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Page history last edited by blueshenlung 12 years, 4 months ago

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The Peacock Butterfly floats loosely!







FORTYFIED - a young fan's review


I found my first Nektar album, Remember the Future, in the dollar LP section of an Amoeba Music store in Hollywood California two years ago.  To this day it is still the best record purchase I have made.  Not only did my journey into the Nektar open me up to a whole new genre of music, but was the perfect companion as I entered into my own path of self discovery.


Since I am a young late comer to the Nektar portfolio, I had the opportunity to experience the stages, moods, and developments of the band from somewhat of an abridged perspective.  Instead, the space between albums was filled with the silence of reflection.  As my own Nektar DJ, I could create a personalized, subjective experience that transcended time itself.


Nektar's latest album Fortyfied, as the title implies, builds upon a strong history of musical investigation while seemingly reviving themselves for the next evolution.  The amazing quality of the live recordings aside, Nektar has proven that they can build upon the strength of 40 years of music with a new sense of past investigation.  The old tunes are revived with slick guitar riffs, groovy baselines, jammy keyboard grinds, and anticipatory drum rolls which all seem to incorporate a new hint of sophistication and experienced fluidity.  In other words, these are "some crunchy tunes man".


With Fortyfied, Netkar has shown that they have withstood the test of time by remaining constant with their aim and fluid with their approach.  Forty years of introspective music has built a solid foundation for any individual listener to look within and find their point of focus, the ingredient within themselves that can add sugar to the sticky substance which brings us to pause.  Nektar fans have been provided with a soundtrack for their own personal discovery, spanning the course of a history that we might wish to forget if it hadn't been so beautifully told.


 With this new foundation I eagerly await what will be birthed next.




"All aboard Starship Gaia!"







Waking Up on Sleepy Time Court



Silent frames skip by like partial memories of hypnagogic dreams.  The faint recollection of accordion lungs thick with black rimmed glasses without a view finder, dance the Fiddle Boogie in hailstorms of proceeding generations.  His light meter necklace measures the weight of the heavy bicycle chains his mother wears on her wrists, waist, and atop her head which she hides under her black hat.


She made a promise to God that she would go to church every day if her son came back alive from war.  Faithfully she walked to church every day at 6 am.  Bovine swine fat fingers covered in motor oil once penetrated at her Earthly flesh.  Disheveled grey hair, bruised raccoon eyes, and torn clothes soaked in vaginal blood earned her a day of rest.  She made alters to Mother Mary with dandelion candles, flicking rosary beads along the lace fields of Peaceful Valley.


Cold worms rearing in slimy dry dirt squish & stretch their fibrous foreskin into the Thinker Position.  Mouth agape, she blindly searches for an offering of Crayola wild orchard pink to fill her Hitchcock silhouetted jowls.  In a box of rusty plumbing elbows she finds a knife sharpener.  Slice through the belly and rip out the head & spine.  You must gut your catch, even when fishing pocket watches the size of wall clocks.


Individual plastic bags of clustered broaches, an inheritance eventually received, wildly taps her native French tongue like a swarm of wasps behind glass.  Keep'em where you can see'em and not get stung.


"Did you think your name was Keet?"


White light spot lights hide her expectation.  Limbs suspended from rafters in belts, clasps, and intricately knotted rope hold her steady for the hot wax to seep into her nylon clad skin.  The goat coaxes her to scream in painful pleasure like a whore in a Greek snuff film.  Grabbing her stiletto heels so she can bear down he fucks her upside down, from behind filling every orifice with insideout cod pieces of cold metal and pink dry plaster dildoes which flake away with every thrust to the back of her womb.  He'd fuck her veins if he could.


This was her schooling.  She surrenders herself completely to him like a blow up doll covered in Crisco.  His fingers touch each other holding onto her waist from both sides.  Cutting holes for empty crotchless stockings with plastic kindergarten scissors.  Exploring fetish.  A protein diet of ejaculate in the face to feast on a cross.  He'd love to piss & cum in her mouth simultaneously but for some reason lacks the full commitment when he sees her soft willing gaze hold his disfigured cock.


You can thank your mother, you can thank your father, you can thank.....the tickling trickster....bursting microwaved hot dogs.  The nightmares are discarded as entropic melon balls for the Universal Class Reunion.







Your Hand in Mine


My hand in yours feels eternally still.  We touch by sharing the empty space in between.  It feels cool with the exchange of opposites reaching equilibrium.


Pink and black velvet covered walls line the passage between our points of rest.  In either hand is a large gong-beater which I strike against the walls of the corridor sending identical waves traveling around and back to our point of intersection.  "Oh how I've longed for your touch!"


I looked for the other's hand and found that my hand is yours.  Death may come, but I finally touched you.





Dream Reality


The unbounded clarity in my dreams rivals the awareness in my waking state.  Filling in what I can not normally comprehend, my dreams explain how everyday trivial things fit into the grand picture and assures me with the truth, that it is repeated infinitely in everything.


The nights have become restless, testing the elasticity of the veil of forgetfulness.  Inevitably I break through with a knowing that I don't know what I know or with a tiny trickle of instinctual knowledge.  It is reassurance of what I do not know.


Every piece falls into place the way it does, was and will be.  Or at least, everything that I hope to happen is happening with little involvement of myself.  Well more likely, my alignment has changed.  My single focus has somehow tied everything together into one experience.


I am subjectively at hand in a self referential dream that I want to remember!



The Pharaoh, painting by Ignatius Widiapradja

Selected works displayed at the Moberg Gallery in Des Moines, Iowa.



The Ego's Eulogy


What the Ego would like read if it died today

- given by the Ego


I have always known you, but never myself.  I followed you along seeing myself in everything.  I was being led to myself, seeking myself in another.  Then, I found myself.  "I hardly knew ya!"


I will always long for you with my understanding of myself.  I can not know myself as you know me through yourself.  Slowly I sacrifice parts of myself to know you so that I might get closer to myself.  I grieve for those parts that die away, but with knew understanding I laugh at what I was.


For me to be the epitome of my quintessence, I must die.  Completely into you, my Beloved.





Dot not Feather


Polkaroo, Polkaroo

you are two!

Roll out the string

and snap on the hangings,

"It's Decoration Day!"


Stack the cardboard bricks

and do the Hula.

All I want to do is dance with you

inside that polka dot muumuu.


You are always here

but I always forget again.










Emergence of the Peacock Butterfly


Emerging from the cocoon made necessary the inward investigation.  To proliferate internally meant breaking through the surfaces of the external projection.  With a single focus on the focus, calling for the return, it grew nearer.  Flooding in like liquid light, the main frame begins to fill.



The Peacock Butterfly does not color all of it's scales at once, drawing full attention to each wing individually.  Observations of the Peacock Butterfly have indicated that it fills it's wings with colors that are complimentary to it's environment over the course of it's lifetime. 


Instead of just blending in or sticking out, the Peacock Butterfly chooses colors and patterns that enhance the beauty of their environment attracting more insects to pollinate the area.  The most commonly observed pattern that takes form resembles the concentric circles of a peacock's feather.  Some theorize that the single focus of the central eye draws the attention of other creatures, influencing the surrounding life to create more abundance for itself. 


The phenomenon of the Peacock Butterfly was noticed when various observations were shared and studied.  It has now been established that this particular breed of butterfly feeds on such a variety of plant life in such a variety of regions, that it seems near impossible to determine it's main source of life.  This suggests, among many things, variety among the species' senses.


Much about the Peacock Butterfly remains a mystery requiring further investigation.  Perhaps this gives more credence to the accounts of the butterfly winking back.



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