Sump Vibes
Sump Vibes
by Casey Sheldon © 2003
Slow drowsy suicide that spills
A thick molasses upon my hot joy sundae
A name in the dark, evoking pain
Close your ears, do not listen
My cry that rings out, now in vain
Maggot ridden crows they circle about
The bloody mess of creeping death
The boils and sores peck dry and pus-less
The mind is dry with hints of cagey hate
The leprous skin flakes green
And the whiteness beneath remains
–
Let this not be a mirror
Rather a sign of pestilence
Burning holes in the sockets
Of those who trespass
Dream (7/20)
Black and white world… white background with black objects…
Black man (as in African) with white curly hair, wearing a tuxedo, seated in a black leather executive’s chair… Two men, perhaps bodyguards stand behind him. He seems to begin to stand, but instead opens a portal in his stomach – leading to an underwater paradise, full of bright neon colors. Tropical fish of all colors of the rainbow, green seaweed, and light reflecting on rocks that rest peacefully on the sand…
==
Echoes of the video for “Hellbent” by Kenna…
Quote…
Anyone who knows me well, probably knows I’m not fond of Gruberger/Rav Berg or his Kabbalah Water, but… well, I do like Foucault’s Pendulum, so I suppose a translation from Berg’s early work (supposedly, R. Ashlag z”l did the translation work, while Señor Fievel just edited, but I can’t confirm or deny that) will suffice here:
Quote from the beginning of Foucault’s Pendulum:
“When the Light of the Endless was drawn in the form of a straight line in the Void… it was not drawn and extended immediately downwards, indeed it extended slowly — that is to say, at first the Line of Light began to extend and at the very start of its extension in the secret of the Line it was drawn and shaped into a wheel, perfectly circular all around.”
–Gruberger, Philip S. (ed.) The Kabbalah: A Study of the Ten Luminous Emanations from Rabbi Isaac Luria with the Commentaries Sufficient for the Beginner. Vol. II, Jerusalem: Research Center of Kabbalah, 1973. p. 7.
Writing
There is a loneliness that has pervaded my thoughts and emotions since the time when I was very young. I suppose I always ascribed it to the fact that I was overly imaginative and (imnsho) intelligent. I didn’t notice my own oddities at the time, like when I saw the world turn into blue spiders, being able to survive things that would kill others, or when I wrote my stories about angels, dragons, and dark magickal messiahs.
I remember one English teacher, a certain Mr. Otto, who I thought would have understood my pubescent literary urges, had thrown my work into the trashcan. I think it was then that I vowed never to give my talent to the world. I didn’t demonize authors who published, nor did I find published work to be inferior to some imaginary unpublished corpus of writings. However, I sympathized with authors when they’d jokingly talk about their evil editors, as though I saw through the jest to the reality of the desecration of publishing.
I came to see all manifestations as desecrated. In some sense, this may be true, but is not putting the words to paper, or applying thoughts to the substance of mind, a desecration of equal measure? Should we be non-dualists, who speak not, hear not, and do not, because All-Is-Nothing says not to, and We are the boring Borg and we say that Resistance is Puerile?
Write, I say. Write with all your heart, all your mind, and all your soul. It is what you are! Deny your fears, and follow the footsteps of the Fathers.
I do not aim with my hand.
He who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father.
I aim with my eye.
I do not shoot with my hand.
He who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father.
I shoot with my mind.
I do not kill with my gun.
He who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father.
I kill with my heart.
Navigation dream
My dad was driving me around for some reason (in the Navigator, no less)… He dropped me off out on Westwood, halfway to 192. I went into an old wooden shack, where I met an old friend, Don. We rode in a mine shaft car, through the various parts of the house. He had a room with a tiger in it, then another with a blacksmith in it. After that I headed out towards Plainview, to my grandparent’s house. When I got there, I had the impression that something very important was about to occur, then I woke up.
–
Don’t know about the driving with my Dad thing, unless it represents the High Self-Father making the path straight. I saw Don in Wal-Mart on Sunday night. I watched the movie The Rock on Monday night, which has a scene with a mine shaft car in it. Tuesday, I watched Shanghai Knights, which has a tiger, and realised that I’d saved my Neverwinter Nights game at the Blacksmith’s shop. None of this was planned ahead of time. I didn’t even realise that these synchronicities were setting themselves up until after the second one.
Now I’m wondering when I’m going to end up at my grandparent’s house.
p34c3
Casey Sheldon
