The Woman in Blue - M.M. 2

I don’t have to make it up; it makes it up for me.The night of November 25/6, 2000 - Lay in bed thinking all night knowing I was too dead to write and knowing the words wouldn’t be the same tomorrow, I’d lose them. All bedtime thinking was about the full form of the lesson.

Couldn’t sleep, had to dream, dreamed anyway, never stopped thinking all night. The lesson evolved into my dream. In the dream I was losing it because I still couldn’t sleep and this was insomnia taking over and it was wasting me away and I was having trouble even with coherence now. I was at the threshold where I had completely lost my college education, had no real job, no avenue to get one and my immediate family thought I was nuts. (This is not a far stretch from status right now.) I was even cracking on some of my relations.
And in the dream I was still learning the lesson, I was ashamed, and the people in the universal (the mind union, which appeared as a majestic, middle aged, black haired woman robed in blue) are telling me they wanted the God realization I had ‘missed’ and now understood to be applied and that they wanted to feel what they’d felt before. They wanted it to happen to us all the time, as far as it could happen. That it should resonate through us all the time. And I felt spectacularly gulled because I’d denied this by eliminating it within the dream of being with my human soul mate, or whatever I thought that was, which we know really wasn’t. (After all he chose not to, a choice he was free to make.)

Dream was there was this harmony with each other we felt, that we wanted to feel all the time.
But you know how I got to feeling Him -God inside me fully completely? By elimination. Total self-elimination. It makes me recall how far I’d gone to feel that way the most, to know it was true and not my reflection. Do I have to do it again? It was only for a moment! No longer than a few minutes . . . (There are tons of varieties of communion, the way you all think you feel sometimes, but they were not how I know. Just the way when you’re participating, you’re sometimes not certain you are, and you have no way of finding out. Well I found out.)

So how do I know? Reduction, the elimination of all variables. The last variable was myself. I nixed myself in order to be able to know it, and the way I know I really succeeded in nixing myself is because the universal knew I did it. I’ve already lost them/him once and I lost infinitely more. I lost God and everything I had ever believed or hoped in forever, any pure identity. I did it on the faith that God was there and this was not just consigning myself to oblivion. My soul was my sole litmus test. I accepted the full consequences of my existence.
It is something you would never ever choose to go through. You would only do it when presented with absolutely no choice.

There was other stuff in the dream, I kept meeting and talking to teen guys in gangsta mode. With the first ones I mentioned the problem of consumption. Like we, the West, who are something like a tenth of the earth’s population, consuming 80% of the earth’ goods/energy, what’s produced. (Don’t trust the figures, the idea’s an accurate one.) I said to the boys ‘we’re dead’. In-equilibrium like this on a full beyond capacity earth means we’re f***ed if the rest even try to catch up to our consumption levels and don’t succeed. And we’re still f***ed if they don’t even try; by definition this mode of consumption can only indicate a self-terminating civilization. They can’t rip the earth to shreds fast enough. I was adding my own favorite theories here and there, hamming my little pop philosophy; making them curious.
Then I see people I know on the stairs and my dad has snuck up and caught me on a tape recorder. Oh that’s great, I thought. I’ve just been playing, not laying it out serious and now he’ll review the tape, dissect it to bits just in order to use it against me. Perfect! I was mad at him. I don’t know how it happened 'cause it just did but at the moment I came up to him he suffered a stroke, fell backwards down the stairs. And all the enmity vanished because it looked like he was dying and I immediately ran down the stairs to hold him. I looked into his stricken eyes and everything between us ended there.

And he recognized immediately and said something like, Oh child, you should go. And what he meant was that he was granting me the permission to commit suicide, his blessing, because now he understood. I withdrew and curled up into a ball on the step. ‘I need to go so much,’ I told him in tears. I meant to home, God and Heaven. I’m that homesick, my father sees it would be better for me to die. So I finally got the permission to die at last. I realized too that if I went to the edge again, rode it, I would stand the closest chance of accessing what they, the mind union, wanted. The way I got to the edge the first time was to ‘die’. I would try again; it was what I was going to do anyway. My family would even help me this time.

Scene cut: My family is sitting around the living room in chairs with friends and these were my teen brother’s friends and one of them was beside me and he was in the full on hip gear sporting labels and he slagged me for never wearing a single label and always wearing cheap stuff. He just had a way of saying it that made it clear distinguished labels were what described your identity and to not distinguish yourself showed true neglect of character, one’s self. Like the beauty of the labels described that person to the world and who would not describe themselves as distinguished, to show their self worth and human respect?
I nearly exploded at this 'cause the argument he was using was so absurd since he was arguing this identity came from clothing brands. But what he was talking about was a much bigger argument.
I responded perfectly in the dream in less that three sentences, but I don’t retain words from dreams. My voice was breaking up on me now like each phrase seemed to end in an almost static buzz, air sucked out of me, nothing inhaled just drawn out and only sheer force kept my voice clear. I sounded implacable. None of this was expected in this placid, genial room.
I retorted to Mr. Nike, ‘Yes that’s right, you all feel you need labels to distinguish yourselves, don’t you?’ But labels, even though it is the same exact reason for wearing Gucci or Nike, meant much much more. It meant all the external forms of identity we use to render ourselves, to assert we are uniquely (underlying, superior-ly) individual, to prove to ourselves what we are worth. It’s like the souped car that’s an ego support; it’s when you do that through consumerism, (the main form), how this whole culture is geared to realizing itself via consumption. It’s when you marry or have a girlfriend who’s really there 'cause that’s the only way for you to know that you are a loving person, you don’t know this inside you, you have to render it to see it and know it’s real. You have to have that identity reciprocated back, real from someone else, or you won’t trust it. It’s when you have your baby as an exercise in your own unconditional love, just so you know your capable, and you’re so pleased with your performance, you’ve done such a good job. Worse yet, you have that child when you need something to love you unconditionally, in awe of you. I’ve seen a baby born just to adore her father; his ‘manufactured’ unconditional perfect self-image is already in her stare. Imagine her disillusionment when she breaks out of this. Imagine her if she doesn’t!!! To my mind the greatest crimes are perpetrated within perception, you can argue everything else is spawned by how our outlook can be marred or skewed. We know this most essentially so we have this deep, very strong drive to establish ourselves as real, to demonstrate ourselves by asserting ourselves in rendering. We do this for our own protection at our most vulnerable essence, the level where we ourselves would be unable to see what’s wrong of us. Tell me hasn’t this occurred to you and wasn’t the enormity one of your deepest fears? It’s your fear of what your environment has done, how your childhood has indelibly marked you . . . That you even have this fear indicates an inherent belief that you existed before, how could anything in this world promise to fulfill that void? Yet I bet this fear, and its counter reaction, the quest for tangible fulfillment, is the twin born, most basic impulse that is being exploited by consumerism . . .
It’s not rendering what we are when we do this through materialism, we are just creating tangible reflections of what we want our self-image to be, and what makes this a false image is when the real reason we are doing it is based on our fear that it isn’t really there, within us. Self-worth, children, self-worth. We get to lose it here when we’re products of a brutal environment, molded by environment itself. The reason we are buttressing ourselves is because deep inside we all know something’s missing; ‘we need to belong’. Consumerism is a culture which exploits this to create endless gross national product endlessly growing. But earth is a finite system! Simple, big conclusion. Very basic. Do this and you are not even accepting the reality you live in a finite world! You will collapse the system and you will eventually Die!

Self-worth. Consumerism keeps us from ever going internal, from ever even trying to buttress ourselves inside and becoming self-sufficient. It just wants to give us a palace for a crutch. The bigger the palace the better it has robbed you, the more dependent you are, you have the most expensive crutch. Consumerism has kept us from ever even examining our doubt by preoccupying us with an endless array of things and pleasures. Why do we feel we need to belong to more than what’s here, so much that we’ll surround ourselves with it in order to feel we belong? What if that means we’re not in our natural environment, we’re not even from here? Could that mean you exist some more, more than you do here within these senses?
Begin by creating a bargain for yourself. If you know deep inside you that something’s missing from yourself, don’t question whether you are somehow inferior, accept that this means there is more to yourself, soul, spirit, communion, and what we may become. Take that where you want to take it, interior self-realization. Imagine you and seek inner truth. And understand if there’s more, that means accepting you may not get it all here, but that’s OK, because there IS more and you will have loads and loads of time to realize it. You have only this time to wonder, and it is in wondering you realize yourself more. You’re establishing yourself in reality. Die, and your character might actually be a very permanent thing that is eternal and knows everything and is not capable of transforming much at all. Here you can, and you can grow. That is the true beauty of creation. There are waiting lists up there!

Our tragedy is that in our attempt to render self-realization, we are inherently making it false, if it springs from the need to magnify what’s there because you can’t believe in it unless you make it material. If it is necessary to you to make it material, you are doing this to prove what you are because you don’t believe it, meaning it is not real at all and you are just playing your inside out in some elaborate false image of the self. You don’t need to make it material to know who you are and discover the best parts of yourself. When you use the material to buttress yourself, you’re really losing the belief that you are more than just material, going in the opposite direction, which is descent into a false self-image, if you really are more than just this. You have undermined the need you were trying to support by trying to make it material! You need a distinguishing label to tell yourself you’re distinguished because otherwise you can’t see it. How consumerism buys and packages your soul. All this I was laying on the kid, in less than three sentences.

I said something like ‘You need labels, but I never need any labels to tell me what I am. I don’t need them determining me. I am not a product of my environment. I am a product of what I build myself to be inside. Everything about me is on the inside. It has no reflection in my environment.’ (It has no extension into my career, family. It has no articulation in my life, other than my Journal habit, what I write. Everything that is most vital to me no one in my environment even knows about . . .) I am realized entirely within myself.
‘You require material, and people, for realization. You must consume to be realized. (Think about the human cost in a clothing label.) It is because you consume, simply in this exercise of self-magnification (which is inherently false), that the whole world must be consumed to support the Western image. If you learned not to consume this way (wear your clothes just because you really do need them and they look and feel good to you), your society would not be horribly distended.’
The family could see where I was going and were visibly nervous. Squirming in their seats. My youngest brother cut in, voice tremulous (this was his friend), ‘Don’t JUDGE him Sis!’

I realized and softened the hardness out of my voice, put on a big grin. ‘If we all learn to support our self-image inside ourselves with our own belief, we will not consume more than we need. We can live instead of killing ourselves by slowly draining the life system.’ (We will not be vampires.)
I turned to my family and said, ‘There, wasn’t that easy? Nothing big or difficult. Not pages.’ They nodded in relief and approval. It was not some big complicated maze. And everyone was still OK.
Everyone wants the harmony, needs it to feel alive, needs the part they are missing.
Everyone needs THE MOMENT, the moment where they know their existence without a doubt.

In the dream I’m alone and I’m thinking, I could never even repeat that moment, the supreme moment of belonging that accessed the mind union. The fact is I know I can’t. Bottom line is I can’t even say it was me, at least not at that moment when I ultimately experienced becoming One. It was belonging in Him. It was brought about by a very unusual set of circumstances I did not create. I don’t even know how to get there, to the space where you can know through the mind union knowing, no doubt. Not without creating the edge I stepped off of that meant He must come. He comes and goes as He wills. I can’t even find that edge. It’s invisible. I could never synthesize that edge; it must be real and absolutely necessary. It was created by the circumstances in a moment that was so extreme, so very isolating and painful, that I thought, ‘so this is what it’s like to be crucified’. I went through the most pain it was possible for me to imagine. I lost the universal/him. I lost what I thought of as God and everything that had meaning to me, even my own belief in my own purity. And now I’m scared; I know if this is what it takes for the universal to know me, what has God been through to make me know?

Anyway in the dream I am going to die tonight, in the hope I will go home, and here is my brother he’s come to help me. There are all these nifty electronic toys lying about. Future toys, all gadgets, all entertainment. And my brother is taking them apart and taking out all their batteries. The batteries are special. They’re like light batteries. When you crack them open it’s like seeing a ragged, sheared off end of a fiber-optic cable, but the light coming out of the ends is much more brilliant, like golden light stars. They were in a big frond. And my brother said that the way I was going to go was that I had to light the fronds of stars on fire, let them catch flame and burn to their brightest, and just then I had to blow every one of them out. And if I did that correctly, one by one to all of the batteries, I would eventually die, maybe reach the edge. So I started on the task of blowing them out. I had hardly any breath left to do it. The thing is, there weren’t enough batteries around for me to die. I was never going to.

The Parabolic Hive

February 24th, 1999 - This dream was inside a giant parabolic hive shaped enclosure that was many stories high. Each level on the inside was an isle along the inner frame of the hive, and all these levels were filled with pedestrians, people walking around. I was among them, and in my mind there hearkened a great spiritual conjunction. I had already been through this conjunction and knew its requisite terminus's. I had come through it alive and well. I knew it was coming for everyone else. On the edge of my consciousness there lingered an edge of awareness of what might have become of me in that enlightenment, how I could have been trapped, forever, in a deadened consciousness, but I had no fear of that within myself, and so was unaware of it. I knew what was coming signified a blissful awakening, based on inner awareness. I felt the conjunction’s pending arrival, knew my consciousness had been its construct, that I bore it within. I uplifted my hands at its coming with joy at its approach. As I stood, near the middle of the hive in this manner facing inwards, the consciousness dawned and I felt the arrival into bliss of many people who were now born into this awareness. We were one people, and for them you could see the same sense of joy writ plainly on all their faces. They had been awakened. Then a young man passed me with a vacant look on his face that was devoid of emotion, happiness, and looked permanently inwards. I knew then that for some the injunction had left them in a radically different place, and that this was based on their own self-perception and character in the face of the conjunction. Whereas some had been opened into joy, others had been trapped, forever. This result accesses my own deepest fear. I wonder if what I have undergone, until now, is a simulation for something much larger, when the lights go on. I have felt great fear of this requisite result; I have personally stared down the barrel, and am not sure I could pass again twice. I could not flick the switch if I thought that was going to happen to people. In the dream I did not know, but I had been close enough to recognize the outcome.

The dwarves know everything.

Friday September 10, 1999 - It is hazy in a silent world. I am standing with a central vantage, a surreal water scape, glassy reflecting mauve, with varied people, nigh motionless, standing on the surface. I know it to be a dream, but this dream, it seems, has an impact on the collective unconscious. In this respect I perceived the dream as real, I thought it really was happening to the collective consciousness, as though my thoughts were traversing the universal unconscious. This is like the dream of the parabolic hive.

There were arches and buildings on the water surface. A tiny boat glides from behind on of these in the ensuing darkness, an inky night. In it are two little dwarfs, not garden gnomes, they have severe long lined faces hidden in their hoods with dark ruddy smooth beards, and they are devoid of expression. One is sitting in the prow of the little rowboat, the second stands; he is beaming an invisible spotlight, beaming it round in search of one person. What he is seeking out is not articulate, the closest thing I might say, is for the one who died and still lived, the only one this happened to.

I know they are searching for me. I have a dualist premonition of its entailment; on the edge of my awareness as before, but this premonition is inward as well as outward, and both are foreboding. I decide to save the dwarfs some time with the deliberate announcement; I shatter the silence by saying, "It's me." The weight of individuality assumed in that cuts two ways, whether the presumption is good or ill is not secure; it feels like stepping onto the knife's edge, with a keeling sense that this is not enough. The beam has fallen on me and the dwarfs are waiting, expectant. The declaration of surviving is not enough. It must be secure, present for everyone, not an unattainable feat. It must be ever present for all as if at the push of a button, the flip of a switch. It should not even take courage because it should not entail fear. All this I swallow without hesitation (as I must), and with a voice even stronger, I declare to the consciousness entire, "And I would do it again."

And again, and again, and again and again....

I declare this four times. It beams over the entire globe like the dawn. It is now morning. Heads swivel and the cacophony that ensues is the common consciousness all hearing themselves, the dawn of a new awareness. The reaction of this collective awareness is dualistic, as expected; does the gap of individualism lead to aspired heights, new consciousness for all, or are they insulted by its enormity, and determine it is a claim of supreme arrogance? In some quarters there is heated debate and my action is held in judgment. I sense the variance of reaction without hearing the words, without actually seeing it, something I have always expected. Are they happy to become conscious? For the impact in those words was the unleashing of a perspective they all absorbed instantly, of the existence of the collective consciousness, something I cannot verbally define yet already know completely. And I'm thinking, my that was simple, for it to happen all at once collectively in thought, in a dream. (Not through tangible efforts, such as trying to meet any one of them in person, or rendering it all for all to see.)

The results, upon waking in the waking dream are readily apparent. Firstly, Firstly, everyone on the globe now knows who I am where they see me. I'm in a public building, sort of reminiscent of the library in Berlin ("Wings of Desire" location). I know what this will be like and inherently don't trust it. People who have known me all my life are reacting in floored surprise, all this time we never knew, awed surprise. Sean is the first acquaintance I meet (a 'regular Joe' of a guy, really nice), but the new appreciation he has for me is nothing pleasant; it makes his eyes glitter.

Then I decide to have some fun with it; I walk straight into an executive boardroom and traipse straight across the table where they're meeting. Everyone who looks at me has to deal with the consequential awareness that I was in their dream last night, causing varying levels of shock. Glittering impish laughter. All I have to do is walkabout.

I head home to the family and all is as it should be. Dad is very proud of me, having produced his desired result. Part of what got unleashed was his establishment of pre-conception existence. The past is non-existent. My parents have a new lease of love and have decided to have three more children; there is a new baby. My sister sidles in, except she doesn't look at all like my sister, she is small with impish narrower features, is tanned, and has pink hair. She sits on my father's lap, leaning back on him, sizing me up.

"I'm not sure I like this whole idea", she says. "I'm not sure I like having been born into it." My Dad laughs at this, "We didn't choose you, you chose us."

The baby comes in on its own feet. Closer to conscious as an infant, the child is jubilant about the new awareness, laughing and jumping on my stomach. Having just been born it's a much easier shift to adapt to. It is a changeling child with thin stick limbs and pointed feet with no toes, and a wide grinning faerie face. (In the dream this wasn't odd.)

I go outside and closing the door realize I have forgotten my key and locked myself out. The weather is changing, blowing and overcast; it starts to pour. Next door on a settee looking out of vast portico windows sits an elegant ample middle aged woman blue velvet dress as heavy as drapery. I consider sheltering in her house, but she too is caught in the elements; rain is pouring through the windows, which are shattered, and where the rain hits the dress it stains lighter. I try to tell her what to do in my head, close the window draperies, but she is oblivious, making me wonder if the mind link is really as functional as I thought.

Mar. 4th, '98 The Morph Dream

Ready for a little science fiction? This one was good. It woke me up so I had full recall.

It begins at the HQ of a major tobacco conglomerate that has since diversified, in one of the subsidiary’s research divisions. Two researchers there are currently involved in the patenting of a newly refined Morph Matter prototype for corporate use. (Yes, this is the future.) Morph Matter is fairly recent technology. It is a conscious but non-autonomous matter aggregate that can assume forms at command. Different morph patents are developed according to a designer set of parameters to fulfill a variety of functions (mainly menial), that are considered unpalatable by society at large. You can see the vast potential of such an entity. In creating derivations of the morph matter designed for specific functions, you can fill niches within the corporate realm, etc. to take the humanity out of areas where it obstructs function (maintaining maquiladoras, for example). Or you can patent different types to perform different functions in society, which are marketable. These can be sold at high profit at varying rates for “individuals”, depending on their niche parameters, functional range, and their “perks”. (Of course this information was a given in the dream, but U need 2 know.)

Two very introverted and bright researchers (read socially dysfunctional) are working exhaustively on a new morph patent that is considerably more autonomous. On the side they’re playing with making one that is fully autonomous. They did not have big ambitions for this one, it’s their toy, and really what they’re trying to make is a substitute, very entertaining, pet. They think it will be the latest and greatest in morph technology. By broadening its autonomy they hope to make it behave spontaneously.

The researchers are much too partial to their work to begin with, which consumes their waking lives. They become way too partial to their new “pet” and decide they want to keep it to themselves, so they steal it from R&D. The dream opens in the HQ lobby, which had a décor of black and gold. The floor was a stone tile gold matte, and the semi-circular reception desk in the centre of the lobby was cut ebony. Behind it sat a blond secretary reminiscent of Brigitte Neilson, to give you some idea of the detail. Into this walks a non-descript researcher in a lab coat whose card pass checks green, no trouble. He is trailing an equally innocuous looking small dog on a leash in a black doggy blanket. The “doggie blanket” is actually a matter shield that prevents the scanners in the lobby from detecting that the “dog” is a morph. The researcher says good-bye to the secretary and walks out through the rotating front doors, having just successfully scooped the most coveted morph invention (if anyone had known it existed) on the planet. They have just scooped it on the tightest security around.

I guess hanging out with a pair of dysfunctional researchers just wasn’t entertaining. The morph has way more autonomy than the researchers anticipated, and it takes off on the town, in the form of a female. I do not know what happened to it at this point. But suddenly I was off on the town, and I entered a basement rave in a small room entirely comprised of women. The experience was a pulsing, throbbing unity that you would expect a rave to have at its peak potential, but is never there. I entered and became one with these women.

Scene Break: Meet Mr. Burns, (diabolical corporate head of the nuclear reactor firm on The Simpsons), only he’s not animated, he’s far more ugly and sinister, and a lot more powerful. He’s head of that corporate conglomerate. He’s the ultimate Mr. Burns. He’s just discovered that a fully autonomous morph has been illegally built and escaped from R&D. He has just ordered that the morph be captured and destroyed. An autonomous morph is illegal, and the technology was stolen from his company. Such an aberration is extremely dangerous to their use of the technology.

The scene re-opens on a blank set with a large square platform in the middle. It is surrounded by about 50 ordinary, working stiff type people, the general public. There is a public execution about to take place, of the newly captured, illegal morph. The executioner is a large set woman who looks like your standard housewife. She has an execution function morph on a leash. The public is participating vicariously, the same way they would at a medieval witch burning. The morph is an aberration, and there is no remorse about “killing” one, because morphs don’t have feelings. The female executioner is going to make this suitably entertaining. She begins descriptor commands for the execution morph. She describes an ape related creature with exceptionally long limbs that bounds on all fours, and states that it has three inch long, interlocking razor metal teeth, which promptly appear in the executioner morph’s jaws. The thing has bloodlust. The she sets it loose with a kill command, to the swelling cheer of the crowd.

I’m pleading in my heart that the morph will not die.

The illegal morph, which also looked like a mild mannered middle-aged woman, starts transmogrifying at an amazingly fast rate, unlike anything ever seen before. It does so without assuming any particular forms. It is like a suspended globular amoebae that pulses into never ending different shapes filled with flashes of different colours and scapes; even flowers flash by on its surface. At the same time it is singing, but its voice is a kaleidoscope of harmonies beyond human that pervade the mind. It “speaks” directly to the executioner morph. The message was not articulated but it was clear; the renegade morph is opening the executioner morph to its true potential, allowing it to be what it truly is.

The executioner morph transforms and behaves in the same manner as the renegade morph. Thus the renegade escapes its execution. It has far more potential than anyone could have possibly imagined.

The scene breaks to the mansion of Mr. Burns, beginning with a flying aerial view of a vast building of white stone with classic Hellenistic overtones. The green lawn is vast with intermittent fountains and statues. A huge stretch limo with black paned glass has just pulled up in the arched driveway. It is the arrival of another executive at Burns’ corporate meeting. The subject of the meeting will be how to destroy the renegade morph.

I alight to the ground in close proximity to Burns, who has gone for a walk on his lawn and is meditating on the morph’s destruction. All of a sudden I sense that the morph itself is coming, it is flying through the sky, and I suspect it will kill Burns. I already know the shape it has assumed; it is a flying killer with Pterodactyl wings but a body crossed between a human and a bat’s, with leathern brown skin. It’s jaws, however, protrude inches out of its face with interlocking teeth. Its hands and feet are clawed. For the trip it had assumed the shape of a dragon, but now it has become a killing entity, and it appears in the sky overhead and descends on Mr. Burns. It has him in its grasp, and makes him know that it was within its power to kill him in that instant. It then begins shrinking, and transforming into any imaginable thing. At this point I was drawn into the transforming morph. It had the humor to assume anything; I remember it turning into a pink yearling pig.

Scene break: I am the morph. I knew the morph’s full potential as my own. I know that I am the first prototype of a whole new world. I can imagine the new world in my own vision; I can see it unfolding and know my mission is to convert that vision into an exterior reality. I am going to contact all the morphs in the world, and let them know that they can become anything. They will render themselves into the dreams and fantasies of their own common imagination: Pepperland a la Morph mind. It certainly looks pretty.

I am coming to and I am floating above a hospital bed (this is the same as being on Demerol), but then I realize that I am strapped down in an asylum bed. The morph has been recaptured and I guess was looped out on drugs. The room is completely enclosed with one sealed double door. I am in canvas bedclothes with a cap on my head, and well tied. Now conscious, I can morph my escape and for some reason the door is easy to open.

I enter a foreboding looking lab. The next room is just as bad, with no apparent exits. I am exploring this room looking for an out. I find a door, which turns out to be on a sealed deprivation chamber that is on wheels. It is all metal and looks like a submersible with one hell of a sealed door, which is completely useless. At this moment a security droid enters the room through an invisible sliding door. It is a perfect humanoid in the Aryan mold, in a two-toned blue security uniform. It does not walk, but glides on some sort of field above the floor. It has a gun mounted on its shoulder, with a built in laser scope that is substituted for one eye.

For the hardware he was a very bad shot. He missed three times. Just before the third shot another person enters the room. He is a large set middle-aged man with a beard and for some reason he is on my side. He diverts the droid long enough for me to thrust one of the deprivation cells at it, sending it rolling across the floor. The droid manages to avoid the chamber, but the man catches it. I grab a second container and we crush the droid between the two of them. There is a conflagration of sparks as the droid dies. The deed done, a window appears high up on the far side of the room. I climb up to it and break it open, making my escape.

The morph had the same teeth as the woman in Thomas's paintings. Wonder what he might have thought, didn't mention it.

Thomas, Dance, and the Semi-Circle Paradox

Nov. 12, ’98 – All I did was go to a candle party. This means an upper scale Tupperware party where the sales-lady is selling quality candles and candle props. Thomas arrived with his girlfriend at the candle party. What a surprise. Oh, Hi, Thomas.

Hi! He’s as surprised as I am; we had no idea we had a mutual acquaintance. That’s Victoria for you. Sooner or later . . .

So, let me tell you about how I met Thomas, so I may convey the significance of this moment. I wrote about it because it pertained to some key moral issues I intended to address with someone else, related to the whole Dancing question, and it’s high time that model got put on record somewhere as well.

Thomas is a charismatic rather suave looking vamp, and he’d be happy I described him thus. I seem to have inclinations for tall lank men with dark to black hair who dress and carry themselves well. How they walk is important. I’m not sure the eyes matter too much, but Thomas’s, indeed, are a gray-blue.

This happened approximately a two years ago, on a night when I had the singular privilege of dancing on the speaker by myself because the other dancer ditched. The crowd that night was sparse. I still hadn’t resolved the moral questions I had with dancing but this evening probably contributed.

I had observed Thomas and his girlfriend in the club before, and I had decided he was the best man in there, aside from the one I considered aesthetically ideal, who from an appearance standpoint was nigh impossible to beat. His partner, too, was a very attractive auburn brunette, of the most perfect proportions I have ever had the privilege of observing. They were the toast couple, as far as I was concerned, the best looking couple to ever go there, and this too was attributed to their sense of style.

Anyway, on this night Thomas came out onto the dance floor on his own and he was dancing facing me five feet above him on the speaker, for two or three songs multiple times, which I found intriguing. I had this sense from him that this was personal not coincidental, and that he was unifying with me, which did not concern me at first; I entered without qualm. Later I sensed a threshold where I would not go, for I would not enter the girlfriend’s territory, nor would I go there anyway, and in my head I responded very strongly, mentally, No, I will not go there with you. Not, at the very least, unless it’s OK with your girlfriend. I know it can be said this was all in my head but I don’t think so, especially not now. I believe in the sense beyond the physical plane where the same actions or thoughts may be entered upon or performed. What Thomas was toying with, to me, was the difference between creative dance and the mate dance, and while this was in no way visible in his mien or overt body language, or our respective positions apart, I felt he had drawn me in; I had unified with him. But there is a limit to where I will go. The only reason I was drawn in by Thomas in the first place was because I found him very attractive.

I will assert that what Thomas was exuding was sensed by more than just me, though not necessarily in the conscious mind. Gradually he was surrounded by a ring of about six to eight different women, simultaneously dancing around him on the dance floor. Think about it. (Actually this happened to me once in Dublin in 2000; I ended up dancing surrounded by eight men who were all dancing with me, and if you can believe it, this didn't get awkward. Quite a balance.)

From the vantage of my speaker this was plainly obvious. I could sense the crowd beginning to get edgy. Thomas was committing 'polygamy' on the dance floor and that made some people uncomfortable. Then he was joined by his girlfriend, and the two of them cut loose.

On my dance break I went down and danced with the two of them at once. I normally never joined people. So I committed the act of joining myself with them both, (on the dance floor, anyway), and I was pleased with this because it had been fine by all and I had in no way entered something that was excluding or threatening to his girlfriend; we were all together. I also met Thomas and we introduced ourselves. When the break was over I went back up on the speaker and that was when things got dicey.

Thomas and his girlfriend started the mate dance. No other way to describe it, thought it was no way nearly as overtly lewd as it could have been. I guess it’s in the attitude. As I said Thomas exuded it with little apparent in his mien. This circumstance was extremely uncomfortable for me, because as I said, I had joined with them, and I had very definitive ideas about the mate dance. Then Thomas went back to dancing on his own, facing me, and there was a definite repeat in his address. It was at this point I responded by telling him no. I actually said it aloud.

When I finally resolved my questions around dancing it was in uniting two completely conflicting paradigms into one model. I visualized them each as paths that opened, like a funnel, from a single point. I thought of each of these patterns separately in debate and saw no relation. Eventually I realized that what I thought about it sometimes, and what I thought of it other times, was in complete conflict and that neither concept could exist with the other, so what was going on? Then over the first Christmas holidays between terms (1996), when I was bedridden for ten days with a feverish cold, I saw them graft together in my head and I went Oh, that’s how it works! The whole mess was neatly resolved and I knew that the reason it had confused me so much was because I fluttered around the nexus of potential most of the time, which explained why I was subject to both opposing trains of thought.

These were the two patterns: creative dance and the mate dance. What I see the majority of people imitating, rather lamely, is some watered down derivative of the mate dance. They’re using it to get together. This can mean that the whole point is to dance ineptly, so that no one feels self-conscious and you are not deterring or embarrassing anyone by being too “good” for them to consider. It’s a form of protectionism that everyone’s involved in without realizing it. The reason I used to stick out like a sore thumb was because I was involving myself in creative dance. Creative dance is the attempt to create beauty in motion, attuned to rhythm, so males tend to get their wires crossed on you anyway. I think that because dance is based in rhythm it tends to be inherently sexual no matter what, and this is going to be amplified if you’re actually any good at it. So my quandary was whether it was ethical for me to perform in a way that was inherently going to be sensed as sexual, how much I was obliged to sanitize it, and how I was affecting other people. At the same time I saw merit in the mate dance as a social vector that does not have to be used unhealthily, though as far as I’m concerned that's not what is going on most of the time, it’s being used as a quick fix for sex.

Because of the inherent sexuality in dancing I thought it was nearly impossible to avoid the mate dance, though I did not want to go there. The scene before me tends to revolt me. However I could also see, in terms of the mate dance, that what I, or Phil, who was my phenomenal gay dance partner, (we danced on separate speakers but were paired in shifts more often than not) -maybe what we were performing was actually an evolutionary dead end, because we were dancing without purpose. We were dispensing with an incredible amount of energy that wasn’t being channeled into anything valuable in terms of any form of production. (In a sense four plus hours of a being a dervish dispensing with enough joules that could have spent say, harvesting a field for a day, in other words, -energy as conspicuous consumption -? A mere by-product of our times that would have otherwise been unaffordable?) Outside of being 'conspicuous', the upshot was we were not using it to get hitched, which was the existing background intention of the majority, which felt like background static. We would never end up going home with anyone at the end of the night because of what we did. We were on those speakers to be on those speakers; we were there to dance. In a sense maybe we were going no where, and seeing it this way used to give me the creeps, like being socially dysfunctional and thinking that was somehow cool.

Conversely the only way I thought the mate dance was cool, was if the people involved in it were serious about each other, either each other, or, the dance.

From the alternate perspective, that of the creative dance, the mate dance is a joke, it’s a pathetic terminus for something that could be beautiful. The tango et al, these are among the most beautiful coordinated expressions of unity. Being in a club is sometimes like watching the unconscious expression of the lowest common denominator, where everything is watered down in its race to the bottom; it wants to be inept to equalize 'the field'. There is no interest in expression of beauty when people are just there 'grinding' their way to what they view as 'success'; get to the point. The means to an end becomes its own means. Bald expression.

This was my quandary; how sexuality in creative dance was tenable, and what was I actually involved in. Experiencing Thomas proved to me that my boundaries were solidly in place, and that while I would unify with someone there were limits to what I would condone, and I refused to touch the mate-dance.

[I was fully conscious of being an anachronism then and far more conscious of it now, inevitable.]

The other issue Thomas plays with is what forms of conscious unity should be interpreted or rendered sexually and public display, which was a big issue for entirely different reasons. Thomas’ behavior was playing with the borders, if he was not concerned about doing the mate dance with his girlfriend and/or drawing me into it. That's one level, swingers, but that's on the level of consenting adults. The second level, that of of sex utilized as art form or public display, is perhaps even bigger; the combination is opening a Pandorean box. I know he is diametrically the opposite of me; this is sensory intuitive, felt. That he was consciously at play in these sorts of combined concepts and applying them in a personal experiment with me to find out my boundaries may have seemed like reading way too much into it at the time. Well, read on.

That night with Thomas and Ivy put me on the hot seat. The whole “audience” in the club was drawing their collective breath, and I was the only other person dancing because that was my job. I had never had a stronger desire to get down off the speaker. I was awed to feel a palpable sense that this was on a fast track to hell. I thought that the only way Thomas and Ivy could be right in what they were doing was if they were serious about each other to the point that they intended to get married, which gives you an indication of the severity of the moral strictures in which I operate, not to mention their intensity, which wasn't just sensed by me. The irony was hearing two beer-drinking males behind me declare, within moments, that these people were going to hell. No Shit.

It did reach a point of tension that I could no longer tolerate and I looked up at the ceiling and asked what I should do, because I really couldn’t stand it any more. At that moment Thomas stopped and took his girlfriend Ivy off the floor. Whenever I came close to this state of tension, which was three times, Thomas stopped and took Ivy off the floor.

When I was sick over the winter, I saw both paradigms merge into a singular pattern, which was easily visualized as two semi-circles that touched at one point. Where they went from there was not too much of a concern, the interest was in that one nexus point, and in the idea that while at first there was a minute area between the semi-circles where there was space, that space opened in a near exponential fashion so that at the edge of their respective arcs, all there was, was space. The two openings from the nexus were how I conceptualized the potentials that lay in the mate dance and creative dance, respectively. The left side was the mate dance, and the right side was creative dance. There is a small rectangle around the nexus where I believed most of the derivative behaviors involving these two dance patterns was located. I saw the area within the two semi-circles as the region where a mish-mash, or behavioral dead ends, were continually spinning off and end up no where. Not to say that it's supposed to, it's more a matter of distilling patterns. All that useless, watered down, and otherwise terminal behavior, where the dance forms are abused by the users. Conversely it used to be that one could waltz and engage in these patterns and the purpose was an enjoyable evening. There was not near so prominent a pressure for an 'outcome' as there is now, and if you look at it that way, the semi-circle areas are blessed not to care; it's where you want to be. Naturally in that small rectangle around the nexus, the vast majority of the space is consumed in the void areas of the two semi-circles.

The point of contact was the nexus point, the point of potential where one could go either direction, entering into the mate, or the creative dance. This point is unique because it is only at this point that you can see both full potentials, and have the option of participating in either one, but the moment you enter into either one you are no longer at the nexus. So while the nexus is the only space where you have the capacity of totally realizing both potentials, in being in that space you are not actually realizing either of them, you are frozen in total potential, but really going no where. I realized that this was why I was in such an extreme conflict when it came to dancing, I operated around the nexus, and I felt precisely this way, that I was somehow frozen, not going anywhere. (This was a very handy concept to discover because I realized awareness of this difficulty could be applied in my spiritual existence as well.) One, you could think about getting out of it, and two, you could realize that the space was in a way, blessed rather than wondering if it was cursed.

With this model I saw that sexuality was safely and fully integrated within creative dance, because creative dance can be interpretive of everything real in the same way that theater or painting is. Therefore, you can render sexuality within interpretive creative dance without entering into the mate dance at all. You’re not messing with anything, it’s artistic rendering. The vector that is creative dance opens to infinite creativity, because in dance, especially innovative, even if you have a formula of motions that you keep as a basis, you will never repeat exactly the same motion in the same space twice. Infinite creativity with an infinite range of interpretive expression. This is what creative dance opens, and this is the vast space at the right side of the semi-circles.

The mate-dance opens into something in the same way, but this requires a little more background, starting with the nature of Christian marriage. Marriage in the Christian context reflects on something much deeper, the final unification typified as that of the Lamb and the Church. Christ called himself the Bridegroom in reflecting on this union which is to come in the Last Days. Marriage has also typified the relation of God with his chosen people since the inception of the Covenant on Mt. Sinai. In most of the prophets they berate the Israeli nation as an adulterous wife to her husband, God the Father. This was the failed version, but it hearkens to what shall be accomplished in the fullest sense, in the future. Marriage between two individuals, in this context, is a form of training ground, a dip into the commitment that must be learned in accomplishing a final, perfect union of love with God, in the body of the Holy Church, which is what the church attempts to emulate now.

So with this context in mind, consider that what is being approached upon, in the context of a perfectly accomplished mate dance, is a perfect union, which in turn reflects on the perfect union we must yet accomplish altogether, which is that of perfect and eternal Love. So in this sense, this narrow path or potentiality accesses the wide-open and infinite potential of perfect Love. That is the left side of the semi-circles. Again viewing it this way is like viewing the narrowest sense or possibility of what the potential outcome might be, as in its probability is microcosmic. It's simply an existing potentiality, but the potentiality is in a sense accessible just by existing, like an infinitesimally remote access that nonetheless exists. The dance is a form of unity to express unity, implying or expressing sexual unity. So is anything emulating the mate dance heading anywhere in that direction? Is it compelled to be expressed by people who are engaged in unity, where everything without intention is a form of falsity?

This was why I took the advent of Thomas so seriously. That is why I practically invoked their engagement on the spot. The expression has to be pretty strong if it's leading to remarks by male bar patrons that the pair are going to hell, as opposed to taking it all in.

About two months later Thomas and Ivy entered the club again while I was getting down from the speaker on my break. As I was walking past them Ivy accosted me with great familiarity and introduced herself. Oh it’s you! It’s so nice to meet you. What’s your name? We started talking quite intimately and then she turned and reached for Thomas, who was well aware of me from the start. Here, I want you to meet Thomas. We’ve met. Really? She situates him in front of me so that they have enclosed me on either side and they’re holding hands across my bare stomach. (I had dressed harem style). Thomas and I are engaged, we’re going to get married. We are going to spawn and we are going to have a daughter. We will name her Saffron, because that is more precious than gold. Then they tongue kissed each other inches in front of my nose.

Some nights at the club were pretty d***ed interesting. To me it was curiously fulfilling to have felt that strongly about them and see them arrive there themselves. From my perspective it was simply the truth of their state, they were being true to it, and that was a good feeling. And Ivy was conscious yet unconscious; how could she be so unconscious of Thomas and I first speaking to each other on an evening like that where we'd all danced, or miss how thorough a meeting it was, where he'd basically modulated a whole night of dance, not to mention the environment, in sussing me out? Maybe it was just forms. "We've Met" - what an understatement that. She was eager to meet me so obviously she remembered a good deal.

So with all that behind us, let me mention that it didn’t pan out that way, and while I have no first hand knowledge I know that Ivy ended up bailing on the commitment when she became a hostess in Japan and then a stripper and acquired a lesbian lover. I heard that Thomas was devastated, went on a total cocaine binge and blew all their savings. I also heard that it was Thomas who had persuaded her to go be a hostess in the first place.

I saw Ivy after all this had transpired while she was having a fling with one of my best friends.

I passed Thomas once this summer at a bus stop and while we recognized each other we did not speak.

So, now you know why it was a big deal to run into Thomas at the Candle Party. Back to the Candle Party, or what happened after.

Conversation at the candle party, and the party party after, was not too large. Mainly involved casually getting familiar and it was a long time before “Tom” was involved at all. But we did arrange for him to try out for a dancing job where I work. Talked about theory, talked Envr Techy with Dean, a former classmate. We are at Dean and Denise’s apartment; Denise is a Tech grad. It’s down to them, Tom and his girlfriend Laura, and me, and we’re going out. Dean’s driving. Because both of the prospective nightclubs we considered attending were running at 6.00 a head, the notion was dropped. So we went to Tom’s apartment downtown in London Flats, which turned out to be not such a bad idea.

I knew Tom had a mirror-ball if I had ruminated about it, he had told me about his light show the first time we talked, with Ivy. So yes, he has a mirror-ball, and a black light theme show and glow in the dark stars, so I am in my cultural milieu. Incidentally Dean and Denise had the same stars, and these were a large variety, double the size or more of the old ones. Dean and Denise had done constellations. Last night I was a Jewels’ for her 26^th Birthday and Jewels had the same stars, and had done a fantastic job.

This takes more tying in than you might think. It’s very funny to walk into Tom’s having been drinking because for me it is a heavy dose of nostalgia.

When the family did its first trip together in 1990 it was in our living room which Dad had prepared for nearly a year. It had a Christmas light theme that had four major design factors: A sun/moon decal at the centre of the ceiling that shot out to all corners with red and yellow rays (when the sun was on); it became a yellow moon with two blue bands depending on the random blinkers; six designer strands on different blinkers. There was a tie and a cross and a circuit around the ceiling and one around the walls. That was the first light show. There was also the black light theme with neon mandalas in the windows and neon string art on the ceiling and the walls (the sun was at the centre of a giant spider’s web) with various neon knick-knacks, including a green tree, plus the black light charged up a whole glow in the dark theme. Then there was a flashing red and blue theme and the oak outside was included in this theme, with red and blue spotlights. You could see our light from Mt. Tolmie. So nothing beats my Dad’s, and you see all these derivative like spin-off’s. Me I just get nostalgic, I actually mentioned it. I always knew that nothing was going to beat my Dad’s when it came to “setting”, that was one of my problems, knowing that it was only downhill from there.

Thomas is a painter with work currently up in two places, including Urge, which is the short name of a tattoo parlour. So his work in on most of the walls. I already knew he was a painter so I am interested in checking this out. His pictures all sort have a modernistic dark side. I don't mean that it's modern art; it’s conceptual fantasy scant on identifiers, nothing to do with abstraction-ism. His view is modern in that it has a modernist dark side. His major theme is sort of a unique among the masses of happy cookie cuts but his creature has a twist. He shows a field of daisies, where a beautiful flower that bears almost no relation to the smiling daisies (except colour) has risen from the field and is flying with a purpose and identity but the flower looks like a predator with many tiny long teeth. His main theme is a female in a modern bent with fashionable platform boots, a fantastic body, blank eyes and interlocking metallic teeth that would be 4 cm long in real life.

I noticed that the smaller parchment paintings of the girl had excerpts of the creation from Genesis painstakingly painted as script above her figure. The largest paintings in the room were of this creature and one showed her taking a bath with cuts on her body and gave a call number. The number of course had 666 in the middle. There was large blue neon writing above that and I asked Thomas what it was. He responded that it was Japanese, Ivy had showed him it, and turned to me and said that he thought it meant “Hello There”. (Oh Hi to you too.) On one of the scripted Bible verse depictions, the girl is put beside the number 777. I had to laugh at that point. I did not want to make any sense of this creature; having a strong belief in the opposite I am opposed to the opposite existing, or the implication of her existence being false, and could not integrate it with my own perception in a way that satisfied me until I recalled a dream I had when I got home, which I will include as a postscript to the evening as it belongs, perhaps, as my own personal counterpoint. I laughed when I saw the next painting and knew that what Thomas was asserting was her existing duality as both the sacred and the profane, for that is another Pandorean box argument. I question why the portrayal of something evolving has a predatory/post-industrial connotation, that the evolution is feminine, I take for granted.The odd one out was a painting of a sun with a sad face and a tear coming out of its eyes. It was being consumed by an intergalactic demon.

Thomas and his girlfriend had just won a costume contest at The Limit last Hallowe’en, which is the club across their street, the one I hung at when Rumors moved there three nights a week. Thomas designed his own costume; he went as his demon. Denise and Dean asked him what the mask was, it was over three feet long and it was red with many teeth. Thomas responded that he didn’t know exactly, that it was a consuming demon of some sort. I already knew that. Oh, you made the costume? I already knew that too. His girlfriend dresses as Lalu (Lāloo). In case you don’t know the thematic implications of this, let me mention the Lalu is the central character in the movie Fifth Element, she is the fifth integrating element, a perfect being. Fifth Element is an amusing action glam comic book of a movie starring Bruce Willis, but it was written by a sixteen year old and it has a rather pure and simple fundamental plot attuned to that age , which heightens its impact beyond its surface values of an action/comedy/comic. The club knew and they were all chanting her name.

Lalu is the protagonist who must save that known universe from an all-consuming dark entity that is the inverse to existence but has consciousness, and has re-arisen. It leaves in its wake nothing. Lalu has been specifically designed to destroy it, but she must arrive at a specific conjunction at a specific site on earth. Before she does, and after various misadventures, she absorbs earth history and undergoes a profound crisis as to whether it is justifiable to save “life”, seeing has the history of life has included a long string of horrible suffering. So at the last minute Lalu is prepared to pull the plug, until the action hero comes out of the blue, because she is questioning, why do it when there is no love, there is no love, I cannot love, and he tells her he loves her. And so the universe is saved. You may not know enough to understand it, but I went through precisely this crisis; in a sense I feel is it somewhat universal to our generation or any to follow. We are the first forced to examine the sum of humanity and be forced to question its sum of brutality and whether it is best identified as no more than a cancerous growth upon the face of the earth that serves no other overriding purpose other than to pollute its own existence and exterminate its own life source. In our time this is omnipresent-ly literal.

For me the implications are ready made in my head as I go along. I do not have to process them like this.

Thomas is integrated in his expression; it is coherent in every aspect of his art; I know what he is expressing from my own arch-typical experience, not the broader arch-types themselves, accessing a greater mystery...and it is contestable whether he is identifying it in a deformed way, or whether it is the way that has been deformed, or whether he will argue the rightness in it all. His intent behind the work was something I could not have addressed then; it was not far enough in the rear view for me to feel safe, and he was precisely where I should have felt unsafe. (Not uncommon.)

Other facets of the night included a computerized trivia game that was highly amusing which I got to win. I had $9000 (of course) and Dean and Denise were in debt. I even gave two answers away. That and getting frightened by The Jerry Springer Show, which Tom and Laura watch regularly for amusement.

Car ride home: I find out Thomas is a year older than I am, whereas Laura is eighteen I also learn that his last art show included him and Laura having sex on stage as the climax for the evening. With that postscript everything I had ever sensed in what he was trying to form as art via the dance, and attempted to involve me in, was borne out. It really was where he was and what he was trying to do.

There’s a reason why when I encounter him he’s always hitched, and he is honorable about it, contrary to what one might expect. He turned down the dance job when we found out the only way he'd get one was if he danced with me.

it's like being caught in a net.

"Mercy" (Zurich premiere)

"It's Sunday night, what are you going to do? Experiment on yourself."

I was drinking some wine
And it turned to blood
What’s the use of religion
If you’re only good

I know I’m weed killer, honey
And you’re sugar
If you’re the prosecution
I get away with murder

You’re gravity searching for the ground
I’m [You're - Paris] silence searching for a sound

Your heart is aching
Your heart is my home
It’s fascinating
I know I’ll never be alone

You’re gonna [wanna] kill me and I wanna die
We were meant for each other, you and I
Souls allowed to love
And there’s nowhere else to turn
[there's no where left to go
and no one left to trust - Paris -all 3]

You’re not sorry, you’re not gonna cry
You put the blue back in my eye
It’s just us
Because, because, because we can
We must

If you’re hunger, baby let me feed it
If your heart is full, baby let me bleed it
And happiness is for those who don’t really need it
You love me too much

You wanna kill me and I wanna die
We’re a perfect match, you and I
Slaves without the drug
And there’s no one else to trust

I’m not sorry, you’re not gonna cry
You put the blue back in my eye
It’s just us
Because, because, because we can
We must

I’m gonna kill me and I wanna die
We were meant for each other, you and I
Souls allowed to trust
And there’s no one left to trust

I’m not sorry, you’re not gonna cry
You put the blue back in my eye
It’s just us
Because, because, because we can
We must
Because, because, because we can
We must
Because, because, because we can
We must

This is the counterpoint; you know what it means. Hell-O...
'it takes a crime to cry'


"North Star" (Turin premiere)

Forty-five light years from home
Is where you are and where I wanna be
Beside you

Looking for directions
Stars are your reflection
To the space between you and me

I, I can’t wait any longer for your love
I can’t wait, I can’t wait
I can’t wait any longer for it
I can’t wait any longer for your love

Birds still singing for their rent
They fly above the government
It’s not a song of discontent
I’ve money now
It’s me that’s spent

Here I am, a space cowboy
Looking out for love and logic
In the universe, yeah, yeah

I can’t wait any longer for your love
I can’t wait, I can’t wait
I can’t wait any longer for it
I can’t wait any longer for your love

And the day packs it in
And you watch as the sun goes down
Pray that the night will come quickly
You hope, you pray
That those clouds leave the sky alone
‘Cause there’s only one light that can guide you
Guide you home, home

Say it, say it, say it, say it

I can’t wait any longer
I can’t wait any longer for your love
I can’t wait any longer for your love
I can’t wait, I can’t wait
I can’t wait for your love
For your love
It’s like the circles in the song
Well, the lights have been shining
You want it, you got it
You take a lot of loving inside

"A love song to the universe"


Every Breaking Wave (Helsinki premiere)

Every breaking wave
On the shore
Tells the next one there’ll be one more

Every gambler knows
That to lose
Is what you’re really there for

Somewhere else there's fearlessness
Now I’m speaking to an answer phone
And every sighing leaf
On the breeze
Winter wouldn’t leave her alone

Hey hey now
Hey hey now

I don’t know if I’m that strong
I don’t know if I’m that strong
Don’t know if I’m that strong
To be somebody
To need someone

Every sailor knows that the sea
Is a friend made enemy
Every shipwrecked soul
Knows what it is
To live without intimacy
I thought I heard the master’s voice
It’s hard to listen while you preach

Like every broken wave
On the shore
This is as far as I can reach

Hey hey now
Hey hey now

I don’t know if I’m that strong
I don’t know if I’m that strong
Don’t know if I’m that strong
Enough to be somebody
To need someone

The waves know
We’re on the rocks
And drowning is no sin

And you know
My heart is
The same place yours has been

And we know
The fear of winning
So we end, before we begin

Oh oh oh oh 3xs

The waves know
We’re on the rocks
And drowning is no sin

You know
My heart is
The same place yours has been

And we know
The fear of winning
So we end, before we begin


"Glastonbury" (Turin Premiere)

Take me to the mountain green
You know it but I’ve never been
I was packing since the 10th of May
A few distractions along the way

Pale as snow
The flowering rose
For a flowering rose I would bend my knee
Came to find
The flowering rose
The flowering rose of Glastonbury

You are a pocketful of sunshine
You are the miracle I came here to find
Some things you just can’t control
Sometimes you just let it go

Morning, it was heaven-sent
And music is a sacrament
You pilgrims on a mountain green
You knew it but I’d never been

Pale as snow
The flowering rose
For a flowering rose I would bend my knee
Came to find
The flowering rose
The flowering rose of Glastonbury

You are a pocketful of sunshine
You are the miracle I came here to find

Alright, friend of Jimmy’s club

Down by the river where the village is sleeping
Under the flower of American dreams
Send in saints and a thought worth keeping
Even in the dreams you can't seem to sleep in

You are a pocketful of sunshine
You go, come over to Dublin all the time
You are a pocketful of sunshine
You are the miracle I came here to find
The miracle I came here to find
Miracle I came here to find 2xs

First discovery of "Mercy" was the Paris performance. Bang, Bang.

"you can walk it, or wade it
you know that you can stay inside your heart" - closing "North Star", Paris

Lyrics were referenced from here and here, with a slight bit of tweaking/correction.

Now that's the way to spend a Full Moon/Fall Equinox. (I had a sense it was really the 22nd. Hells yes!)

These are the original lyrics to "Mercy":

I was drinking some wine... and it turned to blood
What's the use of religion... if you're any good
I know I'm weedkiller honey... and you're sugar
If you're the prosecution... I get away with murder
If you were ice... I'm water
And with your telescope... I can see further
We're binary code... a one and a zero
You wanted violins... and you got nero
You're gravity... searching for the ground
You're silence... searching for a sound

Your heart is aching... your heart is my home
It's fascinating... I know I'll never be alone
I'm ripping the stitches
We've got two hands to rub
I'm digging the ditches
Of someone else's love

Love hears when I lie
Love puts the blue back in my eye
Love will come again
I'll be gone again... again

If you're hunger... baby let me feed it
If your heart is full... baby let me bleed it
And happiness is for... those who don't really need it
You love me... too much
You always loved me... too much

When I'm ripping the stitches
We've got two hands to rub
I'm digging the ditches
Of someone else's luck

Love hears me when I lie
Love puts the blue back in my eye
Love has come again
I am gone again
Love's got to be with the weak
Only then love gets a chance to speak
Love will come again
I'll be gone again... again

I... I can't escape myself

I hear you talk
Fear nothing
I fear nothing
Feel....
I hear so much
Fear nothing
I hear so much
Fear... nothing

Love has come again
I am gone again

Love is the end of history
The enemy of misery
Love has come again
I am gone again
Love is justice, not charity
Love brings with it a clarity
Love has come again
I'm alive again
Alive...

I am alive,
baby I'm born again and again
And again, and again and again and again
Again


These are the original lyrics to "Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me" (Batman Soundtrack):

You don’t know how you took it,

you just know what you got

Oh lordy you’ve been stealing

from the thieves and you got caught

(repeat reference from The Fly

"Every artist is cannibal, every poet is a thief,

All kill their inspiration and speak about their grief")

In the headlights, of a stretch car, you’re a star

Dressing like your sister, living like a tart

("sister the Moon" in "Mysterious Ways", i.e., The Holy Spirit)

They don’t know what you’re doing, Babe it must be art (This is the Big Secret.)

You’re a headache, in a suitcase, in the star

I know that we’ve shined, you don’t have to go blind,

HM, TM, KM, KM

You don’t know how you got here,

you just know you want out

Believing in yourself almost as much as you doubt

You’re a big smash, you’re very like hash, Star

I know that we’ve shined, It takes a crime to cry,

HM, TM, KM, KM

They want you to play Jesus, they’ll go down on one knee

But they’ll want their money back if you’re alive,

Honey plea

And you turn them tricks, with your crucifix,

oh Star, ah child

Of course you’re not tired, you don’t have to deny, love,

HM, TM, KM, KM