Having Shit, Soaked and Shaved

Buddy Meier burst out larfing in a bearlike growling guffaw in accordance with the indications of Lama Longchen­pa from the Natural Freedom of Mind: "Since everything is but an apparition, having nothing to do with good or evil, accep­tance or rejection, one may as well burst out laughing." Above this push-pinned quip on the back of the john door was mystic-taped the yantra of Elimination. "Ho, ho," the internal resonnance of the Teutonic Sanity Clause chortled in remember­ance of the Scheisshumor of potty-training perdu, but recalled and almost recaptured in the process of an earthly heiro gamos. The function of consciousness is to create void.

That we create nothing at all, whatsoever, is the way Buddy and we imagine our language expressing, at once, the white affir­mation on the green field of the Saudi Arabian flag: "La illaha illa Allah!" and the Burden of the Heart Sutra. There is no Gog, Magog, Dagon, goldurnned goshdanged God but God--by whichever of the ninety-nine names Hesheorit may be called--and that if we allot to this Unity a function of creation, then we may repose in the Samsaric mirror of mimesis, practising the Art Imitatio Christi. Johan Wolf­gang von Goethe knew when he wrote,"Von deutscher Baukunst," 1761 or 3, that Erwin von Steinbach at Strassburg, by his actions, was distinguishable from God the Creator, yet Goethe used the verb "to create" in its modern sense, shaking the theory of imitation to its foundations (together with the Schlegel brothers, see Paul Frankl, The Gothic, Eight Cen­turies, etc., p. 610). "We create (flippety!) nothing."

What if this were what the Unzen master Shakuhachi laughed at all daylong. "Twern't exactly the penny that dropped, but the turd." Larfing from the point of view (Contemplation) of an Araminta Ditch (John Lennon, sight-hyping a Spaniard  in the Works in Help! p. 53 ff. "Hee! Hee! Hee!"), Buddy bid aDieu to the morals and conduct domain's inhabitant Remorse. An apostle of Enlightenment (of the load, burden, suffering) according to the sutram, "Pete the Plumber," he let it go down the tubes, which drained through the floor of the ranch house into the black morass which cultured the ongoing mutant strain of bacilli grown from the dregs of the drink served to the 4001st Fool at the Teahouse of Necessity, reckoned to have stood on the spot sometime before. The whirlpool down which plummeted Shakuhachi Unzen and the gore famed in song and lore which flowed from the magical chariot of Ahab, even as the Biblical King's life blood drained into the sump known as the Well of Samaria, the spiral of elimination, the equatorial eddy, tokened in the magnetic ocean flow of Buddy's algorithmic mind what is modeled in astrophysics now as a Black Hole, as it were a sort of rabbit-hole, or tunnel by which the calculus might be subverted.

"Artistic activity is neither slavish imitation nor arbitrary invention, but a free shaping." Gestaltung means formation--for Dionysiacs walking even on the wild side--"artistic" shaping for which every human being has the capacity. Consider if the child achieves con­sciousness of the world by taking intellectual possession of visible and tangible phenomena. And whether in most cases this immediate perception becomes atrophied and the adult human being "loses the world in gaining it." And the "world" we remember from Laws of Form, p. 109, may be taken to be the manifest properties of the all. "Thus the world is considerably less than the all, which includes the unmanifest, but considerably greater than 'the' universe (more correctly, than any universe), which is merely the formal appearance of one of the possible manifestations which make up the world."

The lLama Al Paca, trussed up like a red monkey, sat by himself on the towel hamper in the candlelit soaking tub room of the Teahouse. Through exercising the Andean form of Pho-wa, the High-altitude teacher swirled the ether of candlelight gleaming from the surface of the steamy water into an appearance of the world of the last twelve great Bodhisattvas. Formally imagined, this universe might be one in which the Teahouse of Necessity coalesces with the Eternal Roadhouse of Sam and Sarah, site for the assembly of those last great ones who, having forsaken their own enlightenment for the benefit of all sentient beings, finally approach the time when it is up to one of them to take the divine dive.

Buddy clipped the stubble of whiskers. Having shit, soaked and shaved, he next shined the enamel of the tub, of his teeth, and of the teacup which he had named, like a pet, "Apollinaire Sapolin." Emptying his shirt pocket scuzz into the silver strainer, Buddy turned on the hot tap and scalded a sort of tea for the lLama, served in "Apollinaire Sapolin." "This is the joke" softly wheezed the lLama, "of one who smiles at his prudery, for having been shocked at the realization that he was actually enjoying the aroma of his own excrement."

"That is sho' 'nuff a reg'lar gasser, Numero Uno!" yukked B.M. "Take tea and see, for who tastes knows, and he who tastes not knows not."

The lLama flicked Buddy's enamel teacup with his third finger, ching! "Well, you may suck my nose. I recog­nize that all human beings no matter how they may appear to us have at one time been our parents, and thus in many, many circumstances as part of the whole process of giving birth to me and to us as their children, have sucked the snot from our noses so that we might breathe unimpaired from the be­ginning. Indeed, depending upon how we hear the sound of the words, rather than observing their lexical form, we might truly write, "Who tastes nose, tastes snot and knows snot."

"Lenny the Bruce made the application to suede jacket sleeves, as performed by the Inca/Maya priestess/goddess E. von Rainer on a tour of Los Angeles with great Smokeymountain Rauschenberg, Paxwell Stevens and E.A.T. people." The pro­fessore dottore Jose Goldolphin Que y Porque declaimed, with his feet planted in the position of a Mahakala as he stood silhouetted in the doorjamb of the bathroom: "Remember the Great Mother, 'you can't get snot off a suede jacket!'"

Kurt von Meier
Circa 1975