|Drawing and Nothingness
||[Dec. 14th, 2015|09:53 pm]
My most recent Dent Road drawing featuring the sign.
I see magic everywhere, especially here where the bricks and mortar butt up against the fields and scrubby trees of the greenbelt. You see, I'm a spiritual kinda guy. Most people roll their eyes and/or run a mile when they hear this, but it's a term I've always used to describe my outlook. Yet, when I stop to think about it, I have no idea what the term means. I've always felt incomplete and cloudy and this is a nice, vague term. Oh, I don't particularly believe in god or follow any religion, but I am SPIRITUAL, man. Haha. There is some mystery tied up within the contradictions of consciousness and being. I'm searching for something, some new way of seeing that resolves all of the turmoil and the confusion that I feel. Some people turn to religion. Some become committed, faithful atheists. I'm not sure there's a name for what I turned to. Maybe that's it, I TURNED, and I kept on turning. I'm spinning in constant revolution. A circle, measured from any point, as Charles Fort used to say. That circle, at this time, is represented in my own "spirituality" by Dent Road. Dent Road is a very boring road and boring for me has always equalled PERFECT. Boring is a blank canvas, an empty screen for me to project my shit onto. Also, Dent Road is the perfect metaphor for Hull. It doesn't go anywhere. It goes round in circles. It's sort of ugly but when you get to know it you begin to love it. You have to live here for a long while to understand.
Newspapers love to print reports about crap places to live in the UK and Hull generally features at or near the top. People here get worked up about this, but not me. Who wants to be somewhere near the middle? Somewhere just sort of OK. Like Milton Keynes? No, Hull exists at the EXTREME end. It is extremely fucked and it's full of extremists like me. The people with potential fuck off down south, leaving us here to dream and drown in the crappest town in the UK. The type of people who compile these reports are my enemy. They are the fucking clueless idiots who Wilde denounced as knowing the price of everything but the value of nothing. They are the unmystical fuckers who fucked off down south to become successful. These are the high priests of uncool, and these are the people who will be the herdsmen of Hull's 2017: City of Culture.
Hull's ordinariness is its secret strength and this is the inspiration for most of my cultural creations: ordinariness embodied by the roads and the walks around the Bricknell Estate where I live. Since leaving university I've focused my lens to an even more narrow depth of field: I'm now studying DENT ROAD. Dent Road, as I've already stated above, doesn't actually go anywhere. I've been walking around it in circles for years. My first clear memory of the road dates back to about 1979. I'll probably write about that someday, it's a pretty boring story though.
I have a theory that if you loop round and round a familiar public highway consecutively many times you will walk away a transformed man or woman. This is my own method of suburban ritual magic. The number of circuits you make is up to you. You'll know when it's time to leave. You just have to make enough revolutions so that you feel like an idiot, begin to ask yourself what the fuck you are doing and hope that no one has noticed. This is the point at which the transformation begins. The most successful such ritual for me was the day I drove round and round Fairfax Avenue's roundabout for an hour. I'll probably write that up here one day. It's pretty boring though.
So, walking round Dent Road, I noticed a signpost that doesn't actually have a sign -- another cool metaphor. It doesn't say STOP DOING THAT BECAUSE IT IS ILLEGAL. It doesn't say anything, it just stands there signifying nothing, nothing but its own redundancy. To me this seems cool because I myself have been redundant for a long time now. I identify with this sign, man. Then I noticed that there are in fact three of these signs on the Dent Road circuit and they're actually quite beautiful. They are decades old, battered and rusting as layers of dull council paint flake and erode away. They resemble a two barred cross and look to me like religious symbols of a lost culture. Their meaninglessness appeals to me and over the last few weeks they've become totems of my damned quest.
I researched a little into this two barred cross for any possible significance or meaning it may have, hoping to find some deeper communication from the universe. Apparently, the first time this symbol appeared was in ancient Sumeria where it represented a shepherd's crook. The "shepherds" were the high priests, or controllers, of this society... and we were the sheep. So its first appearance was a symbol of our "civilisation", or domestication, quite appropriate for a council housing estate. The symbol came to represent the fundamental Hermetic occult maxim: as above, so below. Presumably the two levels of the cross corresponding with the "above" and the "below", the spiritual and the physical. There is ultimately but one truth and this is the quest of Hermeticism, the resolution of the spiritual and the physical, thought and matter, man and god. The universe is god and god is man and man is god. What is true above is also true below. Far out shit. It's also been a symbol of the Templar crusader knights, those nice chaps who murdered lots of people in the middle east, and is still used today in Templar freemasonry. It became the alchemical symbol for sulphur and Anton LeVay took it as the symbol of the Church of Satan. The two barred cross's most recent and interesting deployment is as the symbol of the NABISCO GROUP. Yes, in a beautiful poetic ring we come full circle... to COOKIES! Maybe that's what all this is about? Cookies: the circle of life. Such beautiful, cosmic poetry to contemplate as I walk the Bricknell estate and her cookie-cutter, council-built houses. There is actually a conspiracy theory that says that the Nabisco Group was set up by satanic templar freemasons. Well, I've tracked them down to Dent Road and I'm closing in on The Answer.