What I imagine happens is that for the self, time begins to flow backwards; even before death, the act of dying is the act of reliving an entire life, and at the end of the dying process, consciousness divides into the consciousness of ones parents and ones children, and then it moves through these modalities, and then divides again. It's moving forward into the future through the people who come after you, and backwards into the past through your ancestors. The further away from the moment of death it is, the faster it moves, so that after a period of time, the Tibetans say 42 days, one is reconnected to everything that ever lived, and the previous ego-pointed existence is defocused, and one is you know, returned to the ocean, the morphogenetic field, or the One of Plotinus, you choose your term. A person is a focused illusion of being, and death occurs when the illusion of being can be sustained no longer. Then everything flows out and away from this disequilibrium state that life is. It is a state of disequilibrium, and it is maintained for decades, but finally, like all disequilibrium states, it must yield to the Second Law of Thermodynamics, and at that point it runs down, its specific character disappears into the general character of the world around it. It has returned then to the void/plenum.

-Terence McKenna

This is pure recreation and zero school time


Settle in a deep flower of yellow petals


and orange pink center.






Trying to find my baby


Rejecting the form


Dribble dribble


Seer blind from the road


No not me


It’s a trip man


Being cool


Outhink your friend






Wait a minute!


Did you say Mongols rapists


Are you awake?






The glass slides away


The lights slip down


Your hopes shattered






But you remember the songs


The verse that changed your path


Let you see a new way

Suicide is “a closed world with its own irresistible logic,” wrote the British poet and literary critic A. Alvarez, a failed suicide himself, in “The Savage God.”



“Once a man decides to take his own life,” Mr. Alvarez wrote, “he enters a shut-off, impregnable but wholly convincing world where every detail fits and each incident reinforces his decision.”


 Some guy called on the phone, said he knew me and wanted to give me 200 bucks for two days of my driveway.

I of course demanded 400 since that is what I had fairly earned a year ago from the same man. We agreed at 300 as all understood that the economy was slipping with the pilots losing their pensions.


 Pilots are just  busdrivers in the sky but with caps and hot stewardesses.

The freethinking individual is the greatest tool the universe has come up with to understand itself.

Writing  is a time binder.    ___________________________________________________________

Beat is important to awareness because it presupposes by its operation, the future and the past,  ( beat).   It focuses thought into travelling a continuum  and allows the listener to play with the melody  as your persona travels through the beats.  Beat  manifests visibly the passage of time with the usual distractions, turnovers or occasionally a grand theme which may overwhelm, subsume or contrast  with the melody you're following.

Music has paralleled the development of human thought,  making it visible, manageable and available for development.

Home

The first extensive and recorded accounts of the New River Valley in North Carolina were made in December 1752 by the Moravian Bishop Augustus Gottlieb Spangenberg who was searching for a large tract of 100,000 acres on which to establish a Moravian colony. On December 14, 1752, having found his way out of the New River Valley and then encamped at the Lewis Fork of the Yadkin River, he wrote,

"Here we are at last, after a difficult journey across the mountains. We were completely lost and whichever way we turned we were walled in. Not one of our company had ever been there before and path and trail were unknown — though how can one speak of path or trail where none existed? We crossed only dry mountains and dry valleys and when for several days we followed the river [New River] in the hope that it would lead us out, we found ourselves only deeper in the wilderness, for the river ran now north, now south, now east, now west, in short to all points of the compass!

This is a fine county for pasture and meadows, from which great numbers of cattle and sheep are raised, which bring much wealth to the farmer. The air is pure and the water is good, if not superior to any on earth. People live long in Ashe County.


The face of the country is clothed with large and lofty timber of black walnut, sugar tree maple, buckeye, hickory, chestnut, and spruce pine. Clover, strawberries and blue grapes are natural to grow everywhere. Cranberries also in great plenty.


As that country has always had plenty of game, the first settlers who lived there for the purpose of hunting, were much opposed by the Indians, in particular by the Shawnees and the Cherokees, until the end of the late war

The major factor in the development of the social order here has been the tilling of a small self-contained family farm unit. While the state's economic history in the 18th and early 19th centuries has been written mainly in agricultural terms — excepting naval stores and up to the development of textile mills — it is also true in the New River Valley. In the Coastal Plain and, to a lesser extent, in the Piedmont there were markets available and methods of transportation for getting goods and produce to them. Transportation opportunities diminished as one moved inland from the coast and away from the Tidewater Virginia and South Carolina borders so that in the mountain area agricultural practices developed less along commercial farm lines, than as the means of sustaining the family unit. Thus the size of farms changed slowly and unnoticeably, mainly increasing and decreasing through the division of a family farm or the combination of farmlands as a result of marriage. This factor also encourages the relative evenness of the buildings here. Farms of similar size would and did support families and operations of an approximate size and scale. In consequence the houses and outbuildings themselves are similar in size, material, and design

Another important factor for consideration here is the definite absence of the Georgian style, and the minimal presence of the Federal style which exerted considerable influence on the architectural character of much of the rest of the state. At the same time there is also little evidence of the Greek Revival style which so dominated antebellum building in North Carolina. The architecture of the New River Valley is, therefore, a history of building which occupies one place in the state and the oneness of response to repetitive demands — a remarkable sameness of type, form, shape, material, and ornament. It is a repetition and sameness which is never boring but, because of its unpremeditated functionalism, it appears as natural in the landscape as the very trees and hills of the terrain

The introversion of pioneer mountain life encouraged by the landscape was a deliberate extension of the strong individualism which defined their approach to life.

The hills and river wrapped and, to a considerable degree, isolated the settler and farmer in the alternating states of a vast expansive openness or intimacy. The physical containment reinforced the self sufficiency of the life on the farm on both the emotional and economic levels. The processes of birth, life, and death were all effected within the confines of the family farm. On a significant number of farms small family cemeteries survive containing several generations of a particular family and their married kin. Thus the entire history of the farm and its owners and workers was contained on its grounds and read in its fields, buildings, and cemetery. These cemeteries, generally located on the highest point of ground on the farm, are enclosed by fences of stone, metal or wood; plantings of box bushes, crepe myrtle, cedars, and sometimes lilac are interspersed among the granite, marble, and fieldstone markers

Hommage du Hardy

Hommage du Collage

I have been unable to find out where he was hung, but have an idea that it was down in the southwest part, near Virginia; but I am not positive about this.

In other words,

his story is a story of one of the composite characters that so often arise in the land,—a man of kind heart, very strong, pleasant in his address, yet a gambler, a roué, a drunkard, and a fierce fighter.


                                "JOHN HARDY."

THE popular song "John Hardy" without doubt had its origin and development in West Virginia. The hero of this modern ballad was a Negro, whose prowess and fame are sung far and wide among his own race, and to a less extent among white folk. No written or printed statements concerning him are known to exist except an order in the courthouse at Welch, McDowell County, W.Va,, for his execution. However, the statements hereinafter given are believed to be thoroughly reliable.

In a letter dated Charleston, W.Va., Feb. 16, 1916, addressed to Dr. H. S. Green of that city, and written by the Hon. W. A. McCorkle, governor of West Virginia from 1893 to 1897, occurs the following:—

"He [John Hardy] was a steel-driver, and was famous in the beginning of the building of the C. & O. Railroad. He was also a steel-driver in the beginning of the extension of the N. & W. Railroad. It was about 1872 that he was in this section. This was before the day of steam-drills; and the drill work was done by two powerful men, who were special steel-drillers, They struck the steel from each side; and as they struck the steel, they sang a song which they improvised as they worked. John Hardy was the most famous steel-driller ever in southern West Virginia. He was a mangificent [sic!] specimen of the genus Homo, was reported to be six feet two, and weighed two hundred and twenty-five or thirty pounds, was straight as an arrow, and was one of the most handsome men in the country, and, as one informant told me, was as 'black as a kittle in hell.'

"Whenever there was any spectacular performance along the lines of drilling, John Hardy was put on the job; and it is said that be could drill more steel than any two men of his day, He was a great gambler, and was notorious all through the country for his luck in gambling. To the dusky sex all through the country, he was the 'greatest ever,' and he was admired and beloved by all the Negro women from the southern West Virginia line to the C. & O. In addition to this, he could drink more whiskey, sit up all night and drive steel all day, to a greater extent than any man ever known in the country.

"John Hardy (colored) killed another Negro over a crap game at Shawnee Camp. This place is. now known as Eckman, W.Va. (the name of the P.O.). The Shawnee Coal Company was and is located there. Hardy was tried and convicted in the July term of the McDowell County Criminal Court, and was hanged near the courthouse on Jan. 19, 1894. While in jail, he composed a song entitled 'John Hardy,' and sung it on the scaffold before the execution.



"Hardy hung in '94 in present courthouse yard, though not such at the time. At time of execution some white man in the crowd started a panic by yelling, 'O Lordy! O Lordy!' Officers had to jail some twenty-five or thirty men before execution could safely be concluded.



Mr. A. C. Payne, English, W.Va., in a letter dated Oct. 16, 1917, writes me as follows:—

"Just received your letter requesting information of a Negro named John Hardy, I was one of the jury that convicted him. He was a miner about 6 feet high and about 25 years old, as well as I could guess at him. He killed a Negro boy about 19 years old. And he was a very black Negro. That is about all I know about him."

John Hardy was a bad, bad man,

              He came from a bad, bad land;

He killed two men in a Shawnee camp,

              Cause he's too damn nervy for to run,

                            God damn!

                                John Hardy went to the rock quarrie,


                     He went there for to drive, Lord, Lord!


              The rock was so hard and the steel so soft,


            That he laid down his hammer and he cried,

"O my God!"



                                 He laid down his hammer and he

                      cried



John Hardy was but three days old,

                               Sitting on his mamma's knee
                              When he looked straight up at her and said,


                               The Big Bend Tunnel on the C. & O. Road
                            Is bound to be the death of me."



John Hardy drew to a four card straight, And the Chinaman drew to a pair, John failed to catch,

                               and the Chinaman won,

And he left him sitting back dead in his chair,

And he left him lying dead in his chair.

The following statement was made to me in person in the summer of 1918 by Mr. James Knox Smith, a Negro lawyer of Keystone, McDowell County, who was present at the trial and also at the execution of John Hardy:—

"Hardy worked for the Shawnee Coal Company, and one pay-day night he killed a man in a crap game over a dispute of twenty-five cents. Before the game began, he laid his pistol on the table, saying to it,

'Now I want you to lay here; and the first niggeer that steals money from me, I mean to kill him.'

About midnight he began to lose, and claimed that one of the Negroes had taken twenty-five cents of his money. The man denied the charge, but gave him the amount;
                  

                   whereupon he could look out and see the men buildin his    scaffold;  and he walked up and down his cell, telling the rest of the prisoners that he would never be hung on that scaffold.

First thoughts

As behavioural and belief systems dry under the stark scrutiny of evolving objectivity, the human forebrain is suffering worrisome realization of the frailty and  finality of its condition. Our self-taught fantasy of  a holy and unique ability "to think" is being overcome and diminished by the admission that  electronic and animal intelligence is not different in type, and at best only in degree from our own.  Yet we must compete in this new ephemeral milieu against our old foes, the uncaring cosmos and the new rival--machines.  A  thin  prospect of survival resides in protecting our environs against the loosened aggression of silicon bureaucracy.

The suspect dare to the brain comes within.  Culture is a deep  smiling inhalation of  eau de glamour, of stacked delusions,  but comprehension, divinity  and the body are pink sheers  for hanging flesh breathing to a deadline set for two trapped gooey mayonnaise shots in the cubicle brain, laying on bone, in the dark. 

 How I cross others.

The great shock to wise tales is not that  appearances are decieving, but that we are all the same with no mote of contrast.  A protoplasmic smear through a few  decades, Scarlett Johansson notwithstanding.