LYRICS

The applications are to blameAll the people do all dayIs stare into a phone (Placebo, Too Many people)

“Take nothing but memories, leave nothing but footprints!” (Chief Seattle)

When rock stars were myths (Sandi Thom, I Wish I Was A Punk Rocker)

Machines were mice and men were lions once upon a time, Now that it's the opposite it's twice upon a time (Moondog)

Time is an illusion (Einstein)

Wednesday 22 December 2021

Pictorial 202

Without the physical reality, everything becomes neutral. In America they topple Confederate statues, then get excited by a time-capsule. Read my lips: the statue is the physical reality. Opposition is not neutral. Not everything is academic, and the dollar is not everything. Renegade Democrat Joe Manchin was plying this tune on his lyre, sailing along the Venetian-style lagoons of West Virginia.

The unreality of his conscientious belief in fertile fiords as opposed to lorryloads of funds is an old-time song all-but forgotten amid the sameness of a hyper-real illusion.

With the great, loping strides of his faithful Carthaginian bloodhound, Hasdrubal, alongside his riverboat in the neverending search for game, Manchin cuts an old-West figure; part beast, part thinker.

A universal sameness funded by dollars that are as urban as Rome itself meets the opposition of a single mariner, with the gore still fresh on his hound's chops. 

To the urban watchdogs of the dollar, such primitive physical reality is as weird and unreal as the lagoon of Venice and the death-song of Dido. What is unreal is actually the cyclical nature of a lifedeath scenario, which tunes the psyche to the physical nature of existence.

A physical situation in nature is muddy and nomadic; a mixture of canvas and limpid grottoes. Reminiscent of ancient groves and yardarm alike.


School in Afghanistan mosque

Syrian refugees

The dominant physicality of the situation, medieval in style, is what tunes the psyche to high-strung vistas of yore

This rustic dominance is the very counter to a world of the closed mind. This has been the West's advance from the ignorant gladness of peasantry to the awful sameness of psychic numbness of present days.

"Let's celebrate everyone regardless of talent", trumpeted Sam Smith, a fitting epitaph for the modern disease.

The modern mind tells us things devoid of physical reality. WitnessJK Rowling's discomfiture on the sex front! Elvis Costello wrote on the award of honours "Why not change the last word to Excellence. It would save so much angst." So the British Empire is neutralised owing to opposition (which is real.)

Opposition is strength. You sit on the floor, limbs folded by opposing muscles. A scouting party by a campfire, sitting in contact with the friends in the fertile soil. Not just beneficial bacteria that are symbiotic to soil and Man, but nasties that promote the immune-system antibody response, supplying strength by opposition.

Strong gamekeeping sets the balance between predator-prey with shotgun or hounddog. The setting is active and the primitive rustic base establishes a psychic calm.

There is a morbid fertility of the bayous. The rank odors are sweet and sour; sweat streams down humped backs. The psycho-sexual situation is unreal to those in endless corridors of sterile illusion, but heard in the music of the spheres.

It only takes a single rugged opponent - or maybe two if you count the previously cited Ye West of Wyoming (formerly Kanye.) While West's rural fabrics are currently slo-go (having sold one of his ranches), he is still hell-bent on establishing a psychic rapport with ongoing Sunday Services (website.)

Both of these critters are almost by definition unpredictable hombres, but they represent the old-time rivers and rustic places of the song of the West (and South, natch.)

LOOKIN' FOR MY RAINBOW