Days of the Week

The summer of 2016 was sublime. Circumstances so aligned so as to trigger a neurological state of ex-stasis that I could describe as a kind of prolonged orgasm of the brain. This state of consciousness lasted for seven days in duration and during this time I didn't have physiological need for food or sleep, I could hardly speak, I was practically mute. I posted an image onto my Flickr account on the day this alternate state of consciousness began and the image I selected was what I had thought to myself as I had sat on the sofa hyperventilating ecstasy. It was of Meg Ryan from the restaurant scene in the movie When Harry Met Sally. 

The week was characterised by revelation-insight, after revelation-insight, after revelation-insight, it seemed analogously like flicking through a deck of cards, one after another. Early seeds I had planted in my twenties, a decade and maybe more earlier had blossomed into full fruition. In addition, the self-fulfilling prophecies about my personal life had come true, I had said this, that this would happen, and it had happened. I had predicted my future to a degree that seemed astonishing to me and information that was disparate and random synthesised into a whole. 

In December later the same year I had felt impulsively compelled to fly back to England and visit the disco in Leeds,  I had avoided them for years, they had been a danger to me, but I temporarily lost thought of this and wanted to thank Bob and Dave profusely for organising the Church to host their nightclub events from. It was a revolutionary idea and overwhelmingly a dream come true for me and I felt I loved them and wanted to see them. I bought new clothes and shoes and a plane ticket that cost one thousand six hundred dollars! When I had completed the purchase I lit a joint and sat down and played David Bowie's album the Next Day and I heard everything, clearly, I realised what he was saying, "Wait, hold on, isn't that an insult?" then "Terry and Judy down," and I was brought to the awareness that he was singing about Bob and Dave and that the pop-singer was comparing me to a school shooter! I hadn't understood all of the references in the album before, I had said to the CPN a decade earlier that Bowie should, "Make the album rock n'roll, because that way I won't listen to it". I had little appreciation for that specific genre of music. I had played the album several years earlier, but hadn't really listened to it. Also, it can be difficult to recognise oneself portrayed in skew-wise negative media propaganda that hardly captures one's actual behaviour, belief system or values. In twenty years of records I have missed myself in them every time, but one. This also becomes a problem in trying to explain the albums to people that are close to you, or/and that personally know you and your intellectual and ideological systems, because they cannot recognise the representations as oneself either. My Aunt for instance loves me dearly and had the Goblin King as her profile photograph. If she knew what he was saying, what he had done she would be horrified, she once said to me, "You've never been a violent person". Bowie sings to an audience that is as ignorant as he is and then he spooks them. 

I voiced my concerns about flying back to England, that I may not come back alive, it was a risk, and on the morning I was due to fly out I smoked 2 grams of flower and realised that I should have left the apartment at least half an hour earlier. I boarded the wrong train and travelled a few stops before realising I was heading in the wrong direction, I alighted the train, crossed the rail track, and waited ten minutes for the next train. By the time I arrived at Portland Airport the terminal gates had been closed for exactly ten minutes and I made my way back to the apartment. I had lost all of the airfare money. 

Within the week I played his latest two albums several times and I thought to myself, thank God I had never told another living human soul either online or off about my involvement with the pop-singer's project, the inquisitional Mind-Police excluding, Herr Bowie's work was not central or relevant to my life at all. This thought was at first great relief to me until over the weeks the thought burgeoned that they could kill me, I was certainly threatened with this, but that nobody at all n the greater world would know me, I would have never have shown my face, I had been terribly misrepresented by him, and if the dreaded hour came and I died, nobody I knew would understand why. I wanted to voice my discontent and argue against the singer, but my platform was the online social-media networking site Facebook and I immediately had the snag, I was in America, the university next door, the police, and the village incessantly monitored my online activity, this was a major hindrance and inhibition factor. In America, especially if one is a foreigner one becomes immediately resigned into a second-class status role and one cannot say anything at all, I had learnt this attempting conversation with the Americans over the previous six years, everything the Englishman says is a lie. I had never felt so trapped and lacking in the freedom to be able to speak from the beginning of my American adventure. This had never been a problem for me in England before and over the previous eleven years on social-media I had pretty much typed my mind without ever having felt oppression from unscrupulous and uncreative bureaucratic scoundrels.  

I wanted to speak, I wanted to be able to represent myself. Mine and Bowie's argument should have been a head-to-head on an equal standing platform. Smalltown was political background myopia and I only had the slingshot of Facebook against his multi-million dollar music-video propaganda machine. He had spent twenty years obsessively administering threats and lies and I had never even mentioned him in years of writing poetry, short stories, and a novel.

I wanted to survive, to live on, if I couldn't mention Bowie because of the town then I reasoned that the audience Herr Bowie sang to didn't know me at all, I had to make myself known, understood and maybe the social-media platform could be used as a tool to maximise immortality potential. If I had been in South London one's primary methodology would have been language, but in Forest Grove their could be dire consequences if one employed language so I instead used images. 

As Freud had decoded his nervous system and represented it into language on the printed page, I wanted to attempt to do something similar, but with imagery. The Facebook sequences may begin with hands-up death-bed confessions, but swiftly move into sequences that capture in symbol-metaphor the evolution of the species and the evolution of the nervous system both on ontogenetic and phylogentic levels that I synchronised into alignment with the days of the week, the planetary associations, the ancient gods, and a chakra like system that begins on a Monday with the root Muladhara and concludes on the Sunday with Sahasrara. This was an academic thesis and also a meditation exercise. I was living next to an academic institution, what could go wrong?

Pacific police-state so constituted to attack people for language, thought, and idea were surveying my page for signs that confirmed to their own satisfaction that I wanted to attack people and reacted hyperhysterically and irrationally by creating truly disturbing media hoaxes which were police state profiles in disguise. This they seemed to think confirmed themselves as heroes in relation to an enemy. Nobody seemed to figure out what I was saying online, but certainly what I wasn't posting was any violent, or macabre, moribund, or sadistic content at all. There were no images, or video-clips of people being shot, or beaten, raped, or harmed in anyway, I hadn't promoted weapons or fighting, I used symbols, art, but some of my images and photographs were turned into political "plants" of a seemingly destructive and violent nature. This was unfortunate, the government wanted to confirm their famous pop star icon who had actually murdered people. 

The semantic intent behind the images I used were far removed from their interpretation. What I posted were largely cyclical representations of the same theme so that on a Monday one begins life on an ontogenetic level as a suckling infant and on a phylogenetic level as a suckling fish. I would use the symbol of the fish and the gravity bound reptile on this day to represent the lower brain, and its metabolic survival instincts, there would be food related imagery, or obesity, the fat man from Monty Python's The Meaning of Life, interpreted by the government as the Korean despot Kim Jong-Un. The Moon is attached to its mother, it is Moonsday, also equated with money and monarchy and lunacy.

On Tuesday one has the God of war, it is Mars' day, Mardi, Martedi, the mid-brain, muscle-power, wrathfulness, red, I used images of Conan the Barbarian and the irascible Dr McCoy as caste examplars similar to how I had used the image of the over-over-indulgent eater Scotty for the Monday. I would post images of mammalian life, old world monkeys, Lemurs, new world monkeys, Orangutans. Evolving higher into Wednesday, or Woden's day I posted depictions of the symbol using mind, the left hemisphere, time-binding, logic, writing on a board, mathematics, hand-signs, the evolution of language, Gods of communication, like Mercury and caste examplars like Spock, Einstein, Richard Dawkins whose T-shirt had incidentally been my suggestion over a decade earlier, "We are all Africans".

On Thursday we have the development of the frontal lobes, the overmind controller of the earlier and older brains, the captain of the ship, Jupiter, Jove, the moralising God, Kirk.

On the Friday we move up to Freya, Venus rising from the sea, a higher level of consciousness still. The right-brain, art, aesthetics, somatic-sensory-cellular, pleasure.

I tried to keep Saturday blank but would invariably become bored and would post this or that. 

On the Sunday, Kether, Sahasrara, Nirvana, Heaven, Enlightenment, Quantum-Consciousness, Neuro-Physics. Always a depiction of the sun. Light. Full and complete conscious awareness.