Wednesday, March 21, 2018

St. Patrick's Day 2018

Matt, August and Kim at the Kelly house party
Nick at the Kelly house party
This St Patrick's Day the Kelly family of Boulder Creek invited our Blarney band to entertain at a gathering of some of our uncommon rural community's elite movers and shakers. Generous servings of corned beef, cabbage and potatoes plus glasses of the traditional harp-labeled beer fortified the laddies, lasses and leprechauns, one of whom was wearing a derby crowned by flashing green lights. And during the break we were made a offer we could hardly refuse: "Would the band be wanting a beverage?" Thank you, Kellys and crew for a memorable celebration.

Also to commemorate this holy Irish saint's day, Trader Joe's Market featured "Blarney Scones" on their bread shelf, Ancestry DNA offered to verify your Celtic ancestry for a reduced price (according to Ancestry DNA, mainly Slovak Nick is 2% Irish) and drunken poets everywhere were reciting the fine verses of William Butler Yeats.
William Butler Yeats (1865 - 1939)

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth
I look at you, and I sigh. 

The following evening, fair colleen Sun McNamee Lundell (also known as "Mrs Future") celebrated her birthday with dozens of friends at a beach house in Aptos. In one small segment of the multi-talented festivities, August and Nick took up their instruments and played jigs and reels while Corinna danced her heart out. For the time it took to perform a few lively tunes, the three of us seemed to merge for a while into one joyous organism -- being one part of that unplanned musical threesome was one of the high points for me of this year 2018 St. Paddy's Day weekend.

Nick, August and Corinna channel the high spirit of Irish music.

Wednesday, February 14, 2018

Saint Valentine's Day 2018

Mom's wedding day: Mary Agnus Herbert (1914 - 1989)
Four for Fourteenth of February:

Stonehenge, Hill of Tara
New Grange, Glastonbury Tor.
My sacred sites are her eyes,
Her nipples, the whorls on her fingertips --
Are the origins and insertions of her muscles
Are the places where her bones meet
Are the follicles of her hair
Are the pads of her feet, her buttocks, the slots
Between her toes.

Admiring the play
Of morning light on your body
I imagine what brought us to this place
At this time, in our several eye-catching forms.
I am thinking of that primordial alphabet soup
from which we both emerged
Of our speechless common ancestors
copulating in warm moonlit marshes
Exchanging flesh-to-flesh life's salty broth:
the sacrament of sex
Our lusty lineage:
snake-like, cat-like, ape-like fathers and mothers
Do this in remembrance of them:
Eat my body; drink my blood;
accept my genes; bear my children.
I am thinking of the early macroplasm,
of the hot sticky honey of creation
I am thinking of Original Mind's 

world-creating yearning
(I was a Hidden Treasure 

and desired to be known)
Imagining how that Deep Maternal Urge 

must have felt as she squeezed each of us
out into this bright world
fresh, wide-eyed, laughing, sticky, nude.

Each human language embodies
A new way of grasping with chatter
Ourselves, this world, its creatures
From microphage to Mad Hatter:
Nick's scratching his head for a language
To send valentine greetings to matter.

I wanna wham Mama Nature
in a warm wet dream
Wanna strum Her pond, palpitate Her stream
Wanna feel Her quiver like a tambourine
Wanna hear Her E equals MC scream!

Industrial-strength Quantum Tantra:


Thursday, February 1, 2018

Quantum Touch

Lavabo inter innocentes et circumdabo altare tuum.

(For Shasta)

As with amber and the lodestone
She hides Her hints in plain sight.
The Hindus called it shaktipat:
A body blessing with a bite.

Franz Anton Mesmer's animal magnetism.
William Blake's "energy is eternal delight".
If Mind be the New Physics wild card
Could mindful massage flood Nick with light?

As the Sacred Secret leaks in
Thru your skillful hands on my skin
Can I truly feel Her Deep Emptiness
Improvising this illusion mid flight?
Birthing the Universe just once was not enough:
Now each moment feeds Her Boundless Appetite.

HAMSA: Hand of Fatima, daughter of the Prophet Mohammed

Monday, January 22, 2018

Four on the Floor

Nick Herbert at Perihelion Party 2018

Our most dangerous patients
are experts
at keeping their sicknesses hid.
If Jack Sarfatti's the New Physics Ego
does that make Nick Herbert
the Id?

(For Jeffrey Kripal and Dale Pendell)

I want to become a second Heisenberg
the Walter White of tantric history
by devising a clever new path
for exploring the body/mind mystery.

A tantra path inspired by quanta
as open and easy as breath
convincingly beautiful
breathtakingly erotic
as addictive as crystalline meth.

The addictive religion of materialism

constipates our strong and deep imaginings.
Will this brash new way of flirting with Nature
help us feel and touch the dear reality of things?


Herr Professor
You are now world famous
for discovering
the Black Cosmic Crack.

Now please tell us your secret:
Which Alma Mater
best taught you
how to put Frau Natur
to the rack?


Like the Dalai Lama.
I too am a student
of tantric Buddhism.

Empty the mind of thought
Empty the mind of words
That's plenty for tonight, pilgrim,
Let these teachings stick.
Next session we'll be tackling
Empty the mind of "Nick".

Deer Dalai Lama: Camp Climax, Boulder Creek

Monday, January 15, 2018

Love (Planet-Earth Style)

Dragon's Heart Nebula in Ara, the Altar

For the love of my extended tribe
My nation ruthlessly smothers all others.
For the love of our own kind
With corn, wheat, rice, roads and cities
My species carelessly drives
Numerous non-human beings
From their homes.

For the love of this lucky embodiment
Predator Nick feasts on tasty prey.
For the love of me (their sovereign)
Nick's personal antibody assassins wage
Hundreds of necessary genocides.

Someday I too will die
From a greater love than me
Wondering whether other worlds require
A love based on biology.

Tuesday, January 9, 2018

Quantum Tantra: Five Opening Moves

Nick Herbert, Boulder Creek Bistroscene, 1997


Over the past thirty years my friend Allan Lundell (known today as "Doctor Future") has been videoing the goings-on at the fringes of contemporary culture, from Luc Sala's visionary video station in Amsterdam to Alison Kennedy's Mondo 2000 salon in Berkeley, to Ken Kesey, Terence McKenna and Tim Leary productions in San Francisco, California and other altered states here and abroad. Allan is currently archiving and standardizing his videos (which were captured in many formats and media over the years) and occasionally sharing a few clips from these "Future Peak Video Archives" with his friends. Thanks, Al.

For instance, Allan recorded many performances of the long-running legendary Bistroscene in Boulder Creek, CA and environs, during which a large number of locals released their pent-up creative energies into an wide-open and enthusiastic audience, many of whom were themselves waiting to mount the stage. Yesterday at the gym, Allan handed me a thumb drive of a few of these video clips, including one of my own Bistroscene performances two decades ago, which I now call Quantum Tantra: Five Opening Moves. 

For fans of quantum tantra and for posterity's sake, I now post the text of that reading plus Doctor Future's valuable video of that splendidly memorable event:


The purpose of yin-style Ki Gung
a practice I've barely begun
is to open up holes
whose delicate roles
will surpass the tact of the tongue.

To the novice the biggest surprise
is to see without using his eyes
the numerous threads
connecting our heads
and the ribbons entangling our thighs.

With new orifices, apertures, holes
new meanings, new purposes, goals
we've opened our hearts
and our new private parts
to an invisible Network of Souls.

Thru our tantric antenna array
we find new things to hear and to say
to our lovers in bed
to the recently dead
to our friends from the Deep Milky Way.

We fornicate photons in chemical trances
we welcome fresh alien sexual advances
we're big girls and boyses
who've outgrown our toyses
we've extraterrestrially opened our pantses.

Friday, January 5, 2018

Delight in Disorder

Robert Herrick, Cavalier poet (1591 - 1674)


A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness :
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction :
An erring lace which here and there
Enthralls the crimson stomacher :
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbons to flow confusedly :
A winning wave (deserving note)
In the tempestuous petticoat :
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility :
Do more bewitch me than when art
Is too precise in every part.

Sweet Disorder by Diana Warnok

Tuesday, December 26, 2017

The Giraffe Suit

The giraffe suit

Often my search
for the Ultimate Secret
takes an unexpected path.
Today I got a Christmas gift:
the suit of a giraffe.

To identify the unknown sender
I have to use some iPad apps.
Could she be just a human proxy
for the galactic telepaths?

I've just begun my Naked Buddhism
in coming Year of Two Blue Moons.
But I'm not too shy to go giraffic
if I can meet the Others soon.

Superhuman hearts and minds and humor

More complex kinds of happiness
I'll not disdain their weird conditions
Nick is dressing for success.

The giraffe suit: note the tail

Sunday, December 17, 2017

Soul Mate

Samarai Nick

Socrates sez
We're each a part
Of one broken being
That yearns to be reunited.
But take it from me, pal,
Merging with the Opposite Other
Is no picnic.

She's neat and you're messy
Wants sex when you don't.
She's plain and you're dressy
Hangs out where you won't.

You don't really want a soul mate
She's all and everything you're not
You don't really need a soul mate
How about a tetanus shot

Compared to joining with my soul mate
I would pick a firing squad
Making love to such a creature
Would be a lot like fucking God.

You don't really want a soul mate
She's all and everything you're not
You don't really need a soul mate
How about a shot of bot-
    ulinus neurotoxin instead?

You're on time and She's on acid
None of you has half a clue
What the other feels is sacred
What the other thinks is rude.

You don't really want a soul mate
She's all and everything you're not
You don't really need a soul mate
But She's the Reality you've got.

Face it, bozo,
You're addicted
Can't exist without Her touch
Love Her like the Earth loves Sunlight
Yearning for Her much too much.

A dangerous treasure:
What's your pleasure?
To sit alone and masturbate
Or lift the phone and call your mate?

Hello, dear,
I miss you, see?
Feels like
You're part of me.

Sunday, December 3, 2017

Jabir Opens Wilsonfest 2017


Prolific local author and thinker Robert Anton Wilson died ten years ago at his home in Capitola, CA. I was one of the many friends who participated in Bob's hospice-assisted passage into the next realm and one of the celebrants at the fabulous Wilson Wake held at the Coconut Grove on the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. Ten years after his death, Friends of Bob convened RAW Day at the Santa Cruz Arts & History Museum, recorded the proceedings and made the videos available here at the RAW Trust Site which is also busy editing and publishing Bob's literary works in original new formats.

Among the various presenters on RAW Day at the Santa Cruz Museum were R. U. Sirius, co-founder of the Berkeley-based pioneering cyber-psychedelic magazine MONDO 2000, Richard Rasa, head of the publication arm of the RAW Trust, Adam Golightly, Discordian Historian, Erik Davis, author of The Visionary State and Christina Pearson, Bob's oldest daughter. Holding the proceedings together was the hyperenergetic British MC, Daisy Eris Campbell, whose father directed Illuminatus! while she later directed Cosmic Trigger, two big British theatrical productions based on the works of Robert Anton Wilson. The participants at RAW Day included many famous Santa Cruzites, notably Valerie Corrall, David Jay Brown and Suzie Wouk.

For reasons unknown, Doctor Jabir was chosen to open the festivities. In my five minutes I proceeded to tell the story of how I first met Bob and his red-headed Irish wife Arlen; the tale of something Bob stole from me; and a poem on creativity called Kiss My Bare Art -- all captured on video by Daisy Eris.

And sure as sin, Bob Wilson, tonight after uploadin' this wee post, I'll be drinkin' a Guinness in yer honor and hummin' Danny Boy. 

Robert Anton Wilson (1932 - 2007)
Die ewige Blumenkraft