The Chair

29 07 2010

I was at the meeting. I sat down in a comfortable chair with about ten other people, enthusiasts, students. I opened my bag and I realised that I had no books. Then as the rest of the people sat down around me, I also realised with a pang of fear that I was in fact the chair. I was supposed to chair the meeting and provide ideas and questions, on a topic I had no idea about. I didn’t even know what the topic was.

Well, the meeting progressed, and I lumbered in my chair. The avidity of my friend in conversation distracted from the fact that I was the chair, and possibly, I may have got away without saying a single word.

The meeting itself was held in a street, more or less an alleyway sided by high buildings, and the ambience was that of a warm summer night, on the edge of September, but not cold at all.

I did observe, as I hid in my chair that no-one has noticed that I was the chair. Or perhaps they knew that I was the chair and intended to please me. But in my heart it was truly as if I was invisible, although the largeness and comfort of the chair gave the feeling that hiding was in fact impossible.

In the course of my self-analysis I was able to absorb a number of vague details about the discussion of the meeting. Books were flashed, and I did realise that the titles of these books were written in what appeared to be Russian alphabet. It may have been Russian, it may have been a different form, but I am convinced that the discussion was on a literature of Russian origin and in fact written in Russian, although the discussion was held in English.

I noticed also, in my listening, that mention was made of fairy stories. It conjured up images of childhood and a general warm, feeling of well-being, which combined well with my comfortable chair, and put my thoughts and worries more or less at ease.

I realised that my friend was engaged in almost violent, passionate discussion, charming the women in the meeting. This was all well and good since it distracted from my total lack of opinion on the subject of untranslated Russian fairy stories. I neither know Russian, nor do I care for the implications of fairy stories about cakes, onions and magical enchantments.

After the meeting finished, the meeting, along with the chairs disappeared more or less in a flash, without any lingering. It was as if the meeting had been a secret gathering on a quiet and narrow street, shaded by the late summer trees.

After the meeting however, I was not entirely alone. I found to my surprise a girl with brown hair and a bookworm look about her. She appeared to want to speak to me. What she said seemed strange, and showed her to be some kind of fan of mine, even though as chair, as the all-powerful chair, I had said not one word during the entire meeting. This is what she said:

“I loved your Satanism.”

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Pluto Square 3rd and 8th House Ruler

26 08 2009

This is a personal transit analysis. The final square of Pluto in direct aspect with my 3rd and 8th ruler Mars in anaretic Virgo has produced this “Political Discourse”.

http://neptune02.wordpress.com/

T-Square Mercury and Mars are also on this little pressure point. Who are the actors? Libran Justice, Capricornian Pluto is the “Man in Charge”, Mars in Cancer… may possibly be the thief in chains…

http://neptune02.wordpress.com/





The animal within the creature or (“The Oceanic Waves”)

9 10 2008

Strange contortions within the mind. Creatures hidden within the soul, creatures and demons, some of them wild and raging, some of them maddened and screaming. But most creatures, most creatures trapped within are of  the nature of jelly, creatures like fish, made of membrane and lacking in rigidness or power. Creatures trapped within the body and soul, animals, and beings with tiny limbs and with smaller and smaller mouths who are unable to speak, to move to walk.

Animals that look like newly born things, with eyes gleaming with empty minds and hearts made of mush. These are the phantoms and the beasts that roam the wild and fearful plains, the plains and the watersides the wilds and the built up wilds, the places where there are those who are fearful and alone.

Animals and creatures in total darkness, not able to see either each other or the light. Their eyes gleaming and immensely widely opened, yet with voidness and total bewilderment, placid like a lake, open like a gorge, eyes awaiting the first sound yet eyes with no ears hear no echos from walls. Eyes with eyes looking on those eyes, immensely wide yet with no body, only mush, only jelly, and contorted fragments of shape.

Magnificent and pure water awaiting for the shapes with eyes. The shapes afraid yet mouthless, only observing with their immense eyes, watching and waiting wondering at the wall of water. Though not wondering at all, shapes, empty shapes in the darkness with yet more shapes and contortions and twisting bodiless mass, unable to see its own self, only look outwards with no form and no thought, no mind and no sight. Just form.

The animals within the creature are strange and watchful, full of fear and love and hate and every emotion at the same time seen in those immense and glistening eyes. Yet mouthless and earless and bodiless, unable to express its sensation of sight, its precarious life and death, within life. Afraid of what, afraid of who? Afraid of discovering its own form? Creatures within the animal full of strange and fascinating strange, and even more fear combined with intense happiness, intense feeling yet with no form of expressing that feeling except through majestic and giant fearful eyes, afraid of what? Afraid of the monochrome world of its existence in one colour and with no purpose or being, with no form except distorted shape.

Form is its aim, knowledge is its pejorative, yet the animal within the creature sleeps despite its huge and frozen eyes being wide like a pair of windows on a house. Form is the aim of the creature, begging for lines, for bold lines and body, for sight and smell and taste and touch. Form and knowledge is the purpose of the animal within the creature of no name, of mere blob like shape, of jelly consistency and of fearful and loving, frightening and joyful, unhappy and intensely happy disposition, with huge and bubble like eyes waiting for the water to hit, waiting for the immense sound of gushing rushing, crashing blustering, thrashing silence destroying, cold enveloping, blood pumping heart racing, mind blowing oceanic cold, and rolling wind driven, form creating Breaking Tidal Waves.

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