(10 minutes – 15 max…tick tick tick…but there is a message gnawing at the back of this that eats & eats but there is something else that has gone starving – what is it that we want to feed upon in order to satisfy an insatiable hunger that leaves us forever empty – is it our need for a quality that is beyond this personal intake, this personal tug-o-war as we grapple in a sea of stimuli only to place a shield of human resistance to avoid a shock that shakes our shell – REBEL HELL – this is not a life of resistance but a life diving off into the deep end hoping it is not too late to experience drowning while still remaining above ground – we are free to breathe deeply when our mind is floating nicely in a river of dreams)
See… see! This is what happens when you have two classes exploring Freud. Seriously, it is rather serendipitous for Freud’s theory of consciousness and memory had just been explored in Walter Benjamin’s essay on Baudelaire (still reading). Benjamin goes on to explain Freud’s concept of consciousness in conjunction with stimuli helps us to handle the shock – fright. If this is not assimilated properly then we have a host of issues that can manifest in our dreams. What is interesting is Benjamin’s further exploration of how Proust and Baudelaire produce writings that are prime examples of this type of consciousness and involuntary memory.
(it was nothing but a dream but it took me to a place again and again and we laughed like children – it felt good to laugh despite the pain…there was pain, wasn’t there? it was dark in that cave of existence, but all that surfaces is an orange neon sign that tells me the bar is open – when are we going to sing again? when are we going to dance our way to freedom? it was in the shadows that the light seemed to stream from a pinhole that led to your face as you smiled far off from this resistance)
All kinds of minds make this world go round but it is the mind that is perhaps a bit too open that leads us into a kingdom of images we would have not otherwise seen. I have always reasoned that it is those with a touch of madness that touch us because they have a vision of obscene purity, if such a thing exists. It is upon these waves of genius that we float and drown and die until we recreate our own being if we allow opening to it. That is why it makes sense when Robert Gupta speaks of music and how it heals us, how it can become medicine, for in the hands of the creative mind there is revolution – a revelation of the spark that creates a flame that creates a fire that builds until every inch of their creative self ignites producing an explosion that does not burn the receiver, quite the opposite, it sets us down a river on a raft that should be labeled lifeboat – music bridges the pain and the beauty until we cannot hear anything but the silence of