Sunday, November 20, 2022

On the Creation of the Album "The Vale of Soul-Making" in the Flow of Contexts (Other Writings)

 a post I made on facebook goes like this:

 "walking past the people in the train station working for the watch tower (jehovah witness propaganja bulletin), the headline I read was asking me "can anyone dead come back to life?" and my immediate response to mind was that there is no death; there is only transformation. you stop moving, die, decompose, everything you once were is scattered and shared out -- you don't care: you are dead; this is equanimity. you compost your mother's body into the soil, the fungus and the bacteria convert you -- you always were all of this anyway, in many incarnations --your ex-body in osmotic molecular dispersal seeds the spore of variants --you feed a tree in the forest your strange chemical cocktail and it becomes one day a pencil you write with..." 

the post just mentioned, pasted above, had been shared by 6 people, although I don't know who these people were nor what they thought about it. but anyway, I decided, assuming that this was actually shared, hoping that my further comments about it might reach them, I added the following:

 " Reflecting upon this scene again, while reading a book by Italian philosopher Giorgio Agamben called "Opus Dei" (about the history of Christian liturgy, the act of liturgeos, not about the organization bearing that name Opus Dei), it would appear that even the work of evangelists, who one might not trust, do in fact perform functions that activate intelligence, reflection, conscience and compassion in discovering the truth of the spirit through the immanence of the divine itself, manifest as the truth of the matter, the matter of the truth, being as it comes to us, considered to be literally endless and therefore factually that death only represents an abandonment of borders. And reading Keats letters on The Vale of Soul-Making, I found my thoughts concerned with experience and the soul, as Keats lays it out, a soul that only creates itself through a work inside coincidentia oppositorum, a struggle to define personal and eternal truth in the balance of a living and dying moment."

 As a result of this thread of research, I decided the new album (one of the 4 recorded in October 2022) should indeed be entitled The Vale of Soul Making"

 Jeff Gburek. Featuring the poetry of William Blake & Stephen Ellis.


The following days I wrote poems and posts with poetic or philosophical, reflective content, as is my norm and I also noted, again, that I am not a magnet, not of great magnitude anyway, for LIKES OR LOVES and that my inability to garner readership or listeners did not matter one iota since I had the recent revelation that this writing was like singing, singing a song to myself, which is good, in and of itself, and that performing (externalization) in this theater of simulacral communications called SOCIAL MEDIA is in fact a very good way of making first drafts, statement that can in fact be elaborated upon, clarified, in my blog, moving, I hope, inexorably, slowly, towards creating the book or books I will eventually publish in the next few years, inshallah. So here are some of those poems and reflections, works in process. 



who created the star broad enough to metabolize your oblivion?
search heaven for what star systems inform my body's electricity
and you will find several several specific binary tripolar eccentricities
convulvulus of wild fowl chases you across galaxies only to sleep in the guardian womb
photosynthetic caverns of leaves & the underground atelier
beavers, nutria, vivaporous tree-eater mammals
many a-thing eats down the chain
nature abhors any object, is what I mean
break it down for me. not so simple.
erosion is our star, orbitans,
lightning from jupiter
the shoreline of my mental systems shape-shifting
depends on the defiance of boundaries death compels
bringing things down to the minimal we others absorb
and I want to wail the reedy blues of the orbatids unsung
secret killer of grasses and manufacturer of soils
but after a certain intellectual treeline preconception dissolves
prosecco goes flat, the net goes down in the middle of the film
it's like meeting johnny depp too late in life for it to matter
yes, even jolie or jaylo! even shakira! maybe beyonce?
news comes in deflagration of war, raises the price 900 x
all that glitters comes up in body bags and nagual
shadows of meaning, blood-hounds rambling,
that box of coupons, lottery tickets and collage cuttings,
those 5 other guitars you never play, 250 bottles of nail polish,
all goes becky noddy as ballast to the overburdened seas
there's no time to play freebird, everybody's headed for the door
without coats until in the absolute outside kelvin degrees
demand the whole collapse of vital stars scatter brinkmanship
into skid-marks, skid-rows, scamper van grunge,
a survival sign in neon flashes
with the S gone dark
on which form the Ozymandian ridge of sand
shifting in the off-light of post-nuptial
nautical twilight
blindly blinks
  &... despite knowing coffee is bad for me,
a cuppa'd be fine just now
rather than the corroded domes & megaphones of disaster
if only we had enough time the holy ghosts might save us
or maybe, given enough time, maybe the trees
spores, doors, reddy skirts be hangin
near the spruce
travelin' up the calves
music is freedom itself as dance living dying into mycomass always flowing
great hydras of terraforming cryptobiotic soil on the birthday of Arthur Rimbaud
mingling undulations siphoning idiosyncracy crapshoots
mon ultra somnolent itinerant cactus
my music never over
here but lion's mane mycelial
sporadic mutant blossom
ready now to dusk
as visions come to jacob boehme
far too early bohemian
fathoms of mothers gather their moss
build the braintree's leaves
prepared pinnacle
pineal acorn
nut squat
stored by squirrels
doffs its cap --
it's almost Spring
inside the Ice
     Wait for daylight but dance the darkness until then
One of my friends commented: 
"One can feel safe in the dark. Here it is eating the girl. Why?"

---I answered:
      here's it the green darkness, the cast off light of photosynthesis. I don't know why. About anything. But that dance is the art of the greatest symbolic of all time because it engages all the faculties and leaves nothing behind. As it brings all things on physically forward, through the messages of one's own being, there in all contact with all others and unknowns...

Reflecting upon poetry and poets, I googled the name of Duncan McNaughton
 and found an intriguing statement by him and posted it, without quotation marks, to my FB wall
 "...Words do or don’t do the work of the poem—they are, as Jack Spicer said in his second letter to Lorca, “what we hold on with, nothing else.” The work of the poem, McNaughton writes, “is not in any sense a job for rhetoric, in order to gain efficacy of persuasion, to gain social affect i.e. power. . . . Language and discourse, specifically generated by the advent of writing itself, are in the agency of power. . . . It is like Alice Notley said, words aren’t language—they never were..."
A friend replied: Maybe I'm missing context here. What do you mean by "What we hold on with?" Sort of a passionate drive i.e. Lebenstrieb? And what are words then, if not sign symbols to communicate through "language"? And the last point: "Discourse or language can't be creative expression(s), as they are tools in domains of power as per your sources" or "single words don't make a language"? Will check these authors – sounds very interesting albeit cryptic due to the lack of framing.
 So, I had this to say. Well, first thing comes to mind is poets and how simply we know that we could never write (or even think) anything if it depended on grammar, just woids, theories of the sign, social approval, rhetoric -- all the linear framings of englightenment and post-enlightenment modes of reason and discourse. there is a passage from primo levi that comes to mind to me next where he describes one of his fellow inmates in auschwitz, known only by his number, null achtzehn, as the empty involocru of a insect blown by the wind but connected still to a rock by a single frail thread spun from it's own former body. that's where poetry allows for an almost superhuman power against the most inhumane forces imaginable. it remains cryptic because no one can explain it; and those who try to do so suffer the loss of a resource that perishes when exposed to certain forces of modernity -- like those freschi in the fellini movie -- poetry is not the image, the art, but the medium, the glue, the gluon in physics, that allows the pigments to cohere invisibly -- I wouldn't call it Lebenstrieb because it's not personal, it's not related to egoity nor corporal identity, not even to life so simply framed by one body or body of bodies -- I think a lot of people think it's like Chomsky's generative grammar or something but when I read his ideas about language, they don't seem to be covering the same field of energies. Well, that's the best I can come up with for the moment. Thanks for the question and for your curiosity
 Context perhaps helps to some degree (to provide my sense for it). For example, if you know that the poet Jack Spicer wrote his letters to Lorca in the 60's long after Lorca was dead and that Spicer lectured on magic and poetry used metaphors of mediumistic messaging services, like the radio in Cocteau's Orpheus film, maybe something of a pre-post-modern materialistic rhetoric based poetry can start to be seem in some depth of perspective. Poets often do not speak to nor need to speak to the living, alhough our use of material audible and visible to the living allows them to overhear our (often hit or miss) transmissions to one another. Some guiding principle in this.
This all lead me back to contemplating Olson's "the dead prey upon us for rest" and how this particular path in art where you are not creating works to convince the living people to some point of view, how the art of poetry and music in the service of the ecology of healing ancetral trauma for Seven Generations Forward and Seven Generations this is very different than being popular or influential politically --I wrote the following: 
 "if you tell people you are in coversation with the spirits of the other worlds, the dead, and listen to the voices of other species, you can remove a lot of the bullshit talk from your life. it's very liberating. we never made art only for people presently alive. I know very well after a decade or so of university education (and life among educated technician artists) how the idea won currency that art is about the here and now, your community, your human life, this materialistic paradigm, your techniques: it's is very easy to trace. and yet, all indigenous peoples had their universities of forests and mountains and seas and oceans. we all were once something like indigenous people, even nomadics. we owe our work more to the future and past works of the earth than we do to those whose sense of career inside capitalistic market paradigms prevent them from undestanding the scope the poetics we are bound to... because our happiness depends on expressing the truth"
 Afterwards I found this strange passage in an interview with Peter Sloterdijk
𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝐈𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝. 𝐎𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐦𝐬 𝐃𝐢𝐞. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐆𝐨𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐀 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠
“I am absolutely a believer. Faith and life are synonymous functions. If you don't believe, you can't finish a sentence, for example. Speechlessness is the clearest sign of depression. In this respect, depression and disbelief converge. The title of my book "Nach Gott" (2017) was deliberately chosen to be ambiguous. The "nach" (after) can be read in a temporal sense: God is a thing in the past.
But "nach" also means "according to" or "as a result of". So we are at a fork in the road. There are increasing numbers of atheists today. Yet countless numbers still live under the religious umbrella.
God is still a key term for a psychosemantic immune system, a reference point for internal and external actions in an unsecured world. Nietzsche’s “God is dead” also hints at the continuing presence of God. The dead don't disappear completely, but have their place in the imaginary world. God lurks behind the hill, from there the living can sense him.
The divine eye, perpetually observing, dwells in modern man in the form of conscientious introspection. Moreover, strictly speaking, God cannot be dead. Organisms can die, but not God, for he is not a living being. So being dead is a metaphor for God's loss of meaning. But people still feel a longing for divine observation today – to be seen. A clear symptom is the social media and the communication mania that is revealed in it.
The vertical observation by God has been replaced by the horizontal observation by others whose gaze one surrenders to oneself. All of modern society, especially through modern communications technologies, has become a huge side observation context. In fact, people are gripped by a "reverse panic": While pre-modern people were still afraid of divine observation, modern people are not afraid to be seen. They crave it. They are constantly looking to get in touch with the kind of observation before which one's own existence flourishes."
(Edited and translated excerpt from interview with Sloterdijk on Deutschlandfunk Kultur radio program August 27, 2017 on the occasion of the publication of his book “Nach Gott”)
  On the Earth
Art? Go make an old growth forest and ask me to come to the opening!
 --- you will die before then! I will not waste my invitation, said someone.
--- but it depends depends on how deep you can go into the fecundity I guess... It's all a play of different tempi, different scales of time... Even in the park nearby there are trees 3 times my own age and they are still youngsters... Whereas the mites munching on the decaying leaves have tiny life cycles compared to even a dog or cats. It's all very funny. This thing called time
I will invite my body to feed the moment

Saturday, November 19, 2022

Entoptic Imagery, Visions (Produced) Within the Eye and a Diagram of Graphic Signs typical of Paleolithic Art (potential graphic score symbols)

 In the shamanic societies of the world, the experience of entoptic imagery is considered to be a valuable tool to catch glimpses of the worlds that lie beyond the material world.  Seeing entoptic visions, and being able to interpret their meanings, is a desired and significant phenomenon.  Indeed, shamans often use tools such as entheogens or sensory deprivation to purposely induce entoptic imagery (Noll 1985)!
Entoptic Imagery and Altered States of Consciousness
Keith Eddley | Oct 22, 2012
"Entoptic images are visual effects which originate within the visual processing system of the observer. The term ‘entoptic’ comes from the Greek for ‘within vision’, indicating that the images come from anywhere within the optic system, between the eye itself and the neural cortex where signals from the optic nerve are interpreted. Since it originates within the visual system, entoptic imagery can only be seen by the observer.
For clarity, I would like to include a quick note on the definition of entoptic imagery. In their discussion of paleolithic cave imagery, Lewis-Williams and Dowson define entoptic imagery as visual experiences arising from anywhere within the optic system, which includes the eyes, the occipital lobe of the brain, and the many other portions of the neural cortex that process visual stimuli. This definition comes from the Greek translation of entoptic meaning “things perceived within vision”, and is commonly used by anthropologists and archaeologists (Williams & Dowson 1988). On the other hand, in most medical literature, entoptic imagery is defined as imagery which only originates from within the eye itself. Given the Greek meaning of the word entoptic, I prefer the anthropological definition of the term. Therefore, for the purposes of this article, ‘entoptic’ indicates imagery that arises from anywhere within the visual system, from the eyes to the neural cortex."

Full article here:
 Entopic Imagery in Trance Consciousness and Rock Art

"From the above information we can see that entoptic imagery does seem to be consistent across individuals and across the conditions through which the images are seen.  In more recent years, many anthropologists have come to believe that these very entoptic images, seen during altered states of consciousness, were the impetus for the creation of both ancient and modern rock art.

In 1988, David Lewis-Williams and Thomas Dowson created a new chart of entoptic phenomenon based on images found in the rock art of the San Bushmen and the Native American Coso, who create their art while in ritual trance states.  Lewis-Williams argues that the form-constants that Kluver found in his mescaline experiments are also found in these trance inspired rock art images.

Lewis-Williams and Dowson compared these images to the images found in Paleolithic art and, based on the similarities between them, hypothesised that the Paleolithic artists were also in shamanic trance states when they produced these images.  He argues that the Bushman, the San, and all currently living human beings share the same neurological structure as the Paleolithic peoples, and that when the brain enters a trance state through dance, chanting,  drumming, the ingestion of entheogens, and so forth, it becomes possible to see entotpic images more clearly.  Indigenous peoples interpreted these images as messages from the spirit world.  Thus, based on this, Lewis-Williams suggested that the Paleolithic artists were in altered states of shamanic trance when they created their images (Lewis-Williams & Dowson 1988)."

The similarities between these ancient and modern rock art images and common entoptic phenomena can be seen in the following diagram:


 "Genevieve Von Petzinger mapped out the Geometric Patterns of the Paleolithic world, identifying 26 distinct shapes.  She then looked for patterns of continuity and change over time and space.  She found that at an early age we already see 70% of the patterns being used, and that there is a high degree of repetition of a limited number of shapes, with some being replicated throughout the 20,000 year time span of the study.  This suggests that these symbols were not created at random, but that they were intentional and symbolic. Von Petzinger believes that the abstract nature of these signs is some of the best proof we currently have that these images were not being made purely for their aesthetic qualities, and she suggests that these markings were symbolic attempts to communicate ideas that were not so easy to depict in a physical form."

My reason for studying these symbols is for personal edification, enjoyment of their beuaty, suggestivity and application of the symbols to my developing system of scoring some of my sound  and music compositions. 


Since Western materialism and ‘rationalism’ have become the dominant methods of understanding the human experience, the physical world has become the only valid object of perception and concentration, and anything which goes beyond that, including dreams, visions, and entoptic phenomena, are considered to have no benefit and are sometimes even considered to be signs of mental illness.  However, with advances in neuroscience and an increasing openness in the collective consciousness to the concepts of spiritual, non-substantial phenomenon, we are beginning to come to a point where we can understand entoptic imagery as a phenomenon that is simultaneously biological and spiritual, that may have played a huge role in shaping our experience of life and the cosmos, and that may even be essential to our future development as a spiritual species.



Friday, November 4, 2022

The Vale of Soul-Making and Five Broke Downe Homesick for the Open Road Medley Blues, Take Your Pick, Weave Your Earrings, Apply For Asylum

Endless Poetry by Al. Jordorowsky

And how is the
heart to become this Medium but in a world of Circumstances?  

These tracks were all concieved and recorded at my home studio in Poznan in October of 2022. They were also poetically mapped karmically erratically membered long before in the swim I walk in this flight through skies called My Life of glacier. Instrumentation: voice, synthesizer, clay tiles, feedback, radio, electric and acoustic guitars, mandolin, melodica, zither, shortwave radios, field recordings, audiomulch live processing (track 3 and 8 ). Texts are by Stefan Ellis (7), William Blake (4) and myself (1). Track 8 is a composition for randomized replay of shortwave radio captures with live overdubbed improvisations based on considered tone sets for acoustic guitar, mandolin and melodica. Pleased to meet you all in the sound and to, in pleasure and woe, rebuild the anima mundi---  Jeff Gburek, November 4, 2022

N.B. Album is currently set as name your own price and will remain that way until I feel like it should be changed. The piece with Stephen Ellis' poem will be available for free download ad aeternitatis

    Five Broke Downe Homesick for the Open Road Medley Blues came to me as the title for those homespun tracks I recorded in October bounced off of various field recordings from the Summer 2022 . They are all recorded spontaneously at various locations They are mixed location recordings. One can glean, listen, hear the domestic and wilderness noises in the backgrounds (1), campfires, foxes or wolves, crickets (3). The tracks are mostly raw juxtapositions of field recordings/improvisations and dubbed improvisations in other locations without any editing, such that I've kept the recording artefacts (turning on the machine and turning it off) inside the final mixes. The final track (Abu Simbal) features a prepared guitar I call the Pseudo-Oud: an old acoustic guitar from which I stripped off some frets, supplied it with an odd assortment of strings, gave it a large metal wood screw atop plastic canister-lid as a bridge and played it quite close to the microphones to get this spacious reverberant sound. In the spirit of DIY and live experience of natural environments and the stardust transmutation.


 The Man From Atlantis aka Michael Sill writes this about the album: "fantastic improvised guitar playing that is intimate and devoid of any pretence. Favorite track: Abu Simbal."

 George Christian, Brazilian guitarist & composer writes: "Barebones and haunting harmonies that can be really peaceful... Beautiful string work"






Monday, October 17, 2022

Vigilance Suites I & II on Ramble Records, a few views and reviews.

       Album link:

 Please get in touch if you'd like physical copies of the double cd, since I have about 12 here in Europe. Otherwise, it's available directly from the label in Australia.

 "A dialogue with the Balkans musical tradition in contemporary transfiguration."

-- George Christian 

 Record Crates United review:

 Available through the great Ramble Records, Vigilance Suite I & II is Jeff Gburek utilizing guitar, zither and an e-bow to process the horror of the war that is currently still sweeping through his ancestral homeland of Ukraine.

The album’s music, 20 different suites spread across two CDs, is rich with tension and melancholia, but it does spiral off occasionally into side tangents and even light moments that evoke a sense of hope.

If Elkhorn’s acoustic improvisations and the more impressionistic work of Pelt are your thing, then this is a record that will move you to your core. Click here to get your copy today.

Sunday, October 16, 2022

Elektro Seoul. New album on Akashic Records.

This is an album composed a few years ago, & lost, about the same time as  Twin Oscilators  --
 in the wake of the pandemic. I had just seen the director's cut of Bladerunner & I wanted to make a dystopian futuristic soundtrack to a non-existent sci-fi noir movie, a techno Alphaville. I needed a model city, one I didn't know at all, in order to have no preconceptions, only visual suggestions that came from the imagery I found online. I did no special research about the actual history of Seoul city although I am sure it is fascinating. My album was to be a city made of sounds, without history or a city in post-history. I recalled that I spent 6 hours at the Seoul airport on a lay-over to Tokyo once, watching the night skyline pale up into a murky yellow dawn of smog. I thought even back then about the techno-megapolis, the endless white lights of electrical modernist autobahns, flows of exhaust, permanent insomnia, ghosts of forgotten villages absorbed into the conurbation, devoured whole by mechanical madness, their sounds projecting themselves in the form of incessant robot squabbles and the collapsing mirrored panoramas of endless shimmering but filthy glass window-panes, facades, impenetrable, impersonal, too real and therefore surreal. And then finding in those spaces of absolute alienation some spirit of reflection, entering other dimensions through ricochets, cascades, impulses of purely fugitive sound, I imagined through these sounds a way to marvel at the space oddity of it all. 
All of this is still linked to life. And made me dance a bit in the skull.
Even on my feet. Maybe some of this works this way for you too. Let me know.
   Instruments: Hacked Roland MC-303, Arturia Microfreak Synth,
No-Input Mixer, Audiomulch, Beatpad App
Jeff Gburek
October 14, 2022


Friday, October 7, 2022

Cusp & Other Poems, January--May 2022


go to school, go to work,
kick the can, never crush it
play the song, leave the fray,
the self, swaddled in ivy
sweep your missing tail
across the leaves
let go of the song, let the bells mumble,
drunk on cloud-cover, the diamond idle,
allow a silken kimono, swaddle the skull,
eye-holes sprouting
tentacles of ivy
count as far backwards
all generations, alien ancestors
as count forward, into darkness
sound the font of every sun,
even the one which sieves
all laws of matter
up through thought, base of the spine,
sprouts through your ears
this aleatory, bristling,
widdershin canticle
spiralling inward
invisible ivy



through a broken window
corneal blisters, heaven's brooding,
 pinkish cloud, down in my heart,
         toe-jam, sciatica
            tingling droplets of rain wrought
   grubbily in the war gloom
            clenched in lacqeured finger-nails
                                             a handkerchief
 how you've come to sing me
      one last cante jondo through unmoving lips
          breaking into constitutional flames
  these worlds apart at all seams
      I have never, will never
see the like of your light again
        as it crushes me
     silence of the severed oak
may 5



what is weaving the sky
Mayfalls gently

day number 10


chirality balls
when you are walking forward
at a good clip, the pivot to walk backwards
happens smoothly, whilst
walking backward, at a good clip
the swivel to straight
takes slightly more time, effort
risk of instability. why?
it's all about habits, training
--they may even be the same--
discipline is like water,
follows the routine: bless your anatomy
that guides the filtration, flow --
bless also the observation
that this is truly weird.
entropy topples ideas,
displaces direction.
when you seek the open
you are most alone.
the last thing
you thought.
before the chips
a psy-fi poem for Ilaria Boffa
before the chips,
installed to prevent
child abductions,
we never could tell
when personal
informational cloud
fields were merging.
now we can even drive
personal informational
fields together by
algorithmic expansion
of contact frequency
so quickly that repulsion
begins unconsciously
and individual fields
contract, retract &
we subjects,
formerly sociable,
push apart, long
before we even meet.
personal informational
shields bind us.
markets enjoin,
keep us apart,
(each class without
knowledge of classes
ideally remains 
classless, alone)
alternative social
before the chips,
t'was hard to know.


dear there lonely in the grave unwritten
poems do frolic despite the clouds of mourning
gather and drift apart as faces do
and as words cohering vagrant sentence
thumb some ride beyond twilight and dawn
(dream poem under the hill)
may 14, 2022
so many more pairs of you 
argos panoptis, guardian of the flock
 1)  to the so many more pairs of your eyes come sights
you never sought, as so many new or not so new
pairs of eyes cross, meet, turn away,
linger, avert, downcast, as so many do
normally, timidly, confused (thoughts far off)
on the right, on the left, male & female, undecided,
in process, the rooted & the transient
lockstep scandal gradient orbs
unknown, trudging, aimless
or purposely pushing prams,
children dressed as unicorns & pandas,
the black leather-clad fashion bicyclist
with spiked collar, a death's head helm
  silver    bracelets    gaunt    adult
pours the cocktails, shaken

2)  so many more pairs of legs, arms
hands potential to be clasped, rebound,
for the longer or shorter relations, triggered,
or to be avoided if there be no point
in our congregation, indeliberate, unawares
 our blues on ice, our clouds without tether

3) to the so many more pairs of ears
come both known & unfamiliar birds, sirens
as in every mind nest exotic memories
that will never reach any other place in time
dwelling nevertheless in the present invisible,
acorn or robin's egg fallen on cement
this sound too that streams between planes,
drones, the vehicles of our mad demise they devise,
let us be no better or worse for knowing

4) to all the countless unravelling narrative baskets,
torn & on the mend, I pledge some bills I don't have,
and a traveler's sense of grace, that you too, like all the forlorn,
in this placental sweat bag our bodies secrete around our form,
will resurrect in sunlight of this life, carrying on,
sleeping beneath these ever-turning, elegant phases of moon,
(they are elegant, are they not, when thought about, no?)
may you be well remembered or well forgotten, shone upon
equally as lost to darkness, forever therein found
Money Pox.
We've all got it.
We all don't got it.
Money Pox.
Killing in the markets
and schools of the USA,
killing in, Syria, Afghanistan, Ukraine.
Money Pox, oily oligarchs,
phony pharma.
Money Pox, day & night.
Nobody doing right.
 sore wing's hole

inasmuch as
there persists an I
thrown over ages & climbs
good as that less bad one
can be the dream-hoard
or dream-herd, heard of ears
the bull-roarer wind in the chimney chute
flapping it's gaspier outlays
inasmuch as over the landfill
they name several settlements
razed for cornfield apartment complex
missiled into submission
this I cannot go on defending for many thems
when the garden of disenchantment
sprigs forth such varieties of brand
species sub-colonial simples
and complexity flowers
spoken of as if language's
naming owns when it's all
air in the sore wing's hole

Pharoah's Tarot, a new album on Akashic Records; in celebration of the music of Pharoah Sanders (October 13, 1940--September 24, 2022)


It's a very awkward moment to contemplate addressing you here in words about two events that I could not find myself able to speak about while alive, namely, the effect of Pharoah Sanders work on my life and the speechlessness that a personally felt death presents. I did not know Farell Sanders in any way, familiarly speaking. We never met. I saw him play once (ask me about that later) with Sun Ra's Arkestra in Oakland and at Knitting Factory (when there was the Knit, in Manhattan, that was it) some years later. It didn't matter much that we never met, I mean. I had always been meeting with this message here and there beyond. Because his tenor, meaning being polysemous here, caught me very early on through his almost miraculous (and to me, then, anonymous) appearance in the albums of John and Alice Coltrane, Don Cherry, Sun Ra and then through his own albums as band leader, blowing these multi-voiced multiphonics, creating a feather shredding voice of flight with the reed. Peace is the will of the people and the will of the land. I quote, without quotation marks, the motto we hear in the album Jewels of Thought Jewels of Thought album. Jewels of Thought. It's almost incantatory. In the work of Pharoah Sanders I always found contemplation, passion, desire and discipline to be rather unbelievably resolved on the teeter, in the flow and ebb. How he ever managed to come to terms with trauma and make them resources for a progressive mantra sand-painting constantly blowing itself to scatter after assembling the ecstatic icon and re-casting it once again is something I mainly only experience in his music and a few others. That love and peace and spirit played itself out in the sensual and conflictual worlds of the sounds he released and organically organized. Full stop to fathom with reverence. And make reference to the fact that Pharoah's Book was always on the table of my life. I'd always return to Pharoah's book in times of the need for gnosis. Pure medicine. So I threw together my cards to make Pharoah's Tarot. One of the albums I heard made by Pharoah called Pharoah I actually heard in Berlin at the home of Anzu Furukawa on an LP that was stamped with the name of her old company Dance Love Machine. Sometimes, I feel so good, giving love to you. I hope and I pray you feel the same as I do.

 Instrumentation: acoustic & electric guitar, zither, mandolin, cumbus, ebow, voices, ocarina, bird whistles, field recordings, media captures (interviews with PS)