In Limbo...

I feel myself vanishing. This morning around three, I awoke and felt like a ghost. It reminded me of my old composition notebooks. I felt like an erased pencil mark—still visible as an indentation. Am I that? Am I nothing more than my own footprint in a time that has already passed? Because I do not feel real. I do not feel solid.

I feel like a billboard—existing only to consume. A real life feels like a dream. Will this journey ever congeal? Will it ever provide a sensation of authenticity?

When time ends and looks back upon itself, will I be there or will I just be a painting on its wall?




[Relevant Link: http://artisticthings.com/]

Repackaging

"Objectification is the 'object-like character of an image that connotes passivity, vulnerability, property, and, in its most extreme form, victimization.'"
~Judith Posner



[Relevant Link: http://bit.ly/el6uI]

Taking Woodstock and the Fall of Babylon

"If you don't leave right now, then I'm going to call the police," she said.

"How," I thought, "Did we make it here?" After emerging from Ang Lee's triumphant Taking Woodstock feeling like a wave of warm, beautiful energy, we decided to keep that glow alive. Fueled by wine and another intoxicant that shall remain unnamed, our night was meant to embrace the peace and oneness of comradeship.

Unfortunately, wine and the nameless earth-born substance turned into shots of cheap rum and never-ending beers. Restlessness took over. The acoustic guitar was sheathed. With Tool as our night's soundtrack, we ventured into the world like a couple of mad psychonauts and wound up at the appropriately named Club Babylon.

I sat atop the stage, looking down upon the writhing crowd of dancers. The little lights dazzled and ricocheted off everything. It was like an explosion of kaleidoscopic energy. The DJ broke protocol, abandoned the generic pop-club rotation, and blasted some disgusting Dubstep, which transported me into that bass-driven, digital playground of consciousness that I so love.

My mind wandered back to Lee's touching and subtle tale of Elliot Teichberg, as he and his family wound up as the anchor for one of the world's wildest voyages—Woodstock. For those of you expecting a music-driven chronicle of the concert itself, then you're in for some disappointment.

Lee's movie is based on the book Taking Woodstock: A True Story of a Riot, a Concert and a Life, which was written by the real-life Elliot Tiber and focuses on the organization of the event. More so, the movie focuses on confluence—the coming together of family, friends, and strangers. After all, was that not the beauty of Woodstock, i.e. the unity of a time, a generation, and a movement?

With great skill and patience, this movie wove together a tapestry of plotlines based on individuals overcoming personal and interpersonal issues and learning to accept themselves and one another against the backdrop of Woodstock.

Emile Hirsch delivered a solid performance as a shell-shocked Vietnam Vet who finally finds his peace atop a mud-soaked hill. Liev Schreiber dazzled as the cross-dressing ex-marine Vilma, who played a central role in the sweet reconciliation of Elliot and his father Jake, played perfectly by Henry Goodman.

Throughout the entire film, I felt a sense of longing. "Why was I born so late," I pondered. This naked, mud-covered, peace-loving, mayhem was where I should have been. I wanted (and needed) to know what it must have felt like to have actually experienced this unique moment in time. Then Ang Lee gave me that chance.

As the dutiful Elliot lingers around the family motel, his father tells him to go check out the concert. Elliot hesitates, but Vilma orders him to go see what the center of the universe looks like. And, in a sequence of pure brilliance, Lee takes us to that miraculous epicenter.

On his way to the concert, Elliot encounters a mild-mannered Hippie couple that offers him his first dose of LSD. They assure him that the stuff is good—unlike the doses floating around down there, which was a nice, understated reference to the infamous brown acid of Woodstock.

Teichberg figures, "What the hell," and eats a dose of acid the size of a postal stamp, which made me squirm in my seat. I cannot ever imagine eating something like that, but thankfully Lee did imagine it. What follows has to be the most honest depiction of a hallucinogenic experience ever captured on film.

I refuse to go into detail explaining the majority of this visual experience. My words will not do it justice. If for no other reason than to see this trip, then go see this movie. However, I will state that Elliot winds up on a massive, rolling hill overlooking the concert while still under the influence of the acid. Gravity and solidity evaporate. Unhinged, the hills begin to undulate. Demarcation expires and all becomes one big, blurry wave of energy that culminates in a cyclone of sacred light. Tears streaked my eyes.

I wanted to feel that so bad, but instead I wound up on Babylon's stage, drunk and feeling lost. There was nothing sacred about it. This night was profane. I had forgotten the lessons of the film. Life's beauty comes by way of communion, not indulgence—and our night would only get worse.

Suddenly, I realized the brilliance of Lee's ending. Elliot, standing amidst the trash-filled wasteland that was once a beautiful dairy farm, meets up with the concert's organizer, Michael Lang. A lone, weary American flag dots the background while the young men discuss what's next. Lang tells him that he's headed to San Francisco to organize a truly free and great concert, which will be headlined by the Rolling Stones.

For those of us familiar with the reference, it was an ominous note to end the film on as the Altamont Free Concert of 1969 wound up the de facto end of the sixties and the brutal murder of one young fan came to symbolize the death of the Hippie movement itself. It was a dark end to an otherwise beautiful and vibrant period of American history.

Sooner or later, I realized that the dark side of humanity is going to break its chains and climb from its pit. And, if I'm not careful, then my hedonistic quest for love and beauty will also devolve, dement, and—ultimately—destroy.

And I guess that's how we wound up at a local Walgreens arguing with a clerk over a fucking bag of potato chips and facing the very real possibility of police intervention. We simply lost sight of the bigger picture.

[Relevant Link: http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/1236057/the_1969_altamont_free_concert_the.html]

A World, Tailor-Fitted

And the LORD God said, Behold, the man is become as one of us, to know good and evil: and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever: Therefore the LORD God sent him forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from whence he was taken. --Genesis 3:22-23
I keep having this nightmare—waking up in a completely computerized-digital-manufactured-assembly-line-kind-of-reality. After being awakened by my automated sleeping pod, which blasts me with a heavy dose of oxygen to ensure that I leave my sleep at the proper time, a conveyor belt delivers a chair to me. Obediently, I take my place in its sleek, stylized palm. It transports me to the bathroom. Bio-thermal-cardio sensors read my vitals and create the perfect shower for me—optimal temperature and duration. After the shower turns itself off, I am air dried—also optimized and regulated. I exit the shower on command and take my place in front of my sink and medicine cabinet. A speaker tells me what vitamins and medications to take and then reminds me to appreciate and thank the corporations that have brought these life-nurturing essentials to my otherwise unhealthy world. I eat my pills and drink them with the perfect cup of water. Perfect size. Perfect temperature.

Then I return to my chair, which plays a selection of new music based on my consumer profile and asks me which ones I would like to purchase using the automated credit server. I say, “All,” and am rewarded with a modest discount and an equally modest credit-rating boost. Then, a psychologically-pleasing track of applause awards this choice and a voice tells me what a good citizen I am and, instantly, tells me to what degree I have helped the economy by saying, "All." I like saying all.

The chair takes me to my closet and selects the perfect outfit based on my personal aesthetic values as well as those belonging to my social circle and status. The video monitor plays the appropriate commercials for the brand names helping me into this perfect outfit for the perfect day. After dressing, I’m transported to the kitchen where another set of biomedical sensors read my body and prepare the optimal meal. I am told when to eat what and what sized bite to take. Optimal ingestion.

My morning routine is complete. Next, I am transported down my personal elevator, which is also perfectly safe as it is built to carry my weight and dimension and eliminates any chance of threat coming from dregs such as muggers or stalkers. Danger has been eliminated, for the most part. I wait in the perfect atmosphere of my solitary garage port while I await my personalized taxi-pod. Everything tailored, perfect, and commercialized—my every whim, fancy, and need provided with no effort. And every day all I do is imagine how much this feels like a shape-shifting prison that follows me everywhere I go—the entire world institutionalized—everything and everyone incarcerated. And I pray for a world-ending meteor. I pray for death—the only freedom left.

However, death is far away. Technology has increased life-expectancy to nearly one-hundred and sixty years. Nanotechnology has lead to the creation of life-saving clothes—vitals constantly monitored—healthcare never more than two minutes away. I will be breathing for quite some time. Suicide has been eradicated. I’d sigh, but the sensors would flag me for psychiatric evaluation. Then I realize it’s too late. I’ve been thinking about this for too long and they’ve noticed a negative trend in my brain wave activity. I’ll be getting a new pill tomorrow. Fuck. I just how the commercial is good.



[Relevant Link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arizona_Bay]

Ein Sof

"We are one, after all, you and I. Together we suffer, together exist, and forever will recreate each other."

--Pierre Teilhard de Chardin



[Relevant Link: http://www.newkabbalah.com/einsof.html]