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“Psychonaut (activated/woke)”, acrylic and gelpen, 2015. Here he is again, our familiar, effigial friend, whose bodily vessel has been filled with our projected soulful substance. A prismatic glow and the dichromatic Aya eyes that imbue one with multidimensional vision are stacked high, so he is able to peer into at least 9D, maybe more if he goes criss-cross-eyed.
“Recharging Bodily Batteries” acrylic on canvas, 2018. That moment when your sacred soul is vased in an urn and the plants water YOU with light. It’s that bardoic catacomb, the celestial waiting room, where we store the womb-tomb-cocoon for an incubatory layaway period, till we hatch, replenished and refleshed.
The Ungoogleable Michaelangelo
www.voidandimagination.com
Since my first experiences journeying through “the Jungian Jungle” a decade and a half ago, I've often encountered these ufo discs that I call “lightships” or “scanners”, here seen from directly below.
They seem to be made of light/thought but also have distinct physical properties. Their bellies appear to have advanced LCD/LED screens that will either flash concrete symbolic insignia or otherwise convey lucid intent through streaming media.
Some of them may even settle on the top of one’s head like a hat and beam you up from the crown.
Carl Jung equated the UFO to the mandala as a symbol of wholeness, of the fully realized and integrated Self.
Others have hypothesized that the psychedelic view into this mandalic vantage point is in fact a Birdseye view into the grail-like structure of the chakras, viewed from the crown down—an inVersion, beaming you down into your self of selves.
The Ungoogleable Michaelangelo
www.voidandimagination.com
A Night On The Astral They gathered their form from an abstract saturation of colors that danced behind my closed eyelids. With their antennae eyes tweaking and stretching as if they were conducting a communicative symphony, a convention of snails materialized, heaving into view as they conquered the event-horizonline. I had asked The Interface to show me my spirit guides, and here were my old snailien friends. I was amused they were the ones who showed up. Then my attention shifted, as a collective of seemingly autonomous beings stepped forth from another nebulous event horizon. A society of ”Lemurians", astral monkeys, casually sauntered up to me from the immaterial distance. Walking upright like tall humans, they were limber and agile, long-limbed lemurs with fiberoptic, cyberpunk hairdos--the spunky ends of spiky hair, frosted with an alternating indigo/violet glow. Most of them didn't pay me any attention, looking around to familiarize themselves with their surroundings, but the leader of the gang approached me with purpose. He moved with a kind of Jack Skellington stop-motion swagger, confident, cool. Something about his hip vibe spelled out Trouble. I got this sense that they’re cosmic joyriders, who engage in spacetime-travel for "cheap thrills". If I had to pick the terrestrial species of lemur they most closely resembled I'd choose the Indri, also known as "babakoto", which means "ancestor". I can't help but wonder about our simian ancestry, and what kind of simians swung from the branches of my family tree-of-life. At the forefront of my awareness, the ambassador invited me up with them, telepathically. Behind him the others linked arms with each other like monkeys-in-a-barrel, and the entire chain-gang was jerked upwards, spiraling in formation, like a reversed freefall. The higher they went the more spin they accrued and the more their formation resembled a double-helixed DNA coil in ascent—but upwards towards what? I wondered, unsure whether I wanted to go along with them. Lessons of discernment echoed from previous journeys, a vibe of mistrust gathered in my gut, the sense that I’m being tested, tricked, or manipulated. I tried to send a telepathic inquiry to the shaman, but received no response, and caught glimpses of astral architextures, impressions from previous journeys, shimmering in the sky--the promise of distant destinations. Lighting up in flashes of soundless, scroboscopic thunder I caught an ominous glimpse of a swastika spaceship blinking in the distant heavens. A jolt of anxiety volted through me, but by then it was already too late and I was streaming, gripped by the Lemurians' upward vortex, swirling up beyond the trees like a fidget-spinning propellor-blade. Fade to black. Next thing I knew I was in a tree lair with one of them—or what initially seemed like one of them, except this was now a real monkey, animalistic and volatile, no longer the magical astral kind. A sobering sight, it was sitting in a corner, pigging out. Its arched back, mangy with patches of coarse fur, was turned to me, as it gnawed obsessively on some carcass cradled in its grasp. Consumed with consuming death-food, it was completely uninvolved with my presence. The scene was glamourless, disenchanted, gray and morbid; a taste of pure corporeal reality. I excused myself and found my way back to my body. "Lemurians (Monos Astrál)", acrylic, gelpen, and digital color & cobbling, 2018.
The Ungoogleable Michaelangelo
www.voidandimagination.com
Greetings from a third world wonderland where mangos plummet from the sky and hit the corrugated metal roof of our shamanic shack like gunshot blasts—a wonderful sentiment in silent ceremony, as it breaks the deepening concentration into a million pieces of mind. Here raindrops pitter-pattering on that same roof sound like popcorn popping in a pan.
One night the rain relentlessly poured down, continuously, a ceaseless sizzle. A barrage of wet white noise hung like a moist tapestry between heaven and earth. Tuning in to the sound, my awareness rode the rain upwards into the sky. The stalks of rain became like trunks of trees in a rain-forest, a fully formed virtual realm reigned by its own autonomous sense of tranquility, while the actual jungle soundtrack continued to chirp, unaltered.
I directed my attention at where I detected motion and there it became lively: ring-tailed lemurs ascended the trees--an alternating rhythm of green and pink pulsing upward through the patterns of their tails and the trunks of the trees like matrix-code, shuttling information upstream.
Then the strangest thing happened. The patterns unearthed from their forms. Ring tails became ring tones! Familiar forms of forest scenes were savagely abstracted, and the remaining semblance of perceived patterns came swarming at me from the once quiescent scene, overwhelming me like a band of screeching mutant monkeys seeking refuge from the storm in the bomb-shelter of my blown mind.
Gene-swarms of uninterpreted code-critters came croaking, crooning, careening, and crawling around my head, burrowing their brooding, growling sensations into my brain. I felt violated. Internally, I expressed my profound discomfort towards these ambivalent vibes, begging them to relent lest they were medicinal in nature.
As the last of them nestled into my brain all fell silent for a moment and then my ear began ringing with the rising din of a thousand Chinese healing balls a-jangle, growing in intensity, its overtones dialing me up into the healing heavens.
"Rain-forest", acrylic on canvas, 2015/ "Rain-forest 2", embellished in photoshop, 2018/ "Brain-forest", pencil on paper, colored in photoshop (wip), 2018.
The Ungoogleable Michaelangelo
www.voidandimagination.com
"Papaver Somniferous Moth-Mind" acrylic on canvas, 2006
***
On Opiated Poppy Paste You can have great conversations but all that remains, when you lose track of the topic and your train of thought falls away, is the last caboose framed in the opiated portraiture of the perpetual present.
But you learn to craft ever more exquisite conversational cabooses till you’re poppyhoppin’ between trains of thought till single sentences can stand alone and deliver you to your momentary destination.
***
What a Farce, the Human Race, to Limit Itself to a Stage
Imbued with superpowers and super powerful delusions Current channels, ineffable but not infallible we muster up forgiveness for the divine, The Most High Expectations, for letting us down and facilitating our folly.
We dust off our trust & broken angel wings and fare moth-minded into the flames with thoughts aflutter, mapping the light in shades of self and other
till we’re mere mirror-minded moths, my dear— flame-frenzied, blind as bats, once upon a time from here.
www.voidandimagination.com
“Paranormal Panorama” acrylic on canvas, 2015.
The dreamer awakens to find a small creature singing his dream into the world to relieve the aching of waking
The Ungoogleable Michaelangelo
www.voidandimagination.com
“Psychonaut2 (on the go)”, acrylic on canvas, 2015. Here he is again, depicted in living color—on the job, on the go, on the astral. Though his eye sockets remain hollow, His spacesuit is buzzing, writhing with otherworldly sensation, surrounded by pareidolic entities and cosmic currents.
