"Blue" Gene Tyranny - Out of The Blue/A Letter From Home

"Blue" Gene Tyranny - Out of The Blue/A Letter From Home

[Spoken]:
Dear "Blue" Gene,

As I sit here writing you this letter I'm listening to the sound of the midnight train as it moves and changes across the hills. It reminds me of you as it travels to the back of my mind. Now that's a pretty weird idea. I don't know why it should remind me of you. Sometimes I just listen and it doesn't remind me of anything. It seems to create the space in time in which it moves. It comes from nowhere. Anyway, I'm getting off the subject. I really wrote to tell you that the bar we used to play at has changed hands again. Do you remember how everyone got together and danced until dawn, just like a religion? It took an hour to get the tunes out of your head. Then we got stoned and in that presence we'd talk about our crazy ideas. I remember you said that a child growing up, the growth of the feeling of being inside yourself, and the sound changing over space and time were similar experiences. Their motions had the same shape. Oh boy.

Speaking of younger people, your cousin is growing up fast. When he was four months old he was sucking his thumb and waving his arms and after a year he was grabbing hold of blankets and rugs, pulling things toward himself and seeing how close he could get. We must have seemed like pictures on TV. Soon he started talking and opened his mouth wide to describe something big, breathing heavily in and out. To him each breath was like a thought. When he was one year old somebody would yawn in the room and he wouldn't. He would describe things that weren't anywhere near him. An idea he heard one day he would describe as his own on the next. When he was two or three-and-a-half years old he talked to his imaginary companion. Now he's twelve and imagines everything connected to everything else. The more defined a situation gets, the more he spaces out. I guess he wonders if his life is supposed to be a story. But of course he was five when out of the blue he started to speak Polish and recall his past lives. That certainly wasn't in the books. Sometimes you imagine you're in the music and sometimes you're apart from it. I remember the time the band gave your name, "Blue" Gene. There was a feeling that trouble was built into you. Like they say, "In your dreams". Both you and I know you're no victim of circumstance.

Of course you do get obsessed and at those times what you want to know gets drawn toward you. How close can you get? Ghosts appear mostly in February. How do you describe something which is invisible and unknowable? When the train goes by, what should I pay attention to? The sound, or what I see, or what goes on in my mind or maybe all three of them at once? Three guesses. A coincidence. A connection outside the connection inside. It's so beautiful to see someone thinking. Consider four-billion people walking around with slightly different things in their heads at any given moment. When you're in this country all the images that support living in the city disappear. The day before you left on that midnight train was the day we made up that weird theory about a history of consciousness. Of course it was just as arbitrary as any history and started twelve-thousand years in the past. The people are peaceful, there's no government, and nothing is an example of anything. There are no words for past, present, future or madness. It's always the first time. However, there is a voice that appears to each of them, barely the sting, softly in between the other sounds of living. One side of the brain in each person is slowly sending pulses through to the other side. It is inevitable, according to this ordered out theory, that an imaginary space somewhere in the back of your mind gets gets occupied by someone called "I" who floats around in the same space it has created. Then we skipped a few thousand years to watch that unidentified inner voice become embodied in the voice of the ruler. Statues were in the center of town just like today.  Images of ancestors with large eyes. Eye-to-eye contact. Time ceases to exist. A younger and older man. A younger and older woman. Eye-to-eye contact. Mother and child. When you talk about love everyone's an authority.

Eight-thousand or maybe six-thousand years ago when young women were possessed oracles and older men were hot-blooded prophets for telling the future, their message was delivered in steady rhythmic verses. Always the same rhythm no matter what language. From one side of the brain to the other. From invisible heaven to foggy earth. This was sunlight inside and outside without yawning or blinking. You can send your consciousness anywhere and in the prophet's eyes the ideas on the periphery of his vision frame what he sees. The possibilities are beats of light constantly changing intensity. He imagines the experience as always the same and always entirely out of control somewhere out there. Every eleven-and-eleven-hundredths years there is a cycle of increased sun spot activity. Every eleven-and-tenths years there is a cycle of mass human excitability. If something went one way, and if the space were somehow closed off, the idea was that something had to go the other way. There are so many cycle you could just as well see the changes as random. Someone called it peaceful coexistence. They way the waves travel through the same medium, the water, and cross through each other transparently without destruction. The rest of the story, "Blue", was that the outside voices began to be heard inside forty-one-hundred or maybe thirty-seven-hundred years ago. People started to write laws down and make treaties. The world was pictured in sets of two and the ideas of history, motives, and strategies were dreamed up. This went along with war, life stories, and authorities from outer space. On the periphery of this country someone made up the notion that you could change yourself by changing your consciousness without connections beyond contradictions. His blood pressure was highest at three in the afternoon and lowest at three in the morning. When he started singing with his friends someone would remember just the words and someone would remember just the tunes. Two points in space but three types of connections. When they went out on a date each of them imagined his and her mom and dad would come along. A steady structure, a complete decision with only four moves. Yes and no on the first possibility, yes and no on the other one. Did he need that image outside to have that feeling inside?

I wonder if I have changed since I was young. Or has it always been this way? I guess I want a vision beyond consciousness. The way a culture takes twenty years to catch up to what can occur in a flash to one person. Someone who's done his thinking before he realizes it. I can accept the way I pay attention to things even if every ninety-six minutes I get an urge to talk, eat, or kiss somebody. Yes, just anybody, "Blue". And I start to pay attention to the miracles that I do know about. You know, I never set the alarm and I always wake up on time. Even in a thunderstorm my mother would wake up only when she hears a baby cry. When I play a piece on the piano once it goes on rehearsing by itself and its easier to play the next time and there are the coincidences and the invisible ideas that will reveal the,selves any time you start to go through the motions. Are they really out there, "Blue"? Going to the center of town by calculating spirals which run down, going to the center of town randomly. All the energy is mysteriously conserved as the bird flies. From time to time I feel another world growing up among the one I experience every day and it seems no conclusions can be drawn about anyone's eventual fate. Sometimes I put my fingertips on the top of my eyes and apply pressure slightly. Then the pressure is released and flashes of light still remain floating among the forms that are shaped like networks. That pressure to move the lights is the same as taking on any idea to move my body. One side of my brain keeps rambling on to write you this letter while the other side is setting it to rhythmic music migrating from fundamental harmonics to the harmonics of those harmonics, building its own bridge. Part of light, to a molecule, to fluorescence, to warmth, to my body and its rhythms and back again. We're not attached or separate in space. Slipping in between the pulses of consciousness. UFO's appear mostly in April coinciding with the sudden appear and disappearance of the stars. But anyway, its always the first time.

This train is lit by the luminescence of the town and the faint warning light from the light it gives off. That light defines the area all around the train just as your love defines the way you see the life closest to you. Is that too corny, "Blue"? Well, you know, that's how we are here. Write soon.