Hearing a Second Bell in a Mirror
ST: Singing in Magnetic Hoofbeat: Essays, Prose Texts, Interviews and a Lecture, 1991-2007 presents many different voices. For example, it contains the voice you use in interviews, the voice used to give a lecture, and it presents the voice you use in you essays over the span of over a decade. Do you think there is an argument, or affect, or an overall impression that emerges from the combination of these different ways of speaking? Did you think of this as part of the intended effect of this volume?
WA: There was never any pre-intention in the book’s enunciation. The voice condensed as would a forest or a coral reef, naturally, without cognitive interference, by means of inner evolution via duration. Each essay arose in me like a photograph that suddenly presented itself and called out to be taken. It is interesting that immediately prior to commencing upon Magnetic Hoofbeat I tentatively considered taking up photography but I have such an aversion to funneling creativity through a technical appendage (however adroit it may be), so I decided that my photographic urge could be powerfully penned in essay form all the while working in the spirit of Cartier-Bresson’s dictum, that the picture takes you, it is not you who take the picture. Thus, I began to commence the book at irregular intervals as subjects of interest spontaneously evinced themselves.
ST: I think the comparison between the essay and the photograph is a very interesting one. It reminds me of a Godard quote I read once in which he said he turned to film because he couldn’t stand the fact that you can’t express simultaneity in writing. So for instance, in a film a train can pull in to the Gare du Nord, and it can be raining, and a man can be watching, all at once. Whereas in writing these clauses have to come one after another in some order. However, on the contrary, I feel that in your essays there is a certain kind of simultaneity being enacted or expressed, a kind of “all-at-onceness.” Do you think linear time is circumvented somewhat in your essays? Is this an intention?
WA: This “all-at-onceness” is none other than aural molten. It is language heated to such a degree that it responds as inner solar plasticity. Which means the language is rife with spontaneous possibility. This being inward power through aural deepening. Hearing at this level of density energy begins to collect and spin at what I’ll call a rapid aural rate. In reaching this aural deepening language osmotically heats to such a degree that its properties begin to transmute into the basic energy of sound that one hears in the work of Albert Ayler and Eric Dolphy. There is incredible flow in their sound all the while inflected by utopian gravity. A primordial sound from which erupts a deathless energy. So when I hear my private language it partakes of this primordial scale and when it connects with quotidian tenors the whole of each phrase writhes like liquifous glass, spontaneously, thereby forming into instantaneous shapes. And these shapes are, at base, the sound of primordial flow-through which en-soaks the depth of each phoneme. And so the phonemes by being at such a heightened tenor begin to move as free particles then as fractions as an extended portion which is the syllable that extends to words and phrases, which happens as imaginal projection which then begins spontaneously dictating words and their subsequent motion as phrases, thereby setting off a concussive stream of chance. Say, I know the basic nature of dinoflagelletes I never seek to know about them in a straightforward manner. I never know how my aural faculty will interpret information so I plasticize my reading so as to get to essential vocabulary of the document that I’m reading, this being a covert nursing ground for sound, the latter, being for me, the life blood that runs through universal subject matter. The broader, the more eclectic one’s interests are, they remain naturally infected by this deeper sound, always ready to spring to life. Whatever subject it invigours. With such language one can effectively write on an array of topics without exhaustion. Again, this is how Magnetic Hoofbeat extended itself across duration.
ST: Singing in Magnetic Hoofbeat: Essays, Prose Texts, Interviews and a Lecture, 1991-2007 seems to me to be a lot about intellectual genealogies, and about how important it is to create one’s own set of foundational writers, texts, and historical moments. Do you think of this as a process that is constantly in motion? Do you think of it as a process that helps to constitute the writing self, or the self most broadly constituted? Do you think it comes with any perils? (I know this is sort of a bulky question: you can just answer whichever part of it, if any, seems interesting to you.)
WA: First of all the process existed sans a priori ideology, I was, and never have been mired in praxis spawned via a pre-set point of view.. For me, there is always living fluidity. So since writing is simultaneous with living it constitutes the living body of the self. In this sense writing is for me, the spontaneous body, endemic in my case, with its own peculiar liberty, which, by its very nature transgresses fixation, the latter being conveyed through the method of what I’ll call cognitive segregation. It is the imagination rife with its fecundating tenor. And since it transgresses fixation, it seems to fail to find a home within preset literary forms. When I discovered Rimbaud his example seemed synonymous with my neurological predilection. Not only the power of his writing, but his ethos of resistance from which the writing sprang. This compound reality of his ethos and his writing began to influence my psychology towards language allowing me to analogize its motion to the fluidic architecture of clouds. Never for me has language been some sort of abstracted model frozen at its core as lifeless form, this lifeless state conveying to me nothing more than a calcified compendium shaped by quotidian delimitation. Like Lecomte and Daumal I’ve been able to find a language simultaneous with inner exploration. It is not something to be equated with static concentration housed in a work for sterile cognitive consumption in order to attain manipulated literary honour. Language in this state allows us access to the exploration of mystery which I find to be at odds with the daily mind colonized as it is by the stasis of gross statistical verbiage.
ST: It seems like a lot of interviewers are interested in the “psychic” component of your work, and so am I. Do you think there is a value in attempts to codify or clarify the cosmology (or to define or identify various spheres of the cosmos, or levels of reality) implied when we talk about writing as channeling, or picking up on signals coming from a kind of shared mind-space, as opposed to being the product of an individual consciousness?
WA: It seems I naturally channel lingual energy from a trans-personal level. From the very beginning I’ve always experienced language as a connection to the unseen. In this sense I feel akin to aboriginal respiration as it continues to respirate with First Nation peoples in the Americas, as well as with its parallel undercurrent as it continues to thrive in African traditional value. Again, wherever this value is found I recognize it instantaneously wherever it occurs. For me, I picked up this aboriginal sensibility in Islamic scholarship between the 8th and the 16th century. I’ve commented on this in an unpublished work entitled On Dar El-Hikma and centers around Dar El-Hikma, the great university founded in Cairo in 1005. Knowledge of the incredible human achievement during this era has either been willfully suppressed or skillfully colonized by the Western canon as has been the case with Averroes. This has given the false impression that modern world knowledge has been exclusive to the European psyche. Having essentially grasped the error of this circumstance, it has indeed, put me in resonance with what has passed before, providing me with a deeper, more feral critique of presentation of knowledge via European exclusivity. As a result it has deepened my solidarity with Diop, Cesaire, and Rodney, giving me a more profound appreciation for Daumal, Lecomte, Artaud and Breton.
ST: One of the things Daumal and you obviously share is an interest in science. He claimed science for Pataphysics: you absorb and revisit science and scientific vocabulary and make it sing in new ways. I personally see the marriage of science and poetry as a natural one. (Earlier this fall, when scientists coined the term “Recurring Slope Lineae” to speak about formations on Mars, I began referring to them in my head as “the poets over at NASA.”) Can you speak to the relationship between your poetics and contemporary science?
WA: It seems in the main that contemporary science has achieved a maturity that contemporary poetry has failed to achieve. When the poetic instrument is reduced to interpersonal squabbles or to defense and fortification of the geo-psychic province it has obscured itself in a maze of imploded parlor mechanics. Blindness in service of a momentary reputation emitting language expounded via secular myopia. I recently had a wonderful experience of reading an Egyptian utterance over 3000 years old and its language was torrential with vivification. It was not language beholden to a style, a school, a personality, or an elitist verbal cult. The latter is not unlike language lifted from a phone book, or a court case, at best, it’s stillborn, and to maintain this state by cognitive argument maintains psychic contamination. When “Recurring Slope Lineae” is invoked one feels the verbal beauty of its alien character unimpeded by pedestrian limitation. But what is revealing is that the phenomena has been wonderfully noted but the waters’ origin remains shrouded in mystery. In passing I need to make note about the water I scripted flowing on Mars, in the first few years of the century prior to the enunciation of “Recurring Slope Lineae.” Instead of stating the water as phenomena it was verbally endowed with consciousness. The poem is entitled Water On New Mars and it concerns itself with the waters’, as a spontaneous occurrence, not unlike the million year rainfall that empowered the initial oceans. I gave a reading of the poem in front of 20 piece orchestra in Amsterdam at the Bim House in 2009. One can google it. One can simply punch my name in slashed with Ghasem Batamuntu the orchestras’ leader. The poem is also included in my City Lights volume Compression & Purity. As I originally handwrote the poem it seems that my access to mystery was instantaneous, electric, with more seminal contact than the collective team at JPL. Of course, let me say, that the work at JPL remains concentrated and fabulous. It is interesting to note that the poem was ignited within the general vicinity of JPL around the launch date of “The “Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter” in 2006. This is not to aggrandize my own finding, but to verbally evince that poetry via intuition can take the lead over and beyond expensive technology. Of course, this does not include poetry which self-excludes itself from vision fueled by (Erica Hunt’s term) “ready-made complacencies.” I’m thinking of written work by a coterie of intelligent beings, perhaps, partaking of socio- economic privilege playing with facile verbal facility. I had the pleasurable opportunity of reading aloud the other evening (with Jerry Rothenburg and others from his outsider anthology Barbaric Vast & Wild) “The Dead King Hunts & Eats The Gods” from the Egyptian Pyramid Texts. It was utterance originally “inscribed on the walls of burial chambers” guiding the dead on their journey into death. It remains as fresh as it was circa 2350 B.C. when secretly inscribed. This was a populace consumed by language quite adroit at guiding the dead. Can one imagine a poem like this written today with competition for grants fueled by pointless personality cults. To paraphrase Paz when language has been degraded via commercial utilization it is unable to guide. It is unable to gain translucence via mantra.
ST: You refer more than once in this essay collection to the fact that there is nowhere else to go once we’ve destroyed the earth. To me, this brings a freshness to your critique: it’s a very straightforward way of putting it. In late September I was struck by two NY Times headlines that occurred in the same week. September 24th: “Investors are Mining for Water, the Next Hot Commodity.” September 28th: “Mars Shows Signs of Having Flowing Water.” I’m not suggestion any kind of conspiracy or causal link, though I do think both headlines reflect concern over the ongoing drought. Do you think the desire to find a new planet to colonize will ramp up further as environmental degradation and scarcity on earth become even harder to ignore?
WA: The search for other planetary worlds is certainly not new. It has been whispered that translation of bodies through space has already occurred. There has been susurration that a half million souls are located on Mars battling in competition with forms such as land based plesiosaurs, perhaps a base of super soldiers stationed on the moon. I am certainly not codifying these scenarios, but outer space for the human mean remains bleak and disabling. I’ve seen terrain from, I think, Egeria, one of the asteroids, and it seems absolutely terrifying. Of course, there is Mars and its moons as well as Earth and its Moon, a select number of asteroids for possible habitation, which, even at best leaves an incredibly small choice. Add to this the addictive lifestyle that consumes the majority populace of the Occident as well as the elites of the world who share this addiction and you have an incontrovertible population incapable of flexibility. Add to this the abyss that is China intent as it is on extinguishing all consumerist records. How can the Earth Survive such incessance? As general commentary it has been noted that this rate of planetary consumption cannot persist as an indefinite praxis. I’d say there has been a turn towards the irredeemable since the dawn of European exploration. Superficially one can point to its seeming high points, the founding of America, the development of an adroit technical network, modern space exploration, which sums an overall convenience culture. Yet the average Haitian lives on $2.50 a day. Clearly not the whole of humanity has not crossed the rubicon into criminal consumption, but in fact are willfully deprived of fulfilling basic daily needs. In this context, healthful water has become a palpable commodity. If I am in Brussels or London I able to access drinking water without second thought, but in the exploited lands of the southern globe this is not possible. Because the southern globe has suffered not only physical exploitation, but worse, it has suffered psychic vilification from the institutional propaganda so endemic to the Occident. Over the long view it has fueled an institutional viciousness towards invisible forces, which, over generational duration has eroded indigenous psychology. The shaman, the griot, the medicine man continues to be seen as an exotic appendage not to be trusted as regards substantive reality. But it is this very reality that has created the failing agenda that we are now privy to. Perhaps an unbuffeted shaman could ignite alchemical contact with “alien” intelligence far beyond the efforts of Project SETI which have so far been nil. I am thinking of the shamanic facility which allows human shift into other species. What if such facility provided human access to other planes of living. Of course this being the polar opposite of rocket launch transferring a traumatized populace to the deserts of Mars, or to asteroidal fields conjoined by nickel. I feel a terminal insistence nagging at our collective circumstance much like hearing a train roar down a tunnel which has yet to arrive. Saying all that I have said I do not wish for the worst. Yet we have far surpassed the condition out of which the writings of Daumal, Lecomte, and Breton emerged. It is a frightening prospect. My language is always grappling with this looming implosion constantly magnified in whatever I say. Of course this is not some skillful pose on my part being some ruse to gather audience. Another dilemma of population transfer is the electricity of a populace tainted as it’s been by intra-competition brought about by the values that seem to extoll competitive juvenilia. Add to this our connection to 4 billion years of complexity and you have something far beyond the capacity of what’s known as science fantasy. We live in a psychically deprived context as Henry Miller so artfully stated in 1956. Great language cannot be encouraged in this type of culture, witness the year’s long ban of Miller’s own writings, or, the last second suffocation of Artaud’s broadcast “To Have Done With The Judgment Of God” by Fernand Pouey, “Director of Drama and Literature for the French Broadcasting Company.” These restrictions continue to echo in other forms today. In the United States, we are seldom addressed by poets on foreign policy. Say we could have someone such as Lecomte or Cesaire address the populace concerning the difference between a white Parisian corpse, and one endemic to Beirut. Of course, under the present circumstance the latter possesses the lesser value. We seem to be exclusively informed by the reportage of journalists. Believe me, I am not casting aspersion upon the work of those who risk their lives moment by moment, or leak aspersion upon the astonishing yield of Noam Chomsky, or cast a lesser light upon the fearless delving of someone like Jeremy Skahill. But when the day is finally done, it seems we remain psycho/physically moribund, horizontally imprisoned in this night and day world, continuously fatigued by collectively assumed mayhem. Yet we are more and more forced to internally inhabit the unthinkable. It certainly can’t be done by use of a linear based projection through reality via strategy. This is a dilemma that certain poetic voices may tentatively start to address. Krisnamurti pointed out some years back (in dialogue with David Bohm and I paraphrase him) as we evolve even death is no longer a major issue. Artaud once spoke of the electrical revolution, and Aurobindo enacted the transmutation of the cells through a living yoga propelled “onward, beyond the tombs.” In the wake of the Paris attacks most commentary seems immured in the geo-political sphere never concerned with human transmutation, nor with the objective depth of the circumstance concerning general species removal to other planes. Let us remember, that Isis has sprung headlong like a malevolent genie from explosive depths less than a decade prior and has already rattled a civilization infinite times its senior. It seems to me events of recent days differ from the chronic violence that happened in Algeria, Viet Nam, and the continuing mayhem that is Iraq and Afghanistan. There now exists a palpable venom capable of a major, chain reaction having the capability of siring a circumstance where major populations of the Occident are now subject to unthinkable derailment. What is frightening to the Imperial powers is the electricity of intelligent coordination in fomenting its vengeance which posits another circumstance. It seems it is another, more troubling turning capable of gathering us up in general engulfment. Within this context planetary evacuation seems an impossibly fragmented ordeal incapable of realization. With everything so scattered, with parts attempting to be wholes, and wholes attempting to present themselves as parts, it seems our general language is confusion. Traumatic confusion to say the least. There are planets in worse circumstances than ours and others at higher levels that our present mind would find incomprehensible. The Earth now finds itself in this middling position overextended far beyond its governmental capability. Louie Psihoyo’s new film Racing Extinction makes note of palpable urgency for change in the near future, as we are more fitfully challenged by susurrant extinction. As I’ve stated elsewhere, Gurdjieff has properly remarked, if one species partakes of vanishment, the human one must be in serious decline. The odds at gaining balance seem more daunting day by day. Even if the northern nations suddenly had a change of spirit by bringing populations such as those of Haiti and Somalia into socio-economic balance, how indeed, do we deal with methane flares? Each individual must continue to treat Earth as a mysterious gift that, as far as we know, has no peer.
ST: Henry Miller talks about discovering himself as a kind of organic American surrealist. As though there was no need for an actual physical meeting to take place: on both sides of the Atlantic, the same spirit flared up. Would you define your relationship to the European Surrealists in similar terms? And what, if any, do you see as the relationship between your writing and that of Henry Miller?
WA: The verbal energy whose appellation is Surrealism remains ubiquitous not unlike water, or the surrounding circumstance which is the sky. It is not the province of any particular geography or language. It cannot be defined via academic cul de sac. So what Breton evinced in 1924 is part of the natural environment; a natural environment he witnessed in Mexico some years later. A natural environment cannot be consumed by ideology and doctrine. It is remains a dark eruptive sea that never codifies and replicates itself. As ubiquity its specific phenomena is naturally asymmetrical. No one will be able to theoretically house its energy via the appropriation of the writing of say, a Breton or an Artaud, or the art work of Miro or a Masson, as if they all inhabited a pre-inscribed mission as their original source. This psychic geography can never be symmetrical at its source. Miller and Breton seemingly remain at disparate parts of the imaginative spectrum, yet what they’ve inscribed remains constantly eruptive across this spectrum as verbal vulcanism. Let me say, Surrealism has never been a theoretical enclave for me. When I discovered Rimbaud he was a free standing entity. As for Cesaire and Artaud they too, were free standing entities. When Nadja appeared in my consciousness it was a magnetic manual on the beyond in this life. Upon discovery of these writings I was struck by the way the language veered and electrically snaked its way through opacity. It was so different from obsolete language Breton so rightfully condemned in the First Manifesto, the latter being this linear language that consistently appears on the top seller’s list. One needs go back to De Bono’s Lateral Thinking penned many years prior concerning alternatives to linear entrainment. It is an entrainment that persists in social and military strategy, in general religious praxis, in commerce, the latter, over the past century and a half, having become the God of daily life. It persists as chronic aggravation that arrogantly persists as business even into the afterlife. I once, by chance, met a forensic economist, concerned with accidents and crashes, and the assets left behind. Unfortunately, this terminology filters down into interpersonal relations, when conversation turns to assets of the deceased. Did he or she leave behind substantial savings? What did this or that person do with their money while still living? This remains a vexing hallucination. This is something Henry Miller faced in the mid 1930’s economically bereft, faced with general personal obscuration, this is none other than the psychology of the provinces, controlled by all manner of niggling reminder. He was freed from its various suffocations by magnificent use of language. This is not unlike Breton’s use of “Surrealist” language, ungoverned by all the static ruses that the linear mind attempts to convey. Division in the mind creates blockage and effort. When verbal flow is established it is inclusive and is capable of conveying disparate languages such as mathematics, poetry, history, magic, politics, science, as well as mystical utterance to name only a few. In other words, it can extend itself into transfigured channels without consensus precedent. This is what Miller unleashed within the Occidental tenor and its expression within English. This is why his books were childishly banned amidst the furor of forgotten neo-philistines. And it precisely because of his boldness that I never had to consider concretizing verbal revolt through biographical tableau. I have been freed to roam across the English language because of the verbal brilliance of beings such as Miller, Philip Lamantia, and Bob Kaufman. The atmosphere cleared by their great verbal winds allowed me to bypass brokering the psychic webbing extolled by quotidian verbal practitioners. Those poems about back porches and autumn harvests which still form the criteria for mainstream relevance, this is not unlike the human visual band circumscribed by its insignificant band width, all the while leaving out the greater view. The majority continues to be immured in a 19th century band width in spite of e mails and space probes launched beyond the solar system. They continue to perceive reality as a beginning, middle, and end possessing this as a formula for events. Creativity is then naturally delimited being corralled within this tenor rewarded by popularity and financial recompense for staying within its accessible magnetism. What then occurs is some sort of lessening for he or she who subscribes to this state as the highest region of consciousness. Linear balance being overwhelming in the Protestant North, so I guess that is why Miller and Beckett ended up in an earlier form of Paris where they felt free to vibrate verbal innovation. When I first heard Artaud’s writing on radio (on Van Gogh) read aloud by Jack Hirschman I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. It was beyond my capacity at the time. The same holds true when I first laid eyes on Cesaire’s Notebook, in both cases the language was moving at another strength, at another level of comprehension. I could nascently sense how its powers extended, but was quite incapable of working in the vicinity of its reach at the time. I was in my early 20s and even before this contact I had vowed to find lingual capability in this region that they occupied. I found first hand that Rimbaud’s derangement of the senses applies and continues to apply. Reaching this zone requires living alchemy over time. It is not for the faint of heart. When one is going through this process over time one finds that it extends pressure inward, thereby putting pressure on the circulatory system, or, at another remove, perhaps one may slip into a cul de sac of substances as did Daumal, Artaud, and Lecomte among others. Not that a great level had not been reached by them, but the side effects derailed them as it did Dolphy, who sacrificed diet and other daily needs in order play, as he put it, “even if it kills me.” Saying this, I am not recommending deadly outcome but the enterprise in an intrinsic sense does signal risk. The fact exists that there is no guarantee for a neatly structured outcome. It seems one creatively travels like a spore across the void fortified by the study of life through experience. Part of that experience is fortification by reading the alchemically relevant texts that empower one’s journey. One picks this or that tome as one begins to know one’s own nature, whether it tends towards upper or lower, warmer or colder. Knowing this is essential for the poetic journey, for poetic distillation, and I am not speaking of barricading oneself in archives, of course studying essential texts, but not combining cognitive achievement with other forces of life that roil excludes one from opening fissures to what I’ll call the verbal unknown. One’s poetic praxis cannot be subsumed by stasis, by other’s experience super-imposed upon one’s own electrical orientation. This was Miller’s English honed as it was by bitter personal experience. I think of the anguish that ignited the language of Bob Kaufman, who as Philip Lamantia once told me on a walk through North Beach is “our poet.” Though purposely occulted by official culture Kaufman inhabits the voice at such a level that its ancient rooting is awakened, its inner resources tapped, so much so that it is undeniable. One hears this rooting in his poem “To My Son Parker Asleep In The Next Room.” At this level it seems he has no peer far surpassing his more celebrated contemporaries. Not unlike Kaufman Miller was perpetually banned underexposed because he wakened language out of death, he brought to its motion a vibratory renaissance which always kindles the dead with negative reaction, as academic understanding, of say, Allen Ginsburg, or Ezra Pound could never do, when I heard David Jones reading from his “Anathemata,” again by chance one evening on the radio, it made a more positive impression than being pressured by a grading system to read commentaries on say, someone such as Pound. When I think of language I think of its utter vitality continuing to rove in deep time. Creators like Kaufman, Breton, and Miller continue to wreak havoc on an Occidental culture not quite alive. The latter, giving its energy over to stasis which is not unlike John Synge’s “Playboy” upsetting the general state of a dead enclave. Living language being the bane to death carrying the true energy of life.
ST: The absurdity that for Daumal, if I understand him correctly, produces Pataphysical laughter, is that one’s true identity is the vast totality, while simultaneously one is consigned to acting the part of an individual being. Do you experience that dissonance? I love what you said about the writing body having “its own peculiar liberty” and language being a “connection to the unseen.” Do you think that language, and writing, present a way to navigate this double role?
WA: It is true, one is born into dissonance. Although the vast majority of beings seem constrained by individual figmentation as if it they were individually contained as fragmentation. When living in the Occident one is instilled with freedom via fragmentation and origin in our present context has been so obliterated it is thought to never have existed. One exists as one’s own cause spellbound by fragmentation. No other dimension is thought to have ever existed. For the most part, the Protestant faith keeps the mind bound to pragmatics and the strategies of day to day manipulation. In this circumstance salvation via the Christos functions as if one had incorporated a superior brand rather than as inner connection to what the traditional mind naturally embraces as an active invisibility. What now functions as contact with this invisible kinetic seems more the province of exploration via creative language. This is what I admire about Daumal and Lecomte, their intrepid quest in search of themselves through charged phonemic activity. And how is phonemic activity charged? It is language non-colonized by basic rational embrace. In the experiments of The Simplistes, and Le Grand Jeu we see a daring, a total immersion of the poet with language exploring dimensions that we now see were quite consonant with the indigenous mind in its exploration of the uncharted. After European global ventures commenced in the 14th century what accrued was general riddling of inner exploration and its connection to dimensions other than visibility. These other dimensions have over the centuries been reduced to a vocabulary which describes them by means of superstition and ridicule. Thus, a great blindness continues to occur with capacity reduced in these areas, so in the main, the individual tends to wander as a private figment, buffeted by the amplification of matter. It is no mistake that I have been drawn to writers such as Daumal who were not bound to the hallucination of themselves as commodified literary fragments. They remain connected to the mysterious electricity that remains animation itself. When one not only acknowledges this electricity, but makes the leap to participate in its mystery via written expression, one finds that another energy is made manifest, a superior vivacity if you will. It’s as if a more resonant aurality spontaneously announces itself, obviously a less literal aurality which exists beyond opacity as three dimensional limitation. What occurs is a more profound aurality, I call it the “second bell which rings in a mirror,” it is this deeper hearing that Lorca spoke of when he scribbled with pencil on blank paper waiting for more superficial voicings to dissipate allowing deeper voicing to transpire. In this state one is not subsumed by a depthless public adulation, or conventional literary honour, but the level that Daumal spoke of when paraphrasing what used to be referred to in the Occident as the “Eastern” mind. He says “The Hindu regards himself as an entity to complete, a false vision to rectify, a composite of substances to transform, a multiplicity to unify.” Instead, the author in our present is compelled to announce his or her powers through anecdote, fueled by personal or particular anomaly. Then superficial pressure is extolled being analogous to accessible witness, thus, anecdote and personal anomaly become equated with a moribund comfortability. I’m thinking of writing as being electrified, not unlike the traditional carver, or blacksmith whose work is imbued with trance, bringing the viewer or the listener into higher understanding leaving behind gross quotidian strategy. Such continued trance establishes over duration greater neurological capacity to access other states so that they become palpable thereby enlivening one’s greater participation in the cosmos. The disaster of the Catholic Church as well as its Protestant counterpart has been their allegiance to diurnal consciousness thereby occluding less palpable levels and a consequent neurology, replacing the latter’s evolutionary state with one enchained to “immediate perception.” In the process of enlivening our senses with the microscopic nature of buying and selling, one loses view of the greater whole thereby empowering opacity when it comes to what I’ll call alchemic sensitivity. In a deeper sense one has lost the gift of living. Life has been exchanged for product evaluation and momentary satisfaction. The gift of the poet is to break through this knotted nature of commercial exchange so as to introduce via language other dimensions of experience. Thus, language begins to restore the seeming rift in being with “vertiginous” precision.