“Asher” A new piece. I haven’t come up another name as of yet.
Magick is Afoot! “Art finds her own perfection within, and not outside of, herself. She is not to be judged by any external standard of resemblance.” – Oscar Wilde
Hello Dear Friends, off to the start of another Gregorian Calendar Event…
In General: The last year 2022, (as if you need reminding) was a wild ride for all and sundry. On the main, enjoyable, but gone, poof, just like that. I am okay with letting it go though. It seemed on the main to be a point of stasis on multiple levels. I am not going to wax on about politics. Sick of it, at this point. Just let me say I think we live in a failed system. House cleaning, is needed.
2022 might be the year that social media began to wane, and crawl back under the rock it emerged from. Seeing the slow cascading of Twitter into oblivion, FB looking dire, Instagram being cited for toxicity for young women, and Tiktok being a tool of the Chinese Government and disinfo central… Good riddance. It may take a few years, but we can pray for it to go away. I found this article to be quite enlightening Bring Back Personal Blogging
Gwyllm Art Calendar!
Available Now! (US sales only at this time)
My Art Calendar for 2023! 14 illustrations.
Here is a link on a tangential course: The Alt-Right Manipulated My Comic. Then A.I. Claimed It. (Thanks to Michael Zonta for providing the link!)
So, AI generated illustration has been tearing through the Interwebs as of late. People are claiming to be artist because their phrases/prompts are “creating” pieces. I have heard everything from, “Who has the time to learn?”, “Who wants to put in the years of discipline to produce “Art”?. Well I would suggest the term “Phrasers or Prompters” as opposed to artist.
AI “illustration” is based on software scavenging image from artist pieces that are resident on the web, yet, there is no recompense for said artist. See the article above… Is it outright theft?
Question: If you prompt a text generator AI to write a poem, does that make you a poet?
These are legitimate questions IMO. Thoughts? Do we end 40k years of human expression for convenience/speed?
Tuesday 1/3 8:00PM Pacific Coast Time & Friday 1/6 8:00PM Pacific Coast Time
Alan Stivell – I was lucky enough to see him perform this piece and others, twice. Once in Freiburg, Germany the late 1970’s, and then at McCabes’ in Santa Monica late 1980’s. He is the real deal.
The Trooping Fairies
Sometimes the fairies fancy mortals, and carry them away into their own country, leaving instead some sickly fairy child, or a log of wood so bewitched that it seems to be a mortal pining away, and dying, and being buried. Most commonly they steal children. If you “over look a child”, that is look on it with envy, the fairies have it in their power. Many things can be done to find out if a child’s a changeling, but there is one infallible thing–lay it on the fire with this formula, “Burn, burn, burn–if of the devil, bum; but if of God and the saints, be safe from harm” (given by Lady Wilde). Then if it be a changeling it will rush up the chimney with a cry, for, according to Giraldus Cambrensis, “fire is the greatest of enemies to every sort of phantom, in so much that those who have seen apparitions fall into a swoon as soon as they are sensible of the brightness of fire”.
Sometimes the creature is got rid of in a more gentle way. It is on record that once when a mother was leaning over a wizened changeling the latch lifted and a fairy came in, carrying home again the wholesome stolen baby. “It was the others,” she said, “who stole it.” As for her, she wanted her own child.
Those who are carried away are happy, according to some accounts, having plenty of good living and music and mirth. Others say, however, that they are continually longing for their earthly friends. Lady Wilde gives a gloomy tradition that there are two kinds of fairies–one kind merry and gentle, the other evil, and sacrificing every year a life to Satan, for which purpose they steal mortals. No other Irish writer gives this tradition–if such fairies there be, they must be among the solitary spirits–Pookas, Fir Darrigs, and the like.
– Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry
Edited and Selected by W. B. Yeats 
Poetry: Whit Griffin
“The Ones Who Listen”
(Extract:)At dawn a man with a golden beard
comes down to the brook A morning
of many-colored light Alphabets of
color The Cosmic Colour Fellowship
Friendhood A self-imposed envelope
of colorI think of some old monk or sage who
grew up in a traditional family in some
far-off place and has lived a very full
life of inner exploration And they reflect
back on the life they were born into and
“how far they have come,” and they ask,
“what have I done to deserve such a gift?”The Red Ray, the Life Ray Pass a laser
light through ruby and apply it to the
heart meridian Seeking the Land of
Immortality, the young prince finds himself
in the capital of the Blue Kingdom Cherenkov
radiation The blue men of the MinchYour heart is in the system of the Shewolf
Wrapped in a veil of shining silver mist
A cock crows and a golden star appears
on Lizina’s forehead Sandra’s holding
the leopardWe will cherish the past while not limiting
our perception of reality to the mindset of the pastThe beggar boy becomes Count Piro
Dick Grayson becomes Robin Trading
crow feathers for soy candles The dagger
which was to act as a passport Kosovo,
Field of BlackbirdsLeo Martello’s Witch-In in Central Park,
Halloween, 1970 Alberto Aguas giving
readings at the Metaphysical Bookshop
on Sutter Street, SFCA The anonymous
conversations in Quest Antonio Ricardo
of Turin emigrates to Peru, and in Lima
in 1584 prints a leaflet on corrections to
the calendarI do think that certain texts are almost
invisible to us until we are ready for them
They may sit patiently on a shelf for years,
and when our vibration meets the vibration
emanating from the book, it suddenly becomes
visible to us / materializes / manifests itself
in a tangible way It takes on a psychic shine
that catches our eyeCalvinism is the theology of slavery When
you put your mind in a cage you can put
human beings in cages Enough with the
death cult that invaded the Western hemisphere
The Whole Poem is here!
A Far-Shining Crystal
(Extract: )“The River of Milk, the Snake Canoe”
The stone age didn’t end because we ran
out of stone. The force that formed the
stone can also dissolve it. Bacchus turned
the amethyst red. No god, but the translator,
turned Andromeda into a dromedary.
Tamberlane’s tent turned from white to red.
Red stones do not appeal to idealists. Roman
widows wore white. Rosicrucians believe iron
is the product of dark powers. The sly fox in
sympathy with the wily god. The lame god
is the provider of all good things.
A Welter of Cormorants
If you’re not too busy, my
house is on fire. No close-ups
please, I’m too old. Everything
can be mitigated with the proper
use of scented candles. The
Supreme Court turned the tomato
into a vegetable. Let’s not tussle
on this sandy shore; share the shell.
Around here we say carapace.
You’ve a penchant for the superfluous.
Outfitting a bass boat with an
astrolabe. A moped with no petrol
is just a bike. Help yourself to as
many samosas as you think you
deserve, then go back for seconds.
If animals could talk there’d be
more vegetarians. The moon
shines enough light for the muskrats
to find their ramble. We found
a didgeridoo in Saskatchewan.
The most heavily-scored eleven
minutes of my life.
Martyn Bennett & Sorley MacLean