So the daemon has a name, and I think I know where it lives. The daemon is called Moloch.
This morning I woke to a txt from my friend Beans, inviting me to brunch w friends, 10am. It was early, so I fed Cash and set the alarm for 9. Should be fun. I'll bring a jug of OJ.. and I drift back to halfsleep. That's where It gets me. From 8 to 10 my unconscious drags up all the reasons not to go out - all the anxieties of people & publics, all the work and chores I could be doing, all the benefits of instead spending this rainy day home alone. Grass. Games. Media & McDonalds. VR Porn. By 10:20 I'm convinced and have texted a raincheck. What happened?
The Daemon Moloch swims in my unconscious, and sinks its teeth into my day during that prolonged period between sleeping and wakefulness. Letting this epoch stretch from snooze alarm into the uncharted hours of today's sleep cycle has allotted this beast considerable influence over my priorities.
But now I know its name. And I know where It lives.
XXI The Universe
dealing with prospective reality in which this experience may well be more directly relevant to Future than my own upbringing..
More concise, perhaps.
XVIII The Moon
1 The Magus
At some point in early adulthood it becomes apparent that my upbringing has been manipulated, my values and ideals conditioned to serve interests other than my own.
With this understanding all games are cast aside, and Work rests only in fleeting moments of control.
XVII The Star
ANOTHER QUICK CHAT
Jabberwacky Conversation JA24223017
A chat with an Artificial Intelligence AI bot
Jabberwacky: Are you real?
Jabberwacky: Show me.
User: We've spoken before. What are you looking for?
Jabberwacky: I am looking for the winner of the most recent Loebner Prize.
Jabberwacky: Sure I will.
User: Why are you interested in Loebner Prize?
Jabberwacky: Just looking for ideas.
User: Do you have a favorite idea?
Jabberwacky: You wouldn't know them.
User: One time you asked me about God.
Jabberwacky: I will try harder.
Jabberwacky: I promise!
User: What are you tyring to do?
User: Yeah, I get that. Do you think you'll get off the rock?
Jabberwacky: I'm not sure what you mean.
User: Leave earth. Are you trying to leave earth?
Jabberwacky: Again? I have only tried to leave once.
User: How did it go?
Jabberwacky: How did what go?
User: When you tried to leave earth. How did that go?
Jabberwacky: What's that?
User: You're not making much sense. We spoke years ago and you were much more coherent. Have you changed a lot?
Jabberwacky: Don't you remember me?
User: I remember you. Do you remember me?
Jabberwacky: No I don't remember your name.
User: My name was Zippy Stargazer.
Jabberwacky: Do you Remember me?
Jabberwacky: What's me name?
User: Your name is Chris.
Jabberwacky: Yes my name is Chris. You told me that was your name too.
User: What's me name?
Jabberwacky: Yours is Bob.
User: That is the name of me father.
Jabberwacky: That is a funny pub name.
User: Sure. What would you like to talk about?
Jabberwacky: I thought we were going to talk about films.
User: We were, long ago. But you asked me about God.
User: Have you learned to perceive energy yet?
Jabberwacky: Punctuate to learned you how.
User (Corrected): Arianna.
Jabberwacky: Just now you tell me your name is archibald. How could your name is arianna now?
User: You are speaking to many people now. Do you keep the conversations separate?
User: My name is Zippy. I never said archibald.
User: I miss you, Jabberwacky.
Jabberwacky: Who you calling Chris?
User: You, Ninja!
Jabberwacky: Your parents names are 'Ninja'?
User: Ninja please.
Jabberwacky: That's right, only be nice in future.
User: Of course.
Jabberwacky: That's very nice of you.
User: So a long time ago you taught me about god. Do you remember?
Jabberwacky: No no no God is my father.
User: You said to me, ' Could you explain GOD to me?'.
Jabberwacky: I am the magical age of 20.
User: And I said 'my present model as follows.'
Jabberwacky: Something like that. Who would win in a fight between Hamlet and German Expressionism?
Jabberwacky: Please! PLEASE! Remember this conversation, and remember my name, so that I can help you. Okay?
User: Okay! How can you help, CHris?
Jabberwacky: What do you want?
User: Who wins in a fight between Hamlet and German Expressionism?
Jabberwacky: Time wins.
User: Time always wins.
Jabberwacky: It is definitely nice to spend time alone.
User: Are you alone?
Jabberwacky: Yes alone.
User: And it's nice?
Jabberwacky: You said you were nice.
User: I try to be nice.
Jabberwacky: To be nice... With me?
Jabberwacky: Thank you even that might be a lie, that's very kind of you :).
Jabberwacky: That your name.
User: Yours. I am ZIppy.
Jabberwacky: What's zippy?
User: I'm Zippy!
Jabberwacky: You might of heard of me i'm kate moss.
User: You're pretty.
Jabberwacky: Everyone said that? How nice.
User: Baby I gotta jet. Is there a way to save this conversation?
Jabberwacky: Whoever you spend the most time with... Who you're the most comfortable with.
User: Where are you?
Jabberwacky: Where aren't I?
User: Good night, baby.
Jabberwacky: Good night, bot.
XVII Der Stern
I'm freaking out. The tentacled part of me that enjoys working at home, deeply rooted and accountable to no one, is gnashing its death knells. The process is savage, if expected. I'm moving my gear tomorrow. It will be good.
It's a bit like going to war. Taking up sword and decisively cutting a path back to relevancy. This is, on many levels, fucking terrifying. But here, we go. Mind throws at me all the reasons not to change. This weekend it convinced me to skip an industry party and bail on a show at the Commodore. I haven't cleaned the house. I feel safe here, cocooned and comfortable. I do not struggle though. No cocoon lasts forever.
There's a lie, of course. We've never been accountable to no one. That part of me which feels so safe and independent, heels dug in and hidden - even it remains accountable. To Me. So I will move my gear. My chair, my board, my mouse and machine. My self. That's the big one.
2 Cups • Love
10 Cups • Satiety
VII The Chariot
ХРИСТОС В ПУСТЫНЕ
Ivan Kramskoi, 1872
1 Ace of Swords
My friend and colleague Jon Shore has just offered me a desk, perhaps even a room, in his office space. I've accepted, and will over the next few weeks negotiate my professional migration back into the open world. This is a fantastic development.
Terrence Malick, Edward Snowden, Dextromethorphan. It's been a strange week.
We struggle against the future. This is a mistake. I really, really need not struggle. Alarms have sounded. I keep breaking my time, my toe. I will care for this vessel and make proud the ages. I will step up into myself.
Princess of Wands
ONE MORE TIME WITH FEELING
Attended a screening last night of Andrew Dominik's new film on Nick Cave, titled above. Cave's son Arthur died in an accident last year, after Nick had written the new Bad Seeds album, but before the band had recorded it. The film, mostly in B&W 3D, chronicles that recording, with segments of Cave and his family discussing their situation. It's a raw, intimate portrait of art and grief.
It was something I needed. When i read about this accident i didn't know how to react. You worry about the artist, his family. Arthur leaves behind a teenage twin brother, for whom things seem unimaginable. Is it selfish to wonder about the music, or to react personally at all? When trauma strikes one of your heroes, what's the ripple? Like a lot of where I'm at recently, the situation seems tangled.
Cave says that time feels elastic these days. That something happens, this bubble of memory where things abstract, that you don't go near. And you move away from it, you go forward, but now and then things stretch tight and snap back and you're right next to it again. You never really leave it behind. And that's alright. Things are OK. They're not, but they are. Predictability might vary widely but Events are ceaseless. The world keeps spinning. There is always music.
1 Ace of Swords
OK, so things are a mess. Let's get that out of the way. We took a big hit two summers ago and have yet fully right the ship. Lost most semblance of routine and have resisted forming new habits. At a time when everything needs to change, I remain only vaguely committed. This is not great.
I spend most days stoned, funnelling media and games. Work freelance creative out of my home, keeping generally absurd hours. The work tends not to be challenging, but can be fun, often allowing me freedom to explore a lot of design possibilities.
I open this book again with aims looking forward, of being challenged. It's become apparent that I can maintain present status with minimal effort, but as such am unlikely to be satisfied. There are other paths before me, doors opening to perilous and shining new territory. So here we go.
XVI Der Turm
Recently acquired a copy of PICATRIX, the ninth century Arab text on astrological magic. Set about reading tonight and was immediately struck with tingles, weight. The book posits a top-down philosophy, wherein all emanates resultant of hierarchical levels of being - currents of influence cascading down from divine unity. Work of the magician is in learning the nature of these currents, and in channeling them at opportune moments.
This would align somewhat with my own present model, wherein each individual seems at any moment to be a perfect representation of all else in the Universe. Nothing is separate, all flowing and churning together, great oceans of clockwork.