The Julian Day on Occupy Radio

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Here We Are Now (sequel to Ticket to Ride), chapter 17 – The End?

The following is a quote by Friedrich Nietzche; an appropriate way, I think, to finish an unfinished novel:

Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright morning hours, ran to the market-place, and cried incessantly: “I am looking for God! I am looking for God!”
As many of those who did not believe in God were standing together there, he excited considerable laughter. Have you lost him, then? said one. Did he lose his way like a child? said another. Or is he hiding? Is he afraid of us? Has he gone on a voyage? or emigrated? Thus they shouted and laughed. The madman sprang into their midst and pierced them with his glances.

“Where has God gone?” he cried. “I shall tell you. We have killed him – you and I. We are his murderers. But how have we done this? How were we able to drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What did we do when we unchained the earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving now? Away from all suns? Are we not perpetually falling? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there any up or down left? Are we not straying as through an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder? Is it not more and more night coming on all the time? Must not lanterns be lit in the morning? Do we not hear anything yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God? Do we not smell anything yet of God’s decomposition? Gods too decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we, murderers of all murderers, console ourselves? That which was the holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet possessed has bled to death under our knives. Who will wipe this blood off us? With what water could we purify ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we need to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we not ourselves become gods simply to be worthy of it? There has never been a greater deed; and whosoever shall be born after us – for the sake of this deed he shall be part of a higher history than all history hitherto.”

Here the madman fell silent and again regarded his listeners; and they too were silent and stared at him in astonishment. At last he threw his lantern to the ground, and it broke and went out. “I have come too early,” he said then; “my time has not come yet. The tremendous event is still on its way, still travelling – it has not yet reached the ears of men. Lightning and thunder require time, the light of the stars requires time, deeds require time even after they are done, before they can be seen and heard. This deed is still more distant from them than the distant stars – and yet they have done it themselves.”

It has been further related that on that same day the madman entered divers churches and there sang a requiem. Led out and quietened, he is said to have retorted each time: “what are these churches now if they are not the tombs and sepulchres of God?”

Policy (Free Tibet) by The Julian Day

Dear Sirs/Ladies,

We hope you are all well.

Here is a video we’d like to share.

Endorsed by Julie J.J. K  of the Tibetan Children’s Village our song “Policy” is aimed at bringing democracy to China and sovereignty for Tibetans.

Thanks for listening!

- The Julian Day

Policy (Free Tibet) Video

 

An Explanation of “The Wailing Wall” by The Julian Day

I think people completely missed the point of our song “The Wailing Wall” and it’s probably our fault. We believe that if people exercised and taught self control and self-realization the world would be a better place. At this point in my life, I believe it’s counterproductive to “let go and let God.” No one really knows what God thinks or feels but many know right from wrong. Resting on the idea that the world reflects God’s will is scary to us. We live in a time that requires action on many fronts and being passive and trusting in God’s will only removes our personal responsibility and accountability for the way things are. Silence is our worst enemy.

We also believe that sugar-coating everything is counterproductive as well. Even John Lennon admitted that Flower Power failed. It’s time to engage, not disengage and retreat into a world that exists only in the minds of a few. Being positive is good. Just make sure to be realistic at the same time.

Here We Are Now, chap. 16 (insanity continued)

Here We Are Now,  a novel of the grunge generation

chapter sixteen

The goings-on of this strange circle in Goshen had, at once, become a nuisance, then he became used to it. He could see the pattern of what they did and better the pattern of who they were. They were seemigly a bunch of spoiled kids and degenerates with nothing better to do than to torment others. They were, it seemed to him, like the types that assumed their supremacy above all back in high school. Those too good for anyone but themselves, not unlike the Socs in the novel The Outsiders. People rotted by a life of priviledge and degeneracy; no moral fiber, no love for anyone or anything, except for this disgusting effluence that might issue forth from the mouths of the loudest among them.

The whole thing was an insult to his intelligence and to his wholesome upbringing; his education, his care for nature, and his compassion for mankind. How things could become the brunt of a very low sense of humor confounded him. Their leader seemed to be a young woman who called herself Music, along with another with the all the decadence of the mystic decay of Ancient Greece, Medea. Medea had a child and prided herself on the fact that she’d managed to keep the party going right through her pregnancy; acid, cocaine, and assorted pharmaceuticals washed down with ample servings of scotch and beer. She rejected God openly and claimed the ancient Snake Goddess as her guide. Both women prided themselves on their ability to manage minor acts of magic, (which Dylan termed Bitchcraft, petty hocus pocus) achieved through the manipulation of the natural forces otherwise reserved for God. They secretly hated men and engaged with them only to procure what they needed to further selfish aims which amounted to little more than an extreme feminist agenda that viewed men as little more than providers of sperm. And as he looked into the disappearance of his painting, Dylan found that Heather was part of their clan; neither as influential or charming as the other two, but not without her abilty to extract and embezzle what she needed for her survival.

New Author Interview on News Blaze.com

New interview with yours truly.

Just click on the book cover and away you go!

http://newsblaze.com/story/20110308181014demp.nb/topstory.html

Slipping Into Insanity: Here We Are Now, chapter 15

Here We are Now, a novel of the grunge generation

by philip scott wikel

chapter fifteen

He awoke the next morning to find his painting had been stolen. Just below where it had hung was a charm from Heather’s bracelet.

Later he went into town to look around for people who knew Heather. He thought he saw her everywhere. He’d come up behind  someone and call,

“Heather?”

“No, my name’s Kelly.”

“Heather?”

“My name’s Amara.”

“Heather?”

“My name’s Robin, can I help you with you something?”

“Heather?”

“My name’s Loren.”

“Heather?”

“My name’s Linda.”

“Heather?”

“My name’s Diane.”

“Heather?”

“No. I’m Mary.”

“Heather?”

“No I’m Jeanette.”

“Heather?”

“I’m Vicky, is there something wrong?”

“No, it’s just that you look like someone I used to know.”

“A good memory I hope.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“s’allright, sorry to bother you.”

“Heather?”

“I’m Kim.”

“No, I’m Kendra.”

“No, I’m Megan.”

“No, I’m Thea.”

“No, I’m Jen.”

“No, I’m Julia, but I know Heather.”

It went on like this for hours. It was if she was everywhere and nowhere at all. He thought of a book he’d read called Native American Testimony. In one chapter they explained their frustration at dealing with Cholera and proclaimed, “If only I could see this thing,” or maybe it was all in his head.”

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Here We Are Now, chapter fourteen

Here We Are Now, a novel of the grunge generation

chapter fourteen

by philip scott wikel

 

The moment he completed his first painting the strangest thing happened. Everyone around him seemed to act strange and after a while he noticed a pattern. They were trying to create “triangular desire,” as defined by Foucault. They would find out what he liked; foods, drinks, cars, places, etc. and then they would wave them around him in one way or another expecting they would serve as carrots he might chase. The intent being that he would have to sublimate all of his desires into painting more since none of these carrots could be grasped unless he found success as a painter and began selling.

But he wouldn’t and couldn’t paint more unless it came from within him; from a pure source. There was no tangible motivator for him, it just happened every once in a while; no pattern, no specific origin. He’d long ago thought that if he could figure out what drove him, he would tap into that and he would always be inspired. But he hadn’t discovered it so he waited patiently for the next space in time when he would be driven.

In the meantime he began to become sick with many around him and began to reclude from those who seemed to wish to manipulate him. He could see that their original intent may have been innocent enough but he really just wanted to live a normal life. He’d accomplished quite a lot before he found himself in a sort of warped version of Alice in Wonderland. A solid base of wholesome living had always been his best foundation; a natural world where people acted natural. He’d rather consciously abstain from sex and channel that energy into exercise than let someone think they could pierce his inner sexual power and make it manifest itself as art. Art created from sexual desire or for the love of money was what had made the larger society as decadent as it had become, he thought. He wanted to reach for something higher and he couldn’t paint for people because he felt if people needed saving through art then they should go to church instead. He might just paint because it was what he needed to do, for better or for worse, whether it brought money or comfort. A regular paying job would afford him what he needed to survive. Painting could never be tainted and twisted into work-for-hire.

He wasn’t upset with God, but it did seem that He was sitting on the sidelines. Dylan couldn’t see any action, just talk. The game seemed to have no players, only passive-aggressive spectators. Perhaps making history had ended with Jesus Jones back in the nineties. He remembered then that all things are possible through God, and he rested on this.

Katie would be coming home from college in a few months and he would again have his soul-mate for strength. Grace, he thought, Grace, I’m a stranger in a strange land.

 

… stranger,

stranger in a strange land,

he looked at me like I

was the one who should run…

- U2, 1980