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broKEN

From interview with Robert Anton Wilson:

DARE
Are there any existing political systems you admire?

WILSON
Scandinavian socialism. I found the Scandinavians to be about the most admirable people in Europe. clean streets, a low crime rate, a general air of high civilization - luxuries for all and a total absence of slums, poverty, and ugliness. They seem very happy and productive, with one of the most way out futurist movements in the world. They're the California of Europe.
I hate to sound like a Marxist, which I'm not, but the reason you haven't heard about Scandinavian Socialism is because the media of this country is controlled by rich people who are scared shitless of socialism. They want Americans to think there's only one type of socialism, Soviet Communism, which is the kind of place where dissident scientists get thrown in lunatic asylums, all of which is true. Americans are paranoid about Russians but Scandinavians regard them with amusement; they're those backwards people who think that you can only have socialism by putting all the poets and painters in jail. The Scandinavians reward their poets and they don't put anyone in jail for dissident political opinions.

DARE
Aren't you scared of getting in trouble, of finally saying the one thing you shouldn't have said?

WILSON
We're all living in a world in which one cannot apply one's highest ideals without getting into a lot of trouble. I've gotten in trouble, but I haven't gone to jail, which shows I may have more common sense than Tim Leary. I certainly don't claim to be more intelligent than him. He's the most intelligent human being I've ever encountered.

DARE
Do you share his conclusions about LSD?

WILSON
LSD breaks up habitual circuits of the brain. It opens new circuits, breaks down old circuits, and there's no evidence whatsoever that it destroys brain cells. LSD is very much a metaprogramming device, it changes the basic programs, that's why it's dangerous. It creates acute paranoid states in bureaucrats who've never used it.
To get the best out of it needs a scientific or religious approach, one or the other. People who are just tripping for the fun of it are more likely to imprint a whole new reality tunnel or personality on themselves that they weren't looking for. If you're going to do LSD, you should decide the changes you're aiming at and structure the trip to lead to that kind of change.
There's no doubt that you can change every part of your personality with LSD, that's why Leary calls it a reimprinting drug. It changes basic imprints which are much more rigid than conditioning. There's no doubt that I am a different person than I am before I took it.
I was a statistical materialist before I started experimenting with LSD, that is I didn't believe the laws of the universe were absolutely deterministic because I knew enough quantum mechanics to know that it broke them down. But I was still a statistical materialist, everything could be explained by the accidental permutations of little hunks of energy that solidify into matter. I was perfectly satisfied with that explanation of the universe, and I never realized that I was as dogmatic about it as any Catholic was about their faith. After LSD impacted on me, I became a total agnostic, and I'm not dogmatic about anything any more. I know that every system I make up is my own brain making up a system. None of the systems is big enough to include the whole universe, so all of my beliefs are only relatively true. Some are undoubtedly wrong because I'm not that brilliant that I never make a mistake.
There are a lot of people who don't realize how conceited they are. By asserting with such certitude the things they believe in, they don't realize that they're saying "I'm the smartest person in the world, I can answer all the questions." People like Carl Sagan. I just don't know how he can be so sure of everything when, by and large, the more intelligent you get, the more you realize you can't be sure of anything.

DARE
What is the next stage in evolution?

WILSON
The model I use is adapted from Leary. The oral-bio-survival circuit is what the amoebas operate on - taste everything. Babies operate on that too. That's the circuit we go back to whenever we're in danger, and depending on what we imprinted there, we will either attack or run away.
Then there's Freud's anal circuit, which has to do with claiming territory and status within it. That's when we go through the mammalian rituals concerning who runs the family, outsmarting our brothers and sisters and trying to run the whole show, imprinting our domination and submission reflexes. It's why people can hold jobs; their boss becomes a father substitute and they attach all their reflexes to him.
Next there's the rational circuit in which we do our abstract reasoning with words and mathematics, and the sociosexual circuit where we imprint the pattern of how we relate to people; with what degree of amity or sexuality. Everybody has a different imprint, and society has only one general set of rules, so everybody is a heretic as far as that circuit is concerned. Those four circuits are the natural child, the adoptive child, the adult, and the parent in Berne's system.
Beyond that is the neurosomatic circuit, where, through yoga or drugs or body work like Rolfing, one gimmick or another, you are able to turn on to your own body in a new way, and instead of just reacting to the conditioned and imprinted programs on the first four circuits, you are able to relax and go with the flow and enjoy life.
The sixth circuit is the neurogenetic circuit, which has to do with morpho-genetic resonances, coming in contact with the experience and religious symbols of your ancestors, learning that they've been controlling you below the level of consciousness all your life. This is what Shamanism traditionally deals with. Jungian psychology was the first attempt to deal with it scientifically, now we've got dozens of others trying to bring people into harmony with archetypes of the collective unconscious or genetic heritage.
The next is the metaprogramming circuit, which is learning how the brain can work on the brain, how you can imprint different identities and reality tunnels as you go along. Before you get to that circuit, you have no idea what true freedom really is, you're being manipulated all the time whether you know it or not. It's the circuit where you develop true choice.

DARE
How do you get there?

WILSON
If you do a lot of work on the 5th and 6th circuits, the 7th tends to click on. First you get a lot of synchronicities, meaningful coincidences, accidental reinforcement from your environment, like someone coming by to loan you a book that's exactly the one you were looking for. Jung found that his patient's dreams had more and more symbols out of Greek and Egyptian and Hindu mythology as they progressed into that circuit, even without studying them consciously. They pulled them out of the collective unconscious, which I think is actually the morphogenetic field.
Above that there's the non-local quantum circuit, which is the circuit in which we get true out of body experiences, cosmic identification with the whole of existence.
We're learning so much about the latter four circuits, which Leary calls the extraterrestrial circuits, that we're moving into a new stage of evolution. More people are on the fifth circuit than ever before in history, and there are growing sixth and seventh circuit minorities. It's not an accident. We're changing just as we have to change. These circuits were there, ready to be used, when we got to this point in evolution. Earlier, mankind could just coast along on the first four circuits, and only visionaries and mystics and poets ever turned on the higher circuits. Now everyone does it.

DARE
How to you teach people to turn on their higher circuits?

WILSON
You've got to teach with humor to make the pill palatable. Besides, humor is the essence of realizing our true situation in space and time. We are these tiny fallible beings crawling around on a relatively small planet, and anybody who pontificates dogmatically about anything is giving evidence that they are an idiot, even if you agree with them. They shouldn't sound that certain. We think we're so damn smart and we know so fucking little.


new poems:



"Dead Pacifists"



must we be nice

to the parasites

and the virus only doing it's job?

my soul, they allow me to keep

but my life they wish to rob







"How We Forget"



The length of a dawning

of linear time

Shall bounce back the breath

of a yawning divine

Rivers of words, blurring

elongated, wash up abrupt

on the beach of consiousness

As I drift inbetween worlds

Madness winks from a neighboring nook

Mi largo perdido amigo

The familiar, fetal-shaped brain groove

Snuggled, warm, hidden but for dreams

Sleep is sacred

How soon we forget

The power of belief

Imagination's holes

In reality's net







"Tea 'n Turkey"



manic thinking

caffeine's masterplan

settle down

tryptophan



carbon dating

aiding man

history

grains of sand







"Pleading The Fifth (Dimension)"



Outside of time

A true poet gives no pause

To accumulate the disease

Of mortality



The mind will still move

Yet the pen will not scribble

No ripple

Will reach those inside

From Robert Anton Wilson's Ishtar Rising or, Why the Goddess Went to Hell and What to Expect Now That She's Returning:

"Cary Grant was once told, "Every time I see you on the screen, I think, 'I wish I was Cary Grant.'" He replied, "That's just what I think!"

I've been repeating that story ever since I first heard it, and it never fails to amuse audiences, all of whom seem to understand it immediately. Everybody groks that Archie Leach, the poor boy from Liverpool who became "Cary Grant" never fully believed in "Cary Grant," since Cary was, after all, his own invention. On the other hand, here's a similar story, which I also like to tell, that produces very mixed reactions, with some people laughing and others looking puzzled or slightly offended.

An art dealer once went to Pablo Picasso and said, "I have a bunch of 'Picasso' canvasses that I was thinking of buying. Would you look them over and tell me which are real and which are forgeries?" Picasso obligingly began sorting the paintings into two piles. Then, as the Great Man added one particular picture to the fake pile, the dealer cried, "Wait a minute, Pablo. That's no forgery. I was visiting you the weekend you painted it." Picasso replied imperturbably, "No matter. I can fake a Picasso as well as any thief in Europe."

Personally, I find this story not only amusing but profoundly disturbing. It has caused me to think, every time I finish a piece of writing, "Is this a real Robert Anton Wilson, or did I just fake a Robert Anton Wilson?" Sometimes, especially with a long novel, I find it impossible to convince myself that I know the answer. After all, as Nietzche said, "there are no facts, only interpretations"...... "

a song I wrote (long before I read the above):

"What's That Something Else?"

Everything is an interpretation of something else
Everything is an interpretation of something else
Everything is an interpretation of something else
Everything is an interpretation of something else

But what's that something else?
But what's that something else?
But what's that something else?
But what's that something else?

And how can I feel it?
Without becoming it?
And what's that something else?
Where's that something else?
Is it hiddin in the sky or ground?
Or is it inside ourselves?

Everything is an interpretation of something else
But what's that something else?



Monday, May 24, 2004

Don't you do anything but write songs?

It's A Digital Age

Coming of age in the digital age

You can make out forever

You never have to get up

And turn the record over

Unless the CD skips

Then you have to get up

And you take yr lips

And I miss you already

In the digital age, there's never dust on the needle

You can listen to songs in random order

Appollo 18 by They Might Be Giants

Becomes a different album thanks to science

It's a digital age

Free from yr vinyl cage

(repeat)

 

Time

Keep me hanging from this ever lengthening rope

Into this pit of darkness, distancing from hope

My eyes have seen the dampening of light inside myself

I was in a hole anyway

So I might as well be in the ground

Finally some peace to speak with God

No distractions, no people around

No blood circling my brain

Driving me out of my mind

Just like when in the womb

Naked, soft, no sense of time

There is nothing to do, just be

There is nothing to feel, hear or see

Forget what these words mean: life and death

What keeps you alive has nothing to do with breath

If we were truly free, "freedom" wouldn't exist

If we were truly free, "we" wouldn't exist

 

Beautiful Lie

Coughing up blood isn't always fun

When no one's around to watch it spiral down the drain

And I'm afraid if I don't stop destroying myself

I might end up destroying myself

 

I spoke my final words

One hour after I died

No one was listening by then

And anyway I told a lie

I said, "It's beautiful here

It's peaceful and white

The living are really in Hell

The dead are alive"

 

Never Falls

I want a girl who smells like Winter

Says hello like Summer

Moves like Spring

And never Falls

Everyday's another season

When happiness is raining from above

 

 

8:31 pm pdt

Thursday, May 20, 2004

my friend, Lon, said my website is funny and very not politically correct (in a positive way). i just have one question...what does "politically correct" mean?

here's my theme song:

broKEN

broKEN's breaking me in two

I'm broken in two over you

I don't know what to do

Half of me likes you and half of me

Wants you to disappear

Half of me wants to live alone in fear

That's too many halves to make one whole

Half of me is stable, half is losing control

So before my other half returns

I want to let you know

That I love you, He hates you

That I love you, He loves no one

I love you, No you don't

I do

 

He has to break up with friends

Because he doesn't have a lover

He wants to write break up songs

Without venturing in to the fire

 

I'm more confused than you can possibly be

It could be worse, I could be broken in three

No matter how many there are of me

Half will always love you

 

My guitar is broken, my voice breaks

My piano's out of tune, my mind leaks

And boils and bakes and cakes on the inside

Of my skull, drowning in a lake of fire

Ken gets hired, broKEN gets fired

Ken gets hired, broKEN gets fired

I repeat I repeat I repeatedly repeat myself

And screw myself out of everything I want

Ken earns the money, broKEN spends it

broKEN abuses, Ken wakes in strange places

broKEN uses all of Ken's faces

Ken tries to hide, but broKEN's inside him

Plotting his next broken, evil deed

Ken doesn't want what broKEN needs

Ken chokes on what broKEN feeds

He's looking half-heartedly for a cure to this disease

But broKEN takes control of the keys

And leads him astray

broKEN mostly comes out at night

Forcing Ken to sleep all day

broKEN is slowly taking over

Forcing Ken and his friends away

 

I find it hard to understand

Why anyone would like me

I look in the mirror and see a broken man

Waiting there inside me

We wrote this together, sometimes we agree

If broKEN disappeared, would my life become boring?

I'd kill him, but I'd be killing me

I'd embrace him, but he's so ugly

I'd forget him, but he'd remember me

I'd fight him, but he'd beat me

I'd make fun of him, but he'd just laugh at me

Hopefully the weed won't devour the flower

Maybe someday my mind will be mine and not "ours"

 

No Body

Don't touch my body after I've departed

I'm coming back to finish what I started

 

Nothing left to write about

Finally satisfied with myself

Don't need nobody

Nobody's coming around

As you get older

The bodies just pile up around

On all sides, forming a tomb

To lay yr body down

The future doesn't bode well for the body

Better look around for yr soul

And make a hole in the tomb

For it to escape, to fly through

Bodies still whisper after the last breath:

"There's nothing worse than death"

10:11 pm pdt

Tuesday, May 18, 2004

2 new songs...i don't make music, i create art art art art arf arf arf ruff ruff ruffrrrrggghh

Do I Have To Spell It Out For You?

F-U-C-K Y-O-U

Y-O-U K-N-O-W

W-H-A-T T-H-A-T

M-E-A-N-S A-N-D

I think you should go

I think you should go

(repeat)

 

People Are Detours

We make little dents with our protest songs

While they create chasms with their bombs

Let's sing about ourselves instead

While we're still living

Fuck the dead

 

It's not about getting a wife

It's not about buying a car

It's about how far along the path

You can travel without looking back

 

People are distractions

People are detours

People are distractions

People are detours

Attractions are distractions

People are detours

Attractions are distractions

People are detours

 

Get out of my head, conscience

I need a d-d-d-d-duh-date

 

It's hard to be distracted when yr on drugs

You can focus on the needle like a warm, friendly hug

It's hard to be distracted when yr drunk all the time

When you stare in to the mirror, you are watching time

I cannot handle the wisdom anymore

 

It makes me want to go through the evil door

I cannot handle the wisdom anymore

It makes me want to go through the evil door

8:23 pm pdt

Sunday, May 2, 2004

kill the rich

Let Go

I don't want to die in yr arms

My soul won't want to leave

I don't want to die in love with you

Don't want to stick around and haunt you

The memories are good

But I have mystery awaiting me

So get away, because I'm going away

I have to be free to be set free

Alone is the only way to die

Just walk away, leave, goodbye

 

Twister

You're like a memory of something I never had

 

Right hand, blue means nothing to you

Left foot green means nothing to me

You don't want to play wih me

Don't want to touch me, even accidentally

 

I can't play this game alone

But do know one that I can

Put a bullet in, spin it

It's a game of chance

 

The bottle in my hand will soon be empty

But nobody's spinning it to kiss

The lack of a person to play with is rough

Nothing in a bottle is strong enough

To take away the hurt, to erase the past

The content can dull, but never last

 

You're like a memoy of something I never had

 

Don't you want to stand inside the eye of the storm that is me?

It's when you drift that you risk getting hit by debris

What a world, I sometimes wish it would melt away

Sore loser in the games we play

Twisted thoughts on display

 

You're like a memory of something I never had

 

Chop

Self-operated guillotine

Is just a conversation piece

Don't go losing yr head

Don't cut it off to spite yr body

Don't cut out yr heart despite the lack of love

You know you need nobody to rise above

People get pregnant for a reason

And the reason is stupidity

Cut the mistakes from yr life

Selfish people need to be free

Construct a dam to block unwelcomed thoughts

Yr mouth can't afford the words you bought

Cut out yr tongue before you speak yr mind

Chop off yr feet before you leave yr love behind

 

From young to old

From hot to cold

From empty to stuffed

You found a space for me

Above yr fireplace is where I'll be

 

I have an indestructible heart

Crash test dummie girlfriend, give it a jumpstart

 

Feed The Rich To The Poor

Why must my hands always ache?

If I thought about it, I'd jump in a lake

Also, why must my back break?

I could kill the rich

Would that be a mistake?

The wealthy are hollow inside

They have no hearts, nothing soft, they don't bleed

Are they clueless or just fake?

Their lives are like icing on a dirty cake

 

chorus: Robin Hood was on the right track track track

Kill the rich and feed 'em to the poor as a snack snack snack

 

I wouldn't mind putting my foot in my mouth

If it tasted like a donut

Too unfortunate I don't do the things I say

Maybe the less stable will run with it

Hopefully there will come a day

When all of their smirking faces will be burning

I pray there's a place for Bob Eubanks

I pray there's a place for Dick Clark

To Burn Burn Burn

I wouldn't piss on them to save them

Wouldn't shit on them to smother

But I will kidnap their children

And I will bury their mothers

Alive Alive Alive!

chorus

3:45 pm pdt

2005.10.01 | 2005.09.01 | 2004.05.01 | 2004.04.01 | 2004.03.01 | 2004.02.01 | 2004.01.01

Good Evening, Mr. Dowd
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