Marcus Beijar Mellin's preface to a Zen-text he spontanously translated after he had reached a spiritual awakening during midsummer 2007 in the end of Åsögatan. Part 2
(excerpt from Marcus Beijar Mellin's (mahdi's) autobiography "P.S. Bakom stängda dörrar" (2018) ("P.S. Behind closed doors" (2018)), third edition, s. 178-188, translated by Lars Larsen)
(Read part 1 here)
Reich believed that man is only a complex composition of everything it has experienced, but I have in my life seen evidence to the contrary.
We are a complex composition of everything that exists, the Buddha nature, maybe even the devil, everything we can sense.
But in all this we are ourselves something, too.
Reich expanded the horizons for many, William S. Burroughs expanded them even more, and we can thank their work for our consciousness.
Burroughs thought the middle class should be extinguished, he saw them only as walking tape recorders and not at all as humans.
He was of the action-orientated disposition, and his art was an exact reflection of his life.
We who are sitting here at home in Stockholm (if this now shall be called home), can see how the cars take over the streets, vehicles who aren't even alive, who can kill you without feeling any shame, but the drivers then? Shall we really risk being killed by cars at any time, only because the middle class want to move themselves from one place to another? The brainwashed middle class, is there any hope for it? I have at least for 6 years tried to inform my parents about that the media only brainwashes them. Has it had any effect? My mother seems to see some truth in it, but my father sees in it only a sign of mental illness. So what shall one do?; murder? change? There is no answer to this question. Many solutions?
Blake says that every thing that is said, which can be trusted, is a picture of the truth.
Let us now speak a little truth: Reich unfortunately did not study poetry so much, and if he did it, he always viewed it as an expression of madness, a madness that he was himself contaminated by, therefore he went into the world to save it - while others only followed, and enjoyed the fruits of the work of others.
This is the big poetic question: shall we save the world (which have to be saved because it is like it is) or shall we as artists only follow, entertain the middle class, live easily and comfortably?
If we choose the other, we are not in strict terms any poets or artists, but only clowns, entertainers, and it is nothing wrong with entertainment for those who have saved themselves, while entertainment for those who are hopelessly behind, only is a way of putting the cart in front of the horse.
