Saturday, October 14, 2006

Me and Andy Warhol...

(who could seem so insincere)

(and I, who
might seem so sincere...)

have at least one thing in common, which I know I have blogged about before:

we like(d) to listen to the same song over and over and over again,
ad ecstatiatum...

right now, for me (can't speak for th' dead dandy Warhol) it's Ralph Nielsen & the Chancellors' "Scream," which for me is the ultimate rock n' roll song, even beyond The Birthday Party or The Pixies...the pinnacle of pop pandemonium, a hurricane of shrapnelling reverb'd gitarzz & monster-movie yowls, overlaid w/ tailfinned shamanic incantations n' cascading avalanche-drums... [I don't want to endorse fee-free file transfer or anything, but I'd wager a Google search could find you a QT of "Scream" if you wanted it...]

and I'm listening to this as I read about nonlinear models of consciousness, as the ripples of guitar and drum pool, drift, pile up into chaotic cadences that threaten intellect...The Same Song Over n' Over is a way, after all, of creating one's own mental attractor, of organizing a hurricane eye around which new thoughts can swirl...

and I need new thoughts. as my thought-clouds tend, of late, to be dark and doomy ones, confused, affrighted--though "objectively" only sun shows on my life-sea...somehow I've taken minor, neurotic fears and cupped them and warmed them so, like the proverbial butterfly's wings beating in the Amazon, they've spawned a hurricane in East Podunk.

you wouldn't think a greasy proto-Goth number by Ralph Nielsen would do much to dispel the above mind-mists, but this musick blasts such gales of razor-twang n' sub-garage grunge that it's hard to take serious th' problems a mind reels out, when it's tethered for the nonce above flesh; when it's fleeing the light of faux-reason to the Heaven of an eternal Halloween; when the jungle river of Unconscious unspokenly betides a finnegans wake of possible futures...


  1. You're a verbal stunt pilot. Amazing!

    Your various posts suggest that you are (not exclusively) a sensualist. You savor your wine, coffee, chocolate and music to a degree that seems philosophically at odds with the spiritual outlook. Would you agree? Or perhaps you see no philosophical or spiritual conundrum in the treatment of happiness as an objective phenomenon?

    Scratching my head...;)

  2. A few years ago I drafted about 100 pages of fiction while listening to Michael Torke's 8-minute "Slate" on auto repeat. My story "Another Place" (Amazing, May 1988) takes its title from the piece by the fusion jazz group Hiroshima, which I played countless times during the writing. (It didn't matter that the story is set in Ecuador; the music fit.)

    "Horriblizing" is Mary's term for the mind-mists turned hurricane strength. I'm lucky in that I can usually calm my own by catching up on sleep.

  3. humble worm, "verbal stunt pilot" is one of the nicest things ever said about my writing!!!! thank you.

    yes, I am, as you so accurately suggest "(not exclusively) a sensualist." I fancy myself a tantrika who is trying to dissolve the false distinction between sensual and spiritual...

    I came to this place because I tried various types of renunciation (and failed--they always left me more preoccupied w/ chocolate and--other sweets). at the same time, I love my Divine Mother so much that I want to give Her everything, everything, and so try to drink my coffee for Her, hear Her in a Charles Mingus record (not hard; I haven't tried it w/ Barry Manilow yet)...

    I don't mean to sound pretentious, but the advaitin in me is convinced that "sacred" and "profane" are mere human constructs, and the bhogi in me--wants chocolate!!!! :)

    thank you for reading...