284: Pseud's Corner

There is a horrible projection in all of us, yet we do not always see our own faults as the worst cracks in the mirror at that particular time.

282: Pseud's Corner

Express something to its literal end. Fluidity is crucial, and capturing things only makes us long term keep them.

The great thinkers of the world have always been critical of self, and i like to imagine genial concepts running through from person to person, like an olympic torch.

In philosophy genius has always been seen as a fluid not mathematically minded construct. It lives and breathes on whats happening, on the moments spur, on creativity.

Blink and you miss it, capture and its lost. This is my point for discourse. The memory is the only place i keep lots of experiences, they can be forgotten, so what!

2K17 Mrb Poetry - Nature and death afflictions

Womb kicks

the blow is fetched on someone, the blow regains its power

storms blow and trespass in hemispheres

by the hourly tide 

you shone with your arms out wide

just perched there like a scarecrow

an innocent crucifix with no ribbons

and no bows. 

i would bow in your presence

but it would only sacrifice humility for pretense

the art of pompousness in portent

unrelenting destruction relating to conundrums of the soul

scoring an own goal, kicked off the pitch

wind blown in a ball, all the air kicked out of it

all the air kicked out of it

all the air

kicked out of the very thing that gave life its speed. 

Death waltz

The line
Drab
Inked into dust
Cast on the sky
A dusk constellation either way
Waltzing with sentient beings
Obsessed by atomic death
And clause by cryptographic clusters
Cloying to the mind's eye.

 Apartness

Apart you say
Who are we
Alluding to catastrophe
Dismay dismay dismay

The path seems rocky
Your bones will soon find
Frailty is not proposed by the wind

Nor is calamity produced by snow
Catastrophe, who are we
Dismay, dismay, dismay.

Apart from the seasons we experience treason
All down to psychiatric failure
No rhythm
No reason
Oh dismay
Are you fickle?
Are we a trickle
A raindrop
Dismay dismay

Oh, apart we turned to gray.

Convalescence

The transcription of wit
From an inked glass
Blotted like a murderer's paper
What are these deeds, you ask
A cornucopia caper
A trick of the devil
An illusion of relativity
Or a convalescence of greed.

The bright sun shines outside
Oh widow, won't you weep for me.

Affliction of the distinctive soul

Something comes from nothingness

Always from death to life

Pain to strife

Regenerating forwards and back like a marble lock

The smell of machinery gloats on the dock

Cogs in machines

Cogs in streams

Buried from view

Alligators swallowing marbles

Drowning the marbles of others

This ode to death cannot be recovered

It can only be docked

As a regeneration process from death to life

One which we all experience

At a later time in life.

Copyright Michael Robert Buckingham - MRB poetry 2017 all rights reserved.

Muttley - 15 MOF PTY.111 - Stories Of Solace In Miniature Episode 3 - Black Eyes

Muttley - 15MOF Pyt 111. Black Eyes

>SoundCloud 1h58min Mixtape Link<

Depression. Difficult, isn't it? Everyone has it, don't they? Seems so in the last ten years in Great Britain. Yes, besides the unaware club at school who don't yet know what depression is, the germinating angst-turned-despair of the mental illness that becomes all-consuming to some of us is no stranger. It's the black dog following us home, as Oxford's Little Red like to say. "Black Eyes" is a concept mix for the accompanying lyric, "this black dog, is everywhere I go". Because: how does depression "change" us? Personally this is highly interesting - not for the sob stories, but for the perception area.

Say I am having a conversation with my mate - let's call him Rob. Rob likes good conversation, but has a bit of a temper. The depression latches onto Rob's temper and creates a facsimile - or a false projection - of the actual reality at hand. In the interest of attachment psychology, this could be referred to as "predestined selection". What makes depression different? For me, there is something about the parasitic logic of hormones in the body, gestating and losing it - to bring us back to the conversation, my spiel is where "Rob" loses his temper, and opens a bottle of Scrumpy Jack. Depression - the notion - leads to a device for depression - the dis-ease; the alcohol; the black eye in a fist fight at worst; the black eye, rather in the eyes of the depression sufferer.

Do not worry if this does not make sense to you. But to document depression for my family, it does explain much. Take me at secondary school. Before Americanised "High School", I was a cheerful infant. I used to look at cars all day from a closed window on the road passing by (I lived on a main road at the time). What you should know: at secondary school, I came home regularly miserable, this is no lie. Yet, in long term recall, there were several moments per week when I had lots of friendly
encounters. At times, I was high as a kite! Does this not seem odd? Fanciful, even? Seems so. But perhaps the gain (mixology) I put on the volume of the encounters - i.e putting myself into lots of situations at school where I felt uncomfortable, but what created almost heavenly sociological results in terms of maturing and maturing my obsession for music - which I was very kindly allowed by tutors and heads without bullying or confiscation obtruding it - created a seismically big paradox.

The paradox being, and reasoning, is this where my bipolar started?

Is this where I started to become schizophrenic?

I would like to think, not unreasonably so for my own sanity, that this was the case. It also leads me to believe everyone has the time of their life at school, in their own way. Despite me never being bullied, yet occasionally being a popular choice for conversation (I was always either quiet or rejecting, but not awkward, just peaceful), me, I, had the time of my life. And this is the polarisation of wide-eyed-wonder, not black eyes at all. Man and woman often thinks of what is to be achieved by undergoing a task, any task at that, great or small, it all comes down to priorities these days, simples life, yours gratefuls, kisses. But let's recoup our logic on depression and my theorising. Life seems to change when we positively engage with it; life seems to disappear when we move away from it. This is simple and related to the laws of physics, acceleration and entry and exit gates. So to suggest a neutralising (depression) additive to create a neutralising outcome, is not implausible. But we really need to get a "hold" on the actual physicality of the life environment for any of this to mean something worthwhile. In short "actions speak louder than words". Life is bigger than
logic.

Summary: depression is neutralising of an environmental perception by the individual, whether observer, undertaker or pacifist; life is bigger than these events sound, and adds a large sense of reality to the proceedings.

Whether we choose to believe the emotions in "Black Eyes": well, that's another story entirely...

Love x
Muttley

Mrb (Michael Robert Buckingham - www.focisleft.bandcamp.com / www.kapsil.net/muttley) - Nova Cone Trail Poem.

Mrb - Nova Cone Trail

The moment you fall
Is the moment I wake
What moment
Just a moment
Love speaketh like slake
Scattered like ashes
Over a nova cone trail
Beaming into the present
Where a gift is a moment
Frail to the touch
Indebted to containment
And kindest in gentle hands.

I waited for your trail
Yes I did, and I
I might not have followed
In your footsteps
But I love that trail you walk.

Let's imagine we are doves
Swooping in and out of the trail
Creating a supernova of purity
Always cast on wind and sail.

Let's think? Slake speaketh like ash
That money did not bring us together
At best a vehicle, twas broken down
Filled in the bonnet with leaking
...Petrol a graze on mankind.

Let's graze
Like two collared doves
Indebted to containment
Kindest with gentile
..Touches, brushes, kisses, even drum kits
Beat hay, I do love that track you talk.

The momentous fall
Of a lumberjack carrying
An onion for a bonce
A drum kit for twenty pence
To try his luck
At the slot machine of your heart.
From the start I'll gamble too much
Love acts like one armed bandit
A candid toss of fates coin; Indebted
To containment; Kindest in gentle hands.

Maybe you'd give me a stake back
To nest upon, collared dove
I swiftly collared you, that's certain
Corny catchphrase of roboism
Sent from above? No, not.
I can do a lot better I know.
But I adore that braille you baulk for me.

Let's imagine, slake burning to ashes
Monty did not bring us together
I know you really don't care
Whether I am a prince or a pauper
You show you care omnipresent
And that's omnipresently enough
You love me for who I am - me
And I love you
unconditional
For you - a ram, regardless.
You like attention, so you told me in 1410
Way back in the day.

And like two collared doves
I became inseparable from you
Nowt artificial intelligence
You glow through the horizons mineshaft
Exploring that trail you walk
Leaving me explosive
And talkative.

Oh love, I love that trail you walk.

SubVersion Stop 253: A Film Review (And A Bloody Good Film At That)

#muttleyfilm The Voices (Ryan Reynolds, Gemma Arterton, et al., 2015)

Immediate thoughts: incredibly affecting biopic that takes in psychopathology in relation to paranoid schizophrenia.

In short: the easy choice is thr right choice.

I'm interested analysing psychopathy, being prone to psychopathy myself. And psychopathology - paths from the psyche, which takes in mindfulness - as less a severeance-rite.

For some, that's hells road. But for me, and a crucial backbencher ideologue of the film supports: "you're never alone". Health spreads out.

As Aristotle ‏@DailyAristotle says (in an effected context):

In medicine this [the good] is health; in strategy, victory; in architecture - a building- different things in different arts,

As *some* of us know, me from reading Garrick Alder's 'Mind Bombs', "the majority of psychopaths are non-violent". "Some even work in offices"  - see the film. "Like their cold-blooded counterparts, they are manipulative and controlling, lack emotional depth. In most respects they are to be seen as highly likely to succeed in corporate culture, where one person is just a cog in a bigger mechanism".

- But the reason ultimately that Ryan's character in the film doesn't succeed is because of complex aftercare from institutionalisation.

The rhizome (root) of all suffering can arise from childhood trauma; judge in the film for yourself.  When we take indoctrination, in any field - say schizoaffective (me, and partially psychopathic) with voices I hear (partial guides, but not always) - truth is corrupt.

Thusly this film, beyond just a cheap horror flick archetype with a tacked on message, is multidimesionally revelatory because of surrealism.

Psychopathology is the ultimate subversion. It leads all places, takes no prisoners. Yet it wields the ultimate dogma: for people to become prisoners of their own minds.

Re: and conclusion: the easy choice in paranoid schizophrenia is driven by mindfulness, but this is only the connective. Thusly psychopathy.

Mick Buckingham

[Editor's note: I stumbled across this film in an EE and Wuaki.TV company partnership offer for £1 a film a week for EE customers. I watched it on my phone at a less WiFi traffic time (230pm) and got a non-buffering excellent film for the price of 700mb data (1h43m length).

https://uk.wuaki.tv/movies/the-voices

SubVersion Stop 252: Muttley - Black Stars [2008]

Muttley - Black Stars - July2008 Poem

However adept one is at painting black over white
The moon will tell you otherwise within time
And these stars have many layers on their sights
And this sky is a tapestry of picture-perfect
Whenever you're down sing a song for hope
Even if worrying seems like all you can do
Ruminating over past actions won't help
Even if it feels like all you can do
These bright lights are your decision
Words aren't always meant to be red
Sometimes we're all wandering towards what was unsaid
But whether there's fruit is anyone's guess.
Black stars are in your head and heart.

~ This is a sleight edit to what I wrote in a mental health outpatients department in 2008 when induced with symptoms of bipolar disorder and psychotic depression. It has stayed in the back of my mind all this time. It is one of the favourite poems I've written. I will adapt it into an intuitive song-based improvisation at some point, as well as a mixtape. 

SubVersion Stop 207: Muttley's Dream Journal

Had an idea to make a dream thread. There's already been at least a couple on Subvert (Maff's dreams and Torment's KRS-One dream). I thought by disclosing the universally palpable ones there might be some clarity shed on the meaning of the dreams. There are dream dictionaries too, and this is a first step in trying to document to oneself what all these metaphors mean.

October 1st

I was on a train with memory containers all around me. I was a female hen that got put in a cake by a droid which then got put into a catapult device and that was sending a new version of itself on.

Before I tell of what my hypnotherapist sees in the dream (he trained in imaginal realities and dream psychology) I'll leave it open to you.


Mick


Muttley's Dream Journal