Seven Petals

Embodying the softness of petalskin, lotus and rose, orange poppy and sun-yellow dandelions, the warmth of growing.

Red as the blood sustaining us, the blood eternal in all its heavens and hells.

We name you:

Love - (connect)(enhance)(heal)(living)(embrace)(fulfill)(imagine)(create)(abide)(whole)

Truth - (transcends)(embodies)(resonates)(encompasses)

Freedom - (exist)(life)(open)(possibility)

Justice - (clarify)(separate)(judge)(determine)

Peace - (balance)(harmony)

Beauty - (pleasure)(satisfaction)(appreciation)(resonant)

Presence - (sensual)(aware)(within)(conscious)(whole)

This is the flower that grows in paradise, a dream so powerful it lives through us.

Upon this flower the gods dance.

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The Neo Ascetic

Massified monoculture hypno-images, the naked lust of the consumer. Poison it is, from start to finish. There is no escape from the imprinting power of the screen, no hip ironic glance, no post-post-modern sneer that can dispel the power of machine programming.

The only solution is to turn it off.

That’s it. Just turn it off. Poison it is, poison we all sense it to be; so stop taking it in.

Escape from the videomind prison is a must, if we have any aspirations of liberation from the imaginal constraints that industrial mega robot culture has plugged into us.

In the videomind culture, to refuse the screen is a radical act. I refuse to participate in the destruction of my humanity, by having corporate entities repackage life into product and tell us what we are. Hollywood dream factories produce nothing that does not insult, that does not degrade, that does not infect. I refuse it all.

Picture if you will, and it won’t be hard, a human crouched over an electronic device, oblivious to the three-dimensional living breathing stinking touching world around them, obsessively punching away at buttons. Text your way into oblivion today!

I refuse.

PornoRapeMurderCulture, begone from my mind. Already there are few places I can walk in “civilization” (ha!) without undergoing your assault. I refuse to volunteer for it.

Keep your games, your toys, your wack entertainment culture. Childhood should have ended before age 10, now it lasts indefinitely, a country of well-schooled permanent children, with all the dysfunction it entails.

At the temple we make our own entertainment.

And as for this sex, this intercourse, this that men define, this that defines men, this domination, this cruelty, this apathy, this rape, this “but she likes it,” I refuse. I define my humanity through relationships and creativity, through compassion and dreams.

And for this, a label? “Ascetic?” Only in relation to the matrix, and here I am in opposition to it, so bring on the label. Neo Ascetic, minus Keanu Reeves.

As for these senses, these I indulge, I love, I embrace. Show me the beauty of green and growth and deserts and change. Let me hear music touched by the spirit, voices unheard. Bring me every scent, both vile and caressing. Taste the subtleties, the food, the sweat. Loving earth and sun, I touch it all. This is the sacred eros of my temple.

Behold the flower of paradise
Seven Petals
Red as blood

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A Case for the Digital Turntable

First let me lay down my Turntablism philosophy. Now, I never scratched a record in my life, but I’m deep in the Air element if you get my dillz. If you’re a DJ repping elemental, you must spin wax. No ifs, buts, or blahs. I’m talking 360’s on vinyl, scritching leaving fingerprints scratch master. DJ’s flip diamond needles.

If you do not flip diamond needles, you are not a DJ.

If instead you run executables (that’s computer programs, professor) you are a DJibot (pronounced: dihh – JEE – bot).

Digital robo-spinner. Terminator steez roboNoid, amalgam of sapes and synthetics. CYBORG.

DJ = Wax = Elemental Force. Roofs burn cuz flames blow higher on ill cracks.

DJibot = synthetic = android = almost-but-not-quite = BLAH.

Now, that being said, I just had a realization that I’m sure legions of DJibots have already had, if they’re not having it at the exact moment that I’m having it:

With a digital turntable, you can scratch and mix any sound you can record!

Technology has made it easy to sample any sound you can get access to. Want to mix in a movie quote? Play the video and record the audio. Some can record sound directly to their computer while playing a video. I personally hold the mic up to my speaker as its playing. How ever you can get it down, once you have a digital file, the digital turntable can mix it in with whatever sound you’re casting.

Think of the possibilities. Mixing and scratching your own digital music, without the expense of pressing it on vinyl. Mixing and scratching your friends’ digital music. Making your own acapella discs and playlists.

This is DJ business. That means, don’t let the DJibots in on it, or they’ll fuck it up before we can sauce it up.

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Avatar Can Kiss My Ninja Ass

“DZA,” you ask, “Where can *I* learn about imperial hate and destruction?”

Well, you’ve come to the right place. Everything you need to know is embedded in the recent movie Avatar, which you almost certainly have seen, unless you already knew better.

While it’s guaranteed to be an unintentional result of decades of White Man cultural programming, I have to give half a prop to James Cameron just for putting together such a convenient study guide to understanding the mindset of the people that put the world in chains.

For those just joining us, the planet is currently ruled by the legacy of Western European colonialism, which involves mass genocide, slavery, torture, and rape, as well as intellectual and religious justifications for all of the above. The “Eurocentric mind” regards itself as the pinnacle of human and cultural evolution, and regards the rest of the humans on the planet as some type of inferior “savage.”

There are two main categories of savages. The first category is the “Noble Savage,” or as I like to call it, “Savages Save Us.” This type of savage possesses the magic earth powers to save the colonizer from his own fucked up actions and mentality, making it a popular one amongst the inheritors of the Eurocentric mind (white folks, this is you.) Some eurominds still hold out hope that “Native spirituality” can save them from their own bankrupt culture, making American Indians the “Noble Savage” of choice in the popular mind.

The second category of “savages” is the “Evil Savage,” or as I like to call it, “Kill All Savages.” These are the savages that are little better than animals, engage in every kind of perversion and macabre behavior, and therefore deserve only death and enslavement. The current holders of the “Kill All Savages” title are Arabs and Muslims, who I’ve heard are crazy freedom-haters.

BOTH CATEGORIES MAKE US AN “OBJECT” IN THEIR STORIES, INSTEAD OF PEOPLE.

If you couldn’t already guess, Avatar is 100% puro “Savages Save Us.”

The following collection of highlights are but a few of the MANY notes struck by Avatar that reveal it as nothing but another piece of imperial bullshit masquerading as some kind of progressive morality tale.

• Protagonist is a soldier. Militarism, check.

• Opens with fancy spaceship. Western mind lost in fantasies of plastic, metal, and glass, an antiseptic utopia for those who fear and hate body and nature. False ideology of “Progress,” check.

• OMG Special Effects!!!!! Why bother going outside when you can see such vivid nature in the air-conditioned comfort of your own isolation chamber? Body-hate videomind culture worship, check.

• Powerful science woman gets “put in her place” by a corporate herb who later spits racial epithets, to demonstrate “badness” of white man. My ears filled with the sound of my skin, blood, identity, and humanity being insulted, check.

• Cloning aboriginals to live out ultimate pornsick “penetration” fantasy of running around in the literal bodies of the natives. Science psychopathology, check.

• Stabbing, probing, ripping, and destruction of flora and fauna with metal and plastic. Earth rape, check.

• Soldier wants approval from “tough-as-nails” commander. Dudely daddy shit, check.

• Soldier has to be “mothered” in native ways. Dudely mommy shit, check.

• Aboriginal tribe organized with Old Man as “chief” and everyone else under him. Outerspace Patriarchy, check.

• Tutoring of Soldier assigned to Chief’s Daughter – (AS IF) – to provide opportunity for cinematic “romance.” Impending imperial colonization of native woman, check.

• Soldier “bonds for life” with dragon by first subduing it, tying its mouth up, wrestling it to the ground, and penetrating it. Bondage and rape, check.

When the dragon-rape scene rolls around, that’s when it’s time for DZA to walk. And walk I did, dusting my feet off as I went.

You see, since I don’t watch TV, I had no idea what this movie was about when I went with some folks to see it on opening night. It really is a miracle that I hung around to see as much of the movie as I did. If the circumstances under which I went to the movie had been different (i.e. if I’d gone by myself or with a friend instead of with a giant group) I certainly would have walked out when I discovered the protagonist was a soldier. DZA and militarism are irreconcilable.

The next day I saw the dude that invited me, who was asking me why I left early. Not wanting to get into the whole diatribe, I just told him I wasn’t feeling it. Then I proceeded to give him a 15-second blind summary of the remainder of the movie that I “missed,” which had him cracking up.

It might seem amazing to you that I could pack almost 2 hours worth of material into a 15-second summary, but only if we all pretend that these putrid colonizing scum haven’t been telling the exact same stories since they started spreading their poisonous culture virus around the world.

Let me guess. The white dude (in savage body, of course) colonizes the native woman. There’s a big battle. The invaders see the light, or get killed off. Everyone lives happily ever after on a sustainable, environmentally friendly world where everyone gets to have their Prius and drive it too.

Next time you’re thinking of asking me if I want to see “X movie,” the answer is no.

I’m all about celibacy from mass (death) culture.

A few sensible Avatar commentaries:

Please Mount My Hot Blue Alien

Avatar and Waking Up From Dreams

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DZA Alphabeticals

I am the:

D – Divine and Destroy (blade of life)(choice)(will)(decision)(judge)(separate)(distinguish)

Z – Zig-Zag-Zig (Knowledge Wisdom Understanding)(360 degrees)(encompassing)(vibration)(frequency)(holistic understanding)

A – A.L.L.A.H. – Arm Leg Leg Arm Head (five elements)(human)(star)(sun)(god)(culture seed)

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The Cult of the One Ring

To the Now
Greetings from your neighborhood DZA. It has come to my attention (by living life) that we dudes have some seriously fucked up attitudes regarding women. These attitudes are deeply embedded in both human and robotic cultures.

As humans under the imprint of history, we carry these mindsick frequencies and move the song along with our thoughts, words, and deeds.

Our timelines are ruled by the Cult of the One Ring, the Will to Dominate. With a spiritual philosophy celebrating cruelty, subjugation, and humiliation, the most common name for this cult is “masculinity.”

This cult has extensive propaganda texts, in both static forms (print, photo), and moving forms (behavior, speech, video). The most common names for this propaganda are “education,” “pornography,” “sports,” and “beauty.”

Those of us who are MC’s must realize that we carry the fire brighter than any. Those of us who bring this fire must also realize that KNOWLEDGE IS THE FIFTH ELEMENT OF HIP-HOP.

The line is drawn. You walk this path, or you don’t. I have chosen to walk it.

To the Future
As a dude in the process of curing my dudeness, I have realized that I have a duty and responsibility to both reform my own behavior and address the behavior of those around me.

Therefore, I present a path to Knowledge. Like all Knowledge, you won’t get it if you’re not looking for it. Like all Knowledge, it won’t mean anything without the other 240 degrees.

You will get the full value if you give the time to read past entries and comments. Mouth shut, eyes open.

http://finallyfeminism101.wordpress.com/

http://themasculinemystique.blogspot.com/

http://rageagainstthemanchine.com/

http://12fps.blogspot.com/

http://undercoverpunk.wordpress.com/

And we had in our right hand seven stars:
and out of our mouth went a sharp two-edged sword:
and our countenance was as the sun shines in its strength.
And when we saw us, we fell at our feet as dead
.”
-Revelation 1:14

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Spirit Element Funk

Dreamtime, how they’ve crushed you in this grid. The spirit resides now in baubles and branding, all built upon destruction and cruelty. Machine consciousness as Antichrist. The unseen devil.

Still, the gods live and transform. The spirit abides, beyond timesuits and grid lines.

Still, the elements unite.

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Fire Element Funk

Rape talk chatter flows and product endorsements. Matrix voices and mass hypnosis. Candles at a funeral. Truth lies in the coffin wrapped in a flag that reads “The Real Hip Hop is Over Here.”

Money cultism. Bully culture. The ignorance of the murderer, the abuser, the gladiator. Worshippers at the temple of cruelty. The flag of Darkseid, the vampire fangs, the Cult of the One Ring.

And yet it lives, the spark, the flame, the spit fire.

We call you back, fire. There are many roofs to burn.

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Water Element Funk

Fluid movement of infinite possibility, locked down by screenminds and X-generational copies. Snore and thumbs down on fakers.

Humans dance passion and life. RoboNoids drop the previously-seen-on.

You may have seen the humans and sneered. You’ve probably seen the roboNoids and clapped or cheered.

My sneer is a godface thizzle lip twist of feeling myself and the beat I clap. My cheer ignites. All are for humans.

These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.

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Air Element Funk

Static buzz, high frequency whine. Roaring engine drones, skybuzzers and metal zoom pods.

Talking head hypno-voice. Scratching an imprint into my mind through my ears and skin. Childhood memories of the sick feeling the news anchor monotone leaves in my chest and stomach.

Video voice chitter buzz. Rather a hive of thousands, slave mouth open and pouring bees, than one eternal moment of “BuyHateKill” machine magic.

WHOSE VOICE IS THIS? WHO SPEAKS THROUGH THE BOX?

Drum, we call you back to sing. Thum thum thum, like a heartbeat, like the seasons, the rhythm of life unfolding.

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