Making Friends with Mr Apocalypse

Reflections in a Petri Dish – April 28, 2012

Dog Poet Transmitting…….
May your noses always be straight and true so you can smell out the truth inside of you.
(as I am on the near verge of publishing my new novel, “The Curious Tale of Ash and the Whine” I am looking for a publisher who will also have an option on the most recent book published. Failing any takers, I will just self publish with Amazon- or someone similar but I throw this out there, in hope of some kind of Kevin Bacon connection where someone knows someone or is someone and wants to get engaged with me in making it happen. Our phone lines are now open, metaphorically speaking- grin-)
Readers of this blog may remember a couple of years ago, when I was in Italy and came near death or consuming madness and how I did an arcane ritual that lasted all day and at which I was told Lady Nature got her powers back. I don’t know the literal truth of many things. I do know that one thing can be said and one thing can appear but the meaning may be profoundly other sometimes, so I leave it at that. There are signs of all sorts of curious things happening in Nature. The barriers between this world and The Devic Realm are being changed. Portals are opening and restrictions are being adjusted. I know this from first hand experience and have an invite that I will exercise when the opportunity arrives. You can’t go anywhere until you can go there.
We’ve all heard, “merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream”. That is a literal truth. Maya, who weaves the dream web, which enthralls and intoxicates us, spins the matter out of her own being. This gives us a playing field, upon which we can go through the changes that will permanently free us. It’s a conundrum. It’s ironic and these days a lot of people are catatonic when they’re not autistic. That also implies portals elsewhere. You have this whole projection of “the world and everything that’s in it”, along with “the devil and the deep blue sea”. Scylla and Charybdis are out there somewhere, beyond which, mermaids linger and ancient mystics, wash their bodies with sunlight, pounding sand until their ship comes in and sets off again to… ports unknown sketched from long forgotten memories newly remembered. Memory is a deep well and it is said that remembering is the most important feature of realization. I wouldn’t know (grin).
So, here is the world, only existing as a construct for the purpose of escaping from it. That’s the real meaning of ‘for the purpose of ‘demon’stration and the fact that everything is under control. In every case where it appears not to be, that is just one more case of cosmic somnambulism. Walk with me, go on, we’re headed for the sunny side of the street, no reason for fear or alarm. Maybe you get it and maybe you don’t. Maybe someone else gets it and maybe they don’t but… the whole thing is a very simple affair. We are dreamers and the object is, dreamers awake! We are in The Apocalypse, where awakening is the point. Apocalypse and Revelation are the same… the meaning; to reveal, is not a complicated consideration. So, most of the readers here know this to be true, at least, generally true. So… why are we not fully engaged in that understanding and the performance of requirements? That is a puzzle. There it is. That’s how it is. There we are and… hmmm, there we are.
I’m glad I’m not in Italy at the moment, nor plan to be shortly. I know weird shit is happening but this is off the charts. This is monstrous. The amusing thing about it, if it is amusing, is that when you go to the post office in Italy, you are in for one of those motor vehicle department experiences. I have never seen red tape and going the long, convoluted way (most significantly affected by the inevitable decision to choose the most time consuming and frustrating course possible) round like I have in Italy. I had noticed that the tax police, the money police, are the most feared entity there. They’re called the guardia di finanza. They don’t like Italians going to Switzerland and not paying their duties/VAT coming back. I was on a train once, coming from Luzerne and headed for Bari, when some guardia finanza got on. When they got to my seat, which I was sharing with an elderly Italian couple and some other guy. I was dressed like the hippie I am, they tore apart the luggage of this couple and the other guy and paid no attention to me whatsoever; not even asking for my passport or anything.
I’ve got some strange Karma in Europe; quite the reverse of what it was in the US (the land of ‘its not US, it’s someone else’ and do you know the way to Brooklyn or should I just go fuck myself?) Possibly on this same trip, returning from ‘performing’ at a 9/11 event that included David Ray Griffin and Niel Harrit, I got pretty lit on my way into Milan. It doesn’t happen often but it does, or did, happen. I got into an altercation with a woman at a tobacco kiosk and the police came. In the process of the engagement, it occurred to me that they were going to arrest me. I thought, oh no! So, I sat down and they began dragging me across the floor through the train station, a long way. They were not pleased. We got to the exit and they just tossed me out. That was it. Strange.
When you come out of the train station in Rome, at night, you see dozen of carabinieri standing around in combat outfits by a great many police cars and they are some of the meanest looking dudes I’ve ever seen. The police in Germany, my experience, are the nicest and most polite public servants I have ever encountered, though I hear they can be otherwise in places like Frankfurt). The Swiss, well, the Swiss are the Swiss. The whole culture is dominated by money and the pharmaceutical empire. I don’t care for Switzerland, though I have met some good people. France is the most beautiful of them all but, of course, the French live there (kidding!!!). On occasion I would see some Americans in a shop and they would start right out, talking loud and fast in English. The Ugly American is a reality. I always try to speak the language wherever I am. They appreciate the effort, regardless of your limitations (most of the time). I haven’t been to the UK and have no plans for that, though I might go to Ireland. Sometimes I wish I had a sugar daddy. Should I advertise on Craig’s List? I was dreaming about owning this for awhile. It was about 500, 000 Euro at the time. I could have managed 600 Euro and maybe even gotten 6,000 Euro together but… heh heh. It would have been nice though.
Any day now, we could be in the day when the whole world changes, for the better and the worse. It’s around the corner but we don’t know how close. It’s limping at the moment. It’s weary and restless at the same time. An electric tingle attends the hours of approach. For some it means a new beginning and for some, that’s all she wrote. I think about all the things I could want in the whole world and I only come up with one thing; a nice place to live. The house I am in is not user friendly. It was designed by someone who didn’t know what they were doing. Hey! I’m glad to have a roof over my head but… I often dream about somewhere that suits my vision of it all… an arboretum, an eco friendly pool, with things growing in it, a sauna, sculptured and private grounds; somewhere to run with the hounds, somewhere to sit in the soft wash of moonlight, with the impression that something friendly and wonderful is in the treeline over there. I have been able to predict a few things in recent years. I was announcing that I was going to Europe for some months before it worked out, well beyond expectation. I would discuss it from the stage at my gigs on Maui. So, I know such a house is coming. It will simply arrive the way these things tend to.
Some of us have a lot of friends (or think we do, until things go sideways) and some of us do not have many friends, (or think we don’t) but there is one friend that everyone who comes here should have and that is Mr. Apocalypse. He’s all over the place these days, tapping with his walking stick, feeling his way like a blind man, only he ain’t blind; lifting up skirts with his stick, tapping at the entrance to burrows and singing, “Come out, come out, wherever you are”. He’s underground and he’s above ground. He’s behind and in front of you. People should approach him as a real being and make friends with him. He is a very engaging fellow. He’s an excellent conversationalist and he knows everybody; all the doormen at the right places and all the guardians at the gates. When you walk with Mr. Apocalypse, you just know that things will be, even if they aren’t at the moment, okay. You kind of know that you are too cool for school, even though you are in school all the time. You can wear your shades night and day, because, when you’re cool, the sun is always shining.
It’s a wonderful thing, not to be an expert or to have the idea that I am well informed. I don’t know who built the pyramids and I don’t know much about nephilim and anunnaki. I don’t know why the English and their colonies drive on the left hand side of the road and what that has to do with Hebrew reading from right to left and what that has to do with London being the world financial center. I know there’s a connection. There are all kinds of connections, hiding in plain sight. We are all of us hiding in plain sight, hidden from ourselves and each other. Mr. Apocalypse is taking care of that though, even if it seems to go slow. Everything is being arranged into place. The proper lighting is deployed, to set everything off to its best advantage and disadvantage. I just know this must be true, which brings me back around to that whole thing about what’s been ever and ever going on around here and what its purpose is and why we don’t have a deeply visceral awareness of it.
I sometimes think of the other side of the equation as being possibly like the Riverworld series by Phillip Jose Farmer. I get the definite sensation that there are spectacular landscapes, where I can, in luxurious repose, recline and contemplate the endless stretch of my behind; meaning what is behind me, not my actual callipygian proprietor. I’m glad you’re all informed about the linguistics employed so I don’t have to explain anything. Always more riddles wrapped in enigmas, like what does, “Get the behind me Satan” have to do with buggery? As I see myself about to digress, I remember that mass murderer, Winston Churchill, saying that “The real traditions of the British Navy are rum, buggery and the lash.” I’m guessing that extends to banking, politics and religion as well and what do you know? There’s plenty of evidence for that argument. I’m not being very politically correct here (how unlike me). Aeschylus said “in war, truth is the first casualty”. I would say, in that context, the first casualty of political correctness, is humor. There is no mirth in that wretched afterbirth.
When you can’t laugh about something that is attended by so much humor, human and cosmic, then something is wrong. Humor allows observation from a distance. You get too close up on something and it’s not funny anymore. Well, I’m too close up on this post so I guess I should put it up and get some distance. That seems to assist perspective and that’s another thing Mr. Apocalypse knows all about.
End Transmission…….
There will be a radio show Sunday night at the usual time and place.
Oh yeah, today’s song is poorly engineered but I include it for the lyrics and connections to the posting 


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