Hi! Here's a quick recap of my buzz for newcomers. In 2009, I morphed suddenly and dramatically from being a human to being a full blown party animal. Not in the way that you're thinking though. In a way that is not able to be thought about unless it has been felt. I became the venue and the reveller all at once, without the help of stimulants, but with the help of a lot of sensual stimulation, through various forms of art. I quickly became a highly productive compassion factory completely unattached to possessions, hell-bent on sharing my newfound psychic wealth.
With this change came the vision of a book called The Party Within : A Smart Casual Connecting Principle (that is still in the pipeline). I started writing it free-jazz style by hand and distributing pieces in puzzle form among many lucky revellers, often kamikaze style. Not literally in a violent military way that ended in me actually dying, but in a metaphorical way where little parts of me would die off as they were crystallised as words and pictures and blown elsewhere in gusts of powerful full body instinct. In a way that is true to the literal translation of kamikaze, "divine wind". I call it the party physical realm, as it is a state of being ruled by your epicentre, the heart. When your rational logic loving brain gets overridden at the organ round table conference centre on account of the intensity of the collective feeling in your body.
Since this happened I am all about articulating this buzz in many way shapes and forms, mostly in the form of MYSTERIOUS LAYERY PRESENTS. Recently I have been reading Lewis Hyde's novel The Gift which is putting into words a lot of my puzzling behaviour and giving me that lovely solid feeling that realising psychic companionship often gives. Here's a little excerpt from Chapter 3, The Labor of Gratitude :
I have taken death gifts as my example of threshold gifts not as an exceptional case, but as the type, for I would like to speak of all transformation as involving death. Spiritually, at least, the old life must leave before the new may enter. Initiation ceremonies make a good illustration because they commonly include a symbolic death..... It might be said that the gifts we give at times of transformation are meant to make visible the giving up we do invisibly. And of course we hope that there will be an exchange, that something will come towards us if we abandon our old lives. So we might also say that the tokens we receive at times are meant to make visible life's reciprocation. They guide us toward new life, assuring our passage away from what is dying.
The guidance is of use because there are those who do not survive change. It is as if human beings were like that subclass of insect, the Metabola, which must undergo complete metamorphosis from egg, through larva and pupa, to imago. In some way the fluidity of gift exchange assures the successful metamorphosis.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Monday, April 15, 2013
THIS SOUNDS FAMILIAR
If I speak in the spirit of this time, I must say; no one and nothing can justify what I must proclaim to you. Justification is superfluous to me, since I have no choice, but I must. I have learned that in addition to the spirit of this time there is still another spirit at work, namely that which rules the depths of everything contemporary. The spirit of this time would like to hear of use and value. I also thought this way, and my humanity still thinks this way. But that other spirit forces me nevertheless to speak, beyond justification, use, and meaning. Filled with human pride and blinded by the presumptuous spirit of the times, I long sought to hold that other spirit away from me. But I did not consider that the spirit of the depths from time immemorial and for all the future possesses a greater power than the spirit of this time, who changes with the generations. The spirit of the depths has subjugated all pride and arrogance to the power of judgement. He took away my belief in science, he robbed me of the joy of explaining and ordering things, and he let devotion to the ideals of this time die out in me. He forced me down to the last and simplest things.
The spirit of the depths took my understanding and all my knowledge and placed them at the service of the inexplicable and paradoxical. He robbed me of speech and writing for everything that was not in his service, namely the melting together of sense and nonsense, which produces the supreme meaning.
C.G Jung
from
The Way of What Is To Come
Liber Primus
The Red Book
The spirit of the depths took my understanding and all my knowledge and placed them at the service of the inexplicable and paradoxical. He robbed me of speech and writing for everything that was not in his service, namely the melting together of sense and nonsense, which produces the supreme meaning.
C.G Jung
from
The Way of What Is To Come
Liber Primus
The Red Book
Sunday, January 27, 2013
R'N'BEING
Watch THIS SPACE for psycho spiritual unravellings in letter form between the kaleidoscopically talented rapper, writer, cartoon creator Coco Solid and myself ...
coming very soon ....to a blogspot near you...
coming very soon ....to a blogspot near you...
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
SOON IS NOW
Heeeeey. Happy Charismas and an all-encompassing new yeah! Thank the lord, I mean each other, for the charisma we so generously impart upon ourselves and our neighbours in our own special ways! This year is all about turning up the volume at Party Art HQ (aka The Freedom Factory).
2013 could be time for me to start making sense for a change. To follow up the recent focus on puzzling bamboozlement. MAYBE I'LL START BLOGGING IN CAPS. Na. Too much too soon. Will just turn it up slowly, decibel by decibel so that no one notices it's happening. See closing collage from founding party art blueprint plan RADICAL FUSION FELT BLOG that reveals my secret lifelong ploy to have a fruitful time partying and making friends with other birds on a fashionable universal backdrop. All the while mixing up my eclectic fruity influences in a big body melting mind pot and boiling them into some sweet sticky jam with a piquant tang that spreads smoothly on your toast or waits patiently inside your donut for you to take a bite.
(it's a post in a hard copy blog) :
Mostly what is pon di horizon for me this year remains a mystery ... I have been in NZ since last August although it feels like 4 years in terms of density of events and experience. Further hammering the nail into the coffin of any linear perception of time I had and celebrating it's farcical hoaxy nature. More notions on that broken nutshell to be unpacked in a public art forum near you, SOON.
First big job of the year is to marry my sister Joanna and my brother to be Michael with the party invested in me. Knot to be tied in country Victoria, Australia in February. A humbling honour for a softly spoken vocally bumbling clown such as myself.
And stay tuned for R'N'BEING, a sassy psycho-spiritual Letters to a Young Poet type exchange between myself and the insightfully lyrical comedic goldmine Jessica Coco Solid Hansell, exploring the contents of our cocophanous psyches through the medium of words and pictures and sharing them on the internet for the party generation. Just in case there's something interesting in there. As fellow prolific psychic excavators and longtime penpal enlighteners we are expecting to unearth some archaeological arty facts worth raving about like reformed lunatics.
More soon,
xx
CZA
PS cannot sign off without sharing this piece of cinematic brilliance, ELECTRICI-SHE by D Thomas Herkes. Speaks for itself :
2013 could be time for me to start making sense for a change. To follow up the recent focus on puzzling bamboozlement. MAYBE I'LL START BLOGGING IN CAPS. Na. Too much too soon. Will just turn it up slowly, decibel by decibel so that no one notices it's happening. See closing collage from founding party art blueprint plan RADICAL FUSION FELT BLOG that reveals my secret lifelong ploy to have a fruitful time partying and making friends with other birds on a fashionable universal backdrop. All the while mixing up my eclectic fruity influences in a big body melting mind pot and boiling them into some sweet sticky jam with a piquant tang that spreads smoothly on your toast or waits patiently inside your donut for you to take a bite.
(it's a post in a hard copy blog) :
Mostly what is pon di horizon for me this year remains a mystery ... I have been in NZ since last August although it feels like 4 years in terms of density of events and experience. Further hammering the nail into the coffin of any linear perception of time I had and celebrating it's farcical hoaxy nature. More notions on that broken nutshell to be unpacked in a public art forum near you, SOON.
First big job of the year is to marry my sister Joanna and my brother to be Michael with the party invested in me. Knot to be tied in country Victoria, Australia in February. A humbling honour for a softly spoken vocally bumbling clown such as myself.
And stay tuned for R'N'BEING, a sassy psycho-spiritual Letters to a Young Poet type exchange between myself and the insightfully lyrical comedic goldmine Jessica Coco Solid Hansell, exploring the contents of our cocophanous psyches through the medium of words and pictures and sharing them on the internet for the party generation. Just in case there's something interesting in there. As fellow prolific psychic excavators and longtime penpal enlighteners we are expecting to unearth some archaeological arty facts worth raving about like reformed lunatics.
More soon,
xx
CZA
PS cannot sign off without sharing this piece of cinematic brilliance, ELECTRICI-SHE by D Thomas Herkes. Speaks for itself :
Monday, November 12, 2012
FRENCH STYLE
For me making art is a bit like doing a french plait. Countless
individual strands beautifully coiffed together to create a dynamic
practical style that provokes comments and boosts the volume of your
hair once you sleep on it a few times and lose or take out your hair
ties.
For the last couple of years I have been closely examining some strands that have grown out of my head and the heads of others bearing in mind they would look great fused into a cohesive style but not being sure how to actually do the plait, or if there is enough hair involved to give it ultimate body yet.
On a same but different note, here's a little passage about a new beginning I had once, and an excerpt from a book that talks about the similarities and differences between SPIRITUAL EMERGENCES and SPIRITUAL EMERGENCIES. As far as I can tell, CHARISMA and BEING IN THE RIGHT PLACE AT THE RIGHT TIME almost guarantee the former takes precedence over the latter.
For the last couple of years I have been closely examining some strands that have grown out of my head and the heads of others bearing in mind they would look great fused into a cohesive style but not being sure how to actually do the plait, or if there is enough hair involved to give it ultimate body yet.
On a same but different note, here's a little passage about a new beginning I had once, and an excerpt from a book that talks about the similarities and differences between SPIRITUAL EMERGENCES and SPIRITUAL EMERGENCIES. As far as I can tell, CHARISMA and BEING IN THE RIGHT PLACE AT THE RIGHT TIME almost guarantee the former takes precedence over the latter.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
STRINGING STRONG WORDS TOGETHER
HEY! EXCUSE ME ! here's an article I wrote for Kerry Ann Lee's Permanent Vacation magazine. The one in the zine is handwritten in a moleskine and has some pictures and the answer to the Double Jeopardy Riddle Joke upside down at the start. So you're missing out a little bit by reading it on the net. Missing the punchline, but if you don't have a copy handy please read on and you can ask someone or stumble upon it later ....
CANARY IN A GOLDMINE
The idea for this story grew from a nugget Kurt Vonnegut gave me once, when we were between the covers of a collected volume of his, Wampeters, Fomas and Granfalloons. He was relaying an interview he'd had with Playboy a few years earlier. It was written with ink, that had once been liquid, but through a chain of magical processes I don't understand, had dried onto a succession of bound pages sandwiched inside a slightly thicker cover. (Made from wood I think.)
Not only had the ink performed this unlikely feat of transformation, it had done so in a series of formulaic shapes that my mind ascribed a sound to. Alone they were quite weak. Only a couple of them meant something or could infer a satisfying sound as they stood. I soon realised that on the most-part they were relying upon each others simultaneous presence to make a complete word and even then they needed still more words to make a sentence. Not all of them needed to be there for every word, different configurations united to make different sounds that evoked a range of feelings and images. When I saw the shapes meet I also saw meanings. Please don't ask me how I did that.
I can't help being magic.
To wind it back a bit, reiterate, clarify and recap, somewhere along the line (if we can call it that) these particular shapes I was seeing had become visual representatives of assorted sounds. Individually at first, then they'd congregated together to make even more complex and varied sounds, with meanings too. Some cool ancestors sorted that out so we didn't have to organise it. Thanks for that! Kurt had recognised the communicative power of these letters and strung them together in such a way they managed to say some really radical empowering business that had a physical impact on my body and altered the course of my life. Long story short, a book full of these meaningful chains of letters arrived in my hands and I read it in bed. There was no time to question how all those previous miracles had occurred, I didn't want to pop a valve. So I just read it and wept with joy at the like mind I'd found.
This is what he said about people like us :
Writers are specialized cells doing whatever we do, and we're expressions of the entire society - just as the sensory cells on the surface of your body are in the service of your body as a whole. And when a society is in great danger, we're likely to sound the alarms. I have the canary-in- the-coal-mine theory of the arts. You know, coal miners used to take birds down into the mines with them to detect gas before men got sick. The artists certainly did that in the case of Vietnam. They chirped and keeled over. Nobody important cared. But I continue to think that artists - all artists - should be treasured as alarm systems.
For the purpose of this article I'll be the canary and you can be the reader of the magazine. Because that seems like the most obvious dynamic to adopt.
It's a tale about fully discovering your bird side, having a full-blown flap attack and incessantly tweeting about it to all your friends in the hope they will be seduced into coming for a fly with
you. In order to get a common overview of the societal situation and work/play together to nut out a plan of embrace of the honest parts that deserve illumination and investment (both energetic and financial). Empower, sustain and support those parts, lionize them avidly and either zenly integrate the stuff that sucks and hurts (if necessary) or let it get eclipsed out of your mind, and in turn, your reality. Seeing we are all party to this system we inhabit and attacking it is simply attacking ourselves. Ouch. Why not fathom it instead.
Let's zoom out and start with some wide-angle wondering ... Maybe an altogether completely new system is the ticket? That no one has ever thought of because the conditions haven't been quite right before? How can we turn the most inspired, lively, creative and conscious streams of consciousness into the MAINSTREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS?
Probably bit by bit, one step at a time. Inside out. Start, or continue revolutionising the microcosm that surrounds you and watch in amazement as your dreams go hard and macro without you having to try anymore. This is where doing your art live and direct from the heart comes in. If you do this without stopping to think and censor yourself, for fear of embarrassment or revealing the depths of your vulnerability, you will have the unstoppable power of nature and an unexplainable mystery on your side. What springs forth organically can tell us a lot about ourselves. Be a witness, not a judge. Face the bits that freak you out and respect their presence. Peripheral acknowledgement of problems is useful, without becoming consumed by them. If we continue to plant baby seeds of solutions in each others minds the answers grow of their own accord. The world is a massive puzzle designed to be solved by us and so much of the work has already been done. It just needs a freaky new map.
If fathoming is the goal then communication is paramount. We need an action plan, like how the aforementioned letters teamed up to bring us words. Instead of attacking, how about fusing juju for a mass perpetual woo of the system? Turn it's knees to honey, dazzle and cavort it until it is putty in the hands of party artists with universal natures. Who are guided by their hearts in the interest of preserving and respecting earth’s natural bounty. Live in harmony with that which is truly dope. Have you noticed how parties can be fun and wild and they can also be political, have power and run countries. Why can't they be all of the above? To implement this reality we would probably need hoards of CHARISMA and talent between us and we would need to be wise with how we spend our assigned rations of sweet joules.
The greatest and most transformative treasure of all.
Being a specialised writer canary, who is also part dolphin (privy to echolocation) and part fireworks, I am someone who cannot for the life of her stop exuding words in all directions. Kurt calls writing socially fruitful meditation, which I relate to completely. I exhale they fall out onto the page or into the e-window. Can't always be sure who's saying them but I can feel them write through my whole body and even in parts of me that are not my body, so I do not hesitate to release them into the world. In spite of sometimes exposing my true nature as being totally nuts. But nuts in the crazy sense are in the eye of the beholder and anyway, nuts in their true sense are a dynamic snack full of energy and should be shared amongst friends and friends to be, rather than hoarded and sat on. Unless you are going into hibernation and need a massive store for winter.
The alarm bells I ring are not warnings of danger. They are PARTY ALARM BELLS. Warning society of how incredibly ecstatic, alive and tingly it could be if we excavate our lack of understanding about how ecstatically alive with tingles we are. What absolutely sensational creatures. Basically just harmonic waves, waving back and forth to each other. “Hi!” We could know no bounds if nobody wanted to know them.
Having said that, a few bounds are very practical to have. Not knowing them is only really great until you realise your lack thereof is jeopardising relationships and freaking out your mum. I lost all mine when I dissolved my ego in a puddle of love and am still trying to knock up some prefab partitions so as not to step on too many toes in the process of igniting other eternal internal party flames (which inevitably go external). Can take a while to find out where they go, but conversation and tentative testing of them is a great method for re-establishment. I'm doing it the Japanese way this time round and making them from paper. That way the damage is minimal when earthquakes inevitably strike.
The gold I chirp of is psychic gold, found by panning down deep, beyond personal matters to the infinite realm of imaginary solution and childlike wonder that lies beneath the conditioned falsehoods that pollute our minds and confuse our perceptions of reality. Sounds like a big sweeping call to make but I will still make it lightly now and break it down further in my coming output of word-flow. One that is likely not to cease until I have distilled a crystallised Elixir of Eternal Parties. The alchemical process I employ to perform this alarming task is to make a literal Peace Party Puzzle for zen party pilgrims who care deeply about partying and would like to engage in expansion of their puzzling spherical reality in a decidedly novel way. All the while contributing to a radically logical new myth.
*
Before I explain any further, please bear in mind the meaning these following letters adopt when placed alongside each other ....
Zen does not attempt to be intelligible, that is, understood by the intellect. The method of zen is to baffle, excite, puzzle and exhaust the intellect until it is realised that intellection is only thinking ABOUT ; it will provoke, irritate and again exhaust the emotions until it is realised emotion is only feeling about, and then it contrives, when the disciple has been brought to an intellectual and emotional impasse, to bridge the gap between second hand, conceptual contact with reality, and first hand experience.
Alan Watson in The Spirit of Zen Re-quoted by Christmas Humphries in Zen Buddhism
To paraphrase the birdman in Kevin Hooyman's exquisite new book The First Sign of Anything, it's all about having a series of small targets that keep giving you good feelings and regenerate your joules for the next hit. Lots of little art parties that conjoin to create a monumental art party that no individual could've ever created (or curated) alone. Cos doing it alone isn't REALLY PARTYING.
First target was to get us both on the same page.
Doooiiiiing.
Welcome to my massive puzzle/freestyle thesis about connections and parties. You're party to it now. Just got involved. That article was secretly a letter inviting you to participate and by reading it you already are. A psychic seed has been planted that you’ll have a hard time uprooting because I tucked it really far in while you were marvelling about how letters met each other and thought to make words. Plus it's the first clue in the puzzle. Which is timeless so it doesn't matter if you've already received your other first clues
Now let's end with a quick round of Double Jeopardy! (aka backwards Q and A, but for this one the A’s a Q too and vice versa) I'll be host.
Category : CLASSIC JOKES
for 200 : “What party?”
* (pictured myself hugging nugget by Melbourne artist Andy Hutson)
The idea for this story grew from a nugget Kurt Vonnegut gave me once, when we were between the covers of a collected volume of his, Wampeters, Fomas and Granfalloons. He was relaying an interview he'd had with Playboy a few years earlier. It was written with ink, that had once been liquid, but through a chain of magical processes I don't understand, had dried onto a succession of bound pages sandwiched inside a slightly thicker cover. (Made from wood I think.)
Not only had the ink performed this unlikely feat of transformation, it had done so in a series of formulaic shapes that my mind ascribed a sound to. Alone they were quite weak. Only a couple of them meant something or could infer a satisfying sound as they stood. I soon realised that on the most-part they were relying upon each others simultaneous presence to make a complete word and even then they needed still more words to make a sentence. Not all of them needed to be there for every word, different configurations united to make different sounds that evoked a range of feelings and images. When I saw the shapes meet I also saw meanings. Please don't ask me how I did that.
I can't help being magic.
To wind it back a bit, reiterate, clarify and recap, somewhere along the line (if we can call it that) these particular shapes I was seeing had become visual representatives of assorted sounds. Individually at first, then they'd congregated together to make even more complex and varied sounds, with meanings too. Some cool ancestors sorted that out so we didn't have to organise it. Thanks for that! Kurt had recognised the communicative power of these letters and strung them together in such a way they managed to say some really radical empowering business that had a physical impact on my body and altered the course of my life. Long story short, a book full of these meaningful chains of letters arrived in my hands and I read it in bed. There was no time to question how all those previous miracles had occurred, I didn't want to pop a valve. So I just read it and wept with joy at the like mind I'd found.
This is what he said about people like us :
Writers are specialized cells doing whatever we do, and we're expressions of the entire society - just as the sensory cells on the surface of your body are in the service of your body as a whole. And when a society is in great danger, we're likely to sound the alarms. I have the canary-in- the-coal-mine theory of the arts. You know, coal miners used to take birds down into the mines with them to detect gas before men got sick. The artists certainly did that in the case of Vietnam. They chirped and keeled over. Nobody important cared. But I continue to think that artists - all artists - should be treasured as alarm systems.
For the purpose of this article I'll be the canary and you can be the reader of the magazine. Because that seems like the most obvious dynamic to adopt.
It's a tale about fully discovering your bird side, having a full-blown flap attack and incessantly tweeting about it to all your friends in the hope they will be seduced into coming for a fly with
you. In order to get a common overview of the societal situation and work/play together to nut out a plan of embrace of the honest parts that deserve illumination and investment (both energetic and financial). Empower, sustain and support those parts, lionize them avidly and either zenly integrate the stuff that sucks and hurts (if necessary) or let it get eclipsed out of your mind, and in turn, your reality. Seeing we are all party to this system we inhabit and attacking it is simply attacking ourselves. Ouch. Why not fathom it instead.
Let's zoom out and start with some wide-angle wondering ... Maybe an altogether completely new system is the ticket? That no one has ever thought of because the conditions haven't been quite right before? How can we turn the most inspired, lively, creative and conscious streams of consciousness into the MAINSTREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS?
Probably bit by bit, one step at a time. Inside out. Start, or continue revolutionising the microcosm that surrounds you and watch in amazement as your dreams go hard and macro without you having to try anymore. This is where doing your art live and direct from the heart comes in. If you do this without stopping to think and censor yourself, for fear of embarrassment or revealing the depths of your vulnerability, you will have the unstoppable power of nature and an unexplainable mystery on your side. What springs forth organically can tell us a lot about ourselves. Be a witness, not a judge. Face the bits that freak you out and respect their presence. Peripheral acknowledgement of problems is useful, without becoming consumed by them. If we continue to plant baby seeds of solutions in each others minds the answers grow of their own accord. The world is a massive puzzle designed to be solved by us and so much of the work has already been done. It just needs a freaky new map.
If fathoming is the goal then communication is paramount. We need an action plan, like how the aforementioned letters teamed up to bring us words. Instead of attacking, how about fusing juju for a mass perpetual woo of the system? Turn it's knees to honey, dazzle and cavort it until it is putty in the hands of party artists with universal natures. Who are guided by their hearts in the interest of preserving and respecting earth’s natural bounty. Live in harmony with that which is truly dope. Have you noticed how parties can be fun and wild and they can also be political, have power and run countries. Why can't they be all of the above? To implement this reality we would probably need hoards of CHARISMA and talent between us and we would need to be wise with how we spend our assigned rations of sweet joules.
The greatest and most transformative treasure of all.
Being a specialised writer canary, who is also part dolphin (privy to echolocation) and part fireworks, I am someone who cannot for the life of her stop exuding words in all directions. Kurt calls writing socially fruitful meditation, which I relate to completely. I exhale they fall out onto the page or into the e-window. Can't always be sure who's saying them but I can feel them write through my whole body and even in parts of me that are not my body, so I do not hesitate to release them into the world. In spite of sometimes exposing my true nature as being totally nuts. But nuts in the crazy sense are in the eye of the beholder and anyway, nuts in their true sense are a dynamic snack full of energy and should be shared amongst friends and friends to be, rather than hoarded and sat on. Unless you are going into hibernation and need a massive store for winter.
The alarm bells I ring are not warnings of danger. They are PARTY ALARM BELLS. Warning society of how incredibly ecstatic, alive and tingly it could be if we excavate our lack of understanding about how ecstatically alive with tingles we are. What absolutely sensational creatures. Basically just harmonic waves, waving back and forth to each other. “Hi!” We could know no bounds if nobody wanted to know them.
Having said that, a few bounds are very practical to have. Not knowing them is only really great until you realise your lack thereof is jeopardising relationships and freaking out your mum. I lost all mine when I dissolved my ego in a puddle of love and am still trying to knock up some prefab partitions so as not to step on too many toes in the process of igniting other eternal internal party flames (which inevitably go external). Can take a while to find out where they go, but conversation and tentative testing of them is a great method for re-establishment. I'm doing it the Japanese way this time round and making them from paper. That way the damage is minimal when earthquakes inevitably strike.
The gold I chirp of is psychic gold, found by panning down deep, beyond personal matters to the infinite realm of imaginary solution and childlike wonder that lies beneath the conditioned falsehoods that pollute our minds and confuse our perceptions of reality. Sounds like a big sweeping call to make but I will still make it lightly now and break it down further in my coming output of word-flow. One that is likely not to cease until I have distilled a crystallised Elixir of Eternal Parties. The alchemical process I employ to perform this alarming task is to make a literal Peace Party Puzzle for zen party pilgrims who care deeply about partying and would like to engage in expansion of their puzzling spherical reality in a decidedly novel way. All the while contributing to a radically logical new myth.
*
Before I explain any further, please bear in mind the meaning these following letters adopt when placed alongside each other ....
Zen does not attempt to be intelligible, that is, understood by the intellect. The method of zen is to baffle, excite, puzzle and exhaust the intellect until it is realised that intellection is only thinking ABOUT ; it will provoke, irritate and again exhaust the emotions until it is realised emotion is only feeling about, and then it contrives, when the disciple has been brought to an intellectual and emotional impasse, to bridge the gap between second hand, conceptual contact with reality, and first hand experience.
Alan Watson in The Spirit of Zen Re-quoted by Christmas Humphries in Zen Buddhism
To paraphrase the birdman in Kevin Hooyman's exquisite new book The First Sign of Anything, it's all about having a series of small targets that keep giving you good feelings and regenerate your joules for the next hit. Lots of little art parties that conjoin to create a monumental art party that no individual could've ever created (or curated) alone. Cos doing it alone isn't REALLY PARTYING.
First target was to get us both on the same page.
Doooiiiiing.
Welcome to my massive puzzle/freestyle thesis about connections and parties. You're party to it now. Just got involved. That article was secretly a letter inviting you to participate and by reading it you already are. A psychic seed has been planted that you’ll have a hard time uprooting because I tucked it really far in while you were marvelling about how letters met each other and thought to make words. Plus it's the first clue in the puzzle. Which is timeless so it doesn't matter if you've already received your other first clues
Now let's end with a quick round of Double Jeopardy! (aka backwards Q and A, but for this one the A’s a Q too and vice versa) I'll be host.
Category : CLASSIC JOKES
for 200 : “What party?”
* (pictured myself hugging nugget by Melbourne artist Andy Hutson)
Monday, September 17, 2012
SAX CRIMES
Was just remembering the time Carol Brown had this sax consultation with herself in her own peach office on The Party Within The Party Within episode of that old series, Becoming Carol Brown. What was she thinking! Talk about SOCIAL SUICIDE!!!
Cannot believe she did that.
PS. Who's that guy rifling through her filing cabinet? Is that Carol too?
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