ONTIC BROADCASTING FROM
THE DEN OF APSINTHION
Z’Etoile being Z’Etoile, with the Houstonian shopping for a miniature bottle of kleren and veve-spangled drapeaux for her altar (the little sorciere!), I found myself looking for Evangeline in the heart and soul of New Orleans (after the Agau-loa got angry). Seated in the sun-dappled décor of The Old Absinthe House on Bourbon Street, I pondered the odd lyrics to a certain Acadian (Cajun) folk song*, asking myself why on earth did Good King Dagobert put his breeches on backwards, and wear that beautiful green robe with holes at the elbows? With the veil of many colors before me, otherwise known as “the masterpiece of an old alchemist” (albeit with a lesser cousin wormwood - I suppose so that its victims don’t have to wear such a ghastly aureole), the mysteryologist suspected that others concluded a Merovingian bloodline connection (those “do-nothing” kings of France). The same goes for Evangeline, and the reason that it was so important that the lovers be united after all those years. After all, acorns don’t float, and after first stopping at that enigmatic island in Mahone Bay, Nova Scotia, during the Revolution, other members of French royalty sought refuge among the swamps of the Red River. And considering another legend of Bayou Teche in Louisiana – that of a great snake that couldn’t be killed (in French, the word “teche’ means snake), the cryptic prose-poem, “Le Serpent Rouge” of the graal quest came to mind. Curses!, I mean, Sacrebleu!, I know the truth… (Oh, the Universal Peacock). But as for Hoodoo, not being a connoisseur of this particular connaissance (Creolized or otherwise), except to know, in this quartier macabre, not to forget a blackened chicken sandwich for Brigitte in her purple dress, instead of watching for the ghosts of pirates and artists gliding across the sanded floor with their icy opalescent concoctions (as Crowley called the wormwood draught) – in this case any debatement not attributed to the Vodouisant, I decided to answer some e-mail on my iBook. Besides, perhaps Evangeline never left St. Martinville, and was at that very moment sitting in some glitzy bayou casino. And one without the need of any yellow bowl out front!
* “Good King Dagobert” is also a well-known nursery rhyme
SUBJECT: JAMBI LYRICS
“What do you think of the on-line analysis of the lyrics to JAMBI in “infernalmajesty’s diary?”
Well, I’ll certainly give him and “A” for effort, although this analysis is most likely an exercise in over-thinking. From what I’ve read, the person in question claimed that an essential interpretation of Tool’s “Jambi” could be found in Aleister Crowley’s “The Gospel According to Saint Bernard Shaw.” (Note: the book is quite rare, but the complete text was reprinted by Francis King in 1974 in a book entitled “Crowley on Christ” which is a bit easier to obtain.)
In Crowley’s essay, which began as a critique of the preface of George Bernard Shaw’s “Androcles and the Lion”, the section that mentions Jambi in Indonesia borrows heavily from J. G. Frazer’s “The Golden Bough”, and concerns the ancient custom of the ritual sacrifice of the king’s substitute (who in that particular region was often of the same bloodline as the king), with parts of the body later consumed. Masquerading as royalty, i.e. invested with the divine attributes of the king, including all the special privileges before it was time to be beheaded, in this way (in order to fool the gods or demi-gods), the death of the imposter might serve its purpose quite as well as the actual king would have. With regards to this, some might say, divine anthropophagy, I could go on about such a vicarious sacrifice connection between these substitute kings and the helliquin, or harlequin of the old mystery plays (as well as the reason for Dagobert’s tattered duds!), but that might not be necessary at this point. Just as Quazgaa doesn’t drive a Honda Civic, I don’t think the lyrics to “Jambi” were influenced by Crowley’s book, although, come to think of it, the djini (genie) in the ornate box on Pee-wee’s Playhouse is but a disembodied head… Incidentally, some Thelemites reading this might be interested to learn that the Great Beast divulged “the greatest secret of all magick” in an abbreviated form in “The Gospel According to St. Bernard Shaw” (written around 1916), this being the same parable of the train passenger with the mongoose in the basket that Crowley published in his magnum opus, “Magick in Theory and Practice” many years later. Hey, just a little jambalaya ala Crowley for you. Now, since we’re on the path of the chameleon, it’s time for another visit from la Fee Verte (minus the thujone).
Here from a kings mountain view,
Here from a wild dream come true,
Feast like a sultan, I do, on
Treasures and flesh, never few,
But I would wish it all away if I thought I’d lose you just one day.
The Devil and his had me down.
In love with the dark side I’d found.
Dabbling all the way down.
Up to my neck, soon to drown.
But you changed that all for me.
Lifted me up. Turned me round.
SO I would wish this all away…
Prayed like a martyr dusk to dawn.
Begged like a hooker all night long.
tempted the devil with my song.
And Got what I wanted all along.
But I would wish it all away…
no prize that could hold sway or justify my giving away my center so
If I could I’d wish it all away if I thought tomorrow would take you away.
You, my piece of mind, my all, my center, just trying to hold on one more day.
Damn my eyes if they should compromise the fulcrum.
(if) wants and needs divide me then I might as well be gone.
Shine on forever. Shine on, benevolent sun.
Shine down upon the broken . Shine until the two become one.
Shine on forever. Shine on, benevolent sun.
Shine down upon the severed . Shine until the two become one.
Divided, I’ll wither away. Divided I’ll wither away.
Shine down upon the many. Light our way, benevolent sun.
Breathe in union. Breathe in union. Breathe in union. Breathe in union.
Breathe in union so as one survive another day and season.
Silence, legion. save your poison. Silence, legion. Stay out of my way.
MAYNARD JAMES KEENAN
SUBJECT: MAYNARD ON BOB SAGET?
“Is that Maynard in the opening scenes of Bob Saget’s HBO special “That Ain’t Right’. I can swear it’s him. Can you let me know, it’s driving me nuts.”
I wouldn’t know because I don’t have cable – only rabbit-ears and a few static-laden channels, but definitely not HBO. If someone wants to spring for cable, I’ll be able to watch these wonderful things and better report on them. In the meantime I’ll have to resort to veridical dreams to get my news (hell, it worked with the new O. J. thing). However, the other day I was informed by a certain little hor… ticulturist that “Cobras & Matadors” was recently featured on “The Hills.” I guess the couple that were out on a (contrived) date were having trouble reading the menu in the dark. To which I say, bring a fuckin’ flashlight next time or just order the fuckin’ fries! (I mean, the truffle-scented patatas fuckin’ fritas).
SUBJECT: TICKS & LEECHES SKIPPING/STALLING
“An overnight DJ once played “Lateralus” (in almost its entirety) for the “3 o clock “Side Show” segment. Track 8, Ticks & Leeches got stuck in the middle twice, so she moved on to track 9, Lateralus. A listener called in and said his version of “Lateralus” does that too. I have the CD but no CD player (it’s ripped to my computer). I’d like to know if this is meant to happen (and if so, why?) If it does, I have several theories:
1) It’s for the limited edition vinyl where it could switch to an alternate track.
2) It’s a hint to help reorganize the album. I’ve already done this, and I think I’ve got it figured out. This is the only question I don’t have answered. My guess would be that it skips right when “Parabola” ends and “Lateralus” begins. Based on my calculations, that would be 13214592 samples into the song (just short of 5 minutes, 13230000 samples, since 44100 samples = I second).”
Unlike the first e-mailer, perhaps, this person is definitely not over-thinking. And I thought that it was all a big waste of time for the band to devise the skipping/stalling feature in that way. No, seriously, did you ever consider that the lady DJ just screwed up her copy of Lateralus and lied about another listener having the same problem so she wouldn’t look bad while on air? Honestly, I don’t know why it happened (a CD skipping is such a bizarre phenomenon!), but it’s not that the band did it on purpose so that you’d have to purchase a second… and third… and fourth… and fifth… and sixth… and seventh copy. Until we figure it out, let’s blame it on the zany antics of the Petro-loa! Speaking of which, perhaps a verser of Dixie beer might suffice…
SUBJECT: BLOODSUCKING CHUPACABRA
“I was reading the site the other day about the chupacabra, and while I wasn’t entirely sure what the hell you were talking about, today I came across this! This is probably the 10,000th email you’ve received about the discovery. For that, I apologize.” http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070901/ap_fe_st/mythical_chupacabra.
No need to apologize, my friend. Whatever it was discovered near SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS sure stirred up a craze (and was responsible for all kinds of tee-shirts being sold!) Unless the whole thing wasn’t part of some elaborate advertising campaign to sell a new wine, or the Bizango are up to no good in that moonlit peristyle of theirs, I suspect that this ugly little cuss with the fanged teeth found in Cuero was the same creature with the glowing red eyes (Armadillo Ze Rouge!) that the Houstonian and I encountered on the highway near Bastrop after stopping at a barbecue shack where they didn’t have truffle-scented fuckin’ patatas fritas (I mean, fries). Even though this thing was said to have drained the blood from chickens (understandable, you won’t see many chupacabras being served at KFC – working there maybe, but served, I think not), I’ll bet it’s a strange breed and/or mutated dilla (and not a residual effect from the removal of any curse). Even in Texas, people often mistake armadillos for monstrous cryptids, and not only that - even for alien entities. In fact, I recently saw on television (after adjusting the rabbit ears) that the eminent ufologist, DR. D. B. Selwick, was called out to a farmhouse whose owner believed that he had captured an extraterrestrial being. In reality, this turned out to be only a rather nervous armadillo (and then they quickly cut away to a Mercury Insurance commercial!) However, if this latest critter turns out to be the mythical chupa, well then, shit fire and save the matches! You can bet those Texans will make roadkill chili (with or without beans) out of the little devils. That or grind them into Justaburgers. Hey, its gotta be better than whatever’s already in those Der Wienerschnitzel Pupsters.
SUBJECT: AREA 51 AND KFC LOGO
“Did you see that KFC has put a giant advertisement out near Area 51?”
I don’t know what this has to do with Tool? Oh yeah, Rosetta Stoned. Well, I suppose we can mention something about that place on the Tool website. Yep, I heard about it a while back, and can only hope it won’t be used for target practice. I guess the hope is that the aliens who travel light-years to our mud ball in the boondocks will see Colonel Cluck’s mug from space and be sure to go through the drive –thru (as walk-ins, of course – let’s not get ridiculous) for a bucket of extra crispy legs and thighs now that there’s no longer any trans-fat. (I know that the Nemirion-‘Greys’ really watch their weight.) If so, the geniuses at company headquarters better put some strawberry ice cream on the menu. Wait a minute! Weren’t all those Hoosiers waiting for the UFOs to appear in “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” eating KFC (back when they were proud that it was fried!)? I KNOW that the effeminate ‘gumby’ alien at the end wasn’t eating at the Colonel’s palace (unless it was a bulimic effeminate bendy-doll ‘grail’ alien). I guess the brilliant folks at the company’s headquarters didn’t realize that those were government helicopters (and not alien spaceships) out to try and fool them all. Idiots! To be honest, though, the giant KFC logo is right next to Rachel, Nevada and the Little Ale’Inn, so… if such beings landed, they, in fact, could actually get an… “Alien Burger.” That is, if Pat’s still serving them. So, then… (scratches head)
SUBJECT: BLAME HOFMANN
No, the Voice Over of the doctor is not Sasha Popovic, who plays in Butcher with Camella Grace, and it’s not an Australian accent. It’s an English accent, and I’m sorry but you’ll just have to wait for the album credits… once I receive them from the band’s manager. Same goes for the identity of the Nurse Voice Over.
SUBJECT: MAYNARD’S KEYBOARD DOLL
“What is that doll that Maynard has on his keyboard stand?”
I don’t know anything about dolls except that going-up-in-value Icelandic Barbie doesn’t spill stuff on my carpet (well, not that much). I would attempt to find this out using the lost art of xylomancy, but it’s damn hot here in K-ville, hence, no fire logs in The Old Absinthe House. Vudo-tronics won’t help either (probably because my ‘batterie’ is low - damn, that’s a nice pun… if I do say so myself!) So, having not seen it (if it even exists at all), my best guess is that it’s… It’s… I haven’t a ghost of a notion…
(correct, this is not an e-mail question)
While having a drink with the spawn of Dagdagiel in “The Dungeon”, a local artist approached to show us samples of his work that were for sale. The Houstonian was impressed, and purchased a print. Even though some of this art involves spiders (and even slightly Redon-looking spiders), the arachnophobe here will post a Myspace address so that you can check out his work for yourself: myspace.com/whereartdestroysitself
SUBJECT: CHUPACABRA AND BLOOD-DRAINED CHICKENS
“The other day I was reading about the chupacabra on the site…”
I’ll bet you a zombi astral in a pickle jar that these unidentified mysterious animals (UMA) are the pets of the Grey-Nemirions who escaped from the Rigelian Sport Model while their owners were inside the KFC ordering extra crispy legs and thighs (probably wishing that the person at the drive-thru speaker wasn’t talking in Jambese – the one language not programmed on their Dicta-Roboter. Either that or…
As I was about to finish replying to this e-mail, my Erzulie in faded jeans returned with a plastic bag filled with strong cigarettes, candles, Tabasco, yams and a tiny azure and golden-frosted cake (the little sorciere!) Setting down the viridian spirit and pointing to all the vintage football helmets hanging from the ceiling, the one thing I couldn’t fathom, so I told her, was why every team in the NFL was represented except for one: The OAKland Raiders. (Understand, all you Dagobert – Oak Island researchers?) This seemed especially odd in a pirate-friendly establishment. Oh, well, perhaps George Frederick Blanda used to patronize the place centuries ago. At that very moment, my reverie was shattered by the sound of a lambi blowing from the gulf. What the hell! Did the gators and catfish come back? Was it time to send in George? He, too, flew the Jolly Roger of the outlawed Knights Templar… with their missing treasure to be found in the starry constellation of The (hay) Wain. All right, but no time to count sesame seeds. Outside on Bourbon Street there were the echoes of Benin… the rhythmic beat of handclapping, summoning the loa hiding behind those Catholic saints. Being that I was on the path of the chameleon, I left the antique rainbow drip and went out to watch the parade with their sousphones, sax and tambour… with the trianglier bringing up the rear, protected from the bright sunshine by a garish fringed parasol. Suddenly I was in the mood for swamp shots, shrimp and muffaletta (well, for swamp shots). Through the ‘barrie’ I went… off to Pat O’Brien’s! and those souvenir Hurricane glasses that I once saw in a veridical dream (along with fireball candies, gris-gris bags and cornmeal symbols). By 3:00 AM I’d probably be seeking nourishment from the Zothyrian Krystal. Now, If you still don’t know why Good King Dagobert put his breeches on backwards, and had holes in his beautiful green robe, or why to me Zophiel isn’t ham, salami and chopped olives, blame it not on Hofmann, but on Adjasou and a baptism of that “fascinating but subtle poison…” Ayibobo.
(NOTE: Tool is scheduled to perform at the New Orleans Arena on November 17)
SUBJECT: HELP! CONFUSION WITH TICKETMASTER SEATING CHARTS?
“I am currently trying to purchase tickets to the New Orleans show. Every time I bring up Section 107, which, according to the seating chart, is supposed to be the full view of the stage, it has a note that says “BEHIND STAGE VIEW OF BACK OF PERFORMERS ONLY!” Please tell me which side of the arena that Tool will be facing. I do not want to have my concert ruined by showing up, assuming I have great tickets and then be fucked. Ticketmaster could not help me with this question.”
THE REPLY (if not the answer):
Hmmm… All I can say is that they’ll most likely be facing the right side – where the majority of the audience is seated. The note seems pretty straightforward to me. It said that Section 107 has a full view of the STAGE, but warned that it’s located behind the direction the performers are facing. I can only assume that they know more about this than I do, seeing how… without any bowl of quicksilver and indigo candles on hand… well, it should be obvious. Maybe try checking with the band’s stage manager, Eric? He does posts on ToolArmy Sosyete (and, I believe he replies to certain questions) in a section called “NOTES FROM THE CREW.” But, if you do end up sitting behind the band members, let me know about any wax voodoo doll with pins stuck into the effigy of a Tool enthusiast who holds up a camera with a flash that might be on any keyboard stand. As a last resort, offer 151-proof rum, cigars, peppers, gold doubloons, and call on the Bawon. Either way, I sincerely hope you enjoy the show.