SRI SWAMI PASTANANDA GWEE DOH RINPOCHE’S NEW YEAR MESSAGE

December 31, 2002

Greetings, my little chickadees. Here we are again at the same point in our solar orbit as last year, poised to begin yet another headlong swing around the hellish unquenchable flames of our nearest stellar neighbor. The new year is almost upon us, in other works. Even as we speak, an eternal loop of Guy Lombardo’s band playing “Auld Lang Syne” fills the air here in Mundoblaineo. Hephestus, my vulcanologist and Clothilde, the chief eunuch must work overtime to keep the bubble machine topped up with rare and costly perfumes from the mystic east. (This would be the east of Athens where the noble fragrance “Axe” may be had for two dinari the hogshead. Ah, heady days!)

Those deluded fools amongst you who swallow the rabid dog drool that is chinese astrology may be curious to know that 2003 will be the year of the goat, and/or the sheep. sheep sounds about right as dubya saunters lazily into war, just for the hell of it and the u.s. congress and the american public just bend over, grease themselves up and show him which part of their collective anatomy will pleasure him up most.
And far in the East, Typhon doth crack he cheeks for to blow a turrible tempest upon ye infidel slugs! Woe! Guai! Guai! Fie! Pi r squaRED! and so on….

Apropos of pretty much nothing, I came upon two bons mots about art while reading Kurt Vonnegut the other day. (Yes, Kurt still alive, occasionally worth reading.)

“I say in speeches that a plausible mission of artists is to make people appreciate being alive at least a little bit. I am then asked if I know of any artists who pulled that off. I reply ‘The Beatles did.'”

and

“Artists are people who say, ‘I can’t fix my country or my state or my city, or even my marriage. But..I can make this square of canvas, or this piece of paper, or this lump of clay, or these twelve bars of music, exactly what they OUGHT to be!'”

So, in conclusion, my steaming love dumplings, let all of us in the dirigible moored on Mount Olympus which is Mundoblaineo Galactic Headquarters wish you and yours the best time possible as we observe the coming of 2003. Be reassured that even Scientific American now tells us that “Time is…probably an illusion.” God rest ye merry, Mary, with Nietzsche’s notion of eternal re-occurrence, be good because you JUST MIGHT HAVE TO GO THROUGH ALL OF THIS CRAP AGAIN!

blessings upon ye

sri guido

Author: Blaine L. Reininger

Blaine L. Reininger was born July 10, 1953 in Pueblo, Colorado. Then he lived a life. By and by, he founded Tuxedomoon with Steven Brown in 1977. He traipsed around America, tuxedomooning until 1980, when he began to traipse around Europe. As a direct result of all of this traipsing, many musical compositions were composed, most of which found their way to some sort of mechanical device capable of reproducing musical compositions. This was mostly for the good. He now lives in Athens, Greece, where he is content.

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