BLOG 04 POST 03. TRANSITIONING THROUGH ANGER

In the darkness, in the shadow of decline

I have begun writing the first Blog of the Phoeagdor Chronicles. Simply called “Thoughts”. It can be accessed through my third blog “World Citizen and a Bottle of Cop-On” - sought or unsought. If you decide to pop over there, enjoy the read. It calls, hints to Russian dolls - localization, globalization, grassroots and word of mouth, tooth. That 2025 should finally lift enough veils from world tables, all the way down to our own social exchanges. Enough to make the average person self actualize and realize, whether they hinder or help, promote or sabotage, flow or block, their part of the mirage. From simple self promotion, protection, envy and greed, all the way to the top nefarious chess play, that feed. We all have an active role to play in the flow of life, this earth dance fight. So for 2025, we say - let it snow, let it flow, let it go. Activate your part, show! Decide your Dæmons eyes.

An intellectual writes a book, in an incomprehensible way, and is patted on the back to stay. Unless of course the fools smelled Wilson and Colin’ed/collared/called the writer instead - rumpelstiltskin. The majority of us don’t have the foggiest - what the hell he/she/the world is talking about right now, and how we should react, and sure a course, it includes me. I be on the leader board of the heebie jeebies. As all doctor/lawyers continue to speak double Dutch. Doc, its cancer news - tell it like a cabbie, stop using a crutch. This is the way the world is hidden. Where the magic lies, while we thirst. We are at a stage, where we sink or swim, we all now confide or burst. Bless me father for I have cursed. Some done a lot worse. My Montserrat bwana, many years ago, learned to swim from his daddy warbucks, the wild way, hanging on a limb. Telling me, as if it was an Eddie Murphy skit or Mel Brooks joke, losing the attract and awoke. Dad took the whole family out in a row boat. Capsized it - said swim to shore or drown out, to all she wrote. Me da, was an old school Islander, nowhere now kept afloat. Not followin’ your train of thought, whole hog, you're asking us to swim to shore with you tonight, with this blog? No! F you. What? F you, man. What's your name? What! Your name? Phoeagdor. F you, Phoeagdor. You can’t please some people. That's what Jesus said, sir. How can I explain all this better, before I lose you. Check out the first clip below in video without context, world scale true (current school yard comprehensions right now, keepin’ us blue). It’s by Max Forrest ten years ago, give or take a few. Giving us a master workshop on how things can escalate, all the way to world level. To collectively heed the call before the fall, as a single fella. Nobody listened. And that’s why we find ourselves, where we find ourselves, in these Oct/Nov/Dec War Skies. In cognitive dissonance, not fully knowing, whether to turn on the news or watch the movie Wag the Dog (1997) swimming or rowing - this was taken from Blog 03 Post 03 of World Citizen and a Bottle of Cop-On. A part of a blog, that I published this time last year. To dispel the anger, that escalated into the world, at that time, as well as fear. We all sense it again, a spill over of Mars energy and tick, tick, boom - I do not like de Doctor Fell. War - atrocioius atrocity, yet has been secondary melted to mind, these times. Election now has pinged it primary, takes it to kitchen table, fine-dinery. Where we find - if truthfully honest with ourselves, the penny drops in our realization wells - that we are all simply, voting in the lesser of two evils, with the information we’ve acquired down, all these in-carnations. We are not polarized, it is not black or white, red or blue. We each hold a different degree, on the principle of the polarity coup. And so we do, across the world, there are many versions of cock-a-doodle-do. Seems only the psychopaths want to war it, foreign or domestic it, takes side in it. Lets tread lightly and take a lesson from Max and how it can all escalate back. Take it away, Forrest. Keep ‘em coming, as we put all things away now, for-rest, shalom shunning. May we stop running and do our best.

Max Forrest - Don't Talk To Strangers

And on we go, along this Möbius Strip road. Some are losing control, others - hands in the air, rollercoastering a roll in hair - I mean hay. Both sides throw rocks at the AI online bus, addictively transfixed, as if 2001 meta-monkeyed us. Betwixted Foxed. Oh Rushkoff, you called out so many tricks. Waiting on what our monolith poison of choice, cymatically emits. What frequency ya currently on, chico. Cheese and tomato, bangers n' mash, rum and coke, té con te in a flask. What we got here, is a continual failure to communicate. Oppenheimer blast? Mana-fast. Manifest. Cymatically in a musical cast. We be positive now, alone but together, to private blast. Out our song. Swan or first born, seeing all those who don't, as we truly now note : that at times, it be such a sad song, but “We Belong”. Spinning away, on and on and on.

Spinning Away - Brian Eno and John Cale

52 years saw the next films bactum round a come, this summer gone, or come ‘round again, who’s ta tell, old englandy says Scott - reeks a smell. As Americans look towards election fever shiver, long may we all run, beyond the book a Kell. We antenna fear or love, consciously shine our beacons out. As if just for fun, just for rum, duel banjo’ing, we walk more awake now, so christ, we better run. Don’t tell them it’s glandular, cause squeal like a pig, might be the opposition’s fun. You mean blue, you mean red? Oh where’s me gun. Rich or poor, watch Titanic, are ya off yer head or off your meds, that be the man on the run, volcanic. Its not color, creed, sexuality mate, it’s the have’s vs have nots, that’s the divide and hate. Further than that, three groups a spectrum (including bubstack here, right up the rectum), those anomalies, who break in with blind luck, the chosen few and their mimions bucked and those that don’t choose a way, the smucks.

Deliverance - Dueling Banjos (HQ)
The complicity of the herd, Amerigo viewing it as a Handmaids Tale. Éire as The Woman in the Wall, wailed. No one wants the current job, relationship, governance, social contract of the current mycelium milieu. Graeber's bullshit job theory has vomited across the checkerboard, I tell you. No one, it seems has the dream job anymore, it’s all comin’ a coma, dread dredge, snooty duty, work gore. We all come to question - Is it stupid to continue being part of a wheel in a repetitive system, that we do not care to daily repeat, yet locked and loaded are we, in this age of defeat. Money death dictates the complicity. Few are feeling their way out friskily. Only to find fellow inmates feeling their way in, cross borderly (Johnny gov’s sin). Wanting us to fail or be first, to create fire/24 frames a flame, ‘til nothing in between, both thoughts occultily subconsciously seen, forkin' monty pythonly, daily exchangingly, for real. Reborn to the new old movie, eh Liam - “Is it a garden waiting to grow. Is it a secret that nobody knows. Is it a poison or is it a cure. Contaminated when, you think that it's pure” - Born by Hothouse Flowers. Liam man, ya gotta get onto David Whyte. Be a great snug conversation in candle light. Whyte and O'Maonlai, an emotional time. Like Johnny Cash and Winnfield - we’re trying Ringo real hard, to walk the line, in these emotional times.

Hothouse Flowers - An Emotional Time
America is - a tipping, patroning, subscribing, more entrepreneurial culture, acknowledging land (not always - just……more than most. What? They got so much bloody fans) Ah Yeah? And their scout ants be swallowin’ mans. Some would say "for those of you who are about to die, we salute you" in a world according to garp, absolute you. To follow that yellow brick road. Bliss says Campbell, be a total bar code. Where? In a place of no debt, the option to live cheaply, to plug out, where no one needs to pay weekly, a minimalism stoicism obliquely. We rarely see what others want, a general consensus blindsided to self, lets face it, we be bunts. The whole idea of human civilization encapsulated, spidered, wetiko'd through Atwood/Kings - East of the river Jordan, Gilead, true blood feens, slouching and renewing as memes, lights and beems. An epic that goes way beyond me, black lives matter, gender rainbow difficulties, to a fae ring fee. Story of the human race, a bondage way. Plato's cave, kept Carol Gilligans concept at bay, says Elissa Strauss’s in When you Care. "Before anyone else" Estes still calling wolves welsh, mandela ella wella, a traditional ceremonial shield. Rhyming well, tonight, jolly good, what a fella…. yet to no real deal. Rising prison walls surrounding countries. Watching Gandhi’s weavings/ML Kings oratings. Tibetan bowl cynamics, derangement of the senses, rearranging. Ahasuerus wanderings, dalits dutyings, beyond Lagerkvist birthing Barabbbas retelling rulings. Anohni singing Divine, booming boonings. Tom Holland scapegoating, crowded rooming.

Anohni and the Johnsons - Scapegoat
Had a dream recently, christianity - turn the other cheek dandily. Yet crucifixion be the meek. Watching or learning - Gilead speak. The world right now, apollo pounding. Rocking rocky, to oblivion, oh it’s bleak. Might all this to be, or not to be "The Good Place", I leak. Ulyssean Dublin days, Finneganian Liffy nights, Proust Madeleine cakes, Faust's hidden delights. Quixote, Monte Carlo, Man without Qualities, Solzhenitsyn archipelago, nowhere left to run, we go. We just want our own lives and a few that have come undone. No, no - the few we always come in contact with. A roof, four walls, and a bit of fun thrift. But it looks like we need a gun kit. Slowly planeting an align, influencing the overall, collective egregore define, good intention or subconsciously fear decline. We sense make like this, each to their own level. Beyond family, locational respite a while, fine - the turf fires overhead, til enough be turned over in mind. We step up to be counted, if called, these be the times. Falling like a picture of time.

Anohni and the Johnsons - Sliver Of Ice
As handmaid worlds newly play out, tv views from under the bed shout. There should be accompanying documentaries, attempting concepts as trauma/abuse/cognitive dissonance in the head. Carol Gilligan, Margaret Atwood, Gabor Mate, to keep it gender neutral fed. Why not discussions after, to spike competitive fuel. Go way ya traitor ya, this is propagandizing the masses, ya fool. We don't care who watches what, just watch & self hypnotise in google glasses, ya bot. War, minority groups, covid and post-predecessors. Excess deaths, escalating sick, mental health baal, agenda setters. Bolivians say té con te (a drink with tea and rum), the Irish shanty Blue nun - drinkin’, sinkin’, singin’ it, with jam and bread. Not sure how the pub gets involved, but by 11, they’re all off their forkin’ heads. Té - being a person, te - warm or hot the bed. Could boston tea be a direction, for all this, or have I simply blown me head ta bits. Forgetting, missing something instead, ah weetabix. Cáca is cake, caca excrement. Subtle vibrations I'm guessing in temperment - as everything could turn very mean, or I could simply mean it, as a ratio, feen. We all add our piece and continue to stir the pot. Fork sake boay, 900 years, the children of Lir did rot. Éire our isle, eire - burden. We live on the whim of a fada, is life really that uncertain?

Anohni and the Johnsons - There wasn't Enough
Grasping at everything that passed by our window - theosophists, huxley's perennial, grave's goddesses, Crowl to Gurdj, ta Jung, Wilber and Plotkin. We rage for soul in a Dominatrix role. Women in the gym, metro's - the salon being the goal. Did we learn from Solon-model-role. Blav, Stein, Russell, Ouspensky or Mourv. All had a piece of the puzzle, good or bad, they hurled. Even ugly says you, these giants - roared. Hypnotic by Affleck, Rene Brown occulting parlour tricks. Inception - the whole - each living in multiple timedoors, burning coal. On and down the hermetic sealed line, the three initiates revealed a whopper in 1908 and redefined.

Anohni and the Johnsons - You be free
I'm here to tell all - the learning is by asking questions and getting to the ball. Who's? Bloody yours mate. What flavor is it then? You're bloody flavor. Do not get lost in academic, new research, courses/sporces/specks. The curriculum was always life, conversation, bottle of cop-on and if I ever get there, actualization - what I’m currently suppose to be on. It is the self asking, that will reveal. Listen now amigo, feel - how one deals. “............. to find the answer. The sacred geometry of chance. The hidden law of a probable outcome. The numbers lead a dance” - Sting. How to start, a diary. Just like this - he was bold to me or …….. I'm affected by a bald spot. Really? Yeahhhhhh. Just don’t worry, you don’t have to be in a hurry. You mean like growin’ out of the pub? But I'm sixty like, and afraid ta stop snugging it out. The fear a startin' on heroin like - ah go way you, ya pike. Sure it has me all, muddled about. Anyways, it’s your shout, mine’s a stout. There's always one. You mate, ya barstool .........you, can go free, have yourself a blue nun. Diary and dairy, will take you to locale, to country topics, to world, cheddar and brie, Pascal. From there it goes beyond - ta free. That's when you’ll see, that we all live in a yellow submarine. Way beyond society, materiality in dream. Your conclusions are no more important than mine. We just salute one another, pissin' up them cliffs in tremendous air pockets, flowing backwards now in time. For it's self asking, self realizing, and self knowing, fine. We jigsaw piece lonely looking skies, till we see all of it, finally unfogged, for the first time. A full picture in mind, our memory jogged in rhyme. We go forward and decline, all divine. Different to everything else. Rote, group, reguritive learning, all obsolete farewells burning. Like a company employs an innocent, straight out of Uni, telling them forget what they know, it starts here, the new show. The diploma got you to seal retention, we teach you now, how to jump and squeal like a pig, abovely mentioned. Dramatic effect there, but I was fallin’ asleep, followin’ the bear. Ya know the ware, too many of us still counting sheep, who stare and stare and stare.

Simple Minds - Waterfront
One of the biggest realization that comes is - we cave in, in a hierarchical system. Invisible beyond the divisible. Left to climb subserviently, free.....to a 33rd degree. Just beware of the made men. Shake/snake ‘em up the cat walks den. Ownership owned, down Illinois Avenue loaned. It's not external, the world crisis, but internal. Both energies feed off one another. One can't get their teeth into content, that I've mentioned throughout, unless they take time accepting drought. One doesn't need to read the print fine. We bounce now - off one another, realign. My stuff goes straight off the presses - hot. Jumbled in mind, it's a four blog in the making wined, a fight to get it out from mind, a call out to me and my kind. Not all want to collect, contemplate, converse or even cop-on. Happy to live oblivious in a steak and wine song. It comes to all in their own good time, this cog, this wheel, free vs slave, truth vs lie, unless you bong. Creator vs follower, making a living/making a life. Life, even opting out, reducing to bitesize presentation/information, is a full time immersion/alsatian. Graeber was really onto something with Debt and Bullshit. Oh where, oh where, could he have went, post covid, post lent. Artists, alternatives, Intellectuals, Cassady Kids - all to be given UBI, to search the search, for the mass grid. The women, the welsh, the swedes and all the bees. Only those egoless will heed. As it's not enough money to be free, or high enough to look down on, all those in need. It's scout money to entertain new passage ways. For the mainframe wouldn't belittle themselves with this miniscule money polymerase. So many bored - World Cup Olympics, the five menu'd conversations hand tricks, firm thick, deplored. The known locations of our clocked in - 24/7/365, ticking away all our lives. Faster and faster in the 16 hour schumann daily ride, do we realize? Have to direct the young towards their interest, increase to ignite and covet the widest possible inclusiveness. The older who have to remain in current employment, must be encouraged to take courses in topics, beyond the 365, for enjoyment. All within the working hour. Glasses but nothin' else, both sexes shout ride sally shower. The bar persons wearing nothing, as nothin' else applies, gone sour. Them apples, them eyes, all lies...... royde, sally royde. Solidarity Reg, the dude abides.

U2 - All I want Is You
Eventually work reduces to 3 days, forks to full vocational to self learning ways. Could start strained, straight away, with all those retired or unemployed, with the help of the fae in the void. Journal it - thoughts, conversation, common sense, actualize it. “Is this the age of the thunder and rage. Can you feel the ground move 'round your feet? If you take one step closer, it'll lead to another. The crossroad above, is where we meet. I shout out for shelter, I need you for something. The whole world's out, they're all on the street. Control yourself, love is all you need. Control yourself, in your eyes, sanctify” or defeat.

Sanctify Yourself by Simple Minds
Start it with song lyrics/movie night/music/series/book club. Through myth, parable, story, whatever you're doorway in, might be ta win. I mention everything together, but one can do it alone. How? To extreme it, publication, video, world domination, word a mouth it. Sanctify yourself in whatever tickles the fancy. Each needs to search a road, not by society led patsies. We tried to force it, but it didn't work, so most of us put it to bed, hurt. It's a musical chairs, will be hard for most. Alot of goodbyes will be invoked. So many in current wrong groups, connection, location, mad thoughts a spoke befooked - taking emphasis off politics, war, immigration, remedial indoctrination, work/woked. Cost of living, debt/accept/forget/broke. Invisible servitude and strange religions met, till finally no more we go loving the alien in dress. (breaking rhyme here - not meaning Anohni, with that last sentence. I get so pissed with the muppets perennially get offended. It reveals the lowest common denominator, 1’s and 0’s. We all live our own world, arrogantly annoyed, if the other does not see it. It will always be from our minds eye. Anyway, back to rhyme, on we go, with no word of a lie, well…….some of this interlude did have rhyme). No, not bastardo, way amico, have a lot invested in this ride, shut him up, with a suicidal tie. The self empowerment way could blockchain in a leaderless renaissance perfect day. Ah Lou Reed - Magic and Loss, in the darkness, in the shadow of decay. STFU Pal, can't you play golf or something. Hey mná, what ya reading this for. Or as Bill Hicks would mock “what ya reading for”. This be for crazies, the cozers, dark forresters, nomads, nymphs and unmutuals. We all pick our poison before the entry into such ways. We take a form of crucifixion, as we walk on down the hall, in play. This descent, that we must constantly tell ourselves -we can truly hold handle, anxiously in denial, defeat, destruction and depression, running to stand still, holding candle.

U2 - Running to Stand Still.
Depression - not to turn away from it, but turn and face the pain - songs will reveal, after all that passed, what remains. If not on vinyl then in the rain, the wind, the plains. See/know/understand/sense make, the handmaid's tale, boobie traped farmland in Cambodia, angry sings Cale. The price for the no other optioned farmer, besides jail. Yet casualty still continues - bred to bled, the sacrificial blame. People commit common sucide, if society can't help assimilation. Survival of the fittest or show of compassion. Who takes the poison, their little jigsaw piece, on world shoulder passion. The farmer blown in tropical field, all and every next time, continually float out of here, dyin’ - singing.....Ah la la la de day in rhyme. We all start off in innocense, how many inception realms we delve, into self inflicted villainess. Can you sense me. How many layers do you dive down, how many hell realms you personally know. Stumble bummed or fated, creedence clearwater revival fortunate sons, hated. How many split these lessons with book, series, movie and song. How many crumbed by fairytale, myth or puff the magic dragon bonged. Or Gurdjieff the whole hog. Stop this, you're frightening me. Wanna know more/wanna see - did we all concentration a camp, one time or another, lived middle a war or did we fortunately son, go free, oh it’s such a bad moon rising for sure this moon be. All we can do is experience the now strife, the examined life, to make peace, quilt with kite knot and finish for good - this taking of a life, a butterfly kite to free.

Heroin - Velvet Underground
The more we see each other slot into new position, happy emitting attuning in conscious self-placement - the more it will relax, motivate the populace of basement. We all owe it to society, the human race, to get it to these new musical chairs, changing space. We just need to do it in a higher ratio than the prison village, which produces the idiot. Some magma japanese seep it to mainstream, like Alita Battle Angle, Edge of Tomorrow speak it. Alan Moore magics it down to Stephenson. Mitchell from Lovecraft, Asimov, Dick and all the other watchmen. Politicians all round atlas ghosting. Moore graphics on, to produce Jerusalem, Jodorowsky's mountain, to the end of his poetry truisms. Wasson, Crick, Goff, Huxley, Leary, Dass, Robert Anton Wilson, Wilber is never last. Solzhenitsyn, Haley's Roots, Gilligan, Isabel Wilkerson....all down the trail of tears & loot. For the world's more full of weeping than we can drown in beers ‘n boots. Those opting out, go papilloning a banco, Chatwin Patagoniaing songlines, telling a different story to DANCO. Livings legends of a fall, shantaram India's all, marching powdering a Bolivian pub crawl. Jim Harrisoning it, Bukowski living it, Jack London calling the wild, white fanging it, Wolfe'ing Look Homeward, Angel becoming it - Kessy Kerouacing it, two same named boyos, were beer named millering it. The nomad mind walks through an Indian Shantaram, a South American marching powder, papilloning/patagonianing chatwin songliningly, a lonely looking skying Anantaram. We merge with all we took on. Both content and us, are pivotal now, shining beacon strong. Without and within, to others now, we are the bong. Like consumer and creator, both symbiotic. Both promote, motivate, suggest, intend, defend and recommend the antibiotic. All roads lead back to kitchen table, a new octave. One begins new fairytale, new myth, new jungle, new skit. New positions in the sky, as we reclock or die. Yet no one wants to start. The call is not to remain under bed watching tele, nor programed by programmes, smelly. Not courting for audience, administrating for library. Audience and author be one, both spur the other, in pivotal pun. Both promote, motivate, suggest, intend, defend and joke. Recommend, kindle the flame, signal a smoke.

Brian Eno & Roger Eno - By This River (Live at The Acropolis)
Met Joe Dispensa in a dream, said "Hey, Joe, where you gonna run to? Where's your tipping point man, how ya been, ya feen. Where ya passin' Maslow on, pal. Can only the top teacher pass it on, curtly cultically, bestow it upon. Are ya rich enough mon, ta pass the greenback up - money be gone. Couldn't all those you've helped, give their stories to local radio/to newspaper, community centers instead, as favor. Aren't we touchers of antennas, do we not beacon out, Joe. Why is everything pyramidical, where the leaders mouths, be the only blow. American football comes to Dublin, Oasis sing masterplan to ticketmaster's pub-grin. Shylock said sell the man the flippin' fish, the world works in secret, wait for the invite - Megalopolis. I'd rather be a fool, no ve Daryl, we all return to Oldfields Ommadawn, uncool. Rue the day or rule. No better, no worse, we all await as false pseudostipules thirst. Take a chill pill, now after this post, I gave up my daily bread, you got elections Yank, chance to rehearse.

Iggy Pop - Dirty Sanchez

Part-time writers can’t commit to a year. Producing content, just for the sake of it, is monetary loss fear, oh dear, please subscribe/like/tickle my fancy/bite or “Sit on my face and tell me that you love me” type a write - Monty Python singing it light. When I have something I’ll bang it out, ta give ya a fright. Deja Vu for some as I alrafy published this these rites. Bubstack were messing with me, so back to this blog I came to fly my kite. Its a mad call, delusional speakers corner rant but its way more healthier than the herd song, who football commentate like they bong. We can only change our own lives. Watch a movie, read a book…….the protagonist looks at the map, the overall, then action he took. All this play I rite/write/right makes perfect sense to me. Cause maybe its just a play of our own small light. Too much drivel is out there, the Police sang “Driven to Tears”. Where we point the attention to love or to fear. Anyways, Buy me a Coffee or Buy me a Beer, see ya in the real world or down some foxes lair.

Be Seeing you, Phoeagdor.

The Carpenters A Song For You lyrics - Pete Cha