14 February, 2004

Music rave: Triumph

Not a chance I can say it better than them; I will let their lyrics speak for themselves. 
I will say that the bands of the seventies and eighties had great names. Read these words and tell me that Triumph is not a fitting name for this band. Rock On!
Hold On, by Triumph
Music holds the secret
To know it can make you whole
It's not just a game of notes,
It's the sounds inside your soul
The magic of the melody
Runs through you like a stream
The notes they play flow through your head like a dream.
Like a dream

I sing this song for the common man
And for the people everywhere
I bring my song into the world
And I sing it everywhere
The simple truth lies waiting here
For everyone to share
So hold on, and I will take you there

The daily routing takes your soul
Lost without a trace
It holds you down and turns you 'round
And puts you in your place
Another day, another dollar. Another pretty face
Another chance to lose yourself in the endless race

Hold on. Hold on to your dreams
Hold on, even though it seems
Everyone around you has their little schemes
Listen to your heart, and hold on to your dreams

Can't you feel the magic? I can feel it everywhere
Can't you feel the music? There's something in the air
There's a celebration deep withing a song
Celebrate this feeling, you know it can't be wrong

Hold on. hold on to your dreams
Hold on, even though it seems
Everyone around you has their little schemes
Listen to your heart, and hold on to your dreams

Caught up in routine,you've got to break it
Time won’t wait for us, we’ve got to make it
Fate gives you the chance, you’ve got to take it
Take it!

Hold on. Hold on to your dreams
Hold on, even though it seems
Everyone around you has their little schemes
Listen to your heart, and hold on to your dreams

Just hold on, people. I wish I were the Messiah. (not really) 
I wish I could save your souls. (slackers, you can do it yourself) 
All I know is how to shine a Light on where I have been. (it only shines backward, I am walking in the dark, also) 
You can make it. (at least this far) 
I did. (so far)
Happy Valentine’ Day, people. I love you all.

13 February, 2004

My worst physical injury

I haven’t had a whole lot of injuries; I am a cautious person; comes from playing around with stuff that can kill a whole bunch of you real quick if you let your mind wander. I got my ankle smashed in an armored door of a rocket launcher when I was 18, cause I wasn’t focused. That taught me quick; and the lesson could have been worse. I would have to say that the worst injury I ever sustained was a bicycling accident I had when I was seventeen and training for basic.
I rode my 10 speed about 15-20 miles a day, and in the summer, I didn’t wear much but shorts and sneakers. They didn’t have those spandex monstrosities back then, just some gym shorts that gave enough room in the legs without my nads falling out and riding alongside me. I was coming around a corner and I guess that I had the tilt a bit too extreme. I like to play like I was in a race, and so I never stopped pedaling, and I would drop over like I was on a motorcycle going around a tight curve. Well, you don’t have to pedal a motorcycle.
One of my pedals must have struck the ground, and it caused the bike to halt on a dime. I am still not sure how it happened, but all I can remember was peddling my little ass off one instant, and sailing ass over teakettle in the next.
I must have landed on my head, and then skid along on my back for a while, I don’t know. I must have been out for a pretty good bit of time, cause there were people around me when I woke up; and there weren’t any near when I was last present inside my body.
So I wake up, and there are all these people standing around me, asking me if I am OK; I don’t feel much, cause of the shock, I guess. I remember being extremely embarrassed more than anything else; here I was a grown man and I wreck my friggin bike in front of all these people, now I am laying here on the ground with my schlong hanging out and blood dripping out the back of my head.
Head injuries don’t hurt that much, but they bleed real nice. I remember gashing open my skull with a claw hammer when I was about six, hammering the shit out of a nail for only a six year old knows why. I just said Ow (I didn’t cuss back then, I was six) and continued gleefully banging the shit out of the nail. It wasn’t until I went inside that my mom screamed and I realized it wasn’t sweat running down my neck. I think that injury was worse on my mom than it was on me; I must have looked like Carrie right after the bucket got dumped on her.
So anyway, I am laying there, thinking what a schmuck I am and trying to nonchalantly put my dick back in my shorts without that little old lady noticing me and furthering my embarrassment. I finally convince them that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me, nothing hurt but my pride, and a little bump on my head, and they let me up. I get up, dust myself off, attempt to regain as much of my composure (little) and dignity (none) as I could, and I get back on my bike to begin the trek home.
I ride past the hospital, because I guess my body is still, like, “shh, don’t tell him, he’ll freak out”, so I don’t notice that I am sucking wind. I must have looked quite a site riding down 23rd street with blood coming out of a hole in my head and what was left of my back.
As I got closer to home, the shock started wearing off, and I start thinking I may have been in error riding past the hospital, but I figure, I got no ID, no insurance cards; and it is just a scrape; they would laugh at me at the emergency room; nurses are way cute, and I didn’t feel the need to further my embarrassment in front of sexy women in cute white outfits. So I continued home, growing more and more aware of how much pain I was in.
I have quite a high threshold for pain. We use to do the most idiotic things with cigarettes to show how tough we were. I still have scars proving what a jackass I was. But I was the head jackass, so what the hell..
So I’m feeling pain, and noticing it, which is very disconcerting. Usually I can turn it off or tone it down. It is all about rerouting the signals; I tell my body to quit calling 911 once my control station has been made aware of the injury. But this pain hurts; like in a way that I can’t turn off; that sort of pisses me off.
So I get home and go inside. The kids are all outside with the babysitter (she’s sunbathing; and it didn’t even occur to me to ogle her, I was really feeling the pain, I guess, to miss a chance to ogle the babysitter). I holler, they don’t hear me; I am down on my knees now, trying to keep (unsuccessfully) the tears from coming out. I tried to bang on the window to get their attention.
I succeeded in putting my hand through the window; now my hand is bleeding, too, and I have a big gash alongside the ridge with shards of that flimsy window sticking out. But, the new pain gives my mind something else to think about. They heard the window break, and came running inside; saw me lying on the floor in a puddle of blood; I was trying (unsuccessfully) to be cool, but it is tough to do from the fetal position.
They called the neighbor and he took me back up to the hospital that I had passed about a half hour before. Took me in to see the cute nurses who did not laugh at me but took me back into the ER and sprinkled cocaine all over the hamburger patty that was left of my traps and lats; they then proceeded to take about a pound and a half of gravel out of my muscle tissue.
The head wound wasn’t bad; just a slight concussion and nine stitches. The back they couldn’t stitch, cause there wasn’t anything left to stitch together; so they treated it like a burn and just dressed it once it was clean. Ah, the feelings of having raw muscle scrubbed with an iodine bristle to stave off infection showed me how little control I had of the pain response. The cocaine worked great, initially, but it wears off fast; it is exceedingly difficult to wimper and quiver in a manly way, but I did my best.
Happy Friday the 13th, everyone. Stay safe.

12 February, 2004

The Promise: a Benediction

Michelle Mays is a singer songwriter out of Oklahoma City. I have had the pleasure to meet her a couple of times, as well as hear her perform live at the Mabon Festival organized by Oklahoma Pagan Association (thanks, Salem and Europa, we had a great time).
She has a song, titled, The Promise, which moves me very deeply. I consider it a benediction, and I use it as such in any public gatherings I am officiating. I love to use music in my rituals. Music and drama are the base for my rituals, because I think that Art can touch people on a much more fundamental basis than can mere dogmatic practices.
The litany of a Catholic Mass was a beautiful thing, back when they were done in Latin. Latin is a gorgeous language; it is a shame that they no longer use it as much. It takes effort to learn a dead language, and that effort is transferred into the force of the Words. That is why I always write my own spells; for the few I have ever done.
The Power has to come from inside us, it cannot be purchased or borrowed. The effort put forth to make a spell rythmic and lyrical translates directly into the Power of the spell. Same with writing in runes. Runes aren’t magick, in and of themselves; it has to do with the effort put forth to use them; the intent.
I’ve been thinking about what moves me, one of the last essays for Terp that I am writing. Music, among other things, is a massive Force in my life. There is nothing quite like hearing the glorious notes that someone has written to go along with their insightful prose. The music alone is awesome (wouldn’t it be great if Straus and Wagner had had an electric guitar or two to add to their compositions?)
The songs of Michelle Mays are some of the finest I have ever heard; the messages are clear and concise and surrounded by a melody as sweet as the song of a robin in the spring. I would like to share the lyrics to The Promise, because I have never been able to write anything so well. I can shamelessly plagarize authors and artists better than me, cause I am not publishing this or turning it in for credit.
So, there assumes a Promise has been made by each of us; in the Summerland, we set out the obstacles and instances of our lives, in order to learn the lessons necessary for our evolution. I, personally, think this is my last incarnation; this is based on some dreams I have had, some astral work I have done, and some hallucinations from way back when I thought I was Aldus Huxley or Carlos Castanada. This puts a little pressure on me to get it right.
I also think that we are on a Cusp, with a capital C; in which our actions as a people will determine (and they always do, but the waiting is full, now, and lack of action is also an action, grok?) the survival of us as free entities.
But anyway, there was a promise made to do what needed to be done; think about the story of Anyone, Someone, Noone and Everyone. Michelle Mays wrote a song about it, wanna here it? here it goes…
The Promise, by Michelle Mays
You can see the traces in how we once lived, In the forms of the Mother and the Old Ones.In caves and silent places, beyond the reach of progress,Reminders are waiting there for us.
In harmony and balance,In simplicity, there is Order.Remember the promise you made.
The Mother has awakened after Her long sleep,The Old Ones are reclused no more. They've come back to find their guests running rampant, wayward seed.Dividing all Her children and polluting all the Earth.
In harmony and balance,In simplicity, there is Order.Remember the promise you made.
The Mother has awakened, there is no turning back.What awaits us? Who can say.In these new times can we stand the test, or will our memories fail?Will we be part of Chaos, or Order?
In harmony and balance,In simplicity, there is Order.Remember the promise you made.
You’ve been called to a task, you really have no choice.The Mother has called your Name.It’s not a game, or a dream. It’s a part of who you are.Remember the Promise you made.
In harmony and balance,In simplicity, there is Order.Remember the promise you made.
In harmony and balance,In simplicity, there is Order.Remember the promise you made.
Now, imagine that set to music. Simply lovely, and yet haunting; like a lament.

I think Jesus lacked faith: Conclusion

OK, did you consider the implications? I mean really consider them?
*waits while you go back and do your assignment, slackers*
Oh, the wife wants to play; I’ll finish this later…..OK, so you got a little extra time to consider the implications.
So where was I? Oh yes, I was in Gethsemane, listening to Jesus give an ultimatum to our Father. Yes, I said OUR Father, isn’t that the way it goes? It ain’t, “His Father, who art in Heaven…”. I would have told him to just haul ass to Egypt, like the Magi did that were supposed to kill him in Jerusalem some thirty-four years ago. I don’t think he would have listened, though.
Jesus went out into the desert, and got himself all enlightened. He then came back to try and share with the people the things he now understood. He also stepped on some toes. I think he kind of enjoyed doing that; I think he had a bit of a rebellious streak in him; that is why sometimes he talked all militant, and other times he talked real peaceful like. He also had to get his people fired up, people like Judas, who wanted to fight fight fight. But his real message was about Peace, and how to find it, and where it comes from.
It must have been frustrating for him; the people didn’t want to listen to his words, they just wanted miracles (more wine, Jesus!). Maybe he was tired. It was a huge energy drain on him, I am sure. Energy is Infinite, but Time makes it finite. He couldn’t even get his disciples to understand that the Power was theirs, just as much as it was his. Maybe he thought his words would be understood or valued more if he died first; kind of like how an artists paintings may be worthless while he was alive, but the value skyrockets when they die. Even better if it was a nasty suicide or something. Isn’t it a shame, that, as a race, we never seem to value something until it is gone?
If Jesus had had the faith of the Centurion, I don’t think he would have felt the need to die. He didn’t need to die to forgive sins; that was, after all, what he was fixing to be tried and crucified for, the forgiveness of sins. Remember how he responded when he was accused of heresy after saying to the lame man, “Your sins are forgiven” and the man got up and walked away. He told the Pharisees, “What is easier, to say to a man that his sins be forgiven, or to tell him to take up his bed and walk?” It was easier on Jesus, cause he didn’t have to do anything. He told the dude his sins were forgiven, and that unlocked the dude’s own power, and he healed himself.
Jesus was forever trying to tell the people about the power of I AM, but they didn’t want to listen. They wanted miracles. To take responsibility for their own Power was more than they felt they could do. They just wanted a celestial version of bread and circuses. They didn’t want to have to work for it, they wanted to have the Power used for them. Then they could blame it on God when their life sucked, cause they had no Power of their own. Maybe Jesus thought that it would be easier to just give in and roll with the punches; become the sacrificial lamb.
Maybe he thought that it would be easier to give the people all the miracles they needed to believe him if he was dead and didn’t have to deal with the Time continuum. He should have read the story of the Goose that Laid the Golden Eggs, but Aesop wasn’t there with us, in Gethsemane that night, and Jesus wasn’t listening to me.
If Jesus had the faith of the Centurion, he would have known that his death would not change anything, any more than his presence was needed to heal the sick man. Jesus had his own Power, yes. The Power emanated from the Almighty smiter, yes. But it was not Jesus who healed the Centurion’s man. He said so himself, remember? Did you consider the implications? I mean really consider the implications.
The Centurion healed his own man, his faith was the key to unlocking his Power. That is why Jesus chided his disciples, because the Centurion grasped what they could not. I think it was because the dude was a Warrior, and Warriors rely first on themselves, then on their own Sword (which, BTW, is a symbol for both Force, and Restriction, because it is sheathed, most of the time. But I doubt the Centurion was thinking like that; he just wanted his man healed.)
Oh, and BTW, I do not think that the Centurion was ashamed to be seen with Jesus; I think he was more concerned for Jesus’ reputation (gasp! Jesus is helping a Roman!) than anything else. Jesus had already been chastised by his own disciples for hanging out with the whores and gamblers. That is why he said, “I did not come here to heal the healthy, but to heal the sick.” Plus, I bet he was really good at cards.
We all have the Power to Create. The Power of I AM. Jesus told his disciples that everything that he had done, they would do, and more. But did they? I don’t read about too much of it. Maybe there is something about them doing marvelous things in the Dead Sea Scrolls, I don’t know. I had moved on from Christianity by the time those were discovered. I took what was useful, and discarded the rest. I can be inspired, too, can’t I?
I rarely invoke the gods; I evoke them, instead. Do you grok the difference?
Maybe Jesus thought his words would mean more to the people if he did such a marvelous sacrifice. I don’t know. Martyrs are stupid, I think. Why do they think the sheep will follow the shepherd just because they throw themselves to the wolves? Don’t they know the sheep will follow whoever takes charge? Those wolves in sheep’s clothing line he did; surely he understood as much as I. The sheep follow whoever is still around. Look at who is quoted the most: Paul, the homophobic woman hater who never even met Jesus. But he was there, and Jesus was gone. One cannot lead and protect ones flock if one is dead. Ones impact on the world is outside ones realm of control after death, no matter how spectacular or well reported that death may be. Look at the horrors wrought on the world now because of the death of a mere couple thousand people. One may change the world by dying, but it is the ones who are left which will control the change.
So Jesus lacked faith in his fellow man to be able to listen to and understand his words. I am not saying I think that his lack of faith was unfounded; I am just postulating that he had it. But he lacked faith in himself, also, I think. Maybe he thought he had bit off more than he could chew, and was ready to call it quits. Maybe that is why he didn’t phrase his ultimatum the way I would have told him. I would have told him to phrase it so that no answer was a yes, and for the answer to be no, action had to be taken by Dad. What do you think the symbology of his men falling asleep while they were supposed to be on watch was? He gave up; he ignored the fact that the Power was his.
If he’d had the faith of the Centurion, he would not have had to die. We could have went to Monte Carlo and broken the banks and gotten something nice for Mary Magdalene.
Poor Jesus; I’d give him a hug and a cookie, and tell him to not sweat the small shit; but he wasn’t listening to me that night.

11 February, 2004

Mechwarriors of emotion

I said: “What is wrong?”
She said: “Oh, nothing.”
Bullshit, she was fueling a MechWarrior, for sure. I knew this, like I knew the sun would rise.
This is not a current phenomenon in my life, it was in the past. I know the symptoms, now, and I kill the Mechs as I see them appear. If I can catch em; they’re sneaky little bastards. Insidious and pernicious; they latch on to the littlest things and thrive on unfocused Energy and unfounded and unspoken accusations; their life blood is the little white lie; their Manna is ‘sacrifice’, their neighborhood is resentment, their battlecry is, “If they loved me they’d…[insert unspoken need here]”
OK, so I play a lot of video games. But that is what them little fuckers are, and they take on a life of their own, I swear it to Dyonesius. Mechwarriors, if you don’t know the game, are cybernetic organisms that enhance physical abilities past their normal human range. You wear them like a suit. I think that we have an emotional construct that does much the same thing.
Ever notice that an unresolved issue takes on a life of it’s own? Like for some reason you react more strongly to something than it seems reasonable to? Ever notice someone else do the same thing? (this is more likely for us to notice)
This is the Mech at work.
Every time we, for some reason, (usually labeled as ‘being the bigger person’ or ‘compromise’, or ‘life sucks’), give in to a situation without being completely behind our decision, we fuel the Mech.
Life does suck. Embrace the suck. Otherwise, fight it. That is my motto. I can yell at the rain, or I can Dance. I choose to Dance.
But I care less if an Other fights with the rain. It affects me (and let me be honest, that is what I really care about) when they harbor resentments (whether acknowledged or not) against me. Sooner or later, I will be facing a loaded Uzi because i left the friggin cap off the toothpaste. That is unacceptable to me.
I am not the rain, I can change. I might not. I might be the stubborn son of a bitch it is assumed I am. But give me a chance to be stubborn. Don’t decide how i will react, censor me or censor you, and then resent me for acting in the way you merely assume I will. Do not decide that I do not need to know, and then resent me for not knowing.
It is such a simple thing to speak clearly and plainly ones needs. It is such a simple thing to speak clearly and plainly ones emotions. Emotions just are, they are not right or wrong. I am wrong to judge your emotions; I know this. I try not to. But how can I help it if all that is ever given to me to judge by are your emotions?
All I ask is that emotions not be used as argument; they can give weight to argument, yes. But they cannot be the deciding factor, unless everything else is equal. Tell me your needs; I love you, I shall try to meet them. Judge me on my actions; judge my actions by what you have asked for. Have I fulfilled the missions you set out for me? I cannot read minds. I refuse to try.
If I give you tools to overcome my failings (I have many)(remember the sign I gave you to shut me up? It is magick; I have given you power over me; why do you blame me if you do not use the tools I give? What more can I do?), do not resent me if you choose not to use them. It is not important to me to shut up; but I know it is important to you that I shut up when you wish to speak; that is why I gave you Power. I have no wish to drown you out; but I do wish to prove my points. The only thing I know to do is to give you keys.
You, my Love, must use them. I am not likely to. I shall merely continue to be me. I shall not change unless you add your Energy to the effort.
I have a name for it, now. I can kill it. Do not bring your Mechs against me; come alone.

I think Jesus lacked faith: Pt 1

Consider this:
I put a gun to my head; I challenge God to make the bullet not fire if He wishes me to live. I pull the trigger.
Who would argue that I was a dumbass?
But that is what Jesus did in the garden of Gethsemane, wasn’t it?
See, he was kind of full of himself, there, I think. He was a bit to caught up in the whole “I am the son of God” thing. He should have bounced forward a few millennia and read the book. We are all children of God. It says so right in the bible. Don’t people read the fine print?
Move this cup, my ass.
My concept of deity would answer, “Move the cup yourself, you slacker!”
I have been told that the actual sacrifice of Jesus was necessary to atone for the sins of mankind. Bullshit.
First of all, I will atone for my own sins. Fuck that original sin, concept. Yeah, I have free will, but I am fucked from the get go; kiss my ass. I don’t play when the deck is stacked. I have enough of my own sins without having to concern myself that I was born cause my parents had gasp sex.
Second of all, think about the Centurion. The one Jesus admonished his disciples for having more faith than them. Remember?
As the story goes, a Roman Centurion came to Jesus to ask his help in curing a man of his (the Centurion’s). Jesus, being the all around nice guy that he was, said to the Centurion (even though the dude was a Roman and so ‘the enemy’) that he would graciously come and heal the sick. The Centurion replied that there was no need to be physically present, because he had faith that a mere Word would do the trick. Jesus said, “By your faith, he is healed.” (He then scolded his disciples)
Wow. Think of the implications, for a second.
Jesus didn’t say that he had healed him.
No, really. Think about it.

On futility

I hate feeling futile. I gave up Christianity cause I was told that my works were but a dirty rag to Yahweh. Well, fuck Yahweh, I said. Tell me the best I can do is not good enough? Fuck anyone that thinks that. Would I stay in any relationship that the Other was not satisfied with my best? Hell fuck no I wouldn’t.
I can think. I can choose. I can act.
Condemn me for acting wrong, poor choices, or faulty logic. These I can change, these I am in control of. Tell me my best just ain’t good enough? Well, fuck you.
Sometimes my best ain’t good enough. I can grok that. I can train. I can learn. And if my best still ain’t good enough, I can find a new employ. But fuck, I can’t find another soul. Bible don’t say my best ain’t good enough right now, it says it will never be good enough.
Well, fuck your grace, I don’t want it. I will slap you in the face with the free will that you so graciously gave me, pissant jealous deity. I choose the Horned God, Herne, Pan, Cernunnos; They at least give me a fair shot. They don’t accept excuses. They don’t cater to whiners. They don’t believe in foolish sacrifice.
Sacrifice is a fucked up newspeak kind of word. The only place it is used right is in baseball. But the rest of the world thinks that it is noble to sacrifice, even gave it a fancy word, ‘altruism‘.
In baseball, the sacrifice means the batter gave up a hit for the team to score a run. It means to give up a lesser value to gain a greater value. But in the newspeak of the last two millenia, it means give up a greater value to get a lesser value; that is not a sacrifice, that is a swindle.
Nothing has ever pissed me off more than having felt a need to do something and then realizing there is nothing I can do. I have always sucked at that serenity thing. I have courage out the ass, but wisdom I must suck at. I want to think I can change anything if I try hard enough. Tantra has helped me out, a lot. I am sure I took the long way around the block to come to the conclusion that I shouldn’t worry about all things. But, son-of-a-bitch, why would I have driven myself to be as capable as I am just to sit back on the sidelines? If I stop now, I feel like I have wasted my life; til now.
I am such a fucked up person; but I can still make me laugh. And since it is only rarely that my laughter is that maniacal, high pitched giggle which I can’t seem to stop, I think I shall stick around me for a bit longer. ;c)
Even the giggle is better than the tears; I have always cried most when I am frustrated.
I hate it when people hurt. I want to help them. I can’t.
I hate it when there is injustice, I want to punish. Not my lane.
I hate it when there is a better way, and no one will listen. I am not God.
I am just A god, I am not THE GOD. How silly She must think we are. I hope She gets at least a chuckle out of our idiocy that causes us pain. Perhaps Her hands are bound just as tightly as are ours.
That would be fitting.
Still love you, Mother; You piss me off sometimes, but the butterflies are very nice; thank You.

Time to iterate

It has been a while since I have done any serious writing.   Last time was really as I was redefining myself as a civilian from the time I r...