accessory /əkˈses(ə)rē/

I buy the packages: the styrofoam, pad and innocuous lump. I buy them again and again and so more must go on the shelf and so more flesh must be extracted and how easy it is to forget about all the killing and more importantly, what goes on before the killing. Shouldn’t I know what process I have prompted?

What suffering is shielded from me? What injury have I abetted? I feel it is my duty to see with my own eyes and let the blood on my hands.

access /ˈakˌses/

Peace. Freedom. Joy. They form a tremendous inner strength. They have transformed my life. Often I wonder, should I let them be more outwardly apparent, rather than to so often surrender so willingly to the forces which beg for normal behavior; appeasement of the tribe.

Peace. It is the confidence: knowing the poetic body contains the answers to all apparent problems; so often the revelation that they are not problems at all. It is the purpose which drives me, at least when I am mindful of it. A consolidated purpose, consistent with every criteria I have imagined. It is knowing where I belong and the simplicity of my needs.

Freedom. It is the dissolving of so much societal illness and mental discord which depends on illusion to exist. The absence or near-absences of loneliness, embarrassment, hatred, stress, longing, jealousy, offence, impatience, anxiety, trauma, covetousness and more.

It is the shedding of labels and all their inane baggage!

It is the ease of integrity and the absence of those ghosts born of posturing, positioning and deceit. It is the absence of false needs or specters of false happiness. It is escape from illusion. It is the renewal; the starting again, unanchored by possessions and uncluttered of the wayward false perceptions of normal indoctrination.

And joy. It is constant awareness of the unfathomable unlikelihood of this magnificent Earth; a true paradise, and of life itself and of the human being, with its stunning potential for the new evolution which I have seen! The potential to turn a universe of immense darkness and power into a thing of immense beauty. It is the appreciation of miracles.   

Peace. Freedom. Joy. They are the natural consequences of humanity underneath all the illusions of society, tribe and ego. Such an unexpected treasure to unearth and now, years later, almost taken for granted as they wax and wane but remain strong.

#94: A heart which learns to kill

Four years ago, almost to the day, I popped a CD in the car while driving solo up to the Muskokas to rejoin a cottage vacation. The album had that day been given to me by Neo and I had no idea what to expect.

I was immediately unnerved by the vocals. It was Bob Dylan’s voice but with a sort of chainsaw harshness to it, and the music sounded Dylannish too. “What is with this awful Dylan wannabe!” I cried.

But before the disc was done I knew I’d have to hear it again and upon its completion I let it loop and immediately listened again. It then lived in the car stereo for a couple weeks. And to this day, The Wild Hunt remains in my top 10 albums of all time. 

#94

LOVE IS ALL

By Kristian Matsson (The Tallest Man on Earth)

2010, Sweden

The Tallest Man On Earth is actually only about five foot nine but his music is immense and timeless. I hear he’s rather tired of being compared to Dylan but when you’ve got the same voice, a similar style, and confess that you studied him as a role model, obviously it’s going to happen. Personally I love Dylan and this guy too and quickly learned that comparisons are not useful.

The entire Wild Hunt album is enchanting in a kind of natural organic way (Matsson was known to home-records his music with guitar and vocals on the same track). The music is delicate but powerful; comforting yet haunting. And his voice – well – I quickly got used to it. The material largely smacks of the afterlife, the eternal and the inner mind. I find much poetic comfort in it.

Two singles emerged from the album but Love is All is not one of them. Here’s the official video followed by links to other Wild Hunt tracks which come very close to making this list.

Thousand Ways

King of Spain

Burden of Tomorrow

A Lion's Heart

The Wild Hunt

accept /əkˈsept/

Is it wise to be angry at the big bang?

The nature of causality is not hard to see. We witness thousands of consistent examples every day. We know of nothing that exists outside the flow of causality, which makes apparent the inevitability of all things. And yet the logic which assures us the inevitability behind all apparent choices is hard for so many to grasp. And even though I fully grasp it, it still slips from me from time to time, leaving me to blame, complain or criticize; such a savory recreation. Such a vain comfort to the ego.

Forgiveness is not simply noble or Christ-like. It is only sanity to forgive: to admit that the universe is what it is and does what it does. This of course does not mean to forget, necessarily, nor to suppress consequences of another’s action. It does not mean we should not strive to do better and to help each other at that.

Fail

I pulled up in front of Happy Acres Manor, killed the engine and picked up Dawn, Phil Elvrum’s subtle inspirational diary of his days in the relative isolation of a Nordic cabin hiatus. One of Grandpa Munster’s co-residents left the shelter of the Porch of Ash and Smoke, and wandered through the rain toward the passenger door. No, I don’t have a cigarette to spare, or money. Nor can I give you a ride somewhere today.

I just stared at the book, not absorbing the words while the faceless interloper eased into the periphery.

He knocked on the window. I hit the window button and turned to face him. It was a man I had not encountered there before. He had a plump face and wore the strangest mittens I’ve ever seen. “Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.

“Oh… I’m just waiting for Grandpa Munster. But he’s probably eating lunch and then he’ll be out. It’s okay, I’m in no hurry.”

“Okay!” he said pleasantly and turned and ambled away. I saw he wore no socks on his feet. He was wearing them on his hands. He lumbered back to the manor and up the steps and out of the rain and into the house. I suspected (correctly, I later verified) that he was off to give Gramps the message that his friend was waiting outside. I wept.

Spare a dime, brother!

The Earnest Chef is in town today. Haven’t seen him in a couple months. He’s joined myself, Chessmaster and The Ponderer for one our weekly breakfast write-ins at The Joker’s Café. Following, he’ll attend my weekly hike with The Healer and little Doctor Dizzy at a lovely cave-dotted conservation area.

Officially I am in financial crisis with my employer pretty much ignoring my existence, however I spare not an ounce of stress over it. I seem to know inherently that stress is useless. Also I know inherently that I am not going to starve on the streets no matter what happens.

Also, I am simply in a happy place. Just as with Siddhartha or Aurobindo’s treatment on the Bhagavad Gita, I am now reading a book which has me in joyful tears. I am once again connecting superbly in terms of matters that are core to my understandings of people, the world and the universe and which I can almost never communicate to any real degree with the living people around me, a phenomenon that leaves me feeling like an interplanetary alien most of the time.

The magnificent factor this time around though, is that this author is alive. Alive! The effect of this is beautiful. I am suddenly not so alone. I now know for certain that there is at least one person on this planet here and now who would fully understand me; who could have a discussion with me where I could utterly be myself and be understood and vice-versa. Where I need not monitor myself and hide insights which would alienate my company or cause them to think I am a liar or delusional.

That said, I am fully myself, I believe, with Neo and Neo believes he understands me but I am not convinced. He does not demonstrate that he understands me. I’m inclined to think he understands more of me than perhaps any other, or perhaps believes he understands who I think I am but without believing I am necessarily without delusion – which would not offend me. Scepticism is generally very wise in a world that is invariably 99% bullshit.

Back to this book, which was recommended to me years ago by The Journeyer and recently by The Healer and which has languished on my bookshelf untouched for years!:

Every paragraph it seems, contains yet more and more affirmation of my long roster of understandings. He describes the process (which I have thought of as the poetic process) which reflects my experiences precisely, though he calls it simply spirituality, or the new spirituality, a habit of consciousness; presence; awareness.

Being perfectly patient when properly engaged in my work; my poetic pursuits, I am content to simply finish the book and then do some research on the author, a German I believe, and only then, if this marvelous symmetry still holds up, figure out how I can meet him, or else with some organization he perhaps champions (if such exists) and finally have humans I can communicate with for real - again, not to diminish the trust or belief I have in Neo. I am just not sure, currently, exactly where we stand in this regard.

My hope, in doing this, is not just to dispel the specter of alienhood, but to get help in refining my goals in life. I long ago lost interest in all normal pursuits and being so regularly joyful, peaceful and free of a great bulk of societal illness, have desired only to be useful to others; specifically to champion harmony and the evolution of consciousness which I believe I have taken part in and which I interpret confidently that this race of humans must embrace, and soon, if we are to survive as a species.

I might be begging on the street soon but life has never been better!

accent /ˈakˌsent/

I remember travelling in Ohio when a waitress commented on our accents. My associate had a good laugh and said, “What are you talking about! We’re from Canada. We don’t have accents!” I immediately laughed at this silliness while realizing that he was sincere. How could he honestly think that any one locale could claim ownership of language in such a way? I couldn’t believe that someone could reach adulthood maintaining such a naïve perception. It is of course, impossible for any speaker in the world to be devoid of accent.

Today, when the ubiquitous layers and layers of tribal delusion have become transparent to me, I realize that my former associate’s flawed perception is probably not that rare, and given the constraints of instinct, understandable really.

accelerando /äkˌseləˈrändō/

The music of the great majority of cultures in the history of the world, during most eras, does – or did not – adhere to rules of timing. The modern church of the western world first introduced musical measure in their quest for control of all things.

Funny, that as I write this here in an open-air James Street café I am hearing Van Morrison’s tune Wild Night and I can’t help but feel that this song contains a caged wildness in its structure; that this song might be a masterpiece if freed from the bondage of its beat!

Neo’s earlier music did not fall under the hammer of the metronome; one of several elements I figured might alienate his music from masses of obedient commercial pop music devotees. But I have always felt that he is on a noble path and as such has the potential to attract followers. He has a very special song-writing talent and creative courage and he may well become the object of sizable acclaim and fandom at any time. But for now I suspect it healthy that he may be excused from dreams of super-stardom and the inherent distractions and compromises thereof.

accede /əkˈsēd/

On my best days, when I am on the ball, when joy and freedom are unquenchable, it doesn’t matter what happens. No matter what, it’s fine.

a cappella /ˌä kəˈpelə/

I was surprised when young Neo asked me about Hall & Oates, knowing, of course, that they were from my “era.” I couldn’t imagine anything from the realm of 80’s pop music falling on his rather sophisticated music radar, let alone this duo who were frankly kind of square; never regarded by anyone “hip” even in their day. I had little to offer other than a couple album titles worth looking into.

But I’ve always thought Hall & Oates worthy of greater regard, largely for their celebration of the human voice. It is always their voices driving the songs; their two primary instruments. And no, there is no Hall & Oates on my top 100.

academic ˌ/akəˈdemik/

One of my former writing students, Arrawyn, once said to me, in regards to her grade eight exams: “They’re not testing my skills or knowledge, you know. They’re only testing my memory.”

“Worse,” said I. “They’re only testing your short-term memory. You’ll soon forget most or all of it. But at least you’re exercising your brain, which is useful.”

#95: Frozen fire

My high school friend, and neighbor, Mark was often seen and heard roaring about the neighborhood in his peppy 1981 Toyota Tercel, always with one of two songs blasting from it: The Doors’ Break on Through (to the Other Side) or this following song by The Cars. Clearly he was trying hard to market a specific identity for himself. Later, I would buy my first car; coincidently the very same model. But I blasted no songs from it. Oh, I almost certainly would have but I couldn’t afford a powerful enough stereo system.

#95

LET’S GO

By Ric Ocasek (The Cars)

1979, USA

Astutely labelled “another [Cars] double-edged anthem” by famed music critic Brett Milano, it’s one of those songs with extra rocket sauce. You hear what should be the joyful hopping culmination of the chorus followed by – more joyful hopping chorus bits.

Walter Ruhlmann, in The All-Music Guide to Rock called Let's Go "one of the summer songs of the year."

Peak: #5, Canada RPM and #14, U.S. Billboard Top 100. It remains The Cars’ highest peaking song in Canada.  

There’s no question as to the originality of Ocasek’s creation but it is undoubtedly an intentional homage to the 1962 classic of the same name by The Routers:

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