesus Christ! Come give us Jesus! Come and find what you want, And what you need, is the love of Jesus Christ! Glory Hallelujah! The Point is, LISTEN FOR THE MUSIC, IT’S THE MUSIC AND YOU WILL FIND IT THERE TOO. THIS IS ALL ABOUT THE MUSIC. THE POINT WITHIN A POINT TO ‘REALITY’ IS TO DEMONSTRATE HOW OBJECTS CAN HOLD ALL MEANING, AS OPPOSED TO HOLDING NONE AT ALL AND BEING FALSE IMAGES, WHICH IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU CONSUME OUT OF SELF-DOUBT. These are the objects in June’s room. In every one of them her entire story lies told, and that is why it is there. From these you can decipher her existence. June’s objects are not reflections she aspires to; material with which she buttresses herself. June’s objects contain the greatest secret, which can never be told. They contain it against everyone she lives with. Were she to even try and explain these objects, the story would never translate. Those around her could never believe that objects could contain such secrets. This is a step into June’s life. Reality. Yesterday when I was on the bus a purely beautiful man in simple clothes walked on who struck me and that is rare like it maybe happens once or twice every three years, and when it does I have never approached any of them which did manage to breed a tragedy but tragedy has its place as I did it deliberately not wanting to endanger him with my own internal identity crisis (even though it was all dead at the time), which was good because I would have ruined his life when I left the country if I had and I’m very, very glad for the purity of my choices, because I loved him and I knew he loved me. Anyway I never thought I’d be struck by anything similar ever again but this struck me the same when our eyes caught and even though he was standing furthest behind several other standing people, as soon as I thought, ‘Come to the back and sit beside me’, he picked up his bag and did so and I was stunned and even then it took me at least five minutes to initiate a conversation because under this circumstance I HAD NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE. We had a very pleasant conversation normal as can be about our work and circumstances and he was so absorbed (as I) he didn’t even realize it was my stop though I had already told him where I was going. I still left this all to chance (seeing him again on the bus); when I got off the bus I very nearly cried. He was older than I was I’d say 35 and his age enhanced him. The last three days have all been like this, there has been this massive shift where suddenly people around me are talking to me about their lives, coming forward out of the blue, and I’m starting conversations with them, giving compliments all over the place. All of a sudden it feels like everyone is talking to me when all my life no one did. When I left the college I heard ‘I don’t know why you say good-bye, I say HELLO’ (The Beatles, it was glorious) blaring from the weight room and laughed very hard. Last week a painting that has been on my wall since 1997, I knew I had to take her down now (leaving just Dali’s, who was beside her, Christ on a cross in the sky cleaving earth and void sans the blood and nails, who of course will remain in the place of most prominence above my desk), but I was so busy writing I didn’t do it and she fell down off the wall on Saturday of her own accord. The painting had come to mean a great deal now, (it was the only signifier), though when I had bought the print it was because of how she had struck me, being the only painting that truly struck me, in The Louvre in 1988. It is called, ‘The Young Martyr’, and really what had struck me about it then was the pure luminous beauty of the water in a layered blue darker than cobalt, the painting’s simplicity its device, preferred over all that overwhelming grandeur, and actually to me it was a shame the subject was a martyr. By 1997 this had gained a different resonance but I still purchased it in memory of being struck still and of the blue, lost in the bleached muddy failure of the print. Bleak. The Martyr died differently than most in that she is drowned, her hands bound, and what later struck me in a context that seemed so coldly virginal, saintly and youthful (white robe and halo and all that), is that actually there is a gold wedding ring on her finger. Of course. When this became external in 1992 the ring that was presented to me inside my mind against the void (and then I did not have a clue, I was like, ‘why, what is that there for???’), was plain pure gold and giant in size, hovered there without moving for more than an hour. In the painting her executors are barely there, the sun has set and there is just the hint of the opacity of their figures, two of them. One looks like his cape is blowing and his arms are spread as if in some form of exaltation at victory. Anyway I knew the picture had to go because it is no longer true anymore. And of course it fell, of its own accord. THE SEA JUNE DROWNED HERSELF IN WAS THE SEA OF THE UNIVERSAL UNCONSCIOUS. I will not describe the others, my room of course is blue, bright and yet muted aqua blue with sky blue trim and a white ceiling (just lying in there is pacifying), there is one poster of the Northern Lights which has the same blue in it, and on an antique bookstand I stripped and painted myself there is a copy Rosetti’s ‘The Daydream’, but she looks more like me in the copy. Some have even commented on its superior appearance over the original, which I think is artistic expression in its way, its real achievement is that almost no one says this because the alterance is subtle enough that it never betrays the original, most are stunned by its exactitude. Actually she looks considerably like me, it’s the hair that’s exactly the same, black when wet. When I found the picture it was in black and white, and I thought wouldn’t it be lovely if her dress was aquamarine, which I thought very unlikely but five days later I saw the painting, resplendent in its colours, on a pricey giftcard displayed in a shop window and I gasped cuz her dress was indeed aquamarine and of course this sealed my conclusion on what painting would go on the table. My eyes are not the same colour as the woman in Rosetti’s they’re dark brown, nose is a little different, my jaw deeper (chin crooked same as yours), my lips don’t pout they’re perfect (best feature), my hands and feet are comparatively smaller and delicate but like her I am not a small woman, but more slender with a very long waste, (which is nearly a deformity on this woman, he magnifies everything too much), the painter’s muse object likely mistress. Everything on the walls in this room, nearly every object signifies something like this or marks travel or significant events or I made it myself. For the first there is the ‘Always’ rose, which I took and dried before I heard ‘I send you flowers, cut flowers for your hall’. Of course. For you, there is the Millenium 2000 commemorative Irish punt (pound), which says everything exactly immortalized in mint and of course I was there in order to find you, which I must admit seems pretty weird now. Imagine how I laughed at ‘The Blind Date’ when I found out you’d been there too. There is a satellite map of the vanishing Island Old Growth rainforest, which is the most important thing. We have the largest trees in all of Canada, every lowland valley outside of parkland will be liquidated by 2020. Trees from as far back as Christ, even one 56 ft. in circumference at base. (You can REPLACE this?!?) Most beautiful place in the world? Definitely one of. They’ll have taken most of it before I get my Envr. Tech. diploma and graduate; I see no point. A clearcut in a certain forest valley is where I ‘died’. They will cut this valley’s heart out this year, some of the largest Douglas Firs in the world. I’m wondering about a hunger strike because even jeopardizing a number of lives was not enough to stop them . . . Enough, enough. Details, details. On my way home yesterday I walked and I know how tired I am because I was nearly seeing the Northern Lights when they weren’t really there, this was pulsing off the trees after sunset (luminous blue on blue - of course). The moon just before it disappeared was of course a new crescent, but what struck me was that the clouds had embraced this sickle in a perfect semi-circle, the new moon had been in a dream where the clouds coiled back to reveal it, an elaborate vision I had where I felt the web of my desire threading out unseen but so vastly. This real moon is actually resting, circumference embraced in the perfect semi-circle of cloud. One pure moment. I am walking through the park of one of my first schools and there are two young men idling on the swings and one of them stops with whatever he is lighting to say hello, and I can’t help staring a moment because his face is almost exactly like yours, hat on (but I’m so sure!), he is staring back at me the same way and the fact is he is young, he must be about 18, and there is this tremendous impact because though he looks exactly the same, this is in pristine youth, there is nothing that marks or scars him whatsoever, it is like seeing a pure vision of you knowing what you truly are. Stunned at the thought of it. It’s the only time in my life I have seen anyone with such a resemblance and the resemblance is perfect. He asks me what I’m listening to and I answered ‘Radiohead’, which naturally got his approval, but I told him actually I wasn’t listening to it at all. Guess what I was thinking about. ‘That there, that’s not me, I go, where I please, I walk thru walls, I float down The LIFFEY, I’m not here, this isn’t happening. In a little while, I’ll be gone, The Moon’s Already Passed, yea it’s gone’ I was nearly prepared to graffiti on the wall across from his studio that the moon had passed him and he had missed it, fortunate restraint, I did not know if that had been the window I was supposed to prove it with, but I had an obligation to tell him. Though this has nothing at all to do with him (well) . . . Fortunately I never wrote it. I don’t have to, ha-ha. Fortunately (and I knew well enough) this was just transposition, y’know I pretty much expected that to come out somewhere, but hearing The Liffey was choice, having done my penal time in that state of mind beside it for a year. Last night I heard a voice in my head, not my voice, and that has never, ever happened that a voice leapt into my head unless it was indistinguishable (and that only twice, one a fatal implacable statement of future fact that made it a command in 1987, my horror could not have been more complete). However this new voice was male, and what He said as He was leaving was a quip, a targeted jibe, ‘Now that was painless!’ After that I was woken by the voices . . . . On my finger I have a ring, and this morning I changed its place, which I cannot make a habit as that would be weird, but I’m letting you know. As should be it is silver, it is the only one I have and it has always carried a forsaken promise, it was given to me by the first man I ever slept with (while that needs a qualifier that cannot be given, the significance is still true), and he put it on my engagement finger at the time to signify a promise he wanted to keep but couldn’t. I returned it to him in disgust but he gave it to me again the night before I left the country on a quest, the only way I could think of for expressing the necessary commitment. (It performed its function.) The ring is Mexican, I will not state the native origin in case I am mistaken but they are known for their silverwork, it is a traditional symbol, and while the beneficiary didn’t know it I’ve been told in separate instances that the embossed continuous wave is their symbol for The Creation and Eternity. Then there’s The Sea, the universal unconscious sea. To me the ring had begun to signify future promise, the gift of it itself had carried the promise of a troth, consummation, now to a sign, water, once I knew. Nov. 26th – I walk past the lightboard outside of a Church announcing Sunday’s Sermon: ‘The Promise of a love fulfilled.’ Who says they’re not on it? THE FANTASY The Fantasy is such, and she is mine, and was mine since I was fourteen, so you’ll simply have to forgive it, a fourteen year old voice, since this, in a sense, is what happened . . . It was the morning of my 19th birthday, and this was a rendering of my own story I had come up with in 1985. I was given the union just then, it basically just flowed. (I sort of speculated that maybe it was God’s birthday present.) I felt myself as being her. For me this is mortally embarrassing. Besides, I called it The Lost Chapter, I didn’t know why. Then my journal flew off my motorcycle on a road trip back from Gabriola Island, and it really became the lost chapter. The point within a point is that the fantasy and the reality are one and the same and that they are real. And the reason it is The Lost Chapter is because there never ever really was ‘The Holy Kiss’. It ended up in someone’s rock video and was never realized. This is what Glass and June could have been. But for The Fantasy, which is my own, their names shall be reverted to my own. Their names were Aoreth and Thiaerin. This happens after Aoreth was saved from an attack wherein she could have been perhaps raped or killed, which was averted by her lover Thiaerin. This was after they were already betrothed, even, and had established contact through their minds. Aoreth was not human. She had been transformed by an elven witch. She was a sylph, of air and water. Once. The plate ‘Desire Holds the Moment Still’ is the same as a drawing I did years before of Aoreth in Thiaerin’s embrace. It’s familiar. Thiaerin freed himself easily and purposefully went and shut the door. When he left Aoreth sank to the stone floor listlessly, as if he had been the only thing holding her up. She lay there without moving, her body curled loosely, her eyes caught in a distance. Thiaerin came near to where she was and sat with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands on the sword hilt between them, the point of the blade resting on the stone. Both were too absorbed in their stillness to be conscious of helping the other. Aoreth had suffered physically and was weakened, but it was what she had experienced in her mind that had catapulted her into a form of shock. He immediately felt images of his mother, who had tried the utmost within her power to resist him, all he embodied. He knew the pain in consequence of her efforts, how she paid, and the death that emanated in consequence of his hand every day. He felt through her the dying Wood, and deeper still, her pain. She had been poisoned in her own efforts to touch humanity, and it stayed with her like a sickness. He could feel her rage inside his thought like a strident voice, even though she was not speaking to him now, it was as if she was, telling all. Look at me! She cried. Feel me. I tried, Oh, I tried. Would I act in half measure? You cannot love them. You cannot let them touch you, you become them, as I became them. As I must fight them now, as they would have it. I lose myself, so that this is not lost forever, and through it I will survive where they cannot touch me. There is no other way, my son of theirs, you must kill him . . . All this he touched in an instant. Just to touch her unleashed in him a rage against what had been done. He was the one who knew. It dawned easily that for this reason she had given birth to him, to rectify the inevitable. And she was certain that to begin this reversal, Ingalforn must be killed. This was the only way she would stain her hands, in her offspring, one of their own. After what had transpired Thiaerin believed that she was right, Ingalforn could only be killed. Thiaerin felt an obligation to avenge for all Ingalforn had done, for it touched him, and he alone was touched by all of it. He would assume the burden of retribution for all the injury he had caused to those he loved, in turn to preserve all they each represented. No one would argue that Ingalforn did not deserve to die. Why did you stop me? I would have killed him, it would have been finished. I should have . . .He faltered, looking in on himself. The answer was self-evident, he needn’t ask for it, he already knew what it would be, for in his heart he found the desire. He wanted to kill him. He knew his desire to be the same as his uncle’s, the same as what became his mother, in her anger. He had become his enemy to fight his enemy. What good was it then, if in overcoming your enemy in victory you became him? Herein lied the trap that held his mother. The hidden defeat. This is what Aoreth had sensed and strove with him to avoid. She had tried to protect him. He looked on her with newfound awe mixed with remorse. How could she be here, and still be? How can I, how can we be like you? How can you survive? They will kill you, He will Kill Us . . . Thiaerin knew Aoreth could not exist at all. He felt her shudder, saw her tremble, and saw the blood trickle over her chest. He released his sword and gathered her into his arms, clasping her against his body. Her lungs shudderingly released as if she had held her breath from the moment Ingalforn entered the room. Within her she was silent, there was a void of emotion filled with deep sadness, fear and pain. It flooded over him, submerging as she was given release. It nearly made him weep. He could not believe what had been done to her and found himself pleading against what had been rendered. The agony it caused in him was suffusing to anger again, when in the midst of the swirling maelstrom he felt in Aoreth a plea for help . . . He took his sleeve in his palm and put it against the puncture wound. Beneath it he could fell the heart beating fiercely as if it would burst. He looked at her very directly and asked her: What did he do to you? He maintained a tone as cold and emotionless as steel, but even then he failed not to edge it with menace. She didn’t answer. Instead he felt her retreating from him, deeper inside herself. This only served to alarm him further, to make him fear the worst. His eyes bored deeply into hers as he strove to cover the growing distance. He realized then that he was in grave danger of becoming part of what she feared. Please, . . . Tell me, . . . . don’t . . . Then she saw how things were worsening, that they would soon hurt each other. She couldn’t run and hide. It took courage to pull herself back, to face him and ask that he first must promise not to succumb to his anger. And so he became calm, and gave her his word. Haltingly at first, and then more smoothly, she relayed the memory. There were moments she became hesitant, instances she clearly did not want to remember or reveal. Thiaerin felt with himself two opposite reactions: first, he was relieved that nothing graver had happened to her, and simultaneously he was seeing just how much graver it was than what he had perceived possible, within her thought. For now he was made much more aware of her frame of existence, her mind. It had not been so much the physical confrontation from which she suffered, but the inner conflict. Ingalforn had not actually raped her; he had raped her mind. This glimpse into her amazed Thiaerin. She had a level of naïveté and child-like innocence that was perilous, far greater than he could of possibly surmised, as it transcended his perception of human limits. It was gravely threatened. It was what filled him with awe. No human was like this; this was what humanity had lost. But she was human, and that had changed her, and was continuing to change her. (It did not occur to him to wonder, at this, what she had been before.) To be human, for her, was to lose part of herself, and her innocence was among what was being lost. Aoreth had begun with no understanding of what was implied in being human: how they behaved, their imperfections, their capacity for evil, through ignorance or intent. She had been forced to learn what she had about humanity very quickly, too quickly. Ingalforn had terrified her. He embodied evil intent she was previously incapable of imagining. He had tried to break her by using her own naïveté as a tool against her. More than anything she feared what was happening to herself, and what she, as a human, could become. She feared her own possible failure. Ingalforn had seized upon her vulnerability and used it against her. He utilized force, and fear, but his greatest blow was achieved when he manipulated her into wondering if she had failed in her opposition, and in so defeated herself. Even now she lingered in uncertainty, unsure of what had been her own reactions, for she had never known them before. Be still, he whispered. You did nothing wrong. You are simply human. You withstood him. He looked at her very intently, his eyes alight. He cannot touch you . . .He kissed the spot where the mark had been on her forehead, as if to erase the stain on her memory. That memory was now his also to bear, and he felt its pain until at last in was finally forgotten by both of them. But he had taken away its power to do anything else. A surge of relief swept over him and he felt it for both of them, for in her awareness he saw Ingalforn’s devices at work, and so recognized them within himself, which made them powerless. He would no longer be hampered by his own sense of defeat, though he did not know yet how this war was to be fought. For this insight he was grateful to Aoreth and he embraced her closely, and felt now the heart that beat for him. Perhaps it was this that spurred him to take his next decision, for as he held her he dwelt upon the damage that had already been done. The way he touched you was meant to be used in love, not for hurt. And that role was his. For I love you, and will touch you in love. They had already committed themselves to each other in a way far deeper than Thiaerin could see in any of those surrounding him, so to him he saw no wrong in fulfilling the prospect that was forming in his head. And so he said softly, Will you lie with me? Aoreth did not really comprehend the seriousness surrounding the question, nor his twinge of self-consciousness, all of which she sensed plainly enough. She was accustomed to a much higher degree of closeness than she saw in this form of existence, that she preferred as good, so she did not see why there was such gravity in asking. She was not so hesitant to say yes. I would make love to you, but I feel we are not prepared for that yet. But come . . . Thiaerin had loosed his cloak, he took her hand and brought her to face him by the bed. His eyes momentarily searched hers and she received him, searching him in return. She realized she did not totally understand his intentions, and wanted to know the truth of it. What did he want? His eyes flickered to the floor before he recovered them to face her. May I take off your gown? There were both immediately conscious of the cut in it. She stared at him with a new acuteness before slowly acquiescing. He slid it off her shoulders and let it ripple noiselessly to the floor. He appraised her, but his eyes rarely strayed from hers, the vantage into her soul. You are very beautiful. He turned with regards to himself and accordingly began removing his garments until his torso and legs were bare. He faced her again. May I touch you? The implication in his need to ask charged the air between them, Thiaerin even detected and faint involuntary tremor of fear. But the fear was not of his person, for he had never taken from her. He reached out and caressed her face, gently as if tracing a film of air. Invariably his hand strayed to the path once taken down the line of her jaw. He followed the path of the dagger to her heart, and let his hand fall to take her own. He clasped it momentarily between them before she took his meaning and stirred by the memory, reached up and touched his cheek. Thiaerin was stricken by the invocation of the memory. It was a profound revelation, and made him look on her with newfound wonder. You knew, even then? (You knew!) It carried an edge of loss, of remorse. What if he had never come to this point, to know her? Why did you go? (Why not stay?) Her hand drifted to her side, her eyes fell. I was afraid . . . He uplifted her face, sought her eyes. Please, do not be afraid of me, or what you feel. He reached down and pulled back the coverlets. Lie with me . . . And so she laid herself in the bed as indicated, almost rigid in her straightness of body. Thiaerin removed the remainder of his clothing and was a little surprised at the simplistic curiosity that became writ on her face. It made him regard himself with a wry sense of false modesty, only for a moment. What’s that? The humor was too much to be avoided, and he could not help averting and smiling to himself, before approaching her the gravity she deserved. With that I could begin a child within you. In his thought he conveyed to her the natural cycle of conception, birth and death, and watched her eyes widen further. How remarkable, was her response, as he laid down close beside her. It is you who are remarkable. Like a child, and yet within you lies a timeless existence. Like a child . . . He touched her, and was infected with a new sensation coupled by its wonder, that reflected on her own. I feel you, he thought. I can feel you within me. Her sensation at is touch became his. Her response to him he sensed through his frame, aroused in him a feverish desire to see what he could do. He caressed her tentatively, her lips, her shoulder, her breast. He felt each awakening and each brought him closer. He sent his palm over her belly, and sensed deep within her a place holding potential for life, he honed his touch until a small cry escaped her lips. He suffused it with his kiss and oh, how she felt! She wrapped her arms around him in a close embrace. Both were filled with a mutual sense of awe, at this love, which was reciprocally discovered in its form, by each other. For her it was of human love, found through him. And to her it was vital; she needed him to survive. You are life itself to me. It was her inner jubilant cry, a declaration she had longed to give him, but felt he would never perceive in its fullest, until now. He in turn looked upon her with an even deeper sense of wonder at what she gave him. That you would give of yourself to me, freely, give of yourself . . . Simultaneously they reached a plateau, merged in mind and soul in one love, and in one voice was their declaration, I love you! And they soared, brazen, and unashamed. The crescendo of that moment reverberated through the land, for those who were capable of sensing it. Briel turned and raised his head in the direction of Eithiln, its source. His tone was serene, pitched with the tranquility of certain triumph, as he sent forth his benediction: Love, my children, for love is the strongest power in the universe . . . Silvarin too was struck by it, and momentarily froze. At that instant she knew events had just slid beyond her control. There were perhaps two others capable of sensing it, for one it was a vague, incomprehensible affirmation of renewal; the other was filled with an impotent rage that made him tremble. Can I feel into you, as you felt into me, Billy Corgan. The tale is mine, it was always mine, since child’s time, inside my mind, And inside my mind it will stay. No one can touch it. Aoreth felt into him, felt into the entire realm of his body, emotion, mind. That is how they learned of each other. It was an ability she incarnated with. Only Thiaerin discovered her. Together they astralled into the skies. June’s lessons are bitter ones. June’s only dream was to be with Glass, you see, and she’s been robbed of this. She has to learn to forgive it and to lose her dreams too. Aoreth’s lesson’s are now her own. Aoreth and Thiaerin were never joined after this. He lost her. June’s lesson was the black seed, and of desire. This is the closest we will come to the black seed; that spawned a crimson curse, as long and binding as millennia. Aoreth’s greatest fear was of human desire. She saw it as a way of becoming infected, the same way you can be infected within perception, the same way you wonder how your environment may have wrought you in ways you cannot see, that you have no way of knowing and can hardly repair. Aoreth’s fear of desire went deeper, because when she was human, she could see that within human desires, she could infect herself with such damages of her own volition, contaminate herself irrevocably. To Aoreth, who was not really human at all, this was the same as loss of identity. It was not fulfillment. It was fear. Within desire Aoreth feared union with what she most detested, that she would become infected with the black seed in all of humanity, through her own desires. Because she could well see, as could anyone, that inherently human desires weren’t necessarily pure. They could become infected. June’s problems with the black seed are rather different, June was told by God to eat the black seed when she was very young. June had no choice on whether or not to become contaminated, she was, and she was just as terrified as Aoreth, but with much more reason. She was being destroyed in the question of her own identity and self-doubt. June kept Aoreth with her after she’d eaten the black seed. It was after she’d eaten the seed that she was given Thiaerin and Aoreth’s mindunion. There was something in her rendering of this, very subtle, that had changed it. June had inculcated the tale with her own desires, almost imperceptibly. The problem with this was that June should have been in mourning, but she wasn’t. She had sublimated it in the most silent of ways, because she was not permitted to grieve. She had hidden it in Thiaerin’s promise. The promise was of a child. Aoreth, when June was fourteen, was incapable of having children, June’s own conclusion. It was senseless. Aoreth had been given a body but the elven witch’s powers were not strong enough to create life. And Aoreth never lost the abilities of her former form. To Aoreth, regarding Thiaerin, in terms of how she expressed union, the member in question was purely incidental and of no consequence to love. That had been the whole point when June wrote the passage to begin with. So the promise, as June wrote it when she was nineteen, through Thiaerin’s lips, was something of an addition. June had always blamed this on the fact that she was growing up. It never occurred to her it was a sublimation of her grief. June’s only child died when she was eighteen. In the year that followed, June took to wearing black all the time. She did not know why. She was not permitted to grieve. And so she had infected Thiaerin’s promise with her own desires. With the repatriation of the lost child. Which is impossible. June’s child is referred to in X.Y.U. The joke is that June, apparently, is a ringer for the X. How June knew her child would surely die was from a prophetic dream, a dream in which the Jackal’s minions tore her child apart in front of her limb from limb (‘She saw her baby break’). Black dogs. It was a dream of black dogs. Madness. It was a rather brutal form for the prophecy to take, why she remembered it so very well, so clearly. When she entering the mind union, she met someone who knew her darkest nightmare, the one that had come true. The person who knew named himself Glass. This is how June’s child ended up in a promise that never saw the light of day, a chapter that sat on a shelf for ten years. Until she was faced with a new ultimatum, a contest which forced her to either declare herself or remain silent on the topic forever. A new form of death. It was then she re-accessed her grief. But the child had only been the beginning, her grief compounded and compounded until there was no end, for June’s world had taken a long time to crash, had only imploded when she was sent over the edge by God Himself, infinite betrayal. Over an edge that saw no end. Only to be resurrected within a broken promise, Glass’s promise to Ava, that was Thiaerin’s long before. How bitter June became at this she will never tell. The problem was that June had been resurrected inside love’s promise, a promise infected with her own desire, desire that took her down the trails to an endless grief. The promise in itself carried that which was broken, its consequence in death, and was harbinger of its own denial: there would be no restoration, there would be no child, there would be no union, there was only Glass, reflection not transformation. No rendering in reality, only June’s most secret of dreams. And how could her dream be rendered, when it had been infected by a desire that sought to make amends for the black seed? The wheels would not be stopped, they would only have been subverted. June accepts there is no way to replace, to ever compensate, for what she has lost to the black seed, the child being first among many losses. A child can never be replaced. And so June accepts that the promise Glass gave was never real, because it is impossible. She would never, never, have asked. She never did. So the wheels stop, and so ends the cycle of the black seed, sublimated in a lost promise, as invisible as the air. June lets it go because her promise, her dream, and the death from the black seed, had managed to combine through the expression of her own desires. And so she loses her only dream to Glass, grave robbery of infants, the chapter lost. June’s lessons are bitter. Always. The crimson curse is a curse indeed. In it we lose what we desire above all, in order to transcend the curse itself. But the curse never began with you, truth teller. It began with the black seed, with the death in the black seed. You merely rendered its outcomes, a reflection of it. June danced with the adder long before she met you. She forgives all. June loses her promise in order to end her grief, so it will not be infinite. Two weeks ago June listened to Jim’s (harrowing prediction), ‘Queen of the Highway’, which piqued her so, she responded to the air, ‘If it was you, and you were me, you’d show no such restraint!’ (Not exactly those words but I’m self-editing.) When it came to, ‘there will never be another one, like you’, by the end of that song, where the music ceases for a moment and he inquires, ‘Will you stop, Will You Stop, THE Pain?’, June’s reflex in bitterness, which not even she understood, was to rip the ring off and throw it against the wall, her only act of violence towards it. She replied bitterly, ‘Well that’s the bargain, isn’t it, no matter what?’ Door, or A-dore, they are one and the same. The reason the Voice inside her head had quipped ‘That was painless!’ was because June had promised herself the week before, ‘This is Really, Really, going to hurt.’ Because the hurt was the only thing she could see. Transcendence is like that. It’s a future you cannot see. All she could see was that she was going to lose. She did not expect, that this time, it would be He who felt into her. THIS WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO BE A TRAGEDY, and it isn't. WHATEVER IT MAY BE DON’T MAKE IT ONE. "all the boys have been left for dead 'cause we know where they fear to tread the beautiful ones, the ones we'll remember the precious ones, our greatest pretenders" Were they all?
MYSTERY OF MACHINA PT. 4
NUMBERS & NAMES. The point within a point to ‘NUMBERS & NAMES’ is to demonstrate that God can take over reality and give you signs (as well as dreams) and that these signs can encompass so much as to become nearly your whole reality, and this is the nature June’s REALITY (when she’s on it, at least). This is what can happen in Math class: Nov. 28th, 2000, Picture Susan, our math instructor, who is petite, concise, Chinese, and at the moment smiling and radiantly pregnant . . . Susan doesn’t know God’s name but she has just written it up on the board in a quadrant . . . just after June wrote, in massive block letters in her binder notes: ‘4’, the score is four, because ‘four is one and one is four’ . . . . June was thinking about, well, they’re private thoughts, but she’d made this discovery about Alpha & Omega the previous night, that they were really four, and that in them, Christ is alive, and He is both of them . . . . just like He predicted of Himself, and that means he is no longer sacrificed, but lives on in the lovers . . . . as they live in Him, One is four and four is One. It was a matter of faith, the faith to believe in what lived in her own mind, to realize the fantasy was given because its sensations were more real than any love she had known. It was because there was Glass she could trust this, enough, perhaps only this once . . . Lovely Susan is writing God’s name on the blackboard (she missed a letter but you must give some leeway to reality), YWH, so you of letters will see, she did miss an H. This of course is God’s most ancient name, the true spelling of Jehovah, how the Hebrews would spell it . . . Like I said, she’d put the Name in a quadrant, in diagonal with two ones, like so: YWH | One ___________ One | YWH. And already June cannot help herself, she is collapsing in laughter. Susan insists she is talking about the correlation coefficient. June, who’s real name is Ray, laughs harder. The letter representing this coefficient is of course, ‘r’. . . . and ‘r’ ‘is a measure of the strength of a linear relation between 2 variables’. In this YWH represents ‘the perfect linear relationship, a continuous positive upswing that doesn’t end . . . .’ what else would He be? YWH tells us, ‘if A+B are good friends, then B+A are good friends’, YWH=1 means there is a strong linear relation between the two variables. rWH is in fact a weak linear relationship, a reflection . . . Susan breaks completely out of form, turning on Ray with ‘I don’t have to tell you any of this, do I? You already know it for yourself!’ Ray laughs harder. Susan asks, ‘What happens when the co-relation co-efficient is Zero?’ r=0 goes up on the board. Well, we all lose the contest, laughs Ray. We’re all Zero, aren’t we? And in losing, we win . . . Then Susan goes on to declare her favorite context in Math . . . . what does it really mean when r=0? ‘Everyone assumes there is no relation, but that does not necessarily mean there is none, It may be that the rise and fall work simultaneously to cancel each other out, and what you may have then, is the perfect non-linear relationship . . . .’ Susan’s favorite context in Math. r=0 does not mean they are non-related, it means you can use one variable to predict the other . . . . it means there is a perfect relationship in which the positive and the negative cycles cancel each other out – a perfect semi-circle. And Ray ends up in her own territories once again. Ray thinks in shapes three dimensionally through time with her third eye. It is how she is one with them all, all the ones who give her names. Don’t talk to Ray about circles, semi-circles. You’ll end up in rather deep territory. Ray is her short name; her real names are Rahab and Rachel. These names perfectly interpret the reality that is June. Rahab is considered one of the three most faithful figures in the Bible. She is much more than that. She represents the first entry of a Gentile into the nation of God, in other words the first incorporation that was based on faith in God rather than inclusion by genetics. As such she represents the first advent of Christianity within Judaism, the liberation of belief from nationhood and bigotry. She was also ancestress to King David, and hence Christ. Her name carries much darker connotations, for if you review her story you will find she is labeled both as an innkeeper and a whore. (You will always be my whore.) Heavy handle to go through a Catholic private school with. Imagine! You can just picture it . . Rahab becomes even darker, literally translated it means ‘chaos’, its first use this way is in the six days of creation. It is told that after God created the waters He had to tame them, he had to tame Rahab, chaos herself. History was repeated when Ray drowned herself in the universal unconscious sea. Once again God tamed the waters, ensured she would not drown in the storm. Rachel means beloved. She was the second wife of Jacob, forefather of Israel, God’s nation. Jacob laboured for her hand for fourteen years. Her first child died. She died giving birth to her second child; the same as June lost her spiritual children, who all believed her to be dead, when she drowned herself in the sea. This is the truth behind June’s real names. Names other singers have used for June: Echo. Elise. Catharine, Catharine de Barra. Lemon. Mary. Maria. Patty. Summer. Leah. Joy (twice). Lucy (about four times – see ‘Not Wanted on the Voyage’ by Timothy Findlay). Jackie Blue (Ok, I won’t touch any more of Corgan’s names). Cvalda. Issobelle. Black Dove. Grace. Salomé (how could I forget) Joan of Arc. Honey (Honey’s Dead). Star (when it’s used, formally, as a name, I mention it). Spider or Spider Web – rare. Darla Hood, Porcelain, Sally, Sister Ray, Pearl. Sister Blue. Natacha. Flutter Girl. Moonchild. Voodoo Lady. Baby Universal . Anyway, the list of all the artists who are singing about June is a lot, lot more extensive, enough to make your head bleed . . . here they are, in no particular order, if it was an album, or a song, in particular, I list it but I am not listing everything here by any stretch, let’s see if I can come up with 60 like I claimed: Tom Petty – mainly with ‘Echo’–10/15 songs – Tom knows about Glass. The Charlatans – multiple albums, particularly ‘Us and Us Only’ scattered and too extensive to get into, but some very key points. Nick Cave – the unmentionable- no clues will be given – he doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about anyway! Soundgarden – this was loose, indeterminate, but Chris Cornell –‘Euphoria Morning’ is not. Love & Rockets – most definitely- particularly with ‘Sweet F.A.’ but also ‘Hot Trip to Heaven’. The Cult – yes indeed - this should not be a surprise, folks, particularly. Ian Astbury’s new release – Fire/Light/ Speed’- yep, that one’s dead on. The Stone Roses – ‘Let me put you in the picture, let me show you what I mean, The messiah is my sister, ain’t no king man, she’s my queen’ You were expecting anything less??? So of course, Ian Brown – continued on that particular tangent on his own, witness ‘Love Like a Fountain’ from ‘Golden Greats’ – I’d say 7/10 songs. The Waterboys – this was, of course, ‘Dream Harder’ – this was when June and her family lived out in the rainforest – hence the song ‘Wonders of Lewis’ – Lewis of course being June’s father’s middle name, this brings us to . . .Mike Scott – in particular, the song ‘Love Anyway’, there ye go. Then we have Bjork – have no intention of divulging, we leave this pixie to herself. Then we have REM – this in particular was ‘UP’ -8/14 songs– ‘I ate the Lotus’ will not divulge any further here either. David Bowie – we leave to himself, he’s not involved, except for one freaky reference – ‘Patty, who’s been wearing Randy’s clothes?’ –which is freaky for June because that is her father’s first name. Tin Machine – ‘Baby Universal’. The Cure – only in an arch-typical way. The Jesus & Mary Chain – are exactly what their name says they are, they resurrected June, by naming her by her real name, Sister Ray. They have known her through the darkest places, known her since ‘Honey’s Dead’ and beyond. Madonna – Madonna can always catch a trend. The Rolling Stones – yes indeed I am not kidding. June has flavors for everyone. Recall ‘Like a thief in the night’ – I leave the rest to conjecture. Tori Amos – yes. With ‘Songs from the Choirgirl Hotel’. Radiohead – only recently. Live – yes. Watch out. ‘The Distance to Here’ is loaded. Poe – 7/11 songs. Sister power. Poe knows June’s father’s incarnate name, knows Saturnine destroyed her and how much this hurt Glass. Verve – indecipherable. This surprises you? Hardly worth the assertion but there you go. The Tragically Hip – This is open to debate but a real possibility as of late. Forgive me if I’m stepping on anybody’s toes. The Tea Party – also too loose to get into. Sons of Freedom – live up to their name, local lads I like them a lot, but once again this is purely common belief, not details about June in particular. Blur – hardly involved. One song maybe. Oasis – Up past their necks in case you haven’t noticed. June takes all comers. World Party – Yes, a little before they disappeared. U2 – actually this is all Bono’s fault from day one. ‘Achtung Baby’ – BOOM. Really, it is all his fault. correspondence here goes back fifteen years, further than it does with anyone else, other than the Mode. Depeche Mode – what a surprise. The tried and true, like old friends. Particularly this happened with ‘Songs of Faith and Devotion’ -7/11 songs related to June. Spacehog – Well yes, on ‘Resident Alien’. Think ‘In the Meantime’. They also called her Lucy. ‘she gave me a call so I gave her a smile when I asked her my love what should I dial? she said zero, zero, zero, zero, zero’. Red Hot Chili Peppers – Loose, very loose, not worth debating over, but they got on the train with ‘Californication’. Sorry to gatecrash your party. Collective Soul – What would you expect from the spawn of a Baptist preacher, anyway? Yes, they’re in. Any more parties I can ruin? Oh, yes. Jane Siberry – in the most sacred, most universal, and beautiful of ways. Moby – now I’m really wrecking the party. But this only happened once or twice; Moby could never be converted. Nine Inch Nails – The Fragile. Period. That’s it. Don’t blame me for the destruction of sacred cows. PJ Harvey – I hope she can forgive me. Tricky – only once or twice not worth a mention. Enigma – very loose. The Doors – don’t mention the dead. Primal Scream – hostile advocate, not worth asserting either. Common philosophy rather. Jah Wobble’s Invader’s of the Heart – it’s just a common philosophical type thang. New Radicals – how could I forget Gregg? ‘Mother, We just can’t get enough’. 54:40 – only on the album ‘Since When’ and that was probably an accident. The Wallflowers – ‘One Headlight’. That’s pretty much it. Sloan – loose. Hum – once or twice. Semisonic – I’m afraid so. Definitely. Hurricane #1 – once or twice. Terence Trent D’Arby – one song. INXS – one song, perhaps. Nirvana – will not invade the dead. Refuse to declare. The Mission – only once. The Black Crowes – only once, and loosely. Massive Attack? – it’s only a question. I see I didn’t live up to my claim, there’s only 57, I apologize for exaggerating, seeing as that is as broad as I can possibly make it, the list. Grasping for straws. But I’m sure there must be more that I am completely unaware of . . . . As for which of these I’m prepared to discuss, well, feel free to ask any questions you like, but just to save you time the correspondence runs highest with the Mode, U2, our favorite The SP, PJ Harvey, Jesus & Mary Chain, Tom Petty, and REM . . . If this is insulting for people to know, well then I apologize, but at least you can get an idea there’s a whole ‘nother dimension out there . . . . that the picture is Big, really Big, and that no one has a handle, or control, over it . . . . not here or anywhere . . . . Just be thankful I didn’t ******* any movies, cuz I could, there are several . . . and those would put me up past 60, like I said . . . Also I should point out this is in no way a grading of musicians or of their work, the point is that inspiration is rendered in all forms, at any level, has no discretion, and can never be harnessed . . . .
MYSTERY OF MACHINA Pt. 5
The Dream and the Psychic THE DREAM It was a dream from my journal, dated Feb. 7th, 1999. It demonstrates just how important the journal was; I would have never remembered this. I hadn't. I was totally shocked to read it. "So I had awesome dreams again all of last night. I'm always having awesome dreams these nights. Last night, I can barely remember, but I was with [ ], we were before a lot of people but it wasn't a stage. I was sitting near him but my features were changed; they were considerably prettier. I had an unnatural, deep rose blush at the height of my cheeks, a longer narrower face, and the starkness was amplified; I was Snow White, in white, with jet ebony shining hair in long curls and pale, pale skin. I had an arch-typical name, I was his Rose Girl, and he was going to tell them about me finally, now that he'd met me." "with all i'd asked and all i'd pray the last rose of summer would stay" Speed Kills (Corgan) Now I know you can hardly believe I had that dream, if you even take dreams as having merit. But it is in my journal, and that section of the journal is un-modified since April 1999. It hasn't been touched since then. My journal that covers that date, and stands un-modified since April 1999. The 'last modification date' is there to prove it. The thing is that in reading the dream, I realized that feature wise I had looked more like Yelena in the video, than I had looked like myself, petite, heavily made up, I'd been done up in the same costume. I practically doubled over in shock at the recall. Of course the singer wasn't Corgan, but that's irrelevant in terms of the universal awareness. In terms of the universal, he was heavily symbolic, which is usually how my dreams with linked members apply. This singer was the first indication I'd had that the redemption had succeeded universally. THE PSYCHIC The Psychic who roams the streets of Dublin is a very brave man. The reason I say this is because he lives in deliberate poverty, his chosen condition, like Francis of Assisi might. He does this to retain his sense of identity with the poor and homeless. He rides this edge very closely. But I believe it is his choice of lifestyle. Which makes him much braver than myself, for my chosen condition is within the realms of common comfort. It is very ironic to be told by such a one that you are the salt of the earth, earth¡¦s suffering met in your tears. For he suffers much more than you ever would. Remember that some choose. They choose their level of living rather than aspire. They do this because that way they will not be contaminated by the society they were born into. In this the psychic and I had common identity. It is time, Billy, to meet your 'Bullet with Butterfly Wings'. The bullet with butterfly wings is exactly true. Meet my protagonist, Aoreth, my wee fairy femme, her of my little story. The one who felt into him, entered an unspoken troth. She's a sylph that's been transmuted into a human. Her wings, when she had them, were gossamer, akin to a butterfly's. Let me take you to my third encounter with the psychic, on the streets in Temple Bar. The psychic is dancing and mad tonight, traipsing about to the buskers with his cane. Said he hoped to see me today, he'd found me a gift, knew he would see me. He danced up to my eyes with the disclaimer, "You have a light there, a special one. Where'd you get that light? And don't tell me it came from your parents!" He chortled."No, it didn't." "I'm going to tell you about your love." "How do you know about my love?" "You told me with your eyes that night in the Square." (I knew the moment. I had. They'd shot clean through with the pain. That was after Christmas.) "You will be with him. God wants you to be with him. God wants you to be happy!" "Really." (At this point I doubt it.) "So, if you know him, tell me his name." "What! Do you want me to pop right into a belly button!" More waltzing on the cobbles in accompaniment to his cane. More people looking askance wondering if he's mad. I'm right in my element. But not. Nothing has changed much. Affirmation in common reality comes from the fringe, when I am not really the fringe. "He needs you more than you need him. He wants you more." Cha-ching! "That's not true. I know why he thinks that, but it's not true. I need him just as much." "You will have to wait for him to come to you." Boom! -He ends every statement with an exclamatory as if he's making hits in a game of Battleship. It was amusing . . . "I know that. That's all I can do." (The delivery had happened in London.) "You will get a postcard from him next week." I told him, bluntly, that this was impossible, (wrong medium), besides he didn't know I was here, in Dublin. At least I didn't think he did. It was still the wrong medium. It turned out he was right, if not on the missive; it was the video, 'Stand Inside Your Love', that came the next week. "He wants to come here." I retorted that was impossible. The last of the reasons he was coming, purportedly (there were three, and I forgot two), was 'to be with his lady love.' The other thing he added was, "You have wings. You should make yourself a pair of wings and wear them out, all the time. But they're not feathers; they're like a butterfly's.""Of course," I answered. They're Aoreth's wings, my wee fairy femme's. I'd designed them myself. There was one last thing, he said, "Your lucky number is four." -No shit? I already knew that, and it wasn't just the four proofs, or the fourth one. Four just kept coming up and up. Oh, yes, he speculated I'd be the first female pope. I told him no way. Even a blooming psychic just tells me things I already know. What he gave me was a key chain. It had the name 'Pamela' on it. "Pamela means 'all honey'. She is a true lady; soothing, lovely, engaging, both sweet tempered and explosive. A parcel of dynamite." That is what it said. I laughed uproariously. 'Honey's Dead', I thought. So the psychic said for my pseudonym I should call myself Pamela. I responded Pamela William. Really it should be Pamela Williams. The two points of resolution for both patterns, redemption and the marriage, both were named William. Isn't that funny? I don't believe him, the psychic. Aoreth is in MACHINA MYSTERY PT.3 Oh, and I don't believe the dream, either. It's like Billy said, Now I belong to everyone. That's all there is.
MYSTERY OF MACHINA Pt. 6
Stand Inside Your Love, Through the eyes of June life travels faster than sound . . .’ To understand June’s prison you must understand one thing, the nature of her jailer. For the sake of this discourse he shall be named Saturnine, it’s just one of those happy accidents. It is not intended to refer to the song per se. June’s upbringing was like a goldfish in a fishbowl. It was a very totalitarian fishbowl. You have to imagine, and I’m sure this just can’t seem real, that there was a figure in June’s life, Saturnine, who was all encompassing. He controlled so many roles in her life that he defined her existence. That was the prison. He was the sun. She was in orbit. To her he was more than father, he was priest, ruler, lover, shepherd, judge, and finally executor. But on that last point June reneged. She set herself free. Saturnine’s was the Red Right Hand. Only fitting, isn’t it?!? The King in the video, June knows very well. That’s her Saturnine. Here is June’s version: This song may address anyone and no one, it is general, but let me point out this: Upon my departure (and he does refer to her traveling), I had rested a huge supposition based on the circumstance, which (as per usual) is not apparent to anyone but me. On the basis that I assume Saturnine’s calling is veritable, and he had forbidden my departure by command, I was facing a damnable charge of high treason against a prophet/king. (The fences one places to keep the striplings in line!) Saturnine’s actual words were, ‘As your king, I forbid you to leave. (–You know what this means.)’ My mother had come to my home and gone down on her knees, begging me not to go. She said I could destroy the entire kingdom if I went against this command. I nearly screamed at this. (In fact I did once I was out of hearing, because I had lost my mother. I screamed because once again God had faced me with damnation in either outcome.) In turn I had told her that I could lose the kingdom if I didn’t go, that in fact it could be eternal love I’d be losing. I had a body of reasoning that stood against Saturnine’s edict, but it hadn’t been verified tangibly in any way; my departure was an attempt to verify it tangibly. In effect disobeying my Saturnine’s command was consciously placing absolute faith in my body of reasoning, which centered around the redemption and affirmation of the Divine injunction. Saturnine had stated that whomever I joined; I would be joining the devil. Not only did I have to be able to support that this was not, in fact, true, but seeing as he implied their damnation by my association to them, I had to protect them against that as well. However when I left, I was relying on a shortcut: getting affirmation of the original mutual divine injunction would automatically undermine my Saturnine’s threat. On the other hand due to the redemption I knew that my love had indeed created a loophole at a level that afforded the injunction definition protection in complete sanctity. I’d declared that by embracing the collective as the fulfillment of the Divine injunction they would be protected from his judgement. I’d realized that I had the biggest loophole extant; even if Saturnine was correct about his claim, and was who he said he was, he could not keep you from fulfilling a Divine injunction. My injunction had precedence, and I should be given the latitude to consider and realize it. You can see why he must resort to asserting I am possessed, for he is aware of the original injunction and believes it was real. You see the whole point to this is that I never broke the rules, I never rejected my Saturnine’s calling, because given the potentialities, the stakes were such that I could not explore such risks in a context I felt was universal. I could not act in ways that placed people I thought were potentially linked to me at any potential risk. So for my escape from this prison, I used transcendence, not revolution. Something that risked no one, and was established by love alone. (The perfect altruism that constitutes redemption.) I was certain my love exercised total protection; by my departure I had staked my absolute belief in that protection, without the benefit of any tangible evidence, on faith alone. Corgan’s response, then, could be taken as an acknowledgement, and in fact I had expected him to be aware of this (based on the premise of if I was right about this, and him), because with respects to my Saturnine’s accusation he would be a devil, in effect, immediately damned upon my arrival. Hence he specifically needed this protection. Not only that, but his address was couched with the understanding that he had stood among many, (who wouldn’t be the one), and that was also an acknowledgement I expected from him, for his awareness of them had been the final keystone that secured my choice of him. I also expected him to have been reborn, in the same manner as Trent had portrayed with himself, by having been joined. And in this declaration, he was. As I had chosen Billy irrevocably, he had answered belatedly in kind. I had also expected that it dealt in the potential of forever, I’d made the proposal myself. In fact it wasn’t the song that signified, it was the video, which was a corker. It was an epic scale mini drama with gothic horror overtones. That it made airplay much at all was based purely on his artistic clout. It looks like a circus freak show, and for most of the public, that’s what it was. The video revolves around them both, her and him. Throughout the entire video, she is all in white and he is all in black. The opening statement was, ‘The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death.’ Oscar Wilde It begins with her submerged in a bath of black ink water; she weeps a solitary tear at her isolation. He is on a plateau above her but she is unaware of him, she cannot sense him at all. But when he drops down a leaf, she catches it and enjoys the gift. My whole complaint inside The S.P. was that I had achieved everything beyond my senses, that I couldn’t actually sense him at all, the only awareness I had of him was in the songs coming back. (Hence a tangible missive, a leaf.) When her hands rise above the black water, it is revealed she is chained at the wrists by massive iron manacles. She is imprisoned. My journal entries in December ‘98 were the first time I’d ever acknowledged this. I referred to another video that alluded to it years before because it conveyed the harshness so aptly (it was by someone else who was linked). It was a visual I’d never been able to accept until after I was released. In the previous video a woman robed in white was portrayed as being manacled, hand and foot, to a throne, and the band members were portrayed as being trapped there too in the same way. I wrote that I now knew why. It was based on the implications of my Saturnine’s claim; it was his throne I had been chained to, and the absolutes generated from that confined them as well, just as I wrote above, he’d threatened them too. December it was too that I wrote, I have escaped. The women from both of these videos had black hair and were robed in white. This one, it so happened, had the same long curly hair that I do; it was not naturally hers. There is a lot of background to the white robe, but this one is too convoluted to get into. What is mind-blowing about it, was that it was linked directly to fulfillment with Corgan, and this video. The next visual from Stand Inside Your Love was truly shocking. It showed Corgan staring up, nigh in supplication, at a rising full moon. Her face appears in it. Then moon turns blood red. My God, the man picks up on the details. He knew about shift to the red moon. But this is the level of correspondence I expect, that must be there if this is true. I’ll see you again when the stars fall from the sky, and the moon turns red – Bono wrote that in 1987. In Bono’s nomenclature, ‘Star’ had just fallen from the sky. The moon had rose red when I crossed the Arctic. The next visual was even worse; it showed her silhouette dancing behind a cloth, which had been my weekend job at the nightclub before I left. I was a silhouette dancer, believe it or not. It’s in the journal. Christ, she’s the dancer too. Then there was, lest we forget, the scene of staring into a mirror darkly, and his appearance behind it, their shocked recognition of each other. But it was the final scene that will blow you head. It’s befitting for Salome; Salome was an epithet that both my father and Bono utilized, it ties into a dangerous archetype for me. My father used it as an invocation of betrayal. Throughout the final scene Corgan is viewing her one step removed, through an inter- dimensional portal. He is not present in the room. The removed sense of awareness rings true. A woman drapes herself over him and he shies away, repulsed. His entire interest is in the dancer alone. The woman in white is dancing in a king’s court, but it is a sham court. The ‘king’ is slovenly, indulgent, and under-dressed. The throne he ascends to is really an ornate toilet, a pun on words. But the courtiers are fawning. It’s the same sort of circle that surrounds my family to some degree. They do call him ‘Your Majesty’. When she enters the court and begins dancing, the court acolytes descend into hushed awe. They’d drink her lifeblood if they could. It is the same sense, pretty much, that there can be when I go to the clubs, when I was a dancer there. They sense it. Fortunately there is this buffer around me that hardly any one will enter. In the court the king is beside himself and can only stare. That she is his possession is implied by Corgan’s entry into the scene. They all wonder at his entry, obviously the stranger, but none are anymore perplexed than herself. She stops in her dance and stares. There is a sense of recognition but at the same time she is wondering why he’s there at all. They know each other, but everyone else in the court is mystified; they don’t have a clue. The king, however, appears displeased, and the sham courtiers descend on the encounter like the carrion still has juice. She still cannot see why. When he approaches she lifts her head and cries out in pain. She is drawing herself up, raising her arms. You could say she has no idea how the encounter may turn, but the truth lying behind the realities scares her a great deal. When he arrives at her feet, and goes down on his knees, she was no more shocked than I was. She was appalled he was on his knees and so was I. So was the court, drawing back in shock. He reaches down and she is astonished. Then he kisses her foot, which he’d lifted, revealing the manacle that chained her, but is now loosed. She is already free when he touches her. It was the ‘king’s’ reaction to this, in my context, which is the most striking. The moment Corgan touches her, the king’s face blackens and he lifts his hand, as if reflexively invoking an edict. The camera focuses on the ring on his finger; it is a skull ring. Death is invoked for the stranger who touches her. It was the same with my father. From the moment of the inception of the universal awareness I sensed that this reflex was present, it had been hanging over me like an axe from the very beginning. And I knew that if ever there lay anyone on the other side, that reflex would gain its target, which had caused me to close myself internally, for their protection. I had to know absolutely that this edict was false before I’d come forward. That was the trap of the throne. I had not let them know about it, because if they knew, they would likely rebel, and I could not cause them to rebel. Corgan had gone through a period of profound rejection, not knowing why I had sealed myself off. It was really because he was my own prison. For his own protection I couldn’t even allow myself the possibility that he existed, for that would start the wheels grinding that supported the fulcrum to the axe. Before this happened I had to be absolutely sure the axe couldn’t kill him. I did not care what his perception of my action was; I could not, for that would engender revelation inside the awareness, and this would lead to accusations of tyranny. I figured either one would want to kill the other; such a contingency could not be allowed. There were potential dimensions to that potential war that could never be allowed. The wrong one could win. There wasn’t supposed to be a war, on any level. That the ‘king’s’ edict is powerless is conveyed by the final cut; it shows the two of them rising up into the sky, her in his arms. The hem of her robe is stained black. She came close enough the darkness that it marked her. But the message is clear, in this love lies transcendence (of death, even if it is the ‘king’s’ edict). My question is this: how could there possibly be anyone for whom the interpretation of this video is literal and direct, and applies to her life in its entirety?!? Who on the fucking globe has even had to deal in a sham court?!?
MYSTERY OF MACHINA Pt.7
‘Soul Power’ – ‘The Soul as Living Proof’ June did this once, she isolated her soul by transmitting through the sea of the universal unconscious, and having it re-arise in someone else. Actually there were quite a few individuals who picked up on this in some way or other. It is why there are songs, now, like ‘Grace’, by U2, and a host of others. June wrote about how she did this in a document she delivered to Glass in London, prior to the Machina release. She did this on purpose because she knew that if she delivered her document ahead of time, the lyrics would be so close that it would prove the link and her existence. She thinks it’s close enough, so she’s letting you check it out. She’s tried her best to compress it, she’s written more than thirty pages on it. THIS IS WHAT IT MEANS TO STEP OFF THE EDGE The Sanctification Principle Revised. I awoke as a mote awareness in a void sailing a course through infinity. I recognized there were other motes. I’d shifted the path by coming awake and by reaching the other motes, expanding my own universal awareness in the void. Because it was void it was like becoming your own universe. I woke up at home and the capsule awareness opened up inside. When I arrived it was the Kingdom of Heaven for the first time, I realized this was the big one, and started tabulating real quick, who all’s here? Well, let’s start a list, in fact, assuming this consciousness is real beyond your perception, let’s expand it and make it anyone who can potentially sense and access this state, OK? –Got it. Now let’s expand this awareness as far as it can possibly go. Now what you’ve expanded, here, is your own perception of heaven, right now, you’ve expanded your awareness (soul) so it’s very, very big. So what you’re doing, is you’ve encapsulated their souls in your own awareness in such a way that their soul is substituted into your own sanctified state, so they can see it. (They is an assumption of whoever, you’re believing and operating on an assumption of what you can’t even sense, you don’t even know if anyone’s actually there.) Sister Blue stay away from me, there’s so many now that I can’t see. Love & Rockets ('96) All this was performed almost automatically. You see I'd been thinking in terms of this awareness existing for nearly three years now. I'd conceived of it as a consciousness already at the acid stadium gig with the medium in November 1992. That was where I made my first attempt. By now I had a number of people who I believed had accessed that consciousness. This wasn't an attempt; it was an arrival with all my preconceptions assumed and in place. Saturnine turned his back on this awareness; he could not trust it. He growled under his breath, Well, we shall see. And proceeded to destroy me. In the course of this dismemberment Saturnine faced me with the Gates of Hell, and things just went downhill from there. I'd never experienced such psychic pain in my entire existence, and never shall again. It was so bad and so totally isolating that my response to it was, so this is what it is like (to be crucified). The thing was, I was trapped, because I had already spawned my expanded, pristine consciousness inside. I'd tried to connect it to an unlimited potential number of people, in terms of space I'd tried to expand it past the furthest depths, past everyone. My entire function in existence was preserving my internal awareness so that it was completely pristine, so none of the souls that might have been inside my awareness were touched at all. And I did that no matter what (Feel the Quiet River Rage – Live). Things got worse, much worse. Then I saw the future; I saw a number of things. What I saw in the future was so bad that I’d rather kill my consciousness than live. Basically in that space I made a number of significant conclusions, the first one being that in order to avoid that future, I was going to have to sever myself out of it completely, which meant cutting one's self out of the present. I decided I’d rather die to my consciousness inside my head, then face the possibility of entering a schism, or becoming false. What dawned on me here, was that there was only one way out of this question. This consciousness I’m developing, which can be so scary in its implications, there’s just one way to know where it’s coming from, whether it’s self, or it’s beyond self. You have to cut it off yourself. You have to see if it can come back all by itself, without your involvement in any way. The only way I could step off the edge, and survive, was if I reduced myself solely to the depths of the expansion my own consciousness had achieved, and then rose through accessing others. I had to believe totally in my own inherent purity, and have no fear. In order for my faith in my own restoration to have redemptive capacity at all, it had to be total. There could be no other recourses left open for me. Isolation, on principle, had to be complete. If it weren’t complete, you wouldn’t actually be stepping of the edge now would you? This edge had to be real for faith to be absolute. For redemption to exist as a real possibility, faith must be absolute and abnegation complete. The same was true if I was to discover whether the awareness existed beyond me, that it was sustained beyond me in others and in God. The only way to perceive that, was complete abnegation and disassociation. If the union had repository in God, it would survive. I was acting on the faith that the body would be completely restored if it was supposed to be. Redemption meant abnegating your consciousness completely so that it was reduced solely into a potential, the potential that this awareness had accessed and transformed souls as far as the furthest depths. If it could accomplish that and was solely defined by that transformation alone, then we would then have no uncertainty as to the purity of the body’s inception. I realized by the act of severance that I would look like I had cut the thing out at the roots just when it had started breathing. I’d look like I'd killed it. In order to separate completely, successfully, I’d have to assume that perception of me. So then the thing I’d preserved against everything that had happened to me, my belief in my linked consciousness and those within it, they were going to see me as bad too. That was the final extermination of my self-identity in perception. Nothing hurt me more on this trip than the realization that what I was going to do was going to be perceived as severance. It was going to hurt whoever was linked to me in the heavenly context. (Tear) I don’t do anything halfway. If the only way I was going to come through was via transformation, then everything else got cut. The irony being that I knew this was the only way this awareness had to survive. I made these conclusions, and then it was like letting the blade fall. I cut it. With that all perceptual awareness of what I believed of myself was exterminated. It's more refined and far reaching than dying, because you can't even perceive, or thereby define, what you did to yourself, so how can you determine a way 'back'? It was forever. Because there was no way back that I could perceive. Because the whole point, was not being able to perceive a way back. That’s what complete disassociation in your own perception means. Mother, I carried myself up the mountain, in my own arms. And five men came out . . . Jane Siberry, Oh My My.There are five of you with common references to this particular event. They refer to it as a car crash, or a plane crash. A number of them, and others, were aware of my own perception in this context that I was ‘dead’. Or damned. Or that I was so far gone they couldn't find me at all. (Where has you heart gone to? -Tear) You pretty much hit the nail on the head when in reference to the ‘motorcrash’ you said, heaven is to blame for taking you away (Tear). Of course you’d sorta hit the nail before, with love is suicide. Of course you sorta do that a lot. Since then I’ve got someone with a bug’s eye objective view, who calls it a plane crash, and recognises that I did pull it off, which was nice. (Mike Scott – Love Anyway) What he saw was the other point, that it set the whole thing free of all the apparent risks. If you do this the whole world will not explode. The implications were writ large. I like Depeche Mode’s version, which would hardly appear related except in my own context. The song is It’s Only When I Lose Myself. Seeing as this was the event where I lost myself, (and was found, eventually, in someone else, -which is the lyric, it's only when I lose myself in someone else that I find myself), it hits especial aptitude that the video shows a series of cars in ordered dismemberment. Execs laughing in euphoria beside the artful arrangement of their broken car. Car crash indeed. That’s the difference between an accident, and an assumed death. It’s a lot less messy. We will all be laughing beside the ‘wreck’. When I really knew I’d done it was when Jesus & Mary Chain showed up with degenerate. They called it a car crash too, I did the car crash, she did the car crash, we did the car crash. I said the police, I kissed the police, I killed the policeman. My mother killed my darkened soul, my mother killed my darkened soul, my mother lit my darkened soul. I was the bad scene, I was the bad gene, I was the bad dream. My lover touched my darkened soul, my lover touched my darkened soul, my lover lit my darkened soul. And now I know just where it goes. The song fit completely the dynamics I’d tried to apply to the collective awareness that night in an attempt to give vantage to Heaven, before Saturnine annihilated me. It helps, too, that they mentioned my short name, which I use in company, elsewhere (stardust remedy), as in I was lost but now I know I’m found, I don’t need no rainy day, all I really need is Sister Ray, which admittedly they could have come up with otherwise. This singular pattern between myself and The Chain was my baseline, upon which the whole redemption rested. The bargain I could not bend. Mother typifies the redemptive process, and Lover typifies the marriage process. (Check out Gregg Alexander's Mother, We Just Can't Get Enough; he does exactly the same thing.) I performed functions on the trip, I ‘killed’ their souls by disassociating completely (they were a part of me and they ‘died’ with me), then lit them by encapsulating them in the pristine awareness (the isolate potential). So the beauty of this is that it was an open construct, which only worked if they themselves perceived it, on the inside, as recovering their souls. It was pretty scary (fucking understatement that), to step off the edge, knowing it would only work if they themselves perceived it as such, and you couldn’t sense them at all. Didn’t even know if they were there, other than having the faith that the union in the unconscious was real. Besides, how do you know if it would work for them, something you’d devised inside your head? And what if it just ended up in the empty nether? The thing was, the link, at this point, was completely unproven and I knew it. Try to imagine being cornered in such a manner that you were forced to put absolute faith in the existence of something you regarded as a potential reality, a level below possible reality. It would become a reality by the act itself, or prove itself non-existent. Imagine staking your whole belief in your consciousness, even your sanctity and redemption, on its existence in that context. I don’t know if you can imagine the terror of entering this rationally while simultaneously being judged out of existence. The urgency of ‘Now’. Acting in terms of potentials, means acting in terms of what you think may be happening outside of your perceived existence, (and in terms of potential outcomes), on the assumption that awareness can act beyond perception, and in fact reach other perceptions. Those were the realms I was playing in, and those realms are, by definition, beyond life. Now we know there is existence beyond our perception, outside life, seeing as we can transmit there. Which means there is existence beyond humanity. Which verifies the potential of existence beyond death. Those were pretty steep demands I placed on my own existence, the involvement of the God consciousness, and redemptive transformation. Since we’re dealing with the transmission of a process between completely separate persons, and yet this process was perceived as one and the same, we can establish it was achieved outside of environmental inducements. That there was transmission of an active process from its progenitor, to a recipient, and yet despite the process had the same definition in both participants establishes that the definition exists beyond any human inducements or conceptions. Neither of us made this up on either side of the equation, yet it was common and real for both. Essentially we achieved common perception beyond our respective perceptions, beyond human perception itself. How can the same perception transmit beyond either party’s perception? And if it does, doesn’t that veritably establish it’s real, above and beyond any form of communication? And if you can pull that off without communicating, doesn’t that establish its reality beyond how events were construed? I mean if you achieve transmission of an active belief, beyond all perceived modes of transmission, that means all the accoutrements of perception did not transmit; no one was assuming, or being affected, by anyone’s point of view. The awareness transmitted beyond perception; hence it was purely awareness. Hence there is no way to argue that the awareness was humanly induced. Hence there is no way to argue that it was assumed. Hence there is no way to argue it was false. Having put the entire awareness through redemption, and having had elements of the body respond to this as I’d projected, means that even whether the beginning was in response to false environmental conditions the fact that I reacted in terms of its being real makes it real via redemption. This is the trick to complete disassociation. It was solely my own awareness that transmitted, it was not contingent on anyone else for its existence. It’s a paradox though, because what you’ve come through is someone’s perception of his or her own reception of grace via the unconscious. It is this transmission that makes it real. When I stepped off the brink, what I really was doing was taking the step of defining this collective awareness as a self-determining body, beyond myself. The people who were born again were people I’d already recognized as potentially part of the body, who considered themselves beyond grace. The fact that they underwent transformation in the absence of my involvement (I was ‘dead’) means it was their free will choice. This means that the body is capable of defining itself. They defined their own restoration. This means the body is capable of seeking and attaining personal definition, a unified constitution. It also means they are active in defining it. The fact that it is capable of actively defining itself means I can embrace it as a collective. Hence I can apply the injunction as I see it; I'm free to institute it according to my original intent, seeing as it became contingent, solely, upon the transmission of my awareness. I apply the marriage to the collective. Perhaps I haven’t made it clear, the union. The union was the All. I defined it as a universal marriage, if that be possible. This is what had conceived itself in 1992, between two individuals who received separate commands about a marriage, which he said was ‘you, ourself, and I, everlasting love’. ‘Ourself’ was the All. It was an unlimited potential that embraced potentially anyone who could sense it; they chose themselves. There is an analogy for this in Christian belief: it is the marriage of The Bride and The Lamb, Christ and The Church, where Christ exists in all as the Body. That is where the definition for the marriage pattern came from. Originally the marriage had been something tangible, for me, but it had transformed into this abstraction which was undefined. Now it was a common universal awareness in the unconscious, established in love via the redemption. The redemption had proven the abstraction was real, one could exist as an awareness in other people that affected them tangibly in love. This apparently over the top declaration of the S.P. is not simply a pie in the sky horn toot, in fact it is indicated by the circumstances. I am in them and part of them to the point that they acknowledge I am there; it’s in the words already. (And did I feel you deep inside, I tried and tried and tried and tried, and didn’t I feel you deep, The Jesus and Mary Chain, I can’t find the time for times. So too said Live. So too said The Charlatans and Trent, and these are not the only ones.) I am one with them to the point where they even assume my voice. (This is no where more apparent than with Corgan. Not only had he declared in an interview that he didn’t think male bands could cover a number of his songs because in them he felt he was assuming a feminine voice, this time he was inside my state of mind so far it was as if I wasn’t there at all, because he’d assumed my awareness so completely. And then he added, here we are still trading places . . . and that he’d discovered he was just humming someone else’s favorite song!) It’s a union that defines itself by existing as a common awareness, and that common awareness was verified as a sublimation of my awareness, when it became common without being transposed (the redemption). All of this traces back to a basic, internally made assumption, that there could be a universal awareness based in the universal unconscious, based on a singular attempt, an attempt to form a universal marriage. The union as a universal marriage was what was chosen to realize. It was the only, natural consequence to me based on the evolution of the Divine injunction. Because it is responding, then, based on internal conceptions, to my reality, the only place it attains cohesion, where the links are all present, is inside my mind alone. Without the reality of my being, there is no unity to the ideas, there is no link at all. This is not an egotistical assumption; it is the reality of the interaction. Inside my mind I already think of myself as host to a world of interacting people, the invisible city, the web that joins its threads in my mind. Conversely, however, where is this actually taking place? It is taking place in the minds of other people thousands of miles away. They are treating my existence in their terms, responding how they see it, and they treat it in a host of different ways, some personal, some detailed, some not. The situation stands as this; it is whole inside my head, but exists entirely beyond my consciousness; it is occurring in removed facets around the globe. Yet their inspiration is either treatment of myself and my situation, or of common ideals, or else sometimes they even assume my voice and speak as I would. They’ve even put my thoughts in quote lines. The simple mechanics of the situation can be put quite plainly: It’s the same as being all in one and one in all. (‘all are you, you are all, all with you, you in all’ – Glass and the Ghost Children) I’d taken the liberty of labeling this awareness myself, as a universal marriage. (Seeing as that had been the form of its inception, that liberty was a given.) The basic mechanics are the same; marriage symbolizes two people becoming one body. I was not implying anything else from the tradition; it is a spiritual common awareness, existing as one, which the Christian tradition in fact alludes to. These were the mechanics I’d been using from the beginning. How you were supposed to generally relate inside that on an earthly plane struck me as a pickle, but obviously this was a marriage dynamic, that had been what was first commanded, that was what it had become in 1992, and that was what was being fulfilled, literally, at the spiritual level. It is the only way I thought of it. All in one and one in all is a universal marriage, analogous to The Church in Christ. There was an unspoken flip side implication in The S.P. document, which made it something like the dual edged sword of truth. All this tooting had to do with a singular moment, one where I’d stepped right off the edge, but the only edge I could designate under the circumstance was that it was like stepping off the edge of perception itself. (Thanksgiving, 1995.) Of course this seems pretty preposterous and impossible. Except that I knew the edge, and I knew what was below it. I knew what the ones below would cackle when I fell, that they’d crow now you know what it is, to be us. I could already sense it. For with that step I would lose all meaning and everything I believed in. And I knew I would only rise again based upon my own essential purity. And I knew that I was putting myself out so far, I’d be beyond the cacklers themselves. And I knew that if any one of those fallen was in fact elect, trapped in an endless perceptual cycle of destruction they could not unloose, the arrival of my aspect would break in like a shaft, provide a pristine vantage to a pure existence, what one had been, for I had just accessed a pristine reality that I saw as heaven. And I knew that the way I would rise, was when the trapped ones reacted to what they felt, and in turn acted in altruism to recover me. Through this vantage they would recognize an original perception of reality and themselves that they had lost. Which would only happen if I were right about them, that some were fallen too. And if I was correct about my own essential purity. So I placed absolute belief in them, and I placed absolute belief in myself. On the selfsame day where I wrote the nucleus to the above, that transmission beyond perception established its reality beyond any respective perception, I was greeted by an offering, the new release of Trent Reznor arrived on the shelves. I had been waiting for it a long time. Trent articulates the purest form of rebellion to the God order extant, the purest articulation of hate. Yet Trent was linked. His articulation of the arch-type (the feminine anointed/moon/June) was the complete inversion of the arch-type; he practically described her as the blood drinker of souls, putrescence itself. There was a full spectrum potential of response inside the psychic funhouse mirror, the feedback reflection. Trent was its most extreme deviance. As such Trent was the furthest indication of how far you could go. It was the transformation traced within The Fragile that let me know just how far I had gone. I had achieved common identity. I had fallen. I had gone past him. He knows I am beyond him. He responded precisely as I had projected. I really had stepped off that edge. So the day I wrote what the implication of stepping off that edge was, was the self-same day I received confirmation I had done it. Furthermore the implication I had written that day, what having done that accomplished, meant that Trent’s rendering of her as the vampire of souls was irrevocably false. It was only based on his perception. The purity of awareness inside ‘the Fragile’, was not. It inherently could have not transmitted, if it was false. If perception had in no way tainted the transmission, there was no way it was a false image of purity. I could not have contrived it as a deception, nor could I have been deluded, as that would have been part of my perception. (There’s no one in existence, in this instance, other that Trent, who would be more likely to assume falsity, or deception. That’s his accusation in itself, that she is wholly evil. It’s his entire perception of her. Therefore if that was his regard of her already, it’s pretty much impossible to think that he wouldn’t have assumed it, if it bore a shred of truth. If that’s his perception of her, what transpired to alter it, especially since he was deliberately joined in the depths? Why did he not retain his original perception, which was the totality of his belief? Why, if it were true, did the reality of the fallen not assimilate with the reflection?) In fact what had happened was just the opposite, the advent of my awareness caused him to respond as I’d projected, in true altruism, all he was capable of. As it had caused a transformation in him that was tangible, cleaved a totality of blackness with a shaft of light, it is manifestly impossible that his evil rendering of her could have any precedence over the light one. And that was the dual edged sword of the truth. Once it is an established truth, truth established by transmission beyond perception, it achieved a form of existence beyond all respective perceptions. All the opposing renderings become false. If they continue to perpetrate themselves in the face of the truth, they become lies, by which they shall be segregated, for they generate the most heinous of untruths of their own volition, in face of the light. I walked out of there laughing; ‘I’ve got your number.’ The real reason that altruism recovers him is not simply because it’s his act of selflessness, it’s because it confirms my faith in him, and my faith in stepping off the edge was absolute. This is not faith as belief; it is that selfsame faith utilized as a device. (How can you be said to exist in faith, if you are not prepared to act irrevocably on the basis of that faith?) That faith had proven true with respects to myself, because indeed it had resulted in the transformation of souls, (a potential I’d imagined possible. I’d attempted the ‘car crash’ as stood with J&MC, and had the ‘correct’ outcomes. So that faith had not been false.) I’d believed in Trent (in fact he’d been unnamed, it dealt with an open potential), with the same faith I’d believed in myself, and that faith asserted that some were fallen, not eternally damned, and could be recovered, and that these would respond with altruism. That Trent’s action fulfilled this potential of his own volition, without knowing what it was, verifies his potential to be saved, for it sprang from his own heart. By his own heart he establishes that he is what I defined him as. That is how I got his number. The song that follows ‘the Fragile’ is a beautiful soaring instrumental that just goes up and up and up. It is titled Just Like You Imagined . . . In redemption is captured the paradox between the orchestration of circumstances, the potentials, and yet complete autonomous free will. Those potentials were sent into a void of the senses, the empty nether, more invisible than the air. They were only received if they affected and were perceived as such. I’d danced with the dark one and won. The day he hit me with his entire arsenal, I had the refutation, I went out and wrote it; I’d already figured it out. That is why I walked out saying, ‘I’ve got your number.’ Once in 1994 when I was on an ill advised mushroom trip (the supplier was trying to seduce me, then I saw he had a pentagram tattooed over his heart – needless to say, the conversation was pretty damn heavy), I got asked what my essential ambition in existence was. I responded; I want to become the opposite without becoming the Devil. My interrogator laughed and said that was impossible. She who laughs last laughs best. What lengths did I go to, in order to prove this to myself, to find out whether the framework inducing my perception was real, or just my own transposition? There was one potential for restoration, the true test. A transposition would not be transformative; it would only propagate itself as a reflection, a mirror image. Which in this context, when I’d reduced myself, would have been the same as being rendered as darkness. If the dimensions I thought in had been delusional, and my conclusion about my ircumstantial environment, that it had damned me falsely, had been mistaken, I would be rendered in the black, or there would be nothing at all. The reflection would have been the same as disappearing into a mirror. I would have in no way affected the Chain, let alone affected them exactly as I had projected, if I was damned, if what was going on was an ego reflection. I was stripped of everything except my essential existence, self-belief in purity. An impure motive would have assimilated with its environment, it would have been called (just the way Trent called it), because that is where you were. (Everywhere else I’d vanished.) It could not alter people internally (cause them to be born again), or change their perception of you (cause Trent to produce two perceptions), nor could it affect multiple people differently, if my perception was just being assimilated. If Trent’s perception of you was real, it was the correct one; it would not have changed. I believed it was something more, that the connection was real, that it was emotional, that my motivation and essential existence was pure. I believed in this enough to stake my own salvation on this outcome. The connection had to exist for me to come back, my restoration would only happen if there was a universal consciousness. By this I may attest that my perception is real, not delusion, and not a magnified delusion. You can never tell me that I am somehow possessed, that something ‘out there’ is perpetrating and conceiving this awareness for evil purposes. Not when the sole transmitted dynamic was a redemptive, sanctifying dynamic, and it came back to me exactly how I’d designed it with my name on it. That’s how the mirror disappeared. It is not assimilation of a reflection because if it was, inherently ‘the reflection’ could not transform. If it had been a reflection that was happening inside them, assimilation, they would not alter. It is not based in my falsity or impurity because if it were, it would never have transformed them, the ones who considered themselves to be beyond grace, which was the range I deliberately isolated my potential existence to. And if I was deluded and there was no universal union, obviously this would have never transmitted successfully across the globe, exactly as I’d designed it. There’d have been no connection at all. I cut myself off and fell in the certainty I was not, in fact fallen, that I would meet Grace, having performed as grace. In fear for their own soul, no one else would dare. They’d assume they would just keep falling. They would never have the courage to jump; to believe that the construct they had set up was real in others. They would not accept the consequences of the fall on their existence, one way or the other, either Grace, or you deserved it. And that is my distinction, conscious entry into judgement, coupled with the conscious application of Grace. I was not groveling in the muck. I rose as I fell, to save my own fall. No one in history has ever saved her own deliberate fall, done it in an application of faith, to accept and escape total judgement. No one has ever accepted the full consequence of their existence as fallen and had the wherewithal to escape. Verily verily, I say unto thee, unless a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. John 3:3 I never declared my experience of the entry of Christ because this experience was internal, and thus entirely subjective, but Jesus and Mary Chain’s description of being born again, and ascribing this to Sister Ray, means its not (I Can’t Find the Time for Times). They would not have experienced being born again otherwise. In that instant Christ conferred provable sanctity to the Body, which is transcendent of time and place. In fact because Christ’s entry was at the apex where the redemptive dynamic was a transcending reality, it defines the collective itself, as His Body. It can even be inferred that the transformation itself is the breadth of the entry of Christ’s awareness, what made it His Body, what would make it a Church. The Sanctification Principle, Dec 19th 1999GLASS AND JUNE ARE FINISHED WITH CHESS, GLASS LETS JUNE WIN HE THINKS THAT’S BEST. JUNE’S PRIZE IS THE PIECES SHE CONSUMES PIECE BY PIECE, TAKING THEM INTO HER BODY, THE COLLECTIVE AT LEAST. THAT IS JUNE’S NAME FOR IT, THE COLLECTIVE, HER BODY, AND SHE TOLD GLASS AHEAD OF TIME JUST SO HE’D KNOW WHO SHE WAS. THE REASON SHE EATS THEM IS THEY’RE DESTROYING THE BOARD, SAME AS SATURNINE TRIED BUT WITH NARRY A WORD. THIS TIME THE BOARD WILL GO AND JUNE KNOWS THIS WELL, SHE’S SCARED BUT SHE UNDERSTANDS THE GAME IS FINISHED, IN HELL. THERE WILL BE NO MORE SONGS, NO MORE TRACKS IN THE SHORE, JUNE WILL LOSE HER MAP NOW, HER GUIDE, AND SUCCOUR. The map was important; the map was Glass’s words, the map it was that told June where her tracks were. The feedback coda is her tracks in the sand, a way from the sea, to the shore, to land. That way she could know that their union was real, she could transmit and escape, she could fly, she could feel. (I know where I can’t know, and I bleed for me and mine – x.y.u.). It put her beyond perception itself, a print of the galaxy within the realms of the self. But the map has performed its purpose, the alliance of souls; it has created the Body and everything else lies told. There can be no greater realization than what June already holds, and if she takes that on faith she can never be sold. She can never be traced, she can never be told, they may destroy the body but never the soul. Glass has told her she flies, he’s told her so she knows, he has saved her life and he’s saved her soul. There can be no greater transformation than the one June now holds, so the game is finished and the map lies closed. Every definition now, lies within her soul. And if she eats the pieces, game or no, they will still be there, little shards inside the ghost. Ghost children are soul children . . . . The spiders, the spiders, as they crawled up inside her, is just an allusion to The (mother) Glass Spider, same idea, Glass and the Spider, together at last. Such a shame they could not make it bona fact. The soul is invisible, but not when there’s Glass. Not in the music, not when he gives a map. The map was for the transformation of souls. Glass saving June and June saving Glass.Who else would she want, than one who’d give her a map, a map to freedom, a realm beyond the past.
MYSTERY OF MACHINA Pt.8
Conclusion, The Outcome to the Dream THE WARNING. God is a reality that cannot reveal Themselves to you because you literally cannot endure the consequences on your own self-image, you have never accepted the natural consequences on your life, accepted that there might be ONE and acted accordingly. So to demonstrate Himself infallibly would be to annihilate you in you own self-reflecting massive personal crisis of guilt, the rendering of the doubt you already bolster in material. Imagine how this will explode, how big your self doubt will instantaneously become, the moment you are faced with a SUPREME ULTIMATELY REALIZED EXISTENCE YOU HAVE SACRIFICED THROUGH IGNORANCE ALL YOUR LIFE. You only see what you allow yourself to see and no more. If you honestly seek God, you will integrate these consequences into your living already, so you may arrive at the point where it may be possible for Them to reveal Themselves, for God could never, ever do this in a way that has the danger of hurting you. GOD IS LOVE. God exists in complete SELF-DENIAL for you, so you may realize your own autonomy in this life, and His consequences may not harm you when you die. That He must continue this protection when you die is what will determine where you end up (An exact replica of earth? A shattered one? Endless consuming repetition? The day job? Or are you utterly convinced there is nothing after? Fine that will be it.) Where you arrive when you die is not a consequence of God at all, God would never send you to hell. It is a direct product, and solely the product, of your own self-realization in reality. Whatever you¡¦ve defined yourself to cope with is what you will get. YOU HAVE JUST BEEN WARNED>OR, HOW FORTUNATE IT WAS ALL JUST A DREAM! Or would you rather play this bet safely? Using your own personal discretion is hardly a big demand to ask of you, it¡¦s individualism. I thought this was ideal. What if the relation between Glass and June really does prove God? Dare to ignore this possibility? This should at least shake your reality can enough to make you think in terms of possibilities. So, I suspect Glass, if he has read anything, may be rather gobsmacked right about now. If he can really believe there¡¦s June, anyway. Do you realize that the only thing that would have to happen, for the proof of God to exist, would be for Glass to respond, ¡¥Yes, it¡¦s true¡¦? (June is real, I¡¦ve known it all along.) Perhaps it would take a little longer to support it. Perhaps I would have to take longer with the proof. But I can, you know. I can take all the time it needs. This is the tip of the iceberg, June¡¦s internal universe. And she can take all the time it needs. So the parting understanding is that this exists as a warning, that God has never irrevocably revealed Themselves forcibly to anyone, and that there is a very good reason for this. It is called FREE WILL. Once God exists in a way you can¡¦t deny you have no choice about believing in them. Perhaps you can see at this brink that we have come perilously close to proving God, if the only affirmation it needs is 'Yes'. And if I were Glass, I'd say it. I'd say it because it would be the best of ways to have the music industry pissing in their collective boots. I¡¦d say it just to raise a little hell. So, even if he answers 'Yes', you still won't know if it proves there's a God. On the other hand I think the only way God would present proof of Themselves is an existential paradox, a mystery that will remain unsolved. They're nice that way. No solution means no ending. No glaring lights go on. Things get to be normal. On the other hand if I were Glass, I'd do it just for the controversy, the kick in the collective can, and run like hell. It would be great craic. I'm sure Glass is pissed enough at the industry he might say 'Yes' just for the hell of it, don't you? Whether it¡¦s true or not? June would. Cuz June feels just as abused by the industry as he does, in her own way. June is the Dancer. June holds dancing in a nigh sacred place. June danced for her bread in smoky nightclubs, hour after hour. Top 40 shit, the same top 40 shit, night after night after night. Soul abuse. Imagine her thrill at crossing the Atlantic and discovering the same old just became the same old shite. It was then that she concluded Top 40 was one of the most pervasive global monopolies extant. And in terms of how it reduced creativity, inspiration, and our ability to appreciate, she decided it was one of the most disturbing. June has something of a subversive track record. You could say in terms of subversion, she's an old hack, in fact. So how does this high-minded blather translate into vive la revolution? Well, (thanks to Sauresnas' advice), it goes something like this: June is a dynamic that illustrates several things about the nature of inspiration. The form of her existence in itself, as a multifaceted work of art, demonstrates that inspiration is not a milllion shards, it is an interconnected web within humanity. This is whether she is what she claims to be, Art rendered by a Consciousness. June's existence proves there is a universal unconscious sea we are all inspired in and all involved in. And it shows that the patterns of inspiration are impossible to trace or fathom. Look at what has been happening under the collective music industry¡¦s noses! In terms of grasping the trend, or 'the movement', or what listeners are really into, they completely missed the boat! But it says a good deal more than that . . . . It says there is spirit. Spirit within the music. If we can trace a Femina this grand and this fantastic, it means there is something in it that can never be isolated, harnessed, or reduced. Just the structure in itself, the extent of the connected concept, is ample demonstration of that. June's existence proves something else, it proves that TRUTH IS IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER, not the artist. This is not to take inspiration, to steal the highest interpretation, or anything like that. What it shows is that what the recipient sees in the work, can be much, much more than what is given. June thinks her writing is proof enough of this. She figures a book would seal the case. If the truth lies within the recipients, us, the audience, that means that what we perceive can never be taken away from us, no matter how much they rob and control the music. We will always see more in it, we will always know there is more in it. We can always change and subvert it. We save the soul of rock 'n' roll. And when it comes to saving souls, with June we can say this is really true, cuz June is Grace within the music. It saved her soul, it saved theirs. By saving June, who is so extensive a concept through out, Glass literally did save the soul of rock 'n' roll. Or else we proved these things could be done, and that the music (or some of it), literally does have a soul. Either that or the analogy is so extensive it provides this demonstration of itself. June's existence says more. It says, if you will take the full value she gives it, that Inspiration belongs to God, and will always belong to God. And this can never, ever, be controlled. In fact June's patterns are proof that all things highest and best regarded within the music are God's. The rest is pretty much mulch. We leave them to their mulch. It is such a limiting monopoly, don't you think? If truth is in the eye of the beholder, that means the vampires of inspiration can never harness what is in the music. They are, at best, emperors parading with no clothes. If you want an immediate analogy for this, let's look at something like Nsync and apply it: Nsync is harnessing something they don¡¦t understand. I know we sort of detest all the little girls for hysteria, for going absolutely nuts over a bunch of quacks. But this is a direct product of harnessing inspiration. Of there being nothing else to appreciate. No one really knows why the girls go as crazy as they do. Admit it, ever since Elvis it has not made a great deal of sense. The thing is, it's never going to, because this is about there being something more, and truth may reside in the eye of the beholder. Now in this instance, I was a girl who was once silly enough to see Revival, the Bride and Groom, and a universal union inside one rock concert on cid one night, and I was never, ever, the same. It is what the beholder sees that makes it more. I'm sure the singer probably had no clue of what he was doing. I'm still trying to find one that does. In terms of the girls, it's a funny age. It's when they are just beginning to develop sexually but still thinking of love abstractly. It makes them vulnerable. I'd say they're vulnerable to Alpha, but Alpha is just an idea here for something that¡¦s not understood. They're seeing something spiritual in the sappiest of love songs, no matter how sappy they try and make it. Think about it, to be harnessing a bunch of little girls¡¦ burgeoning sexual energy is hardly manly, is it? It's rather a joke, like an emperor parading with no clothes. Like you'd do this for a profit? The real joke is they have no comprehension of what they're harnessing, or more accurately, what they're reducing, cuz that energy has a much greater potential. June proves that it does. June proves you can transform the world with it. Makes reducing it that much more of a joke. So June thinks it's The Spy's fault. Jim's Spy. "I'm a spy, in the house of love I know the dreams, that you're dreaming of I know the words, that you long to hear I know your deepest secret fear' The Spy is the Backdoor man: "I'm a backdoor man, You don¡¦t know, but your little girls, understand . . . ." And the little girls always do. No matter how the industry tries to harness it. Vive la revolution. Because if it can live on in this most insipid of ways, it can live on in anything.
Billy's Chards of Glass posts:
April 28th, 2000
welcome back! once again we drag back into the world of the infiltration net kicking and screaming...who was it that said "fuck the internet"? we'll have to hunt him down and make him sit in blair witch project 2 chat rooms...we couldn't live with out you so we had to start yet again...we'll let someone else handle the t-shirts this time and we'll stick to the dumb jokes and, oh yeah, music...we hope that this new site offers more into that opaque concept album...you mean you haven't figured out who june is yet? You don't know the intimate details behind the gish lyrics conspiracy?...oh there is so much to see and be seen, if you know what I used to mean...so sit back and enjoy as this site becomes your re-official source for new rumors, humors, and unlocking the mysteries of MACHINA...we have so far to go...p.s. this site is a compliment to the wonderful fan sites that already exist on the pumpkins...we want you to go them for the ephemeral minutiae and we will stick to the big picture...lots of love from terry, jack, phil and samantha...the claptraps of gommorah!
May 7th, 2000
hello from the sunshine state! last night was a gas...we had it all...rock people ...rich girls unleashed unknowingly on a sleepy public, to declare siren songs of domination...we let her loose because she is us and we are becoming her more and more in a half-life sense of the word...so as I write we prepare in dusty tomes for tonight's show...what is it going to be? maybe tonight is the night to let it all fall apart so it can be put together humpty dumpty style...we are lost in the wilderness of florida, sunstreaked and crying...is there anybody out there we declare in junk 50's poetry, and the slapback drums yes! yes! yes! cause we are way out there and we are coming to your town...or at least a mall near you...the story is being told I have to remind myself cause I forget that we are in it and the ending is not yet written...or is it in an envelope near you? check under your pillow cause you might find a yellowed tooth or maybe a band of gold or maybe just a plain old band...may god bless florida! it brings out the demon in me...ps. the next b-side is liberty and the epiphany machine, coming to a u.k. record shop near you backed with that song why try, try, try, and keep on trying...we ask ourselves that every single day in every single way...xo
May 9th, 2000
if you hear the drummers drumming and hear this sound a coming...hello from atlanta georgia, we just got in and made it out barely alive from our trip to the sunshine state...everything was humming so let me thank everyone for great shows in miami and also last night in orlando...what can I tell you today?? my head hurts and I am dizzy from all the positivity! remember the good old days of pure unfocused angst?? anyway, discussions have begun for our next video which will be "try"...we may shoot it in L.A. in june or even possibly japan...time will tell but if we shoot in los angeles maybe some disgruntled fans can appear in the video as well dressed disgruntled fans...the poetry of this moment begs for something else but unfortunately I am at a rare loss for words (ha ha)...being at Disneyworld the other day made me think of a young pop singers who dream of toppling the dirty rock with white teeth and starry eyes! just so everyone knows, we always win in the end...long may we continue to speak the secret language of the moment, in sound and derision, with love and true heart...it is all too literal and there is so much to say... i disintegrate and reconnect...bye june, I'm going to the moon, I hope you'll be there too! tonight atlanta, tomorrow the world...again!! in love and fishes...
May 10th, 2000
when I asked someone what the tabernacle was like in atlanta, they told me it was a shithole...well they we're wrong because not only was last nights show one of the best of the sacred and profane tour, but I thought that the place was beautiful and inspiring...the band always plays better when people are close up...sweat was dripping off the walls and you just knew you were in the right place...long live rock and roll! the upcoming b-side for the try single is changed, and will probably be "here's to the atom bomb" instead of "liberty in the crosshairs of time"...after our current american tour, we are going to go to japan for about 8 shows, australia for 4 or 5 shows, and then thru canada for the edge fest/summersault in august...we are hoping to then go to europe for a roughly 35-40 show tour, and then back to america for a final time (my guess would be 20 or so shows before christmas)...after that we want to go to mexico and south america and finally possibly south africa...after that we have a great surprise in store (don't bother asking cause I'm not going to tell)...remember that not everyone knows we are out here, and by that I mean band and fans...you have to vote (so to speak) and use your voice to help topple the current wave of pre-packaged smiles and fancy steps...so vote by calling your radio stations, vote by writing the magazines you read, vote even TRL so they know that we are out here...demand your music and voice to be heard...it doesn't even have to be us (the pumpkins) that you vote for but they can't possibly understand unless we all make a real racket...I can tell you that one of the biggest ways radio stations gauge what people like and are listening to is by the request calls that they get...I appreciate what everyone did with project 33 and trying to get a video on trl, but remember that boy band fans are voting everyday in every possible way...it is possible to make change if you believe...if we didn't believe we would have broken up many years ago...we love you, God bless, xoxo
May 12th, 2000
someone hands you a bottle that says vitamin e but really it contains vitamin x, as in used to be...the plot lines have changed so many times in so many ways I'm not sure just what part of the book I am in...chapters are written just as quickly as pages are discarded...has anyone mentioned to you that this all could be a ruse? a put on of the highest order, a conspiracy so thick that the participants are not even aware of their own roles, even though they speak the lines as written, drawing on the guns to fire flowers into your open mouths...we were forced to speak in code before for lack of recognition left us at the doorstep cold and unhappy, so what makes you think now is any different...one has to only take the temperature of the body to bear witness to the fact that the heart still beats alive, and as the monster awakens so to will the old ways of destruction and epiphany cracking...welcome back say the signs but we have never left, so play victim, cry foul, blame whomever whatever anytime, you cannot stop the rock from achieving it's ultimate goal of harmony and true resolution...we are in control...seek elsewhere and you will not find...we hold the key, and it may be you that cannot find the door...but alas the door has been open, so go, dust off your vinyl and peer between cracks well worn, there is a reason that meteorites keep moving until they hit something, only to shatter into a million pieces...I celebrate the earth, in mourning, in passing, in every single breath...I so desperately want all of it to work, for everyone to get what they need, to see what they need to see...blessed are the moments of celebration, where one recognizes the paradigm that things are the way they are for some unseen reason...we are all dying all the time, and life is to short to hold on to dreams that are no longer dreaming, words that have no meaning, feelings no longer feeling...xo
May 14th, 2000
the rumors smear as we hang in time immemorial, faces becomes friends, and the miles fulfill the destiny that we began in a rusted silver van slipping on snowy chicago streets...punch drunk and dizzy from volume both swarmed and declared, I say hello and bid you adieu...coming and going faster by the minutes, the buzz of texas humidity fills the air...stark and inviting, dark and dangerous, every highway seems to head into infinity, the glare the ends of the earth pushing you back into a cool retreat...sorry to all in new orleans, we waved as we crept passed and promise to come by the end of the year...we haven't forgotten you and don't blame you if you forget us, for we are terrible children...do you wanna know the secrets, have you been following the plot...I must admit that I am amused that few have found the key to unlock the box...maybe the story must unfold for the obviousness of this particular theatre to reveal itself...I don't know, I guess I expect too much these days, especially after we survived that frightening millennium scare when everything was supposed to blow up...but no, everything is still here, the plastics are safe and the silicone rotting at it's pre-described rate...as we tighten our skin oh so ever tighter, seek and find our spirituality in droning talk shows, and blah blah ourselves straight to hell, I must say that it is an exciting time to be an artist...as the plates shift and the old ways topple, the true dogs will be remembered and become immortal in death as brave warriors who stood up to their time...it has melted right in our hands and maybe it is for the best...so mystery awaits in the future, cassettes mailed and bootlegged thru digital channels until the music blurs beyond commercial recognition, and the artist becomes his own keeper again...only in the supreme do we reserve the right of true judgment...the wildest west awaits..aaahooo!!! xo
May 18th, 2000
to all in austin, thanks for one of the best shows on this tour of tours...up we rise faster and faster, to dizzying heights only to crash down into depths unseen...as our tour drags to an uncertain close, as we wipe our eyes of salty sweat, let us say that everyday is a good day, every moment pure and loving...boulder colorado with it's secrets murky and it's hippies begging hurled us headlong into an aging fieldhouse and the rock bade forth a swimming mass...salt lake found us on the cursed shores of it's namesake lake, a faded amusement park wrapping ghost around us...thanks salt lake for a great show! so we sit now in the desert, our hearts pointed soon west and la la land, san diego, home of chargers and pilots, and up the coast to where grunge began! to all in australia, I'm sorry to say that we are not now coming in july as previously thought, so maybe we will see you for the big day out...instead we will head back into the studio in july before going to canada and into (drumroll please) vh-1 storytellers...coming soon another chapter of glass and his synthetic army...coming soon some major announcements...coming soon the end of the world...just kidding! xo
May 20th, 2000
San Diego, CA
can god be found in electricity? if there is a god, I know he likes to rock...will we find God in san diego?...if there is a god, I know she's watching me...when I stare into this screen it is not a matter of what to say but what not to say...expression is most ultimately limited by fear...my ideal state is to say whatever whenever as long as it rings true at that given moment...of course that also means that you must be prepared for an equal and measured response...but it is always possible that you do not always mean what you say, which in my case has never been a problem...and conversely not everyone responds with complete integrity...so what am I not saying by saying all of this? good question...what does this mean if it has no meaning?...what does glass feel if he has no feelings?...so who is glass? who was zero...who will be june...my reflection, dirty mirror, there's no connection to myself, I'm your lover, I was your zero, I am the face in your dreams of glass...those who dare to seek the answers hidden within the tightwound ribbons of machina need look no further...all signs point to each other...all words flow into one big song...as I have always said I have just written the same song over and over and therein may lie the blessing and curse...how does one find peace in towers made of glass? who dare seek answers when the comforts are laid bare and are always more that willing...a rare golden age has put stars in your eyes but there are no stars truly...a harmonic convergence of the highest order has changed all the rules...so who weeps in this time? no one but I... not for the past because it was beautiful, but for the future...in that we seem to stand alone...respect is faith...faith is all we have left...xo
May 23th, 2000
Los Angeles, CA
the clock ticks cause time waits for no man, woman, or band...our space has blurred into the infinite, moments frozen for the utter posterity, to disenchant, to revere...to the open air we raise our hands and praise all who have come before us, and bow our heads to all that will follow...we love you all, you can never truly know how much, at least not in this lifetime...pause and take your eyes forward, stop seeing what you wish to see and for a moment see what is...the cities collapse, the kids shout more, more, more, a culture candied and wasted, the music is out of tune...who are you and where do you fit in?...what if I was to say you don't, and you never have and never will...if you are reading this I am in some sense preaching to the converted, but that really doesn't change much at all...we are forever outcasts, and our code and course is secret but always true...hey how about you??...and now for the good news...we are blessed to be alive, we are blessed to have survived...life IS good, for even in the greatest of challenges lie brilliant sunshine, the people we lose never really leave, the moments forgotten stored into that high definition brain to be replayed ceaselessly and at will...the point in amongst all this verbage is that nothing is lost...it is...it is as simple as that...rock on!
May 30th, 2000
rat tat tat, ka boom, boom...did somebody hear something? thanks to all for memories to last lifetimes...you have stained our souls with rock and iodine...we are not weary so much as resigned to fate's sealed kiss...we love you, never forget...this tour was a blast, a real humdinger...you had to be there and if you were we hope it moved you an inch...until we meet again in some other country we wave hello and goodbye...it sure rains a lot wherever we seem to go...coming next, part 3 of glass and his synthetic army...peer hard children because the mystery is unraveling more quickly than I thought it could...so if it is the end of the usa...so be it...if it isn't, well there are plenty of surprizes ahead so look out and wash your feet, and your mouths are as filthy as mine...xo
June 25th, 2000
crackle crackle, is this thing on...hello space rangers, back from the dead for more...here we is in japan and boy are we having a good time...every successive album has been better and better received here, so we send a big thank you to all of our japanese fans around the world...so far we have played 3 shows...sendai, yokohama, and hiroshima, and tonight we take on fukuoka...we transmit our good thoughts to all of you out there somewhere...when we finalize the european dates we will post them as soon as we can, cause I know some are starting to go on sale now...so don't forget that seeing as it is your last dash chance to see us, you don't want to miss it...also I'm starting to see copies of the vinyl version of the album, which of course contains glass and the machines part 2, so grab them while you can because the record company usually only makes about 10,000...is the story any clearer, probably not considering the way I used to write...so enjoy the tangents, hold onto the strings, there are more surprises to come...for anyone who dares to care, we are going into the studio in july to complete some of the extra special machina tracks...so beware!!! talk to you soon
July 4th, 2000
somewhere between tokyo and seoul
hello children, starseekers, mystics, clowns, predators and nymphs, howareyouiamfinethanks! first let me amble to you that I am sorry I have not communicated more as of late...after the deeply emotional sendoff of what was possibly our last ever show in america (not!) I retreated my person into andalusia to find tango and flamenco and spanish beauty much sought after in the midwest...after tripping through our new video shoot in london I zipped to tokyo brightly and did not have a computer the whole time...even now as I write this on someones faded powerbook (who I believe used to chair a kiddieporn startup) I regret the omission of my oh so important cloying barbarianisms to the fitful faitful and the frail faithless...our tour of japan was a huge success, the biggest we have ever had, so we send our heartfelt thanks out to all the fans who came to the shows, many traveling by bullet train to see multiple dates...we are humbled by the grace of you...we hoped to repay a little back last night by playing a two-set show, the first acoustic and the second a full electric set...arigato gazimas nippon!...what else can I tell you? jonas akerlund directs the new video (try try try) with filming having been done in london and stockholm...we aren't very bright...all prophecies thus far have come true...we are going to korea for the first and last time and are looking forward to play a place that as recently as 1995 banned our records...it should be interesting as it is always an honor to meet fans in a country none of us have ever been to...the demotion of evil continues to move forward on this humble planet, and it is a good thing...the children of this new world, their dna unscrambled to be explained, will hopefully never tolerate the stupidity of generation present and past...may the joy and innocence of youth transform this place holy, and let no tear be shed for we are all responsible, to take credit and blame...traveling this earth as we do, we are lucky to play part and witness how the western conception of the world, with it's mcdonalds materialism, doesn't mean so much as family, life, and tradition...may the truth echo in your ears like it does mine...yes, only love will win...it always does...xo
July 15th, 2000
Recording Studio...Chicago, IL
buried deep inside some altar of noize I write to you a desperate man...my star is fading and I do not know what to do...I stare at the track sheets and wonder where the magic went...I feel it all crashing down upon me...oh woe is i...how are you?...I am sure by now that you have deciphered all the deep alchemical codes of machina and have now moved on to some 8th generation alt-rap-metal hybrid bands new disc and are peering deep into the meanings there too...shit! I had it all so planned out and curses I have been foiled...I guess all those things they said about us and especially yours truly bill/glass/zero/jackboot7 are true...I can't tell you how sad this makes me...to compensate I have written a batch of songs so sad they are almost happy if you know what I mean...isn't the planet supposed to end with all this millenial paranoia...but wait there is a light...and maybe even a plan or too...must finish machina soon or will perish like tangerines...takus carus allus ovus youse...xo
July 17th, 2000
Making Music In Chicago
happy to report that there are some 10-14 tracks that are in some sort of shape or another...it's sometimes hard to jog the memory of what we were thinking or doing at any given moment because some of these songs haven't been worked on in over a year...but now is the right time because after the band splits it is not the kind of thing you want to try to finish in 10 years or so when we go ahead and put out that penultimate box set...so we blow the dust off the guitars and tune up rusty strings and try to make some more emotionless music...er, I mean heartfelt and deep music that is obviously emotional...what else do you want to know...I can tell you that if you want to solve a puzzle you must first understand the point of the puzzle...so what is the point of this puzzle...to confuse? enlighten? enrage? or just titillate...or could it just be for fun, because to save one's soul you must first learn how to laugh...please understand that I am laughing, not at you, but with you, and I certainly am laughing at myself, so please put your hearts together and laugh with me...I put a little sunshine here between the cracks so you can see that you are inside a box...I of course am trapped in the box you stare at and cannot leave...admission is free to all those that are...(drumroll please)...free!...oh and another thing or two...please check out pumpkins radio which has been carefully collected to draw you deeper...there is also another chapter of the friends and enemies of modern music featuring glass and the machines of god floating around in space somewhere and I will try to wrench it out to you soon...I know you just cannot wait! with the same baited breath that I had when I cared, er or when I dared, or shall I say when I was wuzing my way across the crossings...tracks laid bare for all to laugh at...so you see it really is all a joke, but the joke is not on you or me but probably them, I suppose...but I can't say for sure...till then s.r.'s...
July 25th, 2000
chi-town mojo blues-haze
with only a limited time remaining, the tapes are still flying...some tapes are in such poor condition that we are cooking 'em up in the oven, but hey the music is still cool...the sun is shining outside but the florescent lights almost do the trick, plus we have the orgone meters set to full so we look almost real...soon we start gearing up for the summersalt tour in canada dry, and I suppose we might actually rehearse for a change so get your signs requesting towers of rabble and soma ready cause we can still read...after that comes the taping of vh-1 storytellers which of course will be full of lies because no one certainly knows what these songs are about, certainly not the singer...we have begun to prepare for the storytellers by finishing the much rumored jack-o-lantern suite, almost 8 1/2 years in the making...the story of the writing of the suite could probably take up the entire hour of the program, between telling the story of meeting the indian sage, the missoula mystic, and the tuscaloosa titan in the barrelhouse barn and finding a rusty guitar in a corner...my fingers just bled until I found the right notes, but I'll save all that for the taping...hope to see you there...
July 27th, 2000
in a world war 2 bunker
tick-tock the rumours are flying flick-flack but who knows the windpipe cracked and that nobody gives a rat's ass piddle-dum-tweedle-see I told you but nobody would listen all you hear is a lot of wishin soot-soot-beedle-bum and now I'm down in the land of swan song and world war gunners reading racy novels to kill the time-time gotta keep it off my mind-mind so let the games begin or did they already start-start to become annoying boy you gotta-getta a problem mister but I am queer as a 5 legged steer-fear-seer says the fisherman just fishin for wishes and pretty girls da-da-dum-dum it's just that all my wishes are not yours but many of yours are mine but it's all good-good-good smiles from ear to ear don't get lost in the maze of haze and purple smoke cause it's a psychadelic shack of love and muzak hold your breath it's comiing soon but not how you imagine in june-june did somebody say it was july?...poppa ow mow mow (look it up!)...xo
Billy's Seven chapter Machina Mystery story:
chapter one (found within the Machina CD Booklet)
And as it was with all things, we spoke in rhyme and riddle...not for fear of detection, for that had happened very long time ago, but rather that those who had secretly wished to be spoken to were... to know that these words were intended for them and theirs only...for lonely isles and windswept curses held the symbols transmuted and divined to hold within, to keep forever... only a warm heart and a knowing smile granting entrance to this mystery..
.for every age held it's oracles and truth tellers, it's false bell ringers of alarm, and of course the hollow spectres of complacency...so in this we sing the true echoes sown of old cloth, born to stare so ravaged by all they see...because truth is madness and madness truth truly revealed, and to see is to always see too much...to bear witness to the false and right and relay backwards and forwards that which you know...
love the constant signal that heals and promotes as our truth teller sleeps inside furious walls, thrice blessed and crimson cursed...his story is the same story, and as with all without ending...a boy and a girl, simple yes but eternal always...glass plays, the machines shakes voltage, and the gaze is drawn again and again in uncertain lines...
one ray catches a june eye, our angel who has waited so long...frozen to witness, we can walk around and survey this moment as close to perfection as any that have ever been, to see the joy, the exalt, the arrogance...with it's sheer violence of embrace and release slowly offering teeth gritting awareness, the song ends, the lovers arc, and in this bliss there is hope, expectation, and yes, pure and indivisible love...the girl, his love, the light that would transform any story into the moon and it's sister stars...she had no faith but that which destroys, and had only known herself in coarse mirrors, giving over and unto whatever moved her...opium eyed and gouge mouthed, she stalked a barren trail because she believed that all that was good had died long before she was named...she the reflection in glass, he in her that which he could not claim, her in him that which she so desperately needed, forever breaking...she had chased black holes of silence to find peace, and in turn that darkness swept into her a fever that was unshakable..
.their fates had intertwined long before they were lovers, their moment extending back before a time their eyes first met, and that bond was eternal, thru fire and chard to meet again and again until this moment, our apex and conclusion... these lights rise to search the heavens, straining to be recognized in sanctity, purity, and insolence...to hopefully catch the gaze of a supreme intelligence, watching us quietly and nodding a silent approval...because it is with faith and faith only that one justifies the reach, with little to confirm but glimmer and awe, ritual and circumstance alike...
in dreams and visions alike, so real and unreal to be imagined again and again in a reverse mindscape, was video fodder to soak in..he had his voice, disembodied with no claim...but were the sounds his? could he own these thought if they could be sold? thumbtacked to ceilings all over the world lay his schemes and praton wishes, cold flung to white light, like scrapnel of a teenage atom bomb...the kids waited their turn for their piece, and the eyes watched you everywhere...amongst these ruins our hero dies zero and finds a dead station moving static code...thru the channels and medium still he spoke only to find out he wasn't speaking at all, just humming someone elses favourite song...the voice says you are one of many more to come...in sadness and in love, in faith and movement alive.
chapter two (found within the Machina vinyl booklet)
Eyes were being scratched still and tattoos applied, but no one could or would ever hear the full secrets of glass. He was re-writing his story everyday, moving the fixed destiny point, with every triumph and mistake. Every kiss held new promise, every song a new disaster. All were sung to the ghost children, the synthetic flesh flash of ideal and glitter gash in their dreams they saw him surreal, but he was as real as they needed him to be.
Discarded until he roared back into their vision. Within blood and sound, once invested there was no turning back for anyone. Plastic playmates and wooden rock rot haunted their hari hari plots in glass's obvious plays for sympathy. Or was it the other way around he was a general leading them all into war that he and they knew they could never win but still they fought to love and always die standing moving in night funerals because all the others have perished he caught glimpses of their faces every once in a while in rubble and wreckage strewn,
he had fought way to long jam wired shut and now he held too long past sleeping futures and endless newscasts, seeking shelter and a place to once again call home in the dark he would fumble with food and foe, seeking contact and knowing confirmation cells sign agreement over concrete cold, always remembering and as if drawn he would lumber on, gun in hand and tears in heart he tried to keep a journal but kept losing the pages pictures of trees dates taped to his chest he had gone mad but there was no longer anyone he heard or respected to tell him so the grass grew very fast and it seemed he had to cut it every four or five days in radio static he waited for an order that may never come he never wanted to be outside in the direct sun,
but the tree sang him to sleep the weeping willow out back seemed to hang it's hurt, so obvious and no one seemed to mind out the window he stared, seeking her and them a bay would come his mind would drone but there was no one there to agree in fact the entire weight of his surroundings seemed to indicate the exact opposite but like a dumb fish, he kept swimming upstream there was little of beauty to guide except the sun and moon, his constant companions as majesty full the night came the daylight only providing protection for the scars laid bare the night before the pills seemed to have fallen on the floor everywhere and no matter how hard one scrubbed the dirt was always there even the neighbors smelled the garbage and in polite realities,
piled high and often, spilling over the redwood fence into their perfect yards in the morning the grass shown dew prisms in the midday sun it burned scorched brown thirst and at night held cool moon dust and starlight out here the universe was vast only in distance it was never meant to be held here, it cried a mystery I am and you must find me first if this game is ever to begin in faith there is all power, in love all faith every action a pebble dropped into the clear pool of humanity,
rippling forever on until the waves become indecipherable and unseen what seems like confusion becomes order of the highest magnitude glass had so long ago reasoned himself out of reason anxious but not afraid, he told himself that this meant something over and over until he began to believe it the mask came off and he beheld yet another mask like all modern men we could claim mystery over all, but it was a paper truth and he knew it.
chapter three - Glass and the Synthetic Army (found on the old Smashing Pumpkins website)
without focus, without generation, without peer...come whither winters too often seen ...felt in devotion, willing in it's uncertainty...cry aloud yes! children to a child ...a crown glorious for seeing and naysing, soothsaying into prophecy in measured mercury time...this is our moment, our world, this is our church, our children, our dominion as yet undisclosed, as yet unclaimed...the universe is ours reduced to tiny portraiture... with love and fire and desire and innocence to reckon judgement upon us all...in this duality until we are truly free...this role cast and agreed upon, the child took it's hand...to know no other except in one's heart is to walk forward into oblivion...
raised from sleep to be beaten, moved to non-tears from an implied violence that hung in the air at all hours...these terrors and troubles will make you he was told but somehow they continue to break him...a smile is always the great eraser, and the dreams of those future smiles and miles allowed a secret garden to grow,however sad true it all became...it never was you can say, but it was...and it never will be they can say, but it will...something always gets lost along the way...in translation, in memory, in vision, but that is just how it is...
so to peer strong into the faces one must see their own face, to wonder reflection and not judge, but this too is impossible...for the accused will one day stand as the accuser...the cord snakes between the legs, one fist raised in power, the other fist raised in solidarity, this is the universal vision of the movement...I used to be a little boy so old in my shoes...for every face slap that imprinted itself as tattoo under my skin, every indignity that scarred itself upon my broken heart, walks with me as ghost and conscience...a boy, a zero, a hero, a goat, a ghost frozen glass, broken, this is all you need to know...
the codex every moment in this war without end, the attrition constant, but the victories oh so sweet and pure...in this we drink from mountain springs and let the grand old sun soak us old...to curse one's very existence is a kind of power, especially if you can decide to make the best of that hate, to fuel that anger with the necessity of resignation and purpose...to cloak your pain and fear in the language of sound, the poetry of devotion...
a child draws the perfect house with the perfect parents and the perfect hot rod car and the perfect dog, unwittingly signing into a contract bound to be broken...the choices came before all he believed, but somehow the fuzzy glow of intuition didn't seem to cover the tracks of this particular beast...glass disintegrates it all for your entertainment, his purpose to be the atom bomb unsustained and smiling that perfect smile...from the first cord came shiver and from the last cord will come peace...
it is a game to be played viciously, so change the names and make up a few new verbs and there you go...this child was struck and a decision made to never never cry again...in this stupid land of the frozen ideal, WHO AND WHERE ARE THEY NOW?? the wooden idols of persecution in the glory of helpless and unending resurrection...who will be there upon your deathbed hour to hold your hand and wipe your brow...who will cast the last stone upon you, will it be the same demons, perpetrators and eviserators from long to haunt and decimate...all martyrs are dead and there going to stay that way...
wave after wave of fury crossing the bow till there is little more than charred husks and winking sighs...no more to behold, no more to see, no more...the universe was contracting as quickly as it had been set into expanding malice...the first blow struck revolution, the last bell resonant silence...to match the eyes and the doll faces of the perfect parents with the perfect teeth smiling upon the perfect children. long live rock!!!!
What does an outsider stand for if they stand cooly on the inside...can you exist inside and outside simultaneously? or must our heroes forever be on the outside looking in? to prove what? and to whom? a broken ideal for which no rewards are given but grudging respect...the spirit breaks but the will is strong...as soft white light caressed their faces they knew that all was good and all would be forgiven, and that their echo would ring forever on and on...in dull cascades and numb electric parades, the true essence would distill and pervert, becoming an unrecognizable new art in it's distortion...
a boy holds his guitar in teenage arms and he is power...a man holds aloft a broken guitar and he is shattered... who will pick up the pieces this time? only God knows the true truth...from child to children passed above heads and hearts, beseeched to know and keep knowing...the revolution is never over, it is just beginning...funny how this revolution was televised and everybody got bored and changed the channel to what? chattering mannequins on angel dust and power prayer...whither winters past but we live on and on and on...again and again we are in cracks and rust and swinging screen doors, never to be forgotten...are you tired yet????
chapter four - The True Story of the Machines (answer to a Q&A on the O-board)
Q: What is the official status of chapter 4? i.e., is it the apex of the mystery for which we are striving to solve, a fan collaborative that we have to create, a missing link that will never be found, or something else entirely?
A: The title of chapter 4 is called "the true story of the machines" and it has yet to be released. I appreciate the fan collaborations, but the fans writing chapter 4 is not what I had in mind. don't forget you are in the story, and trust me when I say that it is hard to write the play while you are acting in it.
so like it's the end... I mean by that that it's never really over but I suppose this is our big funny farewell... in the beginning Canada was this strange place where the people spoke English but were into different stuff than us... of course along the way we have realized that Canadians are not really that different from Americans except that generally they are nicer, care more about the earth, and don't smell funny...
but seriously now, let us thank all of you for being there, or here as the case may be... because to us it doesn't really matter if you are a fan of our band or not because the important thing is that you are here, or there as the case may be, and not at some horrible pop concert arguing over which mutant is more likely to have a successful solo career, which of course you could do with is us today because... well just because...
so thank you oh peoples of Canada for many great shows and wonderful memories... you will always be near and dear to our hearts... and for the rest of you who don't go for national identity sorts of things, let us say that you are probably a misanthrope like us (except for Melissa of course, because she is all about Canada) and will end up like us staring at blank space wondering where the art is... enjoy! it's yours to keep and discard...
chapter five - The Story of June (so far) (found within the 25 vinyl copies of Machina II)
She drew circles around her subjects and squares around her enemies woman eternal, restless with praise/resentful of penetrating worship but she often resembled a statue in a museum/june met with zero the hero playing chess/everytime he would make a move she would pick up another of her chess pieces and put it in her mouth/the horses were made of chocolate which made them easier to taste.
but the white chocolate queen was still her favorite/just as he was ready to call check-mate she ate the jellybean king and claimed her victory right then and there/she always won, or he made her think that she did/as she was drinking a glass of mercury to wipe the taste and memory, a trumpet sounded thru the rubber walls/"oh" he said and they got up to go/"do I look alright" she asked no one in particular as she gazed into an antique mirror/they moved silently/shoes scuffing grey concrete as the sound grew with each step/a dis-embodied voice cooly announced "LADIES and gentlemen of all persuasion, please welcome to our stage tonight and tonight only, the machines/
at which point he yawned louder than he spoke any of the words/polite applause followed the remaining ducks as they hopped off the stage and the machines took their spots all marked with an X/ruby took her place in the wings to see the look in the eyes of the feedback scarred/and somewhere somehow someone struck a note/after the show they beat the chess set to splinters with a railroad hammer, and rode silently back to their home/glass blew the dust off an old forgotten vinyl record by the new animals,
while his love shouted one more line to pass the time which by everyones watch was over/as the record ** skipped they made love as they always had/he felt her in his bones/she wanted what was his and his only/he could no *** longer tell if he was alive as before but it hardly mattered to no one in particular because everything was different anyhow/each time he bored with this game he thought up a better one and this gave him much satisfaction/a trumpet ****** blasted thru the thin plaster walls and they both nodded it was time to pay the rent/when the friends began to arrive they were asked by no one in particular to sit at the big oak table at all the wrong famous names/snaky tooth took churchills seat/thunder jack took disraeli's seat/namci sat wherever she wanted of course/
billy sat at the head of the table and put on the hat pointy that spelled dunce/everyone laughed like they were supposed to/two twins appeared and began to saw the legs off the **** table/somewhere somebody said "this should take a while" porcelain white from all the drugs, daphne was now a prisoner of her own success/"hrmphh" the father hurrumphed, "there is no such thing as success, only hard work and tears"/of course everyone ******* agreed "once i was a little girl" she said to no one in particular, "and i had bright red shoes that my grandma, who we called nana, would shine, shine, shine all day long"/
everyone agreed that she was still that little girl/when the table collapsed from too much sawing everyone yawned and got up, except for billy, who was still stuck in the most serious of thought/he did'nt see her leave and he would not hear her when she returned/that night he dreamt of his mother young and beautiful and she told him many secrets, mostly about love and how it was like water that shined in the sun/"cover your eyes son, cover your eyes!"
chapter six - Are Your Ready For Redemption? (found on the old Smashing Pumpkins website and passed around on pamphlets at concerts)
Do you know who your Saviour is?
Well, The I Of The Mourning is on! Are you ready for redemption?
The Read on - This is Chapter 6 of a series of missives designed to speak directly to your heart on an issue most important to you - your Redemption!!
Many, many years ago a child was born into a cold night -
To some this beautiful child was blessed as any other, but not special.
But to those who read the signs they knew a stormwas coming!
People, that child has come to these end times to deliver a message that _must_ be heard!
Do not stay(I think - bpd) away for this child is your child - for thou the truth may sometimes sting, eternal _damnation_ is far far worse.
He says, Look to the I of the Radio for all you seek.
The I of the RAdio is everywhere, the maker of all that is real and all that is unseen.
Be _not_ afraid because the I of the Radio loves you and will always play your favourite songs.
Everywhere you look there are reminders of a material world that does not care about _you_.
Why do you feel to big or too small, to fat or too skinny, or are you too light or not dark enough???
Friends, where do you think these ideas come from?
Why, a culture & civilisation that makes _money_ on our differences to exploit what we want most - to Belong!!!
Let me tell you that you already do belong, for the I of the Radio celebrates your individuality in each snowflake, every flower, every new dawn that brings light & life to this wonderful, wonderful world.
You are important!! Together we can move against the ominous forces ro bring harmony to the chaos.
Never forget the I of the Radio is on, it never turns off!!!
Coming Soon!! (From this Ministry) - -
Chapter 7: A Happy Ending?? - Love, Life, Ambition & Peace? -
Is it possible in a modern world? - Is Rock N Roll bad for the soul? Or are we all going to die for Rock N Roll?? -
Happiness is a warm piece of bread! - False prophets & real deceivers! They all walk among us today! -
Their desires, wishes, dreams, and how to Control them.
God Bless you friend!
The I of the Radio Ministries Chicago, IL PO Box 57006
Chapter 7, the happy ending?
chapter seven - A Happy Ending? (found on the old Smashing Pumpkins website)
and so our story draws its final close, a million miles, a few smiles, and a pocketful of tears...all of it earned and burned strong into a consciousness like every living flashing star...all that was was left as perpetual myth, to twist in the wind laughing and wheezing until all could point and remember their stories, their movements, history as a claim they could all bear their own witness to...the body now ravaged but the spirit translucent and very much alive...like all poetry it would lose its place of meter over time, the rhymes and reasons would stale, leaving only pretty prose of frozen sentiment for a simpler, bygone era...
it's paper now, and you can do with it as you wish...no one soul need debate the dizzy purpose of the exercise, or the confusions that led them all thru thicker jungles...it is as it was, simply yours... the kids came and stole the show, naturally of course, when upon that hollowed stage the band strode as if any year, any time but now, but the final collapsing point did go noticed...weep your years and slit your wrists, curse your heroes and kick in the screens, the image stands...
image upon image superimposed until all that was left was but greasy blur and a dull ache...but as each song tore each resonant after-image down, all that was left was very clear to see...the blueprint, the tabula rasa, the prayer as hymn had been in your palm all along...we never left... among these theories of delusion lay the simple heart of a simple man...maybe you know him, maybe you don't, but it needn't matter anyway because the tale told a thousand times was but one chapter in the long road...the fable that must know this end, in this moment had spun this simple man as gold, as eternal cold stop, as spinning fire-child, and as forever grasping animal...
for even in war the most gentle of souls will let out a cry stabbing and cutting with all the passion a human being, all but dead, can muster up from rusty gut ...let this tale end as it began...a soul alone in this world... heart connected to mouth, mouth to song, song to the heavens if only to tickle the very real ear of our divine creator... may the creator always spin back endless possibility and infinite potential...with this vibration in the timeless space, a mark is made to begin, so let this be the mark to end...in the void moments of madness, seeking and clutching, our simple man laughs out loud for all the world to hear...the drab crowd said shush and be quiet but it only made him laugh harder...
for it really was funny, not because of a dumb joke or the wittiest remark but because he was having fun...it was all too simple and he really couldn't believe his eyes...now. here. always. you. "thank you God for all I am" ...so at the last chord, in the last fade of sound, a stillness came and a peace they had all waited for for so long...one could dream that they would know what they would want now, and with good honor may our hero forge ahead... with love on your side anything is possible, even love... all wounds would hope to heal, the machines could stand down and sing their singsong whir to the wind, trees, and mother earth...it was a good day, and the night will hold quiet...his mother in dreams of good things...
Billy's explanation of the story after it was revealed that no one had gotten close in the competition:
Glass and the Machines of God / a Modern Fable
Somewhere in the not so distant future, we may find a world of not so subtle torments...for amidst the rubble of urban decay and barren wastelands find wander a billion shattered souls...disconnected from themselves by impersonal technologies and personal cause...one such soul is the center of our story, and his name is GLASS...
he is the lead singer of THE MACHINES OF GOD, and he believes that GOD itself has asked him to try to change the world...this poses two simple questions: what is important in a place such as this? and is GLASS a prophet sage or just someone who has gone quite mad indeed?!...
but first we must go back into the decadent swirl of the past to set the stage for what is to come...you see, GLASS used to be named zero, and the band the smashing pumpkins, at least until zero convinced the band to change the name of the group...they were the biggest band in the world, so this was a very courageous move to make...one day zero had been alone in his house, quietly listening to the radio when a voice began to speak slowly and clearly to him...
it was the voice he had heard in his head since he was a child, but now it spoke to him thru the radio...this voice, which came to be known as the I OF THE RADIO, told zero that his life was predestined, and in order to fulfill his destiny he would need to devote his life to a much higher calling, one that would look beyond the material trappings of the occluded world...this epiphany that he was indeed important was a life changing and soul shattering experience, giving him newfound confidence and spiritual purpose...
he finds sudden clarity in his spirit, but can now see the utter shallowness of his real (and particularly) public life...this sudden change causes many around him to distrust where all of this is coming from...but his band stands with him when he changes his name to GLASS and rechristens the band the now aptly titled MACHINES OF GOD... in his heart however, GLASS secretly questions why he has been chosen...he is both enamoured and flattered by the idea, but at the same time is innately resistant to the responsibilities that this will bring...in his mind, god has aligned himself with GLASS, and GLASS has aligned himself with god...a messenger he shall be, but is he just a c.o.g. within another c.o.g. within another machine?...he decides to use the instrument of his band to spread the truth of life and that love and only love can be the answer...
so our story begins with GLASS AND THE MACHINES OF GOD at the height of their material powers, with the most devoted fans in the world, and having just changed the name of the band, releasing their new album, entitled MACHINA... for years our hero has searched for his true love, the woman of his dreams, JUNE...he called her by many names hoping that there somewhere out there she waited for him too...so one night after a concert, he saw her, and right then and there he knew he had finally found her...
JUNE was his perfect reflection, everything that he was not...she brings to him the universal truths of life and living, and a life he has never had... what he does not realize then is that he has fallen in love with a reflection of himself...she embodies the darkness he can only write about...she lives the life of flesh and bone, one he can only think about...so for one short period of time, our hero once zero feels complete and whole, with god and a woman by his side...
GLASS finds himself increasingly torn between his new love and his true calling as a messenger...he doesn't realize that he really doesn't have to make a choice between the light and her darkness...he tries to find balance between his humanity and his spiritual pursuits...unknown to GLASS, the hedonism and electric energy of GLASS' accelerated world fuel JUNE's ever increasing secret drug problems...
GLASS comes home one night to find JUNE in a drugged haze, a vinyl record hissing endlessly on the out groove...JUNE is so out of it that she doesn't recognize GLASS at all, as he calls to her to come back to him...the truth revealed, GLASS sits next to her and, in a rare moment of candor, reveals that god has been speaking to him thru the radio, knowing full well that JUNE probably won't remember the conversation...despite that, GLASS reveals that he has doubts about the validity of the messages and wonders if he is going insane...
GLASS decides because he loves her so, he will try to save her as he is trying to save everyone else, with the power of his healing...GLASS is now on a crusade to save everyone in his life; his band, his girl, his audience, and consequently the world...the only problem is that he has forgotten to save himself... GLASS begins to lose his balance on both ends when he becomes over righteous and indignant in his beliefs, alienating those who already believe in him and turning off potential new converts...
GLASS sees himself as some sort of cosmic preacher, and if he just shouts loud enough the message will somehow get thru the din...JUNE, finding the solace and power in GLASS that she couldn't muster on her own, begins to believe that she does not need him anymore...she has taken her fill from his light, and like so many others that have taken from GLASS, question whether they ever needed him at all...GLASS begins to bitter at the prospect that he is being toyed with and used by god and JUNE... slowly, GLASS begins to lose faith in his seemingly unshakeable beliefs...he becomes paranoid, believing that everyone is out to get him...the new album is released and is not well received by the fans or the general public...for the first time since the band began, GLASS is publicly humiliated...
he begins to question the validity of the messages, thinking perhaps they are from a false god or that his filters of perception are misaligned... he begins to descend into madness, accusing JUNE of disloyalty...in one final argument, she admits she never loved him at all, and that she did hear him tell her about being spoken to by god, and that she believes he is insane...she tells him goodbye for the last time and storms off into the rainy night...she loses control of her car, and is killed when it skids off the road...
GLASS blames god for the loss of JUNE, idealizing his time with her because he can not let go of what her vision means to his faith...he blames the fans for their betrayal at not supporting and following the bands new direction...inconsolable, and without informing the MACHINES, GLASS impulsively tells an audience one night that the band is going to break up and will only play one more final, and sadly tragic show...
the night before the final concert, GLASS has a prophetic dream that he is a soldier in a war...he wears a uniform, but does not know who the enemy is or even what side he is fighting for...he wanders the empty streets, gun in hand, looking for anyone at all...in a dark starewell he meets a faceless soldier who takes him by the hand into a dusky basement...the soldier does not speak, and together they sit underneath a single hanging bulb...he is just an animal, seeking shelter, warmth, food, and love...this dream, and the MACHINES final concert send GLASS into a disturbing tailspin...he feels truly and utterly alone...
after the final concert GLASS is quickly forgotten by the public, and he takes to living in an empty warehouse away from anyone at all...he has always felt alone, but now all of the things that gave him strength, focus, and identity are gone...he faces his own doubt and mortality for the first time...he begins to walk by himself at dawn thru the waking streets, and slowly finds an inner peace with his spirit...he begins to forgive and accept the things that have happened to him, and understand that his desire to find perfection above his own humanity led him to things that he did not really want or need...he begins to love and empathize with others without fear of consequence, and so in his aloneness realizes that he was never really alone at all... GOD has always been with him, and always will be...and so in this moment he fulfills his destiny, both for himself and for GOD...