The Namaste Way, Mozart’s Grave and the Angels of Mercy

Visible Origami – September 26, 2012

Dog Poet Transmitting…….
May your noses always be cold and wet but not necessarily your other portions. Six of one, half a dozen of another and Bob’s your mother (UK transposition).
Let’s shake things up a bit. I think I would like that and I think you will like it. My dick is bigger than Michael Fassbinder’s dick, I know this because I saw a film called “Shame” for about 20 minutes before I shut it off, because it was (or seemed to be) pretentious, wanna be cool, bullshit. When I was in prison, I saw dicks bigger than mine and thank God they were not visited upon me, in either Love or Anger. That’s not to say that attempts weren’t made. Probing, like ‘probiert’ and sometimes less affectionately. These days, it is only life that wants to rape me and put me through changes. There are situations that I don’t trust, simply because I am seriously intuitive and I remember things well and my mind tends to assimilate, conjugate and comparatively analyze data. How I could be wrong is that it might not be individuals messing with me. It could be something else. I’m doing my damnedest to keep it together but sometimes, it’s a Promethean struggle. What do you know, Michael Fassbinder was in Prometheus and… I’m watching it right now while I write this. I feel like the real Prometheus a lot of the time, when I’m not feeling like Sisyphus. Does that make me a Sisyphean Promethean?
I try to do good things in my life. More than I like, the best laid plans and the road to Hell, being paved by: surely you know the quote, seems to want to take up residence. I want and think I need certain things in this life. All of us do and sometimes, we will compromise our perceptions and what we like to believe is true about us, in order to get them. I have a difficult time with that on occasion but my reluctance to compromise always wins out. It can make me difficult for people, now and again, but I try to err on the positive side of self righteousness. The greatest love of my life, in romantic terms (not in the deepest and most intense sense but definitely talking in the human demographic; God absolutely being the Love of my life) once told me I was too righteous. Does that mean I am glad that I don’t have Michael Fassbinder’s dick, or face, or body? No, I’m not envious of anyone. I love you Lord.
The one thing I find the most remarkable about this endeavor is the remarkable people that come around here. Yet they are also the source of a great deal of consternation, difficulty and disappointment. Someone was coming to visit me from the Netherlands. For some reason, inexplicable to me, I misinterpreted when they were coming. I thought they were going to be here on this last Monday. It turned out the were coming on the day I have to go in to get my passport renewed. I very seldom am away from home. Why that day out of all days? When I told them that I had messed up in my calculations, I have not heard back from them. I must have really screwed up. Responses from that quarter have been very rapid. I told them they could meet me in the city I have to travel too, it’s on the way here, or they could just show up at the house and I would be back in a few hours. Someone else was going to come and see me yesterday and that didn’t happen. I waited all day for it and walked down to the bus stop, a couple of times, thinking maybe he forgot the way to my house. Finally I reach out to him and he tells me he had a crisis and he left a message on my phone answering system earlier that morning. I don’t have a phone answering system. I feel like I am being gas-lighted but what if I’m wrong. What if there is a perfectly good explanation for all of this?
This great love of mine, Svargo Bernard, or Dr. Svargo as these wealthy Tribe members, who weren’t very nice to me, when I needed them to be, called her, once called me on something where I was absolutely sure I was right. I said, “No, that can’t be”. I was certain I was right, there was no way I could have gotten it wrong. As it so happened, I was wrong. That truly stunned me. What is more interesting is that it happened 2 more times in a six weeks period. I’d not had something like that happen to me before with such recurrence and intensity. It hasn’t happened since either. This was to let me know that I don’t know. I profoundly know that I don’t know.
My intuition, given that I am the one who experiences it, is profoundly accurate 99% of the time. I knew the day before that this fellow was not coming. I have experiences like this every day. There is something I discovered about 4 years ago that helps me in a miraculous fashion, to treat a condition I suffer from. When you get the living shit beaten out of you as a child, it messes up your Serotonin flow. Years ago, in my descent into the pit AND while I was with this love of my life- who was sent as an angel of mercy to nurse me through it- I had a bad romance with alcohol. I now know that this was my way of self medicating my depression. They discovered some years back that the reason so many house painters were alcoholics, was because of the lead in the paint. There’s always a reason for shit, like why so many chefs and cooks were alcoholics. I’ve had both those occupations, as a large part of my being employed at whatever in order to finance my frustrating efforts to have a career as a singer songwriter and writer.
When I discovered what was behind my self medication, I was able to arrest it but it lingers there, around the corner and sometimes it will erupt for a few days, here and there. As you probably suspect, my life is not an easy one. I’ve come to think that all of my efforts are pointless at this point and I am giving serious consideration to going on a, more or less, permanent hunger strike, putting the divine on notice that I am just going to shit-can the whole experience and find some new routing. I’m going to activate Mr. Visible’s internal GPS, typing in Shambala. Since I know, for a fact that it exists, I know, being possessed of that fact, that I am allowed to go there and I got invited anyway. Lost Horizons has always been on the menu.
I mentioned once that when I was a baby in Japan, about a year, maybe two years old, maybe even less but certainly not more, I was laying in my bed one day when I heard this chanting. I was on my back and looking around and not seeing anything, when finally I studied the rafters in the ceiling and I saw two rows of monks in brown robes, on opposing rafters. They were nodding their heads up and down. They had their hands together in from of them, in that Namaste way. Their heads were going up and down. They were about 8 to 12 inches tall. I remembered this years later. Another time, I was laying on my stomach and pulling on the sheet and a horrible face appeared as a result of folds in the fabric. I cried out in fear. One time, I was about 2 years old and my father was routinely beating me. That had started even earlier. I remember that I was angry with him. It’s interesting that I could be angry at that early age. I had shit in my diaper and that was a no no since I was able to walk. So I reached into my diaper and I painted the wall behind my crib. I painted my masterpiece. Of course, my father came into the room and discovered Picasso/Visible’s first efforts at art. I remember I had been laughing earlier and really feeling good about what I was doing. Of course, father beat the shit out of me. To give an example of just how screwed up he was. He came into our bedroom. We had double bunk beds and I slept on the top bunk. He came in drunk and pulled me out of the bed right on to the floor, kicking me and screaming at all of us to get outside and get the groceries out of the car.
Here’s another incident. There were so many of them. I was a baseball pitcher and I was very good. I was in 9th grade and the coach at the school wanted me to work out with the high school varsity team over the summer, as a prelude to my matriculating to this Triple A high school the next year. I told my father about it and he said I couldn’t go. I had to work in the commissary all summer, to earn the money to buy my school clothes for the next year. About a week before school, my father took the money, 150 dollars and used it to pay a gambling debt. That was the end of that.
Years later, while riding from L.A. To Palm Springs, in an acid state of mind but not necessarily on it (I was often in this state because of the Kundalini Uprising), I saw a lot of the same faces, like the one that appeared in my sheet in the brown hills off to my right. I knew instinctively that they were the faces of Tribe comedians, that had been active in that century; whatever any of that means, I don’t know, ♫connection, I just can’t get no connection and all I want to do, is to get back to you♫
I try so damned hard, every single day and it often seems that I shouldn’t do it anymore, that I should just give up. I can’t communicate the degree of intensity that is behind this methodology of living. It’s with me nearly every minute of the day and I don’t know what I’m doing either. I can’t explain myself to myself. I do a better job of explaining myself to others and still don’t get it when I do.
I don’t want to be suspicious or angry at people. I certainly don’t want to be angry at God. In the last several years, the pounding I have been getting has gone nova and I know pounding. I’ve had what seemed to me to be, truly important relationships, go down the tubes because of things that, no matter how you slice it, have to be the result of of infernal, cosmic interference. Am I going to be buried in Mozart’s grave, or run into Bishop Pike? I’m not comparing myself to Mozart. Mozart’s Grave is a pun of mine, maybe you can figure it out.
I try to control the things I say to people because you can’t take back your words, no more than you will ever get a second chance to make a first impression. I like to leave good footprints, that’s my motto. I don’t always accomplish this. Stepping on my dick, or stepping on Michael Fassbinder’s dick, is something I have raised to an artform, because I don’t achieve it on my own. It comes with the territory and no matter how hard I try, I remain In-Country. I guess part of the problem, is that I want things. I want to play at Glastonbury. I want to have good and enduring friends. My intentions are good and genuine. All I want is to succeed enough to be able to buy some property, with a large rambling house, barns for converting and land for really cool things, where I want to invite the reader, to come and embark on a fantastic voyage. The ideas I have, have been cultivated over decades and I know some incredible people. The results would be incredible. It would be epic. This I do know. I keep thinking that someone will pass away and leave me their estate, or someone would come out of the blue and say, “Let’s getter done”. I’ve thought a lot of things would happen. Some of them have and some haven’t. I can literally taste this one and I’ve been told it’s going to happen. When I get told things like this, in this fashion, they happen, like when I suddenly knew I was going to Europe and was announcing it on stage for several months previous. A woman appeared on the street, while I was unloading my quipment (grin) into the gig location and I saw her from 200 meters away and I said, “I hope she comes in here and that very moment she crossed the street and she did walk right in. She was even from the country I was considering going to. I’ve been with her for 13 years now, come this October 1st. She has been, yet one more angel of mercy.
If I’ve offended any of you, I am sincerely sorry. I didn’t mean to, except when I flat out intend it, but that’s another thing. I try to fix things and when I am sorry, I am sincerely sorry. Some relationships stay intact, only because I make them do so. When I stop communicating, they are no longer. People change. Some people are not so committed as me. I value loyalty and personal integrity above most things. Oh I like all the good qualities. I wish I had more of them. Valuing these qualities means that treachery, betrayal and slander are paramount dislikes. I’ve run into them and the most intense difficulties of my life have come about because of them. I’ve been accused of things I never did, for no other reason than malice incomprehensible and often from people I helped out and beyond the call to be sure. Things like this cut like a knife but… I’ve forgiven, if not forgotten.
Man, I wish I was a better person. I wish I didn’t have to go through the things I go through. I guess it just keeps happening until it doesn’t happen anymore. I was told it was going to end and that ‘off the charts’ good things were going to happen to and for me. I’m scanning the horizon looking for my ships. I do not see my ships but I know they are out there somewhere. Maybe they are inside me and perhaps I should look there.
You can’t control the wind but… you can adjust your sails.
End Transmission…….

Song: ♫It Always Breaks your Heart♫

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Otherwise known as Smoking Mirrors, Les Visible provides a voiceover in a disintegrating culture as Reflections in a Petri Dish. While in his guise as Visible Origami, Les offers perspectives on the invisible forces shaping our world

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