Beltane Rant
by Xuk Shupe

I had a friend in college who was doing research on the writings of schizophrenics. It was amazing stuff– expelled straight from the communal sub-conscious. Reading it was like staring out onto a vast quiet ocean of language and symbols. There are connections between events that we cannot even begin to fathom. Tripping, I could catch glimpses of these depths, but to gain a full understanding, complete knowledge, you HAVE to be insane. Or maybe it’s the reverse. If you can TRULY SEE, it will drive you mad. It’s an old conceit in horror fiction, going back at least to Lovecraft, with his achromatic nuclear chaos and his sanity-blasting ancient tomes.

The bibliography of the damned: The accursed “Necronomicon” of the mad Arab Abd al-Azrad, the Comte d’Erlette’s rightfully infamous “Cultes des Ghoules”, the terrible “Unausprechlichen Kulten” by Friedrich Wilheim Von Jutz, may God have mercy upon his soul. All fictional works created by Lovecraft, all supposedly detailing the kind of primal messiness that terrified him– it is not surprising that the figure that most haunted his fiction was the demon sultan Azathoth, the writhing idiot god sitting at the center of creation, surrounded by his insensate piping minions and blind servitors, unable to see or to even comprehend what he creates or destroys– a twentieth century atomic Demiurge, predating Hiroshima by twenty five years.

This is the horror Einstein was unable to face: God not only plays dice, God IS the dice. This is the collapse of boundaries between discrete objects and events, the realization that nothing IS, nothing EXISTS, but everything is BECOMING and everything is CONNECTED. Those with ordered, rigid, minds are rightly horrified by the idea, because it means that the word “is” is meaningless. Complex events become intertwined in ways we cannot fathom. The first atomic explosion at the Trinity, New Mexico: 33 degrees latitude. The Kennedy assassination at the triple underpass: 33 degrees latitude. The first mission to the moon launched from Cape Canaveral: 33 degrees latitude. The presence of “The Catcher in the Rye” at the scenes of both Kennedy assassinations, the Reagan assassination attempt, the Lennon assassination, and the Henson assassination. Some attribute this kind of synchronicity to active planning by aliens, or to the machinations of the CIA or the Masons’ secret masters, the Illuminati (may humankind curse their name forever). It’s not that simple. This sort of thing is an integral part of creation– a manifestation of Azathoth (if you assume it to be malignant), the mysterious poetry of the eternal Tao (if you understand “it” for what “it” “is”).

There is the reality we perceive day to day, minute to minute, and then there are the pelagic depths we float upon, bobbing like cork. And the web of connection exists on all levels, from macro events like the Kennedy assassination, to micro events like what I ate for lunch yesterday, or which direction relative to true north a specific butterfly in Akron, Ohio chooses to fly as it leaves its perch, a wild-flower upon which it has rested for a moment, gathering its strength. The destruction wreaked by the Taliban is crucial component of a centuries old ritual designed to negatively influence my sex life. They are trying to get me to masturbate less, those pig-dogs, and blasting those statues to rubble just might do it, too, if I hadn’t taken the precaution, years ago, of ordering all those pizzas. In Harper’s I read an account written by a fundamentalist preacher. When he was a boy, he first learned to masturbate in a neighbor’s barn. On the very next night, the barn was struck by lightning and burned to the ground, because he masturbated there. He was absolutely right in that respect; the two events were intimately connected. The only mistake he made was attributing the fire to the wrath of Cotton Mather’s Angry God‰. And he made the mistake of causality– the statements “Lightning struck the barn because he first masturbated there,” and “He first masturbated there because lightning was to strike the barn” are both equally valid, equally correct. In his rigid, linear thinking he was unable to see the truth, and now lives in constant fear that people may be masturbating somewhere, because he does not understand the Tao.

There are crucial nodes, intersections, knots in the web: the sacking of Solomon’s Temple, the dissolution of the Knights Templar and the burning of Jacques deMolay, the unleashing of Azathoth at Hiroshima, the Kennedy / King / Lennon / Henson assassinations, the geometric correlation between Lewinsky’s lips and Clinton’s glans penis, the exact angle of insertion and depth of penetration (in inches and centimeters), the pounds per square inch of pressure applied, the difference between the ambient temperature and a humid ninety-eight-point-six degrees, the viscosity of female saliva, the rate of absorption of ejaculate into cotton fabric (weave count?) treated with a specific indol-derived blue dye (the blowjob that rippled through time and space, eternally altering the fabric of reality forever– the unfortunate extinction of the North Eastern red-toed newt is now inevitable, and, in the past, a German commandant feels the war weigh heavy upon him, and wonders if he will ever feel clean).

Any event that attracts the attention and imagination of thousands can become such a node. The Kennedy assassination sits on the intersection of so many strands that the event itself is obscured by them– it is eternally unknowable. The fact that Kennedy is actually dead can only be inferred from Jimi Hendrix’s performance at Woodstock, a slight but statistically significant decrease in the number of suicides between the years 1982 and 1987, the existence of “CoolWhip”, and the patterns I see in broken glass on asphalt at night, reflecting light from the streetlamps in a quiet plea for redemption.
Every body piercing done, by myself or by others, is done to complete a ritual, what the final result will be centuries hence, I cannot say. What transfiguration are we working towards? I shudder to imagine.
Do you understand now? How can you understand if you haven’t SEEN? The ritual Sex/Death of John Denver (the phallic airplane in a tantric union with the womb of the Pacific Ocean, recapitulating the primal theatre, both pene/vagina and sperm/ovum) and the assassination of Jim Henson are crucial events, directly causing the rise in popularity of such bands as Korn and Limp Bizcuit, not to mention an increase in the per-capita consumption of Mountain Dew.

Am I the only one who caught the symbolism at the end of “Star Wars”. The sperm X-Wings attempting to penetrate the defenses of the giant ovum Death Star (Kali– the destroyer of planets) and inseminate her? The symbolic union of opposites, male and female, Rebel Alliance and Empire, life and death, yin / yang. The explosion was the explosion of all possibility, the birth of the universe, and the birth of unified consciousness– the white light of Kundalini. You have to wonder about the effects that giant, world wide, tantric ritual orgasm had on the evolution of human consciousness. Everyone in all those movie theatres in every country of the world was having sex, whether they knew it or not– the biggest on-going psychic orgy ever.

One time when I was tripping on too much acid, I drank some orange juice and spilled it down the front of my shirt. I cleaned myself up and threw away the used paper towel. On it’s way into the trash, it STOPPED DEAD IN THE AIR AND HUNG THERE, defying both sanity and gravity. There was a sound like cellophane tearing, and in a flash I saw: 1) Every tree that had ever been cut down to make a paper towel, the conversion of light into Adenosine Tri-Phosphate in their chloroplasts, the conversion of nutrients into cellulose, the cycling of water from the soil, up through the xylem, and evaporating out the leaves into the atmosphere, the fixing of nitrogen by the symbiotic fungi within their root hairs, the eco-community of lichens, insects, small mammals, and birds contained with their branches. 2) All the men and women who worked cutting down trees, their families, their hopes and dreams, their trucks, their nights out on the town, their hangovers. 3) All the employees at the papermills, and all the machinery. The people who pulped the wood, the people who maintained the machines, the janitors who cleaned the bathrooms. Their families, and the communities they lived in. The stores they spent their paychecks at, and the people who could work there because of them. 4) The truck drivers who drove the paper towels to the supermarkets. 5) All the people who worked at the supermarkets selling paper towels. 6) The first person to look at a cloth towel and say to themselves “Hmm. It would be much better if we made these out of paper. Then we could just throw these out.” 7) The landfills where paper towels sat slowly converting back into soil. All this information hit my brain simultaneously, in the space of less than a second I saw it ALL. I broke. It was all so ridiculous, so absurd, so horrifying that all this actually went on, on a daily basis, that I was inconsolable for three hours. I was filled with a deep sorrow the like of which I had never known before, and I could not stop crying. Society exists solely so that I can clean my face with a disposable paper product. This is the great beast, the horror at the core of everything. To Mega Therion. I forget the author, but I remember reading about a similar epiphany. He was a British officer, WWI. He was shipping prosthetic limbs to the front lines, for a battle that hadn’t even occurred yet. When the horror hit him– he was transporting replacements for legs that hadn’t even been blown off yet!– he was stricken for hours. And there’s nothing you can do but press on. There’s nowhere else to go. This is the horror that Colonel Kurtz ranted about, the darkness in “The Heart of Darkness”, but no-one understood him. Existence, on an atomic level, is a terrible thing. It– everything, all creation– should not be, and yet it is. And that is the mystery that cannot be explained, only lived.

Well, I hope that makes everything clearer.