Music is the Truth

[Markus Parkus]

Hello Leo,

I’d Whatch you on Anything mate. Absolutely Anything. Cooking, Shopping, Motor Cycle Maintenance. Anything. You have the finest mind I have ever known. You present things beautifully and simply and in their purest form so that even I can understand them and I watch every week in reverence as Narcissus is turned to a flower.

 

A flower. Drvvvv, Drvvvv, Drvvvv, Drvvvv, if you go down to Willow Farm.

 

It’s from Supper’s Ready.

 

I’ve never heard you talking about music.

 

Did you know that your whole journey has been captured in song and presented to us by Gabriel, from Genesis with utter subliminal subtlety and a poetic Artistry that would make Douglas Hofstadter nod and smile and (thank you for recommending him. I’ve discovered Chopin.) probably steal from because as we know, every poet is a thief as Bono told us But he still hasn’t found what he’s looking for because, well because he’s the Lord of all ego’s, isn’t he, but Gabriel has, because he, isn’t.

 

Early morning Manhattan. Ocean winds blow on the land. Movie Palaces now undone. The all night watchmen have had there fun. Sleeping cheaply on the midnight show. It’s the same old ending. Time to go. Get Out.

 

It seems they cannot leave their dream. There’s something moving in the side-walk steam:

 

And the Lamb lies Down on Broadway.

 

Utter genius:

 

Rael is the Shadow character and I loved Rael when I was growing up. He had all the rage and sexual destruction (without outlet) I was looking for and I played him in front of my MiRRor and I sing pretty good and:

 

You’re sitting in your comfort. You don’t believe I’m Real. You cannot buy protection from the way that I feel.

 

MiRRors are really important in Art, aren’t they. Have you seen the MiRRor scene in Paris Texas.

 

ALL the tracks are Capitalised apart from the climax which is is tiny little letters and called: it.

 

We all call it, it, don’t we. I don’t know why. So much better than ‘You know who’ or Consciousness, but thank you Leo. You have explained it all perfectly to me and now my Man Brain is happy again and prepared to play passenger once more to my girl.

 

You have a massive advantage over us. We’re all listening to the Chamber of 32 doors and reading Lao Tzu and trying to make some sort of Rational sense out of something we all know is deeply attractive to us for some reason but we don’t quite know why.

 

98% of us are still in flippin limbo land mate, and can only dream of Leo land and hear it in our songs and almost get there and we are not sitting quietly in meditation because it just feels so wrong and there must be a better way to get there than that.

 

The cure is worse than the disease. I’d rather stay here.

 

I know Gabriel sits quietly and waits. I do the same myself:

 

Turn up the Signal. Wipe out the Noise.

 

One day Leo when I’m listening to Lay your Hands on me (and Listen to that Album for the Glory of Spiral Dynamics Purple Reigning down on us from the heights of Turquoise or Above) or chanting it in my van as if I’m here on my own and no-one else can hear me and I’m just singing to myself or talking to myself or writing to myself, Something will happen. The veil will lift and Isis will be mysteriously revealed and I will realise that Love has been here all along and all the Rom Coms will suddenly make sense and I will at last be in Leo Land and I will be the King of the Jungle and yet I will feel like a little mouse, or softer still, and even more meek, and even more gentle.

 

And the lamb lies down on broadway.

 

Contrast at it’s heaven splitting binary best. The majesty and rage of Back in New York City and then the tenderness and tears of the Carpet Crawlers and there are tears Leo. There’s always tears when I write. Otherwise I don’t write it.

 

Have a listen to Alanis Morissette to see if she’s made of the same stuff you’re made out of. This lady resonates with me and I’m pretty sure she will resonate with you.

 

Why are you so petrified of Silence. Here can you handle this:

 

 

 

Did you think about your bills, your ex, your deadlines, or when you think you’re gonna die, or did you long for the next distraction.

 

All I really want is Alanis. My sweaters on backwards and inside out and you say how-oh-wow-oh-wow appropriate. Isn’t she beautiful. I trust this Lady. She tells the truth.

 

How brave do you need to be to go through your Therapy Live and in front of an uninvited Audience of who knows who. We’re all ready to pounce from an extremely high, morally deluded, hobby horse called ego enhancement but not many of us are prepared to be a good counsellor and genuinely: Listen without Prejudice. We really must stop doing that. It impedes the process and we’ll all get struck off for Transference or wanting to bed the little bitch with lo self esteem.

 

More emphasis on Shadow work Leo. We need to own our own demons and then and only then will demonisation become a little less tenable. Most of us still have a very powerful engram that says Jesus was a good man. A Good Man, Born Good with a copy book so pure and a closet so clean and pristine he could run for President. He wasn’t, was he. He’d been through the Colony of Slippermen and seen himself in all his glory otherwise how could he have empathy with anyone.

 

We need to take a little peep into our own personal little Room 101 to see what’s so terrifying about a friendly little rat or a great big bear coming at you through the woods on a black November night with teeth to put you to bed.

 

We’re all quite happy to be Hitler. Zhik Heil and Bon Ami to everyone but we don’t really feel it, do we. You need to get closer to home. You need to touch those things that we’re actually, almost in touch with. That’s what will frighten us.

 

I would gladly goose step down the streets proclaiming All Jewish Comedians need to Attend the Ministry of Silly Walks and let Basil Fawlty instruct zem in ze wayzs of ze Fuhrer. But I would be less willing to put my stockings on and get publicly pilloried by a bunch of Alpha Jocks who somehow think that, being a girl, is not a beautiful and creative place to be.

 

Music is our Therapy. Music is most people’s Therapy. Most of us don’t even know it, we just listen to our songs and find love and sympathy or empathy and another human soul that is prepared to share with us and tell us the truth.

 

We should get our politicians to sing to us. You can’t lie when you’re singing. You can’t lie when you’re writing a song. What’s the point. Who wants power. We want beauty and honesty and utter fucking union and communion and possibly even com-communion but now I’m getting meta and I don’t know meta like you do, so let me in Leo. I’m bored out here. I want to sing.

 

Everywhere else is Lies. Music is the Truth.

 

What your Sunday Sermons lack is a bit of Theatre or something to stir the emotions. What would make them Holy (and by that I mean whole, or complete, as if the Masculine had met the Feminine or Beelzibub had met his Maker, or Black and White had fused into a Million Shades of Multi-Perspectival, subtlely nuanced, ever changing, not to mention Pornographic shades of gray) would be if you could provide Music and Miracles and Music produces Miracles so let’s go with that.

 

Thank U India. Thank U Frailty. Thank U Disillusionment.

Thank U Consequence. Thank U Clarity. Thank U Silence.

 

Thank U Alanis. We Love U.

 

Her final track on that Album is set to the tiny little tune of Twinkle Twinkle little star and is so simple a child could understand it.

 

We’re talking Idealism.

 

Yes sweetheart, I think we are:

 

 

[SebastienGrynko]

Hi, Markus Parkus. Thank you for sharing. I have read the full article. Wow