When governments rely increasingly on sophisticated public relations agencies, public debate disappears and is replaced by competing propaganda campaigns, with all the accompanying deceits. Advertising isn’t about truth or fairness or rationality, but about mobilising deeper and more primitive layers of the human mind.”
– Brian Eno

Alphonse Osbert (1857 – 1939) – Visione, 1892, oil on canvas, cm 235 x 138. French Symbolist painter

Greetings…

A short one.  Worked this weekend on a book for a poet.  Going over illustrations, corrections, alignments, etc.  I love the construction of a piece of art, and all the aspects of it.  Happy as a hound as the saying goes.

Lots of work going on with the site.  The Daily Art Continues to grow, and I am now working with 2 different types of forum software plugins to allow people to comment on the art found on The Daily Art.  My hope, and dream is that this site can be used to bring community together, and to foster change and awareness, channeling the energy here to constructive ends.

Art by its nature should help bring community together.  From the Paleolithic onwards, art has been the great focus of our various peoples. Make no mistake, art is a force for change, and it has always been so.

I hope this finds you with your friends, lovers, family. Here is to bringing a new world about. We will keep trying by art… Please visit when you can!
Bright Blessings,
Gwyllm
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On The Menu:
The Links
Granchester Meadows
Ballad of the Gone MacLise
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The Links:
The Ice Giant
Observing The Seasons
Finally: Watchers Of The Earth
This Week In Psychedelics
What Would Carl Jung Say About Donald Trump?
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A lovely part of the world… This always captured it for me.

Grantchester Meadows – by DrDevious14

“Grantchester Meadows”

Icy wind of night, be gone.
This is not your domain.
In the sky a bird was heard to cry.
Misty morning whisperings and gentle stirring sounds
Belied a deathly silence that lay all around.
Hear the lark and harken to the barking of the dog fox gone to ground.
See the splashing of the kingfisher flashing to the water.
And a river of green is sliding unseen beneath the trees,
Laughing as it passes through the endless summer making for the sea.
In the lazy water meadow
I lay me down.
All around me,
Golden sunflakes settle on the ground,
Basking in the sunshine of a by gone afternoon,
Bringing sounds of yesterday into this city room.
Hear the lark and harken to the barking of the dog fox gone to ground.
See the splashing of the kingfisher flashing to the water.
And a river of green is sliding unseen beneath the trees,
Laughing as it passes through the endless summer making for the sea.
In the lazy water meadow
I lay me down.
All around me,
Golden sunflakes covering the ground,
Basking in the sunshine of a by gone afternoon,
Bringing sounds of yesterday into my city room.
Hear the lark and harken to the barking of the dog fox gone to ground.
See the splashing of the kingfisher flashing to the water.
And a river of green is sliding unseen beneath the trees,
Laughing as it passes through the endless summer making for the sea.

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Here is to fond memories… Angus and Ira became involved with “Bardo Matrix” via John Chick in Kathmandu, in the mid 70’s. I first came in contact with Bardo Matrix in 1966, when I was in Colorado, and just discovering art, music and other delights. The work of Bardo Matrix helped shaped my aesthetics in multiple ways. I first discovered Mandala art through them, and multi-media shows. Now, we host the site for the Bardo Matrix… More on that site soon. There is wonderful His/HerStory about Bardo Matrix.  Fabulous Art, Happenings, Publications.  Truly wonderful!

Angus and Hetty, 1970’s

Ballad of the Gone MacLise
(For Angus MacLise, died Summer Solstice, June 21st, 1979)

In the fire is no end
but in the tall grasses
but on the riverbanks
but in the cool breezes urging
but in the long empty days.

(From Jaguar by Angus MacLise)

Ballad of the Gone MacLise
(For Angus MacLise, died Summer Solstice, June 21st, 1979)

In the poem one can lay down
the heartline, the harp can bring the tears
muffled by the sound of the drum,
your gamelans cut by the Buddha’s knife
of compassion.
Down at the Snowman I heard
them discussing your cremation:
“A dervish has fallen off the roof
the tall skinny one with the coat-hanger shoulders.”
I know the way the pillars of the Vision
trembled before you in the sunlight.
You saw the door of Konya open in the slums
of Brooklyn where light shafted thru’ abandoned
factories in the amphetamine dawn.
Now the shades of Mecca are drawn for you, Poet.
The five Dhyani Buddhas transcend your deep-freeze
and await your burning with cloths of the 5 wisdom colors.
Your unsatisfied cravings fly out of the pyre,
the blessings of your friends crackle with ghee
the white and black til seeds (sesame) burn in
the untrammeled day, and still you are wandering Angus,
passing thru the Bardo Keyhole –
Listen once more to those Tibetan horns,
they are calling you past Freak Street
where you sold the White Goddess for junk
Forget all your regrets and go now with the egret,
put on your robe of sky –
The Vagabond Maverick Poet MacLise
has left these burning halls,
the windtraps are wild with sound,
I see your hands beating a Persian rhythm
on suitcases of itinerant dreams,
I hear the droning of Beelzebub’s flies
making clear the ghastly way,
an opera undone by a chorus of 108 Mahasiddhas
singing your discarded lists of cembalums,
symphonic poems, untold futures.
You bummed cigarettes from Ram,
borrowed time and change from Krishna.
Now that your balance is finally broken
go in peace to the Buddhafields,
nodding in to the sound of your tartan.
The bane is over –
A new wheel is spinning its song.
Tomorrow morning at nine o’clock
we will meet at the Vidyaswari Ghat.
For you it’s free, this one way ticket
which is non-transferable,
Remember that before you try to come back.
May light mantle your shadow and
may you not see what is not to be seen.
Farewell, MacLise, thawing on the Riverbank,
I do not expect to meet your like again,
Farewell, brother, the shadow of Don Quixote
lowers its lance and you are overstood.
– Ira Cohen – June 27th 1979. Kathmandu, Nepal.

Ira Cohen


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John Dowland… The hours spent with his music. Here, to share with you.