Hey, all partakers in grisly Beetleriffic action. . . . .
I see a kind of bio-mechanical exegesis through a rotting earth-mind, some kind of “insect-level of existence” as maybe it’s heavenly ascent or just something you ate.
Actually it’s a scene from a movie mashed-up with Slayer music through the mind of a heavy drug-user or whom we euphemistically call “a right-brained artistic misfit”. . . . . as I can vouch for the occasional altered state. . . . . as do many visionary poets, gonzo comic-book writers, and virtual-reality “cyber-nauts”.
I’ll say that one thing they all share is a level of hypnosis into their work like that “golden mean” of focus when you’re completely involved in what you’re doing. Depending on psychotropic medication mixed with whatever cocktail of alcohol, stimulants, or something more-illicit “like sleep deprivation”, you can be whisked-off to some pretty strange places.
What are they seeing out there? Maybe a passageway to an unknown level of inner-reality that really exists somewhere, as tripper’s come back to report on the same things. Though you don’t need to go on psilocybin acid-binges, it’s still a pharmacological mystery of brain soup sent slopping through a blender of biochemistry as it’s not very well-understood.
You reach some enlightened, magical state “when everything fits together– like, FOR A REASON” and intuition takes over with lucky synchronicity as the flow follows the flow and ideas glance-off of each other to form a self-constructing vision.
There was nothing ever more creative– like existing in a warm, overheating blob as your eyes tiredly burn like hot, crackling stones and you’re in the midst of sheer concentration. Impulses are realized faster than the speed of thought, itself. . . . . and isn’t a bad way to go.
It’s almost as if ideas “preexist, somewhere” in a transmission of possibility– and how you reach down and grab them like a free-form artist freely articulating. Some might call it “the muse”. Maybe schizophrenia. But I will say that it’s pleasant while you have it.
Inside this crevice, you’ll receive some of the best insights whether scientifically-verified or not in this “between-space”.
If you spend a day sort of easing into activity like an ascending journey– after a couple of hours you’re so relaxed and totally primed to create. You must have lots of free time and get up ultra-early. Many report that extended periods of whirling-dance or joined-up in drumming-circles will bring on the same thing as your mind & body gets “in sync”.
Depending on the stew, you’re mind taps into its naturally-occurring stores of DMT or “the spirit molecule” through which all sorts of strange revelations take shape.
I wouldn’t doubt that video-game designers “hit about this stuff” and come up with their craziest ideas. For instance, Super Mario “eats mushrooms” and fights his way through underworlds vs. reptilian adversaries– like maybe proto-man locked in struggle with the serpent like natural enemies on the opposite side of the zoological kingdom.
UFO conspiracy theorists mention “gray” and “green” garden-varieties of evil extra-terrestrials that live in an underground realm among the dim, subconscious hum of plants and insects like a foreign “earth-mind” running on automatic-pilot right below the reptile and mammal brain, itself on the seat of higher primate consciousness.
And here– “King Koopa” stands on top of a piranha plant, throwing down hammers– like something at the bottom of “the mushroom kingdom experience”.
I generated this image from messing around with “Photostudio” as mathematical relationships are stretched, or bent, or twisted in a graphical representation.
Like, are spirits “trapped in the machine”? Am I witnessing a kind of “revealed-truth”? This looks like the devil, himself– if evil could be localized and caught inside your computational matrix like hard, frozen amber.
Interestingly, once when I was “running on empty” for about four or five days my mental picture was visited by two demon-heads warding their way through “short-wave television static”, like the distant roar you’d hear inside a sea-shell as their howls hissed through the window-pane of existence. On the verge of sleep, they came to bury me.
More charmingly– and one barfed-up a fly. Jolting me awake until they began pressing through, again.
(– Very “Beetlejuice”, kids)
Sheer death, maybe– like rot or pain. . . . . or even entities people claim to see when they go on psychedelic tourism through South America. Interestingly it sounds like “nothing new” to Amazonian tribes-men like dragon-snakes taunting you in the great beyond with messages.
The prince of darkness is usually accompanied by two henchmen– like what you see in the comics and video-games, as the power of “3” is said to subconsciously resemble an unstable quality with the points of a triangle and vectors “closing in on each other”.
This one here looks like three faces and how one in the middle wears a crown– it’s open to interpretation. One eye is dark and the other alive with illumination. The myth of Odin recalls the qualities of infinite blackness on one hand, then one eye left over that “picks-up on the dualistic contrast” to stare deep into the blackest shadow as there can be no light without darkness.
Ancient accounts in demonology have described three-faced angelic super-beings. . . . . as other faces and composite-hints loom out of the picture, if you notice. Almost like a Rorschach Test you couldn’t invent yourself.
In certain stages of what’s known as sleep paralysis you find yourself rendered immobile as one’s lids start fluttered with REM-sleep as images burst across your retina half-way between awake and dreaming. What happens is that you’re body is “turning-off” in the wrong order– going on “autopilot” as higher levels remain awake as if a janitor forgot to turn-off the lights in a high-rise office building with executive-function still self-aware.
A heaviness falls on your chest as nothing can be controlled and how many report seeing aliens or leprechauns or mysterious masked-men in this state.
All of this is very interesting if incorporated somehow into the world of Beetlejuice.
Stranger still, drawn into a palace of dazzling cosmic display as you’re pestered by gelatinous cubes cackling in a scree of space-mania like levels of hell or that sequence out of “2001: A Space Odyssey” through the star-gate.
As if we’ve been preconditioned to think of butterflies fluttering around the doors of perception like the opening screen on a Nintendo game– interfacing with “the start menu” with programming going back to the very root of our hard-wired responses.
And then again, the gods could be playing a prank in the laughing halls of Valhalla as the curtain is pulled-back, revealing the best underground cartoonist’s minds off on fabulous adventures in the farthest blogosphere.
One way or another– on one hell of a trip.