"The sight of a skeletal corpse rarely inspires a rollicking jig. Yet for more than half a millennium, the dance of death in European visual art has imagined a tango between the quick and the dead. Allison C. Meier tracks the motif’s evolution across history, discovering how — through times of disease, war, and economic inequality — printmaking offered a means to both critique social ills and reflect upon new forms of human devastation."
The image above and quote beneath is the opening from The Public Domain Review title essay, Our Mortal Waltz, The Dance of Death Across Centuries by Allison C. Meier, Our Mortal Waltz
My travelin' Shoes, Duty done
Chambers Brothers "Travelin' Shoes (LIVE)" to begin the race:
By the by (or goodbye), all games, ALL games are warfare, ritualized, with rules, but still, winner, losers, living and dead...from jacks to tiddly winks to Dungeons and Dragons (my unconscious almost wrote, but I intervened - Guns n Roses) and ALL sports.
But. And. So Seems like an appropriate essay, for this 2024 POTUS ramp-pain....a fitting line up for Late Stage Decay and Fall of the American Empire.
I dreamed of Bernie Sanders last night (I have NEVER dreamed of Bernie Sanders), he was in his poiiti-suit, walking down concrete stairs (old crumbling stairs), BAREFOOT, went to step out onto a vast pitch (sports field) that had many spectator sports taking place at once....there were bleachers as in high school field kind, with people cheering their teams but this pitch was miles long (or so it felt). I was near Bernie who looked very happy, vibrant, smiling excitedly, inwardly happy. BEAMING. At the last concrete step edge one of his heels slipped (gravely crumble beneath the heel) and he nearly fell backwards but corrected his balance and made it onto the pitch. He immediately began to run right, direction right (oh, it was night - stadium lit up as in high school fields) and began to sprint, I mean SPRINT fast with his wide grin and indicated to me that I was to race him so I too - barefoot hmmmmm - sprinted beside him while crowds cheered on perpetually for their teams no matter the sport happening - Bernie and I seemed to be having our own friendly competition but Bernie appeared to be celebrating or taking a victory spint and FAST. I barely kept pace with him....but it was exhilarating.
GO, BERNIE, GO!!!
I woke up very curious about the dream since "agéd" statesmen are the hot topic du jour du munde totale. I guess I count now as "agéd" (I prefer my term - "dega" evoking Edgar's lithe ballerinas) at 72 (though psychologically still too much possessed by the puer (eternal youth) archetype). But my first hit on an intuitive/felt sense "hit" level was this is a death dream. The end is near. I heard the Bible verse of Saint Paul proclaiming he had "run the race, had fought the good fight"....as, I presume, has Bernie in his own way, as has good intentioned enough other states persons serving (or they should) in a Republic of representatives voted in to, surprise surprise, serve the best interests of "the People".
This race between Bernie and I was private though in public in the spectator sports vast arena but with bleachers everywhere with crowds rooting for their teams.
B and I were heading into the dark side of the pitch, no end in sight but darkness (perhaps some light at the end of that individuation race? - hope so)).
To be NOTED that it was a hopeful end to a long wandering dream, a meander through my personal history, childhood homes, the countryside and woods and fields all destroyed by BIG REALTY making hideous suburban mazes on once wild and beautiful nature filled (critters all kinds - FOXES!), etc. Sad, angry, nostalgic, resigned as in first step of Alcoholics Anonymous that I, Warren, schmuck amongst millions of fellow schmuckaroonies, "am powerless over BIG CORPORATE REALTY (throw in an " i " and we have the trickster big hint - REAL I TY), and the much, and too too vaunted PROGRESS that my father's generation religiously praised and proclaimed -
dad was born the year of the Bolshevik Revolution (1917) - he was but one of a "team" of children (twelve that lived past infancy, 2 or 3 infants never made it), born to a poor sugar cane farmer and his weary, depressed, angry wife (according to my mother who did not like her ma-in-law) in swamplands, bayous Mississippi River fed, of the American south). Being poor, as were many Americans then, mostly manual labor across the "pitch" of the USA, then of course,the mantra of PROGRESS would be NIRVANA, marketed, commerical-ed, sold to each and every one and all (unless of other than white race but "even poor white trash" would not make the grade).
My dad did make the grade (by agreed upon by corporations wiht national leaders' standards) and then some, achieved middle "American dream" status, etc. Was extremely far right, bigoted, that sad, hateful same old "saw" that MAGA and OrangYna are proclaiming. Ugh. Theater of war, POTUS campaign, winners losers...some literally betting on stats as to which rats stay on the sinking Schtick-of-State (s'just a fun thing to type/say) and which don't or won't, preferring to doggie paddle (or other stroke) toward some other shore or, to be consistent with my dream, "pitch" or patch of pitch, "yer in the army now, yull never git rich yuh sonnum a bitch" so swim or run or stroke-a-doke "where the West commences and gaze at the moon till yah'll loooze yah'll's senses" et sweet cetera...
But. And. So Seems like an appropriate essay, for this 2024 POTUS ramp-pain....a fitting line up for Late Stage Decay and Fall of the American Empire.
I dreamed of Bernie Sanders last night (I have NEVER dreamed of Bernie Sanders), he was in his poiiti-suit, walking down concrete stairs (old crumbling stairs), BAREFOOT, went to step out onto a vast pitch (sports field) that had many spectator sports taking place at once....there were bleachers as in high school field kind, with people cheering their teams but this pitch was miles long (or so it felt). I was near Bernie who looked very happy, vibrant, smiling excitedly, inwardly happy. BEAMING. At the last concrete step edge one of his heels slipped (gravely crumble beneath the heel) and he nearly fell backwards but corrected his balance and made it onto the pitch. He immediately began to run right, direction right (oh, it was night - stadium lit up as in high school fields) and began to sprint, I mean SPRINT fast with his wide grin and indicated to me that I was to race him so I too - barefoot hmmmmm - sprinted beside him while crowds cheered on perpetually for their teams no matter the sport happening - Bernie and I seemed to be having our own friendly competition but Bernie appeared to be celebrating or taking a victory spint and FAST. I barely kept pace with him....but it was exhilarating.
GO, BERNIE, GO!!!
I woke up very curious about the dream since "agéd" statesmen are the hot topic du jour du munde totale. I guess I count now as "agéd" (I prefer my term - "dega" evoking Edgar's lithe ballerinas) at 72 (though psychologically still too much possessed by the puer (eternal youth) archetype). But my first hit on an intuitive/felt sense "hit" level was this is a death dream. The end is near. I heard the Bible verse of Saint Paul proclaiming he had "run the race, had fought the good fight"....as, I presume, has Bernie in his own way, as has good intentioned enough other states persons serving (or they should) in a Republic of representatives voted in to, surprise surprise, serve the best interests of "the People".
This race between Bernie and I was private though in public in the spectator sports vast arena but with bleachers everywhere with crowds rooting for their teams.
B and I were heading into the dark side of the pitch, no end in sight but darkness (perhaps some light at the end of that individuation race? - hope so)).
To be NOTED that it was a hopeful end to a long wandering dream, a meander through my personal history, childhood homes, the countryside and woods and fields all destroyed by BIG REALTY making hideous suburban mazes on once wild and beautiful nature filled (critters all kinds - FOXES!), etc. Sad, angry, nostalgic, resigned as in first step of Alcoholics Anonymous that I, Warren, schmuck amongst millions of fellow schmuckaroonies, "am powerless over BIG CORPORATE REALTY (throw in an " i " and we have the trickster big hint - REAL I TY), and the much, and too too vaunted PROGRESS that my father's generation religiously praised and proclaimed -
dad was born the year of the Bolshevik Revolution (1917) - he was but one of a "team" of children (twelve that lived past infancy, 2 or 3 infants never made it), born to a poor sugar cane farmer and his weary, depressed, angry wife (according to my mother who did not like her ma-in-law) in swamplands, bayous Mississippi River fed, of the American south). Being poor, as were many Americans then, mostly manual labor across the "pitch" of the USA, then of course,the mantra of PROGRESS would be NIRVANA, marketed, commerical-ed, sold to each and every one and all (unless of other than white race but "even poor white trash" would not make the grade).
My dad did make the grade (by agreed upon by corporations wiht national leaders' standards) and then some, achieved middle "American dream" status, etc. Was extremely far right, bigoted, that sad, hateful same old "saw" that MAGA and OrangYna are proclaiming. Ugh. Theater of war, POTUS campaign, winners losers...some literally betting on stats as to which rats stay on the sinking Schtick-of-State (s'just a fun thing to type/say) and which don't or won't, preferring to doggie paddle (or other stroke) toward some other shore or, to be consistent with my dream, "pitch" or patch of pitch, "yer in the army now, yull never git rich yuh sonnum a bitch" so swim or run or stroke-a-doke "where the West commences and gaze at the moon till yah'll loooze yah'll's senses" et sweet cetera...
In Sir (see link below) John Glubb's (perfect name, central casting name for what he and me/this is much about) much researched and considered timeline tracking the Rise and Fall of Empires (see link) the last stages 6 and 7 are certainly where USA and much of the First World now is (Western Civ. especially) 6 being Decadence and 7 being Decline and Fall (KAPUT). But. And. Meanwhile the values of the NEW empire, the NEW world view and systems is already dawning, becoming evident to grow and develop from the rhizome of pervious millennia, previous "empires - that represent Values, Root Belief systems.
So. And. But. Back to Bernie and me leopard speed racing each other to some finish line unseen but known (THE END - at least of an old value that served best (we hope) as it could.
Bernie's grin was ecstatic. Assuming mine was too though gritting my teeth in "mad" effort to keep up with the man running at unlikely speed toward some unseen goal or finish line.
Upon waking I hauled my tired arse from the sofa (where I sleep in this tiny over-priced studio apt. in ground center MOLOCH CITY, corporation corporation corporation with Big Realty, utterly inhuman, controls the decadent show of late stage collapse and hurrah of Empire) went immediately online to see if the headlines proclaimed Senator Bernie Sanders Dead at _______.
Didn't see it (good for Bernie! thrive on). So returned to symbolism and myths (races, prizes, endings, beginnings, old age and youth, athleticism, etc. and what all that has to do with ME as well as the "age I was born into and am olding in and from - this country is killing me).
I recently became reacquainted by a study of Sir John Grubb which gives me the context for my surmises above. I quote this from an essay (posted in comment section) by a colleague of mine) who writes movie reviews and critiques of culture born from moives, media, etc. and in one essay shares this re: the fall of empires and the signs of the stages therein (a bit of repetition but as one of my teachers of hypnotherapy noted, "the unconscious can enjoy repetition" (cue Philip Glass!):
"Sir John Glubb, a British historian who in 1976 wrote an essay titled "The Fate of Empires". In that work, Grubb lists the seven stages of Empire which are...1. Pioneers, 2. Conquest, 3. Commerce, 4. Affluence, 5. Intellect, 6. Decadence and 7. Decline and Collapse.
The Four Horseman film argued that the U.S. was in stage 6 - Decadence, in 2012, the year of its release. Accoring to Sir Glubb's thesis, signs of an empire In the age of decadence include an undisciplined - overextended military, conspicuous displays of wealth, massive disparity between rich and poor, obsession with sex, exorbitantly wealthy sports stars, and synchronistically enough...celebrity chefs…like Anthony Bourdain. In fact, one of the chefs the film shows to make its point is Bourdain. If Bourdain was a symbol of American Empire's decadence in 2012, in 2018 he is now the canary in the coal mine, and his suicide is a foreboding omen." (see link below, M. McCaffrey's article that goes very interesting into Glubb, McCaffrey's use of his "stages" applied to film and American media, etc.).
*
So. But. And. Today I've ordered some new athletic cross country shoes for aging feet and legs and knees and, OY, MY BACK, MY RIGHT HIP, and athletic Pampers to wear for the rest of the run(s) ahead. Ahem. Apologies.
And am praying for (yes, I confess, I do pray) Bernie, for Biden, but not for you know IT, only that ID disappears immediately all the while knowing that OrangYna is a manifest sign of the SYMPTOM that now IS America (and the human world, clearly).
NOTE: the words SYMBOL and SYMPTOM share the same SYM-....my symbolic drream (all dreams are symbolic) is not just my own but that of the culture, nation, collective cathect-ed upon world I am entangled with/in (sed the spider to the flayed, I mean, fly).
OTHER NOTE: the massive ongoing 24/7 SPECTOR SPORTS events, one of the symptoms of the Decadent Fall of Empire - I refer you to many films and series about Rome 2000 years ago, similar historical dramas of City States and their Caesars (did you know that the word "czar" is short for, yep, you guessed it, "Caesar the God Man human head of State (susch as one running for POTUS is thought to be a Messiah, THE Messiah so the archetypes and historical patterns are manifesting clearly - and so - each living generation and group thinks that it/they ARE the exception to History in the evolution of consciousness and so THEIR GUY IS THE GOD GUY. Their nation is the God Chosen Nation of Nations
YAWN. But
NOT boring.
Terrifying.
Because we know from observing human history (because we can do so accurately now) the patterns of the rise and fall of the delusion of God Empire on Earth.
from an excellent ongoing podcast from The Nietzsche Podcast
FAUST Explained: Goethe’s eulogy of the Enlightenment & its philosophical influence
I'll spare yah'll a drive-by lecture on the Messiah Archetype and complex that mugs one and all, each and every, and some really prone to such rise, inflate to the top of the collective heap and, godly (the dark side of that archetype too, G-d) afflict citizenry who obliviously vote said "Messiah" (dime a dozen these days) into awe-fice. Hell to pay and the debts are endless..."Buddy can you spare a daimon (google "daimon")?
Now, of a sudden tho leaden still, still though I feel a massive relief to be running with Bernie, barefoot as John Lennon wearing his suit (like my dream Bernie) on the Abbey Road album cover. I'm not sure what I was wearing in the dream but I know that I was NOT wearing shoes, so.the relief I now feel is that I am running away from the massive ADD/ADHD "distraction fits" that are all the sports and entertainment/entrainment synapse/serotonin gushing (dare I say 'Glubbing') screens upon and thru which we all dissociate and break apart. And collectively splinter into designated "pods" - to wrench a phrase from poet Allen Tate,
Pods "are desolation in the plot". (see Ode to the Confederate Dead)
I am gladding now to be nearly over the Carnage Carnival of the ubiquitous "popcorn stand" of Western (perhaps global) Syphilization that is collective (and personal - I am no exception to the amoebic zillions) global human hubris and its/our hamartia (fatal flaw) of "god almightiness" as Carl Jung, a genuine sober yet sorrowful seer, aptly phrases it.
And. But. SO - Here's Dan Bern, the Bob Dylan of the '90's, this song still stands and sings the decay and decline movingly - aptly titled after T. S. Eliot's apocryphal (whether one like him or it or not), Wasteland. Bern also riffs on the opening lines of HOWL by Allen Ginsberg, his Beat amplification of Eliot's vision (who was riffing on Mathew Arnold's "Dover Beach" (funny, a friend, aging too, brought up Anrold's poem but had the title humorously "off" but actually ON aka "Dover Bitch"...at least we can a laff with Felinni tattoos on our faces while slugging back pitchers of Bellinis - during the Fall of Empire mandatory BRUNCH is de rigueur, copies of Nietzsche's Twilight of the Gods, worn from reading, tear saturated, yellowed, torn, wrinkled, page edges dog eared, ink lined with stars and arrows pointing to KEY texts....hey, it's a living..
I'll end with a favorite humorous but grim line from Dylan Thomas's "A Child's Christmas in Wales [I will NOT write "WAILS" in honor of Ginsberg)....Mrs. Prothero's house has caught fire on Christmas Day. The fire brigade shows up, extinguishes the fire, as smoke clears, the downstair's exterior is drenched, black ash and cinders everywhere. Then upon the top of the stairs the proper, mannered Mrs. Prothero descends slowly, smiling, holding a folded magazine, looks at the firemen gazing up at her:
"Would you like anything to read?"
And Thomas follows with,
"She said the right thing. Always."
Here's the essay that triggered all this (my Bernie dream right in my face while reading it upon waking):
https://publicdomainreview.org/essay/our-mortal-waltz-the-dance-of-death-across-centuries/?utm_source=newsletter
Here's the link to Dan Bern's "Wasteland":
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gaN1VfmI3Io
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