Last night I wrote something in English in a heightened state again. It incidentally has some common ground with Fixed Cross’s latest post in his “Grand Scheme” thread, but it belongs in this thread. I guess I’ll also post links to the rest of my English-language videos here soon.
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Aan wie richt ik mij? O Muze, is dat het beste dat we te bieden hebben? O godin!
“Light my fire” is the ardent cry for something higher than it itself is. Something that departs from where “The End” begins. Something older than Oedipal—nay, something that only now opens the eyes to that That is where it all begins. The Son as the self-fulfilling prophecy of the Father—the Fathers.
Oedipus, the three-in-one eyed, Wisefoot, the three-legged, Snake.
He who shows Eve Adam.
The true Adam.
The Omega, the Alpha.
The Lion-dogged who steals or “robbeth”.
The King of Actors on your horizon. But thus far ever beyond it, unknown and unseen. Beyond what you know of “Evil”. Greater than the greatest evil is the Good, that is, the only one not insane, or the sanest being present, accessible. The best speaking being. The gender king.
One who is somehow between the nerds and—the rest, the strong and the weak, or at least manages to convince himself thus far. An Oedipus blind to the Swell-Foot that he is, who forces himself to See only when seduced by the best, like Uma Mohan—Saraswati Stotra, “Trishakti — Devi’s Divine Dimensions”—
Which reminds me: I have these thoughts about dimensions. The great Singers’ or Seers’ ground art is rhythm, rushing, roving in time. Melodies, let alone lyrics, only serve to catch the dance thereof (of both, respectively). The Dunce, the fool whose rapid tongue flows ahead of the king’s—the wise guy, the wit. But the true King is of course the Queen—that is, of all who sport to be king.
Who is the REAL Sir Lancelot? The one who best honours the king, most barely leaves him in his pride. Most supermanly portrayed by Henry Cavill in The Tudors. But King Arthur had only one wife. And Lancelot returned to the fold, having tasted Magic, the third path between Peasant and Nobility, between Boor and Knight, clumse and Supreme Servant.
Words tend to distract from where I really meant to go. I will try again.
Where did Ser Knight find HIS magic? Where magic was most devowed: the True Religion, the Abrahamic or Ibrahimic Magic, really Persian Magic, Persian Virtue… The Fire of Light as opposed to that of Darkness. But That is precisely the Darkness, the sweetest most persuasive Burning, the crackling of witchwood, of witchhood… Even in ancient Greece, Oedipus had this “irrational conviction” that he needed to be vaporized by lightning in a sacred grove or garden, where no one should find him. Why? Because he was wise and not mad, and his was the strongest way to attest to it. Not insane, not impure, not raving, not off the right track, not hubristic—not deluded in having truly seen the power of the Gods.
Those who, having lived as Oedipus, move on as if no line was crossed that might be drawn by Gods, had to be burned as witches in earlier times. Today the civilized world is much more lenient, ever more lenient than the “barbaric” past. Yet this was made possible thanks to the past. We are still only relatively lenient, and may always have to be that way even if given forever. And “forever” could only be given if man remains a relatively intelligent being, not allowing itself to go extinct.
For all of history, man has been the species of the three types: two obvious ones and a third, questionable type. Yet it’s precisely this one that sets the standard, “type”, the notion of two types to the stronger of which he himself belongs. To the men, say, he shows that he’s a man, and to the women, he intimates that he is on their side.
My sacrifice is the forced coming out of the third type. I recently spoke of “the naked eye and the naked mind.” But I wear “eyewear”—eye glasses, man-made lenses, like telescopes and microscopes. (I’m a telescopic wearer.) Likewise, I regularly—though not often—melt an eyeglass for my mind—a substance-induced grounding-anew for my mind. Usually, I am most sober, but my best sobriety is still slightly, if essentially, off. Just like my glasses don’t have to be perfect, my mindglass need only converge the light I see with it enough to clearly make it out—make out the form it takes. A wellspring.
I was considering using magic truffles (the lightest kind) this vacation, but this trip was induced by vaporizing weed. This is my coming-out as what Morrison called “a
visionary-scientist
radiocal biochemical
aviationary sky-diver”. A shaman. A Magus, a black-magic user—which reminds me of something I thought of saying before, of going into before. There is ONLY black magic, except for the kind that charms the world to think it is not. Zoroastrian, Abrahamic, Roman, Liberal, Globalist: these are all so many links in the chain away from the Brahmanic, whose mirror image or foil is the Brahmanic. Nietzsche wrote:
“It is an eternal phenomenon: always the greedy will finds a means to hold fast, through an illusion spread out over things, its creatures in life and to impel them to live on. These here are fettered by the Socratic lust of knowing and by the delusion to be able to heal the eternal wound of existence thereby, those there are ensnared by the seductive beauty-veil of art fluttering before their eyes, those there in turn by the metaphysical consolation that, beneath the whirl of appearances, eternal life flows on indestructibly: not to mention the baser and almost even more powerful illusions which the will keeps at the ready in every moment. Those three stages of illusion themselves are only for the more nobly equipped natures, who experience the burden and hardness of existence with deeper unlust and who are to be deceived over this unlust through exquisite stimulants. Of these stimulants consists everything we call culture; in proportion to the mixtures we have respectively a SOCRATIC or an ARTISTIC or a TRAGIC culture: or if one will permit historical exemplifications: there is either an Alexandrian or a Hellenic or a Buddhaistic culture.” (The Birth of Tragedy out of the Spirit of Music [1872].)
But he later corrected himself:
“[T]here is either an Alexandrian or a Hellenic or an Indian (Brahmanic) culture.” (Pencilled correction in Nietzsche’s own handwriting in his copy of The Birth of Tragedy. Or: Hellenism and Pessimism [1886].)
This makes perfect sense. Socratic, Apollonian and Dionysian. Modern, Ancient (Platonic) and
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[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H9qhFKMaTWY[/youtube] SEVEN, Sacred Chants III, “Vishnustuti-Vishnushodashanamani”