Norman Allan : the story
book two: secrets
chapter six: the substance of life
and painting the city
Chapter 1: Maybe Cynthia Chapter 6: the substance of life and painting the city
Chapter 2: Past Lifes Chapter 7: Three Portraits of Lucky
Chapter 3: Stoner Chapter 8: Creep
Chapter:4: the Sacred Chapter 9:The Psychic Lover
Chapter 5: Spring 2015 Chapter: 10: the Devil's Story
Chapter 6: The Body Electric : the substance of life : (and the summer 2015)
some anecdotes and insights,
a couple of weeks into summer: Ezra arrives tonight!
As I mentioned at the end of the last chapter: Spring, 2015, money is getting tight, Norman is getting despondent and, fearing "depression"; has started painting on larger canvasses and a new style - working on wet boards in an even more scribbly manner. Do we like it? It's different, that I can say.
I was going to have a whole chapter on Ted Allan in Spain (TAiS), and in that I would tell the secret story of Ted and the Bethune film and Donald Sutherland's attempt to highjack the project... perhaps here as a footnote? yes, in progress
I was going to write a separate
chapter on "genius", 'bout wrestling with "genius",
and ego, but that too leaked into the last chapter. ... and you know..."
There are two recent little
anecdotes I'd like to write of.,
I should start telling the Devil's story
There are a couple of new insights to write about, and re-highlighting some thoughts that go with these, and, finally, for now, with these I have come to realise that I have been getting (nearly) everything backwards... "energy" "vibe" "higher" "quantum" ...
But first, the ...
First Anecdote: There was this totally perfectly beyond glamorous very young woman posed by the subway, by the newspaper boxes outside, with friends...
and I thought
"I should tell her just how beautiful and artfully fashionable
out upside down
and that when folk talk of quantum this and that, I've sneered. "Your quantum logic " I say "is: quantum is a mystery and mind is a mystery. therefore mind is quantum."
and I'm all agog about the substance of life...
and.... I started writing about this here, but then moved it to it's own page/article/posting. It's heavy...here's a taste, and then go see
"bulk water" is a mysterious and wonderful substance. However, its has recently been discovered that water, where is interfaces other stuff, has very different and remarkable properties. There is, for example, Pollack exclusion zone water. And then there is the work of del Giudice and his colleagues with "quantum coherent domains"... (see, for example Ho)
in living systems, animals, plants... water sings! It is a vibrating/pulsing
plasma of quasi-free electrons and protons oscillating
as coherent (laser-like) quantum
domains. Emilio del Giudice looked for the signals, looked at
the behaviour of water, and he found "Quantum Coherent Domains".
Yesterday, at my friend Linda's, just before leaving, I was knelling by the cat, Kliban, my hand touching (but not resting on, not pressing down) over her sacrum, but now with the thought that our (living) flesh is electric plasma, and I reckon I felt and saw (internally) the fields! (as light)
Plants too, an oscillating/vibrating electrical plasma: alive.
so go see
I'll leave some of the pictures from this "paper" here though, so
break from heady stuff...
(Is the following a poem?) Tantrum
On the bus
another "ugly" child's interminable assault upon the world:
and now it seems simple... it's rage... we, in our infancy, rage...
"the tantrum"... we rage, till the rage breaks... to poor
me first and then to sorrow...
met a very interesting man, oh a while back, but there
is much I need to speak of now. Luk (that's pronounced somewhere between
Luke and look) will figure in the devil's story, and I should start
to tell that. I met Luk in the park. It
was his dog that drew me. Reminded me of Lucky. "Zander"
is a cattledog, a blue heeler. Zander is beautiful: and 'minds me
Zander with and ex: four days with Luk, four days with Jeffie: and
that's a source of anger in Luk's life.
anger, "fittest" only in the short term
A month of summer gone. Where are we going? I took my writings here on the vibrating fields in living systems and restructured them as an article...
I asked a new friend on Facebook (an old friend) to read SoL: John says "Well, Norman....I got through the first line and decided to defer to your knowledge. I have absolutely NO IDEA what it means." I guess that calls for a major rewrite!
now, to continue, I will show you, first, yesterdays session at the
A&LC (the last before the August break), and then, before we go
further, I must speak of the doom...
This is drawing a wash on wetted board, this time relatively dried (dripped and blotted)
just a pen
line drawing (26 x 16)
oh, it works
quite nicely cropped
and the sketches for that session
I think these nudes, below
I must write about the doom
May 2014 (a
year ago): sitting on the floor on the sitting room, rather stoned.
Don't remember what I was doing, drawing, writing, thinking, meditating...
there was a sudden pain, the upper part of the abdomen just right
of central: "like being shot in the belly with a 12 gauge shotgun,"
thought at the time. (Later added the descriptor, "or kicked
in the belly by a mule.") It lasted, I think, about 30 seconds
(a long time). And in my ideation I identified this event, this pain,
as a "doom": somehow associated with the "pastlife",
with deep spiritual meaning... but what?
So of interest,
perhaps, is my continued use of weed, grass, when perhaps it might
be hastening my demise. And that I cannot divine the "spiritual"
meaning of "the doom". It teases...
up the "dog hill" in Monarch Park, the other day, I recalled
how a few years back somebody spread broken glass in three spots at
the top of the hill. It took days to clean most of it up. As far as
I know, no dogs were injured, but the intent was there.
first here's Lucky looking towards that dog hill...
looking through my "pet" photo files (for the dog hill) brought again sadness, mourning...where does the time go?
Somebody dumped these tons of rubbish on the park I use!
still there a month later, and beyond (it's somewhere between "thoughtlessness" and malice: an "Eff you, you pick up my mess!")
Dostoevsky writes (in The Gambler) "... pleasure is always
of use, and savage, unbounded power - if only over a fly - is a pleasure
in its way, too. man is a despot by nature, and loves to be a torturer."
Still with "spite"... back when Tee and I were breaking up, one evening, during one of our "arguments", I I noticed a spiteful impulse/thought/feeling, and wrote...
I am his curse
I'm just mean
I scorn to be soft
I'm Lord of the Manor
of course approval comfort
sex them genes
they are chasing hell down
that's what's up
Two months of summer gone
will I write of one or two minor frictions I've felt toward Ee? but they are not special : why bother us (Oh: put them in a footnote! he gloats (6))
ez and the market
I paint almost nothing but faces and bodies. It's interestinh to try something new. I'm grateful for the exercise.
a stab at verisimilitude:
Not bad for a first attempt
And then two
quick impressions. They remind me of Dufy's work, so we'll call them
And then a long sad saga with some alcoholic Michael - sad weepy eyes, as much conceit as me - I'll spare you the change
I returned again on Monday to Ezra at his spot on Baldwin. He pointed to house, tree, sky. Said he sees sails in the sky ...
Oh, and "Paint me a picture of a wheelchair with wings"
Okay: that's the cityscapes from my first three sessions on the streets... a new horizon.
one is reading my memoir. (If you are, send me an email and I'll continue.)
This time I am "depressed" (money stuff/pressure). 27August
2015... big "so what". see you later...
meanwhile Leery Larry : Leery Larry has been into me for $10 and another $10 and another $10 over three years and then tried to hit me up for another $10: he seemed so sad, so desperate for his fix, whatever, I said, okay but this time I cannot afford not to be repaid promptly... I gave Larry another last chance (a month on and I've managed to recover $5)
Ez says: Don't slag the guru. Don't slag anyone. So we are
just going to sing Ezra's praise...
Ee's as complex as any
more (a last word: here) on the doom and suspension...
In March 1070
the baby was a year old. I was in the last throws of writing up my
doctoral dissertation. I was coming up four years into being a "head",
or "freak": a free toking member of the counterculture.
I was also a bit of an asshole in relation to the babies mother, my
wife. I was a philanderer still hoping to compete with my father:
a would be sword man. Oh, Karin and I would grow into each other;
later: I had submitted my thesis, but not yet "defended"
it. We still planned to go abroad, but no longer with Jeff and Margot
to Afghanistan - we'd probably travel to Spain. We had bought an old
Land Rover when we had more exotic plans. Now we got it repaired and
certified as roadworthy. A few days and less than a hundred miles
on from that road-worth certification: driving up to London on the
Guilford Road, Karin, Jessi and I: something happened, something snapped
and we were drifting into the oncoming traffic: fighting with the
wheel and no control. We sideswiped an oncoming car. Perhaps that
will push us back into our own lane...
A long year
later, and a little bit, I was back in England with an unavailing
life: and I was going down to Guilford assizes ion the morrow: and
tossing and turning I thought, "What it I got my foot caught
under the brake," and an image of this... (I wrote about this,
in the last chapter apropos of "false memory", you will
remember.) My God, I'm responsible... a little numbing, such thoughts.
five years on: Michael Bell is dying two hours away by was in waterloo
Ontario and this short while we've known this I offered to drive Linda
if she might want a car, and/or a driver.
west from the south side of Bloor at Trinity St. Pauls'.
on the day.
So to drive to
Waterloo, two hours, to say farewell to Michael Bell, Woon (7)
and Shirley (8) would
come too - a full car. My Echo is small, so I asked Linda if
her old Mazda is reliable, and might she prefer that comfort,
and we take Linda's car. I will chauffeur...
And back in our cityscape: it is drizzling a little, so Ez is under an awning of Baldwin: I am across the road on a covered patio with tables, working a while on a drawing - coming slowly, coming slowly, complex, and will it work... and I'm maybe halfway there: and Ezra comes over. "This I love!" (Ezra has paid me $100 for four more of the cityscapes: the $100 to be dedicated to finding a Yoga instructor the design me a problem for my heart!) "This is one of the four. It is musical! Patricia will love it. I will frame it and hang it in the house." (And for me it was as yet unfinished. And others agree with Ez. They like it.)
Molecular interactions are a matter of charge, space/form, and vibration/resonance.
Music is (one of) the archetypal vibrational (things) systems.
wondering "where" consciousness is, don't forget the e.m.
fields (bones crystals!).
as a blog: NA:tsfE:aab
what's going on~ CNS iteration
~ resonant phenomena (?)
(with iterations (cf. Poincare's recurrence) are "48", "241" of significance: or are they particular to the particular iterative devise/process Ian Stewart described?)
~ in the interaction of molecules, are only fundamental frequencies of importance, or are musical intervals "harmonies" relevant?
(musical language is not necessarily
relevant: e.g. in music the intervals - minor seconds, major seconds,
minor thirds, are counting up from the fundamental in twelfths, and
in fact: a half of a fundamental is "an octave" (an "eighth'),
~ M theories posited another 15(?) dimensions (inward to those?)
|oh, and do visit normanallan.com : the website|