Thursday, October 4, 2012

PRAY NOT the Pope of Pompeii Pot Extracts. Detects. Omfects. Infects. Defects Your Mind.

You think the Pope of Pompeii Pot reflects your mind?
The Pope of Pompeii Pot wants victims to take smoke.
"None dare hardly not smoke pot,"
Allen Ginsburg believed and said
it took the pot for Jobs to love the pot
that heard him throb the night 
he passed: 'Don't smoke,
 don't smoke, 
smoke dope, smoke dope'"
that swine produced.
Experimental cretinism in sheep and goats,
Civilization in Fox,  
 consumptive fish stocks,
 saguaros bought and sold.
This rooster conscience cleaved the mouth,
 None hardly dared grow old. the Beatles told the Wall,

Full content 
knee in the throat of a log
was standard War on dogs,
 changed dogs to goats just here,
 Beyond marijuana beer.

Corexit dispersant,
EM death of bees,


In making this world safe for the
 Prosilac BGH 83 rewrites,
where Kent Anderson's Night Dogs 217f,
Special Forces medical,
Run by Tier One Group and Steve Reichart- to
 pain function new weapons
 microwaves Canada ,

Pot Head

It took the pope of pompeii pot to make your mind
 believe when Christians took his pot
 with zoophilia 
(from the Apocalypse) 
of the gigapix,
of the Vladimir Mironov-lab meat Firstcowsthenus,
 zoocidal scientific experiment Survivor Scars,
  were the best advice a vet could give,
 "stop going to the vet because that's what's killing Violet Rays."
  She needed to know that I was committed to her life and the way I would demonstrate that was to keep her by my side."Animal Person blog-

Monarch butterflies:
"The Monarch butterfly learns where it was born (its roots) 
and passes this knowledge via genetics to its offspring. 
One of the key animals that tipped scientists off, that knowledge
 [Identity!] can be passed genetically:"
sturgeon May 30, 2011

Pot Heead
Pot Heap
 Entheogens-exploration of the god: Substitute the Real
 Here's one for human morality,
to protect against them and us,
 nobody gets to go into space until none of these things *
have happened for a thousand years.

For a Pot Head Repast Repost Repeat
See a Mutantician in your area

Pope Ginsburg Change Pot PotHead Retoast Repast Request

Hurricane blue stem passed
zinc cadmium sulfide radioactive florescence to the N. O. flood, 
but lost the ball on downs 
The United States Yakushima quake.
 scored one submarine lost against the nuke plants three,
 and other suitcase scalar tsunami kits two.
In the second half earthquake Yellowstone blows.
Bill Apocalypse, Bill Gas, jumps the Exploding Museum,
Did you fasten your seat belt yet?
On the Tilt-a-Whirl flat ride waltzer
 many riders experience nausea.
 At variable speeds they spray each other's night
transfer to the optical world.
Centrifugal and gravitational forces spin cars in different directions 
 Japan contemplates its demise and gets out the mask.
 It will be sent into the sun. to complete the negative guise. 
 America realizes Hiroshima’s pop art revenge on the airplane that dropped humikiation. 
Too late, Biden said Afghanistan. 
They all said it was some body it was not. *Everybody smoke pot.  
Nations as criminals, heroes as terrorists increase the helium to sustain the bubble.

Saguaros open the mouth of Danes.
 Not real Danes. Cold mouths unnerving, 
Spirit Heart pumping, not letting go.
"A pile of cans," murmurs the stream." 
Where are you going, where are you now?"
 World-flushed radioactive xylene. 
 Life in the vast mule sky, 
ears of a prickly pear never say a word, 
a perfectly permanently anthropomorphically centric bug. 
Do not deny science, so careful to rule out cultural construct,
 thought collaborate grasshoppers' earth semantic,
 terra obligata, terrestrial imperativita.

I tell you the bones are made of subway tubes. 
Wilderness crowded beneath bear. 
The tail is cedar. Glistening undersides in mud.

Footnotes to Psygoat: psigoat, cygoat, suitgoat:

Comes the short list of poets said,  in every word spoken, heard, unheard, cried in every vision. But who needs to hear the same thing twice, or worse, if the broadcast is remixed, that it would transfix, thinking the one primal cry, ooooo, out of which all others flow in the river of sound-light great hymn being speak.
"A novel is not selves, but networks; what we hear in poems is not signal but noise. Rilke had a word for it: Geräusch, the crackle of the universe, angels dancing in the static.” Tom McCarthy. This essence neither hears nor speaks, a phase we all love since we are To be wrong, not right, remixing the dead in something like A Shout, signals that have been repeating, pulsing, modulating in the airspace of the novel, poem, play—in their lines, between them and around them—since each of these forms began...attune your ear to the very pitch and frequency of its own activity—in other words, enable you to listen in on listening itself...."  

 "A novel is not selves, but networks; what we hear in poems is not signal but noise. Rilke had a word for it: Geräusch, the crackle of theuniverse, angels dancing in the static.” Tom McCarthy. This essence neither hears nor speaks, a phase we all love since we are To be wrong, not right, remixing the dead in something like A Shout, signals that have been repeating, pulsing, modulating in the airspace of the novel, poem, play—in their lines, between them and around them—since each of these forms began...attune your ear to the very pitch and frequency of its own activity—in other words, enable you to listen in on listening itself...."

Each technological device is a prosthesis, says Tom's McCarthy, speaking for the other word unspoke, alias the prosthetic mind. “Every point of contact between a body and its media extension marks the site of some secret burial.” To bury something died and gone, the burial is secret because the murder is. What did Tom kill? He killed the word. He killed it dead. Watchman Lee used to call the dead Adam's residual soulpower a secret. If you take Watchman's glosses, those oracles who lost their powers  were reduced to writing. You see them hunting round the cemeteries by night with spades and boots, flashlights looking for overturned earth. Trying to dig up the word, McCarthy by radio set up in words, novels, med, tech, word to broadcast the universal mind: that's means the death fallen angel mind. And then you will know the deception you have prepared to believed. Poems to restore communication with these dead lost powers, transmissions of the poet-fictionist Romance of Tom's Geräusch Rilke’s word static angel dance, here,  here  and here,  not the same motor or angel dance. Instead, try "boring a hole in the lobe of the ear and pinning it to the door. This has everything to do with hearing as one born of the spirit, or as said in another place, he wakens me morning by morning, wakens my ear to listen as one being taught. So it says further, I have more insight than all my teachers, an insight that no more transfers by words than life is known by the dead. My ear you have opened." Leaf Meditations and the Language Revelation? More McCarthy here

*"Super Pot...[Drone war] drugs take you away from enlightenment and consign absolute reality to epiphenomena, which increasingly entrance you, rather that losing their already too strong [a] hold over you; thus we call this intoxication: a deluded state, not enlightenment. Acid and super pot are like the Monsanto exhibit in Disneyland where you get smaller and smaller and the world gets bigger."Marijuana Shrinks [your brain]. your perspective shrinks. In enlightenment your perspective grows and spreads out to fill vast spaces." Philip K. Dick, The Exegesis of Philip K. Dick, 534.

 We have good news of convergence or concatenation so to speak, the Pope will visit D.C. at the 4th Blood Moon in Sept 2015 between Yom Kippur and the non asteroid NASA confirms not to exist. He and El Presidente will announce the arrival of the Space Brothers who will baptize us all into the new reality. Should you be unwilling, not to worry, places are reserved for you aboard the Train. 

Hive the Human: full spectrum attack on human species
artifically nucleated
metallic oxides,
 in vitro toxicity.
 How did Monsanto know to create aluminum resistant strains anyway?

 Dr. David Keith, Geoengineery: Photophoretic levitation of engineered aerosols.
 aluminum oxide has 16 times less coagulation rate than sulphur.
Aluminum accumulates in the brain bones and kidneys as a neurotoxin. 
Sun Dogs, no longer rare, are formed by metal salts with a higher refractive index than water Patrick Roddie

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Angel Dance

Each technological device is a prosthesis, says Tom's McCarthy, speaking for the other word unspoke. “Every point of contact between a body and its media extension marks the site of some secret burial.” To bury something died and gone, the burial is secret because the murder is. What did Tom kill? He killed the word. He killed it dead. Watchman Lee used to call the dead Adam's residual soul power a secret. If you take Watchman's glosses, those oracles who lost their powers  were reduced to writing. You saw them hunting round the cemeteries by night with spades and boots, flashlights looking for overturned earth. Trying to dig the word. McCarthy by radio set up in words, novels, poems to restore communication with these dead lost powers, transmissions of the med, tech, word.  

Comes the short list of poets who read, who influence you, the answer is every word spoken, heard, unheard, cried in every vision. But who needs to hear the same thing twice, or worse, if the broadcast is remixed, then let it transfix, thinking the one primal cry, ooooo, out of which all others flow in the river of sound-light great hymn being speak.

Tom thinks novels and poems differ,  "a novel is not selves, but networks; what we hear in poems is not signal but noise. Rilke had a word for it: Geräusch, the crackle of the universe, angels dancing in the static.” This essence neither hears nor speaks, a phase we all love since we are. To be wrong but right, that is remixing the dead is something like A Shout, "a set of signals that have been repeating, pulsing, modulating in the airspace of the novel, poem, play—in their lines, between them and around them—since each of these forms began...attune your ear to the very pitch and frequency of its own activity—in other words, enable you to listen in on listening itself...."

 The poet-fictionist Romance of Tom's Geräusch Rilke’s word static angel dance, here,  here  and here, is not the same motor or angel dance. Instead, "boring a hole in the lobe of the ear and pinning it to the door. This has everything to do with hearing as one born of the spirit, or as said in another place, he wakens me morning by morning, wakens my ear to listen as one being taught. So it says further, I have more insight than all my teachers, an insight that no more transfers by words than life is known by the dead. My ear you have opened."

Friday, March 23, 2012

The Unconscious Mind. Milton Erikson Overwrites the Brain.

I took a trip to Phoenix. The day I got to the Erikson Foundation it was being demolished. Pieces of old fence, beams from the porch, dry wall, brick were stacked in the parking lot, the sign still on the front. Not knowing what I was seeing, unless a person's real estate speaks symbolically, I then went to the newly finished Erikson Bldg on Thomas. It was after hours but I had my picture taken, surveilled. The next day I went to the Thrift store and then to the Erikson Museum, Erikson's old home.

Phoenix in May is tawdry. Faces lined with alcohol and drug abuse seem in majority, but the professional online Erikson staff beamed in their video. The first principle of hypnotism you know is rapport. The classes are about $200 a day to learn to manipulate the unconscious.  I returned the second day for pics of the disrepair, but the sign was down by then except the letters left a shadow on the building. The agent said they couldn't sell it so it was being redone for rental. The new bldg had been open less than a year.

It reminded me of Luckenbach, because the night before I went to Phoenix I dreamed I had broken an old hash pipe and buried it in three pieces at a private school, drove the pipe stem into the ground with my foot, stamped down the bowl too, but threw the mouthpiece. That's not so unlike the day I vomited all over Jerry Jeff Walker at Luckenbach, which I had also dreamed of the night before, why we went to Luckenbach that day at all. The place was filled with guitars. Willie Nelson, hash, lined faces, cheerful lips by the side of the road. Erikson, Luckenbach, what is  the nature of the human? Training Hege  in this mise-en-scène came out that day. It says the middle of the Hegalian synthesis is scripted, which runs counter to the notion that the unconscious responds to openings, opportunities, metaphors, symbols, and contradictions. The day before any of this began I had asked to know what it was to be human. The answer is somewhere here. I discovered that the founders of NLP founders had come to Erikson in Phoenix on repeated occasions to piece the system of the unconscious of Erikson, which was only a few hundred feet from where I stood at the time.  Walter Browart in a video boasted of the power of NLP which began all this investigation. Who doesn't like neuro linguistics? I had studied with Lehman, Polome, Cairns and Harms in linguistics, so was interested.
See also-Erikson Museum  
-Dr. Jeffrey Zeig - Exploring the Genius of Milton Erickson 


 The manipulation of the Unconscious for good or bad is the biggest subject we contend against in our humanity. If you take the notion that the unconscious should not be influenced at all you put  all the self help gurus from tarot to Tony Robbins out of work, along with every notion of human illumination. The untainted unworked imagination, the unhypnotized mind will out. Psycho pros in therapy of the unconscious have affected the rolling waters of the sea, even whales and sharks, the bigger creatures that swim there. The sanctification of the unconscious and its cleansing is at odds with its exploitation and manipulation. Erikson founded the industry of NLP and the whole CIA nat'l intelligence mind control network undertook the work. He needed however a publicist. NLP boasts it can get get rid of your phobias in ten minutes, but that psychiatric pros can't do any of this, see Bandler below (you can watch Tony Robbins for this but keep your feet wet). First compare the NLP derived from Erikson to Erikson himself to see what a Johnny one note NLP is. NLP however is the reigning technique of the agencies of  control used by all kinds of professionals. My dentist admits to it! Bandler and Grinder took Erikson's thought and art and boiled it down to something CIA and presidents use every day and turn to mass investment, another contradiction of the unconscious. You might say it is entirely appropriate that the mass unconscious be mass marketed. A touchdown for truth is proclaimed. This also happened in the dark corners of Esalen.

Manipulation of the Unconscious

It is after all unconsciousness. Unconscious artists (salesmen) have never ceased to sell you what you don't know. Turquoise and beryl to cleanse the aura? The Psycho profession is in a hurry to supply therapy, with a little astrology on the side. Bandler, inventor of NLP is advertised to have a Neptune dominant. That must mean he ranks high in self deception, which you evidence in his life and trials. If the unconscious is a sea then the whales and the sharks must die for Bandler's dominant. You can cut the fins off every shark to enhance health, but that is not health, it is Neptune's illumination. That's a kind of joke. Neptune dominants, the seas, represent the major deception that likes to be fictionally called the Neptune War. No end of "health tonics" help to improve life, even if all the sharks have to go the way of the buffalo or of wild ginseng and truffles. White urban myth allows the elders of Tibet and the Andean Q'ero to consume sin by breathing it in or digesting it. In New York they just bury it off the coast in decommissioned subway cars. Other nation states send it to the moon. Tell this tale and somebody will tell of of their guru who cleansed a student's karma. Shark fin spiritology passes in these circles like gems do to cleanse auras, copies of practices of the neolithic age, which amounts to sales, trips to foreign places and a little drug use to convince of power. Compare the real thing where the priest sacrificed so much blood the cover of the Ark was an inch deep in its crust. The priest killed the Yahweh goat but set free the Azazel goat to the wilderness after forcing down upon its head all the sins at the new year. You can't pay for that one. You can't eat that.  You can take classes in sanctification of the unconscious if you find the Instructor.

Of course none of this touches the raw fact that the human from the viewpoint of the psychopathic ruling powers is to be exploited. Whether the human is a deep mystery, not the psychopaths, is also at issue. The human is a simple creature, conflicted and turned inside out numberless times, so that to do so again is axiomatic, as Borges' fiction so wonderfully proves.

II. Say It Again

The way I came to examine these matters began with a prayer to understand what it means to be human that uttered itself when I asked to be shown. That day, reading Browart, and seeing his affection for NLP, I  took a view toward further acquaintance. But NLP was superficial on youtube tapes. The two main practiques, Bandler and Grinder, said they had come to Phoenix in the early days to visit and would drive back to LA puzzling the profundities they'd been exposed to. In Phoenix I backtracked then and found they meant their continual visits with Erikson, from which they derived their ideas. Being that Erikson was in the neighborhood, as it turned out, literally two streets away,  is one way of describing the technique of work in recent years that others have called unconscious. I began to explore Erikson in this trip. I went to the Erikson Bldg. It was after hours. Signs everywhere proclaimed my picture taken. It was more like a fortress.

As said, the day before the Phoenix trip I had asked to know what it meant to be human. Who doesn't like neuro linguists? Psycho linguists? Winifred Lehman? I had studied with Edgar Polemé, Cairns, Lehman and Harms who studied with Chomsky. I read Whorf! So what is  the nature of the human?  Training Hege came out that day I prayed, and then, unbeknownst, the next day The Banquet of God came online!

Memory, Overwriting, Language

The continuing work on memory says we remember only the previous memory of the event, not the event itself. So of all these echoes and remixes coming down the ages, personal and historical, of what once occurred in childhood and beyond, write it down was told to all, and since they did there is a record of a much earlier take than can be had in the present. Hundreds of memories build upon each other, but not only so, for consider that the endorphins released in the first uses of cocaine and heroin are no longer released in the addict. The attraction then is not the high but the memory of the high encoded in the social situation, the friends, situations, associations that preceded the fix, the event, which thereafter cause it. These palimpsests also happen to people when they hear or see a message. It is thought "certain messages" or images cause a change in the brain to accommodate new ideas.  The government wants to know who is vulnerable to this and how, so its new messaging can overwrite the original message with their own. 

Overwriting Hard Drive

Ovewriting also concerns programing. Overwriting has to do with human receptivity. It combines the techniques of passive hypnotism of Milton Erickson (link explores The Denver Speech in this way) with aural and visual confusion, a "rectagon" or a picture uniting numerous rectangular principles of photo optic representation, fractals so to speak, to induce a receptive state (that's why the absolute first principle of covert hypnotism is Rapport!) and produce alpha brain waves to open the onlooker for programming to allow the overwrite. The application from programming is not metaphor. At issue in programming is whether overwritten under data can be recovered, or reverse engineered with another kind of overwriting  that eliminates the prime entirely, or modifies it to some purpose. That way a value system could be remade. This bending in word choice, syntax and phonetics in overwriting, subtexting, embedding is exactly what writers do. Call it palimpsest, but  DARPA (Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency) more or less invented hypertext and graphic interface. Its solicitations want to hire writers to figure out how “narratives,” oral stories, speeches, propaganda, books, can interdict, supplant and counter with “better” messages ideas that Defense thinks useless. Guns? Grants are offered toward this end. Too late to sign up Philip K. Dick, but presumably his Ubik is a text they would preempt.  Is that Dickean or what? That's why we call it The Severed Head.


When the genome is corrupted language is next, if not first. DARPA uses controlled minds, manipulates emotions by phone--and by image, phoneme, syntax and rhetoric, or wants to, aided by the notion that grammar can be built statistically by AI: “computational methods to automatically acquire models of human languages. Examples include large–scale systems for language understanding, information extraction, and machine translation, as well as computational linguistics projects, such as the reconstruction of ancient languages. One of his best–known results was to show that human grammars can be learned by statistical methods.” Dan Klein, Online Artificial Intelligence. This effort at predictability of language scientific method if you will, smacks of Faulkner generated on demand, or whoever you like, but not of course those who do not yet exist. How do we know the purpose of science is not to prevent any new existence in the interest of control of the experiment and predictability? Cannot prove a negative.

The new chair of the Joint Chiefs, Martin Dempsey, worries that a lack of redundancy (in the internet) puts  social-technical systems at risk. Redundancy means books, but even writing, set aside by the virtual invention. These incapacitate society, for there is an app where typing is superseded and speech is automatically translated to text. The loss of clarity and depth with the loss of syntactic relations prevents new pathways in the brain that form cognitive grasp, such as reading Faulkner's sentences. This impoverished mental state is what DARPA overwrites, but the old  produces great mental strength in those who read it: for example, the Bible. Close on the heels of virtual apps is another where speech is superseded and thought is made text. But you don't know what you think until you speak or write, meaning that the mind is essentially inchoate in communicating and must make simple its instructions to communicate with the physical--that is the purpose of speech and writing. Pains are taken to examine how there is no language of thought in Language In Voices Out and The Alien Voice.

NOTE:  Deeper looks at NLP, AEI, psychopathy are being undertaken on an ongoing basis at Higgs Bosum whose premise is that physics and psychology are mutual mirrors which describe the astonishing developments in each.


 "( -- Sometimes you just don’t know whether to laugh, cry or be alarmed when hearing about what the boys in secretive back rooms are doing in the name of anti-terrorism, or homeland security, or whatever else they wish to call it. This time it seems, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA), the semi-secret agency charged with coming up with new and cool ways to protect the citizens of the United States from foreign bad guys, wants to hire someone to figure out how vulnerable some people are to “narratives” (oral stories, speeches, propaganda, books, etc. that cause people to think) and then, supplant such messages with “better” messages to head off the path that for such people might lead them to becoming a terrorist.

Called the “Narrative Networks” project, DARPA has released a solicitation for research proposals by those that have both the know-how and the technology to implement such a program, which is divided into two parts. The first part would involve analyzing what happens to people when they hear or see a message. It’s thought that certain messages or images actually cause a change in the brain to accommodate the new ideas.
The second part of the study, quite naturally, would involve developing a means for taking advantage of what is learned in the first part. Or, in other words, to come up with a way to find out who is vulnerable to messaging, and then to blast them with a message that would overwrite any undesirable brain changes that occurred as the result of that person being subjected to “bad” messages, so that they would behave themselves.
Folks at DARPA seem to think that new advances in technology might have changed the game a little bit. New types of brain scans can, for example, actually show a brain being changed due to a received message. And new highly sophisticated electronic sensing devices are able to pick up even the slightest nuances in facial expressions. If the two technologies could be brought together, the thinking goes, perhaps people could be scanned without their knowledge and found to be either vulnerable to messaging or already changed in some way by messaging from a suspect source. In such case, they could be targeted for specialized messaging that has been shown through research to be effective in overriding what has occurred in their unknowing noggins. Each phase is supposed to go for 18 months though there doesn’t appear to be any component of the project that calls for publicly publishing results found or describing product deliveries after completion.
© 2011"

We are playing with a lot of names to designate these states: Severed Head, A Secret History of History, Cartoon at the End of the Worlds, The Party of the Lamb.  Or call it Faerie history that begins with WWII. is a way to get up on the wave, Technology for news of DARPA - Narrative Networks and Human Language Technology, Physics and Nanotech for  a basis of inference. Do not click to have your brain removed.

Gettin' Closer?
Welcome to the Party of the Lamb
Everybody Welcome

The Elder

Saturday, December 17, 2011

New Mountain and the Bear

Superficial Existence in the Modern World

 Bear, landscape and ancestry have been substituted with fantasies annihilating the traditional in tribal societies and every assimilated subgroup. Assimilation is never good, although to say it that bald is offensive. This is  the point in that First Convocation of Indian Scholars (Ed. by Rupert Costo, 1970). In answering Hopi Charles Loloma about how to assume the traditional identity Momaday says, "I think that each of us who realizes that the native traditional values are important has a great obligation to convince the young of that, who may be wavering with alternatives...[of] the dominant society which is destroying the world in which it lives" (9). "It's really up to the older people"(10) to identify "the danger of superficial existence in the modern world" (10). To counter superficial existence he says "they have a primary obligation to tell their children and grandchildren about the traditional world, and try to show them by example and tell them explicitly that there is an option available to them, and that they're damn fools if they don't avail themselves of it" (10). Unless You Live It the Words Mean Nothing.
Thus acculturation is "a kind of one-way process in which the Indian ceases to be an Indian and becomes white man" (10). It is broader than that too, the PA German ceased to be himself and became an English-American. Acculturation to the modern translated means to steal the birth rite identity of the traditional, its language and customs and make the native a mascot of the modern. There is a continual excavation of the Caucasoid in every subgroup that assimilates, whether Pennsylvania German, Hispanic, black, Indian. The anthropologists should excavate themselves  to give them something to do, since they otherwise are the inventors and stalking horse for the modern against the traditional, looking for power by stealing it. Modern here is not the pejorative it seems if the native takes his tradition into it to return what is stolen, or as Momaday says, that "it is good to go into the enemy's camp" (12). Steal his horses! But he has stolen the children!

Pull Out the Light Poles

That said, it remains to learn tradition from the elder. In the face of radical destruction this takes more than effort, it takes surrender. Without surrender the traditional dies. Take your pick, you can think like Katie Couric and all the like spokespersons for the modern on Charlie Rose, or like grandfather. Momaday says it is a duty to teach the young. He addresses the elder's reluctance: "I wonder if you have any idea of why they shut up at a certain point like that, why they won't talk to you" (15)? Charles Loloma, the Hopi, had said that when the power company installed electric poles by force "the people came out and pulled the poles all back out. These people didn't want the electricity'"(15). This is symbolic of the whole transmission of culture of the modern against the traditional. When the enemy enters the native camp it is called deliverance, but is really theft of the child. It is destruction of the tradition, which is obvious when white missionaries go to New Guinea but apparently not when the Internet sells social network.

You have to live it, not be curious of it.
Fight Against Electricity!

Ben Barney, a Navajo, says he had a grandfather who taught him until the age of eight, but when he died he couldn't find a replacement. Another says, "my grandfather died, and he was one of the last men in the village who knew the whole ritual cycle of songs. He died without letting me or my father, or any of us record any of it. I think he felt that this thing that he had was too precious to just give out, and have it exposed to someone whom he never knew well. And he'd rather die with it than have that happen to it. It seems to me he was saying, you're not going to to live it. You're one of these people that's fighting for the electricity. (I am not, in fact)" (17). So the ticket to the traditional, the universal (!) is that you have to live it, not be curious of it. Surrender to the traditional! If you will not surrender, and the elders have any pride, they take it to the grave in sorrow. But it is not to be studied by post docs. It is to be lived. How many young think their elders outweigh the modern?


That you have to live it goes a long way toward knowing both wilderness and identity. Living is not an intellectual function. "But he was saying, you're one of these people who are fighting for this. My people never had electricity. We never lived that way. And if I give you my lifeway, if I tell you my lifeway, you're going to sit and laugh at me, because you're laughing anyhow just by your behavior" (17).

Only among the remnants of American tribes does anyone dare thus to challenge the modern. Other subgroups embrace it like a drug. The life way is an iPhone. The elders won't speak to this, "naturally they are not going to tell you. I mean, they can't. I can see why he felt there is no way to communicate experience; the essence of it, the reality of it. I believe he was saying: I could give you words, and you could put them down, but that wouldn't mean the same thing" (17). Is this reality versus the virtual? The track of a bear versus a video game? These things are important if you want to have anything left on the earth that isn't homogeneous and interchangeable. Like babies.

Everything said here of the American tribes transfers to every family and subculture.


Momaday avoids the satiric in his work, but it is a satiric haunt like a ghost river in every meadow, grove and stream the summer nights after the predators came. Then a foam appeared at the exit pipes of plants along the upper Allegheny. It is hard enough to name Bear and Wilderness when those subsequent masks upon masks cover up naked being. Surrender. Stand up and strip, confess, then kneel! Wilderness trees, canyons, streams and things under and in them, screeches in the night, wheat, bear, porcupine are symbols to show what they are standing for, something else, life mirrors that open doors and close the way we live. Only the sun has escaped our dominion. The sun escaped the nano tales that seine the atmosphere in a net, to take earth away.

How To Know and Recognize the Alien

These image masks are the ultimate reality that deny we are predators or aliens. If you want to know the alien go and be one. Sit in the Mogollon. Do you belong? Find a bear. Is he your friend? People wander out all the time, light fires to be found, but the ones that aren't found bone up. Coyote Wound Dresser had a talk with Walt Whitman, Wound Dresser, but things did not turn out well for Whitman. The alien cannot be modeled, but it is knowable if Unknown. I'm going to tell you what it is.

Talking to the Unknown we  try to understand synergies of it in the anthropology of Edward Dorn. He says the alien is a crucifying self-consciousness of doubt at the root of his own being when he sees the Shoshone. Does he, Dorn, belong?

His doubts serve against the Unknown. They are a mirror of loss and lack. The filth on the chair that gets on his pants is an image of it..."I had a great desire to be off, to not take any more, or give any more...for I will say it, at the risk of blunder: It is impossible for myself and my people to offer themselves in any but the standard senses" (14).

At least he knows of the surrender, that you have to live it.  In some freak of Methodism he wants to wash this old man's feet to tame him, this 102 year old who stands for all of Idaho, Utah, Nevada and the Great Basin before electricity, " a volume of Yaa-Aaa-Aaa" (14). "I was aware of the presumption of my thinking he would be relieved or made happy by having his feet washed" (13).

Now Here is the Alien:
If you want to confront the Unknown you must to do it in the feet of your old age and death.

If we want to confront the Unknown we must to do it in the feet of our old age and death. "The place was intensely neglected, I gradually saw, and not just filthy as it looked to be at first glance. It was simply the remains of a life" (12).

The comfort of the Unknown in Dorn's account is that there are two that serve each other in it, but we don't know why. One Unknown is the wife,  ust like all our mothers and wives, who "should have died, by the rules of our biology, thirty years ago. But it was evident that she would stay on, the weaker of the two, until he smelled the summary message in his nostrils, then she would be free" (12).

Is death that freedom? The alien doesn't think in known terms, but makes Dorn harbor such thoughts as, "this man and woman were the most profoundly beautiful ancestors I've witnessed go before me' (12,13). "He is the spirit that lies at the bottom, where we have our feet. The feet which step between the domains, the visible sign, the real evidence of the coming event...where this man's low, incantatory verbs spill down across the plateau and basin" (13)... not more Indian than man, still as much the flower as the fruit."

Wash his feet! Wash his hands, heart and head! Lay in the dust like a penitent Barry Lopez, close to the flagellate, and weep for the human lost. This Shoshone's name is Willie Dorsey. We don't get his real name, Alien. "I saw, the heat, the vociferous mosquitoes in the building's shade, the slightly moist filth at the back door."

Alien old age and death look like "very old animals [that] have such coats over the eyes, a privacy impenetrable from the outside" (11).

Cataracts, the blind, the lame, the sick, the living I know treated by some Doctor of the Alien. She operates her office practically as a charity, complete with science, intuition and healing to the "grim weight of bad condition, not especially outlined, more heavy with despair than one could possibly arrange with rubble" (11). This is not Ed Dorn. He is a spectator. This Doctor holds the hand, cuts the hair, absorbs the breast, the tear, weeping and praying within, but praising and thanking for the chance that comes out of the "wooden clapboard structures" (10) of lives that they could be so treated and revived. So that's the alien, it's human and knowable even if Unknown. The alien and the unknown are in the feet of your old age and death.

A Man Without Fantasy

Identity grows from within, social and individual. But it is too late now for this ancestral way supplanted by  externals which overwhelm the inside, drown out its voice. Still, as a curiosity, let us revisit once again what was.

Dress in any of these masks or be naked as yourself as Who Wears Only A Name. Either you stand naked in The Name or you hide in a mask. Groups function as masks to prevent nakedness. The group will not go with you to death, but if there were something other than The Name to stand in it might be the landscape and the racial memory of landscape that "my parents and grandparents knew" (Momaday, 46). "I feel deeply about the landscape and I mean that literally. I think it is important for a person to come to terms with landscape. I think that's important; it is a means to knowing oneself" (45). But for the human there isn't identity in the landscape any more there is in being a god. How you know you're not a god is a fantasy question like looking at a plate of doughnuts.We can talk about these two identities, the family/tribe/ nation and the self in its skin. What has no arms, no legs, no skin, no teeth. If you answer it you turn to joy from grief.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

The Revelation of Language

Language is a lie detector itself. Research to uncover  secrets is not needed. You are broadcasting truth, even if you don't know it or like it, "the truth of language is that it unveils the Nothing of all things...Nothing is the final veil, the final name of language" (Giorgio Agamben. Leland De la Durantaye. A Critical Introduction 179).

Not to misunderstand, nothing is not what is thought. Literature masks it, the something points of history dress up. The sage Chuang Po said that the reduction of all things to our opinion of them (Legge I, 184) is like Agamben, to strip the  "nothing to reveal" means "human history is [not] unfolding with a progressive purpose in view." Where are we going?  Chuang Tzu says, "Men bustle about and toil; the sagely man seems stupid and to know nothing. He blends ten thousand years together... (Legge, I, 195f), ending in the butterfly dreaming it is Kuang Kau (197). The combatants argue yes and no in their arguments about nothing. What is it out of which they argue? A dream? Language about nothing. The truth is in their words like soda in a bottle. Take the substitution of the word LORD for the real word it stands for in those texts. Is it better pure,  a certain name unpolluted by its subversion if the use itself prevents more of the truth than the polluted would? Truth in words or in the thing? We hesitate to call what is behind the words anything except an attitude. Attitude is the truth to judge, the soda in the words. Internet sales and cold calls are successful because the words are empty cans.It is no surprise to us when words are used empty, when justice is spoken to hide injustice, beauty ugliness, so we're not surprised when language fails in this sense, but we are when it succeeds, when justice, beauty, love come out of the words themselves. So the can is important, but we can feel the attitude without the words.

Human ethos is "human speech itself" in social connection,  a function of one anothers'  language who  "become transparent to themselves." We therefore attempt "to become conscious of the meaning of the fact that human beings speak" (Agamben,180). The joy of this  experience is "language itself." I call it joy because  you have heard it done in your children and know intuitively the language universals that exist in the child's acquisition, the ma ma and da da of its being, fundamental identities that overwhelm  philosophy. Language is sound and meaning, the cells connect tissue and the fabric is sewn, tailored with age to become the marvel of  being to no purpose other than to be language. That is language itself, "being conscious of the fact that human beings speak." So language is the fact itself of speaking. 

Everything dishonest and hidden is already revealed in the event of language. I have not met the hypothetical person who exists who can hide language and prevent its ultimate revelation of themselves.  Language is the revelation of everything.  So it must be obvious that Agamben  concerns "the very matter-- or the potentiality-- of thought (la materia stressa o la potenza del pensiero"). Language is thought, not thought language.  I don't know how to write that large enough. Actually thought is mental speech overheard. Language itself is social connection, "the rendering common of what one thought of as one's own" (Agamben,181).  I can see into it and know it itself, what it really is and not some other you may pretend it to be. 

Unmasking language in common expands the "expropriation of language"  to the communication of everything. Agamben sees this as a problem for media speech and entertainment  as we all do. Unmasking is not just of the masked media, but of all society that media language has drained of meaning, of words become nonsense, untruth, falsities. The expropriation  that "free usage" of  language brings to communication is this, that like some state dispossessing a foreign corporation from its natural resources, deceit is expropriated from its trappings, hence comes the possibility of change.

"To liberate [the means] of communication so that they do not again fall prey to this isolation and separation" (182), language is already liberated-literate in itself. Deceit is shorn. Something deeper than language is at play if language  manipulated against itself reveals itself, reveals deceit in all speakers in common. 

"So thought finds itself for the first time, today, confronted by its task without any illusion and without any possible alibi" (182)...forfeiting every imaginary integrity...of home, race, class." Agamben says there is "no biological destiny that humans must enact or realize (Coming Community, 43). De la Durantaye says what everyone thinks anyway, that "the impoverishment of political discourse, and the increasing reliance on spectacular situations, sound bites" (182) is a crisis. Wasn't Crises Antigone's father?

Agamben says it's too soon to get off the bus. The destruction by the global that "empties traditions and beliefs, ideologies and religions, identities and communities" (Coming Community, 83) must be carried through to its unclothing, "not remaining unveiled in its nothingness... bringing language itself to language" (183). Whatever mess this makes in the telling, I can't learn much about you if your speech is honest, only if it is deceitful, so the one to whom language is no revelation is honest. Pleased to meet you. "Your word O LORD is eternal. To all perfection I see a limit, but your commands are boundless."

Friday, November 18, 2011

Native Texans

Hedeoma was the way I wanted to memorialize Carroll Abbott, who died the year Native Texans was published. The whole thing was due to him,  Henry Burlage and Alta Niebuhr and many others. Saint Coop printed a review of it here.

"If you were to take one plant with your immortal soul into the afterlife, then Hedeoma (Hedeoma Drummondii) would meet Amaranth. Medina County is starting a Hedeoma Dude Ranch. Aristophanes wanted thyme planted on his grave, but if you can get yourself planted in some Hill Country field you can have the superior Hedeoma. Albertus Magus claims drowned bees can be revived by the fragrance of the inferior pennyroyal, M. Pulegium, and that if you rub it on the "belly of any beast it shall be with birth." The use of Hedeoma in this way would shortly make so many beekeepers and mothers of us all that we would soon be drowned in milk and honey."

Alta said it should have been called A Philosopher Looks at Plants. She provided copies to her herbalists. That's when Brother Lynch of St. Edward's wrote to her and said it humanized botany more than he could have dreamed. Dr. Blackstock said it read like a novel. An editor at TCU press said she had hoped it would have had more philosophy. These folks could subscribe to Human Botany.

It was perilous. The day the ms was typed a stranger appeared at the door who had read one in the Newsletter. She had a book contract with Texas Monthly Press to write about herbs. Knowing nothing of Native Texans she wanted me to read her manuscript and tell her everything I knew about native plants! Native Texans was then enthusiastically greeted by two different regional Texas presses, Eakin and Corona, and canceled.

In another way of saying, the sun shining on herbs in jars on a window ledge in Chicago, at the home of a friend of Jack Dodds, caused this out of nothing. Within a year of migration to the Texas hill country that fragrance produced a desire to grow herbs, which compassed the hills in their seasons, at that time well outside Austin, and affected with rock walls, pumpkins, retama, red bud, limestone, sheep, pot studios and screened porches, reading Edith Sitwell in robin migrations and the click of the equinox in hammocks under oleanders, under chinaberries, on roofs, and in childhood from the hills of western Pennsylvania. I wrote the poem that became The Way into the Flowering Heart on that sheep ranch. The influence of eastern Pennsylvania was in the blood.

Out of these herb jars came A Calendar of Poems and its counterpart, Restorations of the Golden Age in New World Discoveries, but the peaks of roofs were coming over hill tops, so I moved into town. If you call it destiny it is inescapable, so after moving closer to the city, living in Hyde Park, I came one day upon the Experimental Drug and Herb Garden, four acres of herbs and medicinal plants fallen out of favor and cultivation with its proprietor, the College of Pharmacy. Amazed to discover this vestige of pharmacy's past by accident, and after much nay saying about the possibility, for the place was all but closed, Henry Burlage, Dean Emeritus, concocted an encounter with that present Dean to the effect that the place would remain open with himself as the Director, I the horticulturalist. The joy of this venture lasted three years and involved all sorts of trials and encounters, but when friend Henry took his last trip to the ER the end was in sight. The property was deeded back to the UT in trade for a new pharmacy building on campus. All these matters engaged the herb and native plant people, Carroll Abbott among them, who more or less founded the native plant movement in Texas, being an ex-politico, but who subsisted on sales of native plant seeds and bluebonnets with his Texas Wildflower Newsletter. These were days when Ladybird Johnson was active.

Further access to hill country land, explorations over the Edwards Plateau, visits with Carroll, walking up and down rivers and always growing plants. My botanist wife had written for the Newsletter and hungry editor that he was Carroll often solicited articles. But who ever does what's in their best interest? These invitations fell fallow, but even after moving to Dallas to pursue something that would pave the way for a medical career invitations kept coming. Carroll by then had contracted cancer, which he movingly wrote of in the Newsletter that I still read. One night I dreamed of him in such a woebegone state, depressed, in the dark, ashen, that I couldn't stand it, and instantly started writing that first piece, Equisitum, followed by Croton and Prickly Poppy and a whole flood. He printed the first two in the last  Newsletters. My whole  purpose was to make him laugh. From what he said it worked. So I finished writing this, called it Native Texans as a joke since these plants are universal. Croton, equisitum, milkweed, mullein, hedeoma, horehound first appeared in native plant newsletters.

Taking Down the Elder

Decay exists. The past disappears of itself. My first termites, in a house with a cracked concrete slab, came up in a box of books stored in a closet on top of a crack. This was good to know, otherwise they'd have eaten the house. Among many chances of water damage, another house on pier and beams allowed runoff from the street to pass underneath it in a torrent, warping the sub floor. Forces speed annihilation. Earth, water, fire, air, the older you are the more you get to have of it. More recently little wings were flying around the house and did so for weeks until by accident a chest with Navajo rugs was found infested. Closets, cashmere, wool, alpaca. Moths eat wool, termites wood, floods spoil books, thieves steal, accidents occur, hips break from inattention, feet stumble, forgetfulness, bone loss, anger, sleight, malice, forgetfulness and more. Save these memories. To annihilate them endangers the whole. Knowledge of the past as the knowledge of disaster prevents it.

Leo Delgado, said " (FB, 9/4/10) "Negativity is totally unnatural. It is a psychic pollutant, and there is a deep link between the poisoning of nature and the vast negativity that has accumulated in the collective human psyche. No other life form on the planet knows negativity, only humans, just as no other life form violates and poisons the Earth that sustains it." Not actually true any more than Arthur Cristian's notion that language reduced to alphabet, 140 to 26 sounds has occurred. He has never heard of co-articulation. There are many more human sounds in the writing. Negativity also builds fences. Negativity is earth, air, water, fire. These elements go together to discuss also human rights and the nature of the good. Annihilation of the elder in whatever form, magnified when the virtual seeks this imagined reverence from the natural, annihilates the past. Such false reverence  isolates from the real: supporting a family, working a job, maintaining a home in the first decades of  life.

When the denominations edited their hymns of all gendered language and anachronism, even if it spoiled  the metric, they did this with their scriptures too, as any secularist does with history. The Elder Assimilated was made over, Chuang Tzu issued forth in digestible bites without the rigor of a cultural past. Tyndale's English no more showed its glory. All were replaced with a commercial world that had no guise but commerce. Consumption was its product and design. The myriad names and places of  community were edited  to none, the Psalms established in their classic order over millennia were reordered to 19th century taste, ditto Chaung Tzu from 52 to 33 sections and then to the mere inner chapters. PBS specials provided in performed logic that Torah was a story fabricated by an exotic Canaanite revolution. These think they divide the poet from the scribbler as they make creation unfit to understand, what the sea lamprey and quagga mussel did  to the Great Lakes ravaged by exotic species and black carp, sucking up plankton like a vacuum cleaner, starving the perch, walleye, bass, trout, salmon, whitefish, smelt, the native species equivalent of law, culture and tradition, ravaged by this exotic disestablishment of authority, they
Take Down the Elder.

The pundit scientists and entertainers want you to look only one way, outside at them or their agendas. The elder prevents this for the elder is within. So science comes up with the space alien, entertainers come up with fashion, food, adventure all viewed from the outside. Look at me, look at me.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Spiritual Herbs Artemesia, Yarrow, Aloe


What makes a life herb desirable has to be the same for a great ceramic or painting, color, odor, form, universality,  good and the cure it brings. To abstract these in the botanese of materia medica is impossible. Take artemisia, the generic name, while species have difference, they still share the traits. Only call it mugwort as a convenience. So first the blue grey color, then the scent of thujone, then the delicate fernlike stems and leaves, then the fact that it is everywhere, along every highway, in every fence row, and finally the cure.

The most dramatic cure was when  glass artist Jim Bowman presented one day at the door on Avenue D with his knee swollen all out of form. He said he'd been to an urgent care and it was in its third day. He was just visiting, not seeking a cure, but I went out in the alley, since it is everywhere, cut a bundle and cooked it in water till it was real strong. Then we sat him down and put the leaves on the knee covered by towels over and under and for the next hours poured the water over and over the knee. Maybe he drank some of it too. After that he took the rest home and did it some more. It was the next day maybe, or the day after when he showed up and the swelling was completely gone.

I have done this operation since with less dramatic occasions. Nowadays tennis players have so many swollen knees, but they all ice. This is not as effective. Somebody try artemisia on a tennis player and get back to us. I decided to find out why this worked. The results were published in Native Texans, but there is a physical principle. As a birthday present this year, having breakfast on the Rim, artemisia was growing everywhere. A few little sprouts stuck to wet paper towel we dropped and they came back into town. These were potted up, which coincided with the monsoon rains all week. Now it seems the shoots have already rooted. Great present!
Habitat: Between Raqqa and the Syro–Iraqi border the Euphrates flows through a steppe landscape. This steppe is characterised by white Artemisia herba-alba and Chenopodiaceae.

With milfoil the case is more complicated, it being such an ancient herb of use in function. Not that the I Ching is all that specific, and it's like reading Chuang Tzu, but no divination is useful in itself, despite the huge trade in fortune telling. It's harmful to know the future except in the case where it is a prediction of hope or deliverance from trouble such as Isaiah gave in the siege of Hezekiah by Sennacherib, something about the king will hear some news, which he did. He heard the angel killed a hundred eight five thousand Assyrians that night and Sennacherib was on his way home to Niveveh:. So Byron said:

the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
So it helps to have deliverance predicted. You will be a cured of cancer. So that aside, and maybe to revisit, to apply the color, odor, form, universality, good, the color is an exquisite yellow green, the odor is astringent and vaguely menthol, the form is a thousand leaves, milfoil, more finely divided ferns, the universality is everywhere (that sound redundant?). I put some once along a Creek decades ago and it flourished with the horsetail reeds. I took some from Texas and put it in a Sonoran desert border. It did good, but the seeds took wing and it is in other borders now. It is all over the Mogollon Rim. One is in the garden. Welcome, my friend! As to the good, I used to have weak lungs subject to bronchitis and chest colds. I took to yarrow teas, drinking and inhaling the aromas. It made me its friend. I like a friend with whom I can take a walk. There is again more to this. Is that in Native Texans too? I don't remember.
I came to Phoenix for the aloe, saw pictures of the Boyce Thompson Arboretum outside Globe where they were all weather, knew in that instant I had to have aloes year round.

One time on the MoPac outside Austin a cyclist went down, helmet all dented, shirt ripped off, skin like a red rug. I approached him for the time,asked, how's it goin, but he wanted to go home. He bled all over the front seat. When we got to his house his wife burst into tears.

It must be the influence of the plants but I was feeling good that day so suggested he get in the bathtub! A little weird come to think of it.

So his wife and I washed off the gravel and dirt from the road burn and he took a percocet and lay down all red. My wife had gone to cut some aloes and brought a pile which I cut and put on the clean wounds. They should have been antiseptic and aloes are not proper treatment either, but we are in the field here, imagine third world, where the doc's hand is his MRI, or in the 19th century where maybe we put a leech on it, but anyway the guy fell asleep! All the shock wore off. His wife relaxed. The aloe sealed the wounds and he woke up in half an hour and called all his friends who then called the para medics who came in the midst of what was by then one cookin' party when we eased out and went on. Aloe! It's like a French greeting.

Color, odor, form, universality, good. Green of a certain sort is the loveliest color. Whether that's the yellow green of milfoil or the slight blue green of aloe is a nice question. With its yellow flowers though we're in the presence of majesty. The spikes don't smell, but the mucilage does, just slightly astringent. The spikes can get so large you can't pick them up, three feet and fat, and they will nick. When my friend Blessing was so sick after her MRI's and brain operations that could not cure the infection we put aloe on her wounds every day and she liked to eat it. It's not everywhere though, except you can take it with you. Dried aloe could be a new industry in the outback. Or go to the health food store and drink it, or smooth it on. Have you smoked it? Please call about that. As to the good hardly enough can be said. We have giant aloes in big clay pots, use one each Christmas as a Tree.

Yesterday I put a coffee mug in the microwave but it had some oil on the inside of the handle. When I took it out the inside of my middle finger felt funny, then began to burn. I iced it, but it really began to burn. Then three big white blisters appeared. Still burning I did what I'd not done in years, went out back and cut some aloe, macerated it in the skin and taped it on the finger. It stopped hurting in half an hour and never did again, but it looked like it did.

I realize aloe should be in the top of this list. I've surrounded my house with it, front, back and sides. This is the yellow flowered one, but I've got reds. Sally Parsons used to give her giant red aloes of Canyon Lake coffee grounds.


How about the teaching of Tickletonge for low self esteem. Make your own human medicine, be delivered from high pain. Every leaf a possible anesthetic. The leaves have thorns to protect from predators flatulence, diarrhea, rheumatism sore throat. Poultice it on your throat. But just shut this is the piece that wonders what the Indians ate so much of that they needed so many purgatives for, for it is a shibboleth of herb lore that when the writer is done with list of cures, vermifuges, there, I said it!, we will find added that the Indians used it as a purgative. This came however at the end of Carroll’s remission. He immediately printed this in his next number. I soon wrote croton and prickly poppy sent them along because I wanted to see him alive and vital. He printed the croton, “loved your croton story, and was holding prickly poppy at his death. My prose was neither life giving or healing. He was generous in his comments about them so I just kept on writing even after he had died. “Hedeoma” is my epitaph for his life.
To show how harrowing real life can be, the very week I finished the whole ms in first draft I was visited by Sally W who had seen the Abbott articles and asked if I would help her write a book on Tx natives or give her information. One Sunday she just appeared in the driveway with this. I did not tell her of the ms, but did volunteer to gossip with her about the plants, but she already had a contract with Texas Monthly Press, just no book.

The Blue Plants

In the 50’s the red and blue states were just reversed. Red and blue implies a kind of opposition where both are made ignoble. The very lack of specificity is telling. Red. Blue. The most generic, least specific color stands for the most generic least specific politics. This unattractiveness  were it in nature would reduce fertility to nil, for color is fertility, the red bean is read, but why. Well it’s not red, its vermillion. And the brown seed is so in order that it will not be visible to birds, Life guards itself with color. The blue bean however is indigo, so imagine were there a vermillion and an indigo party, each positive, attractive

I went to the store to get a rue but got a lemon tagetes. These can prevent roof rats if planted thick enough. I got so many my neighbor couldn’t. Then I got the roof rat concession at nurseries. In cages they go for 10.

The full tree tobacco along the Rio Grande, overhangs rocky banks of sandy tributaries and washes. in the morning in bloom with its yellow trumpet flowers in morning hang down to shoulder height as you walk the wash, blue and gold with the color of the leaf, mystical sun and moon archetype of beauty. The leaves of the nicotania are blue like a eucalyptus but only to give the color. Their ovate, peaceful ambiance is not tame if it is not safe to go down to the river to view them, that being no fault of the desert or flood, but human forces that impact botany, so we relive the experience in memory. This is opposite its reputation as a trash tree of waste places such as the south slope of the El Conquistador tennis courts in Tucson.
To relive in memory these efficacious herbs, tree tobacco is actually billed among the Navajo as a ceremonial smoke, spurious, with the notion that the leaf in various forms lessens the physical symptom of addicts from opiates to tobacco, spurious again. Herbalists are not at fault for this so much as those who sell “vision inducing” experiences, so they call it a cure for heroin (!)  Whether or not you seek enlightenment this way, if enlightment exists it must come only in its denial. Knowledge is a young man’s business to which he is the foder of every shuckster with a line. Eat this, drink this, smoke this, do this and you will be saved from your average state. You can b e a god. So there is employment available for the few selling to the many.
but not alone for punditry or salesmanship. For them  that wants to turn prophet, or turn a profit, one oz $8,  114 grams of foliage $40. Seekers of auyhausca have found nicotania in the outer world only exists inside the high, high, high state of the herbal fire. If high is your desire than nothing compares with self sacrifice and self surrender with integrity and recognition of compassionate purpose. That will get you a position on the bottom rung.

When you have been once enlightened how do you get unenlightened except by putting aside all the techniques of divination and thought control? You don’t try to control your mind. You don’t seek to know the future. You open your eyes and ears, all your senses and proceed.
Used for fighting opiates the way the same blue plant, rue fights against premature orgasm You don’t see lines of this among the old however. It is billed as harvested by the hands of native people, another way of saying the world is not with us (wordsworth), when we consume with the native. Sometimes it is called Indian tobacco and claimed hallucinogenic. Why you would pay for this is your own business when every night of your life you get them for free.
It is also a vote against animal cunning, which turns out to b e less devious than we supposed, for the active ingredient Anabasine,  a nicotinic acetylcholine receptor agonist , which can “curb the desire for the cigarette by fooling the body . Where else can you go to fool the body into thinking. Does the animal think? into thinking you skip the withdrawals you would normally feel with nicotine. In addition you can feel a sense of euphoria. I feel euphoria merely at reading this.

Common names and Synonyms: Siphaulax glabra, Nicotiana arborea.
Tree Tobacco, Mustard Tree, Wild Tobacco, Wildetabak, Mexican Tobacco, Coneton, San Juan Tree, Tobacco Plant, Akkue Musa, Cestrum, Corneton, Jantwak, Le Tabaque Glauque, Mahasatpurush, Masseyss, Palau Pazau, Satpurush, Tabaco Cimarron, Taba, Don Juan, Isil Pivat, Yellow Tree Tobacco.
orgDirectly imported from South America
Genus: Nicotiana
Varied Species: glauca


Nicotiana glauca (Argentinean tree tobacco) is atypical within the genus Nicotiana, accumulating predominantly anabasine rather than nicotine and/or nornicotine as the main component of its leaf pyridine alkaloid fraction. The current study examines the role of the A622 gene from N. glauca (NgA622) in alkaloid production and utilises an RNAi approach to down-regulate gene expression and diminish levels of A622 protein in transgenic tissues. Results indicate that RNAi-mediated reduction in A622 transcript levels markedly reduces the capacity of N. glauca to produce anabasine resulting in plants with scarcely any pyridine alkaloids in leaf tissues, even after damage to apical tissues. In addition, analysis of hairy roots containing the NgA622-RNAi construct shows a substantial reduction in both anabasine and nicotine levels within these tissues, even if stimulated with methyl jasmonate, indicating a role for the A622 enzyme in the synthesis of both alkaloids in roots of N. glauca. Feeding of Nicotinic Acid (NA) to hairy roots of N. glauca containing the NgA622-RNAi construct did not restore capacity for synthesis of anabasine or nicotine. Moreover, treatment of these hairy root lines with NA did not lead to an increase in anatabine levels, unlike controls. Together, these results strongly suggest that A622 is an integral component of the final enzyme complex responsible for biosynthesis of all three pyridine alkaloids in Nicotiana. DeBoer, K. D.; Lye, J. C.; Aitken, C. D.; Su, A. K. K.; Hamill, J. D.
Plant Molecular Biology 2009 Vol. 69 No. 3 pp. 299-312
  • Native & Naturalized Woody Plants of Austin and the Hill Country by Brother Daniel Lynch
·  Ethnobotany and History
·  Restoration and Propagation
·  Botany and Ecology;jsessionid=B1DA8F3429D35CD2AEA71BB07CA11D35

Along with mullein and mugwort, rue

Nicotiana glauca tree tobacco
Product: Nicotiana glauca
Latin Name: Nicotiana glauca
Common Name: Tree Tabacco
Nicotiana glauca leaves are organically grown and harvested by hand by the native people.
The leaves have been cured.
Smoking the leaves of the nicotiana glauca plant have been said to curb addictions as strong as heroine on top of being somewhat hallucinogenic.
Studies are ongoing at this time.
The effects of the plant seem to satisfy the mental and physical craving while also deminishing the physical addictions of some addicts.
Studies of Nicotiana to be used as a treatment for nicotine addiction since it does not contain nicotine are ongoing. Nicotiana glauca's active ingredient is anabasine--an alkaloid similar to nicotine.
Rare and beautiful, nicotiana glauca does not actually contain nicotine, but analog alcalides. The unusual bush or tree has leathery blue vaned leaves, which are smoked for ritual perposes by Navajo Indians.
Nicotiana glauca AKA Tree Tobacco was considered the most powerful of the Nicotiana species. The hallucinogenic properties were believed to be more powerful and, like all of the Nicotiana, it was used for many medical treatments.
Some are studying Nicotiana glauca to be used as a treatment for nicotine addiction since it does not contain nicotine. Instead, Nicotiana glauca's active ingredient is anabasine--an alkaloid similar to nicotine. 

Artemesia as dangerous:

Song of the Earth
A hundred years after its demise
the Ghost Dance for the restoration of species
is sung and danced by the world.
Sometimes, all the time, at night we dream of stories heard and what we have seen of the earth, as a black moth flutters the yellow flower and the smell of dirt after rain. Hardly things one thinks today, the mud, the rush of water in the creek, the roar, bluster of wind.
We have dreamed things that don’t exist, gone from the circle of life, separated by a fence from the honeysuckle that always was. That fence is strong enough to hold us up, not keep us out, to find a way from what was not to a dream flower prescient with the knowledge of itself.
The old house was never a house, a sculpture islanded by moat, where what looked like giraffes walked paths to what is now a city of lights. The dreams honeycomb, traverse fallopian and moments of birth. Waking sudden and early, the lassitude of moment stretches on until we drop.
Interrupted by the life we live for ones who love and give up everything, the Unnumbered stretch the great wake waking, tens of generations walk the moats and paths of nations. It’s about earth, the way we reach form, dust and ash that memories aurify, the ground that miners explore, which of course we all are mining to find.
Don’t come to graves, but in the wild of the Rio Grande the blue leaf desert with its yellow flower hangs. From tributaries where we once stood, still stand if we ever were, to Glenn Springs in mid desert, there is a spring where cenizo flowers pink and blue. Folk always, folk art as awe, makes it relive the past and find the gold.
There were others on the ground, Cosgroves, Parsons, Clarks in the hills before refrigerators, packed up among dinosaur tracks and creeks. Even if ravines where they or neighbors ran close cropped goats are gone, grass, drought, rains, flood remains, where once in a field a gulley stood, unbegun, the grass was clipped,  protective mat of foliage dried.
Compromised, the cedar came, if you like Christmas happy for the green, and if you like fence posts. In the gulley deep it was not the fault of goats, the Navajo did the same with sheep before the Army came and tore down their statue to the sheep Hussein, divvied the herds to a half or a third. None intended, people got along.
If Stevens ran wild creatures without herdsmen like the emu of today, wild propagating goats, this is what you would say, earth remained for dikes and dams to catch silt, stop runoff from a trench. Deer and turkey took off.  Hawks flew up.  Badgers applaud the sides of cliffs, burrows excellent for roots with caliche seeps.
I had no shirt but now am dressed, explore light and dark, but none familiar till an uncle shows this cornice measured at its base, numbers and ratios written on wood, yet founded on the premise of a sculpture house built by a grandfather on a lake.  I go there to find some keepsake, some carving, balustrade, ironwork as good as the sense impressions to compare, which I have from another house, lived in hundreds of years, artifacts, but do not dream them. Not constantly.
Dream the lost overtaken by time, back to the gardens and lushness grown. I don’t see how landscapes of the county nineteenth and twentieth century houses and gardens differ. The last remained with its family until the next, too new to dream, too realized with books and art. Start with sense impressions of previous lives, experienced now in memory, even more in dreams I have constantly of their transfiguring.
Though dreaming in the afterlife of this, this life is now an afterlife of that. Nothing remains of the slag, piled football fields high, made from stripmined down hills, which you could slide upright on your feet like skis, or the rock house in the hills inhabited by condos. All that remains are the books to read. The cars are gone. The people have aged.
I look at my son and see Amasa Clark in Bandera who started his orchard among Comanche and bears, in peace till an onion felled him after a century. I knew him through his daughter, her daughter, her daughter and her daughter whom I married to begin life with the same prime looks at trails, for the earth remains. They think it won’t but it will.
They think species extinct, that carrier pigeons, exotics and imports come upstream to swallow the indigenous, that this is the fate of ice caps and coastlines while radio enthusiasts find waves that cure cancers implanted with metal nano particles.
So why not have creation over, flights of robins in the thousand and ten thousands, like David, like herds of the plain, like trees, somebody will say who has an ash, or heard of one in another part of town, the great fecundity of creation recreated?
If I could promise you this would it matter? All loss all gain, yet will the world, but it is a new world remade, remains. I never dreamed it, but feel it in the vein, the impossible heart arteries that pump like new. At least we are not without likeness. New hearts, new liver, new kidneys, new fingers and toes, new earth in a ground that floods with life the way the whole world does.  
[The title evokes the Ghost Dance with Gustav Mahler’s most personal composition, The Song of the Earth (1911), Das Lied von der Erde / Le Chant de la terre. He in turn evokes Li Bai (Li Po), the Chinese poet (701–762) said to compose poetry at such rapid pace that it needed no correction. Mahler’s new form called a Song Symphony uses Hans Bethge’s translation of ancient Chinese poetry (Die Chinesische Flöte / The Chinese Flute) to celebrate this beauty and mortality, which Ezra Pound versed also in Cathay. I found this composition while reading Momaday on the Kiowa, Ed Dorn on the Shoshone and looking for what Albert Glover said of the last sighting of Charles Olson. Written sometime out of memory, it is conveyed without correction. You would not think merely a hundred years after its demise that the Ghost Dance of the Paiute for the restoration of species would be sung and danced by the world.]

Li Bai composed his poetry; he was said to be able to compose at an astounding speed, without correction
Li Bai is influential in the West partly due to Ezra Pound's versions of some of his poems in the collection Cathay,[2] such as The River Merchant's Wife: A Letter. The ideas underlying them had a profound impact in shaping American Imagist and Modernist poetry through the 20th Century. Also, Gustav Mahler integrated four of Li Bai's works in his symphonic song cycle Das Lied von der Erde.
complete integration of song cycle and symphony. The form was afterwards imitated by other composers, notably by Shostakovich and Zemlinsky. This new form has been termed a "song-symphony",[7] a hybrid of the two forms that had occupied most of Mahler's creative life.

Albert Glover

Mushrooms:  went to Olson’s Fort Square rooms once during the summer of 1966 it must have been. I was with my wife, and we didn’t get past the kitchen. Still, he stayed up all night with us, talking as he always had. He displayed a jar of mushrooms “laced with strychnine” that someone had sent to him from California. Perhaps I’d like to try one? I declined. At one point he read to me about Buddhism from his favorite dictionary, Webster’s Second Edition. The Four Noble Truths. He would shake me when I started falling asleep. And he seemed to have a good time with Pat, my wife, who would challenge him with her spiritual ferocity: “Say it in three words or less!” He’d slap the table, laugh, and set off on another 20 minute solo. Then he’d look at her for approval — she’d do it again. There was a Jackson Pollock drawing on the fridge, put up there like a child’s homework by an admiring parent.
When I moved to northern New York in 1968, I brought The Institute of Further Studies with me. The final issue of The Magazine of Further Studies, which contained “A Plan for a Curriculum of the Soul,” was edited at the Holberg house across the street from the pine plantation where I’d found my first amanita muscaria. In the months preceding the publication of Wasson’s expensive Soma, Charles and I had been working on this mushroom which appears in The Maximus Poems briefly as an Algonquian intoxicant. I wanted to try it. We’d both also been reading The Teachings of Don Juan and were excited about that. As my research deepened and I grew closer to actually taking these mushrooms, Charles wrote to me on one of his fabulous postcards that he didn’t know from experience if “whortleberry juice” in fact “cut” fly agaric. Just to let me know that the risk I was taking was mine to take. That gesture remains for me a presiding honesty in our relation. I’ve written about some of this foolishness in The Mushroom, my contribution to A Curriculum of the Soul. And it is true that the vision of that project which has kept me for the past twenty-eight years came from the mushroom shortly after Olson’s death and the arrival of Wasson’s beautiful tome, purchased for me by students at St. Lawrence. I was to publish an epic tribute, a work with many voices, all of them “one voice.” Jack Clarke took the “Plan” and wrote the assignments. The books would go out in various colors and together would make a rainbow bridge. The Ford Foundation bought me Gestetner mimeograph equipment. When the first “proof copies” (400 of each) had been made, I would edit the whole into one volume as lavish in production as Soma.
The last words I received from Olson came by messenger, a phone call from Linda Parker. Letters for Origin had just come out from Jonathan Cape, and Charles wanted me to know that he liked the book. “But the words at the back” (an awkward “editor’s note” I had made in lieu of a scholarly preface) “top it.” He was ever generous with me. And the last time I saw Charles was at the “Olson Conference” in Iowa City, 1976. George, who was on his way to becoming “the Dean of Olson Studies” (as a distinguished “panelist” would announce a few years later at MLA), had cooked up the event with Sherman Paul who was promoting his new book: Olson’s Push. Origin, Black Mountain, and Recent American Poetry. Though I hadn’t been officially invited (George had become embarrassed by what he called the “loose Visigothic horde” of Olsonites and was bent upon making Charles a respectable literary figure — the University of California would get the work) my efforts on Olson’s behalf made it hard for George to keep me out when I pressed him. Finally it was arranged I would introduce George and thus have something to do, i.e., I could have a room at The Rebel Motel in Iowa City and apply for travel money from my home institution. Still, as a reader of “Letter for Melville, 1951,” I was in a repressed rage about the Conference and the agenda attached to it. Olson had made it quite clear to me that he detested such “literary” stuff along with the people who made careers out of it. I was also angry because both Jack Clarke and Harvey Brown, men who had worked closely with Charles for several years, were given no opportunity to speak. Regardless, George and I went out to lunch together after one of the morning sessions and whom should we see in the cafeteria but Charles. We both recognized him immediately, though the occurrence did stretch our minds. I thought George was going to drop his tray, but he only turned white and held on. We made our way to a table, and I said: “It’s him. He’s here!” George nodded. Charles came over toward us, but we made no sign of recognition; on the contrary, we both pretended we didn’t see him. So he sat down at the table directly behind me, his back toward mine. And then, more wildly, he pushed himself back so his shoulders were actually touching mine. I continued to pretend nothing was happening as my body filled with an incredible golden light which seemed to flow out of him where we touched. Then he got up and left. George and I never talked about it. And Charles has never bothered me, even in dreams, since that day.
Recently I had a brief exchange of e-mail with a young academic who is interested in how Charles and Robert Creeley shaped their careers. She writes:
I appreciate your reaction to my notion of “career.” I gave a paper on Olson and professional anthropology at Orono and Ed Dorn objected vociferously to any intimation that Olson was an “oppositional professional,” saying, “In those days, we thought professionals were dentists.” I clearly have to think carefully about my terms. How, though, would you describe the tremendous ambition and strategic planning readable in the Olson/Creeley correspondence? The two were collaborating as much on making it in the literary field (they networked in the “mainstream” as well as the “margin”), I think, as on projective verse. I’ve also done some research on Creeley’s dealings with his editor at Scribner’s. He kind of got in the back door, through one of the Short Story anthologies, but when it came to “plan” the publication of For Love, he was remarkably adept at packaging his work.
Her interest strikes me as genuine. But I have been unable to communicate to her the dimension of spirit in which Charles lived and worked. There seems to be no explaining it to the next generation

Next, see Native Texans