[The following is faithful transcript of extemporaneously delivered thoughts directly made into a digital recorder on May 15th in the early AM]
Someone that you wouldn’t think to meet on your way to the supermarket.
Yet someone so innocuous as to be just another face withing your neighborhood.
Someone whose life and the measure of same is incomprehensible to your daily routine.
Someone whose mind drifts throughout the oceans of the world sounding the depths of the universe.
Yet is contained in a very finite unassuming structure.
This measure not indicative of greatness so much as conventionality.
Of form form immeasurable by the standards of society.
Untainted, yet conformed.
The ability to take thought then force it into the nebulous realm of material reality takes a desire to implant it in the fiction of solidity.
A question arises, merely to have the thought and explore it as far as one can take it by virtue of their experience makes one wonder if the former is not somehow a needless exercise?
Something superfluous that, of course, is the conception of mind, of purpose, of being, to share.
For is this not a form of love to create union, conjunction in a thought or an idea transferred?
The nobility or the sincerity of that thought or image or impression that one as a singular entity seems to want to share is the essence of life as a human being in society.
What greater gift could one have than to share with another the joy of their discovery?
I find myself a solitary being.
A boundless universe of thought swimming around in an eternity of empty space.
My goal in life to be realized. To be found. To be at peace and common purpose, at one with every other.
What then impedes my attempts to reach out and connect?
That hesitation like a harbor full of sampans to connect at mooring yet avoid in progress through the harbor.
Sounding the bottom with my pole on the stern trying to push forth amidst so many other minnows.
Myself insignificant, almost invisible, to their throng.
Yet so much within to want to tap to allow it to spill forth in a measured and meaningful way.
We are all fleas caught between the cold and the hot.
The sure and the unsure.
That sense of firmament below our feet and that rush of thin air as we fall.
Contrast the stillness of empty movement.
Are we strong in our resolve to move forth?
For is not life movement?
Is not death inaction?
Is it not the will to progress, that motive force so universal, that brings us into being?
Is it not that pernicious will to preserve all the remnants of past action and thought?
And indemnify them within the museum of our memory.
How can the two co-oexist?
For without the base of past experience how would one ever find help?
How can one ever expect to push forward to reach skyward?
To swim about, to fly around, to soar . . . to find, to become, to be . . .
. . . and of course not to be.
In the material mediums of modern life.
Of inert objects that have been designed to possess the sensitivity of their own nervous energy.
To collect, and on command, to send forth that energy that it collects from material human beings.
To be able to wield that energy at will.
To make it coherent and yet keep the spontaneity.
That is filmmaking.
To work within the first person, to distill to the third person, and make intelligible to a second person.
That is the essence of film.
To take the emotions that one tries to hide.
That one tries to keep from revealing yet in their heart desires at all costs to share.
To put this in a form that one can see before the words seem to be taken in there fullest measure.
And put this in some distracted sense of acceptable purpose and mutual understanding.
This is cinema.
In the cinema of the third world, goes largely unsung, how truly prescient the circumstance is!
The old empire dies.
Along with it so much past discovery.
Yet soon to be replaced, like the walls of Troy, with yet another true and earnest purpose.
To preserve and put forth the identity and inner meaning of all that is worthwhile of ths new layered sense of understanding.
One’s enemies and opponents may be the best friends one ever had.
For their opposition needs the attempts in earnest of past anonymous self-expression.
One cannot toil as the waves eternal strike the sands without knowing that another wave is soon to be upon them, to draw them back in, and re-congeal their essence.
And yet another attempt, as meaningless as this may seem from a distance, the attempt however selfless and eternal, is time well spent.
Is effort that shows the true dimensions of the pendulum of time and the present.
And within that present lurks all experience.
All experience lived.
All experience forgotten.
All the desires wanting to be enjoyed.
All the desires dismissed.
All congealed in that instant of decision and action and inaction.
[ . . . ]
I was a pampered naive child spoiled to a fault.
My parents were forever giving in a material sense.
In some ways, too much so.
In hindsight, way too much so!
Yet, that was my school.
It was a foundation of thought to build upon, to expand.
To take those initial questions that are tabla raza and fill them.
Asking them repeatedly again and again.
Perhaps without satisfaction.
Yet with an ever greater degree of incremental understanding.
I know that though I always felt myself to be a face int he crowd I was challenged with extremes.
The fears of loneliness, of terror from the violence of others, of being kidnapped int he night.
Something as an event in my life still remains unspoken.
Something I postulate today beyond the pale of wondering if it was just a creation of my imagination
Or something that by the merest of challenge was thankfully averted.
I was driven down into the depths of darkness at a formative age when life should have been my goal.
My grail, love, was always the love and understanding of others as another inheritance past on.
Perhaps through my father’s own search for self-identity?
Or my mother’s removal from a tight knit community that was necessary to be able to discover herself?
How odd to have found along the way that the only way one could discover their own name was to surrender tot he terms that others place upon them?
To be exceptional, and therefore, shunned and unwanted perhaps for the fears that they inspire in others.
How like a club of a base brutal blunt object, creativity is used today!
We live in a world of material inferences that when dissected, examined, and are taken apart as far as the boundaries of technology and the religion of Science allows.
It’s found to be nothing more than the fancy of the collective mind of humanity.
The greatest occupation I could find as a man was to be involved with the discovery of this starting out simply with pen and paper and taking that scroll and scribble to fashion something understandable and reasonable.
Perhaps initially to convey the photographic reality of the eye in a universally understandable form and then take it on a journey into someplace so unique and eccentric that it would expand the insight and vision of the beholder.
Perhaps it is vainglorious in this Socialist world of Communist inclinations and Bolshevik desires to proclaim one’s self and their individual desires in the present sense of all things?
Of leaving some record or form of their individual view of the world.
Perhaps in these times of saying things, meaningless inferences meaning the exact opposite that this is the ultimate heresy.
Say one thing but be damned if you do the other for you will bring down punishment on yourself as a hammer upon an anvil.
beaten into submission by the slow decay of non-relationships of seen but not feeling, of reaching out but not touching, of being and yet not being there.
All upon the screen of old Plato chained.
Chained by the screen and the phone that one holds voluntarily like a shackle around one’s throat.
Around one’s soul.
The pinpoint of the camera obscura of the cave that one exists boxed within the world cockeyed that is projected upside down.
This is the truth of the fantasy that one has been born within, and is expectant to choose to be existent within.
Within the eternity of the desire of parties unknown that wish to enslave.
Society as such that it wants its ducks in a row, its cogs in order, no broken toys allowed, no divergent thoughts.
Only an orchestrated band, a Red Orchestra of precision yet emptiness.
A slow march, step by step, foot out forward, pushing off the instep of the past.
All the little soldiers in rank and file, all in order. all timed precisely to give the impression of a cross over, of perfect step by step by step.
This is the world that I currently l;ive withing.
Something if explained to others they would no doubt in their way agree it was so.
Yet in what little identity in sense of self they would jealously defer to yet another more sympathetic explanation to their own sense of being.
And so it must be.
This is just insurance for the material world.
The wold of fantasy.
The alternate universe.
The waking reality to the endless expanse of entities and destinations to one’s soul can travel to.
I am [. . . ] described as European, in the lexicon of the day, white, balding, overweight, male, of blue collar extraction who has masqueraded in the province of the middle class.
Someone with little respect for the material inventions and conventions of this current society that buys one on the cheap and sells one as dearly as it can get away with.
Currently residing on planet earth int he great empire of the United States in the middle section along one of the great lakes known as Michigan.
Some [ . . .] miles west of its shore along the Gold coast of [ . . . ] traveling west on [ . . . ] avenue to the intersection of [ . . ] where stands an edifice [. . .] that satisfied the greed of its investors.
[. . . ] in a second master bedroom upon a double bed once owned by my parents [. . . ] furnished by all the artifacts of my now deceased parents.
Many of which I have known since my earliest years.
Here I sit, my physical form, restless, acknowledging my heart wishing like a boat moored to the shore, wishing to pull away the waves that the unconscious.
My intellect waxing, wishing to express itself, perhaps one final time in a last testament.
The Testament of Sardanapalis.
All his treasures, his treasured memories, his wishes and desires, he loves he had hoped for, those that he wished to impress, the understwnading of all those that slipped away due to the selfishness of his own hand.
[ . . . ]
In conventional patois, the bucket brigade from the unconscious from the depth of thought where everything is perfectly congealed all the way up the spiral to the lips into this very imperfect sense of personality.
Never been a friend of society, people when they group together do some pretty awful things.
Dependent on those awful things but he conformity that is demanded never submitted to.
The latest current in world society is Socialism.
Like any Masonic instrument it tries to contain by definition.
All the great works of human kind.
Those creatures and the material manifestation of those creatures.
Bipolar characteristics of left and right, of two hands, two legs two eyes, but a single head.
Trying to get the two to work in consort what you realize is that there are two major extremes.
The once extreme is the self, and the other is the larger sense of unity in the social sense of their being a culture, a belief, a religion, a national identity, a sports identity, a regional identity.
All of them in this era being organized fastidiously in a pyramidal structure.
Those at the top, perhaps sentient, more likely not, pushing buttons and expecting certain results, specific results, precise results.
Because of the many generations and eons of organization of these entities into coherence.
Coherence being Socialism, Communism, Bolshevism, Capitalism, ism’s, ism’, ism’s, being both unique but also all inclusive.
The all inclusion on the base, the unique exclusivity on the top.
To those theoretically in the middle this is a form of slavery.
The deep unconscious of items unspoken, unformed, untried.
The other end of the spectrum is the enfranchisement of that which is reliably been done as a sequel.
The repeat performance, the security in one’s actions, no matter what they may be knowing they have been molded and guided into a form that can do no wrong.
The middle road bereft of these boundaries.
There should be no boundaries.
There should only be the erasure of new limits to be erased, to be expanded, and explored.
The all expanding universe that is talked about that expands within itself.
The ultimate conundrum.
That aspect of life or the opposite of same.
The unity of creation at that split second when form is created and the empty undiscovered self with the creator from which all this comes forth.
Is this, the Vishnu that sleeps eternally?
Is this the Kali that in the fire of passion consumes?
Love and hate, life and death, infinity.
Man, woman, life, death, infinity.
That’s the platform.
That known about what one is doing here is the same as day one.
[. . . ]
This current sense of Socialism that’s expressed by the record of the public media, something that always wishes to convince totally without exception or doubt.
The way this little thing works is to create a consensus.
Consensus among the old in terms of thinking that they know everything.
Consensus among the young that they do not have to fear being alone and therefore vulnerable.
To be abandoned because the carrot and stick of this society is to be absolutely sure and not abandoned.
That surety coming in community, collectiveness.
The fallacy of this whole proposition is that one is controlled totally through fear.
Fear that you might make a misstep.
Fear that this misstep will lead you to being cast out.
Feat that being cast out you will be really dependent in terms of your animal needs.
Your hunger, your need for dignity, your animal excretions in the material plane you will need to express in public.
And be taken to task as a lesser entity for not having the resources or the connection to be able to hide from view.
God forbid that you are found to be human!
God forbid that you reach out and ask for help from another without a sense of acceptable guile!
God forbid that their reaction implies that you have no connection to central command in terms of how to proceed!
This is exactly what I detest!
This si exactly what I fight against!
This is why I will never ever surrender!