TCS/ConcreteBlue

 Texture & Colour series

3. "Concrete and Blue"

(midnight city)

(neon moon)

 

The dream returns to me this day, vivid as when I lived it. The concrete city exists in dream is a place travelers come to and it rises high, these concrete ruins are ancient and still under construction, the society of masons responsible and so much is abandoned, unmapped forgotten world, ruins wherein all manner of denizens live, this place is something of a hellraiser hell but dreamspace also, limbo with Gigerish stairs and rectangular columns containing arches rising high. The travelers met this day are street gangers from Necromunda and travelers from SG:1 and none of those things but those are symbols used to convey the necessary information. We had come to a place where the blue portal shines from the wall, a sacred and ancient magic which would permit us to escape to another layer of the dreaming. We were chased by underground secret police, spies, espionage network the guardians of this hell working to destroy our hopes and syphon our life power for their own. The travelers and myself used our combined focus to discover the portal and they activated it and she came, the same incandescent iridescent blue, she wore the body of a dragonfly woman and exotic, alien, other dimensional, she found me and we loved each other and we left that world.  

Concrete and blue, neon blue, indigo blue from dyes, woad blue, shimmering cyan at its edges, stands out against the grey. This has always been a theme and the texture and colours work so well together.

There is so much which relates to this blog to emphasize the point. Perhaps it will be added to in time. Concrete begs for grafitti and thus, blue to take it to the spirit world, and black and moon cream white, to texture the grey with an emotion of hope and soulful depths of still waters too alive to be black, too calm to be electric, the way we feel for one who we love who makes us alive and happy to be here in the dark hardness of a crumbling world. 

Metamorphosis

I wasted most of my life justifying and apologizing that I am creatively talented to dominating people who have no creative talent. For a long time, that became the central theme to all of the art I produced in whatever form; a resentment of the control which the idiots asserted over me.

My hair was going straight to white before I had the experience and confidence to look through them hard enough that they looked away first, rather than avoiding their eye contact because it reminds me how much I detest abusers.

The relationship between art and escapism; conjuring new things of the imagination, the emergence of the fantastical, dwelling in fantasy, rather than the hostile environment of concrete and cold rain shaped people who create only concrete and cold rain shaped emotions in the sensitives.

So my life was not a waste; it was a puddle, a lesson that some kids jump up and down and create a splash while others avoid getting their shoes wet. I was held down face first in it under the pretext that I would spring back higher because of the hardness with which I had been held down. It’s bullshit; I was broken and then discarded and only I in the world held onto the secret hope that I was irreplaceable. Eventually not even I cared about that. If only I had known this sooner.

Then I discovered SecondLife.

SecondLife is a digital drug. Once you get into it, you never come out. You might take time out for a while. The more we put in, the better it gets. It is a dreamworld made digital. Artists playground where all the envy and admiration of my teenage artschool background where young imaginative students were unknowingly vampired upon by the elder generation of dried out lecturers growing fat on academic wage and youthful shamanic energy. This is where we ended up; the Sidhe halls, the seely and unseely courts dancing our global visionary decadence to light. We are lucky; those dried out lecturers do not comprehend the computer culture that has emerged as a part of our world, our generations.

We look to the children and the effects of our dreaming upon them. They are emerging into a world where the internet is not a new thing, although it is an ever-changing thing. I remember before mobile phones, before compact discs, before people had desktop computers in their own homes. To the kids it has always been here and our fascination, I mean this word in the mythic Greek sense of having been hypnotized, is a normal background routine, is an aspiration, a normality. They will be our age before they question that about their own use of it, an inherited obsession. To us it is revolutionary and new. To them it is no different in the world than boring tree's and smelly water. It is normal only because everybody does it. Not everybody, but; being geek enough to be in SecondLife, most of the people I communicate with are also net-heads. The kids want their own consoles. They want touchscreen tablets and all that startrek level technology which is one step beyond me to bother with. I'm not geek enough to keep up with that, with whatever is the latest normal outside of SecondLife. 

When you get in here, the people are creatives, liberal, bisexual, accepting, understanding, open and generous; or they fast become irrelevant. It's a better world than the dogma of the society where I live in the realworld. People made of stone or people made of the liquid-crystal flux which is our shamanism. And it crosses into dream. Imaginal blend. 

How technology is helping us, some of us, to become more spiritual (we use that word in the wrong way - this has less to do with ghostly spirits and more to do with finding out our own true spirit) - to learn how to use our own refined extra-sensory abilities, to travel and perceive into other dimensions than the physical, dense, material world that exists within time because mass=time and time=mass. In the ephemeral world of light, we can travel as far as our soul can shine. It's a place where dreamers go to study how to bring the dream into life and life into dream.

Stream and Symbol Waking Dream

Preface

The 3D art for tRust universe is built using grayscale because it is easy on the eye. One major influence into it is urban architecture, and the very greatest feature of urban architecture which summarizes twentieth century industry and urban decadence and inevitable decay is graffiti stained concrete. As we emerge out of the mechanical twentieth century world war technology and into twenty first century digital technology we are on the verge of touch sensitive holographic projections, although we have inherited a concrete infrastructure, now decaying and soaked with generations of carbon monoxide grime. Although tRust utilizes a theoretical technology of digital polymer, which looks and feels more like tyre material, with ability to project holograms from its pixelated sprayon surface; the origin of its concept in concrete is deeply etched and embedded into the core of its development process. As an artist I am working on multiple levels of creativity at once. The landscape, scarred and patched with generations of use, refers all at once to multiple levels of awareness. It is a dreamscape and the observer alone defines or is defined by it. The landscape of tRust is intentionally malleable; from sprayon and dissolvent conduits and chambers to computer-operated shape-shifting surfaces. The concrete reformations, reinterpretations and ressurrections of mayan glyphs, aegyptian stellae, cambodian buddhist temples, continues and permeates into the future in form of nano-particulate materials we can envisage but are only as yet on the brink of inventing. What I am influenced by and what is practical for me and others like me to develop as an artist is one plane; the imaginal environments and cultures dwelling within them for science fiction is another. These places combine and fuse in Dreamspace. The project is becoming real because I am going there in dream and meeting others who are co-creating it. Events sourced from dream are simultaneously making sense of the project and educating me with insight into the true nature of the reality construct, itself following laws of physics for which concrete and light become symbolism. Tattoos upon skin; concepts upon neural networks; graffiti upon walls; lazers upon cytex. 

Notes from the hour pre-dreaming

I studied carlos casteneda, yaqui way of knowledge. Humans only purpose is to observe. When we place a label onto a thing we see only that label. Therefore to observe we must do so without preconception. When the observer changes the observed, it is by projection of preconceptions onto it. To observe without projecting is a trained skill. It functions by detachment from mind. This discipline is constant. Only when we can detach from mind do we recognise mind for what it is. Mind is not self. It is a filter system that uses a trick to distract us from observing purely. It convinces us to use its filters, its method for this is to change the focal point of awareness every time we escape its grip. Distraction of Attention. That is the greatest enemy to attaining real practical knowledge about our experience of living. Everything else is confusion, what the buddhists call sansara. The conditioned mind, the confused mind. They teach to meditate as a method of escaping it, to focus only on breathing. The result is the same: if the mind is not the self, what is it? What could be achieved if the inner monologue is silenced, if the distractor is no longer an issue? Our notion of cause and effect dissolves and takes on a new meaning. Zen no-mind. And development; if the thoughts do not originate from self, then from where or from whom do they originate? The essenes teach that at this stage of awareness one no longer needs discern between embodied and disembodied consciousnesses, that there is a far greater difference between those in sansara and those who see purely, in satori, than there is between the physically living and dead. The language shifts its meaning to describe the observed more accurately, more relevantly. In buddhism the word prana means both instinct (intuition) and life flow. The pure observer simply is. Freedom from delusional associations. Language is delusional. There is one truth, it is knowable; sharing this we need not to talk, only to feel. It is an enhanced reality. Reason tells us this state is desirable and worth pursuing through the hard work of ego death and all the pain involved in losing everything we hold onto by projecting it. Reason also tells us the need to compromise it so as to survive in mainstream society. Integrity, an honor code based on ability to integrate. We cannot know it until we have lived without honor. The paradox of the world, the fundamentalism of righteousness, and the pure unspoken truth.

Distracted, I lost my focus, laughs

Notes from the hour post-dreaming

Part of the dream, the landscape, simply is my brain re-arranging the themes I have been working with a lot lately, which are syncronistic based around current lines of research and drawing those symbols towards my life.

But some of the dream content is from Otherwhere. The revelations about howbit connects together is one layer. The actual story, scant though the relationship between incidents is, also several layers. To use one level of awareness to program the other is a part if the job. I was sent in to do a specific mission due to my innate nature, the result being something I would figure out only afterward. We all emit a signiture tone and these tones sharpened into focus by our attention, are waves, they change the perceptions and decisions of those untrained. This was my second trip to the same scene and the memory linger of my original entry was fresh, a concern to my handler. Dream is frail and especially in a new world. None of the souls there are fully yet aware of what the new place is all about, a few creatives and the inevitable security agents of nothing, necessary antagonists seeking to prevent our growth simply to sharpen our focus by being a grindstone. I had to witness an amazing event and remain emotionally unnaffected by it so I could send out a mental wave that nothing was happening. The observer affects the observed is a rule of dream physics. Our projected expectations become the hardwired physical environment, the weak willed zombies act upon such decisions. The swat team pulled out and the space opened up, the runners had mental freedom to explore the anomoly, a gate which would enhance this world, develop and strengthen it, our way, my way, the coalition of souls who are unaware in our waking mundane lives that we have tasks to grow the multiverse during dream. Creativity is opening a world here. I met the injured soul of this world, a blue dragonfly lady with an airhorse daemon. Her type exist! Co-creators from elsewhere in dreaming, with power and ability but with frailty, the fae folk. She lets her heart play in unformed new domains, this concrete maze city waiting to awaken. There is much mystery here, sleepers in their lives, fearful of the control state and fearful of it ceasing because without it, like the madmax style explorers at the portal, we are on our own in a realm where myth is breaking through, the responsibility that self hate and doubt affect and twist the manifesting world so potently. Only pure souls can access here at this time and we want to protect it, nurture its development, so as not to turn it into yet another hell world. There is so much hope here. A place where hope is hardened and matures into confident ability. We are new here and only learning of its nature, its personality. Our belief about it takes hold and strengthens it, affects the lives of its denizens as yet unborn. The militia has left the portal. Unwatched it may open freely to its true potential, not to corrupted comprimise to serve their purpose of limitation. I was not the one to open the portal this time, merely protect those who needed to establish contact through it. My presence alone did this. If they succeed, if the portal opens and is safe, it brings life to this place. The feeling of trapped, scrutinised, chased, persecuted, is lessened here so the creatives can develop and grow. From gray concrete to blue dragonfly, art nouveau machines. Breathing fully of fresh clean air. Get the machines up and running. The sounds of this world are beautiful. 

Servitors, angels, Re the winged women, quetzalcoatl as ishtar, access higher consciousness, maintain simplicity to comprehend complexity is what gives rise to servitor as slaver, gridding the sleek to merovingian block construxt experiences, it takes generations of time to overcome by developing workarounds and progress, new types of servitor emerge or the old ones learn new tricks or move to places better for them. 

Voicenotes from the hour post dreaming

blue concrete 1



blue concrete 2


Notes from Google+ same timeframe 16.8.14

Boredom leads to escapism leads to obsessive focus leads to breakthrough and development. I am polymath and that is necessary to achieve the level. What I am working on is pretty big. It will take me a few more days to collate the data crunch of the last few. Expressing it, sharing it, by telling it as it is is one thing, doing something artful with that is another. Creating mythos from where a lot of the revelation is sourced, it entwines. I provaricate here due to need for re-focus. Breathing space.
A woman bought me a meal tonight. I am useless with women, is she simply a kind heart looking for friendship and I am being sleazy or was being comfortable to relax and feel horny in her presence a mutual and natural shared feeling? I probably should have been natural and hugged her. Too used to being aloof and not wanting to pressure her and scare away a fledgling friendship.
Its a beautiful distraction from the project.
The project. Celtic otherworld meets post-cyberpunk. I dreamed last night and met with others in the levels of dream who know what is going on more than do I, and I now know what is going on more than most of the people in terran consumerism. There is insufficient cultural reference for me to use to explain it without recoursing to old traditions which nobody has publically discussed for several centuries. This is illuminatii knowledge from secret societies. For me it is a major breakthrough with my research and I am grateful to my handler for her role in my development. Explaining it lucidly to people who are culturally and conceptually unprepared for shamanic revelation seems both necessary and disconcerting. It has to be done right, information has to be released through the right channels, people need preparing to accept insights such as this. Its nothing new because we all know the truth of it. Yet its exciting to access that insight into reality. Dare I release my voicenotes and writing on the subject for public consumption? Back to preparing blogs that are windows as much as teaching tools into the streams which, where they cross at just such a point, offer a gate. In simplest terms, follow instinct over mind if you want to evolve.

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