"altarwise by owl-light"

On 4 April 2012 07:09, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

.< 5.50a.m. in the pre-dawn hush. but never too tired to signal a thank-you. "altar-wise by owl-light", random title borrowed for a few moments from dylan thomas poem.  promised to return it after a couple of paragraphs. good thing about retirement is you don't need to tire.  sort of like energy credits.
the thanks are for latest blog post. just having read my words with a sense of wonder.  well, it would make you wonder.  the images look  wonder-ful too.  and recall drawing the alluring space-sister; "planet visitor", she's late. oh well, it is 2012, i'll hang about.....

wonder what moo wanted to ask.  was it lakota pronunciation?  it is written phonetically. there's a nasal quality. a good example is listening to lakota spoken by the 'lead actress' in "dances with wolves".  she obviously had to practice as she's not indian. her name is something like, "mary o'connell" i believe.
it seems to be teton dialect they are speaking. the one that uses 'L's'.  nasal, in that 'en', 'an', 'in', 'on', 'un', are pronounced as in french.  a beautiful sound, to my ears.   (i like the way the lines are spaced "the last post"*[sic].  .  ... . -- (musical notes).  i mean, single sentence lines. like poetry.
i'm still up coz wuz watching a string of interesting art videos.  chris showed me a big david hockney book she got at the exhibit.  was never impressed before till now i see what he's been up to.  so i went to youtube and got really immersed and in my comfortable chair by the fire.  nice to be surprised. quite far-out what he's up to, and so prolific!  bit of a detective too.  demonstrates his discovery of how painters far back as jan van eyck, and many others around 15 to 1600's used 'camera obscura' to project subjects from life on to canvas and traced around the image.  originally using only a concave mirror, and later just a lens, (no camera) and then later reversed it with a mirror.  seems in previous works, everybody is left-handed, even the dog.  hilarious.  fascinating. his recent nature, (backroads painting) i found quite inspiring.  and the stuff he's doing with film projection.  very refreshing and beautiful.  worth a look.  ... then i moved on to videos on william blake, and then the romantics, and wordsworth etc. and now the fire's going to sleep.  think it's telling me something.
as i type that, a lone first crow agreed.   ... searching my boxes of art archives, my paper trail, looking for the missing lines i don't recall, from a song i wrote called "fading amber", as i kept falling in to the chord sequence, sort of nice, i retrieved other goodies instead:
the two drawings i did on the spot of my daughters when we first reunioned in bantry after... 17 years?  look forward to showing them.  and a few remaining colour photocopies of illustrations + story, "gypsy jack" done in  1978? ..took it around london publishers later...rejected, carried in a plastic bag for 26 years till it was stolen by a swedish guy in bantry who promised to publish it in gaelic.  no doubt published in sweden.
and assorted other stuff i found.  but not the song.
have distinct sense creatively... sumptn goin on.  spring?... correction?... amplification?  a flow anyway. good. like, i'm more what i already am than whatever i am thought it was.  happy too, to find others who understand playful language. most people , well, normal people, think it's something mundane,

consistent, and serious, like ...money.  a fixed currency.  i gather a new world- currency is already in place. major announcements soon forthcoming. 200 arrests already. 450 baddies jumping ship.  k. cassidy still sceptical.
think i go align north-south at rightangles to central gravitics.  there's the crow again. and sparrow no. 1.
have a happy hearth and mirth on earth and so forth~m

art : martin law
- "planet visitor"
- "aisling"
- "caoilfhionn"

Slight delay due to light banter.

On 21 October 2012 03:29, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

>>>> Chris(tine) just called by and we had a long chat about art and film and the draconian pitfalls of the cyber world and powder to the people and local gossip and human idiotsyncrasies and ubiquitous foibles and two rounds of tea.
And Chris said "oh!" when she saw my work in progress, regarding my meticulousness of nuances. I'll complete the brown stage tomorrow and probably post it so it's not lost to posterity and maybe get a print of it. And to share my current methodical procedure with humans on Earth. The tracing looks good too.
Moo requires photos so will have to do a self discipline job on myself, slow to start and slow to stop. Taureans are supposed to be like generators but how dare i tell myself what to do.  Just another 'meme', a 'me-me'.  Who am i to define myself as finite?
I had brussels sprouts for dinner from the garden and had to check the dictionary to say so, but they were lovely, and i like them better than cabbage and most other greens actually and they are very prolific, and their leaves form a canopy to protect the sprouts from fallout and air-crap.
But there's a clean breezy freshness to the night, pinhead stars playing hide and seek among swift sailing soft clouds from the south.  I finally solved my notoriously stiff front door handle by a generous spray of WD40 at the top and let gravity do the rest.  A simple solution.  Works fine.
Oh, and, an alternative word for wildfire? How about, 'this could really catch on.'
And while i think of it, the article beginning with "How"... "and the answer was.. " . . .?
What i thought would be appropriate :
"Wash'te, pelamayah", Lakota for 'Good, thankyou.'
(So if anybody ever asks "how?"........)
I mention 'RNA Drops'. One can google that.  And there's new technology coming in that can restore missing or malfunctioning limbs and organs, soon as the Earthlings wrest back control from the controllers.  And i sense or glean or discern something imminent that's for the good.
Today has been a leisurely late start day of pleasant silence, but for a fluttering flame in the grate and the odd distant dog bark, all ambient and informally poetic with but one play of my piano CD while i sat at the table applying simple but precise brown brushstrokes with a fine brush to the portrait.  Otherwise, the silence was so palpable i could almost hear it.
Silence is so delicious.  Not for me a radio chatterbox full of insincere fake news and obsolete muzak.  Whereas, my own CD [see player in side bar and tracing ten summers -ed] honours the silence within it.  I threw my radio in the bin long ago.

Wonder if moo is back from town now, after three a.m.  Recounting latest sagas, delving into deep discernment of the ways of the world out there while the friendly kettle boils.  What a nice thing, to sit around a family table in the night and drink tea.  So timelessly universal and human, no radio, no television.  Who needs an Archon in the corner?
But, here i am musing away on a smokesignal typewriter.  But as far as possible i treat it like a pen and paper.  Except, paper, you screw it up if it doesn't work, whereas a computer does that for you.  Screws up automatically.
That's progress.
Think i'll send this now, into the night where there is still awake-fullness.
Pleasant dreams.
Rainbowmaker.

art : tales of the sea - in process - raw umber phase, martin law, October 2012

Print arriving imminently.

On 22 October 2012 15:00, Martin Law martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com wrote:

>>>>>>>>Project, 'Tales of the Sea.'
Phase 2. Brown stage arriving imminently.
(Hang on while i wash out my granola bowl.)
>>>>Rainbowmaker
PS. Mona Lisa fasten your safety belt.

art : tales of the sea - raw umber, martin law, October 2012
artwork : digital pan play - ‘it’s just a face’ collage, OCT 12 - wfp for moo

Braking Knewz.

On Tue, Oct 23, 2012 at 12:14 AM, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

First, trusting that you got the 'Tales of the Sea' girl, phase 2. Brown.
I also made 5 copies so she's not lost to posterity.
Looks good i reckon.  Rather date her than Mona Lisa any day, better light an incense to that.
Second, i got news that Russell Means has 'departed' to the next level up.  May Great Spirit welcome him with our Blessing also.
Third. There is a 'report'/'rumour' that Fukushima 4 has exploded in flames. (stupidest case scenario.)  Found it on 'Kerry's blog' a minute(?) or so after it came up.  Followed up the source website. Doesn't seem to have got far on the viral meme circuit yet. But for
'Above top secret' site & 'Godlike productions'.  Checked 'RadChick' & 'Dutchsince'.  Not on there yet.  Fulford says it's scam, he "lives there and has a geiger counter."  (Oh not seaweed for dinner again, you sure it's not Japanese?)
Fourth.  I have a bottle of RNA Drops.
Fifth.  Was in Organico, a new exhibition of large work on paper i immediately resonated with. Based on aerial satellite maps.  Checked the artist: Tom Weld, and sounds interesting. & he's living in...Coomhola!  I may well write to him.  Do have a look at his stuff.  The site address i have for him didn't function yet but it is possible to get a glimpse.  Good out of the box concepts and very sensitive colour.  Various other 'styles' of work , all good.
What else?
Oh, yes.  Oct. 20 was Global Protest day against 'Sir Vaylance'* and so far as i so far searched, (pretty far) not a word or footage has surfaced (must check again) , the suit people instructed the G people to blot.  Surprise sir prize, must be something about the letter G...
(lethargy). Or simply that Terra is still being mismanaged into the ground by remnants.  But not for much longer my hair tips are telling me.
I googled 'natives with long hair' & there are a few good photos of women, some oriental, with hair about 15 feet long!!! Worth a look. 
Might even be incorporatable postwise. Astonishing anyway.
Wonder what sort of reception they get.  (I love multiple meanings.)
Haven't experimented with the camera yet but trust me, ('I' do. Be a fool not ta.)  One miracle at a time.
But i am pleased with the accuracy of the feeling i got into the portrait that i was aiming for.  And i checked at the art shop and showed Phyllis and a few other people(as ye do) (it's called 'enthusiasm')... and it IS 'Raw Umber'.  Not to be confused with Cucumber.  Must be my synapses are going through an upgrade or something definitely not alzeimers i'm too young for that.
So, given that we're in the throes of a cyber war and probably the tail end of a space war and most creatures are hazardous when cornered and blatant when exposed, never mind prophesies they're just warnings like road signs so you know where to turn off.  Imagine that. Talking of turning off.  Imagine NOT reporting a Global uprising!!  Civilization... You're fired!
Think we should do a lot more than (as our friend Max says) "non- compliance". Just start from scratch and do a retake.
I mean, if they didn't have it all nailed down.  Imagine having to pay for where you're already standing and if you move over there, you get a parking fine!
If we only had the intelligence of say, ants, or birds for that matter, we'd all move together without so much as a tweet or a twitter and free range out into affinity groups all over and construct light weight clusters of endlessly diversified organic dwellings that didn't cost nothin' and do everything ourselves without needing a note from the Ministry of Professional Parasites never mind M.P.'s "please Sir, or Madman.. i mean Madam Your Royal Pardon.   Is it... alright if i live freely on the greensward......?"
But that's a subject for another chapter.
But yes, sumptn definitely goin on. The monkeys just discovered the inside word for 'cage', & the Zoo Keepers are getn' nervous what with all the exposure, disclosure, resort to foreclosure and pathological loss of composure.  When the chips are down you can't eat gold not unless it's powdered and 'high spin', go plant something  even if it's only water cress.
But never lose sight of Utopia (the organic variety), watch the signs,
Dystopia is back that way and only leads to distemper, DDT, creosote, paraquat and unreported oil slicks.  Just keep going, ignore all slip roads, slippery slopes and turn-offs.  Stay on the positive timeline in thought word and deed.
As Jimi said, "the truth is straight ahead, so don't burn yourself instead, try learnin instead of burnin, hear what i say..."FREEDOM!
But i've digressed again.  Good job i don't drive.
The next chapter could be... interesting.
~~~~    ~~~~ Good Luck. ~~~~
Rainbowmaker.

A Windblown Day.

On 17 October 2012 15:38, Martin Law martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com wrote:

>>>Night Owl rising late pops out to put the latch on the swinging gate  left open by postman with Penelope's envelope package of home grown red chilly peppers and my yellow plastic fiddle peg i left for which i acknowledge impegability.
Brisk strides to the gate and back hailed by neighbours Noel and Mary getting out of the car.  "Bad weather"!  So says he to me and the colloquial customary agreement ritual caught me off guard and unawake with my cornsilk locks bristling round my head like a halo in a sunbeam such that i said "Oh, it's not that bad" thinking how fine it was, so the ritual short circuited and the echo mumbled in the gutter "bad but not bad bad but..."  Moments later it lashed and lightened again.
Had i but already opened the package i might have said instead "Oh it's a little chilly."
The gist being, my tracing for 'Tales of the Sea' and admiring its tonsorial web of pencil lines and adding minute touches while crunching granola with intent to go into town to copy onto tracing paper so as to be unsmudgable and send a digital 'jpeg' by return of post for a possible blogpost in return for the peg for Penelope to play with for work in progress with canvas already primed and now it's lashing again so we'll see. Tales of the Sea looks fine to me.
And this could be a footnote from me to accompany to share the gestation of 'Tales of the Sea' written in random prose poetry.
Atlantic grey still scowling and howling round gables and knocking gates and crows blown about like black rags on the wind round chimney tops and everything drips into wet Munster green and that's the scene.
"Dirty weather",  said another neighbour to me yesterday being taken for a regular walk by her tiny dog.  "Oh", said i.  "I used to dread the winter but i got used to it.  Just focus on the beauty there's plenty of it around." And she echoed my sentiment as is customary agreement ritual, "plenty of it around is right."  This could spread like wildflood, while i just keep a lookout for a clear spell.  As if that wasn't a 'clear spell' enough.  On with the day.  ~~~~
Rainbowmaker ~~~~~~~~

On 17 October 2012 18:06, Martin Law martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com wrote:

>>>> Tracing sent to MOO.
Saw a huge double rainbow arcing down to a poetic drab characteristic irish multitone painted telegraph lined street.  Should've had my camera. Mystic poetics of the ordinary.
Home is where you hang your hat to dry.
Thanks again for being born.
Ministry Of Rainbows.  MOR/

art : tales of the sea - tracing, martin law, October 2012
artwork : digital pan play OCT 12 - wfp for moo

tales of the sea - tracing

art : tales of the sea - tracing, martin law, October 2012

Hair - II : Tonsorialitis. (The Hair Phobia.)

(see Hair - I "the truth about long hair and indian scouts".)

Tonsorialitis.  (The Hair Phobia.)

On Fri, Oct 12, 2012 at 1:56 AM, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

'Tonsorial':  "Of or related to barbers and barbering."

I hereby invent a new word, 'Tonsorialitis.'  It purposely has 13 letters, for my own reasons.
Tonsorial, plus 'itis', makes it the name of a condition.  In this case, like a phobia.  'The Hair Phobia', also 13 letters, which amplifies the concept.
Personally, i like hair.  In fact (and just off the top of my head), i'm quite attached to it.
Naturally enough though, tastes and preferences vary.  But then, so too do reactions, from hairy to sometimes downright scary.
I better say 'Three Male Hairy's'.
But seriously, what's the problem?
It's not a problem for everybody.  It's simply one noticeable aspect of social convention which postulates the concept of a 'norm' as part of the structure of 'consensus reality.'  Something which is forever changing or being changed.
Of all the things needing to be serious about!  There's an endless list.
You know, like, for instance:  impending ecosystem collapse, world economy collapse, international tyranny, actual radioactive disasters, international wars, psychopathic governments, intentional epidemics, oceanic pollution, chemtrail poisons, earthquakes everywhere, current pole shift, mass extinctions (especially bees), genetically modified food crops, DNA mutations, rumours of rogue asteroids, solar flares, to name but a few.
And some people still get upset about HAIR!
Well a lot of them do, some of the time. They get hot under the collar even though their hair doesn't reach that far, particularly rednecks but also white and blue collar people.  You'd wonder about 'false flags'.
 

My father was a barber, (wouldn't you know), and so was his father. They spent their whole life 'trying to cut it down'.
I admit i wasn't the best advertisement for the business. Though i did paint a couple of nice big signboards for him.
Yet i never in my whole life paid anybody to cut my hair off.  I can do a perfect job myself, almost without looking.
But why even pay to have such a natural attribute taken away?  And no compensation for the loss.
I mean, if you really want to get serious.  Think about it.  It's a wonder there hasn't been a world war over hair.
Oh but there has!  And most people involved in war lose their hair one way or another.
Take the last five hundred years of america (and they could be the last).  That was a world war to the original inhabitants, and still is.  At least two hundred nations involved at my last count.  Though i heard it was more, maybe twice that, and not even including South america.
Such inconceivably vast genocidal theft of territory.  Moralised (if that's the word) by demonizing the inhabitants as "savages".  That is, they didn't wear suits and ties, or follow the politically correct instruction manual, and, for the most part, had HAIR.
One early account of a native's first glimpse of a pale skinned invader: "He was very strange. He had hair everywhere except where it should be, on his head!"
The word, 'native', means someone who belongs there.
Whereas, an essential aspect of the intrinsic beauty of native art, seems to be, that anything that hangs down, the longer the better, whether feathers, fringes or hair, is naturally elegant and has dignity.
Shift to the long view in other places also.  Far back beyond the furthest reaches of antiquity, and don't stop at some presumed image of a stone age. 
The Scythian Tribes, Grail Kings and Queens, and Merovingians, Yulannu Wood Lords (where 'Yule' comes from), The Tuadhe D'anu, The Pagan Tribes of Europa (much like the 'indians').
Were they all "savages" too?  Oh really?

What led to this piddly point of peer pressure prejudice where, for a male to have little or no hair on the head, is meant to signify 'the establishment'?
Was it Cromwell?  Was it the Romans?  Was it the Greeks?  The Industrial Revolution (don't want to get tangled up in the machine). 
Or was it orchestrated by bald dome head Reticulan grey aliens all along?
The wild-nature-minded poet Gary Snyder, in an essay once suggested that, shaving the head, signifies a symbolic standing-apart from nature.  Whereas, long hair is a stance of flowing with and of, nature.
Then there are the nuns and the monks, whether Buddhist, Judaic, or Zen.
Note also, the story of Samson, who's strength was in his hair.
Likewise, natives of america (Turtle Island), associated long hair with Spirit strength, and, but for some coastal tribes, east and west, generally only cut the hair when in mourning.  Even then, they disposed of it in a sacred manner, by offering it up to a river or creek.
The language of hair has many dialects, in a diversity of cultures. 
Braiding the hair often signifies the right to interweave and symbolically bind a person's attainment of diverse experience and eldership.
While we just think in terms of changing fads and fashions, peer pressure and prejudice, or just practical preference.  The norm being that which goes unquestioned, or even defended when challenged.
During the Vietnam War, a strategic research experiment took place, involving native american soldiers serving as scouts.  This is well documented.  Just google: 'native americans and long hair'. 
The idea was to use indians as natural scouts due to their reputed native intuitive skills.  Conclusive experiments ensued, where it was demonstrated that, in pairs of participants, the ones with shaven hair consistently lost their intuitive alertness of perception of unseen danger or possible threat.
Whereas the longhairs were consistently alert enough to sense the situation and even thwart it by ingenious trickery or counter measures.
The conclusions drawn from this demonstration are, that hair is somehow an extension of nerve endings, rather like antennae or fibre optics.  In that it can actually register finer frequencies.  Consider for instance an animal's fur or whiskers.
Humorously, i note that my hair is particularly fine and light weight, such that, when washed, which is often and i use nothing but water, when completely dry i sometimes have to run my hairbrush under the tap to give a bit of temporary weight to the hair.  Otherwise and especially if it's windy, i can easily resemble a dandelion seed head.
No claim to fame but, i have to admit the reception is very good considering the wave length, and i never have a power cut.

The impulse for writing these words is, for me, as much aesthetic as anything else.  Long hair is beautiful regardless of gender when appreciated as such, and how would you know if a handful of hair was female or male without an embodied head to count on?
And why repress due to peer pressure what is natural?
There's apparently a compulsion to cut everything down, whether hair, grass, or rainforests. 
When, life is about freedom to flourish and flow naturally.  As well as about diversity and non-discrimination.
The anti-life tendency is to contract (as contractors do) as if the aura had decided it should be a black hole and draw everything it encounters into itself.
Producing self evidently dense people who look and dress like a pack of cigars that's under the illusion it's separate from its immediate environment.
In conversation with a friend this evening, she mentioned an elderly lady friend, whose long white hair extended the whole length of her back.  Something an older person is justified in taking a personal pride in, and wonderful to see.  She also spoke of the prejudice and discrimination this gentle woman had experienced.
You see, to the dense mentality, anything loose and free is regarded as untidy and unruly.  So they cut down the trees.  Crop the grass.  Scrape away the topsoil.  Cover everything with tarmac and concrete because it's 'practical' you know. 
So that, from a satellite, a city looks like, and is, an expanding scab, laced with electricity, waste products, electromagnetic chaos, noise, crime and greed.
Contemplate some photos.  They look cool as abstract paintings.  Till you think about what they are.  Toxic scabs.
So again, What's the problem with natural?
Natural is beauty.  Expediency is not necessarily the wisest form of practicality.  Self esteem is a natural attribute, of everything that's natural. There is plenty of room for flourish and flow in life.
It's a natural expression of freedom from repression.  That's healing in itself.
Profusion can be neat.  We admire the bounty and beauty of gardens. 
Whether dignified, or wild~wind~blown flowing and free, it's celebration.
Why is 'civilization', so afraid of adornment?
It's to do with suppression and control, masquerading as practicality.
Boring, if you ask me.  It's a hairy world.

So now again it's late, or early, 5.30 a.m.
This random ramble and flow wants to digress and grow along the lines of its own capricious fractal directions.
So i won't just cut it off.  But wind it up in some fashion, who knows how?
Tie it up, or tuck it in.  Or just hang loose.
No point getting in a tangle about what's natural, and i'm not about to split hairs.
Anyway quantity is not an issue when there's enough.  Seems to be trailing off anyway.
Why do people love stroking cats and dogs?  Some sort of compensation...
Hairy sort of subject.  Tonsorialitis.  It's very common you know.
But then, society is such a conditioner anyway.
So.  Signing off on long wave.  (No bun intended.)
"Errrg~~~ Grown Grown!"...................****
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rainbowmaker.

 

artwork : digital pan play - wfp for moo :

xiii III - haitched 100_5615
III1 - III6: 100_5615A - 100_5615F (one foto, five haitches)
from : 'spaces twixt n tween', june, 2009
camera : Rock (SoundSmith numin) 

What i forgot to remember.

On 13 October 2012 21:43, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

>>>> >>>  >>   > And being just after ( and it being precisely ten to eight for the umpteenth time over thirty five years) a brisk prompted songlines walkabout into town for tobac bypassing the option of the bottom of the hill shop via a commodious circumvirus back along the seafront promenade  to flex the circulatory sedentary sollipsisms synchronistically remembering what i forgot to remember.
Which is: to tell you, that yesterday, in process of passing the said seemingly forty watt lightbulb lit  and typically Munster maroon frontage of the tavern you are striving to further a much (for the poblacht) needed gig at,  i crossed the street and strode on an impulse via a stiff hinge into the shop part of the darkened bar.
And, hailing herself behind the much leaned on counter, flitting twixt the till and the fridge to say "hey."
" My friends would like to hear from you about the gig, they sent you some CDs."
To which and to wit " I didn't get any CDs" was her distinctly irish accented answer, "Better send them again."
"Thanks", i responded, thinking not to syncopate her , as is customary, responsible seeming stress and exited via the stiff hinge back into the street, thinking i could have said to set the lads to pay her a friendly visit and but however concluded she must have mislaid a few cerebral biological but crucial bits of the jigsaw puzzle or snapped a synapse or two or laddered a stocking bending down for the fridge so i left sleeping dogs to snooze at the corner of the bar as they are wont to do.
But not a wonder i forgot to remember to tell you that, as quite evidently the exact syntax had not yet found the optimum moment to coalesce.
And so, walking briskly back with characteristically not an iota of flagging along the salty barnacle crusted and weed wracked concrete and iron railing sentinelled shoreline as the already sunken wreck of a sunset sank under the smoky overlay of a slow westering stalled blanket or a twilight shroud softening the crags to the receding peninsula's distant tip.  
And back up the steep hill from the now dark beach and dawdling for banter with Noel my neighbour also promenading his Pomeranian with it's fluffy coat and excitable but harmless wet nose bark reminding the like of darkening bogs.
And back to the fire and a well warmed welcoming room to tell the tale.
And too, despite the computer giving me hell and getting stuck and literally paralized numerous times, there's a little warrior poet residing in us all and this one certainly no exception.  Call it 'Murphy's Law'.  And roundly cursed with the cursor the cybernetic beast a fecking bastard expleting without a shred of unecumenical guilt or shame and may galacticus forbid the like, and inspirationally opened  'another window' and here we are  still blazing a trail to strike while the iron is hot or whatnot.
If you ask me, a dictionary should come with a government health warning: 'A Dictionary is seriously adDictive, Ta an Focloir Tugtha (forgive my grammar), and in this region should come with an Elf Warning.
They usually say 'Spokers Die Younger' or some such, sounds like an advert for rejuvenation, but as you know (or should do) you can never believe words. Not unless they come direct from a kind heart and spoken wisely.  And it's blatantly obvious to anybody with nothing but a television, that, 'Governments Cause Smoke'. And where there's smoke... forgiveness is not obligatory for i have spoken.
But keep your nose clean, what the persuasive paranoid packets with their warnings that if you think of fear when you smoke this you'll probably get sick, what they don't tell you (cos it's part of the plot), is,  'you get what you believe you'll get.'
Placebos work wonders. 
Believers and non-believers apart, i'd suggest we can safely expect an individual experience of spontaneous cellular overdrive around christmas and the new year.
So stay tuned. Can't afford a bum note at this hour.
PEACE ON TERRA.
(oh shoot, that passes all understanding!)
"SURE DOES."
**********Rbm.

~ With Owl Vision.~ Dream Reporter 2

On 2 October 2012 19:39, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

  Wind.
A knock in the night
woke me on the brink of sleep.
It was nothing.  There was no
intent behind it...

Into the deep dark black velvet void of silence swooping down.  Wise omens of future forays in the forest foretold.
Out under the night, among an uncoordinated gathering of stragglers.  Seeming to be the aftermath of a festival fallen apart in the wee wee hours, resembling the remnants of a rave.  Or is it the land of the lost?
 Recurring, these flights forth in the field, surveying the unseen significators in the secret psychic silence of sleep.  Sporadic nocturnal excursions piercing the veil.  Always emerging into similar situations.  Variations on the same theme.
Always the night, extending beyond parameters of futile suburban exit from the realm.  Yet, with urgent immediate necessity to set out on a long journey.  Usually to my place of earthly origin.
No transport, or vehicle anywhere, but for my bicycle, and that has gone missing, or else, a crucial part of it has.  So too, strangely, has my coat, and some other part of my clothing.  Collecting other personal items, quickly becomes counterproductive too.
Likewise, the aftermath scenarios in the realm of lost souls, all of them seeming settled in the assumption that this is a party in full psychedelic swing.  This appears to be their permanent residence, as debauched, derelicted, and obviously insane as it is. With each and every encounter among the sprawled gathering, exponentially more bizarre and anomalous than the one before.
On one of three occasions of returning from an actual spirit quest pilgrimage to crop circles, the nocturnal glimpse was most extreme.  The whole territory, to far and surrounding horizons, an active volcanic psychic minefield of explosive infrastructure mutation, making the longed for return to source and home a cataclysmic obstacle course quite out of the question.
             Vision, is : Awareness of Potential.
This owl, employs no substance, organic or synthetic, to distil, parcel, and regurgitate, pellets of digested vision.
Reshuffling and dislocating reference points, is not something the current state of 'culture' has an openly established traditional sacred framework for.
Just getting smashed won't make one wise or creative.
Imagining the owl, momentarily alighted on a signpost.  The sort of thing owls tend to do.
Otherwise, where are the Elders?  Out of their face at a rave, is not necessarily the wisest place to look for them.  And 'hoo hoo', who are they anyway?
Not the person opposite me, who, in my treble checked peripheral sideways glance looks like a bat without radar and is blind to the fact.
 It's a matter of awareness of unseen and unacknowledged energies, and how they manifest.  It's a matter of impeccable integrity, and not indulgence thinking it will manifest as wisdom. Wisdom is practical.  Discerning the wisest course of action or innaction.  It's not a pseudo spiritual status of being a somebody who infallibly has the only right answer. Call it 'common sense from a self-honest heart'.  Except it sometimes seems to be uncommonly uncommon, (to be quite honest).
"When there is no vision, the people perish."  (And alcohol is no cure for that.)
               Gathering, is Sacred Shared Pleasure. Gathering is Sacred.
I wonder,( and it may have something to do with my seventy orbits around the sun, which, by itself however, means nothing. Why measure being in repeated circles?)  I wonder, is anyone reviewing and revising exactly what 'gathering together' really means?
What do we gather together for?  In what spirit, and with what intent?
Does it imply that, the rest of the time we are separate?
Is there anything 'world changing' about surrendering one full rotation of Earth to a preprogrammed, amplified, super-sonic robot that goes, 'BOOM{BOOM{BOOM{BOOM{' in an endless loop, in moronic oblivious disregard of the infinite subtle ever changing transformations of the biosphere?  (Chainsaws and lawnmowers and electric drills are bad enough if you have half a sensitive ear, and who has more than half an ear?)
In what way is 'BOOM{BOOM{' mind changing if you have to hit yourself over the head to change your consciousness?  Oh sure, i know but it's a different kettle of fish altogether from medicine drums and living, breathing human hearts and hands, never mind the myth of progress and all hands on dexedrine.  Meaning, especially if the mind is already chemically sensitized and receptive.
I'm not saying, 'is it cool'.  I'm saying, how much wisdom is being applied in doing that? It's cool to ask yourself.
When it's actually total abandonment to the most perfectly effective brainwashing technique.
There's 'Trance', and there's trance.  If you don't know who's trance you're in, maybe you should see a hypnotist.
Sure, there are many styles and variations, with names, but when you're enacting collective magic with sound, you have to know what you're playing with, and your intent must be in integrity.
If you're putting a soulless robot where the medicine people used quite rightly and responsibly to be, is that wise?
Or is that playing straight into the hands of the unseen enemy, whether physical or at source, psychic or otherwise interdimensional?
You should know by now there is 'an enemy', and its easy target is human fallibility, self delusional indulgence, and unwisdom  that goes uncorrected.
And that's deceptively close to where it's designed to keep you. In a trance not of your own creation.  But, they let you subject yourself to it.
Better off stomping your feet and slapping your jeans (not your genes).
The simple point is, it's HOW you do anything.
If it's a collective ritual invocation, you don't just switch it on full blast and leave it switched on, all hands on dexies and abandon ship.  How convenient.  Like a light switch.  Not even a dimmer.
What you invoke is what you get.  You might find yourself with a bat on your shoulders instead of a head.  Or an entity for an identity.  Or even an albatross round your neck, who will happily take up permanent residence there especially if you feed him, and where is the medicine man or woman to fix that.  A doctor won't help, they sell albatross food.
            Seriously, With Feeling.
Talking maturity, and if you're serious about being radically autonomous and not an automaton.  Imagine a gathering where people sit and talk among themselves instead of getting lost together.  Without the divisive volume of robotechno Big Brother Backdrop.
Or even further out, talk but mostly listen.  It's all about hearing anyway.  Being.  Aware and attuned to the nature of place.  If you're into ambient, well it always already is.  But you always think something 'else' should be happening.  How grateful is that?
Okay, natural sound.  Did you ever listen deep, in good company?
Acoustic instruments.  They blend and don't dominate.  A lesson for 'civilization' right there.
Which kind of gathering would be first to be aware of any possible threat, from without or within? 
The loud oblivious emotional one?  Or the more gentle, unified, nature-and kin-bonded listening one? 
Which one would by its nature radically change the already prevailing way of the world?  Ask an owl.  He sees what we don't even look for.
And why shake the rabbits, badgers, and sleeping birds from their nests and perches anyway, recuperating and resting after a long day's foraging?   Do you know where you are?
You might well ask a fox.  But she or he has already made a wise and wide detour.  So you won't have the pleasure of their company, and will most likely live to have only seen a picture of one, which is something else altogether.
If you can't do it, at least begin to imagine it.  Imagination is the signpost to potential.  Maybe with an owl alighting on it as a reminder. Now there's an icon.  I con you not.

The unseen, you see, that filters or flutters through the collective psyche in sleep, is the same that impinges on our waking motivation.  There's no firewall.  Ignore at your peril!
There's more than dreams that go on there than certain forces would like you to know about.
If you really must surrender, know well the nature of what you surrender to.
And when invoking, whether by word, sound, deed, or belief, know what you're actually doing.
If you must indulge, listen.  Listen within as well as without.  It's all within hearing.  What, now, are you thinking?  Assuming?  Presuming?
Is it true?
See what goes unseen.  With alert animal instinct be demon-proof.
I rest my case, it's a bit heavy.
Rather travel light.
With Owl Vision.
>>>>
martin rainbowmaker

see Dream Reporter 1

pic from : seven arrows by Hyemeyohsts Storm, Ballantine Books, New York, 1972
photo of pic : with new camera, martin law, taken 04:55:53, 7 October, 2012
digital pan play - wfp for moo

Hair - I

On 6 October 2012 00:44, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

><>< "How!"
"A good question", said Rainbowmaker in reply.
"The answer is, - Indian." And went on to explain.
.............. So,
'Hair 1' as it stands is complete flow. Was before i resumed punctuation and capitals so as to make perfect sense for the necessity of those who need to do so. Will write another on 'hair' on a different tack.
Ruaddhri - there are five spellings of the name Ruairi in these isles.  That one is the most pronounceable by aliens.

On 11 December 2011 00:02, Martin Law martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com wrote:

"the truth about long hair and indian scouts".

...muse news while medicine soup stews
three shots at an email link popped in my box was from whispering steph and couldn't open any of em so googled and got it; the truth about long hair and indian scouts...so i turned down the soup for concentration.
and combing thru the article about hair and indian reverence for tonsorial fibre optic nerve endings and the experiments done with pairs of scouts one with his aerials cut off and one not, testing their telepathy and precognitive far sensing and the results, as they say, were conclusive. without wishing to imply an end, split or otherwise but impulsed to email reply steph and did.
a random ramble while the fire flutters. and before i could foreclose the missive the door knocked and there stood somebody looking like charlie before i was about to type the letter "u", i recognized he knew i knew he was slightly shapeshifting and welcomed him in whoever he was and surfing the slide of synchronoid unfolding and a spark propelled a humorously enlightening rap dialogue.
straight out and converting a catalyst into a context with wings and charlie putting flame under a kettle while i round off an email sound off rotundly.
first thing out of charlie's mouth; "i've just come from a conversation with my son Ruaddhri" and we were talking about indians and long hair and telepathy and earthsense attunement and we both marvelled consciously and played perceptual ping pong without a glitch, fluently circumnavigating the spectrum the likes of which would make yet another "best video on youtube".
so, sustaining the flow of surf and so forth before returning to the muse without blues while the medicine spellcheck brews the surfing being the thing when on a high level roll like synapses twittering viral and still stay literal.
and kicking out the predators of grammar as you go and taking down the legislators of armageddon lurking in syntax that fine you for not joining the dots and threatening to occupy the garden and decolonize consciousness became the reply and the footprints followed.
such was the tale of longhair and the indian scouts and we stood a while scanning the terrain in kaleidoscopic light and vowed to visit tuosist which he knows whenever sister moon is @ wherever she's @
and i said "maybe i've been relating to you all this time as carlos hiawatha and just calling you charlie" and he just paused and poked his rolled 'hawthorn' and 'autumn light' prints in my diaphragm as if  to say exactly what words were needless....
so i better check the soup and return to the muse.
was about to steam some cauli and carrots and then instead, chopped them fine into a stainless kali cauldron to utilise the water and with onions garlic powder miso seaweed and potato into the hubble bubble telescope and the musical spiral....
the tao that can be taoed is not the true tao just as a potato that can be tatooed is not a true potato, and now it's midnight. i seem to have a sixth sense about twelve.~~~ into the continuum. m.rbm~~~~~~~~


art : Weenyon Wahkon. (Holy Woman), martin law, december 2008

Art News Update : "it's just a face . . ."

On 4 October 2012 21:11, Martin Law martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com wrote:

>>Just an update on the creative process.  I seem to be about to embark on another portrait.  Got a photo enlargement made at Tobe's.  Yet another in the ongoing homage to woman series.  A long while spent contemplating a close up face.  Discovered fortuitously browsing a quest.
Got a (to me) profoundly interesting image.  A Russian woman named Gabrielle.  I considered the title 'Mona Gabrielle' but realized it would have to have 'La' in front of it, and that would make it '15' and not '13' characters.  So it may be called 'Pour Gabrielle'.
In some subtle contemporary way i can see it as more enigmatic than La Mona Lisa, (that's a big statement).  The face is more ordinary human intimate and softer.  And hair figures in it prominently.  Considered writing a piece about hair, i have a lot of feeling about hair.
Even a tentative title:  'Tonsorialitis.'  (Hair Phobia).
SOHO (Sense of Humour Org) reports that when a girl, who works in Tobe's, saw that the image to be printed was on a 'girl' site, she got a momentary attack of prude paranoia, saying "oh no, we should probably do it upstairs in case the boys come in." (i just deleted her name in case i decide this is ‘article material’ - not that i'm - ‘writing’.)  And that, with another Martin in the next cubicle who's known to titter, and by chance also my French friend who happened to have some shopping for me.
"No", i said, "it's just a face."  "Oh i see, it's just a face," she said.  (Potential article material right here.)  Particularly as when this artist muses on images of women i'm as interested in the person and the level of maturity the face reveals as anything else, also the colour, the light, the photography etc., and i could read a lot into Gabrielle’s face, life lived, a hint of sadness, and archetypally much more.  Another potential article - natural beauty, naturalness, as opposed to the narcissistic cult of 'glamour' (read 'dumb cliche').
So that's that bit.
Another bit: i watched a long video talk on Ken Rohla's site.  Gets more enlightening as it progresses, and very practical.  The video with him in white shirt and jeans and a table with crystals and things.  Very interesting (i didn't doze off). Even tho it was late, ... or is it called early?
Another bit.  When we say, “Trusting that's OK?”, what does 'OK' stand for? Have an inkling it comes from Lakota, like 'Okeh' or something, as does 'yippy yippy oh kyey', 'cowboy', is 'kahyoh'.  Hmm, the art of creative self distraction, bit like juggling.
Nice to have something to paint.  Portrait always a huge challenge.  But the impetus is always these subtle things that go unseen due to what's projected on them (preconceptions).
I think, therefore i'll cook some brown rice (yum), chick peas and courgette, 'anyone for squash?'
Steamsignals from SOHO~~~~~~~~~~~>

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art : a love of leaves - tracing, martin law, july 2012
artwork : digital pan play :"it's just a face", SEP 12 - wfp for moo