When you told me about it I laughed,
But then I sat on the grass,
In the sun on the hill,
With my feet in the fountain,
Guitars and chatter bending in the breeze,
Swirling over my skin,
And I tried it.
Then everything was a little different,
Like after a protestant baptism,
When the riverwater dries,
And you actually feel like something died,
And was left in that river,
But it's good and you're lighter,
Like a freshly pruned tree,
That just realized it had been touching the sky all along.
Circumstance creates art.
The artist as a conduit,
For the outlet of materializations,
Brief solifications,
Of the culmination of events, time and places,
Or a piece of that brief culmination.
The artist as a recorder,
Capturing the sound of a moment,
So in that moment they are that moment,
Embedded in the context,
So they and their works are a piece of that moment,
A tangible explosion,
A Pompeian shadow frozen on stone,
Sculpted in stone, carved in stone,
On canvas, paper, poem.
Look at that moment, the sound,
The color, the feeling.
The artist opened the gate and it came through.
Now that moment's frozen,
This moment touching that moment,
Time bending as moment touches moment,
Something clicks like the echo of wholeness
As the many, by the smallest degree, becomes a little more one.
A little less separation, touching in more places.
Heaven could not bribe me
And hell could not break me.
Do you remember what it's like to be a child
Before they taught you all their symbols and their signs?
All false gods will fall before me
All false gods will fall.
I know you tried to crucify me,
I know you tried to crucify me,
Of all the times you crucified me
I'm back, I'm back from the dead.
After all the times you hypnotized me
And all the pins you stick inside me
And all the words you lay above me
I'm back, I'm back from the dead.
There is nothing to fear now,
There is nothing to fear
There is nothing to fear now,
There is nothing.
All false gods will fall before me
All false gods will fall.
Well I'll push your face into the wall
Until nobody can hear you call
And all your snake tongued litanies
Smeared to incoherency.
I've got to exercise all of my demons,
I've got to get them all back into shape,
I'm on a new path of destruction,
I've got to tighten up my game.
I'm gonna get down under your skin girl
I'm gonna push my fingers deep inside,
Until I figure out just how you work now
Until all your little secrets are mine.
Until there's nowhere left to hide.
They always said boy your time will come,
Relax be patient, still and hold on,
In everything a pattern a flow
It sounds like nonsense until you know.
People will do anything, no matter how absurd,
in order to avoid facing their own soul.
~Carl Gustav Jung
It seems more likely to me now that there isn't exactly one truth to be found out but rather a creative interplay between the viewer and that which is being viewed, both of these simultaneously undergoing constant change and restructuring. The image of a dust storm comes to mind: an immense and shapeless mass expanding indefinitely into chaos, and yet somehow for just a brief moment, a piece of the cloud becomes aware of itself and does everything it can to hold some solid shape, desperately denying that it is itself a part of that big, empty cloud.
Mystery island hover over you now,
The black tide is rising gonna cover us all under it.
Blue eagle eyelid wide and never blinking
He circle all around while the Holy Ghost is listenin' in.
And in the space that's left I feel the shape of a throne,
I know, I know what I don't want to know.
And in the space between I see the shape of a queen,
All arms outstretched like a family tree.
Green temple pyramid, unholy iris,
It gaze upon the ages with talons and a serpent tongue.
Black magic thunderclouds are rolling over,
They cover up the sunlight and we forget the way we are.
And in the space that's left I feel the shape of a throne,
I know, I know what I don't want to know.
And in the space between I see the shape of a queen,
