to the gnostic existentialist of course what we do is
not esoteric orcryptic -- to us because we have this
context and ideological framework it is obvious and
right there, right here.
but we could be called esoteric by those who don't
understand what we are about, or think we are joking. i
know i am nottheonly estabklished artisan in teh
filmworld who would count themselves amobng the gnostic
existentialists but to those who are uninitiated or are
unfamiliarwithtwhat those terms meme -- it would be a
morass? huh? what is he talking about?
when i finished the screenplay for china Sky I was
pleased becaue it was basically a love poem to Bukowski
whose life i follwoed and whose work shaped and
influneced my own life and development of process. But
then later in the time between drafts I researched and
found that china Sky was a film made in 1945!
i was pleased, not crestfallen as i read the synopsis of
the film -- that i never watched unless I internalized
it in the womb as mom read me many books and watched
many films with me in mind and in her belly...
as the Title was simply a play on the surname he used --
Chinasky.
as an anarchist i know that the corporate world is
baffled if not by my art then by my lack of being in a
hurry to sell it tothem two people go job hunting. one
is an anarchist,one isn't. the anarchistis sickened and
offended by the insult to his intellect that teh world
of applying for jobs and sucking up to would be
employers is. the other guy gets the jobs and the
anarchist goes on the dole.
i tend to take everything people who look at me on the
outside with a grain of salt. to me anarchism is a
reasonable way to live life and approach people and
situations, as Robert Heinlein said, i try to live
perfectly in an imperfect world.
i am laying this all on the group for a few reasons.
i wonder if ANYONE anyone at all will know or understand
why?
The Day After Yesterday At The China Sky Cafe
mikal x deadjournal
(c) 1998 retrograde books
Wow!
There’s no past; there’s no future. There has only ever
always been the ever expanding now. Do you know what
illusions are?
There’s no past; there’s no future.
The ever-expanding now has always been there. Think
back, think back to that very first kiss, the
excitement. Think back to when she was excoriating you,
how small you felt. Think back to when you saw through
hit, how bullshit they were and how full of hate, how
little beauty they had to contribute, it was Now at that
time, and I know that later the time will be now as
well.
Right now people are lying furiously to protect their
dark secrets.
No past, no future.
I asked a yogi what time was. In a personal and very non
- conspiratorial way the yogi told me that time was a
scam created by a cruel man who wanted to rule us all.
Love is…almost real, love threatens to be real. That’s
why Bush wants to destroy the world like the “man” he
is, because love is almost real and that—if that were
allowed to happen…do you know the power of love?
Sneer and go away and take your fakeness with you.
I say "the power of love" and your face twists; sneer of
derision and hate?
You don’t really belong here – maybe you do...
I have heard the flapping tongues of hate-filled liars;
liars who hated beauty, hated truth, hated love. I have
heard the hate-filled flapping of their tongues, and I
have seen the damage they can to.
They twist things, they hate so much there is no room
for anything else in their tiny philosophies. Every day
I die a little, resisting their garbage sometimes I sit
and I say:
okay: everything you liars said is true.
And it is for a moment is the end of Orwell’s 1984 in my
mind, they lie and deceive with an urge to render
anything beautiful or good a waste. i lie and say that I
love Big Brother.
For a moment every day I remember that Orwell was a
shrewd observer and I become his Smith:
anything to get the monsters off my back for a little
while.
Sure! Whatever you say, you weird thought police: Satan
is God, Evil is Good…doodoo is cookies.
Now go away.
When they are sure they have killed me they retreat
again into sulfur; but inevitably –
I have heard the flapping tongues of hate filled liars,
they shit they fling sticks and splatters. They lie
because they know no other world. I mutter 'fix the
world, fix what;s broken; don't become the iold shit
that's never helped us in the past except to make the
muck stickier, become something new!' and evade their
nescient dishonesties – communism and socialism will
never ever be remotely anarchistic: but the deceived
seem to want to be decieved, sometimes. So full of
hatred.
I syndicalize. I grab little bits from here, little
things from there. To someone who doesn’t know me it
looks like I am building a house of cards or a suit of
armor; but I am just doing what syndicalists have always
done.
I even borrow from the kabbalist and logician Ayn Rand:
I KNOW that evil is simply envy or hatred of what is
good for its being so good.
I should feel safer as I float in the nectar like goo,
the jelly that is divine mind, yet I—I have seen Truth,
I have heard the voice of the savior, I have seen the
deepest wisdom of the great Zen whore , the hero who—the
ancient of Samsara who has know the truth she is.
I have known her and I have known the denial and
arrogance of those who were her enemies, sometimes the
enemies of god are puppeteers, using human flesh
vehicles they get all dragged around and used. But I
have also heard it said that the Dakini are already
knowledgeable, they only question the world to enlighten
the as yet unknowing. The Dakini are many and wise, and
the one who saw fit to grab me by the shoulders and say
wake up, her light was too brilliant and compassionate,
the heart of the earth; that light that shines on the
ignorant who blind remain so – yet every now and then a
child awakens inside the jaded and ancient, every now
and the enlightenment threatens, beckons—
The sky teacher came and left to go elsewhere while the
asuras inhabited the people who screamed bullshit in her
face. Nonetheless she was calm and resolute, the Dakini
, in the face of their denials. She as beautiful and
good like nefer-tiri. I won’t tell her story, I will
tell my story of her, of her elegant legs and her open
giving rainbow heart – while the ones who crucified her
continue to prosper with lies as their fuel – I will
tell you story of my guru and everything after while the
demon-possessed who put her to death wail in hate-filled
denial.
They get a mention too, even though they roil in hatred
and abnegation profound. I will. I will tell you the
story of my Chinese Sky Teacher because she was
beautiful.
Looking for an objective narrative, a dry account of her
actions? Look elsewhere, scan the news. I will tell you
– a story – you might catch a glimpse of her message if
your heart is W*rking at all. If you are like the
demonically possessed that hate their own hearts and
yours, the ones who grinned like lying demons while her
corpus melted on the spit for their dinner, than this
tale might be something you would rather skip. I daresay
there’s a game on.
THE DAY AFTER YESTERDAY
Existance: perhaps one day nothing will exist. Extreme
doubt surfaces when I imagine this possibility though.
While atheists do not believe in God: I am perfectly
sure that God believes in atheists.
I bet God doesn’t even hate the atheists, rational
atheists that have not degraded into Satanists serve to
keep religions’ zealots and hypocrites on their toes;
atheists serve to keep the pious ‘honest’. This day it
is quite obvious that the pious can do great evil.
Existence: Nietzsche is dead. God may, at worst, have
been unconscious, or horribly, in denial, for some to
me.
I’m sure She’s WIDE AWAKE NOW.
The Nazis are famous for – oh no! They aren’t atheist.
They believe in and HATE God. A rational atheist would
not admit to hating what they profess no to believe
in…the Nazis, however, are a philosophical subset,
somewhere between atheists and Satanists. And somewhere
else, wincing, or maybe cannily pretending to enjoy
their company, are the Existentialists.
Ayn Rand dared say that everyone is a philosopher.
However odd, this has basis in fact. Epistemology is
simply how a person sees things; unconscious
philosophers include the majority of society. Conscious
philosophers – well, Sartre, Rand, Plato, Goldman, and
everyone’s mother.
(break: how is this a screenplay? simply as a
director./writer I am very loose. asking actors
tomemoprize lines i believe is enough of a chore. the
layout of the storyline is sort of 'set in stone' --
this is complete and has abeginning m,iddle and end,
copmplete with the avatar of the author, myself, who is
adistinct and obvious character, "Hollobecque" -- who
appears in a moment.
but because i have a bare bones outline i use a jazz
approach to some aspects of tehmise-en-scene. we know
that almost al the action takes place in a cafe thathas
been converted into a painters' hideaway and the
painters all live there, working on their work and
having conversations and that's the majority fo
tehscene,. there are a few other shots that take place
in other artists' workspaces, but it is a film about
painters. so naturally there will be some composition
of shot atteh moment. i revere artaud but I am not him
-- and i knwo that some mise-en-scenes willbe created on
the day the actors are assembled -- and i know that
whoever the cinematographer is they will want to have
freedom to create as well. they will want to work with
my words as a painter works with color -- they will want
to work with the actors as a painter chooses brushes and
canvas.
all these media will go together in the completed
product andultimately i am just the writer and assistant
director -- for now and POSSIBLY an actor. if i don't
have to be in it that is fine.)
The question she posed to me was simple. “What’s the
meaning of life?”
I was so in love with this woman. A Greek. But I kept my
answer to myself. I shan’t forever but for the moment I
did. I replied after thinking a moment;
“well, first, Mari, I’m skeptical that there only one
meaning of life. Life is multifarious…there’s all kinds
of people, they all piss and shit, most inevitably fuck
and bleed.. (god. Do I really like hearing myself talk
this much?) …and to the best of my knowledge all die.
But –
“ Is this your smartass way of saying that there’s more
than one meaning of life?”
I was nervous.
:well, ah…um…yes.”
Mari sipped her coffee. “Okay, well..name one.”
I smiled. “But, well..my perception might be different
than yours! I’m not God; I don’t remember creating the
universe anyway…why do I get the privilige – if it is a
privilege – of dictating the meaning of life?”
Mari smiled thinly back at me. “Remember that day, when
I was in the garden, washing my feet? It was years ago,
do you remember?”
I remembered; said so.
“I know the meaning of life. Least I think I do. I want
to know what you think.”
Mari Popodopolous keeps dyeing her hair. When I met her
it was a honey brown like beer. While we were lovers it
varied from a carroty orange to almost not quite pink,
to deep auburn, to a rusty copper. Now it’s purple; she
is married to my best friend Steve.
Steve Haley has been my best friend since I was
thirteen. I turned my back on Mari for a year to focus
on my inner journey; I had lost track of painting,
become disillusioned. THAT PROVED AN ERROR. My painting
is terrible, and Mari calmly said yes when Steve
unleashed his secret weapon. It is a rock, it glitters
bluely on the fourth finger of Mari Popodopoulous’ left
hand. (She kept her maiden name to keep aware of her
Orthodox heritage.)
“You were washing your feet…it was early in the morning.
You were out in back…back in Cambridge.”
(more)
http://particlezen.proboards7.com/index.cgi
the edge of everything. no, really.
http://www.deadjournal.com/users/cataleptik/
catal3ptik is a rav3r
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