[NB] Kingodi of Ephesus

I am just trying to pull together a little constellation of thoughts and conversations. This post spins at the crossroads of Wole Soyinka’s Myth, Literature, and the African World (ergo a little of Nietzsche’s The Birth of Tragedy by way of Soyinka’s dialogue with it), Zdenka Volavka’s Crown and Ritual, Margaret Thompson and Henry John Drewal’s Gẹlẹdẹ, some household conversations about Dionysos, a smidge of Károly Kerényi’s Dionysos, and a friend’s offhanded observation that the so-called ‘Artemis’ of Ephesus’s so-called ‘breasts’ looked a lot like the nests of bumble bees (having to use ‘so-called’ twice says something, doesn’t it?).

This may also be brought to you by the letter ‘M’ and the number 8. This isn’t intended to be a mash-up of all these elements, but deep-rooted mysteries tend to have many branches and sometimes they intertwine. This is gestural, pointing out how what is disparate in proximity might converge if we trace the outline of their trajectory.

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[NB] Erasmus – Dionysus – Zebra

Okay, another PKD post coming at you, straight from the Exegesis. This one is working toward a discussion of the relationship between the discharge of the dream, the spiritualist talk of giving light, and to consider what it means to call a spirit by name from this perspective. This one is going to wade a little deeper into Dick’s wilder and contradictory speculations, so my best advice is to try and take it all in bit.

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Have you seen the light?

Let me warn you, I am still sick, writing from the end of night into the break of day. As I prepare to take some Nyquil, I think back to PKD and the darvon delivery that would change his life. I suspect most of the readers who peruse these posts will recognize that I have a lot of sympathy for Philip K. Dick. While I wouldn’t necessarily want to follow in his footsteps (man, I do not have the constitution to use drugs like that), I cannot deny that his work exerted a great deal of influence on me. I came to PKD’s work after I was well and truly chugging down my gnostic way because my partner kept nudging me to read him. “You’ll like it,” she promises. Startled probably better captures my response.

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