my heart hangs down low
my heart hangs down so low it bangs against my knees
like a mushroom dangling between two trees
my heart hangs down low
and my heart likes to get high
my heart likes to fly in the sky with Ras Tafari
Yessa I
Blessed I
my heart likes to get high
and my heart likes to get down
my heart is a bonehead clown
upside down out on the town
my heart's so black and blue its brown
my heart likes to get down
and my heart's gotta be free
none of us need to take that personally
my heart don't give a shit about you or me
my heart's just got to be free
and my heart likes to go deep
my heart's gonna wake you in your sleep
and give you big dreams to keep
my heart is a shepherd and i am a sheep
my heart likes to go deep
and my heart needs to be true
so I'm out here loving you
what else could I do?
my heart needs to be true
and my heart ain't ever going away
no my heart ain't ever going away
no my heart ain't ever going away
my heart is here to stay
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
why sanskrit hurts my XXXX
an outlandish theory:
In the beginning of writing, scribes were circumcised in order that they always be known amongst the population. Scribes were spellcasters, chanters, wizards, brahmins. they were the circumscribes, an enslaved tribe forced to undergo genital mutilation to be rendered submissive enough to be trusted with the work of writing language - maps by which sounds become worlds. They were not blue-blooded Illuminati, whose divine ancestry carried the genetic makeup of countless eons of mantra recitation and awakened kundalini. They were fully human, entrusted with the Sacred Word and physically disabled to keep the snake from freeing their minds.
But Shakti had another idea...
Abram was a Brahmin. a Brahmin scribe. His genitals had been mutilated at the orders of the Illuminati, and he had consequently been deemed docile enough to proceed with the Brahmanic initiation, and yet the Lord was strong with him, and he was not a docile enough man to tolerate the corruption of Babylon. He was prophet enough to see that the writing on the wall spelled out the fall of Rome, and he wanted nothing to do with it. He wandered West, and his hot chick wife rode a camel after him. They were both in their seventies.
They had like over two hundred friends who came with, and did all the work. That's worth mentioning, probably.
Point being: scribes were circumcised to be distinguished from royalty, who were traditionally the only ones with access to written language, and thus the powers of mantra, which in turn was the path of awakening kundalini. The scribes were understood to be literati - prisoners of the word. Prisoners of language. Condemned to a life imprisoned in the language of thought, without ever awakening the magical shakti, the embodied truth of preconditional awareness. In order to ensure that the power of mantra could never be used by the literati to awaken kundalini, assume supernatural powers, and overthrow the rule of the Illuminati, they were 'circum-scribed' - genitally mutilated as a method of assuring submission, pushing fear into the authority and agency of shivalingam. The scribes were enslaved, and given a master. This master was mind-thought-language-spoken-word, encoded in symbols fathomed by an elite few, secret teachings passed on from father to son, and - times being what they were, the fall of Empire and all - from Master to Slave.
The Illuminati stood around, shaking their heads. Some day, they knew, the literati would find out they'd been getting their dicks chopped off at birth as a means of keeping them down. When that time came, Royalty or not, the Illuminati were going to need a spaceship home...
So the Lord changed Abram's name to Abraham, which means, "Abram ran away from organized religion and ran to God"
In the beginning of writing, scribes were circumcised in order that they always be known amongst the population. Scribes were spellcasters, chanters, wizards, brahmins. they were the circumscribes, an enslaved tribe forced to undergo genital mutilation to be rendered submissive enough to be trusted with the work of writing language - maps by which sounds become worlds. They were not blue-blooded Illuminati, whose divine ancestry carried the genetic makeup of countless eons of mantra recitation and awakened kundalini. They were fully human, entrusted with the Sacred Word and physically disabled to keep the snake from freeing their minds.
But Shakti had another idea...
Abram was a Brahmin. a Brahmin scribe. His genitals had been mutilated at the orders of the Illuminati, and he had consequently been deemed docile enough to proceed with the Brahmanic initiation, and yet the Lord was strong with him, and he was not a docile enough man to tolerate the corruption of Babylon. He was prophet enough to see that the writing on the wall spelled out the fall of Rome, and he wanted nothing to do with it. He wandered West, and his hot chick wife rode a camel after him. They were both in their seventies.
They had like over two hundred friends who came with, and did all the work. That's worth mentioning, probably.
Point being: scribes were circumcised to be distinguished from royalty, who were traditionally the only ones with access to written language, and thus the powers of mantra, which in turn was the path of awakening kundalini. The scribes were understood to be literati - prisoners of the word. Prisoners of language. Condemned to a life imprisoned in the language of thought, without ever awakening the magical shakti, the embodied truth of preconditional awareness. In order to ensure that the power of mantra could never be used by the literati to awaken kundalini, assume supernatural powers, and overthrow the rule of the Illuminati, they were 'circum-scribed' - genitally mutilated as a method of assuring submission, pushing fear into the authority and agency of shivalingam. The scribes were enslaved, and given a master. This master was mind-thought-language-spoken-word, encoded in symbols fathomed by an elite few, secret teachings passed on from father to son, and - times being what they were, the fall of Empire and all - from Master to Slave.
The Illuminati stood around, shaking their heads. Some day, they knew, the literati would find out they'd been getting their dicks chopped off at birth as a means of keeping them down. When that time came, Royalty or not, the Illuminati were going to need a spaceship home...
So the Lord changed Abram's name to Abraham, which means, "Abram ran away from organized religion and ran to God"
the history of everything, almost
Great men cannot organize themselves, because great men cannot submit to rules. We must rule ourselves, and can submit to no other master. It is a great responsibility, a God-given task, and we cannot for even an instant allow our self-mastery to wilt or waver. We cannot give away ownership of our own behavior - we are tasked by our behavior, we are indeed owned by our own performance of who we believe we are.
We cannot acquiesce to rules, because we cannot abandon the responsibility of being a man that God has given us. The responsibility of a man is thus: we must learn to rule ourselves. We must sit by ourselves, with ourselves, and learn of ourselves, until we discover within us the latent capacity to rule ourselves.
Needless to say, the greatest organization in the world has always been run entirely by women.
Its the world's breeding program, run by witches. Written about by male clerics, codified and preached by male priests, protected by male warriors and kings and honored by male religions, woman's remarkable tendency to make babies no matter what the occasion is simply the greatest unfathomable mystery ever encountered by the species entirely, and in the end all men can do is sit helplessly and watch as the world's only two-legged breeding program gets casually abused by these crazy sluts who have no discretion whatsoever, for Chrissakes, and shouldn't we at least offer them a burka?
Or maybe a cross...
Magdalene emailed Jesus: "Hey Jesus, you're cool and all, but you know, you're on this God trip and anyway I'm not available..."
and Jesus is thinking about back when he was Samson, sitting cross-legged on the floor while Delilah danced naked in sweat and moonlight and begged to know what made his dick so big, back when he had sat in meditation with his dreadlocks gathered heavily around his waist and refused her his attention, once, twice, a third time, and she wept, and his compassion unbound him, and he offered his truth: born a Nazarite, sworn since birth never to shave his beard or cut his hair...
-and he jumped her bones while knowing better, and when he slept she shaved him of his dreadlocks, and the gelded men came and plucked out his eyes, and gelded him, and the enemy of his ancestors and his seed enchained him and mocked him, for timeless time, until his dreadlocks grew back and his love grew so great that his love of death unbound him from his love of life-
-and he emails back:
"Aloha, my love"
and just like that you pretty much have the history of everything, almost. At least the mystery of how men and women can ever figure it out long enough to keep the species alive...
We cannot acquiesce to rules, because we cannot abandon the responsibility of being a man that God has given us. The responsibility of a man is thus: we must learn to rule ourselves. We must sit by ourselves, with ourselves, and learn of ourselves, until we discover within us the latent capacity to rule ourselves.
Needless to say, the greatest organization in the world has always been run entirely by women.
Its the world's breeding program, run by witches. Written about by male clerics, codified and preached by male priests, protected by male warriors and kings and honored by male religions, woman's remarkable tendency to make babies no matter what the occasion is simply the greatest unfathomable mystery ever encountered by the species entirely, and in the end all men can do is sit helplessly and watch as the world's only two-legged breeding program gets casually abused by these crazy sluts who have no discretion whatsoever, for Chrissakes, and shouldn't we at least offer them a burka?
Or maybe a cross...
Magdalene emailed Jesus: "Hey Jesus, you're cool and all, but you know, you're on this God trip and anyway I'm not available..."
and Jesus is thinking about back when he was Samson, sitting cross-legged on the floor while Delilah danced naked in sweat and moonlight and begged to know what made his dick so big, back when he had sat in meditation with his dreadlocks gathered heavily around his waist and refused her his attention, once, twice, a third time, and she wept, and his compassion unbound him, and he offered his truth: born a Nazarite, sworn since birth never to shave his beard or cut his hair...
-and he jumped her bones while knowing better, and when he slept she shaved him of his dreadlocks, and the gelded men came and plucked out his eyes, and gelded him, and the enemy of his ancestors and his seed enchained him and mocked him, for timeless time, until his dreadlocks grew back and his love grew so great that his love of death unbound him from his love of life-
-and he emails back:
"Aloha, my love"
and just like that you pretty much have the history of everything, almost. At least the mystery of how men and women can ever figure it out long enough to keep the species alive...
a good beginning
This is the foolish truth: Man's noble pursuit of knowledge, his quest for God, ultimately gets entangled in man's quest for language with which to describe his quest. Man finds himself a prisoner of the dark tower - a great library full of words and concepts that prevents him from experiencing any pure nonconceptual experience. Man becomes literate, and falls from heaven.
...and so it goes, thought Bastante as he crossed a great desert. he passed a Man in Black.
"Dude, you move fast," said the Man in Black. he was impressed.
Bastante took advantage of the situation and bummed a smoke.
"I'm looking for DakiniTown," said Bastante.
The man in black nodded wearily.
"Yeah, i figured it was something like that," he said. "You're gonna have to learn to sail, kid."
He yawned and rubbed his eyes. "DakiniTown is across half the ocean."
Bastante took that one in. They watched the desert change colors.
"What's all the way across?" Bastante figured it was worth a shot.
"The Other Side, of course," said the Man in Black. He didn't play games.
Bastante nodded. It was just as he'd thought. The way to the Other Side ran right through DakiniTown...
...and so it goes, thought Bastante as he crossed a great desert. he passed a Man in Black.
"Dude, you move fast," said the Man in Black. he was impressed.
Bastante took advantage of the situation and bummed a smoke.
"I'm looking for DakiniTown," said Bastante.
The man in black nodded wearily.
"Yeah, i figured it was something like that," he said. "You're gonna have to learn to sail, kid."
He yawned and rubbed his eyes. "DakiniTown is across half the ocean."
Bastante took that one in. They watched the desert change colors.
"What's all the way across?" Bastante figured it was worth a shot.
"The Other Side, of course," said the Man in Black. He didn't play games.
Bastante nodded. It was just as he'd thought. The way to the Other Side ran right through DakiniTown...
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