TIME TO COME CLEAN! (updated)

Reincarnational fragments – or, more accurately, aspects of my multidimensional Self - have been accumulating and reintegrating in my conscious memory since 1969. This isn’t a continuous process. Many years go by when I am not aware of or bothered by these furtive intimations of immortality.

Sometimes a parallel life inserts itself into my immediate reality and I don’t know what it means or how to use it until much later. For instance, I came across the name Cthulhu in my teen years, chancing upon some paperback reprints of H.P. Lovecraft’s gothic tales of terror. At the time all Cthulhu represented to me was some indescribably hideous and scary monster from the subterranean depths of our collective unconscious, something you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley.

Subsequently I read two stimulating novels by Colin Wilson (The Mind Parasites and Philosopher’s Stone) and there was further light shed on this Cthulhu character: Wilson acknowledged Lovecraft’s source material but painted a somewhat different portrait of this entity, the first God-King of Mu, whom he called Ktolo and described as a very lonely being that after aeons of absolute rule in this remote sector of the galaxy turned somewhat misanthropic and withdrew from mortal view. Within generations Ktolo had entered the realm of myth as The Ineffable and Terrifying Presence, the Nameless One All Souls Have To Face On Judgment Day, and so on.

In effect, Ktolo had become the Devourer of Souls, the Invisible God all men feared. He it was who installed the earliest machinery of remote government on this planet. It facilitated the smooth administration of Mu’s far-flung colonies and kept everything humming along in apparently orderly fashion. Greed and Fear, Carrot and Stick: the tried and tested Management Method still in use today, after all these hoary millennia.

Ktolo’s sad story might well have inspired the legend of the Beauty and the Beast, in that he had begun to regress to the point where he felt himself too grotesquely complex, too repugnant, too horribly indifferent to ever be loved. What became of Cthulhu-Ktolo? No one knows and no one dares speculate. We may assume that Ktolo got so bored with existence that he longed for death, a permanent end to it all. But, alas, dying is just as illusory and transient as being born: Ktolo found himself scattered over time in myriad incarnations, each with a built-in dread of regaining total recall, for that would only result in Ktolo finding himself trapped in his own ego for eternity.

We do know, from documentary evidence collected and translated by the enigmatic James Churchward, that after the long reign of Ktolo, one of his descendants rose to new heights of popularity as King Ahau of Mu (aka One Hunahpu). This was just before the destruction of Lemuria, circa 83,000 B.C.E.

It was after the March equinox, 1993, in Bundoora (an aboriginal burial site in Victoria, Australia, where once stood a prediluvian stone circle) that my memory of having been Ktolo reactivated. I realized then that even in my present incarnation I had retained the same consonants (KTL) in my 3D name, Kit Leee. For some reason, many people, even old friends, have insisted on addressing me as “Kitleee” instead of just “Kit.” Now I understood why!

The implications of my life as Ktolo only recently struck home, after I obtained a Skyview Astrochart from my friend Katharina Bless. My lifelong antagonism towards all forms of external authority (in other words, government, bureaucratic control mechanisms) suddenly made perfect sense. Who would know better how detrimental government was to true spirituality than the one who instituted it on this planet during the infancy of human civilization...

That's right, folks, I'm the bloody nincompoop who introduced bureaucracy to Earth!

And that’s not the end of it. I just finished reading a 730-page account of Sir Frank Swettenham’s career as a colonial agent in Malaya. He arrived as a fresh-faced cadet in 1871 and by 1883 had been appointed British Resident of Selangor. It took him another 12 years to become Resident-General of the Federated Malay States and another 6 to be made Governor of Singapore. Before he opted for early retirement in 1904, he was named High Commissioner of the Straits Settlements as well. In short, Sir Frank was perhaps the most ambitious and hardheaded imperialist that ever clawed his way to fame and fortune between the 19th and 20th centuries. 

And it was he who introduced the idea of “development and progress” to what was once a tropical sleepy hollow, more than 90% of which was covered with luxuriant jungle (today we’re lucky if there’s even 30% left). Indeed, Sir Frank Swettenham was the blithering idiot whose excellent but environmentally destructive work on behalf of Ego and Empire I’ve been battling to undo in the last 30 years.

Throughout his illustrious career in Malaya, Frank was known to support the political supremacy of the Malay chiefs and his final act, two months before he finally checked out at the overripe age of 96, was to write a strong letter of protest against the proposal of the Malayan Union which would have granted all ethnic groups full rights as citizens under the Union Jack. With the benefit of hindsight, this was perhaps a far better idea than leaving state affairs in the hands of unscrupulous pirate kings and scheming grand viziers.

Well, once again, I only have myself to blame because I was that pompous bastard (can’t recall how I stumbled upon this particular realization but I’ve known it since 1989).

As for other lives, other personae, there’s much I have to say – but not here, not now – takes too much work putting it all in words. Language itself tends towards linearity and can never satisfactorily express the nonlinearity of multidimensional experience. However, it CAN hint at interconnections and far-flung associations and inspire fairly instructive analogies and metaphors.

For now, let’s just say that I have no one to accuse of screwing up the world but various aspects of myself (including those directly involved with what has been recorded as the Anunnaki colonization of the planet about 440,000 earthyears ago).

Yes, the atrocious misbehavior of covert agencies like Mossad, MI6 and the CIA stems from my own fear of being dethroned, of losing control. The sociopathology of industrial tycoons like Bill Gates (a majority shareholder in Monsanto, the most evil enterprise on earth, and arguably the greatest megalomaniac in the annals of linear time) is a spinoff of my own deepest, darkest desire to be the Sole Star in the firmament, the Only Living Deity (and a jealous one, to boot, who will tolerate no graven images lest they present my likeness in an unfavorable light).

So what does one do in view of this terribly incriminating self-knowledge? For a start, laugh and forgive oneself one’s apparent trespasses and stupidities. Next, to acknowledge that there is ultimately no one “out there” causing all these problems: it’s only bits of oneself that have yet to be brought safely home and celebrated as prodigal sons and daughters of our own limitless being. Why curse our experiential vehicles when they break down? We designed them and we must own up to minor design flaws, all of which can easily be rectified as soon as we learn to outgrow being embarrassed by our own excesses and oversights. Hey, Mr Hyde, you can’t hide forever...

By Chiron’s grace, may I be wholly reintegrated and healed, so that henceforth and ever after all will know peace, unity, harmony, perfect joy, and endless bounty.

The Entity Currently Going By The User ID:
ANTARES
~^@^~


[Written 9 January 2003, revised 12 February 2012 & 20 August 2015 & reposted 13 September 2016, 30 August 2019, 12 May 2020 & 13 November 2020]

One easy way to work a miraculous transformation in Malaysia... (reprise)

Institutionalized idolatry... or what? I can understand some folks hanging portraits of their dead ancestors on the wall to honor their memories.

Teenagers tend to adorn their bedroom walls with posters of their current idols - usually chart-topping popstars or icons of the silver screen.

College students generally prefer to decorate their dorm rooms with images of their ideological or athletic heroes.

Bachelors tend to worship buxom bombshells like Playmates of the Month or Bollywood sirens.

So why do some folks hang up formal portraits of royalty? Well, I can sort of understand if they are impressed by figures of authority dressed in ceremonial costumes.

But why put up official portraits of public servants? I mean, unless your maid is as hot looking as Robengah, why would you hang her picture on your living room wall?

Perhaps there are a few kinky people who have a collection of infamous criminals' images on their wall - notorious characters like Jack the Ripper or Jeffrey Dahmer (the serial killer and cannibal) or Dick Cheney or even Pol Pot.

But why Najib? He may be involved up to his eyebrows in the cold-blooded murder of a Mongolian woman he never met... but nothing has been established in court... not yet.

So why accord him such a place of honor on your wall? Wouldn't that only serve to bolster his puffed-up ego and make him believe that 69% of the population actually adores him?

If you wish to do something really positive for your nation, people, take down all those ridiculous portraits of the crime minister... and chuck them in the trashcan.

Believe me, everything will improve overnight in this benighted land!

[First posted 4 January 2011]

AND ON THE 3RD DAY... HE CRACKED ME UP ALL OVER AGAIN! (repost)

Three days ago, on 22 June 2008, a very funny man left the planet. He wasn't just hilariously, laugh-a-second, faster-than-a-speeding train funny - George Carlin was also one of the smartest, clearest-thinking humans who ever made a lifetime career out of stand-up comedy. Some would add that George Carlin was also arguably the foulest-mouthed, most offensively in-your-face type of free-thinking, free-wheeling atheist - and that folks like him ought to be completely banned from the airwaves. Well, anyone who would say something so unkind about my dear departed friend George Carlin will be immediately added to George's infamous list of "People Who Deserve To Be Killed" for being so dumb-ass fucking stupid. In celebration of his life and as a tribute to a shining beacon of intelligence, I've selected some wonderful examples of George Carlin's brilliant wit, courtesy of YouTube (what would the world be without YouTube?)

My grandfather would say: "I'm going upstairs to fuck your grandmother". He was an honest man, and he wasn't going to bullshit a four-year-old.” — George Carlin

GEORGE CARLIN was born 12 May 1937 in New York City, the son of Mary (née Bearey), a secretary, and Patrick Carlin, a national advertising manager for the New York Sun. Carlin was of Irish descent and was raised in the Roman Catholic faith.

Carlin grew up on West 121st Street, in a neighborhood of Manhattan which he later said, in a stand-up routine, he and his friends called "White Harlem," because that sounded a lot tougher than its real name of Morningside Heights. He was raised by his mother, who left his father when Carlin was two years old. After three semesters, at the age of 14, Carlin involuntarily left Cardinal Hayes High School and briefly attended Bishop Dubois High School in Harlem. He later joined the United States Air Force, training as a radar technician. He was stationed at Barksdale AFB in Bossier City, Louisiana.

During this time he began working as a disc jockey on KJOE, a radio station based in the nearby city of Shreveport. He did not complete his Air Force enlistment. Labeled an "unproductive airman" by his superiors, Carlin was discharged on July 29, 1957. In 1959, Carlin and Jack Burns began as a comedy team when both were working for radio station KXOL in Fort Worth, Texas. After successful performances at Fort Worth's beat coffeehouse, The Cellar, Burns and Carlin headed for California in February 1960 and stayed together for two years as a team before moving on to individual pursuits.

Carlin became more popular as a frequent performer and guest host on The Tonight Show during the Johnny Carson era, becoming one of Carson's most frequent substitutes during the host's three-decade reign. Carlin was also cast on Away We Go, a 1967 comedy show. His material during his early career, which included impressions, and his appearance, which consisted of suits and short-cropped hair, has been seen as "conventional", particularly when contrasted with his later antiestablishment material.

Carlin was present at Lenny Bruce's arrest for obscenity. According to legend the police began attempting to detain members of the audience for questioning, and asked Carlin for his identification. Telling the police he did not believe in government issued IDs, he was arrested and taken to jail with Bruce in the same vehicle.

Eventually, Carlin changed both his routines and his appearance. He lost some TV bookings by dressing strangely for a comedian of the time, wearing faded jeans and sporting a beard and earrings at a time when clean-cut, well-dressed comedians were the norm. Using his own persona as a springboard for his new comedy, he was presented by Ed Sullivan in a performance of "The Hair Piece," and quickly regained his popularity as the public caught on to his sense of style.

In 2001, Carlin was given a Lifetime Achievement Award at the 15th Annual American Comedy Awards.

In December 2003, California U.S. Representative Doug Ose introduced a bill (H.R. 3687) to outlaw the broadcast of Carlin's seven "dirty words," including "compound use (including hyphenated compounds) of such words and phrases with each other or with other words or phrases, and other grammatical forms of such words and phrases (including verb, adjective, gerund, participle, and infinitive forms)". (The bill omits "tits", but includes "ass" and "asshole", which were not part of Carlin's original routine.)

The following year, Carlin was fired from his headlining position at the MGM Grand Hotel in Las Vegas after an altercation with his audience. After a poorly received set filled with dark references to suicide bombings and beheadings, Carlin stated that he could not wait to get out of "this fucking hotel" and Las Vegas in general, claiming he wanted to go back East "where the real people are." He continued to insult his audience, stating:

"People who go to Las Vegas, you've got to question their fucking intellect to start with. Traveling hundreds and thousands of miles to essentially give your money to a large corporation is kind of fucking moronic. That's what I'm always getting here is these kind of fucking people with very limited intellects."

An audience member shouted back that Carlin should "stop degrading us", at which point Carlin responded "Thank you very much, whatever that was. I hope it was positive; if not, well blow me." He was immediately fired by MGM Grand and soon after announced he would enter rehab for drug and alcohol addiction.

For years, Carlin had performed regularly as a headliner in Las Vegas. He began a tour through the first half of 2006, and had a new HBO Special on November 5, 2005 entitled Life is Worth Losing, which was shown live from the Beacon Theatre in New York City. Topics covered included suicide, natural disasters (and the impulse to see them escalate in severity), cannibalism, genocide, human sacrifice, threats to civil liberties in America, and how an argument can be made that humans are inferior to animals.

"If God had intended us not to masturbate he would've made our arms shorter.” — George Carlin

Although raised in the Roman Catholic faith, Carlin often denounced the idea of God in interviews and performances, most notably with his "Invisible Man in the Sky" and "There Is No God" routines. In mockery, he invented the parody religion Frisbeetarianism for a newspaper contest. He defined it as the belief that when a person dies "his soul gets flung onto a roof, and just stays there", and cannot be retrieved.

Carlin also joked that he worshiped the Sun, because he could actually see it, but prayed to Joe Pesci (a good friend of his in real life) because "he's a good actor", and "looks like a guy who can get things done!"

Carlin also introduced the "Two Commandments" - a revised "pocket-sized" list of the Ten Commandments in his HBO special Complaints and Grievances, ending with the additional commandment of "Thou shalt keep thy religion to thyself."

CAN'T GET ENOUGH? CLICK HERE!

[First posted 25 June 2008]

AN EPILOGUE OF SORTS (reprise)

The quick brown fox of intuition
jumps over the lazy dog of intellect.
In the cavern, shadows gather round the stew
or huddle in crannies (but only on weekends)
to hear Platonic oratorios rendered inoffensively
by descendants of Aristotle and his Orchestra of
Broken Winds.

The flatulent frog of financial success
hops over the fraudulent toad of commercial excess,
Leaving a definite whiff of death and decay.
The dead red bleeds through a yellow flag
into the deep blue of oceanic woe.
It’s only a nightmare of carnival ponyrides
driven by the slave power of wild horses
captured in their sleep.

I wake up to the green tones of birds and squirrels
trying to hold back the afternoon.
Morning is too short and the nights are too long.
With rings under their eyes and through their flaming
nostrils, froth on their lips and electrode scars
on their skulls, the foreign legionnaires of the insane
shriek through the streets:
“UNPLUG THE JUGGERNAUT!”
But their thin voices are drowned by the traffic.

I watch from the tower safe behind glass
and the sight of a crawling humanity turns my reality
into a desperately dull movie with only one redeeming
feature: there are no credits
and all the blame goes to no one
except us.

Yes, US. Because we are too busy with our hands
to bother thinking what kind of world we are making
with our minds.

So we leave it all to the Experts.
Whose minds are not their own anyway,
since nobody gets to be an expert who won’t surrender
his soul to Mammon & Moloch. And an entire pantheon of
pathetically false gods, worshiped neither by animal
nor vegetable nor mineral –
only by a benighted humanity half-awake to itself,
half-asleep in pajamas of scientific concupiscence,
abusing itself in fear and guilt,
never knowing ecstasy.


[Written in 1976. First posted 16 January 2007]

MORE POEMS IN MOTH BALLS (PUBLISHED 1994)

Tracy Chapman ~ Talkin Bout A Revolution

Great feeling in her voice, what a natural. And the sentiments have never been more spot on. Tracy is on a par with 1960s folksinger-troubadours like Bob Dylan who, inspired by singer-songwriter-activists Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger, carved his own permanent and successful niche in the genre.

As with all things Born in the U.S.A., a few lucky performers end up getting rich singing about poverty. Some manage to stay real, others... alas, they turn reptilian!

[Thanks to SuperSnake Cobra for pointing this vid out]