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The Song of my People
Aug. 9th, 2009 06:36 pmThe Convention of Dragons is only a few quick weeks away.
Already the rituals have begun. The polishing of jade power rings, goggles and white plastic body armor. Elaborate skin tight costumes woven piously from the Gospel of Continuity - some emblazoned with bold archetypes across the chest to imbue their ensemble with talismanic properties. An arsenal of the fantastic waits to be packed carefully between folds of lingere and club gear. Constellations of distant friendships, seperated and connected by the Net, prepare to converge into a bright if not brief singularity. If you listen carefully you can almost hear the monsters and faeries stirring in the sleeping make-up kits. The first faint winds of the Season of the Geek wisp across the psyche.
It is no secret that I veiw the four day event as a Dionysian festival for pop culture saints. Nor is the theory I hold that the Con is a sort of celebration of Summer's twilight and an invocation of the coming Autumn a new one. An atavistic relative of the Eleusinian Mysteries... with an anime Persephone descending deep into the four color depths of the imagination. As with all good pagan holidays there should be a sacrifice of some sort or another and a part of me cannot help but wonder if the act of donning the masks of our favorite myths is not a form of temporary ego death of some sort, a supplication and opening to powers normally beyond us. Allowing perhaps for what Hakim Bey calls a 'Temporary Autonomous Zone' to unfold. In which we are offered the rare moment to shed our 'secret identities' and frolick naked briefly in our Fanboy God Forms.
Such notions comfort me. It permits the small hope that there is still room in the psychological map of the human animal for undiscovered kingdoms to be revealed. That there remains a well of drunken wonder and sexual adventure to be collectively tapped into, ready to quench the arid monotony of day jobs and minor tragedies that have for too long choked back the magick words in our throats.
The traditional "Heralding Spank" to summon forth the Convention of Dragons
Already the rituals have begun. The polishing of jade power rings, goggles and white plastic body armor. Elaborate skin tight costumes woven piously from the Gospel of Continuity - some emblazoned with bold archetypes across the chest to imbue their ensemble with talismanic properties. An arsenal of the fantastic waits to be packed carefully between folds of lingere and club gear. Constellations of distant friendships, seperated and connected by the Net, prepare to converge into a bright if not brief singularity. If you listen carefully you can almost hear the monsters and faeries stirring in the sleeping make-up kits. The first faint winds of the Season of the Geek wisp across the psyche.
It is no secret that I veiw the four day event as a Dionysian festival for pop culture saints. Nor is the theory I hold that the Con is a sort of celebration of Summer's twilight and an invocation of the coming Autumn a new one. An atavistic relative of the Eleusinian Mysteries... with an anime Persephone descending deep into the four color depths of the imagination. As with all good pagan holidays there should be a sacrifice of some sort or another and a part of me cannot help but wonder if the act of donning the masks of our favorite myths is not a form of temporary ego death of some sort, a supplication and opening to powers normally beyond us. Allowing perhaps for what Hakim Bey calls a 'Temporary Autonomous Zone' to unfold. In which we are offered the rare moment to shed our 'secret identities' and frolick naked briefly in our Fanboy God Forms.
Such notions comfort me. It permits the small hope that there is still room in the psychological map of the human animal for undiscovered kingdoms to be revealed. That there remains a well of drunken wonder and sexual adventure to be collectively tapped into, ready to quench the arid monotony of day jobs and minor tragedies that have for too long choked back the magick words in our throats.
The traditional "Heralding Spank" to summon forth the Convention of Dragons