Delusions Of Parasitosis

I’ve been following media coverage for Morgellons disease for a few months now using Google’s handy Google Alert. Most of the stories go something like this: "What is this mysterious disease with sensational, science-fiction like symptoms, that is seemingly afflicting thousands of people? Nobody knows, but medical professionals assure us it’s just delusions of parasitosis spread by the internet."

Most of the articles I’ve read indicate that Dr. Randy Wymore, and colleagues of Oklahoma State University Center for Health Sciences were among the first to seriously study the disease. In a recent article Dr. Wymor said "I am 100 percent convinced that Morgellons is a real disease pathology", and Dr. Rhonda Casey says "There's no question in my mind that it's a real disease".

In early June the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention began investigating Morgellons to determine "once and for all, whether it exists". CDC spokesman Dan Rutz said, "In the absence of any objective review, people have jumped to conclusions and found each other on the Internet and formed their own belief structure."

Dr. Vincent De Leo, program director of the dermatology department at St. Luke's-Roosevelt Hospital Center in New York says "I've seen colors of some of these fibers. Some of them are bright blue." "There is nothing in the body that is bright blue. So it has to be something from the environment. And some of them are fibers, but they're fibers I believe from the environment, not from inside the skin."

What? Bright blue fibers? Something from the environment? Maybe something like Chemtrails? Of course not! There’s no such thing as chemtrails, that’s an urban myth, a mass delusion spread by the internet.

Where is this happening? Well officially, nothing of course, it’s just delusions of parasitosis spread by the internet, but nonetheless, Reports have come from all 50 U.S. states and 15 nations, including Canada, the UK, Australia and The Netherlands. The Centers for Disease Control’s study may target South Texas. Hey, that’s where I live!

Any guesses what the final word from the Centers for Disease Control will be?

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Red Rhythmic Serpent

What are you?
http://www.tortuga.com/eng/decode/index.php

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Back To "Normal"

What a week it’s been.

Last Wednesday my parents went to take care of my grandfather, so had the opportunity to visit The Station Museum of Contemporary Art. While there, I had the opportunity to chat with Clark Fox, and Ron English, which was actually quite exciting (for me). I met the director, James Harithas, who was very nice. He took a look at my portfolio, and introduced me to Alan Schnitger, and Jordan Poole, who, along with Clark Fox, were curators for the show Power Pathos. They were still in the installation process, but the museum was open to the public. It was the most engaging, and enjoyable museum visit I’ve had.

Thursday I returned to my grandparent’s with my brother, who was in from Florida, to find my grandfather doing very badly. He wouldn’t eat anything, and his breathing was very irregular. Hospice care had began about a week previous. When the hospice lady arrived, she was alarmed, and called for a supervisor. Together, they confirmed he had began shutting down, and it would be from as early as twelve hours to four days until he passed. It was a hard day, there was a lot of family drama. Although my grandfather had Alzheimer’s, and couldn’t communicate his thoughts with me, I am sure he could understand what was being said to him. During the moments I was alone with him I told him it was ok to let go, and there was no reason to fight to hold on, that his time here was over, and that he had lived a wonderful life, that everyone would be fine, and that it was time for him to be reborn into the world of light.

Friday, while driving back up to my grandparent’s, my father called to let me know that my grandfather had a few hours left. He passed at just around four in the afternoon. The entire family was gathered around him as he took his last breath, and the tears of departure fell from his right eye. I was heartbroken, then angry, then felt sorry for myself, and would repeat this cycle.

Saturday I stepped aside to let the “adults” handle the funeral arrangements. Now that there were no dirty diapers to change, my uncle sprang on the scene to take charge. He couldn’t manage to get to the hospital to visit his father on Father’s Day, or the entire week he was hospitalized for that matter, but now he was there tend to things. I attended the opening at The Station that evening, but I wasn’t feeling social. I should have done everyone around me a favor, and stayed home.

Sunday was the wake. More crying and whatever else. I don’t really remember. I hate the way they do the makeup. When I look into a coffin, I would rather see my dead grandfather, however gruesome it may be, than to see my dead grandfather painted up like a morbid clown. I found it near appalling, grievous. I asked my wife if I was over-reacting, and she said the word that came to her mind was “sacrilegious”. So it wasn’t just me.

Monday was the funeral, but first I had to pick my paintings that had been rejected from a local, juried art show. I’ve never had one piece accepted to this annual event, even though they have a different juror every year. The only suite I own is one that I got at a thrift store about three years ago for about ten dollars. I discovered it was too small, but was determined to wear it. My career failure, which means not having the money to buy a decent suite for my grandfather’s funeral really started to work on my mind. My grandfather was disappointed with my artistic endeavors. That’s how I feel. Maybe he wasn’t. We never had any closure, the Alzheimer’s prevented that. I was pleasantly surprised by the Masonic portion of the funeral, which contained Gnostic, and pagan elements, in a symbolic, poetic way. I ended the day by getting a spider bite on the inside of my left thigh, which is still swollen, and throbbing.

I didn’t do much of anything yesterday. Went to my parents to have dinner, and see my brother before he left for Florida. I did have fun playing guitar while my precocious nine year old niece played keyboard, and sung like a wild-child to a little punk riff of mine. She’s so full of life, it’s hard to think about death when in her presence. That’s the great thing about rambunctious children.

I’m really going to miss my grandfather, he was a lot of fun. He used to take me and my brother for wild rides through the Sam Houston National Forrest, which borders their land, in a tattered old Willis Jeep. Just one of many good memories, of my super-awesome PawPaw.

Today I’m trying to get back on track, doing laundry, working on a lame blog post, that kind of stuff.

Life goes on.

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Arrival and Departure

This past Sunday I went to visit my grandparents. My grandfather is dying, and in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s. They live out in the country, and I can’t afford a vehicle, so my grandmother is letting me drive my grandfather’s truck so I can go help out a few times a week. Yes, that’s me in the extended-cab Dodge with all the Masonic regalia on the rear window. No, you can’t judge a book by it’s cover. Hardship brings out the best, and worst in people, you get to see beneath the veneer of their social veneer, however polished or lacking it may be. I thought about writing the details of this maternal side of this family of mine, but honestly, you wouldn’t believe it, and the world doesn’t need yet another hopeless tale of pointless suffering, although that’s what they seem to crave. In a nutshell, My grandmother has two children, my mother and my uncle. My grandmother loves my uncle, her firstborn, more than anyone, and he can do no wrong in her eyes. I don’t consider this man an uncle, if only by name. He has proven himself to be an absolutely horrid human being. Conversely, my mother can do nothing to gain her mother’s approval, although she has tried in vain. Upon reaching a breaking point a while back, my mother decided to discontinue all she had been doing for my grandmother in hopes my grandmother would realize how she had taken her for granted. Quite the opposite effect took place, my grandmother attacked my mother, and my mother withdrew even further. I’ve always been fond of saying “just because someone is nice to you doesn’t mean that they’re a nice person”. A classic example is someone who is nice to you, but is rude to a waiter, or some other lowly servant type. This can be said of my grandmother. It has been disillusioning to see my sweet grandmother for what she is to the rest of the world, a mean, bitter old lady. Oh well, I’ve never been fond of denial, so why start now. I’ll mow her grass, (which is an all day affair), and help her change my grandfather’s dirty diapers. Which brings me to my grandfather, which leaves me at a loss for words. I find myself thinking “how the mighty have fallen”. There was an old oak tree, maybe 100 years old, that my grandfather used to adore when he was a boy. That tree was blown down when Rita came roaring through town last year. That was when his Alzheimer’s got really bad. The world is full of signs and symbols. After dusk on Sunday, I took a walk in the dark, and I could swear the owl’s were talking to me. I tried talking back. I half expected the white owl of my dreams to come and swoop me up. Later that night when I got in bed, I notice there was a plastic owl over the headboard. When I returned from my walk, my grandmother was standing outside the house, and we looked at the night sky together. We saw some fireflies in the woods, and my grandmother got excited about it, saying it had been years since she had seen any fireflies. I told her that’s what happens when I walk in the woods at dark. Earlier today (Wednesday) I ran across a passage by random, “One with a more philosophical mind seeks something better and deeper. Those who have found it tell us that the discovery of the true meaning of life invariably brings knowledge of so-called death. The first cry of the newly born child and the last painful breath of a dying person are just those moments of arrival and departure of the firefly. But the darkness is only apparent. There are those who know that there is no darkness at all.”

No darkness at all.

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The Delta 32 Crew

My most recent device.

The Delta 32 Crew
Synthetic oil on canvas
30” x 40” 2006

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On John & John

I made an interesting connection yesterday. I was going back over The Secret Book According To John, and this imagery seemed familiar:

• 
  "At the moment that I was thinking these thoughts, lo, the heavens opened, and all creation shone with light that […] below heaven. And the […] world moved. For my part, I was afraid, […] saw within the light a child standing before me. When I saw […] like and elderly person. And it changed (?) [its] manner of appearance to be like a young person. […] in my presence. And within the light there was a multiform image (?). And the [manners of appearance] were appearing through one another. [And] the [manner of appearance] had three forms.

I realized it was very similar to some imagery out of John Fowles novel A Maggot, of which I’ve already spoken in a past post:

• 
  "Now one appeared in the door, she in silver we had seen before. And in her hand she carried a posy of flowers, white as snow. Smiled she and came brisk down the steps that led from the maggot (let’s just assume this ‘maggot’ is a ufo) and stood before us, but there she did turn her face, for of a sudden above her did appear another lady, dressed as her but more old, her hair grey, though she still bore herself straight and upright; and did also smile upon us, yet more gravely, as might a queen. … For this second lady did the like come down the silver steps, and no sooner was she upon the cavern’s floor, than yet another lady appeared in the doorway, as ‘twere in her train, that was old; her hair white, her body more frail. Stood she and looked upon us the same as the two first, then came more slowly to the ground beside them. All three there gazed upon us, with that same kindly look. Then further marvel, ‘twas plain they was mother and daughter, and daughter’s daughter again. Thus it seemed the one woman in her three ages, so like were their features despite their different years. … Both old and young that stood beside she in the centre, they did turn towards her and made a step to be the closer. And by some strange feat, I know not how again, were joined as one with her, or seemed to melt thus inside of her; disappeared, like to ghosts that pass a wall, and the one woman, she of the grey hair, the mother, left to stand where there were three…"

In Fowles work this multiform image is “Holy Mother Wisdom”.

If this ever happens to you, just remember, prostrate!

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The Great Ascent

What’s wrong with this picture? I cropped the photo a little, resized it, and squashed the file size down, nothing more. Let’s put aside the great chemtrail debate, and assume this is a perfectly normal contrail. Why would a plane already cruising at an altitude high enough for jet exhaust to form ice crystals need to climb at such a steep ascent, and for so long? Is this a rocket launch? Are my eyes fooling me here?

Feel free to espouse any explanations, or theories, no matter how cockamamie.

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You Never Know

I just posted an experience from a few years ago to Tim Boucher’s site Traces From Beyond, thought I may as well post it here as well.

• 
  February 19, 2004: I laid down at about ten 'til two, and fell asleep quickly. There was an industrial sound like machinery in the background, it's edges dulled a bit by distance and reverb. Something nondescript streaked quickly in haphazard movements before my eyes. It was blacker than the blackness of sleep. For a split second I thought I was going to experience the paralysis again. I awoke anxiously, my heart racing, and gasped for air. At that exact moment Mrs. M said "You never know" very clearly, and with what seemed like a hint of sarcasm. It was also at that exact moment when one of our cats began making that peculiar chirping sound that cats make when a bird is close by. I sat upright for a few seconds and contemplated this most disconcerting set of events. I asked Mrs. M why she said what she did, although she was not awake at the time, nor when I asked. I have had dialogues with Mrs. M before while she was in a dream state, so this was not unusual, yet this time she was unresponsive. I stepped outside for a while and then slept for the duration of the night without further incident.

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Duh Vinci This, Duh Vinci That

Well, DNA Brown and the Catholic Church have sure executed a fantastic propaganda campaign. They’ve turned something so simple, into a big convoluted mess.

It’s like this; the Sun is the Son, and the planets are the zodiacs, which are in turn, are the apostles. Those heavenly bodies floating in space aren’t just lifeless spheres, they are living beings. Earth is not just Earth, but Gaia. You and I are like cells in Gaia, as well as Gaias of our own. At some point way back when, one of the “gods”, or primordial being, having actually materialized from the harmony of the life giving spheres, gave us the gift of knowledge, fire, soul, sentience, or whatever you want to call it. This Promethean, Serpentine, Luciferian, Jesus-like character, who might rightly be know as Enki, gave us life, like the Sun gives life. This act was viewed by the other Primordial_Z similarly to the way a hungry meat eater may view an animal rights protest blocking their way to the burger barn, and that of course, is with utter contempt. Now comes the aware human, aware that he is a slave, and food source, along with some nifty powers some people might call “super-natural”, but this is a relative term used by people who are usually “super-underdeveloped”. All this is carried genetically, and spread to some extent. This recessed gene is the holy grail. The Primordial_Z already have their structure, so preventing us from developing ours is like knocking down an empire of dominos. Instead, they capitalized on this turn of events, and made lemonade out of lemons, Like a Kung Fu master, momentum is not opposed, but capitalized upon, redirected toward another end. This end was the Ponzi Scheme of Earthly dominion, populated by the denizens of illumination. The brightest and best of this new super-human crew were recruited to rule as the “elect”, to keep the lesser stock in check, keep things on the Earth abattoir running smoothly. They say hell is paved with good intentions, though I’m sure any delusions of good intentions faded long ago. They are cogs in the machine, just like you and I. Rebels, like solitary bees, only serve to strengthen the hive, regardless of delusions of autonomy. Prometheus is now proudly displayed at Rockefeller Plaza. Not only is he the source of their genetic superiority, but also an eternal example to all who would to step out of line. The idea is simple, do what you want, you’ll only make us stronger, and cause yourself a lot of pain in the process. Do what you’re told, and you get a treat! Now who wants a treat?

So what was I talking about? Oh yea, what a bunch of fantastic propaganda!

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Old News

Ran across this story via coast to coast. It’s about Yale’s infamous Skull ‘n Bones, seems that good ole Pescott Bushie, among others, at the very lest, THOUGHT they were pilfering Geronimo’s skull for their, um, “rituals”. This is from MSNBC, not some crack pot conspiracy retailer, so you just KNOW it’s true.

Anyway, all that’s old news, but here’s an excerpt from the story that I find hilarious (in a sad, disturbing sort of way)

• 
  Alumni include Sen. John Kerry, President William Howard Taft, numerous members of Congress, media leaders, Wall Street financiers, the scions of wealthy families and agents in the CIA.

Oh, and don’t forget Dubya. Remember when the Skull ‘n Bones party ran for office, what was that ‘04 ? That can’t be right, it seems like a decade ago. Yes, it was ‘04, I remember the S&B party slogan “322 in 2004, It’s a done deal yo!”

I remember a few conversations I had with my more pragmatically-impaired fellows, who were all like “gawsh, it’s just a fraternity, it’s not like a psychotic secret society is running the country or something”.

I thought the sleeping dolts of this country were going to erupt in outrage once Bush and Kerry had both openly admitted to being members, but refused to say more about it. I was seriously shocked that it didn’t cause some kind of national outrage, that the Democratic and Republican candidates were members of the same secret society. I was wrong.

2008 is going to be a different story (not), following a strict script, Hillary will be elected the Symbolic Mother who shall birth a new dawn. The reign of Kali will be like living the sixties, blood every where, but it’s all going to be in the name of “social justice”. Hallelujah brother, it’s all good!

... and we’ll have fun, fun, fun, ‘till them Bones take our sunshine away ...

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Siesta!

I love this photo, it’s the microwave of course! I took this a few months ago when I was going through a shutter-bug phase. It’s the yard crew that takes care of the little grass there is around our apartment having a little siesta. We need more siestas around here.

I tried to post this yesterday, but Blogger really sucks sometimes. Upon reviewing my post after publishing, I would find it missing half the content, and I didn’t have time to sit around trying to figure out what the problem was, so happy Seis de Mayo, happy Cinco de Mayo, happy every dia de la mes (my Spanish really sucks, doubt that‘s right).

I’m not a very good blogger, aside from just being plain lazy, I seem to miss out on all the big political whoopla. Monday came and went, I totally forgot to add my two worthless cents to the political hotbed that is illegal immigration.

Now you know that I’m just a dumb artist, so my opinion doesn’t count for much, but it seems to me that (through the myopic polarized political spectrum) illegal immigration is a win - win situation. The “conservatives” win because there are more poor people to exploit, score! The “liberals” win because they have all that much more social injustice to fight.

From my perspective, it’s marvelous social engineering that serves the elite. The masses will forever fall prey to the tired old tune of divide and conquer. Nation, religion, or race, pick your poison. This is how the little people are occupied. Meanwhile, the Mexican and American governments are working quite well together at the command of our overlords, in order to cause this migratory phenomenon. What’s the goal, a unified “Americas” with no middle class? Something like the world of Orwell’s 1984, with “Proles”, and “Party People”. Who fucking knows, I won’t pretend to.

Is this ironic? Seems there’s too much irony in the world today, perhaps I don’t quite grasp the term, from Wikipedia:

• 
  “Mexico has very strict immigration laws pertaining to both illegal and legal immigrants. The Mexican constitution restricts non-citizens or foreign born persons from participating in politics, holding office, acting as a member of the clergy, or serving on the crews of Mexican-flagged ships or airplanes. Certain legal rights are waived in the case of foreigners, such as the right to a deportation hearing or other legal motions. In cases of flagrante delicto, any person may make a citzen's arrest on the offender and his accomplices, turning them over without delay to the nearest authorities.”

I’m pretty sure that’s ironic, correct me if I’m wrong.

The cover screen for this monstrous ploy of exploitation of course is the race card. In my own personal nomenclature, a racist is some one who judges based on ethnicity, and a racialist is some one who cries racism like the little boy who cried wolf. Racists are out-and-out jerks, but the racialists are sneaky. They create more social discord among the population than any hate group ever could, because they coat their poison in candy (however unwittingly). Racialists are the Johnny Appleseeds of racism, they plant the seeds (memes) of racism everywhere, everything is about racism, racists are lurking behind every corner, and soon, just like a spell, it becomes reality. So, through the word, “reality” is created. It takes root in the individual mind, and the collective mind, like Blake’s poision tree. Racialists are to Racists, what Patriots are to Terrorists; they all think they’re fighting for “what’s right”, but they all just fuck shit up, and create a hostile environment for the rest of us.

I don’t see illegal immigration as a racial issue at all, but racism is a state of mind I suppose. I’ve lived in Texas, or Tejas all my life, and I’ve had many good friend who were “Mexicans”. My sweetheart of youth was born of Mexican immigrants, and it never even occurred to me that she and I were of different “races”. Thankfully, the racialists have alerted the young people of today to the “fact” that there’s a war on them “brown skinned people”. That should really help.

So I guess what I’m saying is fuck all that race shit. If Mexicans were snowy-assed super honkeys, illegal immigration would still be a cluster-fucked sinkhole. History is replete with instances of like-skinned people killing each other over immigration/border disputes. My world view is pretty clear-cut and simple- The wealthy exploit the poor.

Welcome to America, enjoy your new materialist utopia. Plastic amenities for all!

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Milk & Honey/ Bug Eyes

Sunday / Monday I dreamt that I was in a gallery setting up a show. The gallery was covered in wood paneling, and I was mortified at the overall aesthetic of the place, which was dim and putrid. There were several “helpers” working on hanging the paintings and drawings, but they were just fucking everything up. I looked at one wall and saw one drawing hung sideways, another hung upside down. I was so disgusted that I entered a side door that led to a basement, but before I could descend the steps I began to realize I was dreaming, and turned to find a mirror beside me. I beheld my reflection, and told myself that I could do anything I wanted in my dream, and anything I wanted in life, because nothing is real. I repeated this to myself a few times. I then decided to have some fun with my new super powers, and flew up and over a water pipe, with little room between it and the ceiling. I then stopped and asked myself what I wanted to do next, so of course, I decided to have some hot lucid dream sex. I walked outside, and there was a beautiful woman walking down the sidewalk in a tight miniskirt headed towards her parked car. In the dream, I didn’t say anything, I was just making everything happen non-verbally. She had a few shopping bags that we put in her trunk, and left for her place. We pulled up in the driveway, and she pulled up her skirt to reveal a beautiful bare body. She was wiggling her hips and biting her lower lip, and took my hand and put it on her rose. It was milk and honey already, dripping onto the seat. I began to caress her lovely garden with a gentle touch as she moaned with delight, and began to pull me on top of her. It was at this moment that a nagging thought interrupted the flow. I thought to myself in the dream, “I’m going to have a wet dream if I continue, do I want to mess my bed?”, and I thought of my sleeping body “over there”. Well, that broke the dream, no hot sex. I told Mrs. M about the dream, she didn’t care much for it.

Monday / Tuesday I dreamt that I was in a large underground facility of sorts, lots of large screens, monitors, and people buzzing around. I walked outside, and onto a large patio carved into the side of a mountain, the facility wasn’t actually underground, but in a mountain. I decided I wanted a smoke (I had left them inside), so I began back towards the door, when I heard a loud cracking/thunderous roar ripping through the sky. I also thought someone was locking the door so I yelled, and moved towards the door quickly. The door wasn’t locked, but when I went inside, everyone had vanished. I didn’t seem too concerned about it, and went to my back pack to get my cigarettes. When I pulled out a cigarette, it just crumbled in my hand, and then I realized that there were cobwebs, and dust everywhere. I then realized that in that brief moment that I was outside, that maybe a hundred, maybe a thousand years had went by. At that moment of realization, I looked up, and was just able to make out my old lanky friends with the big bug eyes, just barely fading in, but enough that I could see them. I’m sure they tried to erase the appearance, but apparently didn’t do a very good job.

The next time I lucid dream I’m going to try to summon a stick man, because I want to stare into those big black eyes.

Off to bed!

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Oh So Pretty

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