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15 Jun

Testing testing testing, one-two-three: Earth do you read me? Do you think I’m weird? Do you love me, my lonely blue planet hanging in the Milky Way’s outer arms? I love you. How I’ve missed you.

When I began this blog I had no plans. Twelve months on drawing and colourwork opened some door in my mind. Suddenly there was a hole in the dyke that divides the rational Western mind, cuts Reason off from all that we know to be truth without a shred of evidence: the mythological cushions that makes life mean something. And, in this rare condition, I just decided to sit down once a day and write whatever.

And whatever did I write? I’m not yet quite sure. So much of this shit just baffles me. Truly. Confessions of faith! Scat poetry that begins in the Sadean nightmare of the east Congo and ends up with naff buskers in Melbourne. According to Arnoldian standards of rhetoric it doesn’t make sense. I’ve said it from the beginning, I don’t know what I’m going to write ’til I do it. I didn’t know the title of this post ’til this morning.

Why did I do this?

Because after such intellectual transformation as has obtained in my life over these five years past I needed to know what I truly believed, how I truly felt and what was really important. To do this you must give yourself up to the source. You must not reflect, you simply do… and deal with consequences. When you paint you use a different part of the mind. Something that cannot be analyzed. I simply transferred the process to the written word. Hence this sometime spooky, flipped-out, hippie jive. But I dig it the most. Best thing I ever wrote.

Being from a long line that goes back straight to the Scottish Enlightenment I have always been the son of David Hume; facts, sir. I want facts. But I am also the child of a thousand years of Irish suffering wherein the word, the song and the image of Madonna was all there was to keep the stark madness at bay. I know the value of science but I love the valleys at sunset. What happens in the lab doesn’t provide me the meaning of life (like it might for Richard Dawkins). And this meaning of life in the face of the Infinite has been (I think, feel) shriveled, shrunk and pre-packaged in our culture. Our spirit is distilled for us, designed according to the latest neuroscience bytes and focus groups vectors.

We all believe in Nothing together, no more. We share no gods. And our profit on’t is that we drink or some such and by compulsion to stay the Void. We throw ourselves to the maelstrom-warm arms of Dionysus and forget the future. We trash the Earth and argue about whether we should care, chanting: fuck it all, fuck it all, fuck it all! Twelve months of the year. How many tired eyes I see in the street, sorrow-rimmed and bitter. Poor monkeys, what have we done to ourselves?

When I started, I barely announced the blog. One comment at first and for the next few months I had exactly 14 regular daily readers. To those people, I raise a glass. You’re my people. And, considering from whence you must’ve come, I’m touched that my stream-of-consciousness bollocks warranted that kind of daily attention.

And now I am finished with this first phase. The raw material. The day has come and I will leave it for a time and go on to other things. But I will return and fashion it to a book that will be sent out along the noosphere for whomsoever may care. for whomever cares Upload to iBook, tablet, laptop, a public terminal, a phone etc …now and always free of charge.

And good luck to it whatever comes of it including nothing. I will trim it, I’ll reorganize but I won’t rewrite. It is honest in a world of ghosts and that is enough.

Meantime we are nowhere and it’s now. Let us pray. I have spent many years a monk i’ th’ abbey cultivating the mind serious. This is my duty. But reason is a lonesome, cold place without a magpie’s song, a tree’s gnarly bark, the soft eyes of a dog. Reason thus and thus, do’t all you wish. But without laughter, without dancing, without the occasional and most delicious fuck, well’t means nothing does it?

All is reconciled. I am a Stoic – peace to the People of the Book. I am a Romantic and the Buddha teaches me that nature is endlessly complex. Grow in all directions but walk, like Christ, with grace and love. Try anyway, stumble, fall, get back up, do it again. If you wish to be free you must master yourself and transcend. It is a life-long journey.

All is reconciled. I am an anarchist but I love tradition. To reach the city that knows no coercion means you have to love the Law. I know who I am and what I believe. I have found a vehicle, I have found the side I have been seeking all this. I am on the midnight path walking by the light of a full moon. And my heart is full of love.