The Glory

Sometimes a kind of glory lights up the mind of a man. It happens to nearly everyone. You can feel it growing or preparing like a fuse burning toward dynamite. It is a feeling in the stomach, a delight of the nerves, of the forearms. The skin tastes the air, and every deep drawn breath is sweet. It's beginning has the pleasure of a great stretching yawn; it flashes in the brain and the whole world glows outside your eyes. A man may have lived all of his life in the gray, and the land and trees of him dark and somber. The events, even the important ones, may have trooped by faceless and pale. And then -the glory- so that a cricket song sweetens his ears, the smell of the earth rises chanting to his nose, and dappling light under a tree blesses his eyes. Then a man pours outward, a torrent of him, and yet he is not diminished. And I guess a man's importance in the world can be measured by the quality and number of his glories. It is a lonely thing but it relates us to the world. It is the mother of all creativeness, and it sets each man separate from all other men.
I don't know how it will be in the years to come. There are monstrous changes taking place in the world, forces shaping a future whose face we do not know. Some of these forces seem evil to us, perhaps not in themselves but because their tendency is to eliminate other things we hold good. It is true that two men can lift a bigger stone than one man. A group can build automobiles quicker and better than one man, and bread from a huge factory is cheaper and more uniform. When our food and clothing and housing all are born in the complication of mass production, mass method is bound to get into our thinking and to eliminate all other thinking. In our time mass or collective production has entered our economics, our politics, and even our religion, so that some nations have substituted the idea collective for the idea God. This in my time is the danger. There is great tension in the world, tension toward a breaking point and men are unhappy and confused.
At such a time it seems natural and good to me to ask myself these questions. What do I believe in? What must I fight for and what must I fight against?
Our species is the only creative species, and it has only one creative instrument, the individual mind and spirit of a man. Nothing was ever created by two men. There are no good collaborations, whether in music, in art, in poetry, in mathematics, in philosophy. Once the miracle of creation has taken place, the group can build and extend it, but the group never invents anything. The preciousness lies in the lonely mind of a man.
And now the forces marshaled around the concept of the group have declared a war of extermination on that preciousness, the mind of man. By disparagement, by starvation, by repressions, forced direction, and the stunning hammerbows of conditioning, the free, roving mind is being pursued, roped, blunted, drugged. It is a sad suicidal course our species seems to have taken.
And this I believe: that free, exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world. And this I would fight for: the freedom of the mind to take any direction it wishes, undirected. And this I must fight against: any idea, religion, or government which limits or destroys the individual. This is what I am and what I am about. I can understand why a system built on a patter must try to destroy the free mind, for that is one thing which can by inspection destroy such a system. Surely I can understand this, and I hate it and I will fight against it to preserve the one thing that separates us from uncreative beasts. If the glory can be killed, we are lost.





-John Steinbeck, "East of Eden" pg. 130-131

journal entry

Wednesday, August 10th

"judgement is either to confuse someone's unconscious behavior with who they are or to project your own unconsciousness onto another person and mistake that for who they are"

eckhart tolle

i can see myself behind everyone's eyes. i'm back, it feels like. aware of my presence. aware of the fact that it is all mine, that i am all it's. it happened while i was reading tolle, he said dont mistake the unconsciousness of others as who they are. then it all clicked. i wasnt just lacking presence myself. i was confusing the identity of everyone as they confuse it themselves. with that realization, i almost can't stand to look at people, they're so beautiful. it's all me. i feel so connected with them. i am aware that they are aware. while it is true that most have been taught, and continue teaching themselves, to hide from their consciousness, becoming their fears, their judgements, their beliefs, and their lies, it does not change the fact that that is not who they are. my back is straight again. i'm supremely aware of my body. i can feel my stomach full with the food i just ate. my breathing is like music. it's like everyone is born as a spirit, and as they enter this world they begin playing dress-up with grotesque costumes that they confuse ffor self. i am no longer afraid at this moment. they are beautiful. if they dont know it, it's merely because they don't know self. and that's alright, because they are not their confusion. they just... are. everything is. i am. fuck.

is you with me?

still looking for the right sound .

but about two cyphers ago Wildflower just looked around and said fuck it.

we all agreed .

here

http://manresearchmusic.bandcamp.com/album/tales-from-the-oceanglass-dungeon

unfinished verse .

i've got

unfinished business

a couple cool listeners

a muffled peer circling the digits of my wishlist

this is

the opposite of greed .which

comes around to meet it

at the end of the beginning

it's the sin seeing the sinning while the heavens shine

on the rhinestones that are dripping off the hell of my own

crea.. tionistic euphemisms

this is like a new religion

man research be the illest shit and if you listen

you can here it driving from a mile away

dracula

in a stolen acura

bumping to my tape

i hate . everything about this fucking system

see i can play the pussy or i can be the victim

who. nails himself to crosses

while shouting to the bosses

that their routine is awful and it's fucking up my confidence

misogynistic lessons from the lady of my dreams

who whispers in my ear that

everything has a scene

so shove a couple beans down your throat

and just see

if the black eyed peas don't

doggy style your soul

now i'm fighting for control of the man i once thought hated me

affections are a hummingbird

so it seems my bravery

june 7th

june 7th

on 12th and L st in Washington DC

there's an alley that will make your bones jump

if you're high and running from the police for jaywalking

i usually love walking

it's so

free

but paranoia makes the world exciting, and beautiful

and dangerous

as i turn the corner, i'm safe for a little while

and then i stumble upon a neighborhood where even the children have practiced predator faces

i come to a watermelon house

that says

"Enter me," in the voice of a bitch in heat

interesting

the doorway illuminates my thirst and as i walk through the threshold

i'm transformed into the perception of a once great homeless man

a pink and yellow pixie skipping on the dust falling from her hair moves toward me

she asks what i'm doing

i tell her i was telling the voices to shut up

she laughs

the sound is a mixture of Brazilian congos and Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata"

and it was everlasting

i ask her why she found that funny

but my inquiry finds no welcome in her mirth

i've never seen laughter grin at me quite so wickedly before

finally she ceases her melodic chatterings and moves within an inch of my face

the light from her eyes reflects off of my skin like moonshine leaving me intoxicated

. drunk and homeless . today is shaping up wonderfully .

she giggles again at my thoughts, her laughter changing tempo to match my slowed breathing

pointing to her heart, she whispers

"if you lived here, you'd be home"

never in my life have i felt so alone

as i did in that instance

my hat slid down my temple and into a pool of my own worshiping tears .

gideon Wildflower .

Marvin Gaye - Inner City Blues (Make Me Wanna Holler)

Beauty

Beauty

The voices in our heads that we call thoughts can’t really do shit but watch and talk

They control nothing

Don’t believe me?

Yell at yourself in your head to talk. I mean, physically talk.

Command yourself to say a word, one word. Berate yourself. Curse yourself in your mind

For remaining silent

Now

Talk. Go on, speak.

Say a word.

You see, your thoughts don’t even control your body’s movement

Your thoughts don’t control your heartbeat

When you wake

When you sleep

And yet which do we more closely relate to; our thoughts or our physical being ?

Do we define ourselves as the wiggle of our fingers?

Are we the stretch of our necks?

Are we the movement of our feet?

Or are we the voices in our heads, the things we observe, the words we say that nobody else can hear,

The thoughts, that can’t do shit but watch and talk?

And you wonder why you feel so powerless all the time

Why behind every movement, every idea, there is doubt and confusion ..

Why indeed.

You see the reality of the situation is we all own our own realities. We control everything we perceive. It does not exist if we say it does not.

A TV is not a TV if I do not know it is a TV.

Everything that we see is seen for an actual reason and we see far less than we’ve seen,

Which is dreadfully shameful because there is a whole of beauty out there

Dangerous, profoundly overwhelming beauty

Beauty you want to grab, beauty you want to hold, beauty you want to squeeze so tight that you don’t know where the “you” ends and where the beauty begins

I just want to remember everything I already know .

Fuck love, fuck money, fuck power . Truthfully, I don’t even really know what those things are.

But I do know beauty.

And she is the knight in shining armor

She is the flowers after marijuana exits

She is the 5 second glances from that symmetrically pleasant clerk you pass everyday

She is the possibility.

But who am I kidding, it would be impossible for me to perceive all the beauty that this existence has to offer.

Well if it is, then it is only so, because I believe it so. And that’s pretty fucking beautiful.