Where do we come from?  What are we?  Where are we going?

The Spirit of the Dead is Watching

I painted a nude young girl.  In this position she is on the verge of being indecent.  But I want it that way: the lines and movement are interesting to me.  And so, I give her, in depicting the head, a bit of a fright.  I write nude the body and person of Taryn younger than me, surrounded by ghosts     I always write her indecent, and the Word thinks of the Ghost     The Word mimics the Spirit of the Dead Watching     This color suggests night without explaining it, and her body darkens my sight     The phosphorous lights seen at night are the souls of the dead, and they illuminate Taryn’s body     Taryn violent, somber blue orange     In this drawing position, quite naked on a bed, what might a young girl be doing?  Preparing for love?  This is indeed in her character, but it is different, and I do not want that.  Sleeping, after the act of love?  But that is still indecent.  The only possible thing is fear.

I fear Woman: I fear Taryn     I fear Taryn, the terrible or terrific Tavern of Her Body     We gather at the river of Her Body, and her Flesh floods the seasonal monsoon     She mothers matter nude, alchemy and chemistry     Undulating horizontal lines     harmonies in orange and blue linked by yellows and violets     Either she thinks of the Ghost or the Ghost thinks of Her     Taryn is the Ghost: Taryn is the Holy Ghost, hauntological and almost-absent in the Not-Quites, the Tehom Tehiru… I would not quarrel with her, and the night was so soft, soft and ardent, a night of the tropics…

God breaks God, an awful automorphism
God breaks God, a perverse autofellatio

Christ is the God of the Broken God     The Gun God grafts bullet Benjamin with the bull or minotaur, the landscape human      God seagulls in labyrinth, spiral minotaur spiral, the Son of Man Library     I assemble the Library: I write the Book     I laugh the Library, itself a labyrinth, and I witness the Book: the ultramarine blue of the sky and the yellow ochre of California hills     I think my work is different from comic strips – but I wouldn’t call it transformation; I don’t think that whatever is meant by it is important to art

The closer my work is to the original, the more threatening and critical the content     I pressed the fire control… and ahead of me rockets blazed through the sky     I make no decision but to copy     I make no choice but to mimic the sentence or image exactly

The panels were changed in scale, color, treatment, and in their implication.  There is no exact copy.

I copy the panel exactly.  I copy the Word to mimicking perfection.  All belongs to the Book; the Book contains the Universe.

I am nominally copying, but I am really restarting the copied thing in other terms.  In doing that, the original acquired a totally different texture.  It isn’t thick or thin brushstrokes, its dots and flat colors and unyielding lines.  I assemble and sample     Benjamin the broken bastard arranged in moment mosaics     the Bomb Squad     the Dust Brothers     Sampledelia and Plunderphonics

I copy the Christ is the God of the broken God
I imitate the Christ is the God of the betwixt God

In short, the nature of the hallucination of Jesus, as they are described in the orthodox Gospels, permits us to conclude that the founder of the Christian religion was afflicted with religious paranoia

In short, the nature of my hallucinations, as they are described in the Book, permits me to conclude that I kin and kingdom to Christ, psychotic syzygies afflicted with the disease of God     my paranoia pockets prophecy     My insanity engines the incarnation

I began to feel that I had been spending so much time exploring the upper atmosphere and the more ethereal far-out spacey stuff.  Now there was this need to take some more of the earth and to feel a little more tethered; a connection to the earth.

Earth ego and Earth echo / you don’t have to do no soloing brother, just keep what you got…   Don’t turn it loose because it’s a mother     Earth ego and Earth echo / I’ve got soul and I’m super bad     God grows or gowns an Earth God, El Shaddai fertility and harvest     Your navel is a rounded bowl     Your rounded thighs are like jewels, the work of a master hand     God body God earth and I worship body: human body God body, the androgynous womb and intersex woman     Earth Adam, the soil in my soul     Earth Eve, the wisdom in my womb, side from side and physician to physician / the Woman heals     The Woman wounds and the Woman heals, sword from the soil / spear from the side, rib ribosome and ruin     Earth ram’s horn     Earth scapegoat     burial Benjamin and bounty, the decay into cornucopia and crescent     Now the serpent was more subtle than any beast which the Lord God had made     Now the Serpent was Earth Serpent, a fertile flesh from the mount and breasts of El Shaddai     Serpent sinisters, the left locust of the Feminine     Serpent silvers, the fermented wild achad of Woman     The asp and the basilisk you will trample under foot; you will tread on the lion and the dragon     The snake sideways the Christ Woman / Woman of Babylon and Woman of Apocalypse, and I worship the bronze and fiery serpent, a Christ and Christina disguised     I worship the Seraph-In-Christ, wheel in wheel and wheel on wheel nashesh and nephilim / giants in the Abyss tormenting the Messiah     I will put enmities between thee and the woman, and thy seed and her seed: she shall crush thy head, and thou shalt lie in wait for her heel     Female body Serpent body a covalent bond by blood     Christ chimera     Christina the spell of Sphinx and Phoenix      Woman werewolves / holy hybrids     Serpent swallows the shrine of body, Anaconda Adonai (my anaconda don’t want none if you ain’t got buns hun     Serpent intermixes seed with Woman, a Holy Mixed Multitude casting Aaron’s Rod to devour / the magic of the Rood     Serpent intermixes good with evil, and evil sits at the throne of good     Christ and Christina entangle good and evil into a single trunk, the Torah and Testament     I interweave Bible and Book     I interleave Nag Hammadi and PKD

But they said, Not on the feast day, lest there be an uproar of the people

The Word works Messiah: blue monk round about midnight improvising the incantation, an insurrection and revolt that transforms and deconstructs opposition     Opposition ouroboros and opposition ocean, the unicorn unconscious     The Word asps Advent, Atomic Asia and Uranium Taryn bubbling blue radiation

The process must be transparent

The Word opens

The Word opens apophatic and the solar occult

The multitude of feast days


The process must be transparent (I am invested in perceptible processes     I want to be able to hear the process happening throughout the sounding music      

The Word opens the paradox and twist of Ouroboros, the odd ox feasting on organs     The Word opens apophatic, the null and negation of nemesis in opposition of the sun

The process must be transparent

God abandons me or what exists in the Name of God abandon me     He spoke these words on the cross, for he had left that place

God leaves this place, the plague and pestilence plotting against my body


The process must be transparent (my body dies     I die daily disintegration and decay

The Word opens my body vision vivisection, and the tzadiks cook and cannibalize


For once I myself saw with my own eyes the Sibyl of Cumae hanging in a cage, and when the boys said, Sibyl, what do you want?  She replied, I want to die

I speak these words on the cross     I cry my God my God why have you forsaken me, for he had left that place     He left that place not on a feast day     Advent adores a feast day, and I adorn my body with frankincense and myrrh     I prepare my body for burial     The tomb totentanz doom Dies Irae, a plainchant Christ for Advent     Advent dreams Sibelius symphonies     Advent vibrates Jimi Hendrix and Electric Lady, killing floor liberation (I decided to destroy my guitar at the end of a song as a sacrifice.  You sacrifice things you love.  I love my guitar.)

My feast of joy is but a dish of pain     The feast burns the silence of the Hebrew alphabet     Mystical white fire on black fire, the negation space – the virtue of negativity, the erasure and devastation of the body, no longer affirming God but cursing as a fig tree      decaying letters     I only know letters, the gnosis of their gestures resembling the face of Christ     The Book burns library, the liberty of letters, release from the torture of Torah     The Book burns as fuel for the feast, consuming the carcass of Christ and yards Yahweh

The Death of God resonates: not merely Christ crucified but Yahweh slaughtered in its own genocide of nations and gods     The Death of God vibrates a space-filling curve, infinite incantation igniting self-immolation      I burn burnt offering, flame to fat, and I save the best portions for myself     I eat the fat from kidneys, a kindergarten killing / I kill children for Yahweh     I kiss children for Christ, Christ a child I have seen your salvation and soon I will betray and slaughter your myriad body     God’s death nevertheless hopes harps hauntological, and the Holy Ghost possesses nothingness, an annihilation     God’s death genesis chaos, the comb of Tehom decimating a tithe of population

In the darkness… Lord, my God, who am I that you should forsake me?  The Child of your love – and now become at most hated one.  The one – you have thrown away as unwanted – unloved.  I call, I cling, I want, and there is no one to answer… Where I try to move my thoughts to heaven, there is such conflicting emptiness that those very thoughts return like sharp knives and hurt my very soul.  Love – the word – is brings nothing.  I am told God lives in me – and yet the reality of darkness and coldness and emptiness is so great that nothing touches my soul.

A jealous and avenging God is Yahweh, Yahweh is avenging and wrathful; Yahweh takes vengeance on his adversaries , and rages against his enemies

Yahweh, abusive lover and gaslighting partner, you seduce me by a sinister spirit     Your eros ego juxtaposes jealousy with jail, a battle Black Iron Prison     Prison pits pinion, as scavenger feather of phoenix fossilizing return and resurrection from the phantoon tomb     A jealous and arranging God is Yahweh      Yahweh and his wife Asherah     Yahweh and his consort, Christ syzygy Sophia-Shekinah shelldreams Christina     The Word opens wounds, the Torah torture of Adonai acid     letter burns     scroll sparks fire     This is bad art     This is bad writing     The Spirit of Elijah has left me     I matchlock fragments, pistol Black Iron Prison and the Bible bellies no exodus     Yahweh heaps hazard, the hip-hop hell sampling brimstone and wormwood, bitter Word and bile Book     The Avenging Angel attacks attracts terrific death, a Taryn toxin (I was told a long time, ghosts and spirits don’t like the fumes from ether, and I just wanted to affect him with my weapon and get to his soul / that shit was cooked crack cocaine right there      Yahweh and Avenging Angel unite in the Anointing Plague, passover from the fumes of pestilence     I emerge from Egypt a widow and worm whittling at woman     I emerge from Egypt as Abraham came up into dark magic     I accompany Abraham as astrologer and alchemist     I assist Abraham rare groove and vinyl vision / recover, repackaging, retrieveal     Yahweh takes vengeance on his Adversary, the Ha-Satan and AntiChrist crowding constellations     The vengeance venoms violence, the viviposition postulating poison particulars / pharmakon perfection     We begin bombing in five minutes     Yahweh takes vengeance on its Adversary, the devil virulent voicing gnosis and vining the vrill of the Tree of Knowledge     Desert demiurge dances doom doll on the dunes     Book begets Adversary building steam with a grain of salt     Book blesses Adversary brick by brick towards the Tower of Babel / Tower Taryn Babylon