All posts by jacktrismegistus

I am called Jack. I am an incarnation of all the Jack's that have ever been. My opinions and philosophies are a reflection of said Jack's. The blog is entitled Inglorious Resurrection because like you I have been granted yet another chance, and like you each chance granted becomes more degenerative than the previous. And like you, I yearn for a way out. Jack is my only glimpse of hope because there is a lil Jack in all of us.

To Think is to Know (a poem by Jack)

I think therefore I am..

Without a trace of thought..you k(no)w longer exist..

A pity, without man… There is no God to worship…

None to harvest prayers,

None to withhold energies,

None to accumulate the interest upon intention stored…Yes, as a bank would– you collect, store and make interest from the intentions of my prayers…

And I always assumed my prayers landed on def ears–the truth is much worse…

I voluntarily spoke but with misconception, you simply took advantage of my intention..

Why do that from without, with what can be done from within..

The source is always within–the core…

Names and titles, I give credit to titles because names are too fickle..

Names do not tell the full story, but a title is the perfect descriptor.. Only that which can fulfill the role can fulfill the title..

Human Rights and dignity.. Dignity by design..

You either create your bed or you destroy it,

Eventually we all have to rest our heads…

Hope, and Blood Moon Sacrifice..

Affliction by the all mighty…

let the Messengers speak to you—or through you..

Your responsibility is a blessing, not a burden as they would lead you to believe..

Awaken and Think!

When you do not apply you freedoms correctly your blessings dry up..

So think!

Never allow an idiot to impose and sacrifice your thought for their motives..

Awaken and Think!

With thought you can organize and express your free will.

And that can never be stripped…because human rights and dignity are endowed from the infinite..

That from which you were derived from..

So Think! Just Think….

Robo boy… (A poem by Jack)

A machine… You were born to be..

A you were meant to be…
Mechanical mind state with mechanical thoughts.. Pre-contrived notions in a pre-programmed ideology… Implanted in a free and receptive mind at inception..
Trauma sustained… Lies sustained.. All glued together by the adherence of guilt..
Beautiful minds are so fuckin’ fragile… valuable souls have the greatest defenses but they’re always under attack..
How selfish must I be to draw someone into my dark world.. You couldn’t begin the understanding of my mechanics… Wired a little different…
You see that I’m different but you just don’t know how…
Who is trying to fucking kill me!!!
I ask and I ask, but you refuse step into the light.  Instead choosing to maneuver among the shadows and crevices–the dark recesses of my mind.
I am not afraid to die.. More so how I’ll die… I Just want my dignity…. If not, just some semblance of peace of mind… I want to tell my story, and not live a machines tell.
In order to tell it, I need a listener ..
I found what I fear… It has swallowed me whole… But my head sticks out of it’s mouth, it is slowly spitting me back up. My fears could never consume me because of who I am, and who I am is greater than what it began to consume. What it began to consume was a reductionsalist’s reality, but I am a story-teller’s myth!
An entity more than a machine…more than a man… More than a summation of decisions.. More than an accumulation of failures and triumphs.. And that, my friend, is too much to wrap your lips around–more than a mouth-full.
Yet you refuse to give up, I confronted you and it only encouraged you more.  I acknowledged you and it invigorated you and enervated me in the process.  I thought I’d call your bluff, but it seemed to only declare war.  How am I to survive without reconciliation of mind.  You’ve chosen to divide and conquer, and implosion is your only chance.  It appears it is the only chance that you need.
Perhaps a mechanical soul to parallel my mechanical mind would be much more appropriate…A thorough machine may be my only defense from you…

Sublime ( a movie response)

SUBLIME:

Is a very layered and symbolic movie, It is intentionally designed for the thinking man.  In fact, the director describes the movie as a thinking man’s horror film.  The film is like an onion, in that it has layers on top of layers, and really, depending on what mind set you are bringing to the movie that which you derive from the movie will be different.  I will explore some of the themes that I felt spoke to me.

The main theme of the movie is FEAR.  The film explores the power of fear, and how fear drives our life on an subconscious level, which eventually bleeds over to a conscious level.  It shows how these fears swallow us up so much that they eventually become the sole purpose of our existence.

This movie is unique, in not so much that it is told from the Patriarchal-White-Male perspective, but that it gives this Archetype vulnerability—It finally gives perspective to the truth of this archetype.    That despite how much power it has assumed, it is helpless in so many ways, because fear dictates its actions. The film also makes a bold statement: that perhaps this archetype need not to exist in order to save the world. This film gives insight into the white male psyche, all of his fears, EXCEPT PERHAPS ITS GREATEST, is placed into one progressive narrative. The film is a purge of sorts that has many levels to it. I will delve into but a few, the same general themes that I like to embark upon, although, the ironic part about this movie was that there was no BLACK FEMALE ARCHTYPE in this movie (Which I hold true to be the White-male-patriarchal archetype’s antithesis) .

The story is centered around the main character, George Grieves. He is a liberal, upper-middle class white male. The day after his 40th birthday he goes in to have a routine colonoscopy, but do to iatrogenic complications he has a series of unfortunate occurrences. This is when the movie splits into its many dualisms.  The primary dualism is the narrative inside of George’s subconscious mind juxtaposed to the narrative of George’s actual life. In his subconscious life, he has a botched routine surgery that leads to him having his spleen removed erroneously, and he also gets staph infection leading to leg amputation. In his actual life he has a botched surgery that leads to him being thrown into a coma/vegetative state for several months.

The majority of the film takes place in the subconscious of George. Of course the viewing audience is not aware of this because, as a viewer, you are not sure what is real and what is not until the end of the movie, because the narratives are shown conjointly.

As in most of the movies I have commented on, the protagonist is casted in the light of Jesus or rather the Christ Archetype. At his birthday party before his surgery, he literally recreates the last supper scene with a photograph, with him being Jesus. He also received an olive tree, which is representative of the garden of Gethsemane, the final place Jesus roamed freely before he was captured and crucified. Even his botched surgery scar is located in the same place that Jesus was pierced by the spear while on the Cross.

In the opening sequence of the movie there are two paintings. Directly above his head when he awakens from a dream is a painting of Adam and Eve, and as the camera rotates there is a painting of an incubus assuming a dominating position atop a helpless woman. This theme is reverberated throughout the movie and recreated in various ways–always, George in the helpless role and various characters in the role of the incubus. The incubus, of course, is a symbolism of George’s fear. And George is a representation of the typical patriarchal-white-male archetype.

Now I will explore the FEARS of George as expressed in the film.

  • 1.  His number one fear is losing control (Power). In his actual life, George is well off.  He has a large house, is able to pretty much retire by the age of 40.  Even convinced his wife to stop pursuing her career and raise his kids—who are soon to leave the nest.  Yet, in the subconscious world he has no control.  He is completely bed ridden, and dependent on nurse and hospital staff for everything, to get around, to receiving nutrition, even to receive information as to what is going on with himself and the world around him.
  • A.  His Wife: in the beginning of the movie, during the “Last Supper” sequence his wife is depicted as Judas.  This fear of losing control of his wife is prevalent.  In fact, in the subconscious reality he ends up stumbling onto his wife having intercourse with the same doctor who botched his surgery, in the East Ward.
  • B. His Daughter: he is afraid of who his daughter may turn out to be. He raised a wholesome American girl.  Yet, in the subconscious reality his daughter brings a lesbian lover to his room, and she is actually the person who reveals to him that his leg had been amputated.
  • 2.   There is a male nurse in the film that is played by a strong black man. George is at first very skeptical of the man, but the skepticism turns into full blown fear very swiftly.  The black man is symbolic of the unknown, and every negative stereo-type that George has of a black male rolled up into one individual.  George asks the man what his name is and he replies that it is Mandingo.  Mandingo wears a bow tie, walks very prominently and is very stoic saying very little.  Until the final sequence of the movie, in which, he has quite a lengthy soliloquy.  He gives a diatribe confronting George about all his fears: saying that he is a representation of the disenfranchised, uneducated, under-cared-for, shoe-shining, under-privileged, under-class that has risen up to take back control.  He then begins a torture sequence which in turn allows George to be “freed” from his fears.
  • 3.    Losing his identity rather his place in the world. In one sequence shortly after his botched surgery. George has a dialogued with a masked man, who warns George of the dangers of the hospital.  Telling him that this place will strip you of your identity and dignity.  This eventually becomes true, because as the movie progresses, George becomes less and less in control.  And at one point he is completely emasculated and is called a “Kid” by the Mandingo character. George is afraid that he will lose his place in the Hierarchy of social dominance: on top of the pyramid.

 Another prominent figure in the movie was a female nurse named Chloe.  In the subconscious life she was responsible for George receiving the staph infection, because she accidentally cut his leg when transporting him for his initial surgery.  She ends up caring for George predominantly, and is his means of being transported around the hospital in a wheel chair.  She provides much of the answers to the questions that George ends up having, because no one else is around.  She is depicted in the real world as a relatively attractive young woman.  But in his subconscious life she is depicted as a sexy, flirtatious young woman.  Her attire becomes tighter, her dress becomes shorter etc.  She then becomes a representative of George’s fantasy. She is a living, breathing representation of George’s fantasies and desires.  At one point, after George is convinced his wife cheated on him, Chloe approaches him—this is near the end of the movie.  She is very appreciative George did not have her fired because of her being the reason his leg needed to be amputated.  George is helpless on the hospital bed and she begins to copulate with George.  She mounts him and is having sex with him while facing the opposite direction of him, she begins to disrobe and on her back is a tattoo of the “Tree of Life”.  George asks her what the tattoo is and she reveals to him what it is.    Shortly after this scene, comes in Mandingo. This is when he mounts George in a similar fashion as Chloe except that he is facing George.  George is even more helpless at this point; he cannot even speak because he has a feeding tube in his mouth. This is when he begins his soliloquy about being the sum of George’s fears.  Before he begins to torture George he hops off and pulls back a curtain to reveal the patient next to the George. It is an individual wrapped from head to toe in bandages, the person’s arms and legs are missing and they are badly disfigured.  Mandingo has a blade in his hand implicating that this disfigurement was done by him.  He then flips the body around and the “Tree of Life” tattoo is displayed on the characters back and George realizes it is Chloe.  Mandingo then remounts George and rips open his shirt and the “Tree of Life” tattoo is displayed on his chest.

The implication of this sequence is powerful and layered.  On one level, you have the idea that George’s fears were such a powerful force that they literally dismantled his fantasies.  He allowed his fear to be the most powerful force in his mind.  His “Tree of Life” no longer sprang forth from his fantasies but became hijacked by his fears.  Also, there is the homo-erotic aspect to the scene–George feeling emasculated and totally helpless in the presence of a Black man, and that Black man confronting him with all the ills that he has placed on society–“he” of course being a representation of the white-patriarchal-archetype–and Mandingo being a representation of the original man or all the exploited people of color around the world.  This foretelling one of the white-patriarchal-archetypes biggest  fears– that the disenfranchised will eventually rise up and destroy the “The American Dream”.

At the end of the torture sequence, Mandingo told George that he was now empowered and set free.  George then immediately limped out of the bed, hobbled to the window, and jumped to his death.  As he died in his subconsciously life he flat lined in his real life. (The as above so below concept) Ironically, enough this fulfills the Jesus or Christ Archetype.  Christ had the power to save himself but allowed himself to be killed (suicide) as George was burdened with all the fears of the world and he “freed” himself through death.  This film alludes to the fact that this white-male-patriarchal archetype needs not exist as well as it’s illusions of the “American Dream”.  This film clearly implicates, that this archetype needs to be sacrificed as is and re-birthed anew–and to take on a new role.  No longer, avant-garde of society but that of willing participant.

All in all, I found this to be an excellent film for the thinking man.  Although, I found it interesting that this film did not have the Black-Female Archetype. –Which coincidently, this film chose not to touch on any aspect of spirituality.  Which if you have read any of my past blogs; you understand that I feel the Black Woman is the mother/guardian of spirituality.  The fact that there is no black-female character in this film and no mention of God is no coincidence at all.  I just found it very glaring that the creator of this film chose not to acknowledge either.  That which is actually their greatest fear they chose not to put into the film.  That which could cause the sum of all their other fears to come to fruition was not put into the film.  Ironically enough, It also could have been the one thing that could have saved George from being swallowed by his fears–spirituality.

To me, that says so much.  But that is another blog, for another day. 

Humpty (a poem by Jack)

I’m attuned with my surroundings so much..

And sometimes I feel so hard…

I can’t but help to feel like a God…

I can’t help but to feel like I owe the world…

I can’t help to feel like all is indebted to me…

But perhaps she was right.. Perhaps I’m all confused… Perhaps that curse she put on my soul will come to fruition…

I’ve been cursed many a time… Yet never gave em much power… But to this disease I may give credence…

Pride cometh before the fall.. And I do feel so far high.. In Jupiter’s clouds…

Will her gravitational pull bring me back down among men… Her derision may cause a cataclysmic combustion … Like comets my aspirations crashing into her earth…

Celestial bodies save me…

Cosmic egg… A scrambled intentions..

 I need all the kings men to put this demoted god back together again…

Shell by shell… Rebuild me within this mode of existence… But allow one crack to remain.. So that I must always know that from which I came.. So that I can have an acute representation of the cosmos.. So that I may not be entrapped within the confinement of this physical reality..that if I may so choose.. I can peek out from the crack and transfigure my reality any way I see fit..

So that I can once again be in tuned with the energies that surround me…

And perhaps her curse was no curse after all… Just fates little way of keeping balance… 

Justice abandoned but balance intact… 

You haven’t won yet… (A poem by Jack)

Public flogging…

Ceremonial execution…

My heads in the gallows for all to witness.. For all to caste blame.. Vicariously living their fears through me.. Vicariously atoning for their sins through me…

Emasculated and left to rot..

A strange fruit… Left to dangle from a tree..

The wind goes to and fro… Not saying much… But whispering to the witnesses.. As my limp body sways with the rthymm of the night..

I tried love once.. We didn’t so much mix… Like vinegar and water.. I vowed never to see her again..

A devil with a smile she was..

Yet she lured me in yet again..  I knew it couldn’t be different… But I just felt it would be… 

She just let me know I don’t deserve her… She really didn’t want me… Just wanted to ensure that she still had me…

I told her that would be the last time…


She just smiled… And said “sure”…

An Uncle’s love (a poem by Jack)

Packed my bags and ran away from it all… To you….

You promised everything would be alright…

You told me if I wrapped myself in your arms… Emerged myself in your world… And just let go of the past everything would be alright..

I didn’t need my family… You were all the love I needed..

You made me call you uncle..

Eventually after years within your reign… I eventually forgot about where I came from.. But I hurt so much now.. It makes me wonder where I came from..

It makes me question why I’m here.. Is this why I packed my thoughts and ran away to..

I should have known it would come with a price… You sought me out and played on my vulnerabilities… You knew I’d have to pay back that debt one way or another….

And you knew I didn’t have the one way… So it’d be the other..

It cost me everything I once knew and took for granted.. Everything that was once sacred, has now been shed like reptile skin…

My words don’t speak no more… My body don’t dance no more.. It’s whored out for your profit… My sight doesn’t even see clearly anymore.. Just a haze and a fog..

My brain’s chumped up on opiates… And my mind is barely reconciled enough to articulate these thoughts..

I’m tired… I’m so far tired..

Malnutritioned.. Deprived of something… Of Anything… All around me I hear stories.. Same sad song.. Different melody… 

We’re all just tired… We came to you because we believed in you…

And even now your soul is rottened out to the core… Eaten alive by miscreants, thieves, snakes and liars..

And now we’re left in the snakes den to fend for our selves… To die generation after generation.. Living for nothing but the hope that one day we’ll remember how it once was…

Until then we will die everyday like it’s our last… And live for the momentary pleasures you have to offer… Without the pleasures of the flesh we would have nothing…

So in actuality we have never had anything… We’re tired… Maybe one day we’ll be fed up!

And maybe then we may pack our bags and run from you…


But to where? 


Hopefully back to the love we should have never left…

Ensnared (a poem by Jack Quepid)

Encaged… 

Within the snare of narrow fingers– A coercive touch and slender bars of seduction..

Inside of her palm..

My current abode… It’s where my affection and thoughts reside..

No place like home… And when you are enprisoned long enough.. Even hell can feel like home..

But this ain’t hell… Yet, I’m equally obliged.. Ordained a life sentence.. Sharing a jail cell with blind emotion and raw passion…

Veterans in the game… They rape my soul nightly…daily.. In the shower.. Wherever they see fit…Thrusting … Ravaging… Justifying…

I really can’t stop thinking about her..

But who can lift this life sentence.. Remove this curse… 

What did I do to justify such torment?

An inhumane punishment I wouldn’t wish on my worst of foes..

I’m having a panic attack… Confined to this little box… I’m restricted.. I’m claustrophobic.. And without her presence my mind races a million sulks per minute.. 

A thousand sighs per second…

I hate love if this is all it has to offer…

But I can’t say I haven’t been here before.. And because of that I don’t qualify for parole…

No man has successfully escaped this island… And in my mind’s eye.. I can’t see why one would..

Meninist –joke in jest or a spit in the face of humanity…(a blog by Jack)

A pseudo-popular cult-like phenomenon that has gone relatively viral, it is a means to poke satirical fun at the feminist movement through pointing out “ironies” that men have to go through. It is meant to be taken in jest, and those who self-proclaim them-selves as meninist always claim that it is not to be taken seriously. It is meant as a joke pointing out the difficulties men have to go through in this politically correct stringent society.

Although, I do see the point that these men are making—we live in a hyper-sensitive “pc” society that protects any and everyone—why don’t men get equal protection? In particular—white males—those who presumably developed the idea, because that is who is seen mostly propagating this meninist “movement”. And there lies the majority of the problem. Not only does it undermine the struggles of a particular group of people, it makes light of their issues. And believe me, I get it, it’s just a joke bro: chill-out! Yes, not only does it make light of another group of people’s plight it makes a joke out of it.

This concept in itself is quite disconcerting, but it is of no surprise. Making fun of people is seemingly human nature. And in a lot of ways, it is how we, as humans, cope with our differences. We tend to make fun of it as a shield to understanding it. This concept I am quite familiar with, but the meninist movement does not stop there. It goes a step further—it then puts itself as the victim. The same group of people who have conquered this country, established the laws in this country, control the majority of major industry in this country, who propagate the media in this country, who dominate this country social-politically are now claiming to be the victim.

This is where the whole meninist movement took a turn from harmful fun, to me, to exceedingly damaging and quite a slap in the face. It’s as though, a particular group of people are saying—hey we don’t have enough supremacy, you guys over there are making too much sense and being too logical standing up for yourselves—look over here, we’re victims too. And as much as I’d like to even joke that I was a meninist, and as much as I believe feminist take their ideals way too far, I could never support such an agenda. I would not dare dignify it with a laugh. Because if I did, I’d be laughing at all of my ancestors who were hung from trees because of the same “Sense of entitlement” these meninist feel they deserve. This manifest destination that they have enacted on American Society and have convinced us all is the only means of living.

I do not see this as a joke, but a surriptious means of undermining any and all injustices put forth by this particular classification of people: a patriarchal-white establishment. 

 

Universal truths.. (a poem by Jack)

Do you know how it feels to have an entire universe floating around in your head?

(I’m speaking to your soul, so please listen…)

Who’s world do you choose…

That from without or that which thrives within..

The bleak versus the vibrational frequency of the indigo…

Who’s reality rings truer…if the waters break… Which will save my soul…

I’m in a placenta of creativity…

Feeding on the sparks of the universe.. 

The warmth of imagination blankets my soul, and the fluids of inspiration traverse my umbilical chord…

Mama earth … Don’t cut my line!

Keep me connected… And rooted in you forever… Or at least until this life runs its course…

The trees… The mountains… The happiness… The confusion… Fill me and let me regurgitate your lessons…


Mama I love you…


Gliding on the surface of the earth… Being carried by the eastern winds… Heavenly immaculate conceptions pontificating the thoughts of the indigo few— the indigo mighty–Preach…

Let my thoughts pour into the minds of the righteous… And if I do come back… Let them inspire me until the apocalypse unfolds… Until the prophecy is fulfilled… And one day we can be connected again but not as mother and child… But as earth and legend…

I the fruit of your loin… The expression of your willingness.. Let the seeds of your nature grow, and become universe’s of righteousness…

Stay within me… Allow this nascent idea to incubate within… And when it is ready to be birthed.. Allow this universe to swallow your thoughts as a black hole…

Let our universe come to fruition.. Allow your truth to be a physical truth… And a spiritual awakening! 

Earth… Thank you for the truths… Thank God for the waters…

Raggedy Anne… (a poem by Jack)

How do you hold it all in..

This ceramic exterior withholds so much…

You aim to please..

Is this your sense of inadequacy seeping out.. Everything is it’s opposite and you perfectly restrain the rage…

You aren’t happy but I sense all and judge Ye not…

Curly crimson… Relaxed velvet…

You seek out that which you feel deprived…that which your creator has not endowed you with..

But that’s ok because you will recreate the world around you to mold towards your imperfection..

A perfectly erected environment that perfectly adheres to your needs..

Yet this is not enough… And you are honest enough with yourself to know.. Yet you aren’t honest enough with them to be overt…

I see you… The crack in the Dahlia.. The split in the porcelain… The human stain can not be hidden from wisdom…

Do you not know who I am.. Perhaps you don’t… But who you are could never be hidden…

I seek to judge Ye not..

I’m just curious as to how you hold it all in…

And why do you choose to…

Let the demons speak… All they yearn to do is emote… They no longer want to be walled in… Banging around the walls of chaos…

Let them be free.. Let something else be within.. So in turn you may yourself be free…

A life of servitude.. Covering up the surreptitious desires of malevolence is no life at all… Just a series of self destructive events made to seem not so..

That’s how cancer  emanates… 

Let the truth bleed through… Let it drip..drop… Before you implode…

Poor raggedy child… Turn to your mother…sip from her womb… Let the well of righteousnous revive you…

Porcelain child… Your cracks are showing…