Gagaism: A Manifesto

Ga Ga is M

A FIRST MANIFESTO

We, disconcerned citizens of the upper reaches of the mind, hereby declare the world to be pooped, tired, worn-out, beaten down, emasculated, errant, a crumpled paper bag in the hand of a drunk god. All the cleansers and filing cabinets, plans and plots have been used up and are revealed for the frauds they are. There is no hope but the bountiful laughter of Gagaism. This as fact, the eyes having seen too much, we declare the only road to salivation: Ga Ga, the rejuvenation of life through meaning, the mind’s major muscle. Only through a ceaseless frolicking through the forest of symbols[1], will man redeem himself. Only through a disjointed effort to connect all through all, will man step before himself and thus become another.

Gagaism:

the nipple pulled out of the baby’s mouth, its cry into the darkness, a hope abandoned, a pair of shoes never walked in, the high tide mark of the mind, the adventure of the belly beyond mere baloney, the necessity of nurture.

if an Idiot persists with his gaga and finds goo goo, he will emit genius[2] ., a stubbornness of the first order ……. a refusal to submit to this – a reaching for the that. A stillness that can’t be explained only tasted …….. the grape’s ancient secret. Gaga, a sugar that works against the teeth’s hunger, the donut’s hole, the sound of a dime dropped onto the street’s narrow way. Gaga, the jam spread like film onto the basement floor, the ordinary ordained with honesty, heavy in all. A kind of wound that never heals …….. that always grows, that denies no thing, a daring that isn’t fatal but fetal, a retum to the every of the womb.

 

Gagaism, a learning of all the laws so to throw them all out3 . A break with history to discover history, the tree’s trunk returning to the roots, the low point and nature of all, the gravity’s gavitas. how the ocean gained dominion over all[3]. Gagaism, an unending definition, a growth, an abscess, a dis ease, a crevice opening every morning and which the sun’s strength fills. Why a raven is like a writing table[4] ……. all things seen as one. Meaning, scum scrapped off the unconscious’ fecund fruit, the nutrition found in it after the sweetness has left the tongue. A vitality, a fatality, a climbing over into possibility, a stopping of what is arriving so to draw what is.

The pain of the machine. A dog barking in its dream.

a flood of providence, a survival, a last(ing) moment, a reassured erection, a new creature rising out of the mud after this flood, a dove from some other flood. Noah’s endurance renewed, his wife remembered — Joan of Ark. Gagaism, a furious forgetfulness so to remember all and encrust all with meaning, a kind of labyrinth looked on from above, where only the eye can kill the minotaur – – here, is the secret.

Gagaism: the water’s offering, the winds weariness, the tongue’s sensuality, a gathering of the elemental, a leap over hesitation, the body found floating free……. A shattered statue found in the artist’s basement of madness, the child waving good-bye ; thank goodness, the secret of the smile, a joke shared which we only understand but share none the less, as the wise shepherd would time with his flock.

Gagaism : a language beyond music, a new math, an unnumbering, a 2+2 = 5.5, the wavelength of life that curses through us all, a shy truth that is a lie in every given situation, the clown’s make-up left in the mirror. A kind of tumor, a laugh, a ha ha, a swear hurled at the world in the form of a smile by a tongue always in search of the last memory of honey.

Gagaism : why the popsicle melts before the helpless, desiring eye – an eye which cannot see itself. A broken clock that tells the right time, spaghetti unseen, dropped onto the floor, eaten by microbes as the lady above fingers her pearls and licks her silver spoon clean. The fork meeting the menu, on the cook’s cutting board. The life in the rock’s face seen, a rooster’s midday crow, the drunk’s showering voice in the choir, a desert thought of on the beach towel, dirt pushed back into the grave, a kind of love smelt among the dead flowers in yesterday’s grave. Gagaism, a kind of defiance, an orange growing before any lips knew of its sweetness.

 

 

ARTICLES 0F FAITH

1.1 Life is a secret that must be told. Expression is fundamental to human life and a soldier in the silent war against appearance which cloaks all so obviously[5]. Appearance comes in the form of an overwhelmed sensory apparatus and response which buries the true man in routine, fills him with a lie and sets out the hypnotic rut which his life will mistakenly follow. Life as such must be declared as the fraud it is. Silence is a form of complicity — all knowledge of the secret that is life, starts with a ga ga and ends with a goo goo, by this we declare stupification the road to enlightenment. To really see, one must first embrace the darkness, know darkness. Who?, who will see this ?

1.2 Meaning is immeasurable. It’s yardstick is what the mind mixes and brews, the ale it produces, the adventure it submits to. Meaning is found in all things that live expansively, unstatically, astatically — all else but flat tires and burnt cigarettes left in the ashtray, a hesitation, the boredom and ennui of an ironing board and a “good” marriage. We are for daring to BE, existing with the hunger of the paint brush, to mix although the hand pushes towards the image’s deceit, toward known form. We begin without a destination.

1.3 Scandal is a word on the lips of all LAST men, those who might endure and not acquiesce. That the world has sunk into rote and pattern is evident in all we mistakenly see as “new”. All things are at all times new. All things being equal, no thing is equal. The old is only the memory mis remembered. No act is better than another act, so long it is done with a purple knowing.Why shake the hand of my friend when I could just as well slap him? Something will happen, won’t it? And might not this something,lead to more and better things, why one road, why do we see only one road? This is the question …. we call for a need not to entertain, but to awaken others. We are asleep, our beds are on fire yet we all dream the same dream, the nipple.

1.4 There is no changing the world, only a re-creating All progress is only of the human heart, we can only change ourselves, only remove and cleanse our own eyes. That the whole world may think differently, does not deny the honesty and farsightedness of GaGa. That the mind is on the march is evident to all who would dare, dare to see the crumpled paper of possibility on time’s unswept floor. Man is leaving behind himsef, he is becoming another, he must forget himself and push out the boat into the translucent waters of more meaning. So many may see the magnificent forever of the mountain but that doesn’t rufute the beach which it will surely be.

1.5 Do flot deny us our sedatives. That a few must endure for the many is

a mantra repeated many times before. Unbroken, the Gagaist must confront

the pain of life direct, without the shelter of the horse’s barn. Do not deny us

our sedatives…… join us in our efforts to wake up the world.

 

“Who will be our Christopher Columbus of forgetfulness[6]

 

 





[1] Baudelaire, Charles

[2] Blake, William

[3] KungFu Tze

[4] Carrol, Lewis

[5] Heraklitis: Latent structure rules obvious structure, all is cloaked in appearances — meanîng, the bias of the eye should have warned us something was amiss long ago.
[6] Breton, Andre

 


Category: Poems | Tags: , , 2 comments »

2 Responses to “Gagaism: A Manifesto”

  1. George

    ad 1.1 When a poet is silent he lies. I am glad you are back, David.

  2. Cut, Snip and Paste – Reality can’t be copyrighted! | EFL Classroom 2.0 - Teacher Talk

    […] The world is changing. We either change with it or join the Neanderthals in their cave. Here’s a presentation I will have to update soon – but it outlines many of my ideas on this subject of the new “information age”. But please read Kakutani – she is brilliant, the article is brilliant. It is one more scream in the cattle car. If interested, one can also see my more poetic scream – my own Manifesto on Gagaism. […]

Back to top