Spacetime Continuum with Terence McKenna все тексты (слова) песен, переводы, видео, клипы

Allright... tonight, for your edification and amusement... three raves, two interregnums. Visions by Rose X. Didgeredoo, Stephen Kent. And sound by Space Time. Words and ideas by Terence McKenna. Rap one: The Archaic Revival.

History is ending, because the dominator culture has led the human species into a blind alley. And as the inevitable chaostrophe approaches, people look for metaphors and answers. Every time a culture gets into trouble, it casts itself back into the past looking for the last sane moment it ever knew. And the last sane moment we ever knew was on the plains of Africa, 15,000 years ago, rocked in cradle of the great horned mushroom goddess before history. Before standing armies, before slavery and property, before warfare and phonetic alphabets and monotheism. Before, before, before. And this is where the future is taking us. Because the secret faith of the 20th century is not modernism. The secret faith of the 20th century is nostalgia for the archaic, nostalgia for the Paleolithic, and that gives us body piercing, abstract expressionism, surrealism, jazz, rock and roll, and Catastrophe Theory. The 20th century mind is nostalgic for the paradise that once existed on the mushroom-dotted plains of Africa, where the plant-human symbiosis occurred that pulled us out of the animal body and into the tool-using, culture-making, imagination-exploring creature that we are.

And why does this matter? It matters because it chose that the way out is back, and that the future is a forward escape into the past. This is what the psychedelic experience means. Its a doorway out of history and into the wiring under the board in eternity. And I tell you this because if the community understands what it is that holds it together, the community will be better able to streamline itself for flight into hyperspace. Because what we need is a new myth. What we need is a new true story that tells us where we're going in the universe. And that true story is that the ego is a product of pathology and that when psilocybin is regularly part of the human experience, the ego is suppressed. And the suppression of the ego means the defeat of the dominators, the materialists, the product peddlers. Psychedelics return us to the inner worth of the self, to the importance of feeling immediate experience. And nobody can sell that to you and nobody can buy it from you, so the dominator culture is not interested in the felt presence of immediate experience. But that's what holds the community together. And as we break out of the silly myths of science and the infantile obsessions of the marketplace, what we discover through the psychedelic experience is that in the body-- in the body-- there are Niagara of beauty, alien beauty, alien dimensions that are part of the self, the richest part of life.

I think of going to the grave without having a psychedelic experience, like going to the grave without having sex. It means that you never figured out what it was all about. The mystery is in the body, and the way the body works itself into nature. What the archaic revival means is shamanism, ecstasy, orgiastic sexuality, and the defeat of the three enemies of the people, and the three enemies of the people are hegemony, monogamy, and monotony. And if you get them on the run, you have the dominators sweating, folks. Because that means that youre getting it all reconnected, and get it all reconnected means putting aside the idea of separateness and self-definition through thing fetish. Getting it all connected means tapping into the Gaian mind. And the Gaian mind is what we're calling the psychedelic experience. Its an experience of the living fact of the entelechy of the planet, and without that experience we wander in a desert of bogus ideologies, but with that experience, the compass of the self can be set. And that's the idea, that we're figuring out how to reset the compass of the self, through community, through ecstatic dance, through psychedelics, intelligence-- intelligence... this is what we have to ha

And what they meant was: use your voice to make an object. And as I understood I felt a bubble kind of grow inside of me. And I watched these little elf tikes jumping in and out of my chest (they liked to do that to reassure you), and they said, Do it! And I felt language rise up in me that was unhooked from English and I began to speak like this:

Eeeoo ded hwauopsy mectoph, mectagin dupwoxin, moi phoi wops eppepepekin gitto phepsy demego doi aga din a doich demoi aga donc heedey obectdee doohueana.

(Or words to that effect). And I wondered then what it all meant, and why it felt so good (if it didn't mean anything). And I thought about it a few years, actually, and I decided, you know, that meaning and language are two different things. And that what the alien voice in the psychedelic experience wants to reveal is the syntactical nature of reality. That the real secret of magic, is that the world is made of words, and that if you know the words that the world is made of, you make of it, whatever you wish!

Eh moi dea doi phegenheggo...

Hello... so, that was like an introduction, ha ha! Now for some preaching to the choir on the subject of: How come it is that the further in you go, the bigger it gets? I remember the very, very first time I smoked DMT. It was sort of a benchmark, you might say. And I remember that this friend of mine that always got there first, visited me with this little glass pipe, and this stuff which looked like orange mothballs. And since I was a graduate of Dr. Hofmann's, I figured there were no surprises. So the only question I asked was how long does it last? And he said, About five minutes. So, I did it. And...

There was uh, something like a flower. Like a chrysanthemum in orange and yellow that sort of spinning. Spinning. And then, it was like I was pushed from behind and I fell through the chrysanthemum into another place that didn't seem like a state of mind. It seemed like another place. And what was going on in this place (aside from the tastefully soffited indirect lighting and the crawling hallucinations along the domed wall), what was happening was that there were a lot of beings in there, a lot of what I call self-transforming machine elves. Sort of like jeweled basketballs all dribbling their way toward me. And if they had faces they wouldve been grinning at me, but they didn't have faces. And they assured me that they loved me, and they told me not to be amazed, not to give way to astonishment. And so I watched them, even though I wondered if maybe I hadnt really done it this time! And what they were doing, was they we're making objects come into existence by singing them into existence.

Objects which looked like Faberge eggs from Mars, morphing themselves with Mandaean alphabetical structures. They looked like the concrescence of linguistic intentionality put through a kind of hyperdimensional transform into three-dimensional space. And these little machines offered themselves to me. And I realized when I looked at them, that if I could bring just one of these little trinkets back, nothing would ever be quite the same again.

And I wondered where am I? And what is going on? And it occurred to me that these must be holographic viral projections from an autonomous continuum that was somehow intersecting my own. And then I thought, a more elegant explanation would be to take it at face value, and realize that I had broken into an ecology of souls, and that somehow I was getting a peek over the other side. Somehow, I was finding out that thing, that you cheerfully assume you can't find out... but it felt like I was finding out. And it felt... and then I can't remember what it felt like because the little self-transforming tikes interrupted me and said, Don't think about it. Don't think about who we are-- think about doing what we're doing. Do it! Do it now. Do it!