Monthly Archives: May 2008

Big earthquake

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I’ve been reading Psycho-Cybernetics by Maxwell Maltz.  I just realized that [someone] probably showed me this book when I was a freshman in high school and that’s why I’ve been thinking of West Lafayette so much.  He was really into hypnotism for a while.  I can’t be sure he showed me this book but I believe I read it or looked at it and I just couldn’t accept the idea that God existed.  Now of course Maltz’s description of the “life force” is utterly common to anyone who watches Oprah or the PBS specials of people like Wayne Dyer . . . basically the “new thought” god.  The god of “The Secret” and Abraham-Hicks.

I felt fucking fantastic all weekend, connected to all of life.  Brian Weiss is on Oprah tomorrow . . . the New Spirituality is busting out all over . . . and then I come home to read about a massive earthquake that, had it hit the U.S. would have covered most of the lower 48 states.

I won’t think about it too long.  I may donate some money somewhere if someone e-mails me a link.  I’ll go right on creating my blissful psycho-cybernetic life.  There won’t be anything wrong with that.  But what a counterpoint . . . there’s a depth of meaning somewhere in this . . .

Neale Donald Walsch

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I spent the day with Neale Donald Walsch a couple of weeks ago.  He’s a pretty amazing guy, an incredibly powerful speaker who can change your life.  Chicago is actually becoming a nexus for these superfamous spiritual authors like Walsch and Deepak Chopra — Oprah is sponsoring a show, “Celebration of Life” where they come from all around for a weekend . . . I came to the right place.

I’m so glad I left Grand Rapids.  What a dorky little town.  I can’t believe I ever felt excited about that place.  There is so much going on here . . . free at last, free at last, thank god almighty I am free at last.

But of course the problem with blogging these days is that the earth is spinning to its conclusion.  The psychic realities of all this are so complex and rapidly changing that writing about them gets to be an exercise in the obsolete.  

(fiction)

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Avedon was the world’s greatest writer, even though he had never published anything.  In former lives he had been Homer and Virgil and also Victor Hugo and Jack Kerouac.  Unfortunately the 21st century was completely meaningless and so he had nothing in particular to write about.  Everyone was utterly stupid and uninteresting and life was a really bad joke that had been told over and over for at least 100 years.  People weren’t much more than ugly monkeys so he decided to kill himself.  

He jumped off a cliff and died and no one ever heard of him in that lifetime and no one cared anyway because they were all poor and frustrated and empty and everyone was glad when the United States and China went to war and annihalated everyone.  Ultimately everyone agreed that mass death was better than another century of excruciating boredom surrounded by idiots.

I know it’s a brief, sad story but it’s utterly fucking true!  Aaaaah!  My head hurts!  

I could do it . . .

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I could be an artist again . . . now that I truly believe in an afterlife with real people in it, who have personalities and love (as opposed to some hideous buddhist/qabalistic abstraction of karmic forces and species evolution) I could actually make some art that I’d like for myself, engage with that whole sense of wonder and mystery that I gave up years ago when I concluded that humanity were a bunch of vile monkeys who had no reason to exist.  

I really did you know, I gave up on human beings and love and everything . . . and this planet still sucks ass and I don’t care about anything that happens here, but spirits in the afterlife are real so personality is real even if the humans on Earth have totally failed to do anything worthwhile . . .