The asylum is a prison and a protection. We shelter psychotic misfits, deviants, shamans, tricksters and uninhibited geniuses. The outside is the inside veiled in mystery. We escaped the maddening crowd to be on an island.
You’re either mad or innocent. A polite genius. Madness is healthy.
Do you work from the inside out or outside in? The outside objectivity is an illusion. The inside mind-at-large is flowing chemical and electrical energy.
The asylum is filed with writers, artists, musicians, dreamers, creatives and orphans exiled from many countries. You wouldn’t believe the input, output. In out, in out, click and clack quacks, scribble dribble quibble, maniacs, dancers, actors, poets, musicians, playwrights, and painters with canvases expand their dreams. They create a world of memory using active imagination.
You breathe in you breathe out.
My body, my breath, my practice.
We have dreamers, screamers, singers, schemers and bell ringers. Ding-dong. A monk ringing a bell walks down a Yangon, Burma street at 4 a.m. Everyone shuffles to the meditation hall. Sit in silence. Silence is a great blessing. Silence is the loudest noise on Earth. Deep silence = Deep bliss.
The bell is small brass with a clapper. What is the sound of one bell clapping? Meditators and artists see with their ears and hear with their eyes. Nature abhors a vacuum. Nature is my teacher. I see through soft eyes.
Janitors, Grave Digger and literary outlaws are essential artists. People make a beautiful mess and I clean it up.
Blade Runner
What do inmates sing about? They sing about identity theories, art, sexual and spiritual love, freedom, addictions, ideas, suicide, hope, light, fragility, strength, integrity, beauty, truth and mystery. They sing the nomadic alliterative alternative.
Zeynep and her friends are visionaries. They are visceral realists. Why does the ONE STATE lock them up? They are a perceived threat to the stability and social harmony of the status quo. They’ve been branded, labeled, categorized, diagnosed, drugged, tortured and incarcerated. Perhaps incinerated. Set yourself on fire.
Burn like the sun, radiant … flame your life.
Give a person a match and they’re warm for a minute.
Set them on fire and they’re warm for the rest of their life.
If you catch on fire jump in the river.
Sounds like fear based propaganda. It is. Clearly. Precisely. Concisely ... Too many adverbs if you ask me, but what do I know, I’m only a word janitor. Every single fucking beautiful day I collect tons of word garbage in a Top Secret BURN BAG. I haul it to a gnat on life’s river, light it and leave it free flowing down the stream of life. Yes, said Death, Flowing.
Book of Amnesia, V1
10.24.2022 