“Another reason for the need of the long path’s prepatory work is that the mind, nerves, emotions, and body of the man shall be gradually made capable of sustaining the influx of the solar force, or spirit-energy.”
This day in 476 AD marks the traditional end of the Western Roman Empire.
“First we worship the blind god, then we worship the sighted one.”
From a dream
Today, if you believe in such things, is a Full Moon in Pisces. Personally, I am a Pisces with almost an Aquarius cusp; a couple of months ago I decided to “switch” to Aquarius exclusively. I was hoping it would improve my credit rating.
“It is now nearly 13 years since the ill-fated day when I first began investigating the terrible legends surrounding the enigmatic Bavarian Illuminati…” –Robert Anton Wilson, “The Cosmic Trigger”
On this day in 1835, New York newspaper The Sun ran the first of six articles about the discovery of life on the moon. Attributed to the then-famous astronomer Sir John Herschel via the use of “an immense telescope of an entirely new principle,” the series would describe a lunar civilization filled with temples, unicorns, tail-less bipedal beavers, and a race of bat-like humanoids called Vespertilio-homo.
I currently have the mother, father, stepfather, cousin, and extended family of all migraines. But I suppose if I could accomplish “paperworky” type things this afternoon, I could certainly give this post a try.
What Bannon did—I’m not talking about his alleged fraud charges, but rather his overall place in this continuing national drama—was take notoriously-paranoid-about-the-commies Andrew Breitbart’s basic media empire and sell it out to the Russians, essentially shitting down the neck of most of what Breitbart personally believed in. (Ha-ha, I’m *sure* that’s not true by the way, that’s just a LARP. ) Truly, I shed no tears for Bannon, who is the poster-child of what happens to your rugged good looks when you continue to be an alcoholic well into middle-age and beyond. (Ha-ha, which I’m *sure* didn’t really happen to Bannon! Just a LARP.)
As noted in my “Tripping The Bill Murray Matrix” post, there is also a resonant energy between the Grim Reaper & Bannon, per Saturday Night Live, compounded by Murray himself eventually being revealed as the skull-masked Trump advisor.
But who is Steve Bannon to me? Who is Joe Biden? Who is Kamala Harris? Or Twiggy? Twiggy Ramirez? Topo Gigio?
“As should be obvious, there are major differences. The UFO movement, from its pseudoscientific side to its occult one, alleged that it was a logical outgrowth of actual contact with vehicles or beings from other worlds. Its spiritual component developed out of a supposedly scientific question that took on occult overtones. Its adherents were mostly adults. By contrast, the James Dean death cult was an emotional, quasi-idolatrous eruption of feeling largely among teenagers and abetted by capitalist ghouls who saw it as the birth of a new market demo. Despite these differences, however, there is a strong undercurrent of repressed emotion and discontent manifesting as a fixation on the unattainable.”
Cue Girard’s theory regarding the self-destructive adoration the Masochist has for the Model/Mediator, that unattainable metaphysical object of desire.
At any rate, Colavito’s discussed possible new James Dean/UFO lore book should be quite a pip & required reading for anybody who enjoys my riotous drivel.
Now, here is a fascinating concept, per Aaron Z. Lewis: mapping your daily online media consumption by the staggering amount of time-periods crossed:
This fits in rather beautifully with my overall concept that Reality sometimes really seems like a bunch of bullocks (which can be, at moments, a helpful yoga to consider).
Finally, I want to turn your attention to a type of “religious” experience I had just yesterday. I was watching a TV repair show on YouTube (as I do for fun and personal growth), and the guy had this old big unit from the 1970s that was recovered from a mining site. Now, this television, which he described as “dead,” had been buried in dirt, flooded on, filled with rat poop and pee, and just encrusted with detritus. But he was gonna try to fix it.
And spoilers: fix it, he did, rather unexpectedly. The first crackling eerily-glowing image to bubble up on that screen after decades of inactivity? The Virgin of Guadalupe. I shit you not.
I was originally going to run this on my other site, but I’m trying to be cognizant of not loading it up with too much morbid shit. I feel like if you “signed up” for occasional morbid shit—like, for instance, you are following this site—that’s cool. But I don’t want to clobber unsuspecting people with High Morbid Musings at this point in the world’s trajectory, because they’re already getting their fill through social media as a whole.
“To sit in this awful mess and maybe smoke some dope and watch some innocuous shit on a dumb glass tube and feel fine about it and know there’s really nothing you have to do, ever, but feel your warm friend’s silent content. You don’t feel guilty about not fighting a war or carrying signs to protest it either. We’ve just mastered the life of doing nothing, which when you think about it, may be the hardest thing of all to do.”
― Jim Carroll, “The Basketball Diaries”
Several important(ish) things happened on this day: