I can neither vouch for the coherence nor justify the logic or lack thereof in what follows. It is a simple gushing outrage that winds up as a quiet self-proclamation, and as such, only the unknown rules of the wildness of psyche can apply here. Whatever of anger can be detected in these words, I dedicate to Leaf Diamant, who roasts on the coals of the unconscious those who are wise, brave, or naive enough to let him.


1/19/77 — Clear crazy coldness settling down on the face of America, forcing us to realize we don’t know the wise use of Energy at all. Fossil fuel is failing — solar energy knocking loudly at the portals of consciousness. I’m wondering if another type of energy (condensed by mental power) might not be what we’re really looking for. If there are extraplanetary forces with knowledge of this, perhaps now they will contact some who can be trusted to experiment sanely with solar/mind energy . . .

I need to get far away again, away from metro-paralysis of consciousness/matter reactions. The pranic airs have a hard time getting through mindcages so consistently churned out in the city, mayhaps in the country too, but there it is more spacious due to the relative sparseness of human vibes. So I’m getting ready to search for mountains or desert because I think an intense transformation is vital at this time. I must learn to use the higher octave energies, which should be used in place of conventional modes . . . an inner force similar to electricity makes heating unnecessary, and vehicles for locomotion become a joke. Real possibilities! Am I ready for the total plunge?

It’s so cold these days people can’t hide from nature. I love it. It’s not that I do not love these silly humans . . . it’s just a matter of etheric mechanics, vibes vs. vibes . . . the known vs. the unknown. Myself aches when I have to play the known. Greerrr, I’m a wolf, a lone wolf, a grisly wolf, creeping, stepping, Steppenwolf. Greerrr, watch out for me. One look from my depths and you will be unhinged and we know how it scares to fly free; so mostly I wear my sheep face. But watch out when I can stand it no longer; that’s when all hell breaks loose, just in my aura. I can’t help it, I’m falling through the earth.

If only I can hang in there until again I can find that terrible solitude that keeps company with the crags of unknownness. How those spaces scare me, but it is the only thing which even approaches satisfaction of integrity.

Oh that sick plastic smile that passes for contact between people. I can hardly make that grimace anymore. I want to sear deep down into their very being through the eyes. I’m not interested in the cultivated habits of elastic cheek muscles. Everyone looks so damned apologetic! They ought to, violating Totality as they do. I guess somewhere they know this and can’t hide their admission of it.

Weak, bedulled eyes, glaring and chewing. Wiggling of nervous feet. God! Why don’t we stand up and grate against one another and shout, “Who are you? Show me your guts. I want to see if you have blood or not cause you’re looking awfully dead!”

R . . . ! Your eyes too have become weak and milky. Have you been at the dairy bar too long? You know, I mean has the creamy part of your life been dulling your blade? I’m calling to you from a black pit in a cold winter woods night! Thank God for the sharpness. Some don’t know what a blessing it is to feel this acuteness. No, they’d prefer to have bland little groovy times, ride on narcotic clouds, never chew the burrs of philosophy, or know of experience unadulterated with soft incensed cushions of indolent ignorance. Wake up!

Ah . . . my shouting is the rattling of a tin can in a night of jackhammers — a rousing call that dies away into the soft self-mocking laugh of a hyena. . . .

If I enumerated all the things I don’t need, with what would I be left?

Solar houses. Solar Houses? (Jupiter approaches my fourth. . . .)

1/22/77 — . . . the development and use of pure, purified psychic energy for the aid and upliftment of humanity . . . superior quality of energy applied to every task, as in zen meticulousness, as in theravada mindfulness . . . basic clarity . . . yoga, meditation, hard work and often silence, aids to this development . . . this crystal to be discovered, the evolutional shot-in-the-arm . . . non-differentiated human mind as focalizer, collector, and transmitter of pure solar energy. What would synergy of this realization produce? That’s what I’m wondering — and hoping after. But to hope I think may be distortion of psychenergy, although to see, to vision atemporally certainly is not . . . the personal transformation of psychenergy for social change . . . the redirection of human energies . . . the crystal and tower . . . solar energy as the perception of whole non-differentiated psychenergy . . . this in the consciousness of individuals, who would make this energy available for myriad functions . . . working with psychenergy in sustained meditative state. Transforming environment through quality of energy put into each common, daily action . . . making choice of what qualification to place on Energy as it passes through the individual system. Responsibility . . . integral part of nature . . . to be this more important than satisfaction of personality . . . how our vibes condition everything around us . . . necessity of becoming conscious in this . . .

2/2/77 — The visualizing, the perception of the ideal (idea) far precedes the first step to the formal construction of pieces to fit the big puzzle.

Can we have freedom from the known, freedom from preconceptions, freedom from trying to fill an old idea of a role . . . and then the courage to create an unheard of image? This is a terrible challenge, straining wits to see if it is possible, if it is not again further folly, if it is not only more of the mind’s games.

The zen would not bother to freak out. Yet how much latitude have we in time and space on the planet now? How much can one afford to pursue one front at the expense of the other? What are the truly vital types of action for the period in time? Is it adequate to do what on the face of it seems to present itself?

2/14/77 — It is our whole concept of what life is that must change, not merely the decorative touches that make it possible to hold up the facade of what we think is . . . no, it’s the foundation itself which must be allowed to quake and bring forth its mutant progeny. “But what can such a proposition imply?” people will think, and yet will continue to saunter down spring streets, pay rent, wipe floors, consider hairstyles and the like while a president of the land grapples with the country’s psyche gone mad, and All This must change too. Down to the final brazen tack we must investigate and explore the underpinnings of what we think is, of what seems to be. And not a few divergences will emerge.

Keeping one’s scene together . . . one’s little scene! Keeping one’s own vital juices confined to one’s own little scene . . . is this survival? First, they say, you have to have your scene together. By this are meant varying things, but fairly consistent is the silent or not-so-silent ring of “financial stability.” What can that curious combination of words signify?

Reluctant to belabor with bedulling words, I jump a chasm, and looking back see many folks trying to contain energy in a confined space and calling that getting their scene together. Never mind the world about to crash — their scene is coming together!

An illusion strong and powerful grips us like a vise. Fear to step out of the known (the given) waxes far more potent than the magnetism of possibilities. For love of these little scenes we starve ourselves to death. It is as if we try to nourish ourselves without giving back to nature, so that she can continue her support of us. We try to do this in all departments of life — trying to “get ahead.” Get ahead of what? Time? All these concepts, so fallacious, and yet so pervasive. We are conditioned; I hope not to the core.

2/28/77 — As I become aware of Uranus transitting my ninth, I’m reminded of that wild calling necessity which I had for a time tamed within myself. For you see, I have a great compassion for the people, and lord knows I have not wanted to scare them. And that for two reasons — one, that I feared it would perhaps be unkind, and secondly, that I find it humanly hard to bear the ostracism consequent upon being a sharp challenger. Of a mild challenger the answering frightened silences I can bear. But the sharp challenger’s blows I see I must grow to learn to bear, even to receive as blooming flowers, a crop of my own sowing. To cause the fear of unusualness yet may not always be unkind. Perhaps it is the kindest of all, the giving of the Totality one has at one’s disposal.

Compromise has of late been paramount with me, the need to bridge the gap in a way that could be accepted. The radical aquarian takes it one more step, questions the phrase “that could be accepted.” The moderate feels in this suggestion the pangs of minor blasphemy.

At home, home at last, in my true medium — Thought, just thought, and the process of think-seeing. Here it is in this region I follow my quest. I search for the laws and principles, for the rules of the mercurial domain. It is to know what causes what in this sphere, how to open and close gates, to selectively engage a corridor of mind, and yet how to blast the barriers of time.