Archive for August, 2011


August 12, 2011

Zaireeka- (n) (entomology: Zaire fused with Eureka) a kind of progress marked with decline-simultaneously-but instead of one cancelling out the other-one uses the other. Anarchy using inspiration to guide it. And inspiration using anarchy’s abandon and power to crash through any road blocks…whatever that means??

-Wayne Coyne, The Flaming Lips

Inspiration is not usually a thing of beauty, but it’s pure and primary end is beauty itself. Almost always it is won by means of great psychological and physical hardship, and sometimes can come at the greatest cost of all: a human life. Driving the creative sub-psyche and various strata of the conscious mind towards art can be a dangerous business. Think –> the athlete who pushes himself towards extreme limits to achieve feats never experienced by any other person, ever; the soul sickened guitar picker wading between the spirit world and this, being chased after in both; an entire human society, struggling and overpopulated and over run by greedy fodder peddlers, in dire need of a reformation of how we look at the world around us and how we interact with it, explicitly in terms of OUR interpersonal relationships.

London is burning. Anarchy has hit the UK. These events, however despicable and violent at times, were a necessary backlash towards a system, that much like our own, is taking advantage of the common man. Police states are not inviting and neither are unjust rakings of the workingman’s wages. This energy of discord and frustration was bound to come out in some way, and the police violence and homicide was the catalyst. I am not praising the bloodshed that continued and the innocent merchants and homeowners who had their property destroyed, I am trying to unravel the collective meaning of the situation and how all parties can move forward.

Ramble tamble… so these events and my own experiences in the modern day American world have led me to connect this incredible concept, contrived by Mr. Wayne Coyne, to our current and present and pervasive affairs. Think –> unfair credit card and student loan rates compounded by the explosion of for profit educational centers of mediocrity; individuals struggling for jobs and lifting up couches for magic cures to past due mortgages; worldwide money laundering schemes pawned off and guised as well intentioned oversea wars in the name of democracy. These are only a few.

But the good news is that LIFE IS GOOD. Zaireeka is the energy mankind needs to embrace, a sort of constructive anarchy. We need to disband the ways of old and not be afraid to find our new selves in a new kind of world. We need to use our social media to band together, not breed droves of teenage nymphos diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder. The youth needs to get informed and start taking over, start moving our feet, start making tough decisions and face up to a world that deserves a fresh start. We need to stop buying shit we don’t need and start helping each other out with what we have.

I leave you with a fresh ass embalming fluid nasty dream slamming cosmic reckoning end of summer playlist. It’s bold and universal and I hope you enjoy. Be well, and enjoy the bonus track after the selections.




Aforementioned Harvest Moon Playlist

Guided By Voices- Hot Freaks

Spaceman 3- Revolution

Galaxy 500- King of Spain

The Black Angels- True Believers

Moon Duo- Stumbling 22nd Street

Flaming Lips w/ Lightning Bolt- I’m Working at NASA on Acid

White Noise Sound- (In Both) Dreams & Ecstacies

Explosions In the Sky- Your Hand in Mine

Mogwai- Rano Pano

James Blake- Limit to Your Love (crank up the phucking bass)




A poem by HD Wilde

Made to order drones, terse-lipped

Faceless, but physical enough

To produce, procure, perform

Standard Bearers of Industry

We dig ergonomic pits

Escape to half silent lunches

Earbuds planted deep in our hearts

So our heads can stay shut down

And our soul’s light, even darker

We document it’s drainage

Punch card time swipe roll call sit-downs

After each analysis

Adjust, let the rake widen fat

More from us made to order drones

Pansy stemmed and scared of death’s

tired hands, but more terrified,

still, of a life not plugged in

tight to the  master wall ports.

So do we stand in dark fields, children marred by lies,

Or resurrected, let love’s bright sun o’r our skies?


Children, Aufpassen… Schadenfreude!

August 11, 2011

People at my job obsess over my every move. I am Corporate TMZ’s wet dream. I come in late, disregard company protocol involving facial hair and tucked in shirts, drink steadily through Thursday lunches and rifle through cigarettes in my car despite stakes of burning red NO SMOKING ON SITE signs. I skip meetings and don’t call in sick and hold little regard for the common good of the team, yet I still have kept this job longer than most of my other coworkers. They look in wonderment at me as I stroll in at noon, smiling towards me as they stroll to lunch but secretly praying to bathroom stall gods that my final downfall rivals that of Goliath, and is in a public place for all to see.

Three coworkers came by my desk to ask about a training module I had missed this morning. Three separate John P. Encilpusher’s, whose jobs are in no way related to my performance, had to come and investigate my absence so they could mentally arrange another scene in their psychic re-enactment of Oedipus Rex, with Yours Truly, HD Wilde aka John College aka L NiNo, as the doomed, sightless sot.

Lights, camera, fuck off.

People constantly ask me why I wasn’t at the mandatory board meeting or why I missed another Friday or what was up with the extended lunch yesterday yada yada ad infinitum. It is a complete ruse; a sick jest that they think I am in the middle of. They pretend to care about what is happening in some one’s life in order to gain access to more juicy details that will in turn make juicier playbills and scenery back-drops for Opening Night of My Glorious Tragedy.

One particularly insidious and bulimic and fidgety and bronzed suburban girl from work is quite adept at the arts of subversive information gathering. She plays every angle, wanting to know if I’m medically alright enough to work or if there are baby mama problems that make it impossible to leave the home. She dips and picks her moments well and she feigns heartfelt caring brilliantly. Between her tits and bullshit most people would consider her someone who is overly sympathetic and who wants the best for all and who should be trusted as consigliore. This is where the real danger comes in, when people cannot discern others’ true intentions and confuse Schadenfreude for empathy.

Empathy is has been extensively studied in biological and social models. The most comprehensive definition I can provide is from Simon Baron-Cohen (psychologist):

 Empathy is about spontaneously and naturally tuning into the other person’s thoughts and feelings, whatever these might be […]There are two major elements to empathy. The first is the cognitive component: Understanding the others feelings and the ability to take their perspective […] the second element to empathy is the affective component. This is an observer’s appropriate emotional response to another person’s emotional state.

It seems that the first part of Cohen’s explanation, the mechanical and mental aspect of empathy, is something we all have. If you have motor and mirror neurons and well-enough to do frontal lobes and an optic nerve then you have the ability to interpret and understand the feelings of others. Humans are incredible interpreters of emotion on both conscious and sub-conscious levels. We are always in tune to how others around us our feeling, whether we like it or not.

The second part, however, the affective part that triggers an observer’s appropriate emotional response, this part lends itself to problems. Whenever qualitative values come into nature, systems become more complicated.

It is the affective component that seems to be out of whack in Suburbia girl’s brain and in the brain’s of so many around me. They are able to analyze social situations and the actions and emotions of others quite proficiently, but their reaction to the whole commotion as an outside observer is skewed, at least in a culturally and socially relevant sense. Instead of responding to the down man with a helping hand, they lash out with a steel toed boot. They take the energy out of situations and other people. The heightening ego takes over and frenzies them into a singular, selfish euphoria because they cannot truly feel the pain of others. For whatever reason the emotion is lost in translation, and during the funny part of the movie where the old man is kicked in the balls, instead of wincing before laughing, they cackle steadily throughout the scene.

This is Schadenfreude: taking enjoyment from the pain of others. A distortion of the emotional fabric that has allowed sacred civilizations and collectives of diverse individuals to exist and thrive for thousands of years. The opposite of the most important ingredient for creating successful, loving human communities. A denial of our spiritual selves, our vegetable beings. Schadenfreude.

Should I blame the freuders or their environments? It seems like the physical components are all there to make an empathetic response, so what other necessary components are they missing? Are these people spiritually different than me, on some level, while they curate my tragedy? Are they no more at fault than Pavlov’s dogs salivating at the bells? And if it is their fault, how should I react to them? Can they be changed?

I don’t believe these people to be evil, but at times I find them perverse and am upset how easily they are tricked by the devils and demons that hawk through our local noosphere. I feel upset for their predicaments, their petty games and their hanging on to every word and their finding every flaw and the other warped psychological mechanisms they employ to kindle their egos. I’m not saying I’m perfect or that I don’t ever swell in the defeat of a bitter rival, but for some people the problem is more pervasive and the attitude is carried with them throughout the day, not just in moments of intense and indescribable emotions.

The cornerstone of consumer culture in our 21st Century America rests on one axiom : the ego is all and one’s own personal desires  trump all other forces in the world. It has lead to a disregard for the spiritual worlds where our ego’s don’t exist and has prevented generations of human beings the ability to truly socialize without an agenda or a widget to sell. It is a dangerous situation and I believe is a question of good and evil and the toxic byproducts are just starting to bubble up in free radical chaos. People didn’t live anything like this 50 years ago. We have no proof or idea if the way things are going is the best course, and my bet is no.  Psychic energy is radically changing on global levels, and the consequences, it seems, will involve more Schadenfreude pimps and less children of men, men who feel and react and strive toward the eternal good of Plato and St. John and Huxley and who realize the will run riot, the boundless ego, the enemy within, is the greatest enemy of all. Not only to yourself, but to all of us as well.

Bulk Thoughts on Spring suicides midway through the heat of summer…et al.

August 11, 2011

I remember a drive to work in March or April flying into the deep suburban northwest, cigarette smoke tarring my Chevy’s interior, face faking smiles at pedestrian halfway crosswalkers. It was a heavy ride with the sun shining in an unfamiliar fashion, but it also was one in which I was greeted with a fresh throng of mammalian carcasses every couple of miles. Skunks, squirrells, rabbits and even a few deer littered the shoulders of County Line Roads and Main St. suburban thoroughfares. Blood met asphalt all along God’s country. Animal death never much has bothered me, but I was perplexed by this particular scenery of carnage given the first signs of Spring were erupting and finally, after an interminable February, the days were stretching longer and the sun was sharing its warmth. Why would these jittery creatures wait all winter to hurl themselves onto the road to become a buffet for birds? Why endure the harshest months of the year and not reap the bounty of a new equinox? There was something unnerving and unnatural about the experience. St. Thomas Aquinas once used his observations on animal behavior to justify that suicide was against natural order and for much of history it was believed animals were incapable of self destruction because of an innate “WILL TO LIFE” veining through all living organisms. The will to live is our fool proof drive to preserve our own well being no matter the cost (think: ground level conscious processes of fight or flight). If nature’s law is God’s law, then how could there be a clause for such catastrophe? At first I extrapolated onto an extraorinarily predictable apocalyptic level (think: 2012 is a word cancer that is flipping Burroughs over in the grave): the animals ‘knew’ of some strange, terrible thing about to come (think: UFO deathstars, radiofrying solar flares, psychoactive stardust burning comets). Maybe these animals simply had a quicker beat, and the forecast they picked up was unbearably grim. But such musings are always first instinct for the human ego, to make everything out to be an end of the world scenario where subtle balances of spirit and cosmo twist over OUR crucial decisions. No truth could ever come from that. It occurred to me, in a Holy Spirit fire by way of brimstone epiphany, that the animals might be martyrs. Perhaps a new religion was sweeping the Northern Illinois prarie area. Perhaps a virgin racoon mother had laid her holy litter in a manger next the Exxon and the Word had been revealed to the field mice foraging for poppey seeds behind the Denny’s across the street. Perhaps spiritual exuberance and ebullience had come over them and the only way to express their transformed states was to scatter blindly in all directions with their newfound message of love. Some just happened to cross a dual axle thoroughfare on their ecclesiastical conversion missions. None of my theories, however amusing, seemed to hold up. At work I reasearched various accounts of suicide in the animal kingdoms, and most explanations distilled down to a Darwinian kind of biological accounting: when could the loss of one life have a greater value to others, especially others that are genetically similar (aka in the same family). It made sense in the examples provided by scientific journals (think: pea aphids suicide bombing lady bugs to protect their relatives on a leaf) but I could find no correlation between the literature and the roadside carnage I had witnessed. Then an essay by Camus came to my mind and I had to laugh at the madness and utter queerness and perverseness of the situation. There was no secret garden or life-saving gnosis, there was nothing below the surface besides the merky waters of life’s unfair and unanswerable riddles. Sometimes nature itself is not natural. There are dark, strange turns in the universe that we are meant to see for no reason other than to see them. And that is the reason for the smile. And should be the reason for your smile. It’s important to find those confused moments and use them for growth, and for humor. Equations are for calculators, life is for spirit lovers. At the end of the day, the animals of Lake County did what they had to do. We get to interepret how we so choose, but essentially there actions were nothing more than the acts themselves in the midst of the great riddle. Your part in it all will be made known, but until then enjoy the ride.