We’re Outta Here
The back story to the pictures in this presentation is that in the early 90s my San Fran ex started channeling symbols. More leprechaun than Necronomicon, their Source seemed rather playful. I began to log these images, by hand, as thumbnail icons. So I had to learn to draw quickly. The childlike nature of my drawing seemed to mesh very nicely with the whimsical nature of the symbols. We knew we were tapping into the the filaments of thought and the grids of light that make up the structure of the universe. After sketching I would go back and do hieroglyph analysis, much like dream analysis. Quite fun! If you pause on this first light grid sketch and let it sink in, you can get an idea how this Language of Light works. I have woven a ‘translation’ of it below, kind of a word meditation on tribal culture vs. modern culture.
GRID #1 TRANSLATION:
In a tipi one eats magic mushrooms, as in a stadium ballpark one eats hotdogs.
Leaving our strange home, now propelled on by love, we’re a couple, we are two snakes reflecting each other while undertaking a 3-part trip: experimental writing, cuddling and traveling. If we write to our friends they will give us a ring-vitation and defend us as the true Snake royalty!…
Using our respective talents, she and I actually crafted this concept into whimsical new-age readings for people we would meet. Purple Ray Readings … a gig economy business which we hoped would become profitable even after we left suburbia!
GRID #2 TRANSLATION:
Playful forever, we await riders…
Our friend is one flipped-out snake of the woods!
Unlocking the holy grail:
he is growing wildly hungry to see
the Shark getting evolutionary reprogrammed
as the New Flame of The Lotus.
Unfortunately, despite accolades, the readings proved quite impractical as a meal ticket back in the Big Mean City. The shark of urban life demanded that she and I, the traveling gypsy anachronisms, try to climb back into the system again. I began to expand on the cartoonish style of the icons.
In fact I illustrated some of the ex’s Dark Witchy poems that she penned during this rather scary transition of being reborn into the city:
Leaving the woods behind, coming down from the mountain as it were, we gritted our teeth to face the metal-toothed gears and hot urban canyons of the modern city. Where, to paraphrase Led Zeppelin, “crying won’t help you, crying won’t do you no good.” We toughened up… and tried to dream bigger despite feeling trapped within this artificial corporate maze. Note the airplane in the lobby drapery below. There would come a time soon, post 9/11, when the idea of planes crashing into skyscrapers would create a social paralysis, a fear of alien sleeper cells trying to assimilate. That category included us gypsy wanderers!
Question. Did the symbols in my own drawings mean anything? When I wasn’t illustrating my ex’s words, when I was sketching straight out of my own subconscious? Or was I trying too hard to interpret Visuals? With the ghost of Salvador Dali in my ear, I had pored over many tarots and symbol dictionaries… Surprise! He now whispered that my symbols were in fact DNA encodings by Renaissance New-agers.
Within my drawings, the RNs had been burying sequences, hiding genes and secret switches, all to help Joe Blow Musician turn on and tune into bigger (unrealistic?) dreams. Certainly, it was hard to believe.
Whenever I would draw a symbol-rich picture, it became a springboard for my imagination. What would it say if it had a voice? It seemed an invitation to probe the subconscious mind further. To create a response, a speech that continued the conversation, as it were. So I went ahead and translated this picture and its imagery into an ode to sexual ambition, about riding the snake energy ever higher, possibly even breaking the glass ceiling of monogamy. Read its Shakespearean “translation”, on page 2.