Sometimes I have the urge to go to seed- to just drop my identity and normal pursuits and be nothing. That is the state I have been living in so far this year and in that state I have nothing to express. Hence no posts or new songs.
One thing, though, that has been coming more and more into my mind is the importance of our reptile brain. The brain that rules sex, survival, rage, murder, and also (I think) magic. I see this brain as residing somewhere in our genitals. Its counterpart is the mammalian brain which lives in our heart and is concerned with love, relationships, and goodness. We tend to identify much more with our mammalian self while viewing our reptile as some crude, simplistic biological piece that exists primarily for breeding and the continuation of the species.
This I do not agree with. Although the reptile speaks the language of sex and survival, these are not his true goals, much less the survival of the species (which I seriously doubt any organisms give a f-ck about.)
The reptile is our connection to the black world of death and magic. He isn’t afraid of death, because he always has one foot in death’s alternate reality. Our reptile is connected to the primordial (but hardly primitive) ooze of pure knowledge that created us and he shares this ooze’s magical powers. He has the ability to transform and recreate reality at its most fundamental and even material levels.
There are multiple parts of us that connect into different realities. Different spiritual realities, for lack of a better word. The black world of death is just one of these. Each one of these worlds contains its own symbolic language. Sex and violence are the language the world of death speaks. Violent and sexual desires that come into our mind- especially when they are not in line with our heart- are messages from the world of death. This world can also speak to us through creativity and dreams (although both of these can emanate from other worlds as well.)
There is way more to say on this subject, but I am just beginning to figure things out. All I want to get across right now is this message: The reptile is far from a simpleton. He is a magician.
Everybody says the same old things; they don’t know what’s going on.
Lining up likes ducks in a row; they don’t know soon they’re gonna be gone.
Everything washes away they say, but they don’t know where it goes when it’s gone
Lining up with eyes on the drain they strain, while the moon rises above the lawn.
Shining silver on the great big house,
Shining silver on the little white mouse who runs to hide.
Shining silver on the white brick wall,
Shining silver where the shadows fall
The taste of iron inside.
Put the cuffs on their ankles and hands
Their legs will shake but we need them to stand.
Tuck a little piece of metal into each little mouth
Press their lips shut we need them not to shout.
Line them up against the white brick wall
Fire above their heads so they’ll start to crawl, looking for a place to hide.
Open up the back door, they’ll scramble in
Make certain that the last one is safely in then lock the door behind.
A man is asleep in a great big bed,
Stars glitter softly on his bald head,
He knows what’s going on.
He could try to change it, but it would still end the same.
He is just a player; he does not control the game.
He knows he’s just a pawn.
And so he sleeps with a contented snore
As they crawl like shaking children through his back door.
He knows they’ll be finished off by the stairs,
Choking on their own blood but he no longer cares.
All he can do is escape from their screams
By flying into a world made of beautiful dreams.
A world where the mice people are his friends,
A world in which life never ends.
This song was created through the confluence of two streams in my mind. On the one hand, I was thinking about Christmas, and how happy I am for winter to be coming. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet, but I’ve already had my fill of accommodating autumn and am now craving the stern precision of winter. I can’t wait to fill my home with bundles of puritanical pine branches and portraits of scowling santas.
The second stream of thought that produced this song is so taboo I should probably not even mention it. But here it goes. I was thinking about… White People. The White Race. It is weird, I am afraid to even say White People. Although considering the racial genocides that have gone on since the beginning of history, perhaps it is not weird that our society would prefer to blot out concepts of race altogether. Still, how can I think about ice, snow, and Christmas without white people entering my mind? Some think humans turned white in the first place from spending so much time in frosty, northern climates, deprived of warmth and sunshine. In a way, white people are the children of ice and snow. Or more precisely the descendants of giant white man who is made of ice and snow himself, although he turns green in the spring. He is a severe man and you don’t want to end up on his bad side…
Through the Christmas Tree
Follow me through the Christmas tree inside a silver ring and I’ll stay with you, my whole life through I’ll never ask for anything
Seasons go, we’ll watch them flow through windows of ice see the people die; they always cry so surprised to pay the price
Snowflakes fall, they form a wall that cradles us inside where we’ll drink our tea, you’ll stay with me, couldn’t we be satisfied
Snowflakes fall, they form a wall but that’s the price we pay to be hard and strong and never wrong to never falter never fade
When the white man comes you can know he will not leave you dry-eyed (fly away when you have the chance) Gold or silver, only you can decide (better not to join his dance)
Shaky wrists, glassy eyes your mind starts to slide filled with fantasies, christmas trees, dreaming of the world outside
Tall and proud, men say out loud that pain is divine but I’ve seen it slice, a blade of ice they clench their teeth; they change their mind
When the white man comes you can know he will not leave you dry-eyed (fly away when you have the chance) Gold or silver, only you can decide (better not to join his dance)
Distant dreams of earthly things take on a golden glow how the valleys shine; they fill with wine they draw you to the world below
Where I once found you red, almost dead stripped of all your rings lying weak and poor upon my floor you who wanted everything