Green Knights and Wild Things

Viewing a map of the world with some friends the other day, half-seriously exploring our general decampment from “civilisation”, we came to the conclusion that there was almost nowhere left to go. Between us we had either lived or been born or travelled extensively on all of the continents. Our criteria were nothing special. A typical mixture of escapism, pragmatism and simple humanism. We wanted somewhere that would nourish our bodies, minds and spirits. Somewhere we might survive, in the mundane if not urbane sense, yet where survival would not mean desperation, scraping by at all costs. Somewhere we might enjoy walks, views, running water and singing air. Somewhere we might find inspiration from crackling fires and whispering woods. Somewhere we might share with likeminded souls. We were in other words hunkering after Where the Wild Things Are.

Where the wild things are

Where the wild things are

You will recall from the story – as with countless other fairy tales traditional and modern – that this is the place where we meet our own shadows, own them, befriend them, dance with them by the light of the moon. This is the place where light interweaves gracefully with dark, onto which fabric the soul projects its deepest desires, its deepest fears. A place which in turn projects a sense of order, a sense of place and relationship for all these things into the soul. We know from all the fairy tales that this place is of course the forest.

It is our place, in every sense.

In the sense that it is our original habitat. In the sense that it is still ours to own. In the sense that if we destroy it we destroy ourselves. For where then will we dance with our shadows? Maurice Sendak’s 1963 story is for children, but its message is for all ages. What will we be nothing left to the imagination, nowhere left unlit? Everywhere a zoo, a golf course, a theme park.

The forest is our place in every sense. It is the place of sense. It is ours in no sense – in no cence.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

This was the message of the Green Knight. Cut off my head only if you agree to suffer the same in a year and day. My head will grow back. Will yours? The adventures of Sir Gawain, then, are the adventures of humanity in its fall from grace, in its divorce from nature and headless galloping. In its great trial. The place of reckoning is the Green Chapel, the heart of the forest. There, the Green Knight shows Gawain mercy, but only after he has fully surrendered, honouring the original contract.

There is no getting out of this contract.

Which is something we seem to have forgotten only very recently, in the grand scheme of history. Since the Europeans turned up in Africa, in Latin America, in Asia, and with the same darkly ingenious manoeuvre produced pieces of paper that said the land – be it forest, mountain or pasture – was rightfully theirs by order of a king or queen the locals had never heard of. The locals were subject to those pieces of paper too. If they were seen by the conquerors as wild things, they were not befriended.

Among many others the 2008 documentary The End of Poverty traces our headless, heedless steps very carefully. From the birth of capitalism and globalisation as those nefarious contracts were issued, to the perilous situation ‘civilisation’ finds itself in now. Where vast numbers of people have no clean water. Where most people live in appalling poverty. Where monetary cabals of the North suck the South dry. Where the poor South in fact pays for the rich North. Where the machine seeks to commodify everything. The land we stand on. The water we drink. The air we breathe. The animals are animate flesh bred for burgers, and the forests have become plantations – renewable sources feeding our printers.

This is where it goes when there is nowhere for the wild things, when the dark is not in step with the light. When the dark in fact masquerades as the light. As God. As Good. As the future. As civilisation.

And when the dark masquerades as the light it is capable of tremendous Ironies. Such as the idea that civilisation is that which is not the forest. Civilisation tapers away from the great towers of ‘Light’. At its fringes ancient trees are cut down so that a family may survive by selling charcoal.

We have beheaded the Green Knight.

Who will honour the appointment at the Green Chapel?

End of the spermatozoic era

http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/sep/02/anti-abortion-critics-nadine-dorries:

The campaign to toughen Britain’s abortion laws was losing momentum as Tory MPs on Friday backed a rival amendment and questions emerged about links to Christian counselling services that might benefit from the proposed reform.

Here if ever is an issue which will only be resolved by women restored to their proper power, i.e. with genuine transcendent intuition, able to understand issues such as these unclouded by – in this case – American Evangelical “Christianity” – in other words blokes exerting the same spermatozoic half-Nelson they have had women in for millennia. As Monty Python sang, “Every sperm is sacred…”

Is it not obvious, given the immensely complex, emotional and sometimes painful process of menstruation, that the human female egg is the thing that is sacred? Each woman carries within her a finite number of eggs, release over the course of her lifetime. Blokes on the other hand cook up millions of fresh sperm every time they glimpse a pair of boobs.

Precisely why, you will say, the fertilised egg is sacred. Women who abort are murderers, you will say. Life begins at conception. Perhaps! But this is post hoc moral high-grounding. The cock withdrawn, the cave door rolled shut and its contents left to resurrect. To be borne and born and suckled and nurtured by the woman.

If every sperm is sacred, then it is blokes who must respect the cock, this curious Y-chromosome viral add-on. A genetic graft contrived to compensate for the catastrophic schism between soul and matter. Almost everything we know about the world and our place in it comes from this dark aeon whose brightest spark to date is probably the iPhone – and I am not being wholly ironic here, this device has its part to play!

But for those able to cleanse themselves of the millennia of blokery, able to see the laughable triviality of the cock and ball story of it, its imminent obsolescence in the face of massive global overpopulation (yes, India and your moustachioed bloke-clones) there are other glimmers!

O woman, deep in your toils. Persist! And you will meet your Lady!

Rise of the Planets of the Ape

I had just sat down and was about to blast something about the far from entirely unworthy hollywood romp,

Rise of the Planet of the Apes

Rise of the Planets of the Ape

Rise of the Planet of the Apes – something obvious about the movie’s resonance with the London riots, Guantanamo Bay, the Story of the Black Man, the post-urban call to the Wild Man within us to Rise up and shed the shackles of Civilisation, the lack of feminine archetype (or female apes) beyond Frieda Pinto’s White Teethed admonitions that “some things aren’t meant to be changed”, the Lizard lip service in naming the ape hero Caesar, and the reminder in the opening sting that 21st Century Fox is a NewsCorp company – when I realised I had mistyped the caption to the cut’n’pasted image as “Rise of the Planets of the Ape”.

And as we have just leftthe toughest period of Mercury Retrograde yet, we have to take this slip of the keys as small but genuine logoidal recombinant. The devil’s in the details. What it brings to mind immediately is the trailer that preceded the simian allegory – another loaded Hollywood romp titled “Another Earth”.

Another Earth Official Poster

Another Earth Official Poster

Note the clever typography. Conspiracists will at once read both films as announcement of the imminent arrival of Planet Nibiru. More accomplished Lizardists will, after some reflection, be vertiginous with all the ironic spin, counterspin and n-tuple-think involved. Confused? You’re supposed to be. Not confused? Well, get with the programme. Rapidly recapitulating:

1. The Lizards aka Anunakin aka the Elohim aka the Genetic Engineers of Humanity are due shortly back in the Solar system, as prophesied, albeit obscurely, by texts as diverse as Mayan and Sumerian Codices and Tintin Flight 714.

2. Their Return is the same event as the Rapture and Apocalyspe – obvious if we go with the esoteric doctrine that Jesus Christ is the Solar Deity: twelve disciples, twelve constellations, Babylonian arch-device of uniting space and small/degenerate time via dividing the sun dial into twelve segments.

3. They return via a planet-mothership (Nibiru, Elenin, Another Earth), whose oddly elongated orbit means it flings round through the Solar System every 5125 (Mayan Long Count) years.

4. Degenerate, Earthbound Lizards – Blair, Brown, Cameron, Condoleezza Rice, the Clintons etc – have been plotting and planning for this Event ever since Day Zero (if you buy their priesthoodwinkery, Genesis Day One, if not Ground Zero).

5. And they’ve been doing all this – 911, Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran, Sarah Palin and massive runs on the gold market – in order to be the Chosen Ones to be beamed up by the True Lizards – the ones aboard the Mothership.

6. Gold is the sacred (and profane/seminal) emanation/secretion of the Solar Deity, ergo Royal Hunt of the Sun, vanishment of the Federal Reserves from the World Trade Centre Complex prior to the Televised Revolution, Fred Goodwin, Tesco, Sainsbury’s, Swiss tax havens and all the rest – perhaps most clearly if crassly expressed in the 2009 movie 2012 (“Who will be left behind?”)

7. All will be revealed in the Revelation (Apo-calypse), but not before some serious Piscean death flips of duality. Fair is foul and foul is fair. The Qu’ran says (Sura 86, At Tariq, The Night Star), “They are making a Plan. But let them tarry awhile, For I am also making a Plan.”

In other words then, when False apes Truth, Evil apes Good, Darkness apes Light, Man apes Woman and Woman apes Man and Ape apes both, it is Impossible to Tell. We must proceed through the illusions one by one unto that Final Disillusionment, after which, and only after which, we will know. Except that, that which we will know is of course, Unknowable. Not by we, at least.

In other words then, we will Know. But it will not be us that Finally Knows. Knowing, we will be Something Else.