To love someone is to vow to protect them, first and foremost, from yourself. 

People Unlimited

I arrived in Scottsdale last night to meet a group of people who claim to have found the secret to physical immortality. They live in this huge Adobe Hacienda just outside Arizona. It was very beautiful. The women too. There was this one who I kept checking out who I found out later was in her late seventies. It was weird. Because if I’d stayed more than a day I probably would have gone there. When we arrived they’d prepared us this lavish dinner and then explained in detail precisely what it is they do. It was interesting. They said that the only reason the body doesn’t continue to live indefinitely is because it becomes so filled with toxins that all the energy it would otherwise use rejuvenating itself is simply spent fighting them off. They said the toxins were only ever one of three kinds – physical, emotional or psychological. And that the most damaging, the most traumatic, were the emotional. And that they come from only one thing. The term they used was ‘toxic relationships’. Basically the ones in which we fight with those we love. Parents, siblings, lovers. They said that fighting with someone you love is the quickest way to destroy the bodies ability to rejuvenate itself. They said it’s the fastest way to die. 

Mariah Carey’s new album E=Mc2 sounds like it going to be amazing. 

Non-Locality

A Kung Fu master was talking to me about the power of concentration the other day and made a reference to non-locality. That’s the quantum physicists equivalent of the pull my finger gag – the one where someone in Zimbabwe farts. He was teaching me how to channel my energy flow into a pulse so that if I was ever attacked by a wall of ice I would be able to punch my way through solely with the power of my Chi. His fighting theory was about being limber and loosey-goosey. He said that physically you had to be like a baby because a baby is like the Tao. You can throw one down a flight of stairs and it’ll just bounce around like a tennis ball. With complete sincerity he said You punch baby – you break hand. Baby no Break. He then asked me to hit a 250 pound bag for six-four minute intervals just to see how I did it. By the end I could hardly breathe. So he asked me if I wanted to have a little nap. If maybe 10 hours of sleep wasn’t enough. He was really humiliating me at this point. He just kept shaking his head and staring at me saying You rook sreepy. Reeeeary Sreepy. He thought this was hilarious. But then he said that everything around us is just a quantum field of particles that our brains categorize into colors and shapes just so we can navigate around more easily. I was still panting and spitting bile as he said this mind you. So I asked him what his point was. He said that every fight is lost and won before it even begins. Because thoughts are things. And every one you have, every second of every day, is continuing the brick by brick construction of your life up to that point. Your thoughts aren’t determined by your experience he said. They govern it.

Cult

Being accepted into a cult isn’t all fun and games. Behind the secrecy and magic there is, in fact, a lot of slog. If you’re in the countryside you garden. In the city you fund raise. Things only really get interesting when they bring in the blood. It takes some getting used to, I will say that. First timers often gag. But so do children with mushrooms and teenagers with cigarettes. Even cognac tastes like petrol the first time you try it. And cognacs no blood. You can live on blood. If you could sell it on the open market Karl Largerfeld would drink it and an entire industry would be created. Naturally people would be up in arms. There are a hundred and one reasons why blood remains contraband. Vampire is just a medieval term for its consumer. They don’t fly around and sleep in coffins. They just have beautiful complexions. The age defying advantages of drinking blood and moisturising with semen are tremendous. A vampire is not immortal. The myth is an embellishment. They just take such good care of themselves that even old they look young. Vampire is just another world for the uber vain. 

                                    

It doesn’t take long to soften up to. Very few never take to it at all. With every sip you are acutely aware that you are ingesting the very life-essence of man. It aides in the sort of mental conditioning that high level athletes and fighters employ. Every mouthful convincing you of your strength, your skill, your power. And a cult is only ever about power. About exceeding ones limitations. About pushing oneself to ones edge. A vampire is someone who has pushed themselves to their edge to such an extent that they no longer have one. No one can do anything to a vampire that it has not already done to itself. And so it is invulnerable. It has as we say, no reflection. Because a mans greatest threat will always be his reflection. Indeed to go on as he is he must remain blind to it. Acknowledge only the smallest portion of it. A man has no choice but to hide from it. A vampire has gone beyond it. 

                                                

When you arrive they size you up over dinner. Physically you’re expected to be in shape. But they’re not checking your muscles. They’re watching your eyes. There’s a depth to eyes that have seen things a man shouldn’t. There’s a certain weight to them. And though they smile and laugh, they all have it. And when they ask if you’d like something to drink, you see it. 

                                                                    

Dinner is nothing special. Tenderloin is served. Potatoes. Greens. And they’re polite of course. They offer you wine. They ask questions. They take you for a blabber mouth if you say more than necessary. For they believe man is a nervous creature, always in need of unloading onto someone else. Of dumping his problems onto others in order to feel a relief that he has not yet found alone. They want to see if you know it. It doesn’t take them long. They’re fully aware that they’re not seeing the real you. That you’re not this calm. This secure. That you don’t speak this concisely, normally. They know that a tremendous force of sheer will is taking place to bring across this projection of stability. They don’t buy it.

 

Dolphin

I met a man last night who’s absolutely dolphin mad. He’s spent almost thirty years studying them. He even had this machine with recordings of all their little kooky clicks and squeaks. He sat me down and played them for me, pointing his finger at the frequency meter and holding his mouth open, asking over and over again if I could hear the difference. He was very excited. Even his ring tone was a whale song. He told me how whales apparently never shut off their entire brains when they sleep. That they lie nose to nose and spiral downwards in deep water turning off only one side at a time. I didn’t understand what any of that meant so I did my own little squeak. He loved that. Soon he was squeaking back. Then the joke got out of hand and he was squeaking every five minutes, nodding his head and raising his eyebrows at me. It was a tough one. Consciously we’re nothing compared to them he said. We drift in and out of consciousness on a regular basis, moment to moment even. Its like our breath. It rises and it falls. Compared to a dolphin we’re not even unconscious he said, we’re comatose. He squeaked again at this point. I fake laughed. Don’t encourage him I thought. But he was off. Then when he came to I took a chance and asked him if he’d been unconscious then. He started for a moment and looked me straight in the eye. Then he said have you ever been driving and suddenly woken up? Suddenly come to and realised that for a certain amount of time you’d been driving completely unconsciously? Completely absent from the experience? I nodded my head. I didn’t need to be driving to feel that. But this is the essence he said. Because it doesn’t just happen when we drive. It happens all the time.

Waking Up

If you have an alarm clock on your wrist watch set it to beep every hour. The sort of thing those old Casios do. Then throughout the day when it happens ask yourself if you’re awake. Then turn it off before you sleep. With time the beeping will become such a habitual thing that your mind will begin to create it in your dreams. Like a door bell or a telephone ringing. Then when you ask yourself if you’re awake, Poof. You’ll become conscious of the fact that you’re dreaming. Then you can do anything. 

Exorcism

Last night I met a priest whose particular expertise is exorcism. I had no idea how big the business was. Apparently the man’s non stop. And he was no joke. Like Chuck Norris if Chuck Norris was a holy man. He certainly looked like he could pick a fight. He had brawlers genes. Thick wrists, thick neck. His right hand was so big it looked like a bunch of bananas. With complete solemnity he told me that possession was in principle extremely rare, and that only by completely losing ones sense of self, ones I am-ness as he put it, could one be taken over by a malignant spirit. And if you were really in bad shape - a consortium of them. Precisely what happened in his last case. Apparently some small timer in prison with big eye lashes and a nice ass had been beaten into becoming a sex slave for a group of white supremacists. They’d burnt a Swastika on one of his butt cheeks and told him that they’d cut off his dick if they ever caught him peeing standing up again. He was a jail whore now. They pimped him out daily for favors, cigarettes and that chocolate mousse they give out at lunch. Within a week he was broken, in a month he was zombified, in two he just started biting off wieners and eating them. And if someone protested he’d just poke out their eyes and eat those too. Then no one touched him. But he was changed, and soon became a man that no one looked at twice. The end was naturally quite gruesome but long story short they had to bring in Chuck. Shut him up in a room with no one else but Chuck. But Chuck didn’t say much about that. He just said that he was once in the service of the dark, and that it almost killed him. Another term for human sacrifice if you ask me. And after all there’s still a market in every major city in the world. Children costing no more than twelve thousand dollars. Monkeys going for little over three. Though that was a surprise to me. The hit, from what I understand, is one that amplifies the power of the morphogenetic field allowing one to manifest with greater power and efficiency. The essence of absorbing someone elses life force. What we do in infinitesimally smaller increments in relationships every day. The flip side of being broken against your will.

Ayuhaska

I went to a party last night where we all dressed up in white robes and took Ayuhaska so we could meet our spirit guides and chit-chat with them about things and wot not. There was a washing ceremony for the men by the women and then vise-versa. No funny business though. It was all very reverent. I did almost get a semi at once point. But then I focused on my third eye and it went away. And thank God. Not because they think you’re a pervert or anything but because they just know you’re not ready for ceremony work if you cant at least control your blood flow. But it was fine. There was a priestess there too, guiding the gig. She looked like she knew exactly what she was doing, like she’d been taking acid forever. She had that drawl when she spoke. Like everything was still happening in slow motion. But she was more than just an old junkie. She had skills. She was like a meet and greet coordinator between you and the spirit world. Like the instructors at the Club Med Olympics. She knew how to take you out far and then push you further where even she couldn’t follow, where you had to go it alone. Afterwards I spoke to this one girl who met her totem animal. Apparently it was a lemming. She looked like a lemming too. And that’s exactly what I find in these circles. That they’re the same as any other community anywhere else in the world. With your light weights, your posers, your authentics and your pretenders. The saddest ones of course being the pretenders. Because everyone can see through a pretender. They even know they’re doing it most of the time, deep down. But even when them glimpse themselves for that brief moment they still can’t knock it. Because they think they’ve invested so much into it that they just can’t turn back.

Words

I drove out to New Jersey on Saturday to meet a painter who claims he’s had sex with an alien from outer space. I’d never been to Jersey before. It’s not that bad in fact, considering. The stress levels in New York really drop the minute you cross the water. You can feel it. I think if New York was a women she’d perpetually be going though the menopause. She just goes on, and on, and on about that thing you once said back in 1984. Jersey was chilly willy by comparison. Real easy going. No stress. No great beauty either, but at least it was peace. And the guy was nice too. He told his story calmly. He certainly wasn’t unconvincing. And so it was yet another example of someone either being completely brainwashed or simply telling the truth. And it’s a strange experience of course, to meet a man in downtown Hoboken who paints landscapes, loves Earth Wind and Fire, and is utterly convinced that he’s impregnated a half alien, half human in an underground compound with port holes in the ceiling that look onto the earths inner sun. When he asks you if you take sugar with your tea you just don’t know what to say. For starters you’re watching him with every ounce of your perception just to tell if he’s not faking. Then there are the details. The little details, the curious observations that just baffle you for all their originality. He even painted the whole sequence of events in an elegant story board form. They were quite beautiful. The largest piece in the series was a life size, full frontal nude of the lucky alien-girl herself. And I know what you’re thinking. I know because I was thinking it too. And of course its totally natural for low level Orangutans like us to have our heads in the muck. Its nothing new. Its the reason we all got into this mess in the first place. And so yes – she was quite something. But that wasn’t the most interesting part. The most interesting part was the way he described their reactions to his words. To each others even. It was a very telling insight into the way more highly evolved beings interact. Because he said that when they spoke to him, to each other, they didn’t question, they didn’t doubt, they took every communication at face value. If someone said no, it meant no. If someone said yes, it meant yes. There was none of the bogus humility, the pretending that we do, to feel more or less one way or another about something because we feel we have to. Because our cultures over-sensitivity demands us to. Indeed our communication system is seeped in what can only be described as a web of essential little lies. The lies that hold us together. But they were above this masquerade. And so their language system was immaculate. No one said no when they meant yes, pretended to want something when they didn’t, suffered through an event and said that they were just fine because they felt they had to. According to him they were straight in their dealings because they had accepted each others differences. And one had to admit, it’s insane to think how much of our minds are occupied with the maintenance and upkeep of this web of necessary dishonesty, this pack of essential little lies and secrets with which we live and breathe day in day out. It’s exhausting in fact, when you really think about it. 

Planet X

I had a 2012 theme-dinner in a Park Avenue apartment last night. The hostess, who was dolled up in couture and diamonds, served us MREs by candlelight. Military Ready-to-Eat rations that have a super high calorie content and taste like shit. It was all very droll. She had this ancient religious expert who explained to us over champagne and powdered fruit cocktails that the end of the Kali Yuga was upon us. She was this gorgeous black girl from Haiti with thin, elegant dreadlocks and teeth so bright it was like talking to a stroboscope. After her spiel I asked her what she did back home and she told me she was a witch doctor. So I pulled my shirt up and asked her to take a look at one of my nipples. Every time I play tennis it chaffs on my Polo shirt. Well don’t wear a Polo shirt. She seemed to know her stuff. There was also an astronomy professor from Cal-tech who specializes in black holes and moonlights for a group who believe in the arrival of the 12th planet. Planet X. His take on the whole thing was just shy of doomsday. But by that time I was really putting the moves on the Haitian. She was a little older than me but I have to say, there’s something about a six foot black witch doctor that you just can’t quite pass up. She was certainly more interested in the professors conjecture than I. He called the planet Nibiru and said that it had a several thousand year orbit thats going to swing it right by Earth on December 21st, 2012. Apparently it will come so close that the magnetic poles will flip creating a shit storm that will wipe out every coast line from New York to Byron Bay. At this point the ladies who lunch were either laughing hysterically or wetting their pants. What do mean mid America? I spent my whole life getting out. Now I have to go back? Most of the men didn’t even seem to notice. They were still talking about the Super Bowl or reading email on their Blackberries. When the professor finally began talking about the post 2012 maps for sale on the Internet three of them had excused themselves because the Ranger game was already in its second quarter. As I was leaving I asked the Haitian what she really thought. I knew she was hiding something. But with so many people around she just kept quiet. When I invited her to dinner she shook her head and said no. You come to me with something and I’ll cook. So I’m going to bring her a live goat and try to get her to decapitate it with me inside a pentagram. I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited. 

Tantra

I met a so called modern mystic yesterday. He was wearing a T-shirt that said Shopenhauer can suck my dick. He was one of those tall white guys with the Jesus of Nazareth beard who always turns up at the hottest parties shrugging their shoulders at the coat check girl because they’ve only got hundreds man. He wasn’t built for the city. He was beach culture. From the school of guitar players you normally find siting around a fire playing Redemption Song and talking softly to a bunch of girls about how surfing is life and life is about being real. And I’m all for people being real and just being themselves. But I usually find that people who say they’re just being themselves are actually being really weird people. But he was a nice guy. He never seemed to finish a sentence. If you stare at your reflection in the mirror for an hour man you’ll know … And then if he did, he’d leave you in conversation limbo. When I was in Bangalore I drove out to Puta Parti to buy a Sai Baba wrist watch and ran over a monkey. So I’d just say Amen. Which he seemed to like. He would just nod his head and point his fingers at my eyes. Then he told me how he’d begun learning about Tantric sex in his twenties and had found the secret to the mythical male multiple. His research sounded tremendous. For an hour he just reeled off techniques and terms like the upper left quadrant, simultaneous breath alignment and dipping chrechedos. Then out of the blue he blurted that he was a sex addict. He seemed very repentant. He even went to a mens group once a week and cried about it. He said he’d cried a lot in his life. I’d hoped he wouldn’t with me. But then he did. We were sitting in this club down town when it happened. His eyes just started welling up and before I knew it he was off. When the waitress came over I had an arm around his shoulder and was holding one of his hands. So I ordered two beers and a toddy. Don’t ask me why. Then he asked if I knew what an Eiffel Tower was. He was really blubbing at this point. I said I didn’t. He said it was when two men high five each other whilst making love to a woman. I said amen. He nodded his head. Then he asked me if I he wanted to know what his personal philosophy of sex was. Naturally I leaned in close. He said that it was a pact in which a woman agrees to free a man from sexual slavery in return for him freeing her from sexual guilt. And how do we do it, I asked. He said a Sydney Opera house. I said amen.   

Fear

I spent the evening talking to a Russian psychologist last night. I met him through the same people who study Systema. He had nothing but disdain for modern man. And modern women. He said that all our decisions were fear based. I had hoped that he would meet me half way but he wouldn’t budge. All of our decisions are he said, if you really look at them. He blamed the education system, among other things. He was quickly riled and did a lot of finger pointing. He would have been an impressive speaker if his grammar hadn’t been so off. He spoke about creating an architecture that would demystify fear. I agreed with him that it was surprising. That after all this time most people couldn’t tell you a thing about it. They would point to their stomach, they would shrug. The tough ones would even make a case for it being important. But no one really had a bead on it. He was obsessed with going beyond oneself. And that to do it one had to overcome fear. He was a grandiose speaker, yes, but he had a point. Because there is nothing more detrimental to a persons success than fear. Because fear is comprised of many different elements, only very few of which serve. For to be afraid is to experience several entirely conflicting conditions all at once. It is to be alert and yet petrified. Primed and yet careless. Stronger in every way and yet weaker. In no other state are we as simultaneously more able, and more unable, to take appropriate action. For to be afraid is to become momentarily super conscious, and yet in only the most narrow of fields. Man’s principle aim of course, should be to widen them. But no where is this taught. And why would it? No one wants man to be unafraid. Because the minute that happens he will stop behaving. He will stop obeying. And so will she. There have been many tales in mythology of heroes travelling through mirrors, descending into the underworld, doing battle with demons. The iconography is universal, and individual. For each of us has one uglier than the last. And this is precisely the lesson of a modern cult. That fear is not selling you a bad product. You’re buying it. 

1.

We all have a blind spot. A part of ourselves that we cannot see. The only reason that we know it is there is because everyone around us can see it. Our friends, our family and most of all, our lovers. And this is the world we live in. Everyone seeing your blind spot but you.  

Premise

No one sabotages their life consciously. No one, without exception, sabotages their life consciously. And yet we do every day. And the reason is because we are not doing it consciously. We are doing it unconsciously. 

Cats and Dogs

I had lunch with a couple who argue non-stop yesterday. They also have a dog and a cat who just lie there watching them. Sometimes the dog raises its head, sighs. Sometimes the cat looks at them, yawns. Cats and dogs are basically us. We should study them at school. A women’s really just a very sophisticated cat. And a man, well a man’s a dog. It’s quite straightforward. For example you can’t force a cat to play with you. It wont work. And the more you push it the less it will want to. And if you push too hard it’ll get it’s claws out and scratch you. A cat did that to me once when I was a teenager and I punched it in the face. That cat never played with me again. But how was I to know? If you want to play with a dog you just do it. It doesn’t matter what time it is. Day or night, morning or evening, a dog is ready to go. You don’t even have to ask. You just start. The dog can even be sleeping and Boom. Play time. Once I even saw a dog trying play and poo at the same time. And from what I could tell, it wanted to play more. The front half of its body was scrambling for the ball and the back half was desperately trying to screech itself to a halt just so it could finish its business. But you could tell where its head was. With that big dumb-ass grin on its face. It knew something was up but was still having fun. For a dog playing is top of the list. But a cat has to be in the mood. A cat teaches us patience and respect. If you want something from a cat, you’ll never get it. And even if you do, you wont be really getting it. To have any sort of relationship with a cat you have to love it and want nothing from it. Its not like a dog in that way. A dog is simple. A dog is always up for it. A dog is predictable. We don’t quite have the magic that they do. We’re a bit obvious. Then again a dog teaches unconditional love, unfettered buoyancy, forgiveness. A dog will always forgive you. And they’ll do it immediately. Holding grudges is beneath them. Of course a cat can forgive too. But only after you’ve groveled for an eternity. And even then its just waiting for you to make the same mistake twice. A cat has trouble forgiving because it can’t forget. A cats weakness is it’s pride. It’s obsessed with looking good because it believes that it’s proportionate to feeling good. Mistake number one. It’s the other way around.  

The Worm

I can hardly begin to write about the man I was introduced to last night. It would sound like complete fiction. Even I had trouble believing his story. But I could tell that he was being honest which usually means one of two things. Either he’s been completely brain washed into believing that he’s experienced something he hasn’t, or he’s telling the truth. And don’t get me wrong, people checked him. There were men there far more interested than me in finding him out. But his story was tight, it certainly didn’t look rehearsed. His body language was clean, he didn’t blink heavily, didn’t talk too quickly, he looked up and to the left for recall and down for emotion. He also looked the part. He came with four classic-looking agent types. Small men, stocky, with zero personality and less than zero facial features. Tough guys with repltilian brains just perfect for field work. The sort of men with so little going on personality-wise that they just faded into crowds. Men you would never notice, never look twice at, never remember, never see coming. They were body guards and friends from what I could tell. They were all in the protection racket. Towards the end of the evening I even got talking with one of them at the corner table of the restaurant we were at. He told me he was head-hunted when he left Spetsnaz. He even invited me to one of their sparring sessions where they do a shorthand cock and balls version of Aikido. The bone crunching art. The way the body’s limbs aren’t supposed to bend, the weak angles and how to exploit them. His friend was also involved in systems theory on a soldier level. A theory that states that everything in nature, without exception, has a moment in which it can evolve beyond itself, in which it has the possibility to make a quantum leap in evolution and become something far stronger, far more powerful than it was previously. The catch being that for it to take place a moment of chaos must be undergone, a moment in which all the components that make up the system must be broken down so they can be rearranged into a more evolved configuration. A moment in which the system becomes temporarily weaker than it was when it began. The - it has to get worse before it gets better - formula. And every system in nature understands this except for one. Us. Because he said that of all of them we are the only ones who not only attempt to drag our heels through it, but actively attempt to stop it. For the simple reason that we are so short sighted we cannot see past the moment of chaos, the moment of weakness, to the rewards beyond it. As if the caterpillar was so frightened of becoming sludge, that it remained a worm, and never broke itself down so that it could learn how to fly. And its the same with everything, he said. Because to truly train a man he must be broken. Indeed the best break themselves. They go into what they fear the most, until they get to a point where they will do anything not to go on. Where they are willing even to take their own lives to stop from going on. And then they do. And in that moment overcome their own psyche. Because they have proven that they are stronger than it. Because they have conquered it.

Eye

For a week I wandered through the Luxembourg gardens asking women to gouge out my eyes. Both or none at all I had said. What little I had understood. Under the lights of the Boulevard St Germain I managed to pull one out with an oyster fork before losing consciousness. It always brought out the best in me. Neurological change, I believed, was finally taking place. The kind you had to fight tooth and nail for day in day out. The kind they only spoke about in kook shows and woo woo books. 

 

When I finally woke up I checked out of the hospital and walked until I found a grandfather clock to stare at. I spent the whole day meditating over the swing of the pendulum until the police were called in and I was removed by force. By that time I was already in tears. And all from just a single eye. And it’s something to find yourself with one eye. To cry deeply, totally, from just one eye.

Crystal

I met a rock star the other day who takes a lot of drugs and apparently has sex with a ton of women. I have to say, he looked like shit. But when you talked to him up close you really got the impression that he was thrilled with himself. That he believed he’d made it. That he was still making it. He kept drinking shots and I just kept wondering if he was enjoying it. So I asked him if he was actually getting pleasure out of it, or if he was just getting less pain. He nodded his head like I’d hit the nail on the head and then poured me a glass of Patron Silver. Then he told Crystal to come over and sit on my lap. Crystal was like fifty years old and had a fucked up hair-style. She was also big into leather. When I didn’t finish my glass she said she’d help me out and gulped it. Then she leaned forward and tried to kiss me. I think her plan was to pour it into my mouth from hers like a bird regurgitating food into its young. I think she thought this was the hottest thing ever. Crystal was pissed when I said I wouldn’t sleep with her. But it didn’t stop her from grabbing my crotch and threatening to take me apart. When I started sniggering I think she felt insulted. So I told her that I didn’t make love to people I wasn’t in love with. She thought that was hilarious and started repeating it to anyone who would listen. Payback for all the sniggering I guess. So I told her that sex wasn’t sport. That it was hard core. That it was the deepest communication we could have with another person. And that if your feelings for them were not aligned on that deepest of levels too, then you would accumulate precisely the amount of trauma that made up the difference. The simple reason why a one night stand always felt like such shit. Because the accumulation was at the max. It could go no deeper. When I finished talking Crystal was gawping at me as if I’d just produced a perfectly formed turd from out of one of my nostrils. When I told her it was her turn to speak she just removed her hand from my pants and walked away. I hadn’t meant to bum her out. But I had to say something.

Seduction

A so-called seduction artist invited me to one of his private meetings last night. He claims to be a protégé of that guy that Tom Cruise’s character is based on in Magnolia. The seduce and destroy king. The one that has the deep seated emotional issues that turn out to be stemmed by his stubborn loser father who dies regretting everything he ever did. Apparently he’s a legend. I hear he does seminars in tropical resorts where he teaches men a version of Neural Linguistic Programming which is basically a bunch of psychological techniques that inspire women to want to hump you. In the advanced class he charges several thousand dollars to reveal how to shoot energy beams out of your groin and talk to a woman’s libido on the Chimpanzee level. From what I can tell though it’s a bit like the Jedi mind trick in that it only works on Stormtroopers and drunk out-of-towners. Then again at least its an honest package. First you seduce yourself into a relationship, then you destroy it. Because once you’re in it you have no idea how to maintain it. But this guy was nothing like him. He’d split entirely from his school of thought because he disagreed with the principles. In particular the idea of trying to control emotions. Becuase he said that if either party ever tried to suppress something they’d just give themselves a tumor. Because it wasn’t about suppression. It was about understanding expression. About changing ones perception of the so-called negative kind where she calls you one thing and you call her another. It was about seeing it as an energy exchange like any other. Like Squash or Paddycake. He said that the domestic dispute had been given a bad rap. That we needed to reeducate ourselves in the art of making war because it was the inverted side of making love. That it was just as natural as rain or darkness. Because if all the earth ever got was sunshine nothing would ever grow. Because only a thunderstorm has the power to cleanse build-up and make way for new life.      

Curling

This afternoon I was invited to meet a scientist who’s apparently discovered the secret of dark matter. I think he was Indian. Then again he was big and had muscles which usually isn’t their thing. So he might have been something else. He said that for a long time a huge quantity of space, both here and there, has been considered unknown in both a what is it and a where is it sort of way, and that he’d finally discovered why. The poor guy looked like he hadn’t slept in years. His wife on the other hand was super hot. Super hot. And it’s hard to keep up with formulas when you’re looking at a beautiful woman’s earlobes. She had the kind that don’t dangle. The ones that just connect straight with the neck. So stream lined. So sleek. So great that every time he revealed another link in the equation I took the opportunity to turn to her and nod, just so I could clock them. She also had that Brazilian ass that for some reason gravity pulls upwards and outwards. It sort of made sense that she was with a quantum physicist. When he said that infinity and finite structures were complimentary she was making her way to the ladies room and my tongue was hanging out of my mouth. She had one of those over-sexed walks. The kind that makes a man wince. He then said that although Einstein had discovered that gravity is the result of space-time curving, it’s also the result of it curling. Like the way you close your hand with your pinkie first, then your ring finger, then your middle finger, etcetera, etcetera. He did it with his own hand a couple of times, just to show me. It’s actually quite beautiful. This is the secret of creation, he said. The secret of everything. And when his wife finally returned and sat down between us, I have to say, I believed him.

Men

Women are fed up of watching men get all upset and walk away the minute they tell us they have boyfriends. They’re completely fed up with it. It makes us look like losers. Like zombies totally content with having sex with people we’re not even interested in talking to. It so embarrassing. And they see it immediately. They even wait for us to expose ourselves. You can ask them. They know whats happening. They can smell bullshit a mile off. They string us along just watch us fall harder. They’re not stupid. They watch us playing that super nice guy, that oh so charming role, right up until the moment they say it and we drop the mask and suddenly go from nice guy, to douche bag. What do we really expect? For them to walk around with vagina unavailable signs on their foreheads? Its ridiculous. If we could just spend a single day as a woman, a single night, just to watch ourselves and the ways in which we use one utterly lame, completely transparent ruse after another, solely for the purpose of getting laid, we’d be disgusted.   

Skull

I was invited to a woman’s house last night to hear her talk about 2012 and the end of the world as we know it. She was super hot. Apparently she comes from this long line of mystics who can see spirits and talk to people on the other side. Wherever the hell that is. She was wearing this black mini skirt and stockings and this shiny black jacket that made her look like a witch who shopped at Dolce and Gabbana. She had edge, I will say that. She knew all kinds of things about the body and the soul and what happens after death. She also has this crystal skull thats been in her family for generations that the British Museum has trouble carbon dating. No one can tell how old it is or where it comes from. She only brings it out on special occasions. It has a name and everything. People flock to touch it. I asked her if I could clasp it between my thighs for a moment. You know, for a super-hit. She looked at me like I’d asked her to use the holy grail to give a urine sample. The documentary people thought it was hilarious. They were all there doing this special to follow up the next Indiana Jones movie which is apparently all about it. Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull or something. When she finally brought the thing out the whole room went silent. When I made a ghost noise no one found it funny. One of the producers even gave me this look like I was a complete turd. She was hot too. I will say that the energy in the room went electric. You sort of got the idea that it wasn’t quite inanimate. Like it was eyeballing you and everyone else at the same time. When it was my turn to get close to it the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I wanted to pet it, or wipe its brow like a bald guy with a comb-over, but up close I just couldn’t. Up close it had such presence. You had no choice but to respect it.        

Heath Ledger 2

So I hear that Heath Ledger was only sleeping two hours a night because his mind was keeping him up. I get that. Because we live in a society that tells us lies, the greatest of which is that we are our minds. That this voice inside of us, is us. That it’s important. That it should be listened to. That it should be indulged. The result – we are a species at the mercy of it. We are no less that its bitch. And if you are your minds bitch than you will never find happiness, rest, peace. Because your mind will always be there to shout at you, to drone on at you, to sing songs at you. And skinny Indians and squat Orientals have known this for centuries. They knew that if you thought with your mind you were lost. Because the mind is the youngest, least perceptive of the senses. It knows only how to separate the whites and the colors at the laundromat. But which way to go? Which decision to make? The mind doesnt know. And so it will make lists. And we will chose between them, knowing all along, that we dont know either. Because to know which way to go can only be found by thinking with big daddy gut, and listening with mamma heart. Even hearing with your elbows is better than with your mind. Especially if youre dealing with a woman. Because to a woman the words are never the most important part of the communication. But we havent understood that yet, as men. So we call women illogical. But its only illogical if the words are the only communication taking place when you say something. But they’re not. Because when we communicate, we are saying many different things, in many different ways, simultaneously. And a woman knows this. Because she hears them. She sees them. And so she reacts to them. All of them. But because a man is only aware of one of them, of the words, he concludes that her answer is illogical. But shes not illogical. Hes just blind. Blind and deaf, to his entire communication.     

Hot Yoga

I did hot yoga today. When I walked into the studio I could smell vagina big time. It wasnt a big deal though. But I did. Then the instructor came out with this saggy body and a pair of leopard skin hot pants. I’m not even kidding. It was at the Bikram center on 83rd street. You can check. He was nice though. But he spoke too much. He wouldn’t shut up. He just went on and on. I wish gay guys would stop emulating the classic two or three homosexual prototypes. Peter Allen, Truman Capote and that guy Nathan Lane plays in the Bird Cage. Its like they gravitate towards the ones who made it because its a sure thing or something. But these guys were seriously witty when they were doing their thing. You cant have that attitude if your jokes suck. You just become annoying. I liked the guy though. Im doing the free week trial. But next time I’m going to wear a jock or something. Because even with Calvin Kleins you can really fall out of your pants if you’re not on top of your shit. And thats the last thing you want to be thinking about when you’re doing your third bridge.         

Heath Ledger

I wonder what the autopsy will say about Heath Ledgers death. I wonder if it even matters. He was so great in that gay cowboy film. He showed you could be tough and cool and gay. And very few people have managed that. Freddie Mercury, Elton John, maybe Tom Ford. No, I take that back. Tom Fords soft as shit. He’s no Karl Largerfeld. But poor Heath. He looked like such a good guy. Maybe it was all just too much. Not the films and the awards and the success or anything. But the big questions. He may have got stuck on them. I think a psychologist once said that there’s no such thing as an accidental overdose. That we always know, on some level or another, what it is were doing. The next Batman will be so special though. The experience will be so highly charged. We wont be able to take our eyes off him. Because we’ll be watching someone dead, show how much more alive he was than so many of us.

 

Shakti

I went to a womans house last night who specialises in being clairvoyant and channeling beings from different dimensions. She was super hot. She ran me through the details like she was telling me how to assemble a toaster. She had great legs. And she had these huge blue eyes that just bored into to you. She held your gaze like she was slowly undressing your soul. I could tell there was a lot of shakti in her apartment. Female mojo. You could feel it. And the stuff she told me made my hair stand on end. Making love to someone like that would probably be super intense. They’d probably stare at you so long that you’d both disappear.        

Mama Gina

 

I went to a womens sexual healing and enlightenment graduation class the other day. Its a four month course that costs a packet where women learn to open themseves up sexually and become sister godesses. It was really inspiring. They alwayas invite men to the graduation party. When you walk in they’re all dolled up in these outfits. You can imagine the kind. There were about 200 of them and 80 of us. They were all screaming and carrying on. The guys were like deer in headlights. They had a class on how to kiss where two women got on stage and made out. One of the girls got her lipstick smeared all over her face. But it was very elegant. Then another one lay down on a table and pulled down her pants and we had a vagina class. It was really humbling. They got a head lamp and a high end DV camera and fed the image onto a wide screen behind the stage so you could see everything in detail. I think it was a Panasonic. And you might have thought that the girl was embarrassed. But not at all. In fact you could tell that exposing herself in this way was the most liberating thing she’d ever done in her life. It’s what I came away with. That quite frankly the greatest thing in the world is still the vagina. It’s top of the heap. And apparently women often forget this. It came as quite a shock to me. But its been staring us in the face all along. And yet its constantly being criticized, poked, covered up, hidden. Its the absolute last thing on display in society. And yet this experience the other night, really proved, that a single ones simple uncovered presence, in a chilly willy atmosphere, has a truly magical quality to it. I think a lot of healing took place. Later on at the after party I was asked by a man if I wanted to fuck his wife. I was very flattered but I was really hungry. So I went and got a slice instead.

  

Women and Dogs

I love walking in the park and meeting women with dogs. Its so nice talking with them. Especially when the dog suddenly starts to take a shit. Because when a womens dog decides to take a shit, for some reason the women suddenly feels as if they’re taking a shit. As if they’re taking a shit and you’re watching. It’s so great. What’s even better is when the dog decides to lick another dogs balls. Because then the women suddenly feels as if they’re licking someone else’s balls right there in the middle of the park. So they start to pull the leash and get all uptight and give you that embarrassed look. Sometimes they even begin apologizing and telling the dog to stop. As if the dog picked it up from them. As if its letting the cat out of the bag or something.  As if unbeknown to the dog, its revealing the sexual fantasies of the woman. As if its acting them out. And then she likes to do this. And then after that, she loves to do a bit of this. 

What is Reality to Americans today? And did we ever have a grasp of it?

Reality is to Americans today the same as it has been for anyone else at any other time – subjective and comparative. To grasp it one must imagine the existence of an infinite number of realities closer to the truth, and an infinite number of them further away from it. But what is truth? It depends who’s asking. Reality is everything that is, and everything that is not. One cannot be without the other. They are inseparable. And America is a perfect example. It is both abundance and poverty, liberty and imprisonment, happiness and misery. It is the greatest nation in the world, and it is the worst.

There is so much in America today, so much availability, so much that the average man, woman and child is subjected to as a functioning member of its society. Through every available channel we are assaulted. Very little space is left empty. We have become over stimulated. The result – we are psychologically fragile. Worse, psychologically immature. And for the psychologically immature there are only three realities – money, fame, and marriage. But marriage is not love, and money is not security, and fame has nothing to do with self-worth. But how many of us truly have a grasp of that?

As Americans today we predominantly live in an illusion. One of our own creation. One of lies. And more than anywhere else in the world one of reality, one of truth. We are spearheading civilisation in opposite directions at once. On the television, in our newspapers, in our homes and our relationships, we are more awake than ever, and more asleep. This is our reality. But do we have a grasp of it? Grasping something is to understand it fully. And to understand something fully is to be free of it. It is to go beyond it. It is to transcend it. And we have yet to do that. We have yet to go beyond what we have and what we want, who we are and who we would like to be. Our desires still prick us. Our dreams still haunt us. This is reality for an American today. But it is also an illusion. It is like weeping every time the sun sets and the moon grows smaller. Because grasping reality is understanding that the sun never sets and that the moon’s size never changes. And to understand that is to free oneself from the fear of losing the moon, from wondering whether the sun will ever return. Because reality is the same. It is an existential question. The only one that has ever persisted. The struggle to be totally and permanently fulfilled. The question of God. But what is that?

Existentialism is not dead, and neither is God. When Nietzsche said it he should have been more specific. God is not dead. The word God is dead. It holds nothing that it once did. It is no longer seductive, mysterious, grandiose, suggestive of something else. Because our language system is saturation based, it has become a sponge soaked in brine. The word of God is not dead, God the word is. We have even become ashamed to use it. It has been spoken in the name of so much. It has become repulsive.

But what has God to do with reality? God is reality. He is not one thing or another, in one place and not another. He is not confined to a particular creed, colour, nationality or status. His patronage is to life. There is no place in which he is absent. He is everything around us. And it is our level of understanding of this, that defines our particular reality. It is directly related to how close we live to the truth, or how far. The difference is profound, though it cannot be seen until it is being lived. For the one thing that all realities have in common, is their appearance, on the surface.

And it is those who still live on the surface, that live in realities that are the furthest from the truth. Realities that are based in separatism and fear. Realities defined by the first knowledge, the knowledge of inexperience, the knowledge that is heard and accepted. The knowledge of conditioning. The knowledge of ignorance. People in this reality are hard but weak. Fighters but cowards. They have been forced to inherit a world in which nothing has meaning. One in which cynics live, men and women who believe that they have seen everything. Who though young, are already old. Who see futility everywhere, who live mechanically. Who will die having never lived at all.

For those who live in a reality closer to the truth, the bedrock of their existence is not fear, but love. Their knowledge comes only from experience. It is not bought, learnt or inherited. It is gained from sweat. People in this reality are strong but gentle, warriors but not fighters. They are men and women who have left behind their shadow selves and their childhood conditioning. They have understood that to lose ones temper is to fail profoundly, to punish someone is to become their slave and that to marry someone is to love them only on condition they love no other. Of all things, it is to understand that I love you, is a question.

Both of these realities exist as much for an American today as they do for anyone else. And they are based on levels of perception that we inhabit one by one and that are irreversible. Just as much as we cannot avoid reading once we have learnt how. Seeing symbols on a page and the process of reading them suddenly becomes unavoidable. There is no going back. But the symbols have not changed, our perception of them has. It has become deeper. And the question of God, of reality, has only ever been one of perception. Of how deeply we perceive. And how deeply we perceive is dependant upon one thing and one thing alone – how deeply we have perceived ourselves. How clearly we have seen our actions and our motivations. How much we’ve excused them, how far we have gone to protect them. For to perceive our own hidden depths only rarely, in brief, painful glimpses is to allow the truth of reality to remain hidden, unfulfilled, un-grasped. It is to allow it to remain something superficial, banal. Something defined by colour, creed, nationality, status. A moon that fades a little every day, a fickle sun.

To perceive deeply requires an honesty, a personal integrity so strong that it allows us to get away with nothing. It is to choose never to see symbols again. It is to keep reading. Because only when we refuse to read are we at war with ourselves. And when we are at war with ourselves we are at war with the world. We live in fear. We are in darkness.

Light is simply an image used for those who have overcome themselves. Who are at peace. And to be at peace with oneself is to be at peace with the world. It is no longer a war zone. Even if you are in one. It is no longer a struggle to become successful, it has become natural.

In his only work of poetry Nietzsche spoke of a moment of change, a time at high noon, when the sun was at its apex, when its heat was strongest, when it cast the shortest shadow, when a man or woman was able to walk from one state into another. Every scripture speaks of this change of state. In every religion, and in every culture, the elements are the same. It is the reality of the hero quest. It is the same in all the myths of the world, and in all the fables.

Reality is to Americans today the same as it has ever been – subjective and comparative. But what is that? It is an opportunity. It is to understand that our reality can be changed, that we are not confined to a single, unpleasant one, indefinitely. It is to realise that it is simply a matter of strength, of sweat, of courage, of psychological integrity. It is defined by our relationship with ourselves. It is based on respect, love and patience. It is based on what we put out. It is based on what we give. It is grasping that heaven and hell reside in the same place. It is appreciating that where we choose to spend our time is our own choice. The only choice.