“Lovecraftian” is an adjective that reeks of timelost monstrosities and enigmas. “The maze of the alchemists made mad” (Howard). We who live in the transformative modern maze are as mad as any. For, what none seem to grasp is that logical thought is a transformative process that does not partake of the strong, ageless cyclical rhythms and songs of voluptuous allure. The beak penetrating the shell, tap, tap, tap.
Thus is labyrinthine foulness wrought. The harbingers of a genome/algorithm future are not aware of this, anymore than Richard Dawkins is of his own presence in the catacombs where, “the echoes change and transform any sound.” The ego-monsters are unaware of the presence of the id, and hence the ageless universe of darkness and innocence, the groping or urgings of Dionysus and the flaring visions of Apollo.
In their giant egos, they cannot apprehend the classical simplicity of rhythm, balance, symmetry and the urge to life.
Tiger tiger burning bright
In the forests of the night
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry (Blake)
No more the sensual allure, the great strength and resilience that endures. No more the great simplicity of immortal symmetry. For one borne of ego simply cannot appreciate what is staring at them; that rhythm, balance, dynamism are the content of things, external and internal; and that style is born of simplicity of content.
The DNA universe is logical thought (all algorithms comply). THE universe is content – Dionysian urge or mystique and Apollonian clarity. The ego-monsters are inward-turning, more robot than Man. The universe is in dynamic balance, any fool can see that; those who don’t see see only the replications, transformations and confusions of their own sterile thought-processes, aided-and-abetted by machine-algorithms that – we already know – talk to eachother in a language humans don’t understand (like DNA basically).
Cryptic? No, because outside of DNA is the primeval simplicity of sunflare and mystique; of wheeling gulls and feral wolfsbane. This is the world of action and content; of Dionysus and Apollo; of strong style from simple symmetry. The ego-monster cannot see this as logic cannot penetrate through to the primeval id, its ancient rhythms and marvellous symmetries. Those rhythms are the universe, and that is what their infatuation with DNA denies; we are born of rhythm and not of DNA.
Intoxicating rhythms are sensual rhythms; they interest us and we find them amusing. They are mysterious and we paraphrase them through music, syncopation. As to what they are, they are the universe as any fool can see. They are strong, primeval and in a way unknowable (see CH 9 – Bruce Lee).
This doesn’t worry the ego-monsters since they can only know the algorithmic complexity of an infinite maze. The only rhythms they can possibly know are of a machine-order (and, by the way, they already talk of sex-robots, did you hear?) They are the vile devourers of the simple and pure, and as they wade into the DNA cesspit they will transform (edit) in the hell-hole of knowledge that knows no simplicity. GM babies will be cloned by the multitude, all borne of the fiendish ego of labyrinthine madness. The intoxication or euphoria of living is lost to those who dwell on machine-codes and replications. They are the ego-monsters, who can only dwell in the dank and dingy catacombs where, “the echoes (of monstrous science) change and transform any sound” (into a distorted farce of the strong and simple symmetry of iconic nature.
The intoxicating symmetries of the social round are lost to one who worships the genome, for they are simply the result of theme and variation. In Jane Austen, every act speaks of allure and longing in a sensual whirlpool of intoxication..
This is simplicity made into sardonic art. The powerhouse of lust cleanses and purifies. The dragon-form cannot apprehend this because to them simplicity is just lack of knowledge. What they fail to get is that this knowledge is the transformative knowledge of a modern maze. He that lives by DNA dies by it, and the same goes for algorithms (the machines already talk to eachother, hadn’t you heard?)
No, we are born of marvellous symmetries, and all that DNA tells you is that Man can be made mad by knowledge. The marvellous symmetries of life in the round are born of lusts and the urge for blood; primeval roots of death and life. Forget that and you do inhabit a maze of insipid, listless, sterile filth. For only the sensual can purify what has to be a cyclical process of continual regeneration.
Marvelous symmetry and sensual allure; adjectives that conjure-up the old Weird Tales (and Margaret Brundage’s covers). The burgeonings of the unconscious of the 30s Junto. Flash forward to 67 San Fran Fillmore, the magic fairyland of dancehall psychedelia, fabulous poster-art and lost children. What Kantner calls, “The unbridled passion and ecstasy of the insights we gained against the powers that be” is a high of primeval lust.
Yes, they called it “The Summer of Love”, and that is one word for it. Whatever innocent folly is there, they tapped into the universal truth that only a pervasive sensual spirit can cleanse the soul and allow for the genesis of a simple purity (the knight in Faerie Queene). That is the allure of White Rabbit (with a rhythm based on Ravel’s Bolero). The sensual purifies, for we live in a cyclical world of continuing regeneration from the depth of the underworld. Forget that, and the sensual in its pure and true sense will cease to exist as a voluptuous arising from fertile pastures. Go home to your sterile, pornographic lives, for that’s what they will have become.