Edward E. Wilson

Originally posted: Sun, Dec. 4th, 2005 17:06

He stands up from his zafu, barefoot and dressed for comfort. He has cleared his mind and the window. The glass stretches from the floor to the roof from one wall to the other. In his right hand he holds the black wet erase marker in the left he has the blue and red. From his vantage point he can see people walking, stores and commerce, cars and traffic, the whole panoply of modern urban life garbage animals plants and people. He uncaps the marker and he draws writes and sigilizes directly on the life and movement of reality. The blue pen traces the movements of one person across through in and out of buildings and eventually out of his view the red pen traces someone else. The resulting figures, crossing and recrossing themselves before curving out of sight, are approximated in black marker, small off to one side. Theses symbols are stored to be reintroduced as needed later. A small collection of symbols having gathered at the edges of his glass, a change in the timing of movements tells him that his working is at an end. He makes additional glyphs and shorthand notes by the black symbol using the blue marker and then draws a box around this using the red. He puts the pens down picks up his spray bottle and rag to wash away all he isn’t keeping. Facing away from the window he sits on the zafu and breathes until he has forgotten the work and his mind is again clear.

The techniques hinted at here could also be used on the self, using a mirror.

Originally posted: Mon, Nov. 28th, 2005 01:24

He exists twenty four hours a day (a concept that has lost all meaning to him) Every four hours or so he sleeps for twenty minutes. He nibbles raw fruits vegetables and nuts constantly, he drinks green tea and water in alteration He exercises in the middle of what you call night and and what you call afternoon (although he recognizes neither concept) He sleeps on the bus he sleeps on a fifteen minute break he sleeps in the corner of the bar. Remembering his dreams he writes them down acts them out in Gestalt self therapy every other wake cycle he keeps writing the whole four hours smoking pot from a long thin pipe typing away on his laptop filing words into a database to be mined later when he is in a design or edit mood he is always travelling he is always social and ever alone he is cutting up newspapers ads comics his own printouts he draws or paints over these collages digitally photographs the results and posts it all on web pages communal and solo tagged and searchable always reusable composting art is both life and soil. Every forty eight hours he eats a heavy protein meal maybe even some meat cooked or otherwise after some of these “meals” he sleeps for a longer two hour. He has experimented with the magic of Julius Evola and spends long periods with his locus of consciousness at his hara (center) he goes regularly to a dojo where he practices aikido and elsewhere to a yoga studio. He takes his courses through his computer so wherever he is his education is there his courses are just an excuse to read different books and write different pieces freed of lust of grade he is quite successful simultaneously charming and impressing people he hasn’t met half the time he annoys the ones he has but he is tolerated even loved granted the status of full on eccentric. Wandering the streets at night he takes pictures and makes recordings putting symbols and numbers on a printout map putting them together on a interlinked interface for google maps befriending the street crazies he tastes their prophesy and archive hidden in their now making toys and tools out of other people’s junk.

Originally posted: Mon, Aug. 15th, 2005 22:18

Continuation of The Support Group/Schizotypal

Jerry pulled the large pile of books out of his cheap nylon backpack and carefully handed them around the circle to us.

My chair creaked as I reached for the first one. It was an oversized glossy white paperback with an egyptian motif on the front called 777 And Other Qabalistic Writings of Aleister Crowley. The next one was the same size, navy blue with an etching design done in black called Kabbalah by Gershom Scholem. The next one was a big green hardcover with a library style plastic dust cover called, The Essence Of The Cabalah: Tarot, Hebrew, English by William Eisen. The rest seemed to be binders of computer printouts and Jerry’s own notes.

“So what’s the deal with all the different spellings?” I asked.

Jerry looked at me for a moment his gaze wide and yet direct. “That depends on how much you want to know,” he said after a moment, “the long version would take about an hour.”

“The short version for now I guess,” I replied.

“Basically the k double b with the h on the end is traditional jewish religious kabbalah. A bit stuffy, disdains practical or effect seeking for spiritual communion. C single b no h is usually the early christian hermetic started in the renaissance. Still stuffy, a little fluffy and searching for a different version of god. Last one q no u usually single b, h about half the time, is more modern hermetic or magick qabala. Put together by people involved with the golden dawn in England around or after 1880 something.”

Originally posted: Mon, Jul. 25th, 2005 03:19

There is something elemental about this, sitting down with the pen. The future looms large and scary just over the horizon. I feel like I have accomplished nothing that I play at being a writer. However there is still the rush, the something elemental, sitting down with the pen.He sat down with his pen and the blank page, he wrestled with a tangle of contrary motivations expectations and fears. What is man but the sum of these parts these programs running one winning out in a behaviour others losing happenstance and biology or was, is, there something more a synergy of the self. He was afraid to write, afraid it wouldn’t be good afraid he would do menial labour his whole life afraid that words wouldn’t come. He was going to then suddenly he wasn’t but there was a rush something elemental, sitting with the pen.

Originally posted: Wed, Apr. 6th, 2005 06:38

For half an hour every week we got together as a group. We were all sufferers of Schizotypal disorder, or at least that was how we were diagnosed. Jerry’s thing was numbers. Sara’s was talking with the dead. Mikey said he could manipulate invisible lines of force he called ki. Jack played with probability, a gambler. And me? My paintings were alive. We got together three times as a therapy group before we decided we didn’t like it. The therapy, not the group. Lately we’ve been thinking of expanding the time we spend together.“So we all have our interests, our little projects, right?” I said looking over the group.“Yeah,” Jack replied curtly, you could almost here the unspoken, so?

“Well we’ve decided that we are not crazy so why don’t we embrace it?”

“What do you mean?” Sara asked.

“Why don’t we combine our interests and um abilities together into group projects or experiments.” I got up and walked to the table set up with the coffee urn and cups.

“We have nothing in common to work with,” Jack said to my turned back as I put two sugar cubes into my black coffee.

I pulled two dice from my pocket and tossed them bouncing into the center of the circle. After a moment I asked, “Mike, who looked?”

“Everyone,” he replied.

I glanced over at him, “Yeah but who looked looked?”

“Jerry and Jack.”

“See Jack your cards and gambling is all numbers and so is Jerry’s numerology”

“It’s not numerology,” Jerry declared speaking for the first time in maybe ten minutes.

“What Jerry?” I asked softly, I didn’t want to put him off of speaking.

“It’s called Qabala,” he said seriously, “it was Jewish mysticism, it’s a religion now, Madonna is a member.” His piece said he pushed his round glasses back up his nose and returned to his yellow legal pad and bic pen.

“Sorry Jerry,” I said turning back to look towards Sara. “And what if your spirit world and the ultra dimensional reality that I paint are the same or connected?”

“What about me?” Mikey asked, “ I don’t fit either of those.”

“I don’t know yet Mike,” I replied, “I think your talents might bridge the two groups. Or maybe you are here to ground us, connect us to physical reality.”

He smiled.

“Maybe,” I continued, “your ki can effect the physical movement of the dice or other sources of the numbers. The lines of force could be the edge of ultra dimensionality. After a few seconds pause I asked, “Is everyone in?”

Even Jack agreed.

“So next week lets get together for an hour and bring some stuff we use. I’m bringing some painting gear.”

“I’ve got some books,” Jerry said.