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Old 09-19-2012, 10:53 PM   #1
Apocalyptic Poster
EyesOfAJackal's Avatar
Location: Sarasota, FL; San Antonio, TX
Posts: 1,138
Default So I listened to MACHINA 7 times today...

Which is the number of completion... and I've been doing a lot of thinking. I've been through some tough times lately, and this album really connected with me on a spiritual level. I thought I'd share some observations from the past 12 years with you all:

The title 'Machina' likely derives from the Latin phrase, "Deus Ex Machina" (God from the machine). This refers to the early Greek tragedies, where seemingly unconquerable obstacles were overcome with cheap plot devices, such as the unexplained interference of the Gods; whom would descend from a makeshift crane upon the stage and resolve a final, highly improbable, solution. Speculating then, the album title could have been chosen for three possible reasons: to demonstrate the symbiotic relationship of man and machine, to illuminate the failing spiritual resolve of humanity, and to serve as a just description for the central character (Glass), who adopts the role of a prophet after hearing what he perceived to be the voice of God through the radio. As such, Glass is quite literally an instrument, or mechanical vessel to channel the spirit of God.

The artwork for Machina is a rich tapestry of the alchemical, the occult, and the sublime. Nearly all of the artworks created during the Machina era can be credited to a skillful artist with an eye for detail by the name of Vasily Kafanov. In the following articles, I take an in depth look at their symbolism, and relevance to the Machina mystery.

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.

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.

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?

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 . . . .

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.

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?!?

‘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.

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.

Part 1

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 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 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 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 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 sadness and in love, in faith and movement alive.

Part 2

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.
Part 3

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 this duality until we are truly free...this role cast and agreed upon, the child took it's 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 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 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 this we drink from mountain springs and let the grand old sun soak us 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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????
Part 4

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...

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!"
part VI

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! -
Restless children:
Their desires, wishes, dreams, and how to Control them.
God Bless you friend!

The I Of The Radio Ministries
PO Box 57086
IL 60657-0086


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 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 one soul need debate the dizzy purpose of the exercise, or the confusions that led them all thru thicker 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 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 was all too simple and he really couldn't believe his here. always. you. "thank you God for all I am" at the last chord, in the last fade of sound, a stillness came and a peace they had all waited for for so 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 was a good day, and the night will hold quiet...his mother in dreams of good things... THE END

*My 1,000th Post

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