In order to evoke an illusion, it is said, things might work better in the company of the white rabbit. Thus Radio Free Clear Light brings you something unforgettable and fanged, a shadow of legend growing in Technicolor. Electric fire evoked purely by the mind becomes the dream, a new era forged beyond the control of the old masters and kings.

They come with heavy metallic instruments, synthesized noise, and thick boots made of light. They come at night, heralded by shrieking theremin and distorted female voices, a furious adaptation to the isolation of the social sphere, carrying sparkling weapons of sound. The experience of the time dimension is orchestrated through electronic loops and samples forging dark ambient experimental nebulae of detritus.

One might call it music. Backwards a record spins through our entire time stream liberating consciousness
from its physical framework in a complex dance of sonic manipulation. Chants float away on the wind. Drums beat in gardens full of transhuman kisses. Vibraphones scatter soft unreal petals across human history. All  elements are guided by an underlying macro narrative not quite clear, not quite invisible.

If this world is made of imagination the entire concept of the story will eventually become apparent. In fire born, from subconscious fantasies. To fire surrendered, to unfamiliar needs. This never ends for those who brave the metamorphosis, for those who brave the serpent's knot separating our vertical and horizontal identities. The ultimate rising of  polyhedral spiritual attainment and authority. A shadow of legend, unforgettable, undeniable.

In The Company Of The White Rabbit

At midnight 
these unknowable creatures wander
far and wide
through the world 
through the water black.

The activities 
of these giants are hidden.
They bring with them baskets
filled with the dust of stars.
They remain at large
through birth and death
through light and shadow.
They ignite beneath their claws
Ragged and mountainous,
these officers and directors
of silent promises 
they share the world
they share the water black.

Singing from the windows
we call to them
and they take the opportunity 
to deny
entering into a solemn contract
as they open the doors, 
they divert attention 
away from the dreams 
deep beneath our
cemented surface,
beneath the world
beneath the water black.

Beneath The Water Black

What binds me to you 
is the legendary night journey 
the paradigm of space flight 
where the weak are meat
for rational egoists 
and utopian socialists. 

Are you? Am I?
Are we the one 
that fixes sovereignty
into a global virtual application 
located deep in cyberspace,
in the best interest of the citizen
yet destined to be forgotten.

Maybe just 
an appetizer
a bit of something
behind the panther's tooth.

Out-of-this-world journeys were taken
Destined to be forgotten
The latter is always 
the primary reality.

The ultimate rising of the You 
is the nature of
spiritual attainment and authority.
Something unforgettable and fanged
a shadow of legend
growing in Technicolor
but the primary reality has shrunk.

The legend is that you arrived to me 
a mysterious flying beast
subject undenied
unforgettable and fanged.

Are you now?
Am I? Are You?
The strong will eat...
such natural laws 
cannot be understood 
through reason.

Mysterious Flying Beast

I was born to live in San Francisco. 
What I found here was
buried deep in the
blueprints of my fingertips

I remember being 7 years old
around the time 
the first San Franciscans 
were launched into space.
In dreams I found 
the secret door,
and the key for the lock.

By the end of the second grade
a sudden shift in karmic tendencies
caused the sky to shift
with colors unseen.
I didn't come to San Francisco then. 
Police action had turned me off to city life.

During the ‘70s I became a head.
I had a large cardboard box.
Alien thoughts were left 
in the folds of cardboard
with songs that came 
from the broken rocks 
left below 
the concrete surface.

I turned my attention back 
to this fragile city.
Passing through Market street, 
I saw a white light. 
I took the Haight street vow 
and joined ancient explorers
in their experimental arks.
Here I found what was buried
what had been left 
dead and dormant.

I delved deep 
into mysticism and Magick.
I asked the shadows
of Golden Gate Park 
and was given a vision.
I turned into an alleyway 
decorated in colors
vivid vines and flowers.
I turned the old key.

San Francisco

Research on presence 
has brought to us
a blindingly strange 
understanding.

In order to evoke an illusion
it is said 
things might work better 
in the company 
of the white rabbit.
 
Thereafter we are set free
to explore different mediations 
of virtual reality.

Then again, snow 
despite its being a major concept
in this field, 
is most often overlooked or confused
in various studies 
in the field of cognition.

Such problems can't be avoided 
without the help of 
external perceptual inputs.
Soon the entire process 
tends to disappear,
dismembered.

It will go on to form 
a space-time referent 
in which one will 
be able to experience
a particular sensation.

Various theories 
have been proposed
They all amount to
gooble gobble 
gooble gobble.

Electric fire
purely evoked 
by our mind
becomes
the dream.

Our footsteps start at dawn.
We sound like an army.
This word literally means ladder.
At each of the seven stages
of this ladder, 
there is a former spokesman.
The journey entails
passing through a dust storm.
A smattering of trees talk
of the potential mass ascent.
They blow wishes to the morning star
high above the clouds.

The hope of a thousand humans 
are collected
at the bottom of a well.
These spiritual types of games
are played 
above the water
close to the sun.

The games are open
to any number of participants.
The mass heat
is central to 
our work.
The experience 
of the time dimension
is orchestrated 
through beats
and the coming of rattles. 

Close to dawn
we find ourselves
at the gates 
of the platform. 
Four of these 
are triple gates.

We bring with us
every unearthly desire.
When groups of three 
learn to act together
they can enter 
from any of the four directions.
Three times four
is twelve. 

There is a layer of
raw flesh 
at the base of the mountain.
There we assemble round tables 
for twelve each.
Sex surges in the blood cells.
The geometry 
of these vibrant polyhedrons
increases 
our expanding dimensionality.

Round Tables

In fire born
from subconscious fantasies.
To fire surrendered, 
to unfamiliar needs.
A forlorn form
more alien than a stranger.

This never ends
not for those 
who brave the metamorphosis,
who brave
the serpent's knot
separating our
vertical and horizontal 
identities.

A serpent's line,
the transmission of a mind
with flesh wrought
in genetic flux,
in space and time,
through random mutations
through chance and luck.

Horizontal Identity

The stars exploded
and they coupled with themselves.
All possible pasts and futures
all bursting at once
creating an infinite etheric pattern
across the universe.

The houses we had left 
were still blazing
with various levels 
of complex organization.

We divined the etheric patterns
that would make us stars,
archetypal god and demon forms
blazing across the universe,
mental events as material structures,
sexual reproduction 
or the writing of books.

The cats and dogs outside were howling
at the often unrecognized problem
that we once faced.
The fathers and mothers
were left on their porches.

We looked skyward at the moon.
Telepathic coupling was less reliable
at this time.
We amplified the element 
of pure random behavior.
Trails appeared 
with the poems we had once
whispered.
We left behind any illusory certainty 
about the causes.
We became stars
kia, spirit
free will.

Like affects like.
And we lit the universe
by deed and memory
by indeterminate 
chaotic occurrences.

Such indeterminate events 
cannot be recovered.
In these places exists 
only the void.

In These Places

Grandma lived her childhood in the mountains, as most humans did back then. 
In her twenties, she became a close friend of J., 
who introduced Grandma to the mutants. 

"Long ago, life was very different," J. said.
"The mutants became shadow scavengers about 15,000 years ago,
There weren't many houses back then, only just a few.
People who had the mutation were unusually friendly with strangers,
tricky and mischievous but friendly.
This trait gave rise to a mutant population that was willing to come closer to humans.
They probably started out as some kind of humans themselves. 
And that is why it is so hard to tell them apart."
From the fire of cremation to the waters of the great sea,
mutant and human would travel together for thousands of years. 

Two decades later, J. sent Grandma the first of the infamous mutant letters.
"We all have been around so many times 
that every one of us has been everything with everybody else.
This relationship between humans and mutants is no different."
J. wrote these things but nobody who saw the letters was sure what he meant.
"These mutants developed a unique ability to read the actions and intentions of humans,
but, at first, they were not our friends.
Humans started to figure out what to do with them much later. 
Eventually, it became impossible to tell them apart with the naked eye.
But they knew, they always knew."

Years later, just before dying, Grandma tried to explain it to me: 
"Mutants needed the humans to complete themselves.
They were somehow lacking in their inner chemistry,
there was something they needed from us.
When he brought me to them, I felt instinctively at home.
It was a beautiful symbiosis."

She turned to me with her great big eyes and said:
"Someday you will meet them, 
and you will know it.
There will be no way to deny it. 
That is the day when you will wake up.”

Life Was Different 02 Remix

Jaya Shiva Shankara!

Seven Sisters Cliff

Intentions

Radio Free Clear Light is a living radio built of various human components at different times.

Horizontal Identity

rfcl