Man is a singular creature, he has a set of gifts that make him unique
amongst the animals, so that unlike them he is not a figure in the landscape, he is the shaper of the landscape.
The earth has existed for more than four thousand million years, through all this time it has been shaped and changed by two kinds of action. The hidden forces within the earth have buckled the strata and lifted and shifted the land masses and on the surface the erosion of snow and rain and storm, of stream and ocean, of sun and wind have carved out a natural architecture.
Man has also become an architect of his environment but he does not command forces as powerful as
those of nature. His method has been selecting and probing, an intellectual approach in which action depends on understanding.
The Mesopotamian ziggurats, the Egyptian pyramids, the ancient temples, mud bricks, granite, marble or in
this case something like sound. Soundscapes.
I have travelled through yonder meadow and tranquil pastures, I have been a grinder of wheat for many a moon, oxen and asses have pulled me plow and given seed to many a kind bud, so that you may not have to roam any further across the river with your flock of goats and sheep and leave your elders on hither shore anymore.
I am an enchanter, my name is Göbekli but there are some who call
Bob: Greetings, Tim
Tim: Greetings! Scythian Bob!
Bob: You know my name?
Tim: I do!
Bob: OK, fine I don't want to waste any more of your time, but I don't suppose you could tell me where I could find
a ehm, a uhm, a P p B pipibi ppp P bbb pi... I'm looking for Prickly Pea Bowls, you couldn't possibly help me getting there?
Tim: A what? Prickly pears what, you mean pebbles?
Bob: Prickly pea bowls, bowls like jugs that can hold milk and such stuff. You know dude? I'm looking for music.
Tim: That rings a bell. Big jugs full of milk set them free. Ad Metalla. Sent to the ancient city of slaves, them who now are laid to rest in the tens of thousands underneath the olive orchards near the seashores behind the seven mountains. You are thinking of spinning around the may pole with wine, women and vulgar singing, such merriment that fills ones heart's delight. If there is where you wish to dwell then you shall follow the life giving orb on it's journey to the ship that takes him across the night sky. There where the obsidian dealer and stoned walls of his folk's harbour are shrouded now by gargantuan sand dunes. Before the hills in which the tombs of many long forgotten people take them back down into the womb of their mother earth, you will be very close and not far beyond the face of Selene in her mirror of water down in the holy well. There is Metalla and there you shall find all the pleasure and influence that you seek.
Bob: Great, thanks a bunch dudeman, I figure you mean west, don't you?
The primordial yet cinematic experience of heavy psychedelia shaping the appearance of a natural sand amphitheatre, the reverberations of a rock altar in the sea, an ancient and long lost ruin of a temple or mine, this is what Bob's nomadic tribes are coming for. Some tribes are following the primitive cave man stomp going down with the villagers, others the surfing beats on the beach and then there are those headed for the open spaces, they're doin' a jam, the dunajam.
Take a breath and follow one of them. Take Lucy for instance, this monkey chicken has seen it all just look the way she walks. Here she goes.
Took two to become one with the ride.
I run down through the sand dune to the sea and just derobe accordingly.
It's desolate here in paradise everything has to be carried by hand. Drums, amps, generators and eventually the enchanters.
My shelter is provided via happenstance but it works and it might well have to be this way.
A whole ice age is lost in the blink of an eye.
Everything once important appears mundane and pointless from where I was before to where I am now.
This coincidental walkabout that materializes suddenly out of nothing and dissolves into everything only to be reawaken the following day in a new nowhere.
With the same anticipation as the first day and it truthfully is like this bizarre flower that from a seed carried by wind burns its life in an afternoon. It blossoms, pollinates and dies with the colour haze of
the setting sun. A comforting evening breeze unabashedly transfers a new seed to a new day.
Everything here happens for a reason but you don't understand it until you're immersed. When the day is over you want more and more, again and again.
"Yes! Yes!" is my mantra. I am the aspirant to your ashram, this is not a festival. This is a daydream in rush hour traffic. You do not exist, but you are here and it is real and you never want to leave. Those with a faint heart, give those wine. It only takes a moment, Mother may I? Yes! Yes!
Is this the real Wild West, Am I John Wayne? Are you John Wayne?
I'm staying here for an other week.
Silence perturbs me but there's hope on the horizon. A new dawn is rising. New heralds, new riders. Wild boars and chicken are running wild. The brazen audacity of their actions leave me speechless and magnetically toss me into the mess.
Beat. The patron saint floats through the streets on hundreds of hands. Mummies on the roof. The wharf is praying. Rock n' roll adventure kids are spinning on the wine stained floor with sea slags, fishermen and shepherds. Shaking my money maker with the fun bunch to phantom surfers and Batman and Robin on the beach.
The dream time is over. Reality has the force to dwarf the most exalted wet dreams, it all depends on the frequency you're reverberating on. This channel was split in two, Dunajam and
Prickly Pea Bowls, tune into it, go pick the spider's web. It is for real.
ad metalla - photo Clemens Kerner