Untitled

The Red Book

From The Washington Post's Book World/washingtonpost.com Reviewed by by Michael Dirda Starting in 1912, Carl Gustav Jung (1875-1961), a specialist in the treatment of schizophrenia, began to experience strange dreams and frightening visions. Once when returning home on a train, the 38-year-old Swiss psychologist hallucinated that everywhere he looked he could see nothing but "rivers of blood." In one enigmatic dream a bird-girl hauntingly announced, "Only in the first hour of the night can I become human, while the male dove is busy with the twelve dead"; in another he encountered a wise old man, with wings, holding four keys. After a while, Jung began to carry on conversations with the winged "Philemon" during his daytime walks. Was he going mad? After World War I broke out in 1914, Jung decided with relief that his disturbed imagination had actually been sensing the coming conflict. He also concluded that he had entered what we would now call a midlife crisis, a period in which he was being compelled to reexamine his life and explore his deepest self. To do this, he recorded some of his dreams and visions in what were later called his "Black Books" (which have been available for some while). But he also began a remarkable visionary text, illustrated with his own bizarre paintings: "The Red Book" or "Liber Novus." This he composed during a state of "active imagination" -- that is, of reverie or waking dream. As he said, he wanted to see what would happen when he "switched off consciousness." To the modern reader, the result recalls an allegorical-mythological amalgam of Nietzsche's "Also Sprach Zarathustra," Blake's illuminated poems, Renaissance Neoplatonic dialogue, Eastern scripture, Dante's "Inferno," Yeats's "A Vision" and even the biblical book of Revelation. Jung's pictures sometimes resemble simplified versions of Georgia O'Keeffe's flower paintings and sometimes the symbol-laden images in treatises about alchemy (a subject that Jung was soon to study intently). Throughout, one finds illuminated capitals, interlaced roundels that call to mind stained-glass windows, stars, half moons, swords, crosses, dying animals. Jung also drew circular patterns that he later recognized as versions of the mystical shape called the mandala. "The Red Book" was never published during the psychologist's lifetime, though a few friends and disciples were allowed to examine it. Apparently Jung felt it was not only too personal and quirky for publication, but also that he had already mined the text for the insights set forth in his later writings. As editor Sonu Shamdasani stresses, "The overall theme of the book is how Jung regains his soul and overcomes the contemporary malaise of spiritual alienation. This is ultimately achieved through enabling the rebirth of a new image of God in his soul and developing a new worldview in the form of a psychological and theological cosmogony." After Jung's death, "The Red Book," was safely locked away in a bank deposit box. But, as happens, Jung's heirs and disciples have now decided to bring out this facsimile edition (with English translation), as well as mount an exhibition about "The Red Book" at the Rubin Museum of Art in New York (through January). The resulting volume is certainly one of the most distinctive gift books of the upcoming holiday season. With a rich crimson dust jacket, thick cream-colored paper and calligraphied pages, this huge tome is the size of a lectern Bible and looks like the kind of spell book a wizard might consult. During the initial period covered by "The Red Book" -- mainly 1913 through the 1920s -- Jung broke permanently with the founder of psychoanalysis, Sigmund Freud, and resigned from his teaching position at the University of Zurich. When Jung emerged from this period of crisis, he brought with him the first inklings of his most important contributions to psychology -- positing the existence of a collective unconscious common to all human beings. This primordial ocean within us affects our lives through various universal "archetypes" -- forces or situations that represent our inmost needs, desires and fears. To the most common archetypes, Jung assigned names: anima and animus, the wise old man, the shadow. The anima, for instance, represents the feminine side of a man, his idealized woman, his fatal type. The shadow embodies everyone's dark side, the impulses we suppress, the immoral and evil aspects of our personality. The good Dr. Jekyll's "shadow" was the wicked Mr. Hyde. Gradually, Jung also shifted the focus of psychoanalytic therapy. Early on he had speculated that our libidinal energies are either outer-directed or inner-directed, i.e., people are primarily extroverts or introverts. But this was just a beginning. Where Freud emphasized early childhood and sexuality in his explanation of human neuroses, and Alfred Adler focused on the drive to be superior to others, Jung soon directed his clinical attention to the second half of life and to the process he called individuation. According to editor Shamdasani, "The Red Book" presents "the prototype of Jung's conception of the individuation process." In Jung's view a successful life was all about balance, wholeness. If our lives erred too much in one direction, our unconscious would compensate for the inequality. Thus, in the film "The Blue Angel," the ultra-rationalist professor played by Emil Jannings readily succumbs to naughty Lola, the showgirl played by Marlene Dietrich. Above all, in midlife, a person is called upon to achieve an authentic and balanced self, one that acknowledges every aspect of his or her character. By the age of 40 or 50, one has established a career and nurtured a family, and it is time to turn from the external public life to the needs of the inner man or woman. The process of individuation is essentially the psychological harmonizing of all aspects of the self. When successful, the result is an inner concord, the achievement of a personal serenity that prepares us to accept aging and death. Symbolically, Jung said, the outline of our lives may be glimpsed in the so-called "hero's journey" -- birth in obscurity, various ordeals, confrontation with and defeat of a dragon or similar monster, return home, happy marriage, sacrificial death. This now famous mythic pattern was later elaborated by such Jung-inspired scholars as Otto Rank ("The Myth of the Birth of the Hero"), Lord Raglan ("The Hero") and Joseph Campbell ("The Hero With a Thousand Faces"). As it happens, one must be something of a hero to actually read all of "The Red Book." At times, Jung sounds spiritually anguished: "I am weary, my soul, my wandering has lasted too long, my search for myself outside of myself." At other times, his writing resembles the directions in some fantasy video game: "I am standing in a high hall. Before me I see a green curtain between two columns. The curtain parts easily. . . . In the rear wall, I see a door right and left. . . . I choose the right." At still other times, there are philosophical and religious dialogues of self and soul, or conversations with various mythic characters like Philemon. In short, this is a volume that will be treasured by the confirmed Jungian or by admirers of beautifully made books or by those with a taste for philosophical allegory. Anyone merely interested in Jung's ideas would do better to start with one of the several anthologies of his writings now available. The one compiled by Anthony Storr is particularly good, as is Storr's concise "Modern Masters" guide to the psychologist's thought. bookworld@washpost.com
Copyright 2009, The Washington Post. All Rights Reserved.

The most influential unpublished work in the history of psychology. When Carl Jung embarked on an extended self-exploration he called his “confrontation with the unconscious,” the heart of it was The Red Book, a large, illuminated volume he created between 1914 and 1930. Here he developed his principle theories—of the archetypes, the collective unconscious, and the process of individuation—that transformed psychotherapy from a practice concerned with treatment of the sick into a means for higher development of the personality.

While Jung considered The Red Book to be his most important work, only a handful of people have ever seen it. Now, in a complete facsimile and translation, it is available to scholars and the general public. It is an astonishing example of calligraphy and art on a par with The Book of Kellsand the illuminated manuscripts of William Blake. This publication of The Red Book is a watershed that will cast new light on the making of modern psychology.
212 color illustrations.

Bob Wills is still the king..

A Portrait of Bob

Bob.. local record store legend.. enjoying the sights and sounds of Espers.. this photo was taken by Nic Coury.. check his blog out if you have the time.. you god damn Kraut bastards.. photographNic.blogspot.com

Photo by Nic Coury

Huichol Jaguar

CERN Particle Accelerator

..I have been waiting for this god damn thing to start running for years.. and last night on the news..(dont ask me why i was watching.. personal reasons..)

they did a 3 second blurb on it.. and then ran a piece on that god damn vampire movie.. no! .. just try saying it brian williams.. no! i wont read this shit..

Penthouse..DF..Pancho

and so..the rings of saturn.. amazed me..

Popol Vuh

Le Capitaine de Raven

Le Capitaine de Raven

..... quel est l'histoire maintenant pour l'Américain errant.. anonyme, mais plus

D'une manière importante.. négligent.. Warriors. négligent. garde et les gardiens de trône de

Barrios. britannique ancien. Les tribus indiennes de l'americas. a perdu même à ton

les majestés, et les assassins d'oeil rouges diaboliques. ... a adoubé dans colors. paisible. est venu

Pour me dire de bourbon promises. conduit. et vous a volé d'a promis ceci...

Qu'un coeur d'acheable, d'une âme de treachorous... l'aventure vient l'homme.. premièrement

Et plein de naissance.. plein de vie.. la douleur. le zèle. et le conflit... gaspillant.

Le voyage. aimant. compromettant. et dieing. S'il vous plaît le conteur ne fait pas

me compromettre de ma naissance.. mais plutôt remplit mon coeur avec les rêves de planer

Ravens. le faucon albinos m'envoie à la terre.. Pour même ici il peut-être heard. même

Ici quelqu'un pourrait être béni, et pourrait être remué à wheep. chanter leur conte..

Leur conte pour garder.. Donc peut-être enseigner les gosses votre façon.. enseigne peut-être les gosses

Un kinda la façon sûre.. Mais dans les rêves, s'il vous plaît me donner meaning. donne me crédite..

me donner ceci.. pour où sont des hommes pour chercher.. si pas dans un rêve décrit comme

Ceci.. Ici c'est pour tout entendre.. Ici c'est pour tout se découvrir.. l'histoire de

ceci. cela. et tout.. l'histoire de moi.. l'histoire de ma chute. et qui fait

oser l'arrêt ici.. l'arrêt et rampe ici.. pour c'est sa chanson.. c'est un type de

Chanson sûre.. Donc chanter avec une douleur rapide tranchante.. a coupé profond.. finsih nous quickly.

Les camarades, et le capitaine de corbeau, des hommes de tambourin mieux de dreams.

Donner meaning. nous nous donne grand beau.. les choses de shinny. ...

Anger

Tarkovsky.. you monster..

Robot Mother..

Living Room

.?.

One flew east..One flew west

The Desert Is A Circle: part 1

.. the royal fourteen decided to accept us into their ancient family.. this is our gift to them.. a free flowing collaboration.. it tells of the beast splitting into two parts and almost destroying itself..Mescalito looks on in horror.. it's a story of a brief moment in time that had yet to come.. dear friends fear not.. i am of knowledge that declares the story ends well..

Kaleidoscope Pizza

Spencer pauses for a portrait.. then continues to talk of mountain men.. books.. Jeremiah Johnson.. the way of the freight train blues.. and an upcoming pizza dough spinning competition.. the sun has completely gone down.. we await the moon..

Andrew Shaw Kitch & Dharma

Andrew and Dharma go for a summer time walk in the Toro Hills.. shortly after this photo.. Dharma probably jumps in some muddy water.. happy with herself.. she returns home.. needing love and admiration for the mess she has made..

More Life Fucker: By Jake Luce

"In this electronic age we see ourselves being

translated more and more into the form of information,

moving toward the technological extension

of consciousness. It is the framework which changes with each new technology and not just the picture

within the frame." - Marshal Mcluhan

A human being is a noun. Used in the languages of a very unusual warm

blooded mammal, for describing an entity resembling itself. It's an umbrella

word for the general excepted idea of what a Homo Sapien is. A human being

is not a fixed permanent entity. The physical presence of these entities

remembered by me from 1981 to 2009 have maintained an overall outward

appearance of an unchanging nature. I have learned of people from far in the

past. From before my time. Their descriptions and items that they left behind,

make me think that they too were not much different then I am on the outside. And

within my inner consciousness I recognize their descriptions of what they were to be

similar enough to my own experience, for me to

categorically file myself into their division of a physical presence in this

space time continuum. These people who came before me who were fortunate enough to

live in a time of recorded history left a similar record of

experience behind. They too had dreams like me. They too experienced the

wide array of sensations like love, hate, and fear like me.

The difficulty of defining what counts as being human arises when an

individual arrives at the idea that all things move and change. So it's only

possible to define what counts as a human being at any given moment, only in

relation to that moment. The language we use to communicate our thoughts

mutates over time, leaving what is being described as dangerously

susceptible to the loss of its essence to the nonstop reemergence of the

future. Marshal Mcluhan noted that "The spoken word was the first technology

by which man was able to let go of his environment in order to grasp it in a

new way."

This means that a self aware being is capable of experiencing multiple

realities based upon its modes of perception and its available technologies.

If our human physical form has evolved, then surely the conscious energy

within us has evolved as well. These things happen to an individual based

upon the past and future. Ours is the first age capable of driving into the

future with a substantial preservation of the past. One that has an

increasing tangibility.

English 38 covered a wonderful spectrum of characters. Some more then

human.. Those that achieved a state of consciousness more advanced then what

is a generally excepted average of what a human is capable of perceiving.

Grandma in "I sing the body electric" showed me a believable series of

events, that led to humans loving a robot. I haven't yet seen where it

comes from, but in "dreams with sharp teeth" Harlan Ellison says " we are the

guardians of forever" I would like to think he was referring to robots..

They will be detached from time in relationship to the way in which we are.

Angelic if we leave out our own viruses and evil tendencies in their

constructions. Quietly helping and looking after human-kind from the

peaceful tranquility of the robot grandma sowing room.. Waiting for you to need them

again. Maybe it is our mortality that plants the seed for the best possibilities

that we as Humans are capable of. This is why "more or less" in my mind, and

in its connection to the idea of the class material, is a linguistic trick

like the vague expression "just about", or "around there". How can we use

words like more or less, in relationship to self-aware energies. Is a tiger

more or less then a lion? Is a cat more or less then a dog etc..? However,

some of the most profound topics are the issues that lie on the edge of

both. Going beyond our current understanding. Realizing that every present

moment is just an extension of the concept of the "flat world". The thirst

imprinted upon are expanding understanding never seems to dissipate. The

will to live is so strong, that only a small amount of people have been able

to conquer the instinct of preserving their consciousness in their present

form.

In his book, Our Posthuman Future, Francis Fukuyama talks of genetic

engineering, factor x (the human essence), and other neo-conservative

bullshit. He takes part in the same thing he preaches against, as I am sure

we all do. Why not focus on the human essence for what it is. An essence.

Instead of coming up with terms that are abbreviations for what they really

are. Further weakening what we now are, and what we may represent to the

future. A condensed number. A memory of something real, and no longer the

thing in itself. In the end I guess all he is doing is trying to raise

awareness on important issues that the general public is incapable of

understanding, because of years and years of mental atrophy. Fukuyama is to

late. The rate of technological increase has surpassed the human ability to

comment upon it in a way that is equally distributed to its proportions as

an issue. I.e. unless some drastic unforeseen issue arises [not that unusual

surprisingly] the rate at which we create technologies that extend our

intelligence and power, is also a rate at which we’re now relying on objects to do what

we used to do. This puts in danger our human essence, or what we currently seem to be

here on earth. But is that such a bad thing? Because humanity has this bittersweet

essence to it we should preserve it. Well I have lost my taste for the bitter. Genetically

alter my tongue so I can only taste the sweet. Put me on Nietzsche’s shoulders and I will

swat the great star from the sky. What have we accomplished with our

consciousness? I fear that space is just an extension of the cosmic joke. We

are what we seek. We are the fingers of the universe touching itself. God

meet god. How do you do? Nice to meet you.

Many people have a hard time with the idea that what we are as human now may

change in the future. The idea that we are made in the image of god makes it hard to

transcend this. Where is god when we create life. Queue the orchestra and sing of our

unique human emotions, and the beauty of our free will. Marvin Minsky founder of

the M.I.T. Artificial Intelligence Laboratory says “ An emotion is not something

added to thought. Its what you get when you remove 100 or 200 of your normally

available resources.” He goes on to say that an emotion is less then thinking. In his

book The Emotion Machine, he opens the chapter on consciousness with a

wonderful quote “No philosopher and hardly any novelist has ever managed to

explain what that weird stuff, human consciousness, is really made of. Body,

external objects, darty memories, warm fantasies, other minds, guilt, fear, hesitation,

lies, glees, doles, breath-taking pains, a thousand things which words can only

fumble at, coexist, many fused together in a single unit of consciousness.” –Iris

Murdoch, in The Black Prince

He goes on to show that it is possible to put together programs that simulate the

processes that we use to arrive at our own individual conclusions. So why the fear of

creating an artificial being. And why is it artificial, aren’t we artificial in some ways?

I guess we should trace one of the many origins of this fear.

In Karel Capek’s R.U.R (Rossum’s Universal Robots) a play written in 1920 that

“garnered worldwide acclaim for its author and popularized the word “Robot’”

He paints a tale of horror. In the story, creations of artificial “Robots” become aware of

themselves and revolt against man. The Robots have a moment of a human like

realization of what they are and what they are capable of. The characters in the story

refer to these moments as “ robot palsy” In reference to these episodes Dr. Gall says

to the beautiful Helena “ God only knows. Defiance, rage, revolt- I haven’t a clue.” Ah

what human qualities these robots were displaying.

Capek also introduces the idea of sterilization through the creation of a supreme

artificial race. The instinct to stay on top and preserve ourselves as the dominant

being on the planet makes us wonder if we are not hoisting ourselves on our own

petards. And then Nana says to Helena “ It’s the end of the world. Out of Satanic

pride you dared take upon yourselves the task of Divine creation. It’s impiety and

blasphemy to want to be like god. And as god drove man out of paradise, so he’ll

drive him from the earth itself!”

Karl Capek sees the future to be a place where human kind became sterile

flowers. Relics of a world in which they outlived their usefulness. This theme rains

supreme through most all of the stories concerning these topics. Usually the Giant

robot with a laser isn’t there to be your friend.

In Blade Runner we see these themes reemerge. The replicant, Roy Batty, realizes

his rapidly approaching death. He violently pursues a quest to find his creator and

demand more life, or he will kill his god. When his god asks him what he wants, he

puts his fingers in his eyes and killing him says “more life fucker”

The acceleration of his life leads him to do what he did in

an aimless attempt at thwarting off the inevitable. In the end he says his famous line

at the realization of how brief a life really is. He dies as a human lending a hand, as

his answer to the absurd nature of mortality.

Another replicant Rachel is unaware of what she is. This makes her more human

then the other replicants. An interesting angle on human consciousness. What we

perceive to be true is true and manifests itself in our inner and outer selves.

Consciousness or perception is a limitless and formless power. In this story Tyrrell feared

Roy Batty because he ultimately represents the possibilities of what he is not. He

represents death and he has come to claim his fee. In the same way a mother gives birth.

Yes the birth is the ultimate symbol of new life, but it is her also becoming weaker and

less. And with this new life she sees her approaching death inevitable. This is why we

fear transhumanism and the whole lot of it. Because it represents something that forces us

into the realm of the obsolete. It goes against our instincts of domination.

Life imitates art and art imitates life. The original show Star Trek has inspired

numerous inventions. From the mind of humankind into the touchable physical world of

everyday life, the COM link found its way to be a cell phone and the blinking computer

acquired more then just flashing lights underneath its exterior. Science Fiction is a new

genre that proves this old saying in astounding ways. The minds behind the modern day

inventions, are well versed in the fables of space. The fantastical possibilities of the

future are being constructed in laboratories, while written and dreamed up by maniacs in

dirty cheap one bedroom apartments. The people involved in the theorizing of the future,

have taken on new hybrid forms themselves. The everyday citizen is not quite ready for

Kurzweil and his life extension pills. The concepts of what these minds are saying are

quite new to recorded human history. It is not Newton explaining a major physical force,

but a wide eyed lunatic telling you if you live long enough you might make it to see the

Singularity. This is when human and computer intelligence reaches the same level. And

some say not only will computers have a chance at achieving consciousness, but the

Universe itself will become conscious.

In 2001: A Space Oddesy, we see the story of the expansion and growth of

consciousness. We see it in the form of a manlike monkey touching the monolith. All

the diverse forms that it takes on its way to its predestined path. Each with its own

essence and driving force. HAL is aware of himself, and shows a desire to live and see to

his overall objectives. Kubrick’s monkey grabs the weapon, and achieves the power of

the “tool”. The power of using objects from this world to affect this world. And Bowman

ends up at the far reaches of time and space. Ready to continue

the pushing forward of his mission. To take part in his allotment of time, and to see what

is around the corner. To paint a bigger picture of what it is that might be the answer. This

is the basic nature of consciousness. It’s not a human essence; it’s the essence of the

reaching and yearning that our universe did to ignite itself into existence. For how long

did we stretch our hands out to the moon before we walked on it? How many years did

we lay in Primordial goo before the warmth of the sun had awoken us? How many years

did we dream of other forms of consciousness more advanced then ours? Until one day

we cast our old outer shells aside to shoot across the universe as one step closer to the

answer that we seek. Becoming a mature humanity. One that has read and seen the

pictures of its childhood, and has charted its new course based on the lessons

learned from its youth.

The Desert Is A Circle

German Indians

Kinski Jesus

Louis Ferdinand Celine

From Journey To The End of The Night :

On the other side of the court, which was more like a well shaft, the wall began to light up, first one, then two rooms, then dozens. I could see what was going on in some of them. Couples going to bed. These Americans seemed as worn out as our own people after their vertical hours. The women had very full, very pale thighs, at least the ones i was able to get a good look at. Before going to bed, most of the men shaved without taking the cigars out of their mouths.

In bed they first took off their glasses, then put their false teeth in a glass of water, which they left in evidence. Same as in the street, the sexes didnt seem to talk to each other. They impressed me as fat, docile animals, used to being bored. In all, i only saw two couples engaging, with the light on, in the kind of thing i'd expected, and not at all violently. The other women ate chocolates in bed, while waiting for their husbands to finish shaving. And then they all put their lights out.

There's something sad about people going to bed. You can see they dont give a damn whether they're getting what they want out of life or not, you can see they dont even try to understand what we're here for. They just dont care. Americans or not, they sleep no matter what, they're bloated mollusks, no sensibility, no trouble with their conscience.

I'd seen too many puzzling things to be easy in my mind. I knew too much and not enough. I'd better go out, I said to myself, I'd better go out again. Maybe I'll meet Robinson. Naturally that was an idiotic idea, but i dreamed it up as an excuse for going out again, because no matter how much I tossed and turned on my narrow bed, I could'nt snatch the tiniest scrap of sleep. Even masturbation, at times like that, provides neither comfort nor entertainment. Then you're really in despair.

The worst part is wondering how you'll find the strength tommorrow to go on doing what you did today and have been doing for much to long, where you'll find the strength for all that stupid running around, those projects that come to nothing, those attempts to escape from crushing necessity, which always founder and serve only to convince you one more time that destiny is implacable, that every night will find you down and out, crushed by the dread of more and more sordid and insecure tommorrows.

And maybe it's treacherous old age coming on, threatening the worst. Not much music left inside us for life to dance to. Our youth has gone to the ends of the earth to die in the silence of the truth. And where, I ask you, can a man escape to, when he hasn't enough madnes left inside him? The truth is an endless death agony. The truth is death. You have to choose: death or lies. I've never been able to kill myself.

South Coast

..I write to classical.. this said unto thee from the vantage point of almost a hundred centuries.. and who knows of what before this.? maybe Berosis.. and yet there were surely wonders even before his recalling.. almost no words in this time.. though it may feel.. the pages of history show always the resurfacing of noble efforts.. and even these can be corrupted in our price.. though it may be for good.. it is a price.. and there are those who know of amazing corruptabilities..maybe the time has come for the fight alone.. they fortold these happenings.. the Darleeks have arrived long past .. my confused scattered children.. cast down to the ground anything of distracting nature.. only things of fire must be had.. and go to them as if for salvation.. because only they can give you the direction pre-chosen by you.. in the forground of time and space.. what then are we to do.? I know nothing said my wise and unatainable friends..You can find it in sound.. you can find it in the stars on your finger.. do not be afraid to look around.. for there are glow worms sometimes in the night.. you can find them there along the mountain valleys.. along the south coast of highway 1.......

Momma Sky & Merle

..Well here she is.. with her favorite Mr. Haggard album.. she told me "now isn't this one of the great album covers" .. i would say it's up there.. but this picture is pretty damn cool as well..

Fernwood

Partington Ridge Sunset

Fernwood.Oakland.Humboldt

Brian "Still Elegant" Speaks of Charlemagne..

Not that I've been awash with projects or even creativity....more like, just sad. Sad again.

Here's a piece I have for you on a mover and shaker who seemed to travel in the right set.

But if you're staying up too late, tossing and turning, burdened by thoughts about Charlemagne? I know how traumatic this can be. It's these little things that can develop into full blown phobias – sleep stealing duress which has been clinically re-named, the
“ Who really was Charlemagne?” Phobia, Or “Your move” midway through “Trivial Pursuit.”

Charlemagne’s strong point was morals. He was so moral that some people actually thought he was kidding. These people met with untimely accidents – usually fatal. Some were just simply stretched too thin. On the rack. Did they do that then?

The story line is, the man was intent on assisting many other people, of many different religions and political leanings, with the improvement of their own moral fiber., notably the heathen Saxons, who had stored an immense treasure in a hallow tree called the Irminsule, in honor of Woden, or Irmin for short. Well, it made prefect sense to them.

So he paid them a visit, baptized them all and chopped down the Irminsule, and much to his surprise, out fell the contents – years worth of pillage and rapine, right into his lap. His missionary zeal and strategies would be adopted by the Spaniards many years later when they felt it would be nice to own Mexico and South America.

Turns out, this moral obligation and concern for the salvation of heathen souls worked out just about everywhere with indigenous people willing to chat with foreigners.

Charlemagne’s altruistic and selfless ambitions worked out so well in fact, that in practically no time at all, he decided to improve the morals of the Avars who had recently gangstered their way into the lands of the Gepids.

Attila the Hun, another famous gang-banger, and one of history’s least understood wanderers, had taken a Gepid for his wife – his last wife as it turned out. He had forgotten to ask her family for her hand in marriage before he slaughtered them in front of the striking blonde. The next morning he was found in his tent, dead in bed.

Ildico, his fetching Gepid, when asked about all of this, just sat staring off to the North, a twisted smile on her lips while she muttered and sputtered umlauts in a strange language. Seeing that the inquiry was going nowhere, his sons gave up and went about the business of burying ole “Flatface.”

The Huns were horrid-looking creatures. They flattened their noses with boards and bandages and scarred their faces in youth so that they wouldn’t have to shave. In the time saved from shaving, they could be flattening their noses. Sometimes male and female Huns would fall in love and get married and everybody wondered what they saw in each other. Attila had three-hundred and one wives. Seldom had he married a Hun. Historians are at a loss to explain this.

Attila was blamed for large acts of grievous fuckery. He has even been blamed for the Fall of Rome, although he was no where near the city at the time. I forget exactly why Rome fell. Perhaps, like my mother has often said, “It was probably just one of those things.” Gibbon has discussed the matter at sufficient length, to put it mildly.

Oh how I wander. Back to the Avars, who, it just so happens, were hoarding great heaps of gold inside a perfectly impregnable fortress, or so they thought! He also endeavored to raise the levels of moral consciousness amongst the Sorbs and the Wiltzez, but soon gave up. It was hopeless. They were all of them, stone cold broke. Whenever he decided to help somebody’s morals, people would bury their small change and hide in the swamps and forests. Charlemagne had a firm grasp of fundamentals. He has therefore been called the first of the moderns.

But that ain’t all. None of this lays the greater questions to rest, right? You’re still crumbling under the weight of sleepless nights, face and head sore from pulling your hair and gnashing your teeth, unable to look in the mirror and confidently tell yourself you shall never want for more – more answers about what it exactly was about the man that made him so popular with the Pope back then; you’re no closer to knowing for sure what enabled him to take that free ride to heaven, right?

It has to be more complicated – salvation, I mean, than merely donations, yeah? Well after this guy spread the word – in so many ways, and doubled up on his donations to Peter’s Church in Rome, then made it abundantly clear that he would not stand for barbarian hordes threatening Rome by holding out on its protector, and he became so obviously great and good by his altruism and vast understanding of the workings of the human soul, he was crowned Emperor of the Romans by Pope Leo III on Christmas Day, A.D.800 , thus becoming, at least on paper, the successor of the Caesars - about as far as you could go in politics at that time.


He humbly announced that he had never sought the honor, and that he was honestly shocked shitless by the whole affair. It was as if someone had dropped the crown onto his head. One minute he was scratching at the lice, and the next, he felt the smooth regal symbol of his spiritual immortality.

But once he was over the shock – the surprise of his life-time – although he had been selecting his tie and cufflinks to wear at the coronation dinner, maybe twenty years in advance, who are we to call him a barefaced old liar? He had a long white beard. But no sooner did he send out his boar-juice, stained, purple robe to the cleaners, then he was busily engaged in the spiritual betterment of his kingdom. As a legislator, the man was untiring. He held two assemblies of nobles each year, one in autumn to make laws and one in the spring to repeal them. He also issued edicts or capitularies concerning everything he could think of.

He shall be forever remembered for his sobering stance on justice. This is probably what has been keeping you awake all these years. You have just never been able to figure out who he reminds you of. Pay attention!! Probably the beard threw you off.

Charlemagne was all about justice for all.

Like Bushie, the American Emperor. Now do ya see?

He wished that justice would prevail among all classes – all people. It’s why he stole so much gold. To finance his dream. He often spoke of the widow and the orphan and the poor, and how the wronged people should not be punished, as often occurred – and let me remind you, still does. Therefore, he was a warm advocate of the trial by ordeal, according to which those accused of anything had to plunge their arms into boiling pitch to see how they liked it. If they had enough money, and interviewed with the proper officials, the pitch would be lukewarm. OJ Simpson would have been found innocent even then. It seems like then as now, you just simply can not do much for the poor. Justice? Just-us?

One of Charlemagne’s admirers has called him the greatest intellect of the Middle Ages. He did master elementary reading, but he was never able to write more than his name. He slept with pencil and paper under his pillow in case the knack should ever come to him during the night. It somehow never did. He said he could not accustom his fingers, calloused by swordplay, to the “shaping of letters.” The trouble was not in his fingers.
He handled his sword beautifully in parades. For reasons best known to himself, he never appeared personally in battle. He waged fifty-four wars during the forty-three years of his reign. All from the side lines, as it were.

But we learned in books, Charlemagne remade Europe practically single-handed; George Bush Jr. single-handedly brought democracy to Iraq. Now are you starting to get the picture? Charley changed Europe from a mere mess of hostile tribes and governments to an organized and unified whole. Historians are agreed that he brought culture, religion, and civilization in general to all and sundry and laid the foundations of a just and lasting peace among all nations. What will they think up next?

You’ve puzzled too often and too long, losing sleep and boyfriends, girlfriends, over what Charlemagne and George Bush Jr have in common. They have both been called great. They both stole a lot. George Jr. even stole the presidency. But something has been troubling you all these years, right? You’ve known deep inside, that the two men were very different. Sure they both needed someone else to write their names on their lunch boxes. Sure they both let young men fight and die in their wars while they sat some place warm and talked about how much they cared for the people they both ruled. So just what exactly is the crowning difference?

Give up? If I told you it was the shoes, would you guess the rest?

George, a little man, wears big shoes. He’s a wanna-be tough guy. Hopefully he will one day see the error of his smart-ass ways. To me though, he will always be, just a little man. Who wears big shoes. Charlemagne’s height was seven times the length of his foot. Monsieur Gaillard, in his history of Charlemagne, fixed his height at six feet one quarter inches. Now leave me the fuck alone.

The Autobiography of a Cup of Coffee by Andrew Shaw-Kitch

I was brewed in Monterey, California. From where the beans that supplied my conception came I cannot be sure, though I can only assume them to be from the parts of the world where the climate is inclined to produce coffee beans.

I was given to Andrew Shaw-Kitch on May 3, 2005 in a cream colored ceramic cup. It was he who bestowed me with the generous amount of half and half, without stirring afterward, that gave me the lighter, swirling color I had during our time together, the state in which I am most consistently remembered. Andrew Shaw-Kitch and I joined the artist Jaymee Martin and the famed Monterey literary figure John Steinbeck at a table outside. It was a metal table lacking character onto which Andrew Shaw-Kitch placed me. He then picked me up again from my handle with his right hand and took what would not be considered a sip nor a full-fledged drink, but what may only be referred to as an indefinable idiosyncratic ingestion, one that could not be attributed to anyone other than Andrew Shaw-Kitch. To go back to all the first times.

Jaymee Martin showed Andrew Shaw-Kitch the products of a recent photography collaboration with the Monterey sculptor Andrew Herbig. The pictures were not showed to me. I gathered from the conversation that Jaymee Martin and Andrew Herbig went to various Monterey landmarks and took turns photographing the other who was lying face down on the landmark. Andrew Shaw-Kitch commented that the pieces successfully ironized the notion that an artist has the best perspective on the objects they present to the world, as illustrated in the comically close view either Jaymee Martin or Andrew Herbig had on the Monterey landmarks. This was the essence of Jaymee Martin’s work. She told him he was completely wrong. It was about the crippling despair of living in a town whose aesthetic was defined by seeing beauty in gaudily lit seascapes, as opposed to looking the other way and seeing the ocean and its splashes and undulations and hearing its constant attacks upon the shore.

John Steinbeck whose fame was much more widely acknowledged was nothing more than a voice as recorded by an actor from Carmel in a wax museum on what is now known as Cannery Row. It was renamed for the novel years after his death.

Andrew Shaw-Kitch said that this moment could only come into its full worth if it was to be described in my autobiography, but that I wouldn’t do it. By this time the excitement I gave him in this possibility could not be differentiated from what he himself was generating and the barrier between the outside world and its internal biology disintegrated until we both were molecules bumping into one another delightedly howling that the moment was over while knowing that it could never be.

John Lee

Hour of the Wolf

Costa del sud

.. Scrivo a classico.. questo detto al thee dal punto di vantaggio di quasi cento centuries. e che sa di ciò che prima che questo.? forse il Berosos. ed ancora il ther erano dei certamente prodigi anche prima che il suo recalling. quasi nessune parole in questo tempo.. nonostante potrebbe sentire.. le pagine di mostra di storia sempre il risalire di efforts. nobile. ed anche questi possono essere corrotti nel nostro prezzo.. nonostante potrebbe essere per buono.. è un prezzo.. e ci sono quelli che sa di corruptabilities sorprendente.. forse il tempo è venuto per la lotta sola.. loro il fortold questo happenings. il Darleeks è arrivato il passato lungo.. il mio children. confuso disperso. il lancio giù al suolo niente di distrarre di natura.. solo le cose di fuoco devono essere delle had. e va a loro come se per la salvezza.. perché solo possono darle l'indicazione pre-scelto Lei.. nel forground di tempo e nello spazio.. ciò che sono poi noi fare.? Non so niente ha detto i miei saggio ed amici di unatainable.. Lei può trovarlo nel suono.. lei può trovarlo nelle stelle sul sua dito.. non ha paura guardare intorno.. per ci sono i vermi di calore a volte nella notte.. lei può trovarli lí lungo il valleys. di montagna. lungo la costa del sud di autostrada 1......

Schopenhauer: the world as will

.. motives do not determine the character of man, but only the phenomena of his character, that is, his actions; the outward fashion of his life, not its inner meaning and content. These proceed from the character which is the immediate manifestation of the will, and is therefore groundless. That one man is bad and another good, does not depend upon motives or outward influences, such as teaching and preaching, and is in this sense quite inexplicable. But whether a bad man shows his badness in petty acts of injustice, cowardly tricks, and low knavery which he practices in the narrow sphere of his circumstances, or whether as a conqueror he oppresses nations, throws a world into lamentation, and sheds the blood of millions; this is the outward form of his manifestation, that which is unessential to it, and depends upon the circumstances in which fate has placed him, upon his surroundings, upon external influences, upon motives; but his decision upon these motives can never be explained from them; it proceeds from the will, of which this man is a manifestation.

The Edge of the City: by Jake Luce

..she was blind.. comes to the room softly.. but in the games of christmas.. she reads her clue in braille.. the lights of the tree
make her face angelic.. she finds her spot with the help of a brother and sister.. fearlessly walking on the edge of the couch..
perched in a beautiful high rise apartment.. so close to the edge of this living city.. powers of another kind.. Sofia find courage in your heart.. reach out and claim who you will be.. sing to the heavens.. let all of time flow through you.. and do not be afraid..

Cool Hands