LORD OF THE SLIES
I first wrote this piece in 2005 it was an attempt to rid myself once
and for all from the nightmare parts of Alex Horn's group, not the good
I got out of it. Of course I did get some
good out of it. My father used to say,
“nothing can be sliced so thin it doesn’t have two sides”. One can,
after all, grow from any life experience, including a train wreck.
A Fourth Way Standup
© 2005 Dave Archer - All rights reserved
PREFACE / 2009
I wrote in an abrasive, taunting rant, because it was what worked for
me at the time. Publishing it to the NET, then receiving hundreds
of e-mails from people who agreed, and only a few from those who did
not agree, I began to see more of what I actually got from Horn, and it
softened my former outlook a little. The brutality that surrounded Alex, as mostly
reflected toward "us" by his "special Nazi students" was appalling. I
needed healing. I wrote the piece below as an overwritten jibe, a
fountain of liquid shit, to simply get it out of my system, (if possible)
from certain doubts and ideas haunting my Lunatic Type life.
"ideas" no longer bother me nearly as badly as they did. I have gone over this
article a couple of times recently, comveying some of the good as well
as the bad. The piece is still
abrasive in the style I "chose" when first writing it. However, I now
recognize that everyone has a unique experience with the Work and cut
some slack for that. I cut no slack for unholy abuse of students and
especially children, as
evil in action. Mike Barnett (RIP) became an Alex clone and did much
damage in Colorado. His wife is still stomping through student lives
remorse. At least, that is what I am told by those who escaped her
madness. I did not want to ruin this
mess, or should I say, take away the original intent and flavor. Just
tighten it, and take out the obsessive need to make bad jokes. There
are still plenty of bad jokes here, but I have trimmed the worst.
seventy I realize that even though writing this years ago helped flush
"Work" from of my psyche, actually I know now that once exposed
to these ideas and practicing simple
exercises with other students, (not all bad) it is quite
impossible to dump "G" for good, no matter what I
do. Oh well.
GurdjieffianTrivial Pursuit: from '74 to '82, broadcast a radio show called: Radio Mystery Theater , one episode of which is called:
The Magus. Written by Elspeth Eric, starring Fred Gwynne, Carol
Teitel, Jada Rowland and Russell Horton, it tells the story of a young
servant girl who falls beneath the charms of a Magus, becoming
entranced in his presence, forsaking her mother and would-be suitor. Of
interest, is Gurdjieff being made part of the story ––– near
An MP3 can be listened to or uploaded at:
A FOURTH WAY STANDUP
©2009 Dave Archer
Gurdjieff is psychic crack cocaine for eggheads.
People who would never suck a glass pipe in a million years.
seeker-something's, subscribers to Intellectual Lifestyle Magazine, or
they meet some off-lander "G" sharing a cab in the rain, or an old
friend calls and they click-in and never click-out, even after they
leave or get bounced by some flaming whore from hell with NO right to psychically eviserate people.
In the vernacular: Split Attention.
instance: WATCHING myself make notes for writing this, while
watching: Gone With The Wind, and not getting lost in Scarlet O'Hara's
hooters, yes, just because I think I’m gay sometimes does not mean I
appreciate a good rack. I have four grandchildren so I must have done
something right. Not that being “gay” is wrong. Gurdjieff had his group
of lesbians called “The Rope”. Still, if you are a homo today, better
bring it up at a meeting. Split attention: BEING, in the
Roxie-retro, observing O'Hara's hooters, while simultaneously observing
own thoughts, and posture, that is, my own hairy Norwegian
passing thoughts, passing popcorn, passing gas, SPECIFICALLY: my
predicament in time and space,
but especially: tits. Split attention is good. It
changed my life in positive ways. Working toward experiences when
intellect, emotion, and body are balanced, even for a moment ---
bucking the tide of insidious sleep, in the quest of, "Esoteric
Christ Sun Absolute," feeding, strengthening: "essence" through "being
Work". When I make a dated aim, I make being: building
magnetic center., bla, bla, bla. Yes, I got some good things out
of it I
still use today. Thank you. I also got hammerheaded bad, along with a
of others, and I'm still deciding if what I got was worth what I paid.
That's all. There was a lot of student abuse, both by the
teacher, and students going after each other. Time to rip
a new asshole in the body of so called: "Esoteric Christianity". Allow
me then, to
shove a Maglite up Beelzebub's butt before you kiss it, because there
are a few things you ought know before SCUBA diving with the Creature
From The Black Saloon.
Work is transformation through eccentric (esoteric) ideas you would
have rejected one hour earlier. Anything that has the effect of
"changing" an entire world view in one hour, beware. Study all maps. I
didn't. I fell into a G-hole. I survived with injuries. The
telephone guy I landed on however, died of a broken neck. Six weeks
later his pregnant wife died of a broken heart. The only good news, the
baby survived. The bad: the kid was raised by Gurdjieffian child
neglecters. It's true: my observation and that of dozens of others is
this: not insignificant numbers of Gurdjieffians consider
fairly worthless until after they grow up, therefore ignore them using
situational sliding scales from say, mildly creepy to out right evil.
Shame on their sorry asses. Indeed, since releasing this four and a
half years ago, I have received dozens of e-mails from grown kids
raised in G. They tell me they did not see sex in public, but they were
terribly neglected. (In
one group in Sonoma, run by Anne Haas, the children all ran away one
night to the Santa Rosa Police to report they were being abused. The
cops took them back, and Anne, as only a Gurdjieff Witch
can do, "convinced" the cops, through
SLYING, that everything was just fine,
at which point they left. ANNE HAAS, you are a bedridden black
hole, having your last faithful students serve you platters of
psychiatric pills while you rave like the RED QUEEN. The children you
hurt are making a documentary movie about
your sorry butt. Do you have any idea how many
kids you "raised" that now hate your guts. See
children grow up. Guess you never thought of that. Oh, that's right,
sociopaths don't give a shit. Now it's your
turn, and there will be no fun at all. You knew exactly
what you were doing. You wanted piles of money, that's all. Hey, I'm only writing the way you have talked all
your four-letter life. I was there Anne when you were married to Alex. I heard you screeching like a banshee. We all did).
Just reading "G" can release: Endorphilect, psychically identical to to pharmaceutical grade morphine. Gurdjieff
study is an occult feast upheld by “Work books”, for edifying the "Sly
Man's Way," that is, of rousing AWAKE through: Self-Remembering with
the right teacher and Group. Shop around carefully. That's my advice.
There must be some good teachers out there who don't want to "shear
your wool" and become millionaires at their students' expense. There
must be some that don't want your ranch or to kick you in the balls. When you first hear the
Work is called the "Sly Man's Way," unless you are Clem Kadiddlehopper
ripping-off a can of pork and beans in Safeway, or the Long Island
Lolita shooting Mary Buttafucco in the jaw, naturally, you recoil like
Fisher's pistol. Let me put it this way: if you stay, and later down
the road, find yourself acting as if you've been ear-tagged by the,
"Inner Circle Of Humanity," for a little "Objective hoodwinking," such
as stealing a bottle of Dom Perion from your boss, because after all,
your boss lives at best, in the "Subjective" Good Householder Exoteric
Circle of Outer Darkness of babbling homo-hobo's like me, that is,
where fools die in ditches like dogs
and ask yourself this ...
Ouspensky (direct line) Gurdjieff Teacher, Mr. Robert S. deRopp, warned
me on my first morning with Alex Horn: "If you sup with the Devil have
a long spoon". I should have listened. Still, in retrospect,
I did get some good out of Alex's wild ride. For one thing, sailing the
Pacific from Hawaii to San Francisco on the 161' Goodwill, one of the
world's great yachts. Calling for volunteers for the crew, Alex said
anyone owing money to "the Work" (him) could not go. Busted. Man,
I wanted this trip more than anything I had ever longed for in my short
brutal life. Nancy, my Group girlfriend at the time, looked me in the
eye and said, "Alex says rules are meant to be broken David". A direct
challenge. I sailed. And left the Work too, owing Alex. Ha! That's the
only way to leave a Magus. Even though my experiences on
the high seas were nothing less than lordly, after what happened in my
life, plus lives of some of my best friends after we left the Group, I
could have done without it. Let me say this. I chose to join up. It
took two friends to convince me. I did not want to join. I take full
responsibility for eventually "tagging along" and joining. No excuses.
I may sound like I'm "blaming" others for my choice. I am not. I am
pissed off at some of the outrageous things I witnessed, that’s all. I
got myself in, not my friends, and I got myself out.
Gurdjieff Work is a Magus Licensing "School" having to do with Lucifer,
not Christ, esoteric or not. Gurdjieff said the Fourth Way was against
God. SLY: that fine homosapian attribute most often
endured on the face of some oleaginous SUV pusher with a
bull pizzle for a nose. Both Teachers and students handle this
permission in a
variety of ways: sometimes, ah, rather badly. Hitler said: "The best
liar is the best magician". I never thought I would say, "Thank you
Herr Shickelgruber". I
must though, for unlike Gurdjieff, at least he put it succinctly. The
way of relying on yourself, and yourself
alone, echoing Crowley's: "Do As Thou Wilt Is The Whole Of The Law".
You Work with a "Teacher," and Group, however you are your own walking
forensics / biotech lab. The Teacher is there to shock you awake.
Beware Teachers who shock with swords. Ron Russell witnessed Robert
deRopp run a student out of his ashram door, then down Sonoma Mountain
Road, "shocking" away with a Samurai sword and barely missing. Being
a Gurdjieff student comes with the "right" to steal, cheat, fool, lie.
Believe me, this was freakin' fun. Many Gurdjieffians would highly
disagree with me, because they are not like that in their New Hampshire
Group or whatever, and they never terrify students into staying by
threatening to chuck them into a ditch. I'm not writing about them. Or
they dismiss Alex Horn as "not a real direct line Gurdjieff teacher".
Who cares. Gurdjieff himself was a monster, a hurricane force
SOB. Stories abound of his Talmud temper: THUS,
handing-off Full License to later group commandos and their progeny.
Face it, judging Objective / Subjective in the world, was like getting a brand new amoral trampoline of my very own.
if my amorality wasn't bad enough already. Objective Eukanuba's:
GOOD! Subjective sheep: baaaad. Sheep are to be fleeced, period.
Gurdjieff taught that. Those
billions of dying dogs so horrendous they pee their used Armagnac on
the davenport, then sleep on it. Puppies so unConscious I get to pick
their purses and laugh about it later with my Objective friends. “Good
evening, I'm Riddick. I will be your waiter tonight. Welcome to Café
Crematoria de la Paix”. We
always hear about Monsieur's enormous compassion; that G took care of a
lot of people financially. Of course, he used
student money for it, plus, the fortunate were after all: his Prieuré
family members, countless illegitimate kids, and immigrant friends.
When it came to G's view of the world however, absolute zero. There is no compassion in this Guote:
"One may say that evil does not exist
for Subjective man at all, that there exist only different conceptions
of good. Nobody ever does anything deliberately in the interests of
evil, for the sake of evil. Everybody acts in the interests of good, as
he understands it. But everybody understands it in a different way.
Consequently men drown, slay, and kill one another in the interests of
Consider if you will: "Night Stalker," Richard Ramirez'
baphomet-scrawled hand held up in court. The same hand that murdered
women after raping and torturing them (AND) making them recite, "I love
Satan" before slicing them up and writing on the wall with their blood.
Gurdjieff would say Ramirez was killing for personal "right," reasons,
therefore another Subjective tragedy, not evil. Bullshit. Ramirez
wasn't having his own "conception of good" at all. Go back and read the
highlighted line again. The line is a G-key into you. It is not a
you-key into G. Gurdjieff
is not giving you some "ancient" Victoria's Secret. Maestro is
magnetizing your moral compass. It’s a power key, opening your wallet,
ranch, and ALL of your time. Or, it can be, and often enough has been
exactly that. A
Magus never lets anyone near their inner real
estate, only allows them to Work on the farm they just gave them.
Planting, digging sewer lines, cleaning the pool. Notice where the line
is placed in the quote. Read the quote again and see how easily it
slips between your common sense filters. It is not truth with a capital
“T”, yet one tends to buy it. Especially those thirsting for something
"good" for whom it stands stiffer than the Philosopher's Bone.
Don't drop your Dove in the shower.
slight-of-hand card magic it's called: forcing. There are classic
"forces". I saw Penn and Teller do a great bit on card forcing once,
explaining exactly what a card force is while they were actually doing
card forces, and people took the forced card every single time anyway,
convinced they were choosing randomly. Blavatsky used slight of hand. Gurdjieff too, performing tricks on stage. That
Gurdjieff was an accomplished hypnotist --- as are Penn and Teller, as
is every magician, stage or mage --- is not only standard knowledge in
Gisney Land, it is honored by many, even when they suspect, as if
hypnosis used by a Lucifer Magus is a good thing for anyone who wanders
in. Folks, people. We are told Gurdjieff helped people through hypnosis
with alcoholism. Great. Too bad he didn't use it on himself. Mother's
Against Drunk Drivers would not have awarded him that posthumous plaque
made from what's left of the tree he ran into. Oh, that's right, G
staged his car crash to shock his students.
Do I really want to shove my face into Satan's buttcrack?
The highlighted line is a
hypno-move into you, as dangerous as getting stabbed in the chest. If
you don't give a crap what happens to your psyche, and you like to do
terrible things to yourself, because you are a riddled with guilt, and
you need to be punished for your secrets because no one in society
knows about them, therefore, the Puritan in you, MUST tell all, you'll
love Gurdjieff .
Evil is ACTION, not THOUGHT., a truth so blatant the Roto-Rooter
guy gets it. Rape
is evil. You can say a rapist commits every crime in the "interest of
their own good," from their own, "understanding," still, their action
is evil. If you think the "Night Stalker," was following "his own
conception of GOOD," therefore his action was not really evil, you are
indeed the idiot G declared you to be. Society has the word
"evil" to designate actions beyond the pale. Eight year old kids know
this. Ah, six year olds too. It's
Common Sense, THE ancient repository of Esoteric Truth flushed during
Philosophy 101. Intellectuals think too much. And they know it too,
which is why Orage dug a hole to Hell, then filled it in again for G.
To be fair, the "job" did give the man six-pac abs: a plus there.
Digging did get Orage out of his
poet head into sweat and extreme pain. Perhaps pain is after all,
the only way we ever heal and grow, really. Benny Hinn should haul off
and sock every crippled Pilgrim in the jaw. It might work better.
Healing through intentional pain is a Native American right of passage,
thousands of years old. Gurdjieff
professed this in the 20's & 30's. We thank the man for his early
observations, we need however, no ancient Sarmoung scroll to know evil is action,
not thought, therefore, fairly easy to sort out in most cases.
Gurdjieff teaches: "Subjective man" cannot DO. Oh, really. Two
longtime neighbors in New Orleans got into an argument over the Ten
Commandments. One went home, and instead of getting his Bible and
checking the passage, grabbed his .38, then went back and shot the 6th
Commandant straight through his neighbor's heart as he sat rocking on
his front porch thinking, "... jeeze, I sure hope Barney moves to
Florida soon". Barney DID the guy okay? He was wrong about the scripture too. Bummer day. Action.
If the man pulled the trigger during a schiz-isode, thinking he was
killing Quasimodo, that is not evil, that is mental illness and he goes
to the lock ward. There are reasons to shoot, i.e., some creep driving
off with your kid. They are not always easy to sort out, but in the
Objective sense, they represent Justice, a fine Lady indeed; one that
Gurdjieffians reject as the projection of Subjective sleeping humanity. Shooting
your neighbor is usually evil. My Jack Russell knows that. The last
time he shot another dog, he crawled away ashamed and
shook in the corner of the room.
The problem G's have with Common Sense, is
they do not like common folks, externally considering them as
mechanical meat-machines, rather than simply: being them, as they
are. They get used to using sleepers. There's a separation, subtle at
times, blatant at others. G's profess being in the midst of the County
Fair, NOT of it. G-folk, dislike "the herd" as much as eco-protesters
squirm around rednecks. We get that way, because we think we are a
little more awake than others, another type of sleep. Sleepers are the obvious wriggling
pupae of the world. We may not be butterflies yet, but least we're making cool cocoons.
toward "Conscious," in the midst of the marketplace breeds a form of G
License called: "Not Identifying," AKA: one giant rover-come-over step
"out of THEM," as if "they" are the enemy, or at least have psychic TB.
"Not Identifying," is like the movie
COLLATERAL, when Cruise's character says, "No, I didn't kill him,
the bullets and the fall killed him". It just so happens that by,
"Not-Identifying," many G's end up: Oh --- So Special. Dying dogs like
me: Oh --- not so Special.
is, until their Subjective brownstone is on fire and they have to call
some sleeping sheep at 911, then endure all those idiot firemen putting out the blaze they started with an
I joined Alex Horn's Group, on the
morning of the first day, we Guppies swished our tails around nude on
wearing "Special Asshole" signs hanging around our necks The
original circle of around fifteen that formed around Alex started in my
friend Ron Russell's living room, almost all from the Sonoma,
California area. In the beginning they had
a meeting with Alex where "they" decided to go out and get good jobs to
pay the Work i.e., Alex. They did just that, regrouping in a few
months, then invited their friends to join. Lucky me. And since they
already felt "Oh --- SO Special," they devised "Special Asshole," signs
as a way of communicating to us, how "Oh --- so NOT special," we were.
In retrospect, I was privileged to have a unique view of how a dark
Magician forms a Group of loyal supporters almost over night: MAGNETIC
CENTER, good jobs, money, money, money, feasting, wine, dancing,
stories, plays, rituals, plus a "system of practice," that can never be
Sleeping people are to be charmed and manipulated any
way a Gurdjieffian sees fit when and if such action is part of what is we called: MAKING A WORK AIM. That is, accomplishing any stated AIM. Gurdjieff was a spy. A real one. His Chief Feature:
Intrigue. And spying is lying. And sly liars are sociopathic in the
sense of not feeling bad about what they "do". So, let me see,
not that I'm so moral, however, just asking, if I am am awakening when
I pull off any particular evil act on some sleeper during a journey
toward some particular aim I am working to accomplish, in order to "grow being" in myself, is that
not at least evil-lite? The notion: that when one sets out to truly "DO"
something intentionally as a Work AIM, Mother Nature RESISTS
effort. A vine growing in rock makes the finest wine they tell you,
because it has to Work the hardest. The making of any Hollywood movie
from, bad to best, is met with thousands of resistance's. It's all
about people who believe in something so strongly, they push hard,
harder, and harder, for years, from script to screen, in G, "by any
means necessary". Against resistance, G's use: force, slipping
around, digging under, being "slyly" invisible, hiring a bulldozer to
finish the job, sneaking into a farmer's field and stealing a sheep to
sacrifice, ripping off hubcaps, plus a thousand others, excepted:
if one is sly enough to get away with them, while accomplishing a Work
AIM. In fact, NOT making a stated (dated) Work Aim is nothing less
than: Ganathema, creating much crime in the name of knowing and
practicing ancient nitty-gritty.
A woman in New York, the wife
of a recent G abductee, called to tell me her husband was keeping books
in a special drawer, each title hidden in brown paper glued to the
books. She was told never to look in the drawer. She said her husband,
a waiter in a fine restaurant was gone a lot now. One night he came
home with a stolen bottle of Dom Perinon, for which he was fired the
next day. He had only been in the Work for a couple of months. Gee, I
wonder where he got that idea?
She said he had never stolen before, that it just, "wasn't him".
CHAIN OF COMMANDOS
took an ETERNAL Sacred Oath (his words) to keep the Sarmoung
Brotherhood secret, yet published his findings anyway. Parable or not, the great MASTER even gave
away the Sarmoung name ... well, of course he coded it, and that's not
the real Sarmoung name which is: Gnumoras -
pronounced: (ga-new-mor-as). And let me say this: Gnumoras is not one bit funny. If
you ask, "why would George do that?," at the wrong meeting, you might
just get a mambo dance on your eardrums from a grapa guzzling witch
uglier than George Bush's butthole. Dang good question too. And
don't tell me G did it for suffering humanity. The last time a Magus
did anything for suffering humanity was when David Bowie helped a new
musician without stealing his songs and making him crawl around the
floor naked squealing like a mouse in a crush video.
Gurdjieff's Work was debased by the man himself, until nowadays, every
NET speck is there for all to see. Think of it. The entire Ancient
Order of Gnumoras: OUTED. Admit it. In the
understatement of 2004 Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld testifying
under oath before both the Congress, later, the House, concerning the
Abu Ghraib prison Torquemada photos: (I paraphrase) "we're still
learning, for instance, about operating in the DIGITAL age ...". No
e-shit. Can you honestly look me in the I's and tell me Donald
Rumsfield’s "Rummy" isn't worth at least half a Rumi? Not funny? You
can't go to a proctologist today, without seeing a poster for the:
"Sacred Gurdjieff Movements," in the waiting room, as if, "Hey,
everybody gets to do it now, even Bill Clinton". Believe me, here
comes Grobics. I mean, Richard Simmons, "Sweatin' To The Harmonium".
Oops, we already have that in the Sacred Dances. My critics say I
should have done the "movements". They may be right. It’s too late. So,
how about a moving company: "Let George Do It".
Hey, it's White Glower Day at Macy's!
Bla-bla-vatasky MASS produced more taboo-cheese than Mr. Carpet Carney.
Blavatsky wrote in, Secret Doctrines, "Lucifer represents life,
thought, progress, civilization, liberty, independence. Lucifer is the
Logos, the Serpent, the Savior". Nice, huh. Gurdjieff
certainly never equivocated like Madame Scrambles. When speaking of his
Institute for the Harmonious Development of Man, G told students:
"There is something sinister here". Yes, the Kissing Bandit
published. And not one Gurdjieffian on earth today can explain why he
salad-shot his ideas over masses of meat-droids, except money.
Gurdjieff kept running out of boodle because he spent every bulging box
his students handed over, almost the same day, no matter how much it
was, on feasting, phuqueing, and fun. G partied like an ancient
Roman. The single tired excuse for every abuse the man
perpetrated is: teaching by confounding, yet, "Consciously administered
wake-ups". Every nasty thing Gurdjieff ever did is glossed over by
followers, with the same logic art critics use when Postmodernists
exhibit blank canvas'. If Gurdjieff had held his mud ---
initiated students only --- the Work would be entirely different today
and I wouldn't be writing this because I wouldn't know about it.
Instead, G recruited porridge-buzzards and mustashe-ladies with
money. If Mister Bon Bon Pockets had held his sacred secrets, all would
Look, some of it helped me, the rest is Magus money grubbing.
of my best friends, a dear, sweet, caring, kind and generous fellow
named Ken Schooner; master of antique furniture refinishing --- having
studied for years with a famous refinisher in his 80's --- joined Alex
Horn's Group with me. After the Work, for the remainder of his life, no
matter what he tried, Ken's psyche slowly unraveled over decades, until
he went mad and cut a friend's throat with a linoleum knife, simply
because the man asked him to turn down his stereo. The victim barely
survived the attack. After a considerable jail sentence, my friend
joined the Greek Orthodox church and spent hours collecting grasshoppers
in jars. On my last visit, Ken's favorite grasshopper, “Gurdjieff,"
helped him write a poem for me. A really bad grasshopper poem. Ken died
self-medicating. It broke my heart.
Treadwell, joined with Ken and me. And like Ken, Larry was just fine
before he joined. My friend was beaten, scorned, and humiliated until
he left in terrible pain that took over a decade to overcome. In fact,
he was so well balanced, his G-muggers couldn't "break" him no matter
how hard they tried. Still, after he walked, Larry plummeted into
depression and had to crawl out of Hell with no Virgil. One could well
argue "that" was the lesson. Don't get involved in cults, at least,
after the first disaster, avoid the next one. In a sense, that was my
best lesson from being with Alex. Never again did I hang up my common
sense and join much of anything. I tried a lot of different therapies,
but never followed another person claiming to have "inside
knowledge". In 1967,
after I left in disgust, fear, humiliation, depression and anger, I too
went crazy. To be fair, I was crazy when I joined. My friends were not.
I was. Alex seemed to like me for some reason, never once ripping into
me during my year and three months. (One year with Horn equals seven in
mutt years) Perhaps, because I was crazy in a
way he enjoyed. I'll never know. The other students however, smashed me
into a bloody pulp. Once out, I was like Black Beard, a violent Alex
pirate, hurting people right and left everywhere I went. In
shame I confess to almost committing a “date rape”. She fought me off
and I left, not in shame at the moment, but because I was angry at her
understanding what a brilliant Gurdjieff student I was. I might have
been crazy before the Group, I was not violent, (unless in an
blackout). It took decades and a lot of psychiatrists to even begin to
deprogram. Nobody leaves. I'm writing this forty
years later. Another friend, Larry Wiener, an artist with few
hang-ups, joined Alex Horn, with his wife Mary. Before joining, Ken
Schooner, Larry Treadwell, and myself were "best-beatnik's" at their
marriage performed by Suzuki Roshi in the Zen Center in San Francisco.
After Gurdjieff they went through a divorce that made the movie, "War
Of The Roses," look like a Beatrice Potter story. Larry fell so far he
ended up homeless. In the 90's I felt so bad about it, I allowed him to
stay in his van behind my studio. What started as a "few weeks," ended
seven (very) long years later, like the final show of a bad sitcom.
With the help of the San Rafael police, I finally forced Larry to move,
after all of my neighbors in the industrial park hated his guts, and
mine, and I caught him messing with my truck one day during one of his
less than enviable psych-outs. To my best knowledge, Larry has
recovered some, and is finally doing better.
My fine friend Mike
Kelly worked the door with me at Big Al's nightclub in North Beach for
years. After he left the Group Mike tumbled into a hellish limbo. At
66, he drove cab in San Francisco, where big city stress finally killed
him in cruel increments more brutal than I could bear. If one made
the mistake mentioned G to my late friend he would shout, "that fin'
thief asshole pig!" and just kept going for twenty minutes.
Benzon, another dear friend, left the Group, then joined another Group
founded by followers of Alex in Ft. Collins, Colorado. Decades later,
he hates Groups, yet remains obsessed with G ideas. My Group-damaged
friends constitute only a few
of the people I witnessed have troubles after they left. I know of one
couple hurt so badly they will never speak of their experience,
or what happened to their children in G, 35 years later. Understand one
thing clearly. A Magus does not care about the trail of wreckage they
leave behind them, period. Like multi-national corporations being
compared to the traits of psychopaths, "giving a crap" is not in their
Subjective people are things: chairs, dog houses, potential ranches. So
make it about you, for yourself only. Do NOT drag your friends and
family into a Magus School because you think it's cool, and might help
them. Just screw yourself up, and you may end up with self-respect
again years after you leave. It's hard to think I brought people in
that didn't deserve the abuse. Truly, you will be more than happy to
have left your friends and family out of it. It will be the one thing
you feel good about for the next two decades. It is written that
Gurdjieff and Ouspensky died transcendental deaths at the level of
Socrates. That both Teachers surely live on, in self-created bodies
made of psychic-aerosoled hydrogen's on their way to the: "Sun
Absolute". Whew. Because in his William Wegman memento mori G sure
looks like a dead dog to me. Nowadays people are channeling
Gurdjieff & Ouspensky night and day. Good. I hope their groveling
bs drives the two Masters out of their Kesdjan boxer shorts I
mean, giving advice on whether to dump the Econoline for a Mercury
Le Saber, or Waldorf vs. Charter must be worse than counting
cracks in a sidewalk.
Gurdjieff 's Work is never done
He busts your ass from sun to sun
And even after he is dead
He squeezes on your tits in bed
Horn's Group, no cameras allowed! Hey, it's time wires are worn into
Gurdjieff Groups to expose them on national television. Just kidding.
Well, quite easy actually, and bound to happen sooner or later. All one
need do is tell the "screener" they are disappointed in life, feel
there must be more, that they read "Miraculous," and "Meetings," and
have never been in a Group before, and take no psychiatric meds,
especially, how many piles of pesos they rake in every year from their
cash taco chain. This can be coached by any number of apostates. Hey,
even Gurdjieff's Ghost will help. He loves it. He told me he did the
last time we channeled together, last night actually. Let's start with
that Ferrigamo clicker Horn dropped like Rosemary's afterbirth on Red
Mountain in Sonoma. Man, Robert ran with it, gotta hand him that. I
was there. Many were. I was at the beginning for a year and three
months. Mr. Appalling came along later and we don't remember him, which
he, in proper Magus style, offers as his heftiest sly-PLUS, in that he
was so hip he SUPER-OBSERVED and became a Number Jive Man just by
snapping his three brains together. And to think, Alex picked up him up
hitchhiking. Cool. My hair is off to his Machiavellian move in twisting
Alex's Minotaur horns into Unicorn spike. He sure missed out on the
good part though. I'm telling you, we danced around fires naked and
sacrificed a sheep for Passover. A sheep we'd rustled in the middle of
the night from some Subjective farmer's field. Ah, those were the days.
Magus: sly, astute, foxy, guileful, slippery, crafty,
cunning, artful, insidious, vulpine, subtle, tricky, wily, genuinely
disingenuous, calculating, unfrank, grifted, subdolous, designing,
scheming, dangerous, cagy, devious, shady, shifty, erotic, slick,
decisive, divisive, covert, furtive, secretive, stealthy, humorous,
riveting, magnetic, underhanded, ruthless, predatory, dishonest,
skilled, devising, contriving, quick-taking, silky, haunting, silver
Classics trained, sensate, animalistic, hypnotic, brutal,
quote-cribbing, socio-separatist. The reason why people stay with one
is they want to be like them and get all the money too. Well, to be
fair, they stay because all their friends are there, and part of it is
really cool, and they don't want to be seen as being weak and giving up.
Gurdjieff Work is
not Sai Baba sprinkling thumb-tip ashes like a twelve year old magic
kid. Hum, Baba likes those too we hear. Sigh. In all
Groups there is no doubt, an inner circle that forms, sometimes hidden
from the rest of the Group. As John Hightower says, “the farther up the
pole the monkey goes, the more we see his ugly side”. It's always the
four, or nine, or some such "natural" elite that forms via intellectual
affinity and some high ass crotch kissing and butt-naked bucks. The highest
usually stays with the Teacher when it all goes to crap. We had one of
those. Mike Hilsenrad. Others form their own Groups. The entire
worldwide Gurdjieff community is not a community in the usual sense.
Reading the same books is all some Groups share. They are much more
like "cells" that do not know of each other. Some are well known via
internet advertising for students. Most not. You have to "hear"
about them, or be invited.
mean, tables of higher
hydrogen's, hot tubs of coffee, barrels of red & white --- low
paperbacks, medium paperbacks, high hard-bounds --- Pall Malls, juicy
G-ossip, plus: all those SLY bobble-head clerks in Field's Bookstore on
Street in San Francisco, ringing up each Gurchase, then handing it over
with both hands as if worth, ever so much more than the blood you just
dripped on their mystic-meat counter for the most impressive,
intriguing, air-Guitar instruction booklets you will never figure out
in a million years. I washed one hell of a lot of windows to stock my G
shelf. At least the resale value on clean returns is good,
unless your infantile Hell Witch made you glue construction paper over
the covers like some kindergarten kid. The "Commentaries" alone need
cinderblock bookends. That's a lot of gluing, but it's important. You
never want your Subjective sleeper spouse to see your sacred
bullshit. Why? Because if and when they do, they often advise that it
seems to them the silliest crap anybody ever heard of. Plus, they can't
believe you are giving away the family savings for it. Better
dump your sleeper spouse right away. Oh well. Awakening beckons. A
famous G-iggled story concerns G selling, "American canaries," that
were actually sparrows dyed yellow, in a mysterious marketplace in the
exotic East. Gudents take this as a lesson in SLY. Hey, Sham-balla
ain't mysterious no mo, eh. You can see it on your home computer now,
from a camera in space. Gurdjieffians "believe": the world is
one vast criminal enterprise ... all human beings are criminals ...
"even us" ... shocking ... and only after we practice Intentional
Suffering, can we practice “Intentional Crime”, finally groking just
what little sociopathic shit-heels we actually are. Only then, will our
three brains finally get together and be worth a bucket of warm spit,
well Chardonnay, and since our realization is of the Universal sort,
it's objective, with an “O” the size of a cOw's. OooooooMoooooo.... At
an Alex Horn
meeting once, a student asked, "Who is the Devil?" Alex said, "A dwarf
who wears stripped trousers and uses snuff". We all laughed. It was a
cult thing. Sounded right to us.
American Canary Code: We award ourselves
official Human Hunting Licenses from the Gnuomras Bait Shop, to
fascinate Swami-boy out of their California cobra baskets. And oh
yea, now that I am remembering myself again, my next moves involve your
brilliant fiancé. God, she's purty, and all mine sucker, watch me now,
I’m going to sleep with her right in front of you. I remember when only lunch was naked.
Because if we aren't crazy before we get into it, after, with a rewired
brain folks cannot imagine just how naked one's roast beef actually
looks. How psyched-out one might become, especially after G-oons
body-block one down the stairs --- or they "leave," like nearly all
eventually DO, with liberal exceptions for the intellectually
challenged. Unless, that is, you become yet another art collecting
brain-stem penny loafer prick, instructing young men how to chew their
naked dinner rolls, one hundred times each bite, before swallowing.
Another Gurdjieff Quote:
considerable percentage of the people we meet on the street are people
who are empty inside, that is, they are actually already dead. It is
fortunate for us that we do not see and do not know it. If we knew what
a number of people are actually dead and what a number of these dead
people govern our lives, we should go mad with horror".
cigar really, as Night of the Living Dead comes as no surprise. Not
anymore. It worked back then. "BOO!" The quote is a stroke of Magus
fear used on students to keep them hooked, attached, and handing over
big cash. A Magus is a painter, using people instead of oils. Fear of getting kicked out,
or missing your “one” special chance at awakening Works as a psychic
rarefier. Students latch on to it's obverse, since they at least are
trying to wake-up, and hearing it reinforces their desire for: IN
Group. I don't care if it's Knights of Pythias, the Elks, or the Lion's
Club ... folks are social animals and love grouping. NOTE: Some
tribes are good. If there are any Gurdjieffians out there who don't
know this, the Lion's Club raises funds that have helped hundreds of
thousands of people keep their eyesight. A gifted visual artist friend
of mine named Walter deSanti was beaten on the street by thugs causing
his retinas to be detached, ending his career. The Lion's Club paid
every cent of Walter's eye surgery with no expectation of
reimbursement. The bill was huge. As Gurdjieffians, since you can't be
bothered with Subjective dead people, I just thought, that in case one
of you Unique Buttholes ever has a retina detachment during one of your
bogus Group fist fights, and you don't like being blind, you might USE
the Lion's Club without mercy if you want to save some scratch. Remember, all sheep
are for fleecing. Grab the free money and run you clever awakening knucklehead you. I honor most of
all, those who stood up and left right in front of us. They were hooted
and jeered. Some were beaten with fists and thrown down stairwells. One
day on a ranch I was actually goaded into pretending to butt-hump
the man I found most "attractive," a man to this day I sympathize with,
not, because Marty R. bent over and took it like a repressed bonobo,
but because not one of us hollered, ENOUGH!
Well, except me.
"I" left, just not in front of the Group. I didn't want another beating. I slithered.
yes, I know, I should have finished digging that septic tank for Alex.
Read it and weep. Students actually followed me and pushed notes under
my door. I wanted to spray them with Raid. I moved. I had a psychotic
break. Got married. Had another psychotic break. Got divorced ... had
another psychotic break, died, and was reborn as a name painter. What
the hell else could I do? My friend Mike Benzon left nearing the
end, when the remaining men decided the only thing to do was
have a series of blunt force trauma encounters among themselves to see
who could stay. And that's how Alex Horn's original Gurdjieff Group
"ended" folks. In a series of hardcore fist fights over weeks of
elimination bouts; winners IN --- losers OUT.
Teachers hate the
I.R.S. more than pimps, counterfeiters, and safecrackers put together.
They never pay taxes on the cash they rake in, and the I.R.S. is
missing out on millions. It's the Number One reason for Gurdjieffian
secrecy. Although, they are Objective thieves remember, which makes it
okay for them to steal from Uncle Sam. It's a cash business. Gurdjieff ain't no religion. Don't
forget to Self-Remember that. It's a School. This is a test. G
said men and women are: "Towers of Babble," (no kidding) consisting of
hundreds of separate "I's" at odds with each other, (WARNING - WARNING
- WARNING: proceed here with caution ... further absorption of this
idea might well "I"-bomb your amygula with a good deal more of a
Gnuckle sandwich than you currently think possible. In other words,
there is an ancient reason why breaking a mirror brings seven years bad
luck. Fine,, your choice. Each "I" vying for the stage of the
so-called, "false personality," to the egregious suffering of the
"essence," whatever that might be. That these "I's" come and go, each
misrepresenting itself as YOU. Hundreds of them, Divide and conquer. Gurdjieff
convinced folks they were actually jillions of, "I's," &
proto-selves. Some ex-G's handle it okay. I know them too. Martin Van
Der Kamp for one. He loves it, even becoming an appreciator of G's
harmonium playing: for me, Musak to grout tile by. And I love music.
And I really tried. Sorry. It’s Guzak. Any so-called
awakening that shatters minds like mirrors is best left to the Magus
and the Shaman. And you are not a Magus or a Shaman even if you live in
Mill Valley. Standing before a true Magus will shrivel your spleen into bacon chrispy. A Magus
uses divide and conquer as the shortest route to total freedom (money,
sex, power, Oriental carpets, crumpets, strumpets) for them. After you
cross their bridge they close shop and take off in the other direction
like the carpetbaggers in Mark Twain. Never give up your common sense,
intuition, and reason for anyone else's "truth". Since you are required
to make your own truth in the Work anyway, why not actually do that
instead of projecting onto a Teacher who is half amazing, half psychic
vampire. At least learn to follow your common sense, that still small
voice that says, "this is crap ... he/she is in it for the money and sex".
Avoid rules that are not self-imposed.
If you cannot ask questions without being shot down, leave.
Gurdjieff idea that cannot be transferred orally, in a circle of quiet
discourse with later mentation, using simple, gentle shock exercises
and self-observation is one hundred percent camel shit.
are hundreds of Gurdjieffians who upon reading this (which is funny,
since most won't) would surely declare that I was never in the REAL
Work, because I studied under Alex Horn, and of course, they declare
him, NOT a real Teacher. Bullshit. They're full of it. I've thought
about it and changed my mind. Actually, the late Alex Horn was more of
a Gurdjieffian in one earlobe than all of them put together which is
why they hated him. Alex was a force of nature. Gurdjieff was a force
of nature. And nature is kinky. Most critics never met or Worked with
Alex, therefore, with no direct experience are violating their own G
laws. There is not one Gurdjieffian in the world today who could motor
their skiff into Horn's harbor and not get Rob Zombied, and probably
learn a lot. Those who think Alex was not a true Gurdjieffian, simply
have not taken a freezing cold look at who Gurdjieff actually was. A
violent, manipulating, mystic motherfucker who didn’t give a cold turd
about anything except his personal AWAKENING fueled by student money.
You can say a lot of things about Alex Horn, and I do, but the man was
not asleep. Credit goes where credit's due. And, yes, he loved money.
In many ways, his Chief Feature. Horn was a lightning rod. When
you hang with an iconoclast, you'll get burned. I'm just another
lunch-gut who got hit, and, unless fool's fate placed me there at the
beginning of Horn's festival of unintentional suffering, for some reason
I do not yet understand, I should not have been there at all. At the
time, I needed sobriety, not to mention serious psychiatric integration from
years of child sex abuse, not an atomic "I"-bomb.
I have nothing
against anyone who takes any self-absorbed path except suicide bombers,
after all, I am a life long painter, and if a paianter is not
self-absorbed, then pigs actually do fly.
Gurdjieff is rules and
laws. Rules ABOUT laws. In my experience, rules do not awaken. What
wakes me up is simply: waking the phuque up! Nothing else. Some simple
exercises, that's all.
Rules are Military School.
Rules against personal expression.
Rules against "imagination".
Rules against being black or gay. Yes, some Groups discriminate.
Rules against students meeting outside meetings.
Rules of reporting everything via telephone to someone you do not know: who cannot possibly know you.
Rules that insist you wear certain clothing and chew every bite of food with "Conscious intention".
about your mouth, as in: you have two weeks to get your teeth whitened
because I never blow students until their teeth glow like boy-pearls.
No bow-ties. No watches. That's all
Trickster crap. Even G, one of the greatest Tricksters to ever grace
this planetary gem, did not do that. If your best friend of thirty
years takes you to a so-called real G meeting with a so-called real
teacher, make sure your Terminator arm has a new fuel cell. Never
hookup like I did, not knowing who the hell Gurdjieff even was.
Never listen to a so-called telephone "sustainer". Blow a siren-whistle in the mouthpiece and wake them up.
you do try a Group, read up and: be SLY, for YOURSELF. The older
Groupies are snoring, almost every one. They "act" awake, which is
another form of sleep they have "graduated" into. You are their new
robo-sheep-wakeup-unit. Later you will USE newcomers as your
robo-sheep-wakeup-units, shearing off their fluffy wool and eating
their lamb chops with mint jelly. Um.
If they say: "You'll die like a dog!" lift your leg and piss on their brogans.
your so-called Teacher tells you to give them more money than you can
afford for hosting a Tupperware party for eight say, or five CD's from
the Computer Professor, call the Scooter Store and roll. Especially if
you are a millionaire. Because if you are, a Magus will skin you alive.
They will tell you that you cannot value what you do not pay for and
since you have millions you need to pay BIG. Bull-fuckin'-shit. The teacher wants a new car, okay. Did the Apostles have Amex?
you answer an ad, and they ask if you have read about them on the NET,
hang up the phone . They are manipulators
who will squash you like a potato bug.
Over time, G ears clog
with Subjective wax. We're spies remember, which leads to
self-centered impaction of more than ear canals. Think very hard
arteries in people with less compassion than a wolverine taking out a
fly fisherman. At least the wolverine runs up Eddie Bauer and rips his
throat out first.
G's rarely respond to critics. Why would they? To
come out of personal hiding would be to actually engage Subjectives,
for them, the horror of all horrors. They're stuck in Goodoo up to their
slies. Objectives can't reason with Subjectives, because sleepers don't
understand elite intellectual magicians. Imagine Orage teaching the Law
Of Seven to Gomer Pyle.
If they say: "We are THE Conscious
School," call Yellow Cab. If they say, "We are just a little PREP
School," (as G did) get on your stick-horse and gallop. Their little
"prep" School has probably been slumming off newcomers for forty years.
Gurdjieff spouse begins (usually quite early) to see how his/her
partner is a sleepwalking duffas. It's like racism. Call it "sleepism".
We are cool awakeners. Everybody else including the spouse: the OTHER
--- "hi honey ... I'm home! And I'm dumping your ass today to get it over with now, right in the beginning. Sure, we had a
terrific marriage, but baby, you don't want no mystic lessons at all . You can keep the kids, I just want the car"
Divorce is common. Even demanded at times by some asswipe "teachers".
Due Monday / What Happens
When The Work Goes Wrong?
Work is serious psychological reorganization at depth. You don't know
how, or if, you will heal after your brains are shattered and glued
back together by people who have no right in this world to do that to
anyone, not just you. For sure, never, ever, let some gang of Guppies
out for a little Synanon encounter fun, circle you chanting:
"gooble-gobble, gobble-google, we will make you one of us". Just haul
off and kick the nearest idiot in the balls as hard as you can and run
for your car. Taser the Teacher. Carry a CS canister and use it while
bolting backwards out the door.
If your "Master," ever sucker-punches you in the stomach, wait until he/she's off your case, then
return the favor with brass knuckles in the face. A Magus never calls the cops. Never
go to your first few months of meetings alone. Join up with a sumo. If
they won't let you join with a sumo: DON'T. If they will, witness for
each other. Then if anyone beats the crap out of you, walk out of the
meeting, cellphone 911, wait for the Subjective cops, and herd those
stupid cop-sheep back into the meeting and swear out a sumo witnessed formal
complaint for Conscious assault and battery. The teacher will make bail
the same night, and the entire "School," will disappear the next day,
however, you will have bummed their evening, and there's something to
be said for that. Plus, the teacher will then be wanted by the police.
Not that he/she isn't already, but every little bit helps. It is
said, that everybody in the Work eventually "falls", (sooner than
later) that is, has a group experience and finally sees themselves as
others see them. Followed by becoming their own negative "enemy,"
the same way they see "mechanical humanity". It's mystical mirrors, but
it Works great on people suffering modern angst who need to dig in the
dirt because their intellect is driving them crazy and they need to
first "locate their body in time and space" using a shovel, then go out
and get laid like never before, a lot, thus balancing the three brains,
Intellectual, Emotional, and Crotch .
Gurdjieff shunning has the effect of turning one completely invisible.
When I did it to others, I called it: Work. When others eventually did
it to me, I called it: "the shuffle-muffle", or something, I know I
had a name for it. I felt ashamed for having done it to others
before I left. I remember in a San Francisco Safeway once, looking up
to see a woman I had been close to in the Group, and she simply could
not see or hear me due to her superior status. I had done the same. These living-dead were
pervasive because the "prep School," I was in had three hundred
students at one point. As an exile, running across them was not
uncommon. As I galloped, I got the same mummy-mug I no doubt gave others before I left. Gurdjieff
Work teaches out-and-out heartlessness. At least admit that
for Christ Absolute sake. We carried it like vise-grips in our amoral
tool-belt. If a student got booted (in order to spread terror through
us Sunday fainters) the rest of the mob, me included,
jeered like slavering jackals, until before leaving I finally
stopped jeering from shame. I was "waking up". Other's went quietly,
though, just as melodramatically, because we loved them so much, we
Don't worry, be happy, Gurdjieff will never die.
2005, G has finally become nothing less than George Ivanovitch
Einstein. This is America, not Kurdistan. Nowadays G is a full-blown
cultural "I"con. Coming soon to a boutique near you: Gurdjieff wearing
eyeball-spring glasses on G-shirts.
leaving my forehead-monster back along the trail of broken dreams, it
walking around with someone else's mental illness. Jeeze. I had my own
which was bad enough. Gurdjieff is not
some box of frozen veggies like Deepak Chopra, or any other awakening
you ever careened into a tree before, no matter how bad that may have
been, even if you got diddled by Dicktananda. When the Work goes wrong,
it eviscerates self-respect, common sense, and reason, all while
warping good will into philosophically sanctioned AIM making
misdemeanors and other crimes. Never let yourself be
manipulated, ever, through fear of not getting in, or leaving. Then you
know instantly you are in the wrong room. If any person gets humiliated
and kicked out, leave the meeting with them and go have coffee
together. That person probably has a lot on the ball and the Teacher
realizes they are beginning to see through their b.s. Teachers have a
keen sense of exactly when to boot the next sucker out for the best
dread result. Have several cups of strong coffee with your new friend
and wake each other up. A lot of seeker-somethings embrace
Gurdjieff ideas like widows reading supermarket romance novels. It's
musketeer meets maiden on horseback in twilight with gold, fire-sticks,
feasting, tobacco, booze, broads and bad boys. The typeset evokes
wanderlust, burning punk, yak butter tea. Just, chuck the ancient
wisdom of the Middle East at the meeting room door. Cover your ASP. Be
ready to strike. If you like American Idol, you will love Gurdjieff.
Imagine your boss is Simon Cowell and you work for him seven days
a week. For years. Cards
up, Gurdjieff is a bait and switch with brilliant bait and a dark
switch. The warnings --- if you get any these days, which you probably
do not --- are bum, because one cannot possibly imagine the changes
that will come into their life as a result of being mangled by
Gurdjieff enjoyed the finest, even during times
of war. Nazi's were stalking the streets of Paris, yet G's larder was
stocked with everything from roasted witchity grubs, to crab cake
Rangoon's, and frozen girl-milk, you know, with chocolate covered
flies. I mean, Gurdjieff had cheeses made from the pupae of select
Chinese butterflies, canned sex organs of rare starfish, preserved
probosci of anteater (with fire ant garnish), harmonium cake, even
shoepick de garliqué. Ah, fresh manash-potat with cutcut-purrie. Oh
yea, and pickled squirrel eggs. Lots and lots of pickled
squirrel eggs in Mobster Sauce. Even mockingbird chimichangas for crap
you are accepted by a Teacher, (on review) after some rigamarole,
grilling, including a telephone friend (sustainer) to keep you on KEY
through octaves of asleep-at-the-wheel skidding during your flatland
pay job, and begin Working toward becoming a "Numbered Man," that is:
from brainy ditch-digger to "Esoteric Christ Absolute".
Secretly of course.
reason for secrecy is, say Homer Simson has you over for barbecued
squirrel eggs with manash-potat and canary chips, and you happen to let
it drop you think Marge's hair looks like some bouffant cartoon, you
come off lower than mildew. Talking about what you are doing outside
the Work, breeds incredulous reactions. They don't want that happening
because you might start thinking for yourself again and then, they'd
lose your cash donations. "They know not what they do," is an
example of a redefined scripture, used as an "Esoteric," logging-wedge
between: WorkGroup / world-at-large.
Us & Them.
do not "believe," the way other's do. They Work toward self-made
immortality through cigarettes. Hey, fine. Who cares if they don't
believe in "belief". Come on, "not believing" is just another belief. Gurdjieff
said the Universe is 100% material, that by eating "higher hydrogen's,"
one can sort of aerosol coats of ionized gas into their insides to make
an astral body, called, "the body Kesdjan". Alex Horn told us he
chain-smoked Pall Mall's because tobacco contained higher hydrogen's
needed to create his soul. The Work's darkest side is:
"inner-fascism" toward one's negative "I's". Students end up hating
"sleep" in themselves and others. The problem: "hate" in any form is
the worst negative emotion of all: blocking all chance of Work, or so
it is claimed. G comes complete with promise of the Inner Circle
of Humanity sending "C" (Conscious) influences into the outer reaches
of mechanical doggie hell, where us sleeping K9's are messing up the
world (and) the "Inner Circle of Humanity," never sends any negative
influences because THEY are Objective loving beings at the level of
Abraham, Christ and Mohammed, which is why those religions all get
along so well today. "Conscious," men and women, with extra
assorted rascals, including a seminal list of very high order GIP's,
mostly men, are trotted out to show how HIGH the Teacher must be. See
it. The elbows they claim to rub are embarrassing. There is not one
among them including Gurdjieff himself, fit to sweep the porch of those
they claim to represent. They don't have enough GNA in their skin-tags
to stand in shadow of Pythagorus. The man would have sent one of his
lesser students out to run them off with a Golden Mean cattle-prod. Another
notion: so-called psychic "buffers" keep us from cracking up, while
protecting our "essence" from hard knocks. We supposedly need buffers
to walk around with polarities: i.e., sub-personalities, yet, they
screw up our inner Work because they keep the so-called "essence" too
buffered, thus: foiled from almost all authentic root expression. Could
be right, so what. The Work you have to do is not good for most.
Gurdjieff Work should be in small groups of carefully screened folks.
Gurdjieff said his Work had ancient roots --- which means it must be wonderful, right?
Sarmoung Scroll: Good.
Computer Scroll: Bad.
said his presentation was new, and that the way he put it together had
never been before. He stressed how impossible it all was: how one must
have the right Teacher, and one must do exactly as the right Teacher
instructs. For this you get to blood-blister your hands and feet all
day and night while your teacher drinks Benedictine and Brandy and
sexes up their students. I don't know about you, but I just love
sacrificing my money and life to Super Special Assholes so they can
have all the fun. How in hell could anyone find the "right"
Teacher and Group in this mess, which by violating oral teaching,
Gurdjieff degraded himself? There you are in your Group, (the
elite on earth with a slim chance at Esoteric Heaven) slying-around,
"externally considering," recruiting new people, in ways that, when you
strike up a conversation in Café de la Phuqué Ewé, you listen and respond
from, "School". It's what the Children of God called, "flirty fishing,"
only, without the blow job Well, usually without the blow job. Shame on
them. The least they could do is blow everybody equally. Later
you are home for Thanksgiving with your sleeping loved ones and your
heart bleeds with "Conscious" caring for them, because they will
probably never find this miraculous Work that you have found, and you
can't tell them about it, (sob) or explain the TRUE meaning of Esoteric Christmas, therefore, mom & dad will be eaten
by the moon and crapped out at the level of the minerals, and there you
sit at their table, "knowing," a lot about everything, forcing yourself
to feel lower than them just to seem "equal".
It's okay. You're just nuts from not shooting the curl soon enough, that's all.
you G, for the "I-balls" to see you with. And thank you for the poise
to duck your pies. And thank you for the GREAT lesson you
provided by skidding your Citroen into that tree.
renamed the mystic world with about fifty or sixty, perhaps one
hundred, jargon words --- nothing wrong there --- except after I left,
the jargon cursed my life with the torments of Job. Because you see,
every one of those words, is full-term, conjoined-twins-pregnant, with
levels of meaning, exercises, mentation. Look rube, we are privy to the
most ancient, Esoteric Christian Secrets of the Universe in the lives
of men and women. Well, okay, not exactly secret anymore since
Gurdjieff decided to give away the Sarmong Brotherhood, over the
Parable of the Happy Meal, in some prewar-McDonald's, to Ouspensky, who
after years ended up splitting from G and dying a lonely
paranoid, living in Hell Absolute.
than that, Super Size me. What
I am saying is, the first good "shots" of awakening at the beginning:
Self Remembering / Split Attention --- IS IT. With some other good
things, all of which can be gotten from G's books. Split your attention
and split. Gurdjieff said Self Remembering was only the beginning. He
needed money for squirrel eggs, remember. Don't
let them blow your brain into ten thousand unconnected "I's" then
refinance your mortgage. Split attention is the same as: Thich Nhat
Han's: "Mindfulness". A much healthier approach. Mindfulness means
washing dishes (not dishwashing) while actually: WASHING DISHES. This
cannot be done without split attention. Case closed. Gurdjieff would
have you washing dishes, while standing on one foot, tapping logarithms
backwards with the other. Gurdjieff was: THE MAN. He got,
writers, musicians, photographers, accountants, biographers, cooks,
coffee-runners, housekeepers, groundskeepers, artists in residence,
massage therapists, even Fritz the Boy Wonder. In short, all the
things a Magus pulls in with their psychic drag-net, on the one hand,
fear and Trickster humor on the other, at least seven Master-rambles up
the alpha pyramid: that is: Conscious One about town, all donated and
controlled, along with plenty of gold bars, coins, watches &
chains, gems, cameos, silks, oil paintings, temple prostitutes, Persian
Polident (with ooze control), ivory dildos, magical broaches, ancient
talismans, rare medications, jade pipes, opium balls, Tibetan
turquoise, Tijuana velvet paintings, African masks, goose-bear
lozenges, Viking beads, Ionic Breeze machines with patented Zenion
technology, bolts of silk, Russian sable brushes, crystal carvings,
gold inlaid bone buttons, Egyptian embroideries, chod bowls, crystal
yantras, lava-lamps, meteorite yakshas, manuscripts, parchments, not to
mention a fine tailor, doctor, bail bondsman, and dentist. Let's hear
it for the Magus!
Here's how it could happen. You're
lurching down Market Street one morning humming, "Life Is But A Dream,
shaboom, shaboom," on your way to your dead-end cubicle feeling "what's
the use," and run into an old friend you really care about, who tells
you over coffee, in so many words, that you only think you know what's
really going on, and rather mysteriously challenges you to check out an
introductory Gurdjieff meeting, where you'll be free to ask all the
questions you want, no pressure. And you're a "seeker-something" (who
isn't) ... out for a little quintessential truth, eh: Esoteric Good
is only one reason for recruiting new blood: money for the teacher.
Think about it. A Magus has nothing to gain from your "enlightnment".
Only their own. They need money for this. Your
"perhaps" friend even says to think of it as, "your meeting," which is
another "sly," since no meeting is ever "yours" unless you're the
Teacher. And you think you're pretty cool, so you drop in to check it
out, and while you're there some gell-butchie with fried-egg-tits tells
you to shut the phuque up, but you stay for some reason, and practice a
couple of simple exercises, and see yourself as quite phony. This may
or not be true. Still, nothing shines brighter than a
self-interrogation spot. And you don't like what you see in
yourself, and you want to change, and you feel especially devastated to
"understand" what a cobbled together "Rube Goldberg machine" you are
told you are, so much so, that, (SWITCH) you are told you need other
self-diagnosed Rube Goldberg machines, called students, also seeking to
awaken, in the School, composed of other Seekers of Esoteric Truth,
shocking each other awake, which you are told, you cannot do on your
own, because no matter how many alarm clocks you set, you will soon go
back to sleep and not hear them anymore, therefore, forget to remember,
Self-Remembering. So you join a Group of students dedicated to
waking each other through shocks. See, right there, pychic hand
grenades can outright destroy some lives.
Powder-monkeys love it because they get to jump around a lot, and prime
the cannons. This is where you'll need your canister of CS gas. If
you are being hurt in a "G" Group, get out of there fast. I imagine
it's hard enough to face your demons in a quiet study Group. The Work
is Alfred Hitchcock dark, "murder by a babbling brook," that sort of
thing. Lucifer the Light Bringer ... Morning of the Magicians ... the
Dawn of Man. Or as Gurdjieff proposed in one his first recruiting
pamphlets: Herald of the Coming Good. Magick. That's fine if you want
it. If you don't want it, and don't quite understand what your are
getting into, it can end up a misery like no other. Gurdjieff
said: "Man, as he is, is nothing more than a cork floating on top of a
stream. The Real Objective Truth is that all of humanity is nothing
much more than a blade of grass or a leaf on a tree".
HUMANITY, for the love of Three Stooges, that is simply nihilistic
beyond measure, really. I mean, talk about abject hopelessness as a
motivator. Don't do it unless you're sure you want to evolve yourself
into: "A GOD," thereby escaping the cosmic conveyor of factory
funerals. That's like telling a rock climber: "see that pinnacle over
there. It's never been conquered. Over two thousand climbers have been
killed trying. Your chances of making it are less than theirs." And the
rockhound starts packing because she figures, if that many died before
her, then her chances must be better than excellent. With G it's like:
"wow, a shot at being the one Charlie Tuna in ten million who escapes the net
and actually achieves higher water ... just think ... why ... I could
hang with Jesus on Titan. Hey, I could BE Jesus on Titan. Hey, I could
be Jonathan Livingston Tuna in Modesto!"
They tell you the world is strewn
with dying dogs who attempted the "Work of Works," and your chances are
less than theirs, and you climb the dang pinnacle and fall off. Strange
smart-apes we. Thinking in fact, precisely BECAUSE the odds are so bad,
we, individually have a better chance. Vegas runs on this brilliant
truth. A dna quirk? Hey, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
Bullshit it does, I’m talking, and, so are others now. Check the NET they tell you to never do
... try: Rick Ross and key in "Gurdjieff" for reports of damaged students in their own hand. You see, a Magus "Works the quirks,"
knowing the less chance a person has of actually getting something big,
the harder they will Work: to never get it. This may be a vestige from
hunting and gathering times, when it meant absolute survival to
keep-on-keepin-on. Flash Forward to Ralph's delivering hot meals and
forget hunting and gathering. Only the smart-ape brain is still wired
for it. And after a rain, there's that smell in the rising steam evoking
wanderlust. When you describe mechanical humanity: (dressed in:
"Objective sorrow and suffering for sleeping humankind"), as a cork on
a stream, you are not a person with the high aim of helping others
awaken even more, from the tedious hypnosis of social activity and hive
living. You are a person who scares people out of their money, an
ancient GRIFT for sure. What is astonishing to me, is
after folks are kicked out, that at least one student does not go back
and take out the Group with a Super Soaker full of liquid dog shit.
Fontainebleau Columbine. Since Gurdjieff said higher
Consciousness was only for the miniscule few, he must have been awake
enough to know that this special knowledge was wrong for release into
mass culture where it would be profaned and hurt thousands of people.
He didn't care. This was all about fundraising through the: "Trick of
Two," Acceptance / Fear. A Magus plays the two off against each other
to make FRICTION, because friction is where the money and action are. Ask
yourself this: was it Objective Compassion that released Gurdjieff
writings by himself and many others (in direct opposition to ancient
ORAL traditions) to be misunderstood and profaned? We Work hard though, sacrificing for the Magus ... the Work. You've
got to hand us that. When we go for it, we "sacrifice," a lot. For
instance, I took everything I owned except clothes and shoes, etc.,
took it to a flea market at the Cow Palace in San Francisco and sold my
entire childhood collection of fantastic art from around the world, to
pay Alex Horn who used it to support his Gal-coholism. You
figure if you try real hard, even if you don't make Esoteric Christian
status, at least all your Work will have made you a better, "more
around for months on end will not make you any more Conscious than the
first exercises you did that woke you up to begin with. Look
in the personals section of city newspapers. Masochists always WAY
outnumber sadists. Always. Your poor-in-spirit heart is ashamed, in
need of much correction. And even if you ever did attain, "higher
Consciousness," according to The Lord of the Slies, you'd be one in a
ten million. Let's hear it for brain spanking. Glotto players love it.
only that, after all is said and done, you likely will have mistreated
your spouse, children, brothers, sisters, friends, poodle, and
goldfish, plus given quite a lot of your money, sweat, and time to the
"Work" for pretty much nothing in return. You certainly will never end up a
Number 5 or 6 "Man". So far, every Teacher claiming numbered status is
an obvious fraud. They tell you, "higher people don't go around proving
it! They don't have to!" Hey, Gurdjieff didn't exactly drive his Citroen through
that tree. Suddenly
seeing yourself as other people truly see you, and have always truly
seen you, is bad enough. I mean, people who have been unhappily going
about their day job with the self-awareness of a house cat, (which is
purrty good by the way) suddenly find themselves, "... walkin' on
golden slivers ..." and even twenty seconds of this SEEMS worth twenty
years of struggle, except most people simply cannot take a full-out
assault on their Swinger personalities. It's nothing new.
Fundamentalist Christians admit that their worst defect is, and I
quote: "shooting our wounded". The
whole mess is almost impossible to explain. Nobody has that much time.
And dang it all anyway, you did get something from it. Of course, as
could have gotten a lot from an Amtrak derailing. And you can
have find "self-awareness" from any number of meditation courses.
SENSE: our most faithful Steward, we ignore: while manipulation, and
con, we buy. Why?
Dr. Gil Roberts, climber of Mount Everest on the National Geographic
Expedition, a great guy who challenged Alex to a duel for screwing his
wife after Gil had given the man untold wealth. I couldn’t figure out
why Alex liked me so much. Never have. Once at a banquet on the Feather
River I went into an alcoholic blackout and crashed over the table to
fight Gil Roberts, (who won the fight by the way) and got kicked out of
the group. When I showed up at the next meeting, Alex winked at me and
said, “Welcome back”. Weird. I had no money. Well, I could sing.
Alex had me doing songs like, “Dear Old Buffalo Boy” at weddings, etc.
That must be it. G professed the most bizarre flapdoodle to come
down the line since the first red-assed confidence clown declared the
end of the world was coming on Friday afternoon at 2:43 so you'd better
get your act together and give all your wine, nuts, honey, and fruit
preserves to ME, because I'm the only Gidiot that can save you. Oh, and
don't forget your pots of wine, and your youngest daughters. Actually
I'll take all of your daughters except the lesbian with the wooden leg. It's
as ridiculous as Blavatsky, touting "Kut Humi," as her personal
representative of the ancient "Ascended Masters," while claiming him to
be the reincarnation of both: Pythagorus and Saint Francis. Oh sure,
that must be true. After all, old Humi "materialized," letters from the
spirit world just for her --- through outright fraud, by retiring to
her room and writing Kut's "spirit notes" herself. There's something
desperately Nora Desmond about that gurl that makes my skin crawl. The real
SHOCK, is that people actually believed her and still do. It seems
Pythagor-sissi mostly wrote Fatassky's followers asking them to give
her lots of money. And they DID! An excellent argument for psychiatric
meds. Nowadays, even before people hear about, "Work," it is as
if they already have psychic receptor sites for it: digital dendrite
cookies awaiting one command stroke at the right moment, and click: two
weeks later their entire library is in boxes and they've sold the
bedroom set. And I'm talkin' receptor sites the size of the nipples on the
Grand Tetons, that decades earlier rejected UFO abductee meetings, said
no thanks to Jehovah Witnesses, Scientologists, Lifespringers,
Forumites, Mary Kay, and Thelema, yet, by way of Gurdjieff's
flash-forward into "Self-Remembering," it's as if a string of psychic
pop-beads closes, then on through years of concentric circling toward
the ultimate: whispered: Inner Circle Of Humanity, until finally:
reaching the very: "Well of the Work" itself, (yea, I know, a deep
subject for a shallow guy like me).
big WIN: the Six Dollar Burger for $3.95. Talk about bunion grim. The
sin is not getting fleeced. The sin is not facing up to getting
fleeced. We're: IN. The whole rest of the world: OUT? Hey Gashole, get
out of the group --- you put a question mark after that, get out! Hey,
you sure cuss alot ... why? Fuck you poofter! You're out of the
Group! Get the guck out and never come back or I’ll break your face
with a cinderb!ock! Well
shiver me timbers young Jim'arkins and please forgive me sins.
Can I stay if I do five thousand psychic push-ups and promise to kidnap
Santa Claus next December for the Feather River Winter Camp? I see
clearly now, you must be right because you cuss like a roustabout on
Carnivale, and, well, because you just damn well fan your peacock
feathers right out there and say so. Good enough for me.
Yep. You just say so, dang it. Finally, I see now how you are charged
to carry the elite wisdom of the ages, because, well, you rejected
yesterday, then, turned around and accepted them all today, but
especially how you put down your silver fork every single time you
Fine, I'm channeling Kut Humi tonight and telling. All of it.
Added Boner Feature:
A ROBERT BURTON
REPORT FROM KABUL
day some Magus--tripping Gurdjieff "student" sent me an e-mail from
thought must be a
put-on of some sort. 2004 I think. I don’t know. I figured it was the
FBI updating my file again. The sender said every word was direct from
an official, “student eyes only,” monthly note-sheet, purporting it to
the actual words of G-penis, Robert Burton. Evidently
they had picked up his newsletter while kicking around the weekly
goat-testicle-meeting at Saturday Market in Kabul. And, they were
actually requesting my comments on it because I’d shot my wad
off about Gurdjieff in this stupid article, and they wanted more. I also figured it could
be from Burton himself, as a joke. You know, what do you do after you
collect all those paintings and sculptures? Collect more? Or
goad some ex-guppies for a few
laughs between giving conscious blow jobs and kicking people out for waking up. So I e-mailed back
hoping to give the Feds, or R, or both, a bit of
sizzle-frival, completely forgetting the impossibility of either
of them groking the ravings of the Central
Casting "G" Type I am, which is: Lunatic Type, not to mention bum and tramp.
"Lunatics", said Mr.
Ouspensky, "are like politicians, people who think they can do, people
who think that they can change life by means of themselves, people who,
if they put their theories into practice, create greater disorder
because they do not calculate Second Force. (Oooo, Second Force, all bow before the Queen) This means that they think they can
change everyone by some new enactment and do not realize that to change
a person is a very difficult thing. These are the Lunatics, and again,
they do not see the fool in themselves."
Oh really. I see it alright. The King has me in his court for just that reason. I make him laugh at himself.
Hubris, always my strong suit.
You mean Lunatic Type like
Gurdjieff himself? I assume Ouspensky included himself in my G catagory
too, since the man went completely mad and died a terrible paranoid
death from giving away his life to an amoral man who used him like a
box of Kleenx for writing and publishing secrets G was never supposed to reveal. No
wonder Gurdjieff and Ouspensky produced so many
sociopathic teachers, without a single hint of shame, kindness, caring or concern
for the people they stomped into the dirt and left in the road behind them. Oh bs Davy ... calm down. Breathe. Your case
worker will get upset and take away your shapes-tray again. Remember
how you were just in another bipolar swamp that day? ––– not to be sucked
––– otherwise you might have dumped the e-mail from Kabul with your
other spam? You are not a Lunatic Type Davy, not at all. You are
officially mentally ill, remember? After you left Gurdfjieff behind
along the trail of lost men, and got diagnosed by Doktor Doomphobia,
and he put you on lithium and Prozac? Rememberhow
your kids had to pull you out of the woods that day, talking to a
boulder? And the boulder was talking back? In iambic pentameter? How you were hallucinating the little people on the Doktor's face and screamed when his receptionist walked in? How you thought he was Belfegore in drag?
Fine, the truth will out.
The e-mail claimed Burton wrote: The mechanical I's represent chaos: the work I's represent harmony.
thought, sure, get lost in your I's for me please, so “I” can continue
vacuuming up the rest of your dead mother's money.
Over the years I had received a lot of godforsaken Burton-dirt
from folks that claimed they were there at his infamous Ranch, then left in
abject depression, broke, broken, angry and extremely vengeful. They
wanted the man’s elderly balls staked to the walls of their cave apartments for Christmas decorations. Then too, Robert
and I were together in Alex’s group so hey, I really got "into it" that day, yep, just
went for the neckulars. Just laid back blurting my tonsorials out, and
those b-oysters had been yanked by Doktor
Torquemada when I was fine. I couldn’t help myself though. Never could.
Of course, I didn’t know Robert during "who's got the biggest swinging-dong competition" on
Red Mountain. Nobody did. The Group was huge. Well, and Robert had
already mastered the ancient art of magick invisibility, thus giving him the
opportunity of self-remembering himself while remembering he was, without any
of us however, remembering him. Cool move. Bingo!
Number Jive man.
Burton said this? I doubt it. This has to be the FBI: In
relation to rearranging one's thinking to bring one closer to
consciousness, I noticed that my queens were about to express
self-pity, and I said "Stay in the Kings".
thought, man, that tops Long Dong Silver.
Arrrrrg! We should go out tonight Bobby, full-moon-it so to speak, you
know, gig us up some bullfrogs, have a fire, gobble legs, melt up some
smoores, then pee our names together on the pond-bank, okay? Five merit
badges for one event! Five apiece!
Then Burton supposedly said: Give the queen and inch, and it will take a mile.
I thought, oh shit, that means four and a half inches is too short. I’m screwed . Oh well.
I love this one, and, I believe Bobby did say this one for sure: If one uses the TWELVE mechanical intellectual parts of centers correctly, they produce the conscious world twelve.
Jesus H. Cripe!
... now the student has TWELVE (count them) “mechanical” Intellectual
parts to drive
them crazy, on top of the twelve non-mechanical ones already orphaned in their
Gurdjieff gland. Okay, do I have
to explain everything? This is a Mighty Morphin’ Magus move. He's
as absentee landlord for gullible psyches or my name ain’t Yosemite
Sam. Buy into this one and you just rented a brown recluse web for your
next apartment. A magician opens free space in “baby-brains”
slicker than geeks do with extra server-space. It’s lesser-magus-magick, to “charm” you, then it’s the
whole Intifada sucker, wallet, carpentry skills, inheritance, talents,
loyalty, trust, ranch, home, cow, geese,
children, wife, except the lesbian with the wooden leg, your dog, plus every speck of true pride you ever cobbled
together in your rooster-tail existence, not to mention dad's Mercedes. Ah yes
... the coffers of Kings and Queens.
Robert Burton said?: We urgently need to dispel imagination and to be present to each other.
shit you not. Especially you. Beware of all the warnings about
imagination being bad. Perhaps Robert, as played by the FBI, means a
different sort of imagination than the painters used to created all the
artwork he paid millions for?
Gurdjieff had an incredible imagination, which he used to amass a
fortune and live for decades as Cock on the Dunghill. Especially
that painting Burton has of an Angel with a hardon. Alex Horn hated
“imagination” in us students, then used it himself every day. After
all, Mr. Diabolically Yours, wrote truly “imaginative” stage plays that
left every audience pondering, “what the fuck was that? Could Alex Horn really be that bad a playwrite?”
Then, supposedly, which I seriously
doubt: When one is present, one has solved the mystery of the universe:
to produce conscious beings.
I get this one! "Being present,” as when getting a blow job from your teacher!
And this?: I am more grateful for my students' gift than my own, for what is one compared to thousands?
Mary, quite contrary, how does your grappa grow? With twinkle bells,
and cockel smells, and pretty boys all in a row. Oh please, and
gobs of gay-fabulous paintings? I will never believe Robert Burton said
that, in writing or otherwise. Naw, he did.
Or this: "From fairest creatures we desire increase ... that we use our physical bodies to produce our astral bodies”.
Robert Burton said that, G bless him. I weep for his loss, and thank you Rick
Ross, now down on your knees, and diddle the boss.
Burton said?: Because of the relative difference between the second
state and the first state, people do not even suspect that they are
No kidding Karl G-ung, which is exactly the
lesser-magick a Magus employs to make millions off his followers for
buying up painted masterpieces he claims belong to the “Work”, while
ever demanding more cold cash & hot sex. Gurdjieff said, “I sheer
sheep”. This can only be gotten away with so long before a great chorus
of “baaaa’s” rises over the vineyards.
Then?: Through religion, man has created an imaginary picture of his life after death.
Gurdjieff offers, let's see, a shimmering ether-bod of aerosolized
hydrogen's bug-splattered over some interior “imaginary” lattice of
false hopes and night terrors, all for the God they are becoming?
Whew. Make sure you get your left shoe on the right foot when you
boogie out the backdoor of that sugar-shack.
This cannot be Burton: (Upon
passing a cemetery:) I looked at the gates of the cemetery, and for a
moment, in a flash, I saw that for us they are the gates to Paradise.
Dungeons and Dragons?
Robert! Never admit you said this next one. Well, you no doubt never
did: Although the opportunities to judge life are endless, why waste
one's time judging people who are wasting their time answering your
supposed questions, like Dave the Lunatic Tramp?
Hey, pay no attention to the snuff-snorting dwarf in stripped trousers hiding behind the Royal ass.
He never said this for sure: “Ouspensky survived the death of his physical body. He became the "flame that needs no fuel".
Okay, gloves off, do we get Hieronymous Bosch & Lomb aviator
goggles, or bring our own? Can I earn a pair for doing the best
loop-de-loops over Mona Kea in full eruption? Actually, Ouspensky went
stark raving mad toward the end, writhing in paranoia, finally
imploding into one final frozen heap of psychic-snow-peas when he “woke
up” and realized he’d just spent the bulk of his precious life, money,
skill, and trust, glorifying an uncaring Magus who
only used him as his Scribe, thus ripping off yet another human life. Poor elderly Ouspensky on crutches and drugs must have
zombified-out years before he gave up and traded in his donkey for the Grief of All Grief's. No, this e-mail from the Middle
East had to have been another swishing expedition from the tax wasting FEDS.
up there pilgrim. Robert did have his secretary call you around a year
ago, (2008) several times, remember? Asking if you could
remember the location of the Victorian house in San Francisco where
Alex had us all hopping around the room (his words): hoochie-koochie
dancing, molding, floating, flying, and radiating, not to mention
braying like boozed bonobos, yowling like Sphinx cats,
and barking like elephant seals on Ano Nuevo Island. Man oh woman, those were
important Gurdjieff exercises for sure. The morning I started with Alex Horn
on Sterling Benell’s ranch on Sonoma Mountain Road, neighboring
Gurdjieff teacher, Robert de Ropp, on his way to his Zen garden, took
two of us aside and warned: “If you sup with the Devil, have a long
spoon”. The Victorian? I
confess to wondering at the time, not for very long
however, why the hell Robert Burton wanted to know where that house
was? And why he didn’t just call me himself? I don’t bite,
physically. Plus, I am loved by movie and rock stars, writers,
poets, painters, standup comedians the world over who call me when they’re down and
need a good laugh.
least the Federal Bureau of Investigation usually has the good manners
to drop by the studio for personal interviews. In fact, the last one
(before my Kabul communiqué) had the decency to bald-face lie to me
during a jam-packed searchlight opening of my (even if I do say
so myself, and, I do) amazing paintings, telling me he was my biggest
fan ever, then inviting himself over to my secret-bunker studio so I
could teach him how to paint a tact-squad on glass while he checked the
place out for revolutionary techniques. Yep, Special
Agent, Ed Davis, left that day after a very enjoyable visit, went back
to the Federal Office Building in San Francisco and actually painted a
tact-squad glass-painting as a gift for me. Cool beans. Then Ed
delivered it by hand in a "surprise" drop-by two weeks later. Not only that, the man has evolved into a really
good painter now. A famous artisté, producing silhouette cops better than
any I have ever seen. I love his new work. But I, international
celebrity painter that I am, hold the unique privilege of owning Ed’s
very first endeavor. Eat your heart out Robert Burton. I especially love it in the corner of the frame
where Ed signed: To Dave Archer, with many thanks for the TIPS! " Now, ya’gotta love that. (Come on Ed, I kid, okay?) Still, if
I were you I’d check out Robert Burton next time instead of me because
that guy has a collection of paintings that museums worldwide would not only give their double-fuzz-nuts for,
they’d throw in five Dave Archer's to go with them. And
talk about some true super-decor to complement your Ikea
collection. Just think of the chicks man. The chicks!
Copyright, Dave Archer, All Rights Reserved