Okay, yeh, so it’s been a year or so since I wrote anything here. I’ve been meaning to get around to it, but then something happened and I didn’t so there it is. Let’s just move on.
It’s been an introspective summer here at the Hollar House. This mayhap be caused by the destabilization of our nation or the fact that I’m entering my fourth cycle through the Chinese zodiac or could be that my own personal spirit guides have decided that now’s a good a time as any, but in any case, I’ve been encountering new conceptions and re-encountering some others from other angles of approach and it’s been worthy of my attention. This student is apparently ready, so teachers have been coming out of the shadows on all sides.
One is a blue-haired witch who I first became aware of way back around the beginning of BDSR, when the Spotted Opossum was a blob in her mama’s belly and Myspace was a viable alternative for online interaction. We’ve been having conversations via emails which have proved more than a little enlightening. I am not known for my high self-esteem and confidence, but I do have a tendency to latch on to certain ideas and think that I know what I’m talking about, so it’s crucial for me to have people in my sphere who are willing to call me out in plain language when I’m off the beam and this particular incarnation of Durga – who I might as well refer to as Anima – is one such. As a feminist with a weiner, I am quite capable of acting out of my masculine in relationship to feminist activities which is sometimes obnoxious and frequently overstepping those boundaries which are, admittedly, somewhat vague. I find it necessary to have someone(s) who will say “hey, check that privilege, boyo” – and more importantly, I actually listen. One can never know so much as to not need instruction.
I’ve been getting out to the woods a bit, though never as much as might be wonted, and spending time naked and alone. No matter how you imagine the first peopling, the first people were certainly naked in the woods and I find that state of being to be perfect for prayer and meditation. A couple hours of exposing my skin to the elements and contemplation of the birds and bugs, the interplay of light and shadow ‘neath the trees and the chorkling of a stream never fail to bring me into the center of my self.
Some BDSR releases have been released and there are more to come. There are always more to come. We’ve had things lined up with various labels that have been sitting on shelves for years waiting to be sent out into the worlds. During blue moons, I sent a missive to the labels asking how things are going and sometimes there’s a reply to the effect that things are fine and oh, yeh, that thing is about ready and we’ll release it soon. Well, okay then. And other labels get stuff out in a week or so and that’s cool too. It happens in its own time and will happen when it does.
Coming from and contributing to this state of deeper thought and wandering, I started another trip through Finnegans Wake, which is a piece of work and a door into parts of the mind that don’t get as much exploration as they might because it’s fuckin’ weird in there. I keep colored pencils handy when I’m doing the Wake so I can underline the HCE’s and ALP’s and 1132’s and make notes in the margins. That keeps me sorta grounded in the wordage, but a big part of reading the Wake is just letting your brain slide off the page and down whatever muddy path it strays on, which might lead you to a conversion betwixt a Mookse and a Gripes or a moonlit felix glade where you can scry on sum maggies peepeeping. You really never know. And it gets all up in your other activities too. I’ve agreed to join a human rights watchdog committee overseeing the treatments of people with mental illness in this region and I’m aware that I might encounter some gracehopers there amongst the ondts. I’ve already identified a Yawn who might bear a bit of watching.
During these digressions, there’s been some music making. One full-length project has been completed which continues our recent trope – ridiculously overdubbed riff-rock – and chops that somewhat. ‘S’not altogether without charm, though probably not the commercial breakout we’ve been striving for. And another which is one of those collections of short snippets that we drop once in a while.
In other news, Granny lost a lot of hair, but she’s doing well. The new tattoo has healed in nicely. Nobody’s died recently. The Spotted Opossum gets bigger and brighter every day. Money isn’t as tight as could be. And I’m trying hard to hold to the idea that our current political crisis is the final, awful out-acting of the old and in the way, the last gasp of a monstrous America made great by misogyny, racism and the abuse of power by the rotten elite. Certainly, there’s hard times ahead, but we may be a able to build a better reality when the dust has cleared. All ain’t lost. Not yet, at least.
I always intend to keep up with this. Whether I will remains.