Trip report.

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Trip report.

Postby Sauwelios » Tue Oct 24, 2017 2:15 am

For the first time in two and a half years, I used psychedelics yesterday: the lightest effective dose of the lightest kind of magic truffles I could get.

I basically just spent it thinking, listening to music, reading, and writing. The first thing I wrote was at the same time something I read:

"Does one not let it be talked out of one's head and one's heart, that the essence of man will ultimately survive, then this fatal process can come over us as a dark transport, with the hope born of despair that it will not concretize into such a worldview, but that it has the nature of a stormy weather, a catastrophe. This hope brought me to two poems, in which I saw that catastrophe come over the world of Western Europe as a retaliation for the unfaithfulness to the essence of Man, a retaliation in which the soul-power, the Indomitable one, against those who forgot her, unites with those who deny her and let themselves be made into a machine, in order, as last means of salvation, to drive the essence of man to an extreme, a gathering storm-cloud, in which Beauty--the sensually perceptible soul-power--is on her way as a goddess of revenge." (Adriaan Roland Holst, "Own Backgrounds", my translation.)

Just an on-the-fly translation. Roland Holst was talking about the impending Nazi invasion of the Netherlands, but I was thinking of the Flood, as in the documentary "Before the Flood". Thus I posted it as a Facebook comment to my open letter to Leonardo DiCaprio (the copy I posted on my "wall"). I added the following link:


Jeff Wayne's Musical Version of "The War of the Worlds": Part 6--The Spirit of Man

Next, I started IMing a contact of mine. Parts within accolades are parts I added/altered later.

::

Sauwelios .
I'm on shrooms, and the insight was already so close. I must be a prophet of doom, laughing or crying tears of joy.

{Sauwelios' contact .}
I feel that’s a common feeling, under them, shrooms.

Sauwelios .
But is taking shrooms a common activity? In any case, what I feel we need is the inspiration that makes possible. "[Milton] was a true Peot and of the Devil's party[.]"
"Peot" was what Blaked called a "crooked roads of Genius" (a typo).
road*
Only the third panel of the triptych can change the middle. Did you watch the documentary
? {These are references to said documentary, which my contact had said she already wanted to watch when I told her I'd just watched it.}
Did you now? There's nothing common about my philosophy. And yet it's dying to _become_ common...
Yes, it's not just {_}my{_} philosophy. But I'll record now. Goodbye.

{At this point, some time elapsed, during which I had abruptly closed my browser and considered actually making a voice recording. I decided against it and went back online.}

Or maybe not. It's just that I can hardly type, and took that as a sign.
I was going to say you didn't deserve that, but maybe you do. Maybe you even want to be "punished".
Yeah, mankind is a woman that needs to be flogged.
My "self-sacrifice" is in being openly "evil".
Maybe I _should_ record. I was going to say that may get me into trouble with my neighbours, but that's the point, isn't it? "Love your fucking neighbor till it hur{t}s"--don't spare them.
But who are my nighest neighbours? Who are "the right people" I should reach?
I wasn't wrong since my last trip. Trump is the scourge, the Mahakala who represents the fact that my "State of the World Address" appeal wasn't heard by the right people.
The right people are the few like me, whose right way, as Roland Holst said, was to not know their way.
But now I know my way.
I'm reminded of the "children of Atom" from the Fallout series. My religion is that of the Flood.
Did you at least watch (the beginning of) _The Lion King_? {as I'd recommended she do.} But maybe you don't need to.
And it doesn't really transcend the opposites, anyway. I must be the dark lion cub, the Scarred "philosopher king".
Yet laughing. So away again with this tonal music! (I just posted it on FB if you want to know which {see above}).
I guess weeping for emotion won't do, anyway. What we need is evil or mad laughter!
Yeah, but it shouldn't be farcical. The song I just sent you is making me nauseous now.

{Here's the song I just referred to:


Musica Radicum, Trumpet Air by Purcell}

So no, no maniacal laughter. If we have "clearly gone mad", that won't help.
Back to "The Spirit of Man"!
Although I guess that too is too strong right now.
All those tempting extremes...

{Around this time I just started listening to my MP3-player, on shuffle.}

Blake's "First Book" is delightful, delicious...
Urizen... Common sense?
I can't read it all (now):

"All the myriads of Eternity
All the wisdom & joy of life
Roll like a sea around him,

Except what his little orbs
Of sight by degrees unfold."

The Logos, as an island, was forgotten; and thereby, more importantly, the oceans around it.
And yet that island, or boat, is necessary. So as not to become too nauseous (from the Greek word for "ship"--the sea-faring sickness).
Homesickness in the sense of being _too_ much at home, of Home being a gaping abyss.
Moses' staff parted the sea, of course.
It is wise not to focus(?) on the potential infinity beyond "the known world", but on this "finite" "world". Only the wise can see the whole of that which is beyond the sum of its parts.
Where words fail to illumine?
Words, yeah, but not The Word, the one word which is more than the sum of its parts. Did you know "word" need not even mean "single word"?
The God who is more than the sum of the gods?
No. This One reason among a potential many, infinite even. The human way, to embrace one tongue as if it were the One. In the second half of my teens, I foolishly chose English as a universal language. But I can't even really "speak" it fluently, even now.
Maybe not so foolish after-all, though. I'm no great "speaker", anyway. A Writer, then--a rhaetor
To be most aware of what one says--that is mine art.
But before Art comes Nature, Genius. My Genius is the accumulated art of ages. Nay, more than the cumulation, the sum--the summit, the peak from which to look out, and see the valleys and seas--and the Ocean, which imgirds the Earth. This Earth, my Aerde, my root(s), my--Flower!
The moly's white flower contrasts most rationally with its roots, deep in dark earth, but the true Flower is red, like blood stains a blank slate or white gown. That blood then turns dark, purple, like the Emperor's--cape. Red the lowest vibration the human eye can still see, purple the highest--and in between is white, containing all colours.
To see the light, and the beautifully terrible paradox of "light and dark", even in words--that's my genius.
Twelve years ago it seemed like I could see, divine, the numerological value of words--names. And that makes sense, since that value is nothing if not the ratio, the beautiful proportion, of letters--signs.
My genius is in my taste--both natural and nurtured, by my parents. I should say my mother, as she's the more obvious one, though my father of course chose to commit to her.
Anyway, so there's something to writing that speaking, even singing, lacks.

{At this point there was a hiatus of over an hour, during which I wrote a short draft in Dutch, which halfway turned into German:

Misschien dat nú de Schoonheid terug moet breken--ja, WREED terug moet breken uit het Engels, die engelachtig zachte taal. De industriële nijverheid begon immers in Engeland. Wij daarentegen zijn niet nijver, niet ijverig, niet vlijtig in populaire zin. Onze hartstochtelijke lediggang, onze ijdelheid, is veeleer dat, wat naijver reizt.

Der Spiegel: reizt mein Deutsch Ihre Eifersucht nicht, meine Herren Zuhörer? Doch von "Herren" ist doch seit dem Nietzsche schon lange keine Rede mehr? EUCH--

("Bereits"?)

Ja, das ist sehr gut, "ganz toll": im Deutsch gegen die Amerikaner zu rasen. "Raserei der Vernunft"!


The phrase "Raserei der Vernunft" is from the end of Zarathustra's speech on "Backworldsmen", which I then looked up and which was the occasion for my getting something to eat. In fact, I had skipped a meal, and by now I was in between mealtimes. I then ate all the food that I would otherwise have divided over the two meals.}

Sauwelios .
I'm now experiencing what a blessing it is to eat well. I'm currently eating peanuts--which we also call "monkey nuts". I really think we have to look back to prehistoric man's origins in the wilderness: is there a kind of hard-wired envy and vengefulness against other animals in general and big beasts of prey in particular? For forcing us to develop our lower spirit, our cunning? I've read that shamans arose only after we stopped being hunter-gatherers. A warning reminder, perhaps, of the unity that reason severs and conceals.

::

This is the last of my IMs. After this, my trip kind of petered out when I looked up the god Oceanus on Wikipedia, which as usual led to my opening several links within the article, etc. Special mention goes to Pontus, which means "sea" but, more literally, "road".
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Re: Trip report.

Postby Sauwelios » Sun Oct 29, 2017 9:38 am

Socrates' spiritual son cleaved Homer's Heraclitean heritage.

Machiavelli and his (plural), Socrates' spiritual grandson's.

Antichrist is the per-verted counterpart of Christ; Nietzsche, of Plato.

Warmth alone cannot beat the lukewarm; for that, it must co-opt the icy.

White light, white heat, contrast with black and blue and _green_.

Only Urizen can re-invert Los int' Urthona. Only a Demon can raise Enitharmon.

I 'member'd too late th'Elysian metre. Or did I? Nor did.

Noll rage like Orlanda. In bloom, shoot Nirvana.

Cold rage. Not a Fool's rage, a wise man's ]rage[. Magician, a wizard. Evil as Hell--but a cold hell.

The time of my birth now. But wintertime. Wintertime winds. Dunno if DST existed back then, though. The Night will delete you.

O, Black Hole, graveyard potess, my own! Little do you know, sleeping, alone,
I now think you are right, psychic, logic, unknown
to yourself e'en, your Self,
my Soul, our (w)hole.


"Seventh Son of a Seventh Son"
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Church!

Postby Sauwelios » Sun Oct 29, 2017 10:16 am

O great Satyr, ambassador of entropy!
Thine absence is apt, thou insistor on lack and need.
After all is not absence the absolute lack-form?
I will no more deny you, I'll be your ill Peter-rock.
"Someone may object that the successful revolt against the universal and homogeneous state could have no other effect than that the identical historical process which has led from the primitive horde to the final state will be repeated. But would such a repetition of the process--a new lease of life for man's humanity--not be preferable to the indefinite continuation of the inhuman end? Do we not enjoy every spring although we know the cycle of the seasons, although we know that winter will come again?" (Leo Strauss, "Restatement on Xenophon's Hiero".)
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Re: Trip report.

Postby Fixed Cross » Sun Oct 29, 2017 3:31 pm

Sauwelios wrote:Socrates' spiritual son cleaved Homer's Heraclitean heritage.

Machiavelli and his (plural), Socrates' spiritual grandson's.

Antichrist is the per-verted counterpart of Christ; Nietzsche, of Plato.

Warmth alone cannot beat the lukewarm; for that, it must co-opt the icy.

White light, white heat, contrast with black and blue and _green_.

Only Urizen can re-invert Los int' Urthona. Only a Demon can raise Enitharmon.

I 'member'd too late th'Elysian metre. Or did I? Nor did.

Noll rage like Orlanda. In bloom, shoot Nirvana.

Cold rage. Not a Fool's rage, a wise man's ]rage[. Magician, a wizard. Evil as Hell--but a cold hell.

The time of my birth now. But wintertime. Wintertime winds. Dunno if DST existed back then, though. The Night will delete you.

O, Black Hole, graveyard potess, my own! Little do you know, sleeping, alone,
I now think you are right, psychic, logic, unknown
to yourself e'en, your Self,
my Soul, our (w)hole.

Nice.
The strong do what they can, the weak accept what they must.
- Thucydides

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Thunderbolt steers all things.
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Re: Trip report.

Postby Sauwelios » Mon Oct 30, 2017 7:14 am

Sauwelios wrote:I really think we have to look back to prehistoric man's origins in the wilderness: is there a kind of hard-wired envy and vengefulness against other animals in general and big beasts of prey in particular? For forcing us to develop our lower spirit, our cunning? I've read that shamans arose only after we stopped being hunter-gatherers. A warning reminder, perhaps, of the unity that reason severs and conceals.

::

This is the last of my IMs. After this, my trip kind of petered out when I looked up the god Oceanus on Wikipedia, which as usual led to my opening several links within the article, etc. Special mention goes to Pontus, which means "sea" but, more literally, "road".


And to Thaumas:

"With Gaia, he fathered Nereus (the Old Man of the Sea), Thaumas (the awe-striking 'wonder' of the Sea, embodiment of the sea's dangerous aspects), Phorcys and his sister-consort Ceto, and the 'Strong Goddess' Eurybia." (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pontus_(mythology))

During my trip, I saw Thaumas as praeternaturally green midsea waves, making a wooden ship's existence beyond that event doubtful. At the same time, I imagined the ship's crew, and especially captain, as wide-eyed in a state between wonder and fear. Ad-miration.

But that's now only the invocation of the muse. Man's lower spirit is only a part of his whole spirit. In fact, it's only lower in relation to the rest or the whole conceived as higher. The latter's really all around it, including below.

Like a myst around the body, making it a--plasma, whatever.

[At this point I decided to make an English-language recording again for the first time in a while.]
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