yozhik v tumane:(hedgehog in the fog)

- Ты когда-нибудь слушал тишину, Ежик?
- Слушал.
- И что?
- А ничего. Тихо.
- А я люблю, когда в тишине что-нибудь шевелится.
- Приведи пример,- попросил Ежик.
- Ну, например, гром,- сказал Медвежонок.


1/24/08

the life:
a living memory lens snap
poetic pounce
I: only am; through each passing documented pull

today: lemon oil zest
in my grey winter
tea leaves

winter walk
seasonless
in a
parisian speakery
bustle
=====

12/15/07
on playing monopoly:

today is a pretty memory.

the idea of us:
seducing.

ive drained your resources
and amusement
with pursed lips

eliciting walls
beyond curiosities

dont you want me baby
dont you want me oh

====

some undated recents:

pendulum strikes me significant
tonight i could leave this city
and find strangers
to pretend
familiar

---------

recently recalled rift
staring out into the vacant white

maybe its youth
or
both sides of the coin

flirting with destiny
pale skin
and cigarette smoke
during the cold of winter
forming o's

always brighter
when its bold
always bolder in the corner

she could form tragedy
out of the late night
lines

also
penstrokes

much more interesting
wearing regret
and makeup smeared

last nights city slur
romantically playing out the
life of a rock.
starring
you


------------

little breath
leaving frozen
my after
before.
and some thoughts left unthought
slid their way to the floor
cracks and out
=

was i less
was i most
sitting folded and still



placing
my memory boxes
within convenient reach
weaved with
distraction

destruction
and then there was none
came sea level
beginnings

running running
halt to
yourself.

i leave space

and the beginning and the end
all enter
as now

create languages
beyond lingual visual aural
maybe floral as in blossoming breakfast
meet me.
loosen conditioned minds
stretch sensibility sensibly
and hold hands with strangers dream designs
bridge subjective pavements and objective toes
exist and not at once
be the painter and the paint
brush stroke and water juice
stroll the paths
of social games and
knee scrapes
realize relevance
in rolling dice
and wearing sometimes
pads
yet
know impermanance.
reflect off
every plane.
many planes.
jet
sideways through ways
but remember
to remember
.now.


-mouk in 06-

currently skipping between the sun the mountains and my scholarly ambitions

May/June 2008: Mutek: Montreal Canada mutek.ca/


May 23rd: Forward Underground @ My loft w Mathias Kaden

35mmmagazine.com/ partnership
tech-tock.com/ in development

THE UNIVERSE WANTS TO PLAY. Those who refuse out of dry spiritual greed & choose pure contemplation forfeit their humanity--those who refuse out of dull anguish, those who hesitate, lose their chance at divinity--those who mold themselves blind masks of Ideas & thrash around seeking some proof of their own solidity end by seeing out of dead men's eyes.

Sorcery: the systematic cultivation of enhanced consciousness or non-ordinary awareness & its deployment in the world of deeds & objects to bring about desired results.

The incremental openings of perception gradually banish the false selves, our cacophonous ghosts--the "black magic" of envy & vendetta backfires because Desire cannot be forced. Where our knowledge of beauty harmonizes with the ludus naturae, sorcery begins.

No, not spoon-bending or horoscopy, not the Golden Dawn or make-believe shamanism, astral projection or the Satanic Mass--if it's mumbo jumbo you want go for the real stuff, banking, politics, social science--not that weak blavatskian crap.

Sorcery works at creating around itself a psychic/physical space or openings into a space of untrammeled expression-- the metamorphosis of quotidian place into angelic sphere. This involves the manipulation of symbols (which are also things) & of people (who are also symbolic)--the archetypes supply a vocabulary for this process & therefore are treated as if they were both real & unreal, like words. Imaginal Yoga.

The sorcerer is a Simple Realist: the world is real--but then so must consciousness be real since its effects are so tangible. The dullard finds even wine tasteless but the sorcerer can be intoxicated by the mere sight of water. Quality of perception defines the world of intoxication--but to sustain it & expand it to include others demands activity of a certain kind--sorcery. Sorcery breaks no law of nature because there is no Natural Law, only the spontaneity of natura naturans, the tao. Sorcery violates laws which seek to chain this flow-- priests, kings, hierophants, mystics, scientists & shopkeepers all brand the sorcerer enemy for threatening the power of their charade, the tensile strength of their illusory web.

A poem can act as a spell & vice versa--but sorcery refuses to be a metaphor for mere literature--it insists that symbols must cause events as well as private epiphanies. It is not a critique but a re-making. It rejects all eschatology & metaphysics of removal, all bleary nostalgia & strident futurismo, in favor of a paroxysm or seizure of presence.

Incense & crystal, dagger & sword, wand, robes, rum, cigars, candles, herbs like dried dreams--the virgin boy staring into a bowl of ink--wine & ganja, meat, yantras & gestures-- rituals of pleasure, the garden of houris & sakis--the sorcerer climbs these snakes & ladders to a moment which is fully saturated with its own color, where mountains are mountains & trees are trees, where the body becomes all time, the beloved all space.

The tactics of ontological anarchism are rooted in this secret Art--the goals of ontological anarchism appear in its flowering. Chaos hexes its enemies & rewards its devotees...this strange yellowing pamphlet, pseudonymous & dust-stained, reveals all...send away for one split second of eternity.