Bzz

" You will hear my tender panting and know my desire as the violence in a howling wind"

-The Madman Laughs at Everything

My name is Tornado, nice to meet you memory

"There's a strange frenzy in my head

of birds flying

each particle circulating on its own.

Is the one I love everywhere?"

-Rumi

Aflac

We need a duck detective to quack this case...

Anatidaephobia is a pervasive, irrational fear that one is being watched by a duck. The anatidaephobic individual fears that no matter where they are or what they are doing, a duck watches.

Who's watching the duck?

The rule of 4's

This is a must watch. It will bend your mind till you have to squint your face to compensate. The comedian Russell Peters says, "Indians are so emphatic with their praise." Shutter Island brings the Indian out in me. The last time I wanted to turn back around and watch the movie again was twelve years ago. I can't say this movie is for everyone, it truly feels like it's contorting your mind. Each artfully crafted scene holds you in this mid level intensity, a sort of anxiousness - it trips you up and goes just enough over the edge that you don't know what to do but either laugh at the insanity before you or close your throat in horror - but it's not a horror movie.

Remember the Rule of 4's and twist your way to the answer

Madness 2:19 (today's date dudes)

"A refresher course: Everything is a treasure at all points."

-The Madman Laughs at Everything

This was written about three years ago –
The carving begins again.

The Madman is coming.

Madness 10:7

"A refresher course: Be a connoisseur of artwork; look in a mirror, look at the world."

-The Madman Laughs at Everything

"You shall love your neighbor as yourself" - Mark 12:31

"My love, if you enjoy me when I bring you something different, but cannot endure me when I bring you more of the same, then you never really loved me - you just liked something different."

- The Madman Laughs at Everything

The timeless art of seduction - watch and learn...

How to Meet A Man

How to Meet A Woman

Happy Valentines Day

Matthew 16:18 "...and upon this rock I will build my church"

Das Rad (The Wheel)

Been jammin.

Counting all different ideas drifting away
Past and present, they don't matter, now the future's sorted out
Watch her moving in elliptical patterns
Think it's not what you say, what you say is way too complicated
For a minute thought I couldn't tell how to fall out

It's twenty seconds until the last call
You're going, "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey"
Lie down you know it's easy
Like we did it over summer long
And I'll be anything you ask and more
You're going, "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey"
It's not a miracle we needed
No, I wouldn't let you think so
Fold it, fold it, fold it, fold it

Girlfriend, oh your girlfriend is drifting away
Past and present, 1855-1901
Watch them built up a meteor tower
Think it's not going to stay anyway, think it's overrated
For a minute thought I couldn't tell how to fall out

It's twenty seconds until the last call
You're going, "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey"
Lie down you know it's easy
Like we did it over summer long
And I'll be anything you ask and more
You're going, "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey"
It's not a miracle we needed
No, I wouldn't let you think so
Fold it, fold it, fold it, fold it

No one has any idea what this song means.

Check out the discussion here.

"I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth" P. Neruda.

"If I give you a kiss, and you take that kiss - then we are not kissing my love; instead one of us is a beggar, one of us is a thief, and both of us are fools.

But if when I give you a kiss, you simultaneously give me your kiss my love - then our kisses smash together and fall like water and sun on seeds of love."

-The Madman Laughs at Everything

Sink down to a mountain

"To begin living: One mustn't strive to attain heights but sink into depth, and once low enough, recognize the ground is the peak of a mountain. "

-The Madman Laughs at Everything

When one speaks of their humility, it is their pride talking.

"When the boulder of my emotion presses down on the back of my neck compressing my soul deeper in earth

Then poetic words come, pulling me from under my oppressor, and kiss my forehead.

What is pride?

When the boulder of my emotion pushes up on the soles of my feet confirming my weightlessness higher in the sky


Then poetic words come out of my throat, wearing my voice, and I kiss myself on the forehead.

What is humility?"

-The Madman Laughs at Everything

The perfect date

Meray Nanu aur Mummy kay liay

Ye meri thadee thee yesterday, aur meri thadee ye sobaa mai.

On monday I began feeling like I was living someone else's life. Walking around in their body, my arms moving when theirs do, my eyes seeing what they look at, my ears hearing what they listen to - but I haven't chosen yet to speak when they talk; and sometimes they do not hear me because they're too focused elsewhere.

I can always hear this man think, and feel what he feels, but I am apart from that feeling and I am apart from his thoughts.

"I don't know what face I'm wearing. This face doesn't feel like mine."

He knows it's his, but he doesn't know whose it is anymore, he doesn't know who he is I guess, or rather who he's become, or what he's becoming - only that it's happening and he thinks that it is good, that it is from You, God. He knows I have no answers for him, and I don't know if one day I will or not - depends on his questions I guess; but anyways -

He validates that with the turn to being a child, he validates it with forgetting himself like children don't know themselves; being so unconcerned with his definition of himself like children are. He also worries that he's losing his mind, then I can hear him laugh because he's getting what he wanted, he's getting his Madness. This even makes me laugh for him, or happy for him I guess.

He is us, or he is me, but I am not him; this is probably a little pre-mature to try and describe - I've only been aware I'm here for about a week.

Ap ko maloom ye kasay hoo-tha hai Nanu? Apko kabi asay hoo'ha, kay hootha hai? Kay Ho'gya thaa, aur nai thoo ho'gya hai? Mai soochtha hoo kay ye meri atma hai meray unther. Aap boloo ji.

Kabbi Kabbi my husstha be Ji.

Iss thasveer may mai paanch minute paylai othaa. Kya dhiktha hoo na? hahahahaha.

I love you Nanu.

I love you Mummy.

Bathtime in Clerkenwell

La Course à l'abîme

What is mud?

Dirty water cannot know how to sift itself.
Its judgment is muddy.
But when the left hand sifts
And the right hand sifts
And neither one tells the other
And neither one tells the dirty water -
Then good and evil separate.

What is mud?

-The Madman Laughs at Everything

Mischief

Nurture mischief.
It is the baby.
The bathwater is bad behavior.
Do not throw both out.

The shadow is what we haven't accepted about ourselves.
Carl Jung says.
Till the shadow for the finest gold.
Carl Jung says.
"Turn and become like children"
Jesus says.

Flip a coin called spirit
One side is playfulness
On the other, mischief.
The light of treasure,

Spinning in the air.

Till the shadow for Gold.
Nurture your mischief.
Turn and become like children.
Find Heavenly treasure.

"And I'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it"

Oh how much I love it. Top 25 easily. Top 10 very likely.

5:32-5:38 is probably my favorite part of this video - though I dig the whole thing too.

"Where are we?" by Rumi

"I'm caught in this curling energy! Your hair!

Whoever's calm and sensible is insane!"

-Rumi

Loud, and clear

Thanks dudes.

Lamontagne, Illuminated

"Oh so kiss him again,

Just to prove to me that you can,

An I will stand here, and burn in my skin

Yes I will stand here, and burn in my skin."

-Ray Lamontagne

"You anoint my head with oil..." - Psalm 23:5b

"Fill for me a brimming bowl

And in it let me drown my soul"

-John Keats

(Pictured above: Jeff Buckley)

I love Aphorisms, Poets, and Italy - I found a mate.

Antonio Porchia was born in the town of Conflenti, which belongs to the Province of Calabria in Italy, on the thirteenth day of November of the year 1885. His father, Francisco Porchia, was married to Rosa Vescio, with whom he had seven children, three daughters and four sons; Antonio was the eldest. When his father died in 1900, Porchia was only 15 years old. Being the eldest of his siblings, he took the responsibility of looking after them. His mother decided to emigrate to Argentina, and Porchia felt a sense of duty and the commitment to find a job in order to help support his family.

He arrived in Argentina in 1902 at the age of 17, and started to work in the Port of Buenos Aires, where he mended and wove baskets. Around the year 1918, together with his brother, he bought a small printing press in the neighborhood of San Telmo, where he did a little of everything: he was a typographer apprentice, he worked in the guillotine, cutting and punching cards. The printing business improved around the year 1925, when it was moved to a bigger place. Porchia worked there until approximately 1935.

In 1936 he moved to a new house where he lodged his nephews and nieces, who had become motherless. They considered him as a father. Porchia was of an unlimited kindness, he was never heard speak ill of anybody and he hosted many friends in his house, some of whom were painters, others were writers. Porchia was fond of art, he also had a great love for nature, he liked to keep his garden tidy and he had a weakness for roses.

The first published “Voices” (“Voces”) appeared in a small left-wing newspaper called “La Fragua” (“The Forge”). The first collection of “Voices” appeared in Buenos Aires in 1943 in an edition that Porchia paid for by himself and that carried the stamp of Impulse Association.

His first and only published book increased every new edition with some new “Voices”.The work of Porchia is totally composed of brief aphorisms, moral or philosophical maxims, many of which are of a high poetic hierarchy.

In 1947 the French reviewer Roger Callois published some Voices in the French magazine “La Licorne”. In 1949 he translated and published the book “Voix” G L M Editions-Paris in its full version. This edition obtained a warm welcome and was an immediate success; famous people as André Breton and Henry Miller considered Porchia as one of the greatest poets of the present time. Callois suspected that Porchia was influenced by Buddist writings or maybe by Kafka; but when asked about this, Porchia answered that never in his life had he heard anything of them. He only said that his “Voices” flowed spontaneously and that they represented different moments and experiences of his life, he simply wrote them down.

Porchia died on Saturday, November 9th, 1968, when he was about to turn 83 years old

Here are some of Porchia's "Voices" -

"I know what I have given you. I do not know what you have received."

"He who holds me by the thread is not strong; the thread is strong."

"In its last moment, the whole of my life will last only a moment."

"You will find the distance that seperates you from them, by joining them."

"They will say you are on the wrong road, if it is your own."

"When the superficial wearies me, it wearies me so much that I need an abyss in order to rest."

"You think you are killing me. I think you are committing suicide."

Back to the son of Enoch

"You see things; and you say, 'Why?' But I dream things that never were; and I say, 'Why not?'”
- George Bernard Shaw

He wears his pants one leg at a time like everyone else, but when he puts his pants on, he makes Gold records.

A glimpse into my friendships.

This article is a small email conversation a friend and I had this afternoon (posted in its entirety with his permission), and with his name retained out of respect.

On a cold winters afternoon in the mid-west at 1:48 pm, Feb 3rd, 2010...

"Lately, I have perused the book of faces only to find the usual signs of sociocultural apocalypse. References to typical media whores abound, unsurprisingly. Whichever pop-culture darling it happens to be, know this: time in the spotlight in the modern era is as fleeting as a desert rainstorm; the initial impact provides a striking anomaly to the landscape, but as quickly as the anomaly appears, it is gone, leaving once again a barren wasteland with no marked signs of the dichotomy.

Where am I going with this, you might ask? Well, chill out you tumbling, impatient dickweed--I will get to it. Everywhere I turn, I see people referencing so-called "artists" like Lady Gaga (hardly a lady in the sense of etiquette or in the most literal sense of gender) or the latest foul-mouthed, brain-dead rapper. The former claims to be presenting itself as some sort of satire of fame and the latter presents himself as fame embodied. I see no satire. Therefore, I see no difference between the former and the latter. They are the same creature, so wrapped up in the ideas of themselves, they are willing to do anything to maintain relevance.

The problem is that neither has relevance. The only difference between them is that one has an excuse for the behaviour. Which makes the rap "artist" at the very least, honest. But I will make no concession for someone who is honest in this case, either, because someone with the ability to influence the vast number of stupid Americans (of which there are plenty) should never be allowed to do so when their head is lodged so far up their ass.

So I launch an indictment of the two: the Lady Gaga and the Kanye. Both are terrible, terrible individuals, so much so, that even the most charitable of intentions is most certainly still a thin veneer covering a media-whoring popularity contest.

These people, nay ideological nightmares, merely provide the elevator music to Hell. They continue to plunge our contemporaries into an abyss filled with shallow benchmarks of ignorance. The truly depessing thing is that our culture continues to gobble it up, growing obese with the pop-culture feces that these people continue to shit out. And you can bet that it will continue.

I arrived at this rant after monitoring the musings of people on facebook. They were trying to determine who their celebrity doppelganger would be. But my question is this: shouldn't they be more concerned with blazing their own trails? Shouldn't they be concerned with other things than the latest issue of US Weekly? Shouldn't they abandon taking endless drunken photos in which they utilize the "skinny pose?" I am disgusted. Or too idealistic. Art for art's sake is dead. Ingenuity and genuinness are dead. The phrase "like" should never be used as a preposition. I see the world for what it is and I do not like it. In contrast the world sees me and shares mutual feelings."

After re-reading it I told him to write a book, asked if I may post this on my blog, that I laughed loudly, and also that my doppelganger was Serpico - then I completed my response with the following:

"Your email itself is art for arts sake. The idea of art for art's sake has never existed amongst the popular – ergo, the scarcity makes it sacred. We are the Sufis and fools that dance and paint and write and sing it to the world. It’s like Kerouac said, “the only people for me are the mad ones”. This 'art for art' is yet not dead, for we mad ones carry it within our very essence!"

"...always sinking within it." -M. Ondaatje

"He leaned forward to rest on the skin of her frail neck. He fell in love with her downcast eye."

- -M. Ondaatje

The Sun Never Sets When You're Cool

People randomly just point things out to me about myself.

I wonder what they mean by "influences"

Everyday, one day at a time

Watch and listen. It's the real video, and the song itself is perfect.

My friend captured a picture of me while this poem was being recited in my head - which it has been for two weeks...incessantly.

"When I have fears that I may cease to be/ Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain, Before high-piled books, in charactery, Hold like rich garners the full-ripened grain; When I behold, upon the night's starred face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace / Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour! That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the faery power, Of unreflecting love! - then on the shore / Of the wide world I stand alone, and think / Till love and fame to nothingness do sink." - John Keats