By Brian George
In her comment “I Hate America,” Joan of Art wrote:
“I still clench my teeth every time some loud-mouthed American screams to me across the street, "It's not Halloween!" because costume is my form of social dissent. These cowboy fuckers see a gorgeous queen of a woman in her full sequined Egyptian attire and then think that an appropriate response is to scream rudely across the street to make her feel like crap. Am I to have compassion for their sheer idiocy and rudeness?
“I think the problem with a sample study of taking four well-meaning Americans and writing a book based on the American Dream is that most Americans are stupid as hell. I apologize for being so vulgar about this—but freedom in this country has seemed to turn into the right to shut other people down. The internet has been launching demonic energy at me as a result of tagged words in my Election Art Battle, and I am having to fight multi-demented black magicians and demons right now to get them the fuck off of Earth.
“Please don't misread my passion for anger. I am immortally pissed. I am also strangely at peace in the battle of the multidimensional war of which I am now a part. I will not let them take me out. The fates of Sirius and Earth are interwoven. The veil between the dimensions has fully opened—at least from where I'm standing, grabbing demons and sending them back through the Halls of Amenti to the dimension from which they sprang.”
“What a strange manner of being dead”
Hi Joan of Art,
When faced with a pod of rude recombinants from America, it is possible that gratitude is the only correct response. If the world cohered—already, and without change—in a state of unbroken fullness then we would not ever be tempted to depart from Hyperspace. No food would be delivered to the gods. They would look like skeletons. With no blood to refresh their beauty, their idealized proportions would be abstract, and few inter-species marriages would endure. Ambassadors would lose track of which language they were speaking. If some percentage of the public were not ignorant, then why would you need to have compassion for them? Already, they would be members of the elect. I can only hope that my other-dimensional teachers do not withhold their compassion until I am perfect. That would certainly be quite a wait!
In the mean time, the Underworld has need of us. The genius of the Great Year fades. Space appears flat—not like the 10-dimensional labyrinth that it is—and the World of Light sinks beyond the edge of the horizon.
“Sleepers also share in the work of the cosmos,” said Heraclitus. It has taken me quite a while to begin to guess what he meant. Among other things, I think that he was saying that there is a purpose to unconsciousness. As when we breathe, the light goes in and out—i.e., it cannot go in without also going out. If the stars did not revolve, and the genius of the Great Year was completely self-enclosed, then immortality and death would not be any different. There would be no variations on the 12 archetypal themes.
When I was a senior in high school, I discovered a poem by Cesar Vallejo that in part reads, “You people are dead, but what a strange manner of being dead. Anyone might say that you were not.” “Aha,” I thought, “my sentiments exactly!” Since then, my attitude towards human ignorance has changed, more on some days than others, but I still have immediate access to the emotions that I felt. And should I, by some lessening of testosterone, be somehow tempted forget my sense of adolescent outrage, updated access is guaranteed by such groups as the Tea Party, who spare no expense in providing me with fresh targets for my disgust.
For example: Wolf Blitzer, in a CNN debate, asks Ron Paul about a 30 year-old male who has “chosen” not to purchase health insurance. He goes into a coma, and requires six months of intensive care. Should society just let him die? Paul answers, “That’s what freedom is all about, taking your own risks. This whole idea that you have to prepare and take care of everybody…” The crowd then erupts in shouts of “Yeah! Yeah! Let him die!” This is not the response of a group of conscious beings. Even now, I could not help but feel: We are watching a live broadcast from one of the cities of the dead. They are no doubt starved for biomorphs, and are making every effort to increase their population.
(Illustration: Max Beckmann, Carnival)