Archive for the ‘messiah complex’ Category

is a narrative about narratives of historical meaning, experience or knowledge, which offers a society legitimation through the anticipated completion of a (as yet unrealized) master idea. (wikapedia)

As I study post-modern philosophy I am struck by the parallels between the (old) (faith-based) narratives such as “Christianity” and the current metanarrative of the “Enlightenment”. I suppose these parallels work like blanks which need to be filled in, and thus they reveal the underlying psyche of human thought:

We need an origin story: Christian = Genesis,
Enlightenment = Evolution/Big Bang

We need an end times/apocalypse: Christian = Revelations,
Enlightenment = Ecological collapse

We need authority: Christian = priests, kings, god
Enlightenment = scientists, rational thinking

We need a mission: Christian = repentance, purity, servitude
Enlightenment = freedom, discovery

We need to be winning: Christian = converting non-Christians
Enlightenment = eradicating non-rational thought

We need an other: Christian = demons, devils, ghosts
Enlightenment = extra-terrestrials

And now my reader may be outraged at the length my broad-stroke thought experiment has been stretched to. How does the enlightenment produce aliens? One could argue that the image of the alien or E.T. was only possible and manifested when the world conscious hit a critical mass of rational thought and technological advances made them ‘imaginable’. Basically it goes “we need ghosts” – “we don’t believe in ghosts anymore” – “obviously technological advancement is our endgame human potential so clearly there exist beings that have reached it before us”.

As a side-note, I had a long conversation one night with a friend in Taipei who was very much a ‘citizen’ of the ‘enlightenment’. By this I mean he held to the narrative that rational thought and freedom is the potential of human beings and that it will ‘solve our problems’, basically I could tell he ‘thought science was cool’. I proposed my idea that science is simply the new religion of the masses and he was outraged. He insisted I could not compare the two because one is based on facts and rationality and the other is based on faith and lies. We had a very constructive and heated debate over beers in a park into the wee hours of the night.

I don’t recall my exact counter argument, though I do recall making him aware of his emotions, how ‘into defending science’ he was and how it sounded similar to a believer defending their religion. He was even proud that his home country of England had a statistic of more than fifty percent of people being non-religious. Which only made it sound more like his side was winning a new crusade.

Also on the topic of ‘not being allowed to compare the two’ because ‘one is based on fact and the other on faith’. I find that to be a moot point. ‘Facts’ are only a legitimate currency within the metanarrative of rational thought. Just because one side doesn’t need to use that currency, does not make it impossible to compare. I can still image the Punisher fighting Dr.Strange even though one of them uses guns and the other uses magic. I constantly find ‘science-lovers’ trying to bring the scientific method into discussions about human politics, but testable objective truths have less of a place in these discussions. Our weapons here should be personal experience and imagination (with a limited amount of rational thought, I will admit, obviously).

As the reader can probably tell by now, I try not to believe in the metanarrative of the enlightenment. I find the mechanical ‘Newtonian’ view of the universe extremely boring. I find peoples ‘faith’ in science and rational thought to be dangerous and depressing. These are heretical things to say and feel. Often in groups of new (actually even among my old friends) and at work I feel like I have to ‘stay in the closet’ with my personal view of the universe. Also, since I am a ‘sensitive’ and ‘intuitive’ human, I actually find it a struggle not to fall into their narrative of ‘science is cool’ when society (advertising, media, the water-cooler) is doing it’s best to shove it down my throat.

So you may be wondering what my personal metanarrative is, am I Christian or some New Age hippie? Not quite. I do appreciate the mythos of Christianity and all faith-based traditions (and the messiah narrative resonates with me since I exist within (scientists would say ‘suffer from’) a messiah-complex). But I try to see the world as a creative process. Personally I believe I am a god, or have an energy that could be called Christ-consciousness, atman, creativity, whatever, and that I created this world (and continue to create it) in order to experience it. I am not completely soliptic, if you asked me what I thought of other people and animals I would say that they are gods too, and I realize that this muddles the term.

So to return to the start, does my metanarrative reveal the above ‘psyche’ of the human condition? Of course. My origin story is all the experiences that have crafted my current existence. My apocalypse is my death, which I imagine at times and try to keep in my consciousness as a sort of final celebration or breaking forward into another reality. Do I have an authority? (muses? other artists or creators) An other? (well I do have a strange relationship with ghosts and aliens so I don’t quite know what that means, perhaps a bleed over from the other metanarratives surrounding me).

And now I come to the end of this post and I have no idea what the point of it was. It is a far stray from my usual poetry and madness posts. Perhaps I should start a separate philosophy blog? (oh god, not another blog page) Perhaps it is best to end with a Baudrillard quote:

“We no longer seek glory, but identity.”


The snow looks beautiful on the mountains
over-looking Vancouver
Some guy is yelling about demons on the street
He is screaming out his pain
About how nobody will help him
I walk by with my hood up

I walk by because everybody else does
If I was Jesus I would stop and heal him
Good thing they cured the Jesus out of me
At the hospital

Good thing my dealer is out of Jesus powder

I go to a busy McDonalds and order breakfast
from a machine
I sit down among old Asian men chatting in Mandarin
I guess it could be Cantonese
I wait for order 1025
I try to remember being ten
Or being twenty-five

I realize I am the age Jesus died
Next year I will have lived longer than he ever did
Good thing I am not him
Not him at all

LDS afternoon tour

Posted: April 8, 2016 in madness, messiah complex

there is a dead mosquito on my keyboard
and I have to wonder if it bit me and died of boredom
cause I’ve toyed with the idea that this is the pinnacle
the penultimate unmoment, the next will be the omega
the banality revelations, the testament to trivial
half way around the world and wound to the sound of plastic clatter
as if all the children I will never sire are chasing me
through a field of dead dandelions
screaming “no father!” and turning into bees
with wings etched out in times new roman
and arial bold stingers
when I die will somebody carve an ant as my gravestone?
for I will be buried in the fashionable way
as I plan to convert to the church of latter day saints
before it’s too late
I want to confess my sins to a widow who was once
a cute missionary named Sister Everett
I want to whisper my last madness and poetry fragments
as she washes my pain away with a sponge
in a bath,
in a cold house,
surviving the apocalypse
if only the mosquitoes could live on drivel
their corpses would not pile onto my keyboard
among the dust lawn of the letters I never hit
the numbers are for the devil and math heads
give me unborn mistakes and failed paraphrases
a troubled spirit and a crisis of fate
in the psych ward of the Grace Hospital
where I will always be “Muad’dib”

Geist of MJ

Posted: November 25, 2014 in drugs, fame complex, messiah complex

checking Youtube hits- a pop video saturday
nose up, let’s get a whiff of yesterday

a whiff of the times, the singing dead
is that his ghost urging me forward like a boy to bed

was I lost in Neverland or saved?
led by a transhuman pop legend dead and strange

she was about tell me the number of letters in her name
and the number of letters in his are the same

but I knew what she was gonna say before she said it
it’s serendipity, it’s chaos, it’s pop, it’s magic

the aliens harvest our nervous energy our want
the fame aliens and the ghost stars haunt

that’s why nobody on earth ever really fits
wanna be gods in our nervous agitated hubris

inject the current paradigm with a new sensation
they sent us him from space with groove vibration

do you think his mother and father are part of this?
all I know is the king of pop haunts the artists

we are just stuff fluff dancing on the bridges
stitches of the sun post surviving religions

don’t ask me if MJ was our new jesus christ
while I’m painting your face and rolling ten sided dice

cause I thought for a minute I was him
residue from watching the bad video remix with kids

and if these chemicals ever do wear off
I promise I’ll take off this one white glove


I used to wonder why didn’t fit into their system-
I used to dream about aliens coming through my window-
I used to want the world to crumple in revolution-
I used to dream about dying and where my mind would go-

I used to think I was Christ and then I realized
I am no savior-
I needed to exercise, the demons in my life
Before I become a creator-

It’s hard for me to see that I’m no more special
Than the others-
And it’s even harder for me to
Forgive my brothers-



I always wondered why my life was so confusing-
I always thought I’d be a prophet on the street-And now I see that this is all of my own choosing-
And now I know that it’s the silent ones that inherit peace-

I used to pretend that I’d died when we’d play-fight
In the basement-
I needed to exercise the martyr insideThe dark agent-

It’s hard for me to see that I’m not
Meant to be a resistor-
But it’s even harder for me
To forgive my sister-

Can the music bring me closer-
Can the writing give me closure-
Will I ever know what I’m supposed to do-
Or what I’m supposed to be-

I guess I spent too much time atop the tower-
I guess I’ve gone blind hating the doubters-
I need to shout my lines when the world gets louder-
I need to realize I don’t have super-powers-
I’m not a mutant, just an addict-
In an information war-
What I need to do is turn my talents-
Into my own act of war-
Cause with my guitar, I can break the bars-
Of this prison planet-
It’s not to far, if you work hard-
You can make a stand!

Are the plexiglass CANCER CELLS
That infect my city with a MOOD disorder
That everybody thinks it’s normal to look at me
And yell at me to stop juggling

I have the RIGHT of way! I am JUGGLING!!!
I am making the world a slightly sillier, more FUN place-
I make children and panhandlers smile
YOU have no right, Mr. Ford F150 slave!
All you do is pollute the air, endanger yourself
Give yourself road rage and blast HORRIBLE
DEHUMANIZING oppressive rap music.

I don’t like to pull the:
“Do you know who my father is?” card
But yeah, he works upstairs
And what makes me SICK inside
Is that this honking ignoramus
Knows exactly who our mother is
She’s the one you dared pave a road over
She’s the one you choke every morning
She’s the one you bleed for your luxury

And I’m just assuming that
If you’re this ANGRY at a man juggling
And slowing you down by a few seconds
I doubt you found the time to even THANK
Our mother today for the suffering
You have imposed on her

Well one day she will RECLAIM her skin
Her rushing tears
Will wash your demon-cab F150 away
With all the other vehicles of the LUCIFER PROJECT
And during the deluge
I will smile and juggle on a rooftop
While you CRY and PRAY for a helicopter

Revenge from the formless fears
that shape my hallucinations-
Creations of societies subconscious
undaunted by my attempts at meditation-
Mediating faceless gods angels tricksters
demons flickering blue light dreams-
Revenge of reality
pulled loose at the seams-
Seems these things are immune to reason
irrational monster invisible invincible-
I can no longer trust science
or skepticism as root principle-
My foundation is shaken
I seen to many things, aliens-
Too many attempts at success
have turned out to be my failings-
Like trying to communicate with
the other confused humans wondering-
Blundering through the night with
the drone armies of ghosts bombing me-
Till my brain is the wasteland of
fictions you reject as madness-
Produced by hands that scrawl out
poison tipped lines of the savage-
I have become the mythical trick
of the messiah complex-
And I will die of the overdrawn
cure of the experimental tonics-
It’s not so complex but it’s not so simple
living in a triple vibration-
Taking in the pain of my city
while the citizens scream for salvation-

here I come hurtling-
pissed off that you killed my luck dragon-
and picked the bones clean-
your minions have eaten-
the meat of my dreams for years-
here I come with the revenge of the meek-
for the meek shall inherit the earth-
with DARKWORDS and darker poetry-
you don’t know me-
walking the streets in front of your homes-
while my hatred grows cold and old-
like the god of death-
I breathe my first last breathe-
and exhale DARKWORDS and dark poetry-

Like the spark that started the night that
feuled the riot that stole all the bricks-
All the walls picked apart whole blocks
of the city reduced to open pits-
And the goblins come crawling out
calling out for their bum king-
Well here he resides atop his throne
mountain of bones and gold rings-
In the echoing wind tunnel of babies
crying for uncaring mothers-
I stock my hordes with your
transformed abandoned brothers-
Striped toques and fingerless gloves
wave a goblin skull banner-
Goggled eyes over sharp toothed
smiles laughing ill-mannered-

for being so cruel and imperfect-
turning my faeries to perverted activities-
you exist to twist my symmetry-
well I will split you with DARKWORDS and dark poetry-
hold no hope for me-
I bleed green acid twice as cancerous as your greed-
I bring three fold the corrosion of your corruption-
cause I’m thirty years old-
and all my fifteen year old angst has returned two-fold-
so behold your demise with DARKWORDS and darker poetry.