Caitlin Down-under Johnstone is as gonzo as they come.
She begins at a small trail-head off the visitors' parking lot of the National Hunter S. Thompson Museum and bleeds thick as Steadman's ink, oozing life onto her landscape pages, flowing, spinning counter-clockwise as the words seep into your brain. With a Pink Floyd finish/afterglow.
And that is just the journalism, art-prose imitating life imitating art in a feedback loop building up to a certain uncontainable chain-reaction of global insight any day now, I expect.
And then there's her new book, "WOKE".
There's the poetry.
And that's when it really gets strange.
Those who've studiously read between the lines know there is dark matter in this cosmic mind but never suspected that just by printing the negative in a darkroom you could make the visible universe disappear and all the more massive dark matter, heretofore invisible, suddenly" visible.
If you look with both eyes, your depth perception will be richly rewarded.
We are down the rabbit hole and out the other side.
Contrary to popular belief, up really is up and down really is down once again, but, more importantly, you are not alone. We are not alone. .
The ashes of global warming and the fall of New Rome are inevitable, but who knew the after-party could be so much fun? Who could foresee the splendor of this Phoenix?
It's not for everyone. But, it is so very much FOR those of us that it is FOR that it's bound for cultish glory. Speak-easies' passwords will be selected from these pages. The imagery of the emergent paradigm can be glimpsed here. There is no lifeguard, you just have to be LIFE in every fiber of your being. Enter at your own risk, prepared to jettison any remaining lead weights of cultural baggage still clinging to your organic form.
And then swim in or dance on the bioluminescent waters of this wild vision called "WOKE"
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