Archive for September, 2014

The Light at the End of the Funnel

tickle and itch, tingle and twitch
inspires dance, march or fight –
a demand for bold, immediate action

Remember that we are not focusing on Dancing but, the tickle and itch in music that makes us want to dance, to tap our feet, to bob our head in rhythm synchronized with the music. Not the note played but, the sympathetic resonance in the world around it.
– The things that can occur from sound as it pours into our brain – transmogrified resonance…

These sounds become invitations recognized to belong to something larger, the call to be part of the larger group…to dance…to sing…to speak at circle! The herd, pack, flock, hive, tribe, Rotary, Masons, Elks, Lions, DAR, VFW, Boy Scouts, Crips, Extreme fundamentalist Methodist bake sale mothers, Visionary Mystics, mormon tabernacle motorcycle gang, mother mccreedy’s tabernacle of the holy oracle and premature ejaculation control center choir, musicians, stamp collectors (Pederasts of the World UNITE!!) We do so love to exclude! To become a part of a small group with kindred interest. Then, to form a sub-part of that group to control (or disparage) the larger group. – Until finally; Facebook, Twitter, Instant Messaging, linkdin – all indication of how much we really don’t like each other but, are desperately afraid of being alone. The need to belong but, not be there. Texting and cell phone talk in public is the gentle art of not being where you are…of denying where you are of your presence.

streaming vision, reflecting eyes, mirror (half-dark), sound in, images out through imagination.
hear about fairies and dragons, find them in clouds and stars – reflection/transmografication.
hear of the seasons of ones life, feel the fall or winter of your age upon you.
these are resonances. these are,not the string plucked but, the one next to it – the world around it. hear music; be compelled to dance. hear insult; be compelled to fight. hear the trigger words of common cause; be compelled to join.

the empty mind is the ground, the negative space, and imagination – the figure.
imagine the sorting that goes on in the mind of the incredible assortment and quantity of reflected light and sound frequencies to allow identification, location and amplitude, ranging, foreground, background, over, under, behind, left, right, first, after, blue, texture, pattern, recognition,, comprehension, woman, fire, peach pit, 1953 Desoto hood ornament, the edges of an erect nipple beneath a blue cashmere sweater…

Those vibrations in the throat of one
beat against ears of others and impel,
into those minds, abstractions
that become images or actions – dreamt or manifest; our oneiric reality
that make marks on stone or paper which,
later years, will spring into, yet, other minds
to form concepts, precepts, theories, rules and actions
and make skys bleed, oceans wretch, the wakeful – dream.

ideas, like virii, need an host organism to thrive. they can lie dormant on stone, paper or canvas for hundreds of years and one day touch an host mind and spring, 10 and six pence, alive! (beware, the bitch that bore him is in heat again!)

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? -yeats

Oh Fatherland, Fatherland,Show us the sign
Your children have waited to see.
The morning will come
When the world is mine.
Tomorrow belongs to me!

The babe in his cradle is closing his eyes
The blossom embraces the bee
But soon says the whisper, arise, arise
Tomorrow belongs to me – old german folk song impressed into service by the nazis

“Let the ruling classes tremble at a Communistic revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win. WORKING MEN OF ALL COUNTRIES, UNITE!”
– Karl Marx

Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to Victorie! – burns

Wagner’s leitmotifs : musical themes and his extensive musical language/phrasing – Wagner- EG. ride of the valkyries

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.
For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; – Henry V – Charles IV – Shakespeare

J P Sousa’s marches

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed:
“We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.” – M L King

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul. – Henley

Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait. – H W Longfellow

That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts. Who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o’er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.” – John Milton

We are the hollow men, we are the stuffed men
leaning together, headpiece filled with straw, Alas!…
This is the way the world ends
not with a bang but a whimper – T S Elliot

Had we but world enough and time…
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run. – Andrew Marvel

Are there not Festus, Are there not, dear Michal,
Two points in the adventure of the diver,—
One, when a beggar he prepares to plunge;
One, when a prince he rises with his pearl?
Festus, I plunge. – R Browning

He strode to Gauthier, in his throat
Gave him the lie, then struck his mouth
With one back-handed blow that wrote
In blood men’s verdict there. North, South,
East, West, I looked. The lie was dead,
And damned, and truth stood up instead. – R Browning

When I can look life in the eyes, grown calm and very coldly wise,
life will have given me the truth and taken in exchange my youth – SaraTeasdale

do not carve in stone or wood he was honest or he was good
write in smoke on a summer breeze just seven words and the words are these
telling all that a volume could he lived, he laughed and he understood – D Blanding

Relativishly

What if never was impossible, ever were in its callow youth and 
yet but, a difficult improbability? Sun would shine, trees would 
green and swallows would molt, mate and migrate without permission 
or apology. The vast pressures of the continuum would bear down on 
all things pressing each hard against the surface of the nothing 
that separated it from the next and tranquility would remain a 
matter of opinion to all. 

With that firmly in mind I step off, vigorously, into the remains 
of my forever wanting surface; remembering edges.

© 2017 What's That On the Road – A Head
Magic Vision | Design: NET-TEC of Holzspalter. Coding: Abendkleider of Hochzeitsmode.