The sorcerer is a Simple Realist: the world is real--but then so must consciousness be real since its effects are so tangible.

Art tells gorgeous lies that come true.

The dullard finds even wine tasteless, while the sorcerer is intoxicated by the mere sight of water.

The Universe wants to play. Those who refuse out of dry spiritual greed & choose pure contemplation forfeit their humanity - those who refuse out of dull anguish, those who hesitate, lose their chance at divinity - those who mold themselves blind masks of Ideas & thrash around seeking some proof of their own solidity end by seeing out of dead men's eyes.

The Law waits for you to stumble on a mode of being, a soul different from the FDA-approved purple-stamped standard dead meat - & as soon as you begin to act in harmony with nature the Law garottes & strangles you - so don't play the blessed liberal middleclass martyr - accept the fact that you're a criminal & be prepared to act like one.

Turn to yourselves rather than to your Gods or to your idols. Find what hides in yourselves; bring it to the light; show yourselves!

In short, it occurred to me that perhaps the only possible avant garde is the avant garden.