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?


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: