Often where it was and was not well, delightful and not delightful, in those places sometimes a world, as often, chaos of crossed trials – no right not wrong, no wrong but right – have you not halted, as between two moments, and there been mindful, as a man dying and yet living, of a standstill swiftness – that nothing was not nothing? To see, and yet it was not common sight, nor blindness? A scarcest sight, yet, as a painted picture, more visible than naked spectacle? Such are these furnishings sifted from gross variety, time’s stinking wealth – the perishable marvels which bedeck the dream-bazaars of fain exaggeration. Yet still, all outcomes ineluctable; denial, your only faithful entitlement.

From chaos, order; from order, organisation; from organisation, precision.

Heedless of all efforts to the contrary, sometimes everything comes crashing down upon me into heaps about my ears. Solitary in my private flurry and fury, the only notice that might be taken is that a modicum of disarray has upset the usual order. Chaos misconfigures, misaligns, and casts into imbalance the orientation and the equilibrium of the mind. Though the towers of others are either currently or imminently falling, they – dependent on the stronger, the more resourceful for guidance – seem to be content to postpone repair until help arrives. Not being so cast, without the desperation incited by fear, I methodically reconstruct, improving my design. Towers of any degree of loftiness, having proven to be vainglorious, must tumble. It is then time to explore more sensible, less vulnerable structures, or, more likely, structures never before tired.

Either for bad or for good, words can transform the cosmos in which you dwell. Merely by speaking the wrong words in the wrong tone, you cause damage and pain, you bring tears to fall, you drive others away.

Yielding to malevolence, you banish yourself into solitary oblivion. Merely by speaking the right words in the right tone, order emerges from chaos, a way is found, pain is soothed, hearts are turned. Eyes confirm, smiling, arms open and embrace, benevolent compassion reigns.

The cogency of missing something, but not wanting it back, is of crucial importance. That which is missed is the discord, wherein new paths are wrought through the chaos. Reticence, passion subdued, reason actuated, allows a withdrawal from the assumption of good and bad, right and wrong, granting forgiveness, a return to balance, to harmony, to order.

You must have chaos within you to conceive a lambent star. 

Music originally sought to orchestrate the clarity, the intelligibility, and the harmony of sound. Honey was offered, its sting denied; the rose in all its splendour extended, its thorn deprived. Today,  arguably the most sophisticated of music strives to synthesise extremes of dissonance, discordance, necessitating an actively intellectual rather than a casually sensual pursuit of its centre through its labyrinthine corridors, curves, corners , and collisions of sound. From the seeming cacophony of chaos, at last at the wellhead of its gyre of convolution, an innermost core of sublime, transcendental quiet may be found.

Noise music is often misapprehended as merely excessively amplified volume and arbitrarily contrived distortion. It is, in fact, the intermixing of the innumerable hues of sound. Ambiguity and obscurity replace identification and definition. Sound is not constrained to conventional, predictable configurations, but liberated to include all frequencies of pitch and timbre, permitting sonorities of arrangement and adaptation beyond all imaginations but that its composer.

Silence once reigned. With the invention of the machine, noise was born. Currently, the world is in turmoil. Its noise is not that of the machine, not that of production, but that of the machinations of greed, subterfuge, treachery. This pernicious commotion has triumphed over silence,  intruding into, interfering with, trespassing upon the sensibilities of humanity. Beneath, beyond, through the present pandæmonium, for those perspicacious enough, indomitable enough to listen, the thread may be found again to the quiet at the source of being.

Discard all of the scores now available. Like maps, long obsolete, they will serve only to confound. Underlying the drone of the tumult, your ear attuned, your hand on the pulse of animation, a beat may be sensed – like a mantra, defying all but breath. Go there. Go there now. You still have time.

All fear is fallacy. All fear is delusion. All fear is fatal. Indoctrination is the feeding. Propaganda is the seeding. Chaos is the breeding. Poison is the cure; the shock that purges fear for those surviving, sagacity restored.

Every government comprises a body of politicians authorised by the misguided votes of the constituencies that elected or appointed them into office, to ensure sufficient delusion, indoctrination, and hysteria, to tyrannise the contradictory masses into subjugation, while securing advantage for themselves and those allied constituencies.

There is no evolutionary remedy to this charade, this debacle of autocracy. Only from chaos may true order be restored. Only revolution, led by individuals of vision and purpose, inspiring masses, may the inhumanity of authoritarianism be quelled, and a return to egalitarian self-determination be won. Revolution does not rebuild upon faulty and fallow ground.  On new ground, ceasing with the old, it builds anew.