Category Archives: art

Pieces of Nietzsche…

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ON PHILOSOPHY

It is clear that every ‘great philosophy’ is, no more and no less than, the confession of its author.

To explain how a philosophy’s highest flung claims have been derived, therefore,

we need only ask, ‘what really makes its author tick?’

The desire to know, is not, then, the Mother of Philosophy.

For, look, here one desire, and now there, another, has put knowledge

to use as a means to, shamelessly, further its own ends…

The fundamental desires of Man have always been ‘philosophers’.

And each of them is only too happy to present itself

as the be all and end all of existence!

As master of the others.

All Man’s desires are tyrannical.

And for the philosopher, everything is personal.

His ideas, inevitably, bear testimony to the hierarchy of his secret desires.

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Friedrich Nietzsche, philosophical and psychological genius of the nineteenth century, in his book, ‘Beyond Good and Evil’, presaged the breakdown of the Western Aristocratic ruling elite and the irresistible forces that led to two catastrophic world wars. This new poetic interpretation of his master work teases out still relevant lines of thought for the reappraisal of our rapidly disintegrating current world order.

The question of value goes to the heart of who we are, what we are and why we think we are here… A tendency to make certain assumptions about our environment appears to be intrinsic to our nature, yet the meaningful existence we crave can only ever be granted by a ‘higher power’ which we now seem loathe to recognise outside of ourselves… We have always looked to those best qualified to answer our most fervent questions but what if they too have fallen foul of the ‘Auction-House of Things’… And what of the Beyond?

Pieces of Nietzsche: A Thinker’s Bias

available from Amazon UK, Amazon.com and worldwide.

Callings…

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It is entirely possible that this ‘fella’ once stood in a ‘circle’.

He now guards a lay-by in an unassuming stretch of Dartmoor,

if such a thing can be said to exist.

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Nearby, stands a ‘wayside cross’ which may not be a cross at all.

It may be a ‘hammer’ or a ‘thunder-bolt’.

It may even be a sign post…

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We posit such querulous notions

only because the landscape

again appeared to be offering us ‘clues’.

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And shortly after this impromptu stop,

the Dragon’s Breath completely whited us out…

We may have to go back again.

Something fishy in Preseli…

‘Pentre-Ifan’

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‘I know we’re not in England but it doesn’t even feel like we’re in Britain!”

We were in Nevern churchyard in Pembrokeshire, Wales, on one of the Silent Eye’s Workshops…

And a familiar feeling was creeping over us…

The church and the ‘Stone Cross’ too seemed vaguely reminiscent of ‘something’ and we began to entertain the notion that we might have inadvertantly stumbled upon one of the treasures we had recently come across in our reading.

We were not destined to get to the mound at the back of the church, unfortunately, but we were near enough.

The garden walls of the houses which huddled around the local church were packed with quartz crystal, huge chunks of the stuff in some cases…

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‘I made a mental note to look at the relationship between Pentre Ifan, Nevern church and Carningli Peak… The three locations appeared to form an equilateral triangle. .. I revisited each site and retook their co-ordinates. The triangle is astonishingly accurate and places the three sites in a geometrical relationship that cannot be accidental. Students of the Traditional Arts will know that the equilateral triangle is the basis for a vesica pisces. Within the intersecting circles of the vesica are two equilateral triangles arranged back to back in a diamond shape… Is there a second triangle south of the ‘Nevern Triangle’? It did not take long to confirm that there is a standing stone that completes the second equilateral triangle. Waun Mawn is a six feet high single stone… whose location matches perfectly the requirements for the apex of a second triangle. These two triangles, together, form the basis of a vesica pisces.’

Robin Heath – Bluestone Magic

 

Back to Llandudno…

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“The Great Orme, it seems, hasn’t quite finished with us, yet.”

“So it would appear.”

“There is a walk…”

“Not more walking.”

“…Which can be driven.”

“Let’s do that, then.”

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“You see faces?”

“Yes, I see faces.”

“Then you are possessed. You are a believer, born again, and yet you see faces so you are possessed.”

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“Possessed by what precisely?”

“The Spirit of Animism.”

“Oh, good!”

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Stairways of the mind…

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“There are a lot of ugly looking lions in Portmeirion.”

We shrink from wondering whether or not one of them is devouring the Buddha’s missing right forearm.

“And lots of steps.”

“Number Six spends a lot of time in the village running up and down steps.”

Run up one set of steps in Portmeirion and a Mansion becomes a Two-up-Two-down.

Run down another and one is accosted by a plaster-cast-christ declaiming on a balcony from which depends a black sheep.

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“Soft clothes?”

“Perspective. One is spatial, the other, intellectual.”

“Clever that.”

Here, the ridiculous jostles with the sublime to unfeasibly pleasing effect.

“It’s nothing more than a clutter and jumble of odds and sods, lovingly reassembled into, well, something, uncluttered and well ordered.”

“Much like memories, perhaps.”

“Or what memory makes of experience.”

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In the corner of that courtyard there, a manicured tree sprouts in-front of a doorway.

Or rather, a doorway, which leads nowhere, has been constructed behind a tree which is then kept manicured.

Its the perfect place in which to reconsider one’s cardinal points and be reminded of one’s priorities.

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Given III…

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“The problem with ‘religious art’ is that whenever you start to enthuse about it people put you down as ‘God Squad’.”

“And then impose their own conception of ‘God’ on you.”

“Which is usually a hideously naive one.”

“I’d be happier with ‘Spirit Squad’.”

“‘The spirit moves where it listeth’.”

“And cannot be tied down by any religious organisation.”

“Saint Michael isn’t a particularly Christain saint, he has his origin in Hebraic magic as an archangel.”

“The notion of sanctifiying an already holy entity is a curious one. Sanctification would normally only be appropriate for a human being.”

“It’s what might be termed an unholy error of hubris, perhaps, and has for it’s champion the ‘Vox populi’.”

“Which in itself is no bad thing.”

“It is not, though, the only mistake people make. They continually objectify when they should subjectify.”

“And they continually subjectify when they should objectify.”

“The depiction of Saint Michael subduing a dragon does not actually refer to any future or past time ‘out there’, but to an inner state which can be achieved by any and all. When it is achieved the ‘out there’ becomes irreversibly changed, for the better.”

“Which might even be described as something of a revelation.”

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The Celebration of Mister Fox…

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I never knew Holmfirth in the days of mill workers and clogs.

I really got to know her in the Post Industrial gloom,

Of swish Cafe Bars,

And cosy restaurants,

All day drinking parties frequented by the nouveau riche…

Who leap from still moving taxis,

Done up to the nines,  dressed to kill,

While up on the hill,

Something feral is stirring…

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Something ancient and unsought…

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So, as the lazy cars slow crawl,

Through tight-cobbled streets,

Held up by roaming party-goers,

Soft parading their unsteady path from the park…

And boozers sing boldly in the late afternoon heat

With rabid mouths, foaming,

Never quite finding the beat…

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A beast is preparing,

to be unleashed,

In the dark…

Free Day II…

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…Left alone in my room for long enough I thought I might discover how they did it, how they worked it.

I thought I was being clever.

Initially, I had suspected the lights, either the lights or the heating, or perhaps both or maybe they sprayed something on the tiles?
But my room was just a room, cold and empty, ordinary, harmless.

The only thing that felt even remotely uncomfortable about it were my memories; the only ghosts in there were created by myself yet those feelings were real enough, too real…

They were more convincing than the six, blue, square edged pillars which ran down either side of the centre of my room, they were more convincing, than the old, piped central heating, and they were more convincing too than the fluorescent light fittings which droned overhead for that was how they worked it… they worked from inside your mind.

They turned the screws and tightened the bolts in there, and everything they did or said, or did not say, and did not do was designed to get in there and there was no way to prove it which suited them because they always needed proof, facts, solid objects, evidence…

And in that room, at that moment then, totally empty and bare and ordinary, there were only ghosts, phantoms which could be driven away, dispersed simply by looking at them and saying their name.

“Samuel!”

“SSS-AAA-M-UUE-EL”

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The Rock of Brentor…

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‘…A church, full bleak, and weather beaten, all alone, as it were forsaken…’

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“St Michael de Rupe?”

“St Michael the Rock.”

“I thought St Peter was supposed to be the ‘Rock’?”

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“The rock referred to here, is volcanic.”

“Nice.”

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“Though you would never know it now…”

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“…The church-tower can still serve as a beacon.”

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“Curioser and curioser…”

“Wait till we get inside, Alice.”

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