The Tanah: Lyrics–The Last of the Song-Spells Discovered So Far

[The following is the thirty-fifth of many posts–here is the first, here is the second, here is the third, here is the fourth, here is the fifth, here is the sixth, here is the seventh, here is the eighth, here is the ninth, here is the tenth, here is the eleventh, here is the twelfth, here is the thirteenth, here is the fourteenth, here is the fifteenth, here is the sixteenth, here is the seventeenth, here is the eighteenth, here is the nineteenth, here is the twentieth, here is the twenty-first, here is the twenty-second, here is the twenty-third, here is the twenty-fourth, here is the twenty-fifth, here is the twenty-sixth, here is the twenty-seventh, here is the twenty-eighth, here is the twenty-ninth, here is the thirtieth, here is the thirty-first, here is the thirty-second, here is the thirty-third, and here is the thirty-fourth–about a fictitious discovery of ancient manuscripts of a religious text of narratives and magic spells. Its purpose for my readers and me is to provide a cosmology and mythography on which I am basing much, if not most, of my fiction–short stories and novels. If anyone is interested in reading this fiction, he or she can use these blog posts as references to explain the nature of the magic and universe in my fiction.]

Translator’s commentary

The next of these song-spells is supposed to enable shape-shifting: how the ancients believed that the mere singing of this lyric in its original, mystical language would result in any kind of physical transformation, let alone the desired one, is a total mystery to us translators. Apparently, total faith in the aid of the four Crims–Weleb, Nevil, Drofurb, and Priff–is crucial to achieving such transformations. More fool us of little faith, it seems.

Certain words in the spell were deemed to be unutterable by the elders, as such words were also crucial to cause the transformations so abominated by the elders. Again, in English translation, the lyric sounds dull and ineffective, where the magical power is in the alliterative, assonant, and rhythmic words of the original language, all lost in translation. A firm belief in the Crims, as mentioned above, is also crucial. Here’s the song.

[To be sung repeatedly, louder and louder, inserting the words of what is wished to be changed into at the end.]

O, Four Powers, rearrange my parts! /// \\\
Change my shape, colour, and likeness \\\ \\\
into a ____________! ///

Commentary: Naturally, there’s also a verse to have one transformed back to normal. This is it.

[To be sung repeatedly, louder and louder.]

O, Four Powers, reset my parts! /// \\\
Return my shape, colour, and likeness \\\ \\\
back as I was! ////

Commentary: Next is a song-spell for capturing souls in jars, to gain greater magical power from them. The elders abominated this spell most of all.

[To be sung repeatedly, louder and louder.]

Air Lord, move this soul \\ ///
from its case to that one! /// \\\

Commentary: The “Air Lord” is Weleb, Crim of the air, and as we said above about making shape-shifting possible through the mere singing of a verse, it seems that unwavering faith in Weleb and the other three Crims was enough to make the ancient tribe believe that singing the above verse would actually transfer a human soul from its body into a jar.

As of the publication of the current edition of the Tanah, these are the only spells known as “Lyrics” that have been excavated. Apart from these are fragments too slight to be translated and published as coherent spells to be read and understood, but enough to convince us that there are many more to be found, complete copies of those fragments to make the incoherent coherent.

As we’ve promised above, once more Lyrics have been found, as well as more texts of the Beginnings, Migration, Laws, Preaching, Proverbs, and Amores (these last to be examined in the following pages), they will all be translated and published in future editions of the Tanah.

Analysis of Stanley Kubrick’s ‘The Shining’

I wrote up an analysis of the Stephen King novel years ago; if you’re interested, Dear Reader, you can find it here. In that analysis, I made only one or two brief references to Kubrick’s film adaptation, which everyone ought to know by now is wildly different from the novel (much to King‘s annoyance).

I also felt, when I wrote that analysis, that an in-depth analysis of Kubrick’s film would be unnecessary, as others had already done so. I’ve since changed my mind about that, since I feel that an analysis of the themes of Kubrick’s adaptation will put the spotlight on a lot of issues most relevant to our world today.

I’ll discuss changes from the novel to the movie only as pertinent to these issues as Kubrick’s version addresses them. The story is no longer merely about an aspiring writer battling with alcoholism (a semi-autobiographical issue that King had been dealing with at the time of writing his novel), but rather about how issues of settler-colonialism in the US intersect with capitalism, racism, sexism, and family abuse.

Given the troubled state the US is in now (and how that affects the rest of the world), Kubrick’s film seems to be gifted with “the shining” in how it, 46 years ago as of the publication of this blog article, predicted the intersecting of those above-mentioned problems, leading to today’s nightmare as I see it allegorized in this film.

Anyway, the 1980 film was produced and directed by Stanley Kubrick, and written by him and Diane Johnson. It stars Jack Nicholson, Shelley Duvall, and Danny Lloyd, with Scatman Crothers, Barry Nelson, Philip Stone, Joe Turkel, and Tony Burton.

The non-original music used in the film includes a synthesizer adaptation that Wendy Carlos and Rachel Elkind did of Dies Irae, as Hector Berlioz had used it in his Symphonie fantastique. We also hear excerpts from “Lontano,” by György Ligeti, and the first half of the third movement (“Adagio“) of Béla Bartók‘s Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celesta. From Krzysztof Penderecki, there are excerpts from “Ewangelia” and “Kanon Paschalny II” from Utrenja, as well as his “Awakening of Jacob” and “De Natura Sonoris” Nos. 1 and 2, his “Kanon,” and his “Polymorphia.” These are all either modern adaptations of classical music (Carlos/Elkind), classical modernism (Bartók), or post-war avant-garde classical (Penderecki/Ligeti), music originally intended just as expressive in itself or as experiments with sound…and yet here presented as ‘scary music.’

Contrasted with these are a few old-fashioned tunes, such as “Midnight, the Stars and You,” by Harry M Woods, Jimmy Campbell, and Reg Connelly, and “Home,” performed by Henry Hall and Gleneagles Hotel Band, among others. This music gives off a sense of…’Life just isn’t as it was back in the good old days,’ a nostalgic attachment to the past that hides, behind a superficial charm, a reactionary hatred of progressive social change.

Here is a link to quotes from the film.

The movie begins with a shot of a lake and an island in the middle of it, and forest and Colorado Rocky Mountains in the background, with Carlos’s and Elkind’s synthesizer rendition of Dies Irae. Next is a bird’s eye view of the car driven by Jack Torrance (Nicholson) going on a road between forests of trees, then up a mountain to the Overlook Hotel.

Such scenery is beautiful to behold, but the eerie, portentous music is at odds with such a picturesque charm. We feel, instead, a sense of the loneliness and isolation Jack and his family will feel when they’re in the hotel through the winter. This juxtaposition of superficial pleasantness and underlying nastiness will be a recurring theme in the movie.

The significance of the eerie feeling accompanying the pretty natural scenery will be known when we learn that the Overlook Hotel was built on an old Indian burial ground (a trope that would become a cliché in many 1980s horror films), where during construction of the hotel, the builders had to fight off Native American attacks. What is being established here is a confronting of the issue of the white man’s colonizing of aboriginal land, killing off any resistance to it. This issue will be the foundation of the other issues, as I’ll elaborate on later.

The synthesizer music alone is dark and haunting. If one knew that it is Dies Irae, the “Day of Wrath,” about the Day of Judgement, one would see far greater significance in how settler-colonialism, the genocide of the North American aboriginals, the other issues of social injustice I’ll go into later, and a final day of reckoning are all interconnected. We see the land of the aboriginals, land taken from them by the white man, whose descendants will do far more evil over the ensuing centuries; and if one were to read the text of Dies Irae, one would sense the depth of these men’s guilt.

In the Overlook Hotel, Jack meets Stuart Ullman (Nelson) for his job interview to be the hotel’s new caretaker for the coming winter. The Ullman of the film is not the “Officious little prick” of King’s novel; here, he’s quite a gentle, smiling, genial fellow.

As Jack’s employer, though, Ullman personifies capitalism, and with not only the juxtaposition of this job interview with the preceding scene of Jack’s drive through the formerly aboriginal landscape, but also Ullman’s soon-to-come comments about the Indian burial ground and fighting off the aboriginal attacks, we see the connection between colonialism and capitalism (for a contemporary example of this connection, recall the current ethnic cleansing of Gaza and the wish to convert the area into a set of resorts for vacationers…a whole beach of Overlook Hotels.

Ullman’s, as well as Jack’s, smiling throughout the job interview reflect that superficial pleasantness masking nastiness. Ullman is the easy-going boss explaining to Jack how the job is not physically demanding: he just has to do some repairs here and there, keep the boiler room running, and heat different parts of the hotel on a rotational, daily basis. Jack is smiling away and insisting that the job will be perfectly suited to him and his family, partly because, as with anyone trying to get a job, he wants to reassure the boss that he’s the right man to hire, and such reassuring involves some ass-kissing; it’s part of how a powerless worker has to deal with a capitalist.

Under this pleasant veneer, though, is the nasty reality about the job that Ullman has to be frank about with Jack. There’s a terrible feeling of loneliness and isolation that one can feel doing the caretaker job over the long winter months, and this led to a caretaker named Grady (Stone) killing his family back in 1970.

Under capitalism, there’s this idea that supporters of it promote: the taking-on of a job is a voluntary agreement between employer and employee rather than something the employee must do to live–it amounts to wage slavery. That a worker can just quit if he doesn’t like his job fails to grasp the fact that, if he even finds a new job to replace it, will it even be any better, or all it be (much) worse? The worker, always needing to sell his labour to live, isn’t the free agent the pro-capitalist claims he is. This issue is the unpleasant underbelly of the pleasant outer skin of the job one hopes to get.

The isolation and loneliness of the caretaker job, the underbelly Jack will confront soon enough, are representative of what Marx discussed as worker alienation. And alienation, as has been seen especially in the US over the past few decades, has led to many gun killings, rather like Jack’s violence at the climax of the movie.

So we see how a number of issues intersect already. The construction of a hotel, a business to make a profit, on an Indian burial ground, which includes the need to fight off and kill aboriginals trying to preserve and protect a sacred space, shows how settler-colonialism and capitalism intersect. That the job of maintaining this for-profit building involves a long spell of maddening loneliness, in which the caretaker would be haunted by ghosts (many, I suspect, being of murdered Native Americans), shows how worker alienation intersects with settler-colonialism and capitalism…if only symbolically.

Next, we have to deal with Jack’s alcoholism and abuse of little Danny (Lloyd). A doctor (played by Anne Jackson) is curious about an injury Danny had, one mentioned in passing by his mother, Wendy Torrance (Duvall), in her conversation with the doctor. Wendy says, with more of that saccharine smiling, that one night five months prior to this discussion, Jack had been drinking, came home late, and saw that Danny had scattered some important papers of Jack’s all over the room. The official explanation is that Jack ‘accidentally’ dislocated Danny’s arm by yanking the boy away from the papers with too much force. The doctor is not smiling after hearing this story.

We’ll notice here that this is yet another example of the attempt to hide nastiness behind a veil of pleasantness. Wendy, in trivializing Jack’s alcoholism and brutishness, is also demonstrating her subservience to him.

This leads to the next issue to intersect with those previously mentioned: the patriarchal family as represented here with the Torrances. We see in them the usual sex roles: Jack is the breadwinner, and Wendy is the housewife…though, oddly (or, perhaps not?), during their time in the Overlook, we see that it is Wendy who is checking over the hotel. Jack, who should be doing this, is instead bouncing a ball against a wall, kind-of-sort-of writing his novel, and slowly going insane.

We ought to look at the word patriarchy a little more carefully than usual, especially as it applies to Jack’s relationship with his family. We all know the word is used to refer to a male-dominated society, of course, but technically, it means “father-rule.” Danny is as male as Jack is, of course, but as a kid, he’s hardly dominant in any way over anyone, including Wendy, even with his “shining” power. It’s Jack, the father–just as did Grady, the father–who has the power, and who wields it so brutally.

This “father-rule” can be symbolic of which men in particular dominate society: the rich and politically powerful, those in leadership positions, not the ordinary, working-class men of the world. Of course, none of this is to deny, trivialize, or invalidate the painful experiences of powerlessness that all women and girls around the world suffer because of sexism, sex roles, and the patriarchal family. It’s just that we need to focus on which men in particular to blame, the powerful ones, when we work for solutions to these problems. Women’s liberation will come through socialism, not through the divisiveness of idpol.

As far as blaming working-class men like Jack is concerned when they help to perpetuate sexism, it would be more useful to focus on their dysfunctional solution of ‘punching down,’ rather than ‘punching up.’ Jack should be raising his fist in anger at the system that’s made him and his family so powerless, rather than raising an axe to kill Wendy and Danny with.

Wendy’s role in the film as submissive, weak, and frail (as opposed to her much stronger and more resourceful portrayal in King’s novel) demonstrates not only the issue of the patriarchal family, but also how this issue intersects with that of the white man’s genocide of the Native Americans. It has been noted by film critics that Duvall, through her clothing and long, thin black hair, is made to resemble a Native American. She dresses this way while in the hotel, as opposed to how she and Danny look in their home at the beginning of the film, in their red-white-and-blue clothing. We go from the pleasant, American-as-apple-pie look to the nasty look of one oppressed by the white man.

The hotel interior significantly has a lot of North American indigenous art on display, as well as other art that can be associated with aboriginals. I mentioned Jack’s bouncing of a ball against a wall: a Native American tapestry is on it. This, of course, is symbolic of the white man beating the aboriginals.

A nation built on the genocide of those who lived there before (as symbolized by building a hotel on an Indian burial ground) is hardly one that will grow into one based on freedom, justice, and equality, in spite of the myths of ‘American democracy’ that many have been brainwashed into believing. That is what Kubrick’s Shining is all about: hence, the intersecting of the aboriginal issue with those of capitalism, sexism, and racism…this last of which we must go into now.

As with the others, things start off superficially pleasant, as Dick Hallorann (Crothers) shows the Torrances–Wendy and Danny in particular–around such areas of the Overlook as the kitchen and the pantry. Hallorann is all smiles as he lists off all the delicious foods the Torrances will enjoy eating. He, also gifted with “the shining,” immediately senses Danny’s telepathic abilities, knowing the boy will be sensitive to the presence of all the ghosts in the hotel.

As a black man, Hallorann of course represents how his people have been victimized by American racism. He is the only one we see murdered by Jack, with an axe in the chest. He is referred to as a “nigger” by the ghost of Grady and Jack in the bathroom scene, where the latter wipes off a spill off the former’s jacket and warns him of his son’s interfering in the hotel’s affairs.

In all of this we can easily see how racism against blacks intersects with racism against the Native Americans. White supremacism, as we know, is used to justify not only the genocide of the aboriginals, but also the slavery of blacks. Such an attitude is clearly expressed when Jack says to Lloyd, the ghost bartender (Turkel), “White man’s burden,” as he is about to play for a drink.

Note also the significance of how the two killing fathers, Grady and Jack, are not only two white men, but also, the first is British, and the second is American. The order of the two men’s appearances and murder sprees in the hotel is particularly significant, as they represent the brutality first of British colonialism, then of American colonialism. And just as with Jack’s smiling first appearance in the film, so is ghost-Grady’s first appearance one of a gentle, polite, affable chap…until he shows his true colours in the bathroom scene, as he, frowning, would “be so bold” as to tell Jack about the need to ‘correct’ Danny.

The hotel is on an Indian burial ground, yet oddly, we never see any Native American ghosts. There’s all that aboriginal art everywhere in the hotel, though, as I mentioned above; it’s as if the hotel ate the remains of the natives, whose digested remains are all of that art, a cannibalism like the kind (which included the eating of two Miwok guides) Jack and Danny talk about in the car ride up the mountain to the hotel.

We don’t ever see aboriginal ghosts–only white ones–because the whole point is that the aboriginals are all gone. Even the memory of them is all but erased. The collective guilt of the white man has been repressed into the unconscious…and yet the repressed returns to consciousness, albeit in unrecognizable forms, hiding in plain sight (aboriginal art, white ghosts, Wendy’s clothing and hair in the hotel).

Many Americans–conservatives in particular, like Michael Medved in his book, The 10 Big Lies About America (Medved, pages 11-45)–are in denial about the genocide of the Native Americans as a basis for the beginnings of the country. They’ll make claims that the spread of diseases from whites to aboriginals, the massacres, and the forced displacements (clearly ethnic cleansing) did not intentionally or systematically cause most of the deaths, but such claims are nonsense. Violence was encouraged through payment. The government enacted laws, such as Andrew Jackson‘s Indian Removal Act of 1830, to displace aboriginals by the tens of thousands, causing many deaths among them from the hardships of the journey from where the whites wanted to settle to where the aboriginals were required to go.

Such denials can be said to be symbolized in The Shining by this ‘repression,’ as I described it above, in the replacement of the indigenous dead with the hotel’s aboriginal art and white ghosts. Being as sensitive as Danny is with his “shining,” he can sense the ghosts, particularly in the forms of Grady’s daughters and in his being lured by ghosts to room 237.

Jack’s seeing of the ghosts coincides with his slowly going mad, of course, for it is the contemplation of the white man’s guilt that is maddening, the confronting of it, as opposed to denying the genocide. Wendy doesn’t see the ghosts and other supernatural phenomena until the climax of the movie, when affairs have gotten so extreme in their violence that the consequences of genocide can no longer be denied by white people.

The guilt may be denied, but it keeps coming back to haunt the guilty. That’s what the motifs of recurrence can be said to represent. Think of the recurring patterns on the rugs and walls, the back-and-forth alteration of the sound of the wheels of Danny’s Big Wheel rolling on the hard floor vs their silence on the rugs, or “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” over and over again on the pages of his ‘manuscript.’ Similarly, Jack’s reincarnation as the hotel’s eternal caretaker, his having been in the Overlook back in 1921, and his resulting feelings of déjà vu.

The cyclical nature of events in the Overlook–the killing of aboriginals when building the hotel, the murders of the past, culminating in Grady’s and Jack’s, represent how a nation founded on genocide will return to murder again and again throughout its history. We see this in the history of the US, where apart from the Native American genocide, there is the great majority of the country’s history involving either waging or at least being somehow involved in wars; we see it in how Manifest Destiny inspired Hitler; and we see it in Israel’s taking of Palestinian land and continued ethnic cleansing of the Palestinians (backed by the US).

We get repetition in my favourite scene in the movie, when Danny confronts the Grady sister ghosts, who invite him to play with them…”forever, and ever, and ever”…a line Jack repeats to Danny: “I wish we could stay here forever, and ever, and ever.”

It’s been said that the spatial layout of the hotel makes no physical sense. One might try to attribute the inconsistencies of the layout to continuity errors, but that doesn’t make sense either, given Kubrick’s obsessive perfectionism. There are windows and doors that shouldn’t be there, rooms in one place at one time and in another place at another time, and furniture that appears and disappears from scene to scene.

In this sense, the hotel interior (which Wendy calls a maze) is rather like that labyrinthine hedge arrangement, in miniature on that table where Jack looks at the model of it, and the real one outside that the model dissolves into. (The hedge maze, incidentally, replaced the animal topiary hedges of the novel, those that come to life, because of limitations with the special effects of the time.)

The point is that the hotel is a trap from which one (usually) cannot escape. As a symbol of the US (which both dominates in its overseeing the affairs of everyone everywhere, and which overlooks its guilt and responsibility for all the wrongs it’s done), the Overlook is a place irrationally constructed, and a labyrinthine trap, because so is the country it represents.

Some may complain that the pacing of the plot is too slow. Such complaining misses the point. It’s slow because the growing evil is meant to be felt as insidious. Jack’s descent into madness is slow, and the tension of the music accordingly grows slowly, from the eeriness of the music of Carlos/Elkind in the beginning and the eeriness of that of Bartók early on and in the middle, to the extreme dissonance of Penderecki’s music leading up to and during the climax.

If we see The Shining as an allegory of the history of the US (or just about any nation founded on settler-colonialism), then it makes sense to see, from white people’s point of view, how the horrors only gradually build until the end. Sensitive Danny and Hallorann can see it from the beginning, like so many of us on the left and black activists, those powerless to do much about it; but many white Americans, like Wendy, are only now seeing the horrors of state-sanctioned violence.

Yet another thing that intersects with the issues of settler-colonialism, capitalism, racism, sexism, and family abuse is narcissism, and we can see Jack indulging in that, symbolically and literally. Though most people would dread the sense of isolation in being the caretaker of the Overlook Hotel, Jack welcomes the job, for he enjoys his solipsism there. He doesn’t want society to be all around him. He wants other people to exist only as reflections and extensions of himself.

He gets irritable with Wendy, even if she just enters his writing room to talk about…anything. He flies into rages if she talks about leaving the hotel with Danny to get him to a doctor. The Overlook is like a Bower of Bliss for him: superficially pleasing, but trapping him in it and slowly eating him up.

There’s evidence of him being frustrated with his family right from the beginning. We see it in his face when he grins in exasperation at Danny ‘s saying he knows about cannibalism from the TV, and this is before the family has even reached the Overlook Hotel. He’s frustrated with his family because it’s a triadic relationship, so–to use Lacanian language–this puts him in a situation of dealing with the Other, where being with at least two other people means dealing with them on their own terms, rather than dealing with the other, where only one other is a reflection of oneself.

It is significant that whenever Jack has a conversation or interaction with a ghost, there’s a mirror behind the ghost. This is true of his interactions with Lloyd, Grady, or the naked woman he embraces and kisses in the bathroom. He enjoys these interactions because he’s in a dyadic relationship with each of them–they are each a reflection and extension of himself.

To use Lacanian language again, Jack is retreating from the sociocultural/linguistic world of the Symbolic, to reenter the dyadic, narcissistic world of the Imaginary. Such a retreat is extraordinary given his ambition to write a novel, yet it is explicable as soon as we realize the entire ‘novel’ is just the repetition of a single sentence–his writer’s block.

Jack’s seeing the ghosts in front of mirrors has him fuse the two sights together each time in his mind. As a result, each ghost becomes the narcissistic ideal-I before his eyes. Each ghost feeds his ego and represents an ideal either to be fused with sexually (the naked young woman ghost), to legitimize his alcoholism (Lloyd), or to be emulated as a perpetrator of uxoricide and filicide (Grady).

Narcissism is used as a defence against psychological fragmentation, and Jack’s belief in his ‘calling’ as the caretaker of the Overlook is an example of such a defence: hence, the firing-up of his rage at the mere thought of leaving the hotel. The Overlook as a sanctuary for his narcissism cannot last forever, though, and this is not solely because of the urgent need to get Danny out of there to see a doctor. His experience with the naked woman also shows this impermanence.

As I said above, the specular image in the mirror is an ideal-I, which one strives all one’s life to attain, ultimately failing. Jack would…attain, to use the word euphemistically, the naked young woman in front of the bathroom mirror because man’s desire is the desire of the Other, the wish to be what the Other wants, so Jack’s wanting her to want him is to see, narcissistically, his desire as idealized in her, to see her as an extension of himself, to see himself as her.

Her youth, beauty, and thinness are also the ideals of femininity in modern, career-woman society, supplanting the old ‘pleasantly plump’ ideal for the ‘barefoot-and-pregnant mothers’ of the past. These issues, of course, are also tied in with the values of the patriarchal family, and so we see how Jack’s narcissism in this manifestation intersects with the other issues mentioned above. The impermanence of the Overlook as a sanctuary for Jack’s narcissism is also seen in the girl’s sudden transformation into a cackling old woman with the mouldy skin of a decomposing body.

The switch from the young to the old nude woman, and the switch from Jack’s aroused to horrified reaction, are also a comment on society’s attitude toward prevailing norms of feminine beauty, as well as on the male addiction to that beauty. This addiction can also be seen in Dick Hallorann when in his Florida home, on the walls of which we see pictures of nude or seminude black women.

Jack rejects the Symbolic–that is, he rejects society (any people other than those as mirrors of his narcissistic self) and language (not only can’t he type any more than the one repeated sentence, but as he freezes in the hedge maze searching for Danny, his speech becomes unintelligible babbling and moaning). He also finds the dyadic Imaginary to be unreliable (the Overlook is a sanctuary of his narcissism that cannot last as such). The lack of the Symbolic and the Imaginary means that all he is left with is the Real, an undifferentiated state of being that cannot be symbolized or expressed through language…a traumatic, chaotic mess.

This messy Chaos is vividly expressed in that iconic deluge of blood splashing out from the elevator and filling up the room so much that it even hits and soaks the camera lens. It’s a redrum running amok. The Real is what results when there are no others, no ability to express oneself or make sense of a world of non-differentiation, and not even another person to reflect oneself against. It’s the trauma of total loneliness.

Danny has a sense of that inability to express and verbalize the Real when, in Tony’s voice, he tries to warn sleeping Wendy of Jack’s imminent attack with the axe by chanting “redrum” over and over. His use of her lipstick to write “REDRUM” on the door, with the second R backwards, represents the Real’s inability to be articulated, as does the word’s being intelligible only in the mirror reflection as “MURDER,” with the E and the second R backwards, too.

The patriarchal dominance of Jack is seen not just in his abusive treatment of Danny and his maniacal yelling at Wendy as noted above, but also in how, after hacking open the door to the room his wife and son are in, he says, “Wendy, I’m home.” We’re reminded of the husband of the 1950s coming in the house after finishing his day at work and calling out to his stay-at-home wife, “Honey, I’m home,” implying that he expects dinner to be ready for him.

Jack’s famous line, “Here’s Johnny!”–with that iconic shot of his maniacally smiling face through the hacked-out hole in the bathroom door, on his way to try to kill Wendy–was improvised by Nicholson. The black humour allusion to Ed McMahon introducing Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show (as well as that of the Big Bad Wolf calling out to the Three Little Pigs) is not only jarring in the context of the terror of the scene, but it’s also unintelligible to anyone unfamiliar with the show, including even Kubrick, who’d been living in England at the time. The line thus could be heard as yet another example of the Real’s inability to be expressed.

Now, Jack’s attempt on his wife’s and son’s lives, as well as Wendy’s discovery of all the ghosts and supernatural activity in the hotel, can be seen to represent the imperial boomerang, what happens eventually to the people of the imperial core, or to colonialists, when their repressive measures against the resisting colonized come back to harm them–a kind of colonial karma. This boomerang is happening in the US right now, where ICE has been trained by the IDF to use the very violence, originally used on the Palestinians, which is now being used on American citizens. Wendy sees white ghosts, but they’re really Native American ones, repressed into the unconscious and returning to consciousness in an unrecognizable form; that torrent of blood she sees from the elevator would be aboriginal red.

Jack, of course, dies with no redemption the way he does in King’s novel, this being one of the many reasons that King dislikes Kubrick’s adaptation of it. The Jack of the novel is flawed, of course, but sympathetic–not so for Kubrick’s Jack.

We must understand, though, that while Kubrick’s Shining is based on King’s novel, it’s a fundamentally different story (hence this being my second analysis of it), which explores almost totally different ideas and themes. Kubrick’s Jack shouldn’t be sympathetic or redeemed because he personifies so much of what is fundamentally wrong with a nation built on the genocide of aboriginals.

The perpetrating of mass murder doesn’t just change the killers; it also changes the descendants of those killers as they enjoy the privileges of living on stolen land. We see this mentality among conservative Americans who enthusiastically support open carry, yet who also defend ICE murdering Alex Pretti, who legally owned a gun that was holstered at the time, making him no threat at all to his murderers. We also see this mentality among Israelis who cheer on the continuing genocide in Gaza.

So King’s complaint that Kubrick’s “cold” ending is fine from the point of view of his novel, yet that cold ending is perfectly fitting for the film. The kind of people that Kubrick’s Jack represent do leave us cold: they keep coming back, as Jack did in his reincarnation from 1921, in that photo, aptly dated July 4th, from the Gold Room, a place where the wealthy American elite can enjoy ‘the good old days,’ dancing and trampling on an aboriginal grave.

The Tanah: Lyrics–More Spells

[The following is the thirty-fourth of many posts–here is the first, here is the second, here is the third, here is the fourth, here is the fifth, here is the sixth, here is the seventh, here is the eighth, here is the ninth, here is the tenth, here is the eleventh, here is the twelfth, here is the thirteenth, here is the fourteenth, here is the fifteenth, here is the sixteenth, here is the seventeenth, here is the eighteenth, here is the nineteenth, here is the twentieth, here is the twenty-first, here is the twenty-second, here is the twenty-third, here is the twenty-fourth, here is the twenty-fifth, here is the twenty-sixth, here is the twenty-seventh, here is the twenty-eighth, here is the twenty-ninth, here is the thirtieth, here is the thirty-first, here is the thirty-second, and here is the thirty-third–about a fictitious discovery of ancient manuscripts of a religious text of narratives and magic spells. Its purpose for my readers and me is to provide a cosmology and mythography on which I am basing much, if not most, of my fiction–short stories and novels. If anyone is interested in reading this fiction, he or she can use these blog posts as references to explain the nature of the magic and universe in my fiction.]

Translator’s note: please remember that all of this collection of spells is incomplete. As excavations of the area continue, more will be found and published in future editions. The current set is only what has been found for the moment.

[Sing the following verse repeatedly, louder and louder, with increasing intensity. Pluck individual strings on a zither, each plucking for each line.]

May I take, ///
and escape. \\\
May I keep ///
what I steal. \\\

[Sing the following verse repeatedly, in as low a bass voice as possible, with the soft hitting of a gong.]

Take your life, \\\
take your soul. \\\
Take your breath, \\\
leave you low. \\\

[Sing the following verse repeatedly, with accompanying flute.]

Make my tales \\\
seem as real ///
as if they \\\
had been seen. ///

[Sing the following verse repeatedly, with loud drums.]

Ai, Lord of Fire, ////
god of lust ///
and desire, //
come from hell ///
to the earth, ///
give me what ///
in my heart burns. ////

Commentary: The following two spells are not particularly ‘wicked’ ones, yet they are included among the Lyrics all the same. The first is a verse of protection, often sung before one is about to eat a dish blessed by the spell. It is also sung while the singer, naked, has his or her hands on the plates on the dishes, to transfer the spell into the food, and give its power to the eaters.

[Sing the following repeatedly, with hands on the food to be blessed and to protect those who eat it. The singer must be naked.]

Keep our enemies far away. \\\\\
We eat what will keep us safe. \\\\\\\

Commentary: the second spell is of protection put on necklaces.

[Sing the following repeatedly, with the necklaces to be blessed lying nearby. The singer must be naked.]

Keep the necklace wearers safe. ///\\
May no enemy give them strife. ///\\\

Commentary: in keeping with the malevolent nature of so many of these lyrics, though, one spell has been devised here to make the wearers of the protective necklaces want to take them off, rendering them vulnerable to their enemies again, as we’ll see.

May the necklace itch, itch, itch. /\/\/\
May the wearer twitch, twitch, twitch. /\/\/\
May the wearer take it off, /\/\/\
and at his protection scoff. /\/\/
The wearer being naked now, /\/\/
I can make him kneel and cow. /\/\/\/

[Sing the following repeatedly, with flute and drum accompaniment to guarantee success.]

May boils grow all over your skin! ////\\\
May no one love you ever again! ////\\\

Analysis of ‘The Perilous Night’

The Perilous Night is a 1944 composition for prepared piano by the American avant-garde composer John Cage. It is in six untitled movements, and a performance of the whole piece should last about thirteen to fourteen minutes. He said of the piece that it is expressive of “the loneliness and terror that comes to one when love becomes unhappy.”

In 1982, Jasper Johns, a longtime friend of Cage, created a mixed-media diptych also called “Perilous Night,” which includes a silkscreen of the score of Cage’s composition.

Being a piece for prepared piano, The Perilous Night is an example of the radically experimental nature of Cage’s music. I’ll go into what a prepared piano is below, but for now, I want to go into the avant-gardism of his music more generally.

His music teachers were, in the 1930s, Henry Cowell and Arnold Schoenberg, both radical innovators in music who would have a strong influence on Cage. (Another major influence was Edgard Varèse, who also influenced Frank Zappa.) Schoenberg, Cage’s teacher in UCLA, famously said that his student wasn’t a composer, but rather an innovator…of genius.

As Schoenberg’s pupil at the time, Cage (writing in a version of musical serialism then) said that he had no feeling for harmony, for which Schoenberg had insisted a composer must have a feeling. Without that feeling, Cage would find himself at a wall he could not pass, as his teacher insisted; so Cage said that he would dedicate his life to beating his head against that wall.

Apart from the prepared piano–which I promise I’ll go into detail about soon enough–he also composed such works for percussion as the Constructions (the first being in Metal) and the Imaginary Landscapes (the first of which was for  records of constant and variable frequency, large Chinese cymbal, and string piano), Williams Mix for magnetic tapes, and by the 1950s, he started to incorporate chance into his music, which as part of the influence of Far Eastern philosophy, used the I Ching. Part of this foray into aleatory music was a recording Cage made with David Tudor in 1959 called Indeterminacy: New Aspects of Form in Instrumental and Electronic Music.

Particularly radical ideas of Cage’s included the use of silence, as in 4’33”, for any instrument or combination of instruments, and is just four and a half minutes of silence, or whatever ambient sounds are heard during that time; then there is 0’00”, for any performer. Such ‘compositions,’ influenced by Zen Buddhism, Indian traditions, and Dadaism, are meant to challenge our most basic ideas as to what music is.

As for the prepared piano, its origins lie in the composition of Bacchanale, a dance piece for Syvilla Fort back in the late 1930s. Cage had been writing a lot of pieces for percussion ensembles then, but the place where the dance was to be performed wasn’t large enough to fit in a percussion ensemble (there was only a grand piano in the room); so Cage, influenced by Cowell’s use of extended piano techniques (e.g., playing the strings inside, instead of with the keyboard, as with The Banshee), started to experiment with the interior of the piano.

Cage used mostly weather strippings on the piano strings for Bacchanale, but as for his prepared piano compositions in general, he would also put such objects as bolts, screws, mutes, or other objects between or on the strings, effectively turning the piano into a one-man percussion instrument, changing the lyrical piano tones into metallic, percussive ones. This one-man percussion instrument, or one-man gamelan ensemble, was the solution to his problem with the small room in which Bacchanale was performed.

Here are links to recordings of The Perilous Night, the last of them including the score (with instructions on how to prepare the piano at the end). The first of these shows the pieces of weather stripping and screws put between or on the strings.

Twenty-six notes of the piano are prepared with rubber, weather stripping, screws, bolts, nuts, bamboo, wood, and cloth, and Cage provides very exacting instructions for the preparation, even specifying certain Steinway piano models to create the sound he wanted.

The piece’s title is a reference to the Perilous Bed that Gawain, of Arthurian legend, had to lie on to rid a castle of its enchantments and curses, and thus free it of its captives. For Cage, the ordeal that Gawain went through on the bed is symbolic of a painful moment in Cage’s life, when he was separating from his wife, Xenia Andreyevna Kashevaroff, to be with Merce Cunningham, who would be Cage’s partner for the rest of his life.

According to the legend, Gawain entered the chamber of the castle where he saw the enchanted bed moving about, hurtling all around the room and smashing against the walls. He jumped on it.

The bed stopped moving, then slingstones and bolts were launched at him; after that, lions or other beasts attacked him (there are several works of art showing him on the bed, with nearby lions). With his bravery and armour, he managed to survive the ordeal and rid the castle of its evil magic.

Since Cage’s relationship with Xenia and Cunningham was a sexual one, a legend about a perilous bed was an effective way to express the emotional turmoil he was going through. Changing the title from “Perilous Bed” to “Perilous Night” sounds to me like a kind of censoring of the homoerotic aspect of this relationship, especially given how the piece was composed and first performed in the mid-1940s, when attitudes toward divorce and homosexuality would have obviously been far more condemnatory than they are today.

The dark, tense nature of the prepared piano music vividly expresses the tension that must have been felt as Cage saw the heartbreak in Xenia’s eyes when she knew she was losing him to Merce. Initially, she’d actually suggested that she and Cage have an open relationship with Merce, a ménage à trois; but the two men drew together more and more, leaving her out and leading to her divorce with Cage.

So it’s easy to see how a legend about a bed that flies around a room, smashing into its walls, then launches bolts and slingstones at the man lying on it, then attacks him with wild beasts, is a perfect metaphor for what was going on in Cage’s bed at the time. Even after it was just him and Merce, Cage kept the intimate aspects of their relationship as private as possible, famously quipping that he did the cooking, while Merce did the dishes.

It’s interesting how the time signatures for all six movements of The Perilous Night are either 4/4 or 2/2, when one considers how complex the rhythms are throughout; one would expect constantly changing, asymmetric time signatures. Cage’s music in the 1940s made use of rhythmic structures called “nested proportions,” in which the total structure of each movement reflects the same proportions for the length of the smaller phrases of the movement.

I would like to imagine a narrative of six chapters, so to speak, that are expressed in the music of these six movements. It’s a narrative of the Cage/Xenia/Cunningham love triangle, with the Gawain narrative paralleling and allegorizing it.

In the first movement, Gawain is approaching the enchanted castle, just as Cage heard Xenia’s suggestion that they have a ménage à trois with Cunningham, since she found him attractive. As for the prepared piano music, it’s mostly variations on, for the left hand, bass notes a major sixth (or a tenth) apart from each other (F and D), and for the right hand, three adjacent notes in the middle of the treble clef (F-sharp, G, and A-flat). One senses in the music a tentative approach to the castle…and to the coming threesome.

In the second movement, I hear Gawain going through the door inside the castle. Cage, Xenia, and Cunningham are having their first sexual encounter together and deciding they like it. As for the music, the left hand does a lot of minor thirds of D-flat and F-flat, back and forth (or they would sound that way, if not for the altering of tones by the piano preparations). The right hand plays a repeatedly ascending and descending arpeggiated chord of E-flat, G-flat, B-flat, and upper E-flat (again, except for the tone alterations). Permutations of these patterns occur largely throughout the rest of the movement.

The energetic nature of this music suggests the passion of the three lovers enjoying their thrilling first time in bed together.

In the third movement, we can imagine Gawain walking through the halls of the castle, looking for and finding the chamber with the Perilous Bed. Cage, Xenia, and Cunningham are experiencing the life of a threesome, but the beginnings of the two men’s desire just to be a couple are being felt. A lot of different musical ideas are going on here, but a few towards the end stand out. Both hands here are at first in the treble register, the right playing mostly A-flats and B-flats, back and forth; then the left hand returns to the bass register, and there’s a back-and-forth of D and F there, with a back-and-forth of D-flat and G/E in the right hand, to end the movement. There’s a sense in this music of an itch in Cage and Cunningham just to be a couple, without her.

In the fourth movement, I imagine Gawain going into the chamber and seeing the Perilous Bed flying around the room, bumping into the walls (each knock against a wall being musically represented, though heard softly, in the left hand of the piano hitting bass Fs, Ds, and Fs two octaves lower). Xenia is having suspicions that Cage and Cunningham are excluding her. This feeling is expressed in the haunting ostinato played on the right hand, with back-and-forth notes of G-flat and E-flat.

In the fifth movement, Gawain has jumped on the bed, and the bolts and slingstones are being launched at him. Xenia has caught Cage and Cunningham in bed together. The tension of such an encounter is musically felt throughout this movement, especially at the end, with six bars of tied, dotted half notes that are accented and played fortississimo with the left hand, and F/D/G with the right hand alternating with low Ds with the left hand.

The sixth and final movement is climactic. Now, beasts and lions attack Gawain on the bed. This violence is symbolic of the hostility that must have grown between rejected Xenia on the one side, and Cage and Cunningham on the other, with fighting that led ultimately to divorce between her and Cage.

The music reflects this tension and fighting with variations on a motif of high eighth notes of mostly D and E, but also some high Bs and other notes played with the right hand, the piano preparation making them sound almost like xylophone notes. The left hand tends to play an extremely low, ascending, arpeggio-like motif of mostly eighth notes rising up to a D and F just below the staff of the bass clef. Though it’s all notated in 4/4 time, the left and right hand motifs are very irregular rhythmically, adding to the sense of an emotionally unstable situation.

Other permutations of these patterns are heard in the middle section, until we get to the end, where things slow down, and the left hand is playing its motif in descending half and whole notes. The right hand will be alternating between eighth and half notes near the end, while the left hand is playing an extremely low F in tied half and whole notes; then the right hand will switch from the alternations I just described to dotted half notes, played on the second beat of each bar, in an extremely high E.

Then, as the music gets softer, and eerier, the low F goes down to an E, and the high E goes down to a B, which soon, instead of being played on the second beat of each bar, is played on the first, with the low E of the left hand. The piece ends thus in pianissimo, expressive of the loneliness and desolation that Xenia must have felt, and for which Cage, in his regret over the relationship’s debacle, must have felt a painful empathy.

In conclusion, I can imagine this piece to be allegorical of the strain felt between the gay and straight communities, the latter’s struggle between tolerance and intolerance of the former, which as we know can be quite perilous for the former.

From Ballots to Bullets

George Clinton, alas, was wrong.
For a browning of an urban area,
the ballot will never be sufficient.
The other George, of course, knew better than to trust the vote.

Putting a ballot in a box
is like buying a ticket to
watch a theatrical show
in which a president struts and frets his hour upon the stage.

ICE, to the IDF
close in character,
shoot at people.

We the people
thus have the right
to shoot back.

The Tanah: Lyrics–The First Four Spells

[The following is the thirty-third of many posts–here is the first, here is the second, here is the third, here is the fourth, here is the fifth, here is the sixth, here is the seventh, here is the eighth, here is the ninth, here is the tenth, here is the eleventh, here is the twelfth, here is the thirteenth, here is the fourteenth, here is the fifteenth, here is the sixteenth, here is the seventeenth, here is the eighteenth, here is the nineteenth, here is the twentieth, here is the twenty-first, here is the twenty-second, here is the twenty-third, here is the twenty-fourth, here is the twenty-fifth, here is the twenty-sixth, here is the twenty-seventh, here is the twenty-eighth, here is the twenty-ninth, here is the thirtieth, here is the thirty-first, and here is the thirty-second–about a fictitious discovery of ancient manuscripts of a religious text of narratives and magic spells. Its purpose for my readers and me is to provide a cosmology and mythography on which I am basing much, if not most, of my fiction–short stories and novels. If anyone is interested in reading this fiction, he or she can use these blog posts as references to explain the nature of the magic and universe in my fiction.]

Translator’s Introduction

And at long last, we come to the wicked spells of the Tanah.

When one considers just how heinous the intentions are of many, if not most, or all, of these spells, and how much the ancient elders abominated them and fought to keep people from using them, it is amazing that so many of the texts have survived, rather than all of them destroyed.

But here they are, as incomplete as they may be.

These Lyrics are verses set to music, for it is the nature of the music–the melodic contours of the singing (as expressed in an upward or downward slash for each word, beside each line of verse), the instrumental accompaniment–that makes an important contribution to the efficacy of the spells (the poetic power of whose words is rendered rather dull, unfortunately, in English translation). Little of the musical arrangements has survived, though, in terms of how the music is precisely to be performed: there’s no notation even of the sung melodies of the verses, except for the above-mentioned slashes, as mentioned above, which only suggest a tune; and there are only vague indications of what instrumental backing is recommended…if that.

These are spells for selfish ends. They fulfill individual desires, or those of the tribe, and they often have outright malevolent purposes. Examples include the summoning of such demons as Ai, the demon of lust as introduced in Part Two of The Preaching, or the capturing of souls in jars, for the purpose of gaining greater magical power from them.

Elsewhere, there are songs meant to help in the conquering and subjugation of foreign peoples, cruelty to enemies, controlling people, gaining wealth, stealing, and more.

For sexual exploitation, wait for the book of spells known as Amores.

[Sing the following verse repeatedly, louder and louder, with accompanying flute and drum.]

Your land is our land. \\\\
Your home is our home. \\\\
Your wealth is our wealth. \\\\
Your food is our food. \\\\
Your men are our slaves. \\\\

[Sing the following verse repeatedly, louder and louder, with increasing intensity, until the singing sounds like screaming, with the dissonant plucking of adjacent strings on a zither, and harder and harder pounding on drums.]

May you hurt, ///
may you groan, ///
may you cry, ///
may you bleed, ///
may you die! ///

[Sing the following verse repeatedly, louder and louder, in a breathy voice, with no instrumental backing.]

I take you, //\
I have you, //\
I use you, //\
I own you. //\

[Sing the following verse repeatedly, louder and louder, with increasing intensity, and with the tapping of more and more cymbals.]

My gold and silver grow. /////
My gold and silver double. /////
My gold and silver triple. /////
My gold and silver, endless. /////

Comment: Each upward slash represents a rise in pitch, and each downward slash represents a lowering in pitch, each slash being for each word to the left.