The movement around the whirlpool: clockwise and anti-clockwise. You are going to the depths and I will take you there. The lowest, the forbidden and the earthbound; we know that the time for excavation has come. It is timidity that blocks our way; we, the radical ones, shall move through the illusion, a curtain of water over a curtain of water. This is not a rational construction; this is a transmission from the spirit world, from the world of daemons.
The figure of MANSON remains on my eyelids, even in the 21st century. Manson was the unconscious expression of the hippy movement; the counterpoint to peace and love was murder. Really, though, you cannot have peace and love without murder; it is this dualist illusion that traps us in the banal. The hippies were a moment of consciousness expansion, a call to return to the primordial religions of Europe. The prophets of hippiedom, Leary and McKenna, were Irishmen. In their Irish veins flowed the blood of the Celts, the gods of the high Druid priests. The Druids were quite satisfied with human sacrifices, Caesar knew and recorded this. Leary and McKenna sacrificed good Christian minds by thousands to crack the cosmic egg.
A mother says: “My son came home and said to me that God is everywhere. I told him not to be ridiculous, we only see God when we die.” The poverty of the post-Christian mind; the poverty of the descendants of Milton. Milton; a man who killed the gods and cast them to HELL. But in 1963 the gods came back to play; they were only asleep. JESUS is tired, he is going back to his sleeping place. The rains are falling, clearing your eyesight: you will see the gods again, you will see the *** dancing in rainstorms.
Manson set out to kill Hollywood. He set out to kill an old adversary; even in California, beyond race and history, Hitler stretched through Manson to torture Polanski; he escaped the grasp of H once, but second time unlucky. HOLLYWOOD dream factory; HOLLYWOOD mind prison. A blood sacrifice to let my people go…
We cover the drains, we hide the abyss. I have stood on the Hoover Dam and looked down into the great sink. I wanted to throw myself off; this is the appeal of the abyss. The abyss, so like zero, makes itself felt by its absence.
The hippies in one box and Manson in another. Only when we understand that both are required will we see the world well-jointed. We are too much one way or the other; we are too much hate or too much love. But do not deny the necessity of Charlie; the dams in California, watering almonds and avocado, cannot last. Your toasted decadence is built on holding back the abyss; this is the price you pay for living on the edge of tomorrow.
Look to the surfboards. It is the old one, the Tao; but you only feel it when you live above the abyss. We cannot live together, so let us die together; our method will be simpler than sail, our method will be the very tide itself. Take me out to the dirty ranch, take me out to the pit where the children of Lucifer squat. We will make the great fire there; we will attain the Earth’s centre. Dreamers of the golden dream, dreamers of California; an army in a hundred thousand bungalows, your palm trees are on fire! These are the torches that light the way to the pit. These are the torches of the purple haze.
Do you not know that everything there is purple and lilac? You know if you are the sort of person who likes Los Angeles. It is the City of Angels; the city of rebel angels, I suspect. It takes a certain type to live there; they are so deep, everyone thinks they are superficial. Is life just about sitting on a beach looking pretty? You betcha.