Jesse Glass

from The Complete Gaha Noas Zorge

The Man With The Crystal Skull For A Head

I will not show you poems, because there are no such things, but I will produce before you enactments and images, which are imagined to be poems, in the dreams of the imagination or in the falsehoods of charlatans. I am neither priest nor taxidermist as some of our so-called poets aspire to be. I do not wish to deceive you; but I will astonish you.

S,he: Thou cans no* mo mo conc*e*ce: No (I say) *ou canno* mo*e m* zacam toit.

You know, our contacts cannot come on a regular basis without a good, strong contact field, and a contact field cannot be strengthened without cooperation and unity of thought among all believers. For higher beings, like myself, cooperation and unity of thought is a way of life. We require it. It is our air, our substance. Our energy supply for phenomenal contacts, as well as a shield of cohesion and protection against lower or darker energies that exist at a slower vibratory rate. What I am telling you, my beloveds, my stunted star darlings, is that you must not question anything I have told you tonight. You must keep yourselves in the open mouthed, close-eyed postures of little children waiting for a miracle. And I promise you, the miracle is due to arrive. Yes, this spiritual principle of unity and harmony has long caused me to rethink the validity of democracy and the structure of many of our social institutions which, we tell ourselves, thrive on diversity. Perhaps, when more people realize the significance of the higher spiritual truths I

H2e: She licks his tears, and sez:

S,he: Ever th*n* els* ha*h* som *saltess, but *ere *s non*.

Probably the most unusual aspect of my skull is illustrated in the delineation of the zygomatic arches. They are carved in relief beside the cheekbones, just like in a human skull. This is a peculiarity not duplicated in any statue anywhere in the world. Look closer. That’s good. Closer. If you squint your eyes you’ll see a narrow channel from which enough material has been removed so that it acts as a conduit for light. Light from either the back of the skull or from underneath it will flow through this conduit up to the edge of, and into the eye sockets. Within the sockets is a depression which magnifies and scatters the light into the sockets. It is obvious that a light to the rear of the skull would show clearly in the face and eyes, and any interruptions of this light would cause astounding optical effects.

Young Man: Oh I pray thee, do something for me. Tych my w*nd.

It’s important for certain people to tie themselves up before they escape into silence and oblivion. I recall a man who loved to write words on scotch tape and string the words up in the corners of art galleries and institutions of higher learning. In a bolder mood, he would tape up bus stops and telephone booths to bring his “message” to the common jane and joe in the street. He would string up layer upon layer of the sticky filament until the “site” (how he loved that word!) literally vibrated with red, white, clear, and blue tape, upon whose surfaces he had inscribed with magic marker words like dehiscent, deflouridation, debride, deconstruction, deflower...well, you get my drift. He was quite the thing in our little city, was invited to explain the reasons for his opaque deco-eco-degendered-revisionisms, as he called them in a husky voice heavily laced with irony—effete gestures, French, “interventions” and “dialogues” included--and to tell the deeper Marxist meaning behind his trilingual stick-ups. Need it be said that he responded by intoning all the right mantras, linking his scotch tape labels with women’s rights, ending hunger in Ethiopia and pornography in the suburbs, while recalling the Holocaust all in one fell swoop? He was heartily applauded by citizen’s groups, the Mayor, and the local academics--who, by the way, predicted that he would enter the history books beside Yves Tanguey, Frieda Kahlo, Albert Einstein and Emma Goldman. He ended his wondrous public career by winning a $5,000.00 lifetime award grant from the local arts board, much to the envy of those more gifted than he. But a bit later he became the subject of a controversy over the fact that the tape manufacturer he’d bought his goods from wholesale was employing illegal labor from south of the border. Consequently, one or two of his shows were boycotted by the envious, and his academic friends immediately distanced themselves from him. He cleverly extricated herself, however, by buying his tape retail from another outlet while adding the name of the offending company to her next installation (he had successfully undergone a sex change procedure in the interval). Unfortunately, things were never quite the same for her after this stick-up fiasco, so she swallowed her little pill of oblivion and sank first into footnotes, then into micro, then nano-sized commentary, then into nothing at all.

S,he: Oh, to purify these tears, is no other than to dry rotten Hemp with a mighty fire.

Now let us ask ourselves, what connection does art have with reality as we know it? Why waste the minutes of your life contemplating artificial constructs when you could be helping to feed the hungry and clothe the naked? How many homeless men, women, and children did you stride past in expensive shoes without offering some pocket change for their relief merely to come to this shameless exhibition of hubris? Dear followers, how can these worthless little acts of cynicism, greed, or sadomasochism, give meaning to these venal times when the call of the mirror is so great that masses are now stuck contemplating themselves in the computer screen, that tragic magic mirror of solipsism. In short--What is a Warrior man or woman to do to wrest back those golden days when all things seemed significant, even meaningful?

The Climber: Unto him that have no weariness, there belongeth no endurance.

One of my daughter’s final questions concerned how I managed to exchange my natural head for such a thought-provoking curio. You might be wondering about that yourself, and I don’t blame you. You see, I am a positive thinker. [RINGS BELL.] I believe that we are more than the sum of our parts. [RINGS BELL.] I believe that there is another aspect to our shared reality. [RINGS BELL.] I believe that only at the most intense peaks of human experience can we rend the veil of Maya, or illusion, to catch a glimpse of the underlying Truth. [RINGS BELL.] I believe

H2e: She standeth and vieweth him.

family on Christmas eve of last year, my skull gave out a warm, pulsating glow, and filled the vault of the Mill Valley, California Bank and Trust (where it’s kept because of is incredible value) with a tangible scent of roses. I snapped it into place and was ready to go. I was immediately

The Climber: I pray you diddle me.

But let us take one final look at my unusual, crystalline head and end with the cold, immutable fact of numbers. These measurements cannot be controverted, blurred, or denied by any right-thinking individual, but remain beacons of objectivity. From front to back my skull is 14.5 cm. (5.71 inches). Its height is 9.5 cm. (3.74 inches). Its breadth is 9 cm. (3.54 inches.). Moreover, my glorious head weighs in at 1600 grams (3.53 lbs.). There, I have “written about it,” indeed.

S,he: Come on, I will do the best I can.

H2e: She leadeth Witless over stones, and rocks to the diddling place.

You know, I began to experience headaches and dizziness a few months back. Ironically, these attacks began shortly after a series of triumphs that led me to believe that I would achieve a certain level of recognition in an area to which I had applied myself most assiduously. One morning, as I drank my cup of coffee at the kitchen table, I went blind in my left eye. At the same time I experienced an uncontrollable urge to laugh. The first time I brushed it off and went about planning to surreptitiously visit the city morgue and dismember the corpse of a recently deceased sausage baron to search for his “Luz,” or bone of resurrection, said by the Rabbin to be located on the extreme end of the coccyx. But the attacks returned in an even more frightening form. Each time I lost consciousness I would befoul myself, and the bits of food I happened to be attempting to masticate were ejected from my mouth onto the floor in the same manner I had once witnessed a boar shot through the head at butchering time on the family farm both vomit and evacuate its bowels at the same time. I straightened my clothes, put on my frock coat, and

S,he: It is impossible for thee to get up here. You are Witless, I see.

everywhere. I think every oppressed person is a soon-to-be admired hero in these slowly awakening times, and I view my own phallus and testicles as true impediments to my complete understanding of the universe. My phallocentricism is immense and I know of no other way around this predicament in my less than Crystal Warrior moments but to cut it off and to advise all others of my ilk and gender to do the same to engage in meaningful dialogue with the rest of the world.

Climber: Of myself it is: I will never be of the mind. It is impossible.

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