Eternal Shadows
About Me
I'm still busy with my short story
portfoilo, but when I write, well
now, I write tons. Anything posted
here is a draft and the author retains
full ownership thereof...word to all
the "Vader haters" out there.
Recent Posts
- The Genetic Opera (try it one more time)
- "Changeling"
- The Genetic Opera is here!
- Succubus Confessions
- Raven Red
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12/24/2008
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The Genetic Opera (try it one more time)
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The last post I made for this film seems to have destroyed itself. What with the DVD release date coming next month, I wanted to give this posting one more try to see if I could get it right. Watching the above trailer again, I find myself loving the film, though I have yet to see the complete production. I find myself both a critic of how they choose to portray the Dark Anima (female) characters, and being a raving fan of the look. All in all, I think what we have here is what Bakhtin called heteroglossia. I've come to realize that the lover of epic poetry in me is ashamed to admit love for this film; while the lover of the Modernist movement in me accepts, loves, and revels in its freakiness (since I myself am a "freak of nature.") Things to consider before viewing (just to broaden the old mind): Bakhtin's views of carnival and the grotesque...easily found at http://en.wikipedia.org /wiki/Bahktin#The_Dialogic_Imagination:_Chronotope.2C_Heteroglossia  |
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12/5/2008
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"Changeling"
 "Changeling" Yes, it's time to own up to my latest creation..."Changeling." I wrote this piece for Absent-Cause (Magna Mater, how I love Redguard!) because it was time to face up to my history, my sexual history, or at least a part of it. You know how it is in Amerika (yes...Rammstein spelling); those who weren't touched by the Catholic church/Protestant church live happy lives sexually; and those like me who were (on both sides of the family divide), live a life of orgasmic pleasure along with equal amounts of spiritual guilt. "Changeling" is a brash, in your face exploration of my sexuality as a 13 year old white-boy growing up on the West Bank of New Orleans. Aye, even at that age, I was infected (lovingly so....know that I look back) with the touch of my goddess. In fact, I was taken so emotionally by her image in my dreams, that I dressed like her. Yes, you know what I'm talking about. Though I no longer do such an interesting practice as a mature guy, my inner-world is ever devoted to her presence, her avatars, her mystery. With such a mature admission of my past, my spiritual quest is to understand the anima and the animus. To bring them to a fruitful understanding in this present me. This me that on the outside...seems so...macho? You should see my inner-world...or not *smiles*. I know, Clint Eastwood owns the Changeling title. Believe me, when I started this story/fictional bio way back in June, I had no idea Dirty Harry would be using the title. Honestly, I see my "Changeling" as the obvious evolution of my "fairy fiction" (pun meant and not meant there). If you have a strong stomach and a liberal mindset, I invite you to read. But beware....it's sexually suggestive. You all know how I am. "Changeling" is Rated D (for disturbed). Advertisement and how to find it : Absen DUALI bisex diale ident schiz INTER * Amand * Walaa * Laura * Break * Mistr FICTI * Andri * Gener * Brand * Jolie * Aliso * JC Reill * James * Zerap ART, COMIX * beach * Heidi * Toni Lynn Crane * Disda * gabiM * Laila * Bever ... and much more! Plus essay Absen Order http: or email Store |
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11/7/2008
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The Genetic Opera is here!
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If you love Gothic culture, and you love the zeal of the surgical knife folks like to call, parody....and if you have even a passing love of cheese--ripe cheese at that--go see it! |
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10/31/2008
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Succubus Confessions
 Succcubus Confessions In Hell's Second Circle Aye, that's where they keep me, and for reasons three. I am Succubus-born Surely, you've heard of my kin, and all the stories as well. We are versed in Ruin, Damnation for a sob or two-- Souls glisten on our lips naughtily. 'Ave a husband on the prowl? I shall slip between thy sheets, My fingers diddle twice as well. And for a moaning, oh just to hear you groaning, I will lap at your petals till'st they swell. When you're done, boot me out, swear at me for thy dying smile, and send me straight to Hell. Thus are our hazards, and by my fay they are all one--just to hear you shriek and cum! When you cool, I'll be back, at thy window--tap! tap! tap! I shall be sure to haunt thee--nightly! (Author's Note: Thanks to the Pagan Bard for giving this one a read and thumbs up to breathe. It's a fun little spate of words written as I further explore my own sexual energy; t'was written as I savored much too much (or perhaps not enough) of Type O Negative's World Coming Down album. I like this piece for its comic character, her straightforward tongue (ok, got me on that joke), and the purely Gothic/Catholic universe she resides within. And yes, this is yet another piece about my anima (see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anima_and_animus for a quick explanation). And I can say here and now on my favorite day of the year, the "poem" above has helped me realize that my anima is rather...overly developed. That's why I love her so). |
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10/30/2008
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Raven Red
Raven-Red
so that no one might touch it. Hidden behind great doors of black oak, the chalice was sealed away by holy orders; under five basements it rested in long peace. Strange seasons passed in the world as green sprigs wilted away to autumn's decay, only to be buried under purifying snows. And one summer's day, upon the solstice of the season, came flooding in Raven-Red...her dress a flood of pestilent black. Blood red was her mane, pale white her skin, and liking the small cottage, bought it for the blood-red labor of a solitary kiss. And in that cottage, the titian did dwell, mending soil, planting grapes, and mark---all life did grow at her beck and call! Fellfeast came, and then Dimming Day, and yet the blood red raven did harvest mickle crops. But after Dimming, came Grimfall, and forced inside was the blood- red mane; by winter-fire she dwelt, writing and reading her soliatry call. Falling on chrysanthemum wings, the first snow pecked on the cottage ceiling, but woven straw did it wrestle with, and thus, to no avail Was its grim call upon the blood-hair; and she scribbled and scribed, ever set upon a history of her folk. Cheery red did the fire blaze in her hearth, and long did it stoke into the night until the center log fell, thumping in the murk. Startled Raven-Red woke, and marveled that her home was reflected in an ivy-green light. Not from one place did it shine, but seemingly, from within, e'en from without, e'en from the starry skies that ruled over the snow strewn night. Getting an itch under back, she turned to the boards, ripped them rib by rib by two until, there yawned a dusty stair. Down and down she trod, her acrid black trails becoming one with the shadows of the under-earth, her blood red mane redder, even as Cellar one gave way to cellar two, three, and alas...to the blackest earth of cellar five. Dusk, the door that separated her from her hearts-call, beckoned in the inky darkness. Reaching pale fingers to the hot knob, she blinked As the dusk-door resolved to an inky dew"and within, buried down five crown deep, was the unearthed chalice green. "Flee from here," her Guardian-conscience did warn, "go thee back e'en now afore the emerald-envy swallow thee whole!" Shirking not, Raven-Red went on down, falling to earth's blackest bile, shivering as she plummeted ever down to greener coldness. Mortal laws could not hold the need within her heart; forsooth!--there in the pit, Raven-Red stood--alack! Her blood locks glistening green as shame. And with fingers out stretched, smiled even as she felt the poison enter her blooded veins. Grasping the envy-green trophy, she marveled That it was made of airy dew, insubstantial witchcraft, and voodoo-song; and in a moment, yeh, even as Raven-Red struggled to consume...it became her. Moral: Ware thee the wolf that would eat the innocent, for even in winter dire, new life"it doth dwell! |
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10/28/2008
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Godless
 Godless Without a God, there is no unholy power, no fertile earth, no curse, no life in the blood to filch. I am one of them, walking gracefully in the night, at one with the Fall, damned as a jezebel of an order. Moonlight only enriches me, and I am fallen forever from Heaven's pearled shores-- ever damned. And though you try to save me, you underestimate my evil heart, so full of snake's venom and bile. Warm hearth's collect the others: smiling eyes, welcoming arms, huddling by holy-day fires. My friends are graveyard mists, lonely autumn winds...the silence of your streets at night. And though I press against thy window pane, white flesh alive with infernal fire that burns me ever, wanting to come in... Do not give me leave! Do not invite me past the thin line of thy door, for once within, dwell I evermore! Moral: Coos, and sighs, sighs and ayes, Under the covers doth I reign, though your soul pays the forfeit; my cunning abilty brings only slow disdain. (Author's Note: Why should poets be the only ones able to have fun with words? It's almost All Hallow's, surely I am allowed to suck so bad at verse that only a few will notice? Why should Christians be the only ones allowed to admire the powers, contradictions, and the utter sexualism the He is charged with? Why not one who is damned for sure? Enjoy this trifle, condemn it from the highest crags, I care not. I am moved by Erato, and forever her servant, am I. By the by, it's kind good...you know...being back and all. ) |
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10/28/2008
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Chase the Morning&The Genetic Opera
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I've long loved Sarah Brightman since Broadway's The Phantom of the Opera crashed into my little life. And now I have a reason to admire Sarah even more. As Bling Mag in the upcoming Genetic Opera, I believe she was captured a bit of the Dark Muse I worship. She has the look, the voice (even as it lulls to that sexy, husky whisper), and she has the posture. Has my Muse come back to me now, and instead of in visions, in spirit and in raw fleshly form? Agreed, this opera is Gothic parody, but any honest parody must counterfeit the target so closely that it steers away at the last minute to make its ironic point. That's what parody does. I have to get used to the "Chase the Morning" sound....to me it's not what I have come to call "Gothic" (an illusive tag, I 'll grant you), but then again, I say to myself, it's parody. But I do soooo love the acting in this clip. And those cool android powers she's throwing at us:) I'll definitely have to see this one. Maybe even buy a Blind Mag t-shirt as well. |
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8/22/2008
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To Erato With Love: Dorothy Parker
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To you, my personal Muse, I wish thee a happy birthday. If you were here on Earth, I would a few questions ask thee....for you left a few who yet study in thy wake. Subtle, you are the serpent in my garden, and though the light is to the West, I yet see the glimmer of thy lovely scales. May I be worthy of thy shadow...one day! |
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7/21/2008
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To Erato With Love: Prose and A.E.
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This time around, Arch Enemy (again!) I'm celebrating internal success. I've been slaving away with my novel project all summer, and as I go, I'm looking at the crappy rough draft I wrote one year ago...and I'm thinking, "Wow...I don't write like that anymore." I'm not perfect yet, but as long as I keep to the faith, I might be as good as Arch Enemy one day...one day over that dark, dark rainbow. Of course, now that my character prose for this project is rocking, I'm thinking: Is your blog prose up to public scrutiny? I mean, its quick crap I write just to meet a challenge or idea I might have. Do I really need to broadcast my blog crap to the world? Deep questions, deep questions. |
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7/15/2008
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To Erato With Love: Absent Cause
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I have to pat myself on the old back today. Logging onto MySpace, I read some great news from a friend of mine who'd updated his blog. It appears that Absent Cause is doing great:
"So far about 100 copies of AC #1 have been sent to individuals. Quimby's in Chicago, North West Zine Works in Portland, and St. Mark's Bookstore here in New York have agreed to distro the zine, and I am reaching out to other potential distributors. AC will also be featured in the Super Duper Zine Show this fall in San Luis Obispo, California."
To think that a piece of my writing (I ghosted an article for the first edition) may be sitting out in a Chicago or Portland zineo store for someone to chance upon...well....it's a weird feeling (blogs don't scare me, nobody reads this one afterall). And I'm in fantastic company...the pinup of AC #1 is Elizabeth Bathory after all. Am I in good company or what?
I got so excited that I submitted a new piece for the January edition. The only problem...I'm delving into some scar tissue from my tender, younger years, stuff that predates *gasp* my martial arts career (by only four years!). For me, real horror is the stuff you keep locked up in your closet out of a dire since of public shame. Yet, I'm going to spread that stuff around like compost in the next edition. Life, how strange. In honor of Absent Cause magainze, I'm wheeling out the sirens of metal! |
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7/8/2008
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To Erato With Love: Kelli X and SP
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It's hard for me to admit, but I'm a little star struck today. Back in June I found Keli X on MySpace (she's the angelic voice you hear on the legendary--and so, so underrated--Sneaker Pimp's debut Becoming X) and immediatly requested an add. Of course, I had to email her right away, especially since she noted on her page that she was an avid student of gong-fu. Well, I knew that if I sent a gushing note describing to her how her voice motivated me when the chips were down, and blah, blah, blah, that it'd rightfully be thrown into the rubbish bin. So I disciplined myself and wrote a small three paragraph note about how we (my dark paramour and I) love her work, how I also worshiped gong-fu, and indicated our interest in the new solo album. Well, it did the trick. ZOMG! I GOT EMAIL FROM KELI X! THE MUSE WROTE ME.....Ok, that was a little spastic, must calm down, go out into the back yard and do Gung Gee Fook Fu about ten times to catch my breath. Thanks Keli! I think I can just manage to go edit my novel now! For those who never heard the debut material from Becoming X, hope you enjoy! If I made you a fan "The Voice" today, let me know. |
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6/30/2008
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To Erato With Love: "Epiphany (Todd)"
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Dear Self, It didn't help today that your heart was frozen, that you were quaking under the Tyrant who came from Without. Where was your might then? Oh yes, I remember, your Lau Gar had the day off, and you thought that editing Chapter One of your little novel project would be a good thing. But the sands...they shift don't they? Rewriting sucks, so I gift you, Self, with some of your favorite words from one of your favorite musicals (hell, you only have two favorite musicals, LOL). Allow Sweeney Todd to be your family, for writing is a lonely profession, and it ought to be. There's only room for ONE ego in a novel. Go thee now, take up Excalibur, and weed out the weak sentences. "Wipe out Vice Chancellor Gunray..." |
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6/29/2008
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To Erato With Love: Grand Hotel
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Dear Self, What with the strain of writing your novel, I think you need to absorb some archetypal representations of Erato. Drink it in, deconstruct, and let it flow on over to Mildred. Also, drink an extra martini, that's the stuff they'd drink in that forlorn lake mansion you dreamed up!  |
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6/29/2008
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Absent Cause Sample
  Absent Cause will be available in print and pdf formats. Both formats include artwork IN COLOR. Preorder for $4 donation (includes shipping) via PayPal from gregb@wwpublish. com or by mail to G. Butterfield, 754 Washington Ave. 4R, Brooklyn, NY 11238. Or send me your zine in trade! Please specify which format you prefer and your mailing address / email address. All proceeds go back into producing the next issue. Coming in October: Red Army Comix #1 Original comix by redguard featuring The Upyr, Mighty Girl, Necro and Frankenstein Coming in January 2009: Absent Cause #2 If you are interested in submitting work, please contact redguard@gmail. com |
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6/26/2008
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To Erato with Love! "Spin, Spin, Sugar!"
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The Sneaker Pimps "Spin, Spin, Sugar" I owe almost everthing to this odd little band. Their radio debut in the grand old 90's was "Low Five," and that's when I remember feeling the tidal pull of an alternate universe pulling at my feet. It would take me two years to finally track down the CD itself, and it would take my dark paramour to buy it. But once played, it's one of those rare CDs, one of those strange moments in life where you don't need stimulates to make the trip to "somewhere else." Every song on the CD is a masterful work. And that's when I understood the agony of writing. Nothing is ever good until its Sneaker Pimp good. And that's a near suicidal anguish to endure as a dreamer of words, but it's my anguish, my private anguish that only you know (not even my family has a freaking clue). I don't have an evaluation, a reading, a critique of "Spin, Spin, Sugar" to present. It's world is like this one, only, one iota different, and its that difference that makes the song, and the band, positively unique. You can't call it grunge, you can't call it Goth, you can't legally call it rock. Some critics refer to the band as trip-hop, but that's just a label. What the hell is trip-hop, right? And don't say: "Oh, Portishead!" Like I said, it's because of the SPs that I discovered the underground music audioverse. Sure, I love Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Garbage, but that's only an aesthetic high for me. My true soul belongs to the Sneaker Pimps, The Cure, Autumn, and the list goes on. Thus, I salute you SP. Isn't Kelli great? I needed this song to make me continue the journey with Mildred. I'll update that one today as well. "Watch this space..." (Yeah, that's a little lyric from "Low Five"). Doesn't it strike you as strange? I span the stream of SPs and the land of classic movies? "Low Five" to my left, and Mildred Pierce to my right? I am not right in the old head. |
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6/13/2008
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To Erato With Love: Bonus Feature!
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Erato bonus material for your 6-13 enjoyment. I won't spoil it with too many words, but it's a Ginger Snaps3 montage set to Switchblade Symphony! Need I say more? Werewolf epic+legendary gothic band=Friday the 13th Goodness! |
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6/13/2008
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To Erato With Love: Blue
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Ahhh, "Blue" by the Birthday Massacre. What else would be better for the 6-13 edition of Erato? It's not the video I imagine in my head, but it's not bad at all. The thing we get with "Blue" is a dual role on Chibi's vocals: 1. The sweet innocent girl, the lover of tea parties, dolls, and cupcakes. 2. The diabolical demon seed (oohhh, I love that one..*shivers*). Version one of the song was issued as a demo back when the group sold out their first CD and didn't know what the hell to do next. Can you blame them? It's going fishing with your best tackle and latching on to Moby Dick in seconds. But the band got a handle on success, wrote some really great songs, and published two more CDs. As a creative force, they are now worried about being type casted on MTV because MTV doesn't understand their music and doesn't know what to do with them. I worry about them to. The music industry has a way of whoring everything (take the alternative movement as an example; it was doing just fine until Nirvana was "discovered" and then....someone turns on the whore machine, they milk Kurt, and boom, suicide). The Birthday Massacre is a great example of self-publishing. Three years ago, I could mention the band to friends and get blank stares; today, same thing. But that's not the point, the point is I haved stupid RLFs that live in a cultural cave. But seriously, TBM are fine examples of poets who believed in themselves, their vision, their sound and went with it. Self-publishing is the only answer, and the only prayer for weird dreamers like me and for TBM. Therefore, TBM, wherever you are, I thank you for being the example! Lyrics to die for in "Blue" 1. Plastic blue invitations in my room i've been waiting here for you reservations made for two" That's so damned sweet. I want to be there, I want to get invitations, who doesn't? Who the fuck sends invites these days anymore? I think as a culture, my generation missed something. I don't think any of my friends know what RSVP means. But anyway, "reservations made for two" has true love written all over it. 2. sunlight fading I love you for this TBM. A fading sunlight is so damned romantic, so damned charming because the sun's dying rays matches the maremalade I see on Chibi's table next to the flowered tea pot. But, wait, this is TBM land we are dealing with. "Sunlight Fading" is the opening of the door to twilight, and twilight as a plane of existence within the TBM land is a scarey, often chaotic place of pain, murder, deceit. 3. black tongues speak faster than the car can crash you supply the rumours and i'll provide the wrath romance is breaking every heart in two casting shadows in the pale shade of blue The smart listener realizes that the fading sunlight has brought forth an accident, an accident that has probably killed Chibi's love interest, the one who received those delightful invitations (I wish I knew what those things looked like). Dying in TBM massacre is a plunge into the phantom zone of the afterlife, and need I say it? The afterlife is a scarey place in terms of TBM's vision. "Casting shadows in the pale shade of blue" is just a stunning turn around of the intened use of the word "blue." The invitations were "plastice blue", and now "blue" is the color of a haunting presence, a shadowy thing that defies description. It's felt more than seen, dreaded more than ignored. That's high hat horror folks. 4. plastic blue conversations in my room saving every tear for you trusting every word untrue twilight fading You have to hand it to Chibi's character, a lover who saves tears, trusting every rumor said about her lover to be false, there's a lot to love about her heart--it's impossibly big for we post-moderns to bear; and that's the strength of Romanticism, sentiment is charged with idolatry so it becomes a dimension unto itself. I don't know about you, but "conversations in my room" brings me images of Chibi chatting it up with a shadow, a stain on her wallpaper that turns out to the "presence" of her dead lover. I respect haunts, though I think I could take one on, and I do believe these conversations are possible. But still, there's something harrowing about it, and I don't know why. Ghosts have rights too! At least, I think....wait, no, they don't. 5. fate changes faster than the death of light you supply the envy and i'll provide the spite But the relationship isn't two sided, if I'm reading the intent right. Chibi's love and long suffering patience isn't rewarded by the shadow. "You supply the envy and I'll provide the spite" is simply a horrible rule for any relationship, and we've all been there, we've all had those loves, those crushes where you envy the person so much, that in return, all you get is spite back because...they're evil. But of course, I've no evidence my reading is correct. And that's the thing I truly love about TBM. All the usual rules simply do not apply. It's a Looking Glass group, peer into the mirror of lyrics, and you behold what you want to behold. Every experience is different per listener (the video above is a prime example). This will probably be my last post until next weeked (going away). So, don't miss me too much you little bleeders. |
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6/12/2008
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Secrets of Labyrinth-Way Martial Arts
 Great Labyrinth-Way Philosophy It is only by rigid attachment to Vineeta that any acquire pseudo-strength in martial practice (meaning the power of the forerunner, the chi of your Temple, the nature of the lung you root into). Guru attachment in Vineeta leads to many doorways, only one or two are ever explored by any one student, this is because of karmic attachment to the human world. Humans only understand up and down, some understand side to side, but very few acquire baat gwa realization in their ritual. Those who ignore Vineeta, who shy away from the sting of its needle, remain on the outside in the Occidental void of the Outer Dark. They gnash their teeth, mock, steal, and revel in attachment to small-I ego. This is the lung attached to the majestical orb, always jealous of the inside, not quiet enough to attain admission. Pseudo-strength is not your strength, it’s the strength of your tradition, your masters, your guru’s guru, the line of this attachment stretches backward. As you enter your respective lung tradition, as you undertake the karma of Rightful Attachment and engage in the Eight Noble Truths, “secrets” are revealed to you. On this side of the mirror, the “secret” is the bait your guru dangles before you. The “secrets” have their legendary “forms,” and these “forms” hold the legendary keys to the adornments hidden in the ancient library of your lung practice (be it red, blue, green, white, or gold). Rightful Study is the method of enslaving your will, your body, your chi to the anchor of the ancestors. Do this, and you enter the Foyer of the Temple; flinch from this, and the tattoo of tradition goes awry, and because of your attachment to small-I, you flounder and slip into the Outer Darkness. In the Outer Darkness, the failing student meets the Mercenary, a student who has made a study of “secrets,” Temple designs, pacts, wards, and koans. Because the Mercenary was not strong enough to take up the yoke of Rightful Study, the Foyer was denied. Floating from Temple to Temple, the Mercenary begs at the lung gates like a hungry ghost. Due to the benevolence of the guru, occasional scraps are thrown via images or broken sigils; and though the Mercenary breaks fast, the fast is slaked only on false flesh (through error, the door of Dao often opens, and this door leads back to the Sun Door of the Foyer"the voyage can be circular if good karma is the birthright of the Mercenary). Due to attachment to Deceit (self-deceit, self-delusion), the Mercenary is enslaved to the shadow of the Temple and bears the ravages of eros in the mode of Desire. In this mode, the Mercenary often transforms, for even the Outer Darkness bears the transformative nature of the Way, but the transformation bears only fruit under the sigil of the Demiurge, and is thereby imperfect, flawed by small-I and riddled by misunderstanding as taught by the Monkey in his wrathful, deceitful emanation. Yesterday’s Mercenary was the false student of ch’an Dao; today, he bears the banner markings M.M.A. Due to Rightful Attachment, Rightful Study (note: rite-full), and Rightful Adherence to Vineeta, the Foyer student soon bears the rite of Entering; beware, for the proper study of Exit is taught but only in the study of the “secret” and its appropriate Dao formations (thus, many never find their way out of the Temple, and find only locked doors instead). Pseudo-strength and all its “secrets” becomes the home of the Banner Bearer (the transformative identification of the Foyer student). Glory is for the Banner Bearer, and Life is extended unnaturally as the study of the Dao is perfected, yet never obtained. In contrast, the Mercenary exalts in Wrong Attachment, Wrong Study, and Wrong Adherence and Life is the hue of the False Grail. Health fails the Mercenary while the Banner Bearer enjoys unnatural adornments. Woe to the Mercenary, for Life is too short to dwell forever in the Outer Darkness. |
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6/12/2008
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To Erato With Love: Freak
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Introduction to the "Erato With Love" Journal: 1. The muse moves in mysterious ways. She leaves her texts where she will. This is me reading the text in an egocentric fashion. Mayhap it will be so universal that others will always get it...but probably not. 2. Texts, all texts, have wisdom hidden within (or if it's negative wisdom, this too points toward postivie wisdom just as -1 invites the possibility of +1). 3. There will be no schedule. As I am "touched" I chatter to myself. Simple. I might go a month in between entries--who cares!? Rules for those who listen in: You're eavesdropping on a conversation, stay if you want, leave if you get weirded out easily. The door's right behind you, no one is asking you to be here. The rules are simple, comment only if you have been struck by a video and have some insight to share. This isn't the place for debate, so if you are offended, go masterbate somewhere else. -------------------------------------------------------------------- Erato 1: Silverchair/"Freak" Reaction: There's a lot to love about Silverchair. I think the only people who "get them" are the open minded fans of Nirvana (there are closed minded fans, believe me). As a creative project, Silverchair reminds me of myself. I see the band as a group of artists who were fans of Nirvana, so much so, that the performance style, the insistance on occasioanl non-sense metaphor (to show that language itself is a circus with meaning only autorized by a lion tamer--thus nonsense is rebellion), the notion that the male ego is weak and nothing compared to what feminist propagand says it is, the look...is done in tribute. And creating in tribute is what we all do when we try to create masterful works by following a pattern. There's nothing wrong with it. As a dreamer (no, I didn't say writer, that's a term for an earlier generation and the meaning sickens me) I dream within the boundaries of others. But like Silverchair, I rage to be different. And as long as that rage builds, as long as I aim to kill the father that blinds me, the path to originality will be open. Like Prince Hamlet, we must kill the false father to satisfy the orignal father's hunger. Lyrics to die for from the video: 1. "Try to be different, well get a different disease" Ahhhh, theme, theme, theme. I hear thee Silverchair, I know thy struggle. Getting that "different disease" is what it all boils down to. 2. "Body and soul I'm a freak, I'm a freak" I've always felt that way about myself, my sexuality, my everything. Sing on brother! You're not afraid to reveal the truth. 3. "If only I could be as cool as you...As cool as you" Once the false father is eradicated, we are stuck with the original father. The keys to the door of final originality are hidden on his body. Tactic: "If you see the Buddha on the road, kill him." (Old school Ch'an insight...those bastards knew what they were talking about). 4. "I don't really know How to put on a "cool" show, as boring as they come Just tell me where to go" I love you Silverchair! Self-effacement is the path toward eradication of the ego, yeah, I got it! Or do I? Seriously, this is a great lyric that leads to the genesis of the song itself. Faced with criticism from close-mined Nirvana fans ("You guys suck! You're not original! You're clones!"), the band openly admits their connection and their dependence on the original father. I admire this self-effacement. Only those who have been truly burned by the Promethean fire will understand the path. The path is choked with briars, wild beasts, and priests of the father. But the wise artist uses this....everything is Muse, every insult, every bruise, every compliment. And if there ever was a philsophy of the Alternative movement, it has to be that self-effacement is anger, and anger becomes art once released via the Muses Nine. |
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6/3/2008
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"Lullaby" (III)
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The remarkable thing about fairy tales is the energy they spend to teach the reader a truthful statement about the “real” world (what we might call the world of the dead if we were in a tantric mood). Presumably, Hansel and Gretel teach us to eschew the world-as-cannibal, kick it in the ass, and cook it on high; the ordeal of the Three Bears emphasizes that there truly is no place like home, and Little Red Riding Hood’s dependency on the masculine outsider as savior clearly reteaches us something quite primitive (it’s the stranger from the village that is safe, not the shadow in the woods"and in today’s world, both have collapsed into the one and same image). The last turn “Lullaby” takes is tantric in its inclusion of sexual tension with its world devouring nightmare. Smith’s villain seems both lecherous and yet seductive when he puts his “tongue in my eyes.” The nightmare has enveloped the bard of the song, “arms all around me,” and coos to him a warning: “don’t struggle like that or I will only love you more for it’s much too late to get away.” The action is horridly shocking to the average Westerner, we don’t have sex with shadows (but some of us do"the unusual ones), and the Puritanical mentality of the West shuts down with exchanges such as this one. But this is where the song shifts from standard fairytale lullaby to something a bit deeper, a vision that shatters what we used to believe about fairytales. The implied sexual foreplay with the shadowy spiderman takes us back to India with the Shiva Shakti ritual. The ritual, in crass terms, asks the worshiper (skyclad is best) to make love to the deity. Statuary of the practice often pits a nude female straddling Shiva’s lap (for those new to Shiva, think of him as terror and power embodied"among other things), tongue seeking Shiva’s mouth, face in the attitude of orgasm. Shiva, in contrast, is transcendent of the presence, but it’s not a one sided relationship. Shiva is being worshiped, and the worshiper is learning a lesson or two about the nature of divinity and the flesh. The Shiva Shakti relationship represents the fertility of the universe, the absolute blinding power of human passion, and the omnipotence of the god in question (not to mention the power of the rite and transference of experience). In comparison, the spiderman of The Cure is a Shiva-like figure. Struggling only brings extra attention from the divinity, and the language of the East, being had “for dinner tonight,” or being devoured by the god, is a transcendental experience (but of course, this relies on perspective. Most people see death as an end of worldly pleasure and presence, but this is the popular materialist view of our day, not the faith-based one --and here “faith” is a blank term meaning “spiritual practice”). In terms of the song, the cannibal nature of the spider is the source of terror in its prey. The Shiva Shakti relation is traded at the end to pursue the tradition of the Gothic (and here I mean that Poeish tradition of both British and American literature), and thus horror is the overall mode of the song. But it’s a horror tempered by the tantric love of the god, even if the god’s face of the moment is the destructive world-eater. This type of experience has transformed gothic horror (think about the woe of Poe and how that has been translated today into chic figures like Edward Scissorhands, the charming Phantom of the Opera--and yet another Depp character--Sweeny Todd (you have to love being sick of Mrs. Lovett’s pies). The terror of the spiderman is the love of the horrid, and because Smith is sly, his horror is both cannibal and god. The rest of the matter, the feeling we get each time we play it, is solely up to us. But that’s good magic, don’t you think? |
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