Like villains in 70s cop dramas…an actor like Richard Lynch greatly appealed to him…a graduate of the actors studio, Lynch became known for portraying villains in film and television…his distinct scarred appearance made him a popular foe. How that appearance greatly appealed to D. Lynch had been fucked up LSD and set himself up on fire burning seventy percent of his body. He had to spend a year in year recovery. It was then he go religion and went to the Actor Studio and HB Studio. He was the foe of the Seven-Ups, a squad of plainclothes officers who use dirty, unorthodox tactics to snare criminals.

D. Liked director/producer Phillip D’Antoni who was responsible fort the memorable car chase sequences in Bullitt, French Connection and the Seven-Ups…

 “no consumers have been hit by this,” Zack reassured the listeners…

He didn’t want to create a panic. If attack was imminent, it would send the populace into a frenzy resulting in chaos and pandemonium which was the last thing he wanted. No, he wanted to instill a lingering fear. One that could be manipulated over years, possibly decades. Now that the Arab terrorist threat had subsided, a new enemy was needed.  Zack hoped that fear could be created by cyber terrorists. A group completely undefined…absent of ideology…nation status…physical identity…the perfect enemy…it could be summoned out of the wind…an ever present enemy yet never present…a foe completely of the imagination…

-frequency-

He chose the song because of its strong identity with the moon. The group like clumsiness of the lyric irked him a bit but the strong identification of the group with a secret piece of land and their strong bond with greatly appealed to him…

 

My brother is in the bathroom making noises. He won’t be out in any time soon.  He’s lost it…when he gets high he loses it….,when he’s not high, he lies in bed depressed. I didn’t judge him least not much. When he gets high he likes to talk. And touch. And become overly sensitive. Who am I to judge?…I live most of my life in fantasy. It’s grander there. A world of magic….mystery…sensitivity. When it wasn’t on the dark side with its irritability….self doubt…cruelty…I am in love with the aesthetic.  Broke, with nothing do I escape into breath and shallow devotion to zen. In the woods I tell myself I am getting closer to nature….detached, things become noticeable….like the soft rustle of the wind or the cry of a bird.  The robust belch of a passing locomotive becomes a huge sonic event.  Like  jets soaring above.  The sound of its engine begins in D. But ends in E.

-cut-

In the womb of now I dissolve into cool

Splashing words real cut images deconstructed into montage 

from found objects discarded

-cut-

Love minus zero...at the window with a broken wing...songs in silohuette....shadows of memory cast their nostalgic perfume..the fragrance takes me back to the Dharma palace…with its view of light in the morning…the sun witnessed from every conceivable angle through glass sectioned off like a Kandinsky painting…train rides with its history of mad insane engineers...yodeling hobos...classy pullman porters...cowboys and indians...the Lone Ranger and Tonto...swapping blues licks with the boys...backdoor man..., the good times that make one say wow...sun licks the qua...time to write yourself into the movie...

 Our age is retrospective. It builds the sepulchres of the fathers. It writes biographies, histories, and criticism. The foregoing generation beheld nature and God and nature face to face; we through their eyes. Why should we not also enjoy an original relation to the universe? Why should we not have a poetry and philosophy of insight and not of tradition, and a religion by revelation to us, and not the history of theirs? Embosomed for a season in nature, whose floods of life stream around and through us, and invites us by the powers they supply, to action action proportioned to nature, why should we grope among the dry bones of the past, or put the living generation into masquerade out of its failed wardrobe?  The sun shines to-day also. There is more wool and flux in the fields. There are new lands, new men, new thoughts. Let us demand our own works and laws and worship.(emerson)

Holy is the Qua moment.  Tai Chi kid submerged into the Greeley woods landscape. The sun licks his face. It's warmth an orgiastic feeling, sexual in nature. He stills into his breath. The sound of the forest becomes vibrant. Everything dynamic, alive...

Naked In The Light...

 

Then it was cooler, and out across the water the sunset was usually beautiful. Men would be smoking their last cigarettes before dark or texting thoughts or attempting to secure their tents with a piece of driftwood.  The sounds of the battle were muted at night and the distant crackling of small-arms fire, the remote echoes of the artillery seemed detached from them. It was a confusing period, and most of them were pleased when they were assigned to them.

But Tyler Sid was not. He had been hoping against his better judgement that recon would be given the eight replacements they needed, and to his disgust they had been assigned only four.  (Mailer Naked and the Dead)...

The generals did not understand the battle.  They were far from the conflict lost in their abstraction of what warfare was.

 The zekelon acts as a bridge to higher consciousness...it is meant to counter act The Spectacle...and to awaken authentic desires, creating feelings of life and adventure and the liberation of everyday life..Tne Radio Dream is a Situationist construct, negating the alienation of life...exploring the shadow, coming to peace with it, and submerging the spirit into nature is its primary end...

 The zekelon is a garden of experience. It's plants are grown from the seeds of image, word, sound...planted by the members of the Ruby Kite, proponents of The Radio Dream. It is reached by imagination, fueled by the imagination, exists in the imagination.  As the children of Lorca and Hendrix, The Radio Dream seeks to demolish the demonic rule of Zack Smiter who has seized the imagination of the nation by enclosing it a glass dome, doping on a narcotic of cheap culture.

The tracks

the tracks led away from here to somewhere anywhere a woman would be inviting understanding you touching you the way you wanted to be touched. Ida May was that woman for Tyler.  He would come in from the Badlands...broken, tired, crazy...Ida never asked for an explanation....whatever he wanted to get into Ida was game for.  Tyler would hop the freight letting the tracks direct him on his escape.  He could forget his identity in the assumed one he had adopted to ride the train. the train took him into the light.   Into the landscape.