Note: I posted this 20 days before Tucson where clearly an id-creature or tulpoidal form seethed up to make havoc. I did not write this in response to Tucson — I wrote it to warn of Tucsons. I wish I had been wrong.
This subject has been nudging me sometimes, hounding me
sometimes. It's a meta-consideration of What the Heck is Going ON?
Forgive the ramble — this is just fancy notes. A friend mentioned Pandora's Box, & I do think a key
to this, a portal, was the bizarre picking of P***n for VP by John
McCain. It was a truly peculiar, shot-in-the-dark 'choice.'
tangent; P***n is a nitwit; she's *not* stupid, tho you could say she
is stup-ID, she is definitely id-ridden; she is belligerently ignoRANT,
relentless pursuing her freedom of screech; She & fellow pipsqueak
Adolf are/were puppets of the Realm of Archetypes. There is a charisma
or glamor that attends such people. You might say they are possessed by
the Id. They bypass the forebrain. The upwelling of previously
unconscious contents spews forth an Absurd which we can all but not bear
to grok (Grin & grok it?); our minds select for order, eschew the
obvious rampant madness that lurches abroad; You could say that P***n is
a genius of cunning.
With P***n were loosed the TeaBaggers; Sue Lowden, the lady who
seriously & repeatedly suggested that “poor people” pay for their
health care with chickens — and when she was defeated in the primary,
we got the wongoier-bongoier Second-Amendment-Remedies Sharron Angle, a worse nutter. We need a
nutter-o-meter now. Harry Reid was at, like, 18% approval or somesuch —
NO way he was going to win in Nevada period. Then there was Mike
Castle in Delaware going for Biden's old Senate seat. One of the last
ordinary old-school Republicans — hugely popular in Delaware. Zero
chance a Democrat could win that seat with comfy ole Mike running. Then
out of P***n's Box slid Christine O'Donnell — a Bagger who beat Castle
handily (6 points) in the primary, a candidate so preposterous, so
fraught with nitwittery that the Democrat, Chris Coons, won by 17
Anyhow, I've been feeling the nation, in a very slo-mo avalanche, having
a psychotic break. Loonland has become the new normal. Instead of
pointing at these people and either laughing highpitched hysterical
laughter or semi-kindly taking the folks away in jackets with long arms
that tie behind, we actually interview them on tv shows. We are truly,
as opposed to figuratively, become an Asylum Country, if not an Asylum
In the upheaval (What a great word. You have 'heaving up' and it gets
packaged into 'upheaval' Yum.) of the Financial system was revealed —
the entire serious 'occupation' of White Guys for 30 years — to have
been (“Charlie, don't let anyone ever tell you that Wall Street is
anything but a Casino for Suits”/1992) this behemothily mighty fooking
giga-fraud. Gravity, what we took for solid ground, all, all is
quicksand. We cling to shreds of putative reason to shelter our minds
from just how bloody unhinged it's all becoming. Oddness and much worse
are ricocheting around the country and probably the planet. Mordor
always re-rises. The Gulf oil volcano was as vivID an illustration of
the upsurging of buried contents as could be imagined. Too many pelicans
are collateral damage of corporate capitalism, their dear feathers
slimed. We pelicans.
On Friday night, I got this wyrd magazine from EastWest in which I
indulge periodically. It's called Atlantis Rising. New Age. Half
Loonland, half fascinating, often alternating between those sentence by
sentence. There's this peculiar article about Romania and the Violet
Flame, psychic warfare in the 1989 Romanian Revolution. (Written by a
Boston University professor with a phd in geology from Yale. Not that
those credentials mean you're not crazy, but it's not as automatic as if
you graduated from Falwell U.) So I'm reading contentedly along and
then this comes up. “Former U.S. Army Lt. Col. Thomas E. Bearden,
writing a decade before the Romanian Revolution in his book Excalibur
Briefing (1980), explained such phenomenon [cf foo fighters] as
tulpoidal (thought-form) manifestations from the collective human
unconsciousness stating, 'A war is a typical example of a situation
where the group consciousness of a country is under enormous pressure.
In such a situation, the targeted population is often exposed to
tulpoidal manifestations from time to time.'”
Well, knock me over with a (large) feather. A tulpa is a Tibetan word
for a magically wrought thought-form. (pronouced tull-pa, I think, not
tool-pa, 'tull' rhyming with hull or dull or lull; tull-POY-dull;) I've
never seen or heard the word tulpoidal before. But this war-induced
release of unconscious contents is exactly what's happening now and it's
trez fookme wyrd. Not just quirky, but Boschian. Only Bosch possibly
begins to illustrate it. Now, we don't have WW1 or WW2, but there is
some other odder seismic shift afoot, some major shifting of the ground.
I keep telling myself as I watch the politics that superlatives are
failing, my beloved beloved English which has served for thousands of
years to say the most, the most savage and the most dainty, is failing
to hold the degree of wyrdness. You want to cut your right ear off.
I think I remain sane, such as that is. But I feel a slipperiness in
reality. Even the daggone New Yorker had a long article in which science
and its once vaunted “method” is getting slippery; once solid results
carefully achieved are no longer holding or maintaining. The New Yorker
this very week fer gawds sakes.
The veils that are supposed to be between the bardos or layers of the
onion, the layers of realities, are suddenly, randomly patchy. There
have always been vortexes, portals, but whether the magnetic field is
ready to flip (as it “scientifically” does now & again) or 2012 is a
true prophecy, or who the heck knows, but The Something is going on.
One's timbers shiver; well, shudder. Duh, of course it would be just
fascinating if so many little people weren't getting mangled as a side
effect of these feckless feints of fate. It is very very good that however slimeordial, it's slithering into the light. Only in the light can we be woken to act more sanely.
picts from hieronymous bosch, the only possible illustrator of our 3G Era (Gilded Gloating Greedy)
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