Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

It is my thought that the explosion that happened after the turn of the last century that occurred on a psych-spiritual-metaphysical depth that is still sending out tremors, that have in turn been enhanced by the earth shattering events of the book holders of two world wars.Taking into account that de Chirico began a few heart beats before the first world war, and also he being taken with the "metaphysical" presence of "the city of Nietzsche"

That what we see through the keyhole of our incredible shrinking view is the picture of a timeless city that holds clues to our century unfolding in the dark march of progress, that we see a moment in amber so still yet also so fraught with impending menace.We are caught between the awakening of colossal shadows cast by the dying God and the words "Dead God", in this birds-eye view, perhaps reflected in Nietzsche's reverse eternal return as he looked into the horse's eye on that Heraclitean day."character is fate" echoing off the orb of the dark horse, or the pale horse.

de Chirico seems to be caught between Freud's phallic symbol and his cocaine horse, between Nietzsche's exquisite corpse of a God that fills the city square with a strange metaphysical light and its torn off shadow, that as we look at the center of the perspective point, that is everywhere and nowhere.We are entering the future through the back door of our own metaphysical crisis, and we walk like magical-mechanical Golems toward the empty mouth of the cathedral.

As the Great War ended, and the moth-eaten uniforms climbed out of the trenches of eternity, a flower was seen in the middle of no-mans-land surrounded by barbwire, this was the inspiration for the soldier poets, and the poet soldier-poets to gather in the cafes and plan the end of history, as James Joyce uttered"History is the nightmare from which i am trying to awake"We man the barricades of mental landscapes, the maps of de Chirico folded on the tablecloth of our spiritual revolution.Apollinaire, spoke and Surrealism was born from the Marat/Sade bath of Dada.Cubism rose out of the rose petal ashes and blossomed its crystalline voids of color shattered stained glass windows.

We see as if from those Heraclitean-fragments of those bits of smashed glass shards of stalactites and stalagmites red-light lit the entrance of yesterday , today and tomorrow, the cave we crawled out of as the Platonic solids cooled.Cool is born in a single beat of the earth bongo-eye.
Beat-note throbs through all-time toward that infinite-object that changes beyond shape and space.You speak a psychic depth about to explode our consciousness in all directions in all parts-unknown.

In the spring an old man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of Freud, cancer, morphine and suicide: Moses, Monotheism and despair:

We are entering the future through the back door of our own metaphysical crisis, and we walk like magical-mechanical Golems toward the empty mouth of the cathedral.

that line doesn't budge... solid, with the essence of wonder permeating the underarms of the mind.

enjoyed the whole journey, rabbit...

gracias!

Here the madman fell silent and again regarded his listeners; and they too were silent and stared at him in astonishment. At last he threw his lantern to the ground, and it broke and went out. "I have come too early," he said then; "my time has not come yet.

--Fred

Will it ever come?

Sorry, the Joyce thing.

<center>

"What ceremony of words can patch the havoc?"

</center>---Plath, Conversation Among The Ruins

I try to stay out of your face and sit on my hands
and just read your poetry
Because I know self evolving systems can be annoying.
But sometimes I feel compelled to reply.


Freud claimed he never read Nietzsche


In the end morphine was Freud's drug of choice not cocaine
And he bore the pain refused the morphine until he finished his last book.
He wanted to keep his mind clear for his work
His suicide a dirty little secrete that no one talks about.


Great work RR

Poetry is a trip for me
A gift I don't have.
But I sure get off on yours



sorry about the unrelated ramble
just a <center>Conversation Among The Ruins.</center>


de Chirico

what can i say, i did not choose this poet life, it chose me,
i started out with a need to say what was on my mind, and
it became a calling, a falling, a crawling, a long hauling.

and still its like talking on step forward, with one foot in front
of the other one, if i had a firm background in the classics
and a good knowledge of English, it might have been less
messy.But then again, who knows what it takes to make
a poet, what it takes to attempt to say the impossible.

"Everywhere I go, the poet has been there first." -Freud

"sometimes a cigar is just a cigar" Freud

or a pen is just a pen, and not a phallo-centric pointer?

In the dark times, will there also be singing?
Yes, there will be singing.
About the dark times.
—Bertolt Brecht

I was a precocious child, I tried to commit suicide when I was eight years old. These days I hardly ever think about suicide. Except when I smoke the occasional cigarette with the vision of walking on a beach with my pockets full of rocks and my lungs full of cancer.

The Jack of Nightmares.

I have not lost my sense of humor
suicide been a hobby of mine since I was eight years old

hard for me to be hip
in the grip
of a suicide trip

human behavior overdetermined Freud said
Freud the master of understatement
found it remarkable the
"overcoming of the instinct which compels every living thing to cling to life"


and then he over came
himself
some say it was the cancer
but I think it was the war
RIP uncle Siggie
september 1939


very remarkable
to overcome
the compelling instinct
to cling to life

to cast out
and punish
the self for moral inferiority
so sue side me

Fly away
from the present
presence
I got stoned and I missed it

Fly away
from the lies that bind
wash the sleep from my eyes
Am I awake yet?

"After all these years
I am still alive
cut me loose
let me fly" ---the Spinoza of Baltimore

Just a Go it don't mean nothing
drive on
or
Fly Away

Albert Camus..." i only know one duty, and that is to love"

"in order to exist just once on the world, it is necessary never again to exist"

"Men must live and create.Live to the point of tears"

"Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal."

"What I wish for now is no longer to be happy but only to be aware." Camus

"Psychic depth".
Really dig this read.
I felt I could breathe easier after reading it.
H

"our incredible shrinking view."

I think that pretty much nails it.
Nietszche and God in the same sentence?
Old Skool, love it, tryin' to get back to basics.
No one can wrap their head around the population explosion,
the conscious explosion, no one understands its power yet.
They still try to get us to play love and politics.
Fools. That's what I was born into.
Hello.