We've been "serious" about the Bollingen series since June 2009, when Princeton was dumping Samothrace 11 and the boundaries became visible. In theory, there are only 100 numbers like allegories to represent the world stretching from the Navaho warrior songs collected near my home town as the boys went off on the big Pacific adventure (When The Two Came To Their Father) to one of Joseph Campbell's thicker reveries three decades later. Roll them all up and you have the canons of a certain vector on the soul, a kind of ark or repository of symbol systems.

In practice of course, it's rarely so simple. Several of those volumes open up into a staggering number of secondary publications and some, like the Samothrace excavation record that got things moving in the first place, are still alive and sprouting new installments every few years or decades. They're on their third publisher in 60 years, which isn't bad I guess. I have been promised that they are serious about finishing it one day, even if the people currently assigned to the missing volumes die along the way. There are back-up plans, contingencies.

Otherwise, we are practically done, with a few practical exclusions and trivial omissions. I focused on religion, mythology, psychology and art, bypassing most of the purely literary numbers as peripheral to the main thrust of the series. We have the complete Jung, for example, and not the complete Coleridge or Valery, selected Unamuno, assorted St John Perse or most of the Eugene Onegin . . . although I do price the Coleridge from time to time when a different project rises to the surface. I'm pleased to say that they're all HC and about 90% in DJ, with the major exceptions being extremely rare in any state.

We are still getting the Mellon Lectures (Bollingen XXXV) as they emerge. They're handsome volumes. But at this point they've also spun out into a completely different project in their own right, a parallel tree of knowledge.

Having climbed this mountain the real question is how we construct a new one on its summit. We're at best halfway to the sky. We can do better. We have new tools and new techniques. It's going to be fun.

The other things I was buying in 2009 are funny and representative of a strategic pivot: Rene Le Forestier, an England's Hidden Reverse that mysteriously never arrived ($28 plus shipping), Daniel Gunther's first book ditto "mysteriously," Georg Laue, Alice Bertha Gomme, Edward Armstrong's Folklore of Birds. It was the year after the crash and my lungs were filling up fast, the year before we left the city and finally started inching into the forest. And so here we are here again.


Forever People

Agents of Darkseid were waiting at all the known entry points but as the yuga deteriorated the incarnation kept happening. First came the isolated and broken iterations, trivial to trick and trap before they even remembered themselves in the mirror like ants in a pumpkin spice mix. They kept coming. Think of meteor showers, alpha particle impacts, the pinging of brownian motion accelerating in an allegedly terminal system. By 1965 the signal was everywhere: the planet may have once been property but the statute of limitations was wearing infrathin. Even so, agents of Darkseid were busy. It took six years for the most successful iteration to achieve optimum energetic state, at which stage Mother Box, Super Cycle and Infinity Man, the mysterious drummer in the shadows, were provided.


The Game That Moves As You Play

Right now around Arcturus it's 1987. Closer to home, it's 1992 on the smoldering surface of Wolf 489. An unobserved phase modulation between Watchmen and peak Sandman, and weightier things of course. The contents of the shelves at St. Marks Books around the corner barely circulate with each new issue of Semiotext(e) . . . how I became one of the invisible, the only Harry Potter sequel that matters. The ones that come back are the ones who suffer, something something.

  • Current Music
    X, "See How We Are (Live 2010)"

Yet Another County Heard From

Mark yourself "SAFE" in Western Ohio while here in the north the son of some Colombian madman delivered a full set to the gates of Harvard itself. Cry havoc & loose the doors of perception--!

  • Current Music
    Penelope Houston, Wild Mountain Thyme

Whirlwind Tour (My Greenest Adventure)

Kansas City was potentially disruptive in the good "gamble a stamp, change the world" way. Very very wet and very very green. Which is nice because the nerds aren't coming through as fast as I would've liked and the visionary suits and technocrats are the ones stepping up . . . the vectors revolve I guess, the eye moves. It has its higher-order handedness that will resolve once I get the character generation slotted in.

Hope all are well in this technicolor future, the wreckage crawled from the south. Which witch is which, as it were. If you're into the pole flip nothing will ever be the same. Who runs the shoes. Robert, the guy next to me on the way in, was full of childhood reminiscences of digging potatoes in Presque Isle back in the day . . . John Crowley's hometown. This was a fertile coincidence because closer to home people were talking about the satellite launch facility going up there behind the experimental farms, "30-pound payloads, after all it's ideal for achieving polar orbit." The way back was USDA inspectors on the first leg (rotting meat jokes) and then a surprising number of people coming in from Houston. First priority today: massive clam basket.
  • Current Music
    Yuta Kasuya, "Maps + Legends"