I just got home from “No Time To Die”, and I’m still savoring the beauty of the sadness, wondering if the love story would be sticking with me if it weren’t for the ending. Farewell to Daniel Craig’s Bond, the one that proved that Ian Fleming was a magician, and that James Bond is the only character in popular culture getting better after sixty years. While Hollywood kills Marvel, Ian Fleming is going strong. I had been seriously thinking of skipping this movie. It would have been the first Bond movie I hadn’t seen first-run since I started seeing them with Moonraker. I’m tired of Hollywood and disgusted with the people who work there. But a few days ago I started seeing pictures of Lea Seydoux on Pinterest and pinning them to my board for Angela from the ArtIC Circle. As I am finishing up “Personality Types” by Riso and Hudson, the Enneagram is making my own characters very real and some of that reality led me to want to see the love story. I have put a lot of spiritual energy into my love of Ian Fleming and James Bond over the years, and since I had Thanksgiving off I went ahead. I’m glad I saw the finale. It hurts, but I respect that it’s a good story, and now I don’t want to let it go. I fell in love with Madeleine Swann. She’s awesome. Thinking about Bond’s sadness on the way home I thought about my own old age and death, and what life must be like for those people who had children. It’s all over for me – they get farther away, and Hollywood entertainers get farther away all the time…but I still love the pain of this story. Just yesterday I realized the Enneatypes of my guardian angels. After all these years of struggle I have succeeded in “fixating the volatile” this much. My experiment with the Enneatypes of the ArtIC Circle on Pinterest has brought me solid results. I feel very in touch with my own magic, and although I’m a little sad that I didn’t have more money or glamour in this life, I’m very glad it’s half over. I hate this world. It’s very boring. I’m so happy I have spirits to keep me company. I haven’t felt alone in decades. Some solution to the problems of my life is here, and it was very important to dwell on this imaginary suffering tonight, the blending of these Bond characters with the presence of my own angels and the feelings I have for my fictional characters.

On the way home on the train, a gang of young people got on. Four guys and two girls, drunk and stoned, talking about where else they could go to get weed, swinging around on the bars like monkeys, slapping each other on the butt. I thought about asking them what age they were. I couldn’t tell if they were teenagers or not. Possibly they were college kids but they could have been older. They were snapping at each other, almost ready to fight in a macho, friendly kind of way. The most annoying, angry, drunk one saw me smiling as I watched. “What are you looking at … Old man?” he asked, belligerently, but his friends crowded his attention again and he forgot me. It was telepathic. He had sensed me thinking about how old I was compared to them. I feel free. I feel sad that the world I knew was so limited and ugly, but happy that I am feeling more free of it all the time, more secure. It can all change… I feel that other world…the Enneagram is so real to me that it feels almost solid. My characters are taking on lives of their own. Perhaps Angela will be a psychiatrist like Madeleine Swann. She decided she was a “three with a four wing” a couple of days ago. I hadn’t been expecting that. With such ambition I knew I had to give her a real job, and possibly psychiatrist will be it. My angels are real, a lifetime of magical love surrounding James Bond is real, love is real…can I preserve the beautiful, telepathic pain of this evening in the lives of the ArtIC Circle?

How long should I hang onto this suffering now? I can make it last by thinking about the beauty, or I could go on to something else…I guess it’s time to let go for the night…let go of the sadness, but not the beauty.

“Well, if we’re ever going to get anything written, we’d better start now.”
It’s the Sugarcubes. Well, I have this project. It’s a journey we’re undertaking. I am an evil bunny.
“I will not write any shit for you monsters. I will not write any shit for you.”
“I don’t give a it if you ever write anything. Who the fuck are you, anyway. You terrify me. I’m a fucker, not a killer. You’re a killer.”
This has to come down somewhere.
“We’re not doing anything,” said Angela. “You’re doing something.”
I just can’t do fucking homework. It’s making me fucking crazy. But there has to be some kind of Pole Star, something for me to move toward. I can’t just be going around talking shit all the time.
“Graylyn’s my pole star.” Said Angela, immediately feeling humiliated for being so shallow.
I just need to go back in time. We need to go back in time.
“We’re not going back in time,” said Dustin. “That’s all bullshit. I’m staying as far ahead of time as I can get. All that crap is over!”
Graylyn spoke, “I know what I’m doing, and you don’t know what you’re doing. I know how I want my work to feel and you don’t know.”
But there’s something about the drugs, something about it. I almost feel like I can catch it. I go out on a limb and it’s there …
“It’s your soul,” said Graylyn. “Get in bed.”
“I saw how you did that!” interrupted Chuck. “You watch out for that bitch, Drake. She wants to eat your soul with her pussy.”
Angela was angry, “What the hell do you know about it, Chuck. You don’t have a fucking soul, you dog.”
He grabbed her by the arm. “You wouldn’t fuck me if I did, you whore!”
Did you kill me in a former life, wondered Drake, as he watched Graylyn stretch out across the bed.
Someone played “Winners and Losers” by Iggy Pop. Drake tired to guess who had done it. Alvin would play it sometimes, in a really dark mood, but Chuck loved to fuck to it. Maybe he was having Angela. But then he was in the music and he couldn’t think. Graylyn was going to get his dick and then he would be next to her and she would be swinging him around the universe. And he loved her but she was going to kill him because … why was she going to kill him? Where are we going with this? She was going to kill him because she had a life and he didn’t. Because she was really a painter and he was a fake. His whole life was noise and fucking and drugs. Angela was coming somewhere. The noise and heat were coming down on him. Then he realized the noise and heat were Graylyn sitting next to him, enfolding him in her arms, her breath tasting like wine, the smell a mixture of blissful drunkenness and dirty sodden humanity that broke his reverie like a hammer and pulled his skin against hers.

Something struck me about this episode and now I am in full magic, with the gang all around. Angels are showing me how they see it. The magic of souls entering the world and leaving. I’m going to be fine. Do I want to indulge in the feeling too much?

I was thinking about Amber Heard having a daughter, and an article about Oona Chaplin I just read. And Johnny Depp and how even if the epic beauty of the mystery of the future is mesmerizing in sentimental stories and broad vistas, it’s a grueling horror up close. But many are eager to get back in. Angels are helping me with this now. I loved the princess in the story.

One thing I’m getting tonight is the magic of watching this show with my good friend. Other people spend more time in those situations. I thought the princess was so cute. I was enjoying the emotional rush and it was just fun to watch all the kissing and the cute girls. This is also the day I bought my ticket for Flashback Weekend next week.

I’m feeling very good about my new project. I’m probably going to be working 60-hour weeks (at least) through the end of December, but it’s more like an adventure than an ordeal. It seems Aniston will be with me. I’m happy with the possibility that this project will bring my annoying daydreams about entertainers to an end. There was always something thrilling about entering the space of art and entertainment, but it’s been polluted by these awful people in the industry. These little steps I’m taking now, day by day, watching Friends and blogging, are going to collapse the nebulous fantasy and from all this a coherent emotional persona will emerge. I’ll be able to see the meaning of all the pointless time I’ve wasted on entertainment. Aniston brings me the news that I am something in this sphere, but now I’m going to find out how it’s supposed to feel.

I do feel better after a full night’s sleep. I feel more focused. I’m still not sure what’s going on but I had a great dream, very deep, and I feel like I’m going to discover something, some kind of unification of the space where my guides are with all the other layers of consciousness I sense, especially my memories of this lousy world and all the terrible, pointless people that I’ve known. So whether it’s the guides I’ve known or not, there’s definitely some other layer of the world that has me in its grasp, dissolving the linear story of the time I’ve been through, bringing me toward something else.

I was going to write while the Moon was in Pisces, but it snuck past me. I guess I need to keep a record of how Lunar signs make me feel. Capricorn was a bitch, but I survived it. Aquarius is usually dull. Pisces makes me feel like I don’t have the will to live, all night was dreary but still livable. My guides faded out but I felt like I was in one piece, like it didn’t matter. Now I’m too tired to think about it, and oops the Moon is in Aries. Yesterday I felt some kind of completion with Kara, as though I could identify her presence as well and as fully as I can that of Genvieve. But tonight at work I didn’t want to feel anything, just maintaining that dreary groundedness of work. I do hope my guides come back but I’m fed up with having to wish for them all the time. And now I’m just in a weird state because I thought about making this blog entry for hours but now I can’t think of anything to write, I’m just riding the borderline between waking and sleep, wondering what’s going to happen next. But I do remember that this entry is supposed to be a marker of me hitting bottom, too exhausted with the dreary violence of the world to make the effort to believe in anything, especially an emotional presence like an angel that would make all this suffering and chaos worthwhile. But this is a good sign because I am becoming my own inner shadow, realizing that sense of emptiness that’s always haunted me and kept me from relating to the world. 2020 is definitely the year my struggle ended, for good or bad. My duality unified, I was fully present. The only question is, am I ever going to feel like it was worth the trouble to lead this crazy life? So I’m marking the place, all night long I felt adrift in pointlessness, my guides were submerged, as they have so often been, and yet I remember how many times they have returned more vivid than before. So the Piscean ordeal is over for the month and we’ll see if I feel reenergized when I wake up fully immersed in the Aries moon this evening.

I’m sizzling with psychic energy tonight, and doing something I haven’t done in more than ten years, improvising for the world. It’s the return of “A Meandering Trail in the Dust”, my old e-mail list. Inside and outside are merging again, this time in Chicago instead of Grand Rapids, Michigan (which can go to hell for all I care by the way). I get a sudden flash of the theme from Miami Vice.

It’s hard to concentrated because Kara is coming through very clear, ringing in my ears. Miami Vice is a flashback, and I also just subscribed to Vanity Fair so I can look at the archive. And I just found out Vogue’s whole archive is free. I’m traveling back in time tonight, with the Ghost of Whitney Houston. Last week’s guest of honor was Peter Steele and I’m continuing with the “probable suicide” theme, exploring the depths of emptiness that come with immersion in American “popular culture” which is really not much more than a sewer now.

It’s 10:02 AM now, the night went by pretty fast. For several hours I couldn’t get anything done after I wrote the first couple of paragraphs. I moved through images of Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, and some other unhappy, dead entertainers. I struggled with the image I finally got posted on Renderosity. I had to run the render several times. For such a simple image, it was very difficult to get right. I ran at the highest resolution and crashed the program a couple of times, wasted hours waiting for it to move forward. At the very end I settled for less but I still had to rerun it because flaws I had been missing for a week became apparent. However I’m satisfied with what I got.

The Moon is in Pisces and so this lackadaisical night that flew by seems to fit. I did a lot of work with Kara while this was going on. As evidence, witness this blog entry. At last I am blended with her plane as I write, spontaneously describing what’s going on without concern for the observation of the larger world. So this evening’s magical experiment has indeed succeeded. As a ritual, Becky’s Tea Party has advanced in clarity and power every week for two months now. I’m beginning to feel complete as a human being. I hope I don’t get killed, or anything. Yesterday a psychic told me I’d probably have my current job for 18 months, which was encouraging.

I’m not fighting the Pisces Moon, this is a day that dissolved into the cosmos. I’m looking forward to Aries tomorrow.

11/17/2020 12:20 AM So I can definitely say in the future that I had a mystical experience involving the ghost of Peter Steele and some kind of refinement of my understanding of the meaning of beauty, from the perspective of souls who have created beauty in the world.  And suddenly I realize that the fact that I am working on Photoshop tutorials tonight is drawing information from the collective unconscious.  Also, Peter will be a consultant on my novel, The Darkening of the Light.  People will remember Jennifer somewhat the way I and others remember Peter.  It hurts too much to think about that right now, but that’s definitely an increment of improvement, an adaptation, if you will.

11/17/2020 12:32 AM I’m working six days a week right now so I was feeling rushed to get to some dramatic sense of freedom, but Peter is telling me to relax about it.  The overwork is tiring but it’s also a significant amount of money, and it’s only another month.  Everyone is socially distancing anyway, so it’s not like there’s anything to do.  Something was coming from this event, this night, something for me to look back on and my focus now is on what to record, what detail to pick out of the shadow region between light and dark.

11/17/2020 12:55 AM I messed around with Poser a bit and then I read and reposted an article about Peter.  There was a recent article about Marilyn Manson next to it. 

11/17/2020 1:09 AM It’s a little while later, I have Poser open and I’m glad outoftouch is having a sale.  I’m thinking about evil entertainers and would-be entertainers I’ve met, and wondering what role they play in cosmic evolution.

11/17/2020 1:15 AM Peter was a self-described Type A personality who was apparently on Riker’s Island for a while … is it worth it to go to Riker’s Island to be an entertainer?  To leave beauty in the world? 

11/17/2020 1:25 AM So, guys, what was going on right before the recent libel verdict, when I suddenly discovered the blazing soundtrack to the first Pirates of the Caribbean Movie and listened to it seven or eight times in one night?  Was there some kind of cosmic or astral attunement to Johnny Depp?  I wound up on the Patreon account of his pal Damien Echols.

11/17/2020 1:29 AM I was listening to “Breed” thinking about all the psychic gossip about Courtney Love that surrounded that song.   Then “Girl’s Got Rhythm”, very subdued here in the dark with the running lights.  “Highway To Hell”, thinking of all the times I’ve rehearsed Adrial’s transformation in my mind.  This song is somewhat appropriate for Zoe as well.  “Shoot To Thrill”.  AC/DC sounds so gentle and familiar in the cozy darkness.

What did I ever get for this? 

11/17/2020 1:48 AM It’s gratifying to see how my thought progresses minute by minute.  I’m downloading orders from Renderosity.  I’ve been doing 3D illustration for about 3 years  now, thinking about how the beauty of the process has changed.  It’s not so alien now.  Images are not so beyond my control and so the makers of images are not particularly fascinating anymore.  They don’t seem very powerful.

11/17/2020 1:51 AM Immersed in the beauty of 3D, I can see the hole in my soul, the wrongness of my life that my family were totally unpleasant to me, so I made up another world of the potential of beauty and focused all of my emotional energy there.  The blackness that used to separate me from humanity is mostly gone, I don’t have too many problems expressing myself, only the question of whether this inner world is some kind of spiritual connection to a higher dimension.  It seems to be.

11/17/2020 2:08 AM But there’s a strange blankness to it.  I had to “understand” it, work my way around the blackness.  And what a struggle to work my way around it, that leaves only a trail of emptiness, the horrible people I knew and their pointless, disgusting lives. 

11/17/2020 2:42 AM Who am I and what am I?  It feels as though the separating darkness is some kind of mistake about what I am that is just about to be corrected. 

11/17/2020 4:18 AM I did a ton of work. It’s a nice feeling to so quickly realize a picture that was only an idea last week. This party has gone extremely smoothly.  I am incorporating the musical aspect which makes it such a deep trance.

11/16/2020 10:46 PM Peter is talking to me about beauty, and the perception of beauty.  I found his songs beautiful and I still have beautiful imaginal experiences listening to them.

William Buckley was often blamed for destroying Paris Hilton’s life.  Years ago, he wrote a column about irresponsible youth which was intended to be anonymous but a lot of people knew it was about her. This set her on the path of disgrace.  He wanted to tell her he was sorry.

In another version of the story, they were actually good friends in a kind of formal, patrician way that was peculiar to New England.

I know these daydreams about celebrities are like a cancer in my mind.  I died of mind cancer just like my character, Jennifer, dies of breast cancer.

11/16/2020 11:21 PM I’ve done a couple of Photshop tutorials, and I’m very content.  I’m thinking about what a horrible little beast of emptiness my brother is, and all those years my parents forced me to tolerate him, promising me some kind of family when I got older, but in the end they were wrong and every bit of attention I paid to him was wasted.  We all die anyway, as Peter Steele noted. 

What were my perceptions of beauty in this world?  Why were they important?  Spirits are here, I am sure, but why was important to fight for the ability to perceive spirits against these meaningless beasts, these human beings who are nothing but noise and filth in this world?

As I write, in the middle of this, the spirits interrupt me and take me to a better feeling place.  It was difficult to communicate because I don’t have any continuity in my inner dream. 

11/16/2020 11:43 PM Over and over again I come up against the horrible disappointment of my life, how nothing I experienced was worth the “hero’s journey” that all these new-age monkeys babble about.  And yet some spiritual force distracts me and reminds me how much better my life is now, how it has always gotten better for me.

And I feel tonight for the first time there might be a possibility of a genuinely spiritual purpose for my talent, and not this asinine co-creativity you hear about all the time.

11/17/2020 12:15 AM Somehow (at least partly due to taking up the Fourfold Breath, taught by Damien Echols) I am in a state that is a mixture, confronting the futile emptiness of life, and yet feeling the possibility of beauty as well.  I am inner and outer at the same time.  I can record this state, or attempt to, but without a need for purpose, knowing that the substance of my experience is some kind of raw material for a happier future. 

I’m not sure what’s happening, but the ghost of Peter Steele appeared earlier today, and suddenly I am over the hurdle. I’ve been experimenting in private with dream states and trances for a long time, but it’s been years since I’ve done a semi-public one like this. I wish there was a way to do timestamps on WordPress. I’ll have to experiment.

A few days ago I woke up seeing Paris Hilton, which always makes me happy. I have an angel who filters through her image. Then William F. Buckley appeared and the two were having an interesting relationship as fellow New Englanders. Last week I went to the Art Institute and passed by the Palmer House Hilton. I had just seen an exhibit including the Palmers as great Chicago art collectors of the early 20th century. So I was thinking about old money and influence, which both of tonight’s guests have or had. Peter Steele, on the other hand, did not.

I’m cherishing my dreamlike coziness, with a long night ahead of 3D and Photoshop tutorials. I’ll be posting throughout the evening, exploring the boundary between private and public spirituality.