nah pop, no style

I was going to write a piece of journalistic fluff critiquing a piece of journalistic fluff that ran in the P-G last week (it was about Christmas specials, which I love, but it was awful) but now it’s been a week and it feels like old news. So instead, I’ll talk about Krishnas.

Today I was sort of approached downtown by a Krishna. She was small and Indian, which took me by surprise because the only Krishnas I’ve really encountered in real life have generally been gangly white folk. The best one was a tall guy who used to hang out and proselytize a good bit in Oakland and on the South Side; he accosted me once on Carson Street while I was flyering for some political something or another, and  he of course offered me the Gita and put it in my hand and started talking to me. He asked my major, and when he found out I was a writer, noted to me that the book in my hands was written by the greatest writer of all (GOD).

We talked and talked and, well, mostly he talked and I nodded my head, and at one point he actually signed the Gita himself, as if that was going to add to the value or something (Ebay gold, autographed by random Krishna from Pittsburgh!). Then of course he came around to asking for a donation, at which point I offered something like 75 cents, and he immediately jerked the book back out of my hands — the book he had earlier “given” me — and explained that he could only give that to me for a $20 donation, and if I was only giving 75 cents, he could give me some other book, which he did, and I took it and never read it.

Today’s Krishna was a bit less outgoing, but I appreciated her hook: she quietly approached and asked if I would like a “book about yoga.” Which, of course, it is — a major league book about yoga. But, given the increased Westernization of the practice of yoga, it’s a clever selling point; plenty of people who wouldn’t think twice about taking a religious tract from someone (especially someone who’s going to ask for a donation) might be interested in a book about yoga. Yoga is something that people who eat yogurt and granola and get up early in the morning and are happy and well-adjusted do!

This weekend I got the brand new Daniel Higgs (he’s Daniel “belteShazzar” Higgs this time around) record, Metempsychotic Melodies, as well as last year’s Ancestral Songs (credited to Daniel (Arcus Incus Ululat) Higgs, Interdimensional Song-Seamstress). In lieu of a traditional review, I present to you a contest:

Following are ten excerpts of verse. Some are from Daniel Higgs; the remainder are from Rumi. Your job is to guess which are which. The contest will begin at the moment this post is published, and will end Wednesday (November 21, 2007) at 2:00 PM 4:00 PM EST whenever I say it’s over. Present your answers to me via email (see sidebar). Closest to 100% gets a special yet-undecided handmade gift compliments of the Andybot. If there are multiple winners, I’ll somehow randomly draw from the top names to determine who recieves the prize. Obviously since you’re sitting at a computer you could pretty easily cheat but that wouldn’t be fair NOR fun. Right? Live by the golden rule: Don’t be a jagoff.

Good luck!

1.
You’re song,
a wished-for song.

Go through the ear to the center
where sky is, where wind,
where silent knowing.

Put seeds and cover them.
Blades will sprout
where you do your work.

2.

Love is the way messengers
from the mystery tell us things.

Love is the mother. We are her children.
She shines inside us, visible-invisible,

as we lose trust or feel it start to grow again.

3.

If I were many I would circle around You
If I were few I would mimic You
If we were but one never to divide
If I divide yet half destroyed
Am I not Thy faithful steward?

4.

Opposites are drawn into your presence but
not to be resolved. You are not whole

or ever complete. You are the wonder
without willpower going where you want.

5.

On the scalp of the sun
We will find a sign inscribed
Of the triple genitalia
As if to remind us
That we will be mated.

6.

I take a pilgrim’s shape steadfast and true
Searching for the burning beacon of you
And though I circle wide and wander drear
Drawn forever on through your pervading nearness
Love is a gravity that bows us down

7.

Dance, when you’re broken open.
Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of the fighting.
Dance in your blood.
Dance, when you’re perfectly free.

8.

My Love, these living rags I wear
My Beloved, the daughter of the Sea and the Air
The reflecting Sea beneath the invisible Air
The conjunction of everything with everywhere

9.

You are the well-spring of untamed light
You are a song-form forming at night
You are the primitive and universal alphabet
You are a chain of worlds bound in time.

10.

If the beloved is everywhere,
the lover is a veil,

But when living itself
becomes the Friend,
lovers disappear.

Well, folks, those of you who have been following this blog for a good long time may well know that today is a special anniversary.

What’s that? You have no idea what I’m talking about?

Okay then, I’ll spell it out for you: it’s been exactly two years since the original recording of the Mavis phone message!

For those of you who are relative newcomers, I’ve taken it upon myself to re-upload the mp3, since Q’s site is no longer active. Here, in all its glory.

And a transcription for those who are interested:

Mavis? Are you singing? Are you singing yet?

Do you want to come? I want to ask if you would- there’s a luncheon tomorrow at the Duquesne Club. If you would like to attend - it’s a - the talk is about Germany.

If you want- if you like if you like I can make a reservation for you.

Anybo-{BEEEEEP} I, I, {BEEP BOOP}

It was tentative, I don’t know if they’re going to have it yesterday, er tomorrow. Twenty-seven.

October twenty-seventh.

If you like I can make a reservation for you.

This is Clara. I forgot to tell you who i am.

Alright that’s all, bye now.

As noted, went and saw some Whirling Dervishes last night. How does one comment on another’s mystical experience? I’d rather focus on the tangentials:

• There was a powerpoint demonstration going on throughout the actual sema, which seemed a little weird and distracting. The idea was that the PPT would explain to all of us clueless folk what was going on — which is fine — but in the end I still had plenty of unanswered questions, so I dunno.
• Before the Dervishes, there was a little comic skit in which two guys, one of whom may or may not play bit parts on The Sopranos, discussed the Dervishes, in another effort to initiate us Dumb Pittsburghers into the whole thing. That was a lil weird.
• During the performance of some traditional Sufi music (which was totally sweet), before the whirling, at one point a teenage boy who was backstage began to burst through a door that opened right onto the stage, presumably not realizing where he was going. Andy and Friend of Andy postulated that he had been put up to it by the other boys backstage, or else was fooled into thinking the door went somewhere else. Regardless, it was a GOLDEN comic moment and resulted in me stifling laughter through the rest of the music.
• The women behind me were a little hilarious: during the intermission, their commentary sounded like a cross between Statler & Waldorf and my mom: “I dunno, this whole thing seems a little amateurish . . . what was with that guy comin’ through the door in the middle of the music? And you can see that guy backstage talkin’ on his cell phone . . . ” “Yeah and the guy talked more about Rumi than about the Dervishes!” “Hey, you know how to get to Smicksburg?” “Yeah, you go up 28 then get on 85 . . . like, goin’ toward Punxsutawney or whatever . . .”
• When the Dervishes would get to a certain spot on the stage, their shoes would squeak a lot. Seems like it wouldn’t be conducive to ecstasy . . .
• My favorite Powerpoint slide was during the third salute: “Total annihilation of the self in the loved one. This state of ecstasy is the highest grade.” New personal motto.