The Tower of Brahma 41 - The Rock'n'Roll Chemistry Within My Brain. (edit)

12/01/05

You know how you drive along in your car, having just put in a cd you intended to listen to, but wind up somehow lost in thought? Then, when you least expect it, that band's pure ability to rock kicks your brain back into the song and suddenly that fucking riff is there just to bop along to, as the drums clash and smash against your back, the vocals then screaming for your attention before hitting you down with that hook that just so fucking gets it. Those lines that call you and know you and forever own you. A screaming truth about the fundamental principle of life as you fucking know it.

You'll come down. On my side.
You'll come down. In good time.
You'll come down.
On my side.

I'm geared up for the next download/upload exchange with the fourth dimension. I have no idea what it is really. I'm not sure how to explain it. It's a magical process to be certain, but not like you think. It's like make believe. I've always day dreamed. Always. I probably have fake memories before I have solid, real memories, always living in my head. A TV boy with fictional eyes, seen from behind a screen since the days I remember to.

The cowboy hat is the focus, the magician's cap, holding the mind of the man who lives backwards. That is where he resides. In my cap, my cowboy skull.The headphones deliver the science. The constructed audio-waves that stimulate impulses in the nerves. The exposed areas become shaky after prolonged contact, my brain becomes stuck. Ritual allows for the exiting of the process. Focus on the power of the icons around you.

Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde: visual stimulation.
The Toadies 'Hell Below, Stars Above': audio guiding.
An imaginary AIM friend to ground you to the keyboard.
Let 'er rip!

Your brain explodes into a whirlwind tunnel. The screen's the windshield of your frontal lobe as reality blurs upwards into the center of everything-ever. Psychology triggers in the art that I am consuming reveal flashes of my identity, forever observing myself, now from a higher vantage point. I watch the instinctual reactions of my body to see just what choices it would make, and how it would find itself out of them.

Forever a test. A program? A suppressed persona, the true heir to this body, has designed a mental labyrinth designed to raise the awareness of this lesser personality that I call myself. Fuck. That motherfucker.

I've been tapping into his power. That's what the Tower of Brahma is. It's the steps of consciousness being raised. The Tower is the trigger to keep the mind elevating. And the truest way to climb the tower isn't leaping and shooting forth, pouncing and soaring upwards, but, actually, the slow, painful, aching walk of the eternal climb. Best to pass the time with a story.

I'd been writing this apocalyptic novel about a bunch of guys driving across the country and starting a rock band. I hadn't had a job in a good 8 months. Despite having no prospects during this time, I found myself aboard a plane bound for Colombia, then a tattoo shop in L.A. getting my markings, and finally in my dad's dining room being hypnotized by a Freemason fictioneer.

I felt myself going mad, and all along, my self was repaired. My external person had exploded from its cocoon and had now realized its power. Charles Crown was no longer a brand I felt I wanted to run from. It felt dark, it felt like mine, and it felt good. It was a name that was a blemish on the face of the world. The world as they know it anyway. The name of a goddamn bastard that would bust in and knock a motherfucker down, and beat him...if the situation called for it.

Suddenly releasing from that thought, I felt saved, as if I had truly gone through with my impulse in reality. I had purged the desire, cleansed the sin on the text crucifiction, and now I am free.