About CF Theater:

Frank Andres is president of Fire Mountain Nation.

We are descendants of the Beats and Thomas Edison.

We are a Nation of ideas our music is 12 tone scale

an invention like the light bulb. The world is in

Depression. We need the energy of entertainment.

We need the ideas of research of invention to climb

back on top where we belong no we must do these

things to survive for civilization to survive.

CF stands for concept formation

for ideas.

We turn on a light!

Visit: http://www.cftheater.com for more Music,Videos and Books

Copyright 2013-2018 CF Theater, Fire Mountain Enterprises .All rights reserved

I feel like a man astride two ages. The present is harsh, unbearable,
cruel. There was the American Dream…and with cheap oil we were able to
realize much that we had wished for… We were able to become nobility with
our own tracks of country side. We became nobility with mechanical
servants.. But this was all fraudulent…the subdivisions became deserts of
alienation, loneliness… lives full of monotony, mediocrity…and three hour
drives to work, each way. Now cheap oil is gone. Now what?

Then there is the future…The future is one of my highest hopes and
greatest dreams. It is the dream that goads me onward. Yet with that dream
lies a danger. I am becoming acutely schizophrenic… actually exhibiting a
multi-personality…. as I devote more and more of my life to that dream, to
that fantasy. Sometimes I find myself caught up in that magical crystal ball.
I actually begin to believe sometimes that I am living in that far off age, that
all is well… all problems have been solved. In reality the bulk of the work
lies ahead and this fact plus the exigencies of the work goad me all the faster
towards the fantasy.

However, I am a man who is ultimately firmly committed to
reality…and to my mental health. For in fantasy there is no more joy than in a
dream. Joy comes from creation, but creation must change and impact the
external world. The dream of my creation can be one of two things. It can be
my hope. It can be my escape. If it be the first, then it is a tool which can be
most useful in a perplexed and caustic age. ..a first step towards the future I
dream of. If it be the second, then drugs would be the cheaper, more
efficient path to take… nay, suicide would speed me towards the destination
that road does lead.

I am a child of my age and the father of the next. And in the end I shall
deny neither. My work is here and now and no burden shall I shirk. For the
labors of the present, and only those labors, shall give birth to the future. In
these labors I shall not be content to stand upon a large boulder and cry forth
upon the multitudes. Such cries are rife today and most will quickly die as
they reverberate through the vacuum of space.
Instead I must become a part of the world around me. I must be wed to
the world. I must not be afraid of the world. For in the end, the world,
society, culture in which I live… is the earth… is the soil from which my body
didst spring. That world is my parent. It is my past, my source. And I must
live through that past, and shape, mold, lead, and move that past, an inch at a
time towards the future. I must help create new tools. I must do this to
preserve my dream, otherwise will it lose meaning and fall to dust, it will
dissipate into fantasy and condemn me to isolation from life. I must do this
to preserve my sanity and my species.

But what is the need for action? Is it not foreordained for these things
to pass? When one considers man’s past and his basic nature, when one
considers the Enlightenment and the power of the human mind…is not the
dream, the beautifully perfect world I foresee, inevitable? If this world is
inevitable, why then must I act?

Man and woman are animals bearing tools. They bear tools for the
work at hand. Tragically, they also bear tools from the work of yesterday.
Ironically, many of the tools which were valid, which did allow progress in a
past age… now are chains which restrain. Hence are man and woman
historical animals… too often, too securely chained to a past of their own
making.

Why is this? Why are obsolete, constraining tools allowed to persist?
The reasons are these: avarice, fear, complacency. The greedy man may keep
the past if it feeds him surfeited… even if the good of society, which
previously sanctioned the works, no longer is served. Fear of the new
paralyzes many who might act. Complacency and sloth bind the rest. The
worm which does not crawl forward flounders in its own excrement. The
shark… master of the sea… which does not swim forward… drowns in its own
furious frenzy. Man and woman are tool bearing animals…but this implies
that they have in the past been…and in the future they must continue to
be…tool creating animals.

The logic of tools points thus and so. But logic is a tool of man and
woman. And they now must act, by means of physical tools to implement
that logic. So it is obvious…that it will not be those with beads and flowers
who will build this world. The man and woman of the future must be at
home with tools, they must embrace them. They may live apart from them
eventually, but they will always be of them.
This is the fight I urge. It is an individual fight. It is each person
learning all, developing all… creating as much as he or she is able. It is the
ultimate fight. It is the greatest fight.
Only by means of such effort will man and woman continue to progress.
Philosophy is necessary…but it must be seen for what it is…the first ste;p in a
scientific process…sitting around puffing smoke rings and lamenting the state
of the world is all right…but only if those same people then stop, read, learn.
Where have the problems come from?…How can we make things
better?…Man and woman have stopped evolving…and their tools are evolving
instead…Well, in a way…the truth is that tools do not evolve…As I have
said…they are created…by man and woman’s minds…We cannot just sit back
and think…and relegate critical steps to others…We must take more and more upon ourselves…and of course we already have other jobs…Too bad…there is no one else…we must do all we can to move through as many of the creative
scientific steps as possible by ourselves…with our friends…We must use the
new technological resources at our disposal…to work with others and truly
move the world…There is only a fifty percent chance that humanity will
make it through this century…Only by means of such a concerted, continual,
and all inclusive individual and community effort…will we… as a species…
endure.

This is the end of the Flashers from my book, Omicron Blue.

They were philosophers, gurus. They smoked their weed, settled back
with drinks and talked of the world. There was a philosophy. There was a
faith. Actually, the pot powwows were antecedents, of sorts… precursors of a
world they hoped would exist some day. Woodstock was a national
manifestation of this philosophy. There was hope for real Love between
brother and sister. Affinal groups sprang forth. Children ran naked under the
watch of their ‘uncles’ and ‘aunts’. They talked their talk, sometimes with the
help of great books,… usually not. Somehow there was the faith that if one
talked enough, even babbled enough, wrote enough… truth somehow would
emerge. This was inherited from the Beats.

But it all dissipated in a cloud of smoke. Now in the 1990’s there are no
hippies left…except for me. And I never felt a part of all that. Ironically I,
the non-participant, absorbed everything and continued the work…
developing 12-tone scale music, working on answers to intellectual problems,
answers to real problems…working in a systematic manner to help solve
problems that those dazed minds in the past…thought they were considering.
Like Annie Lennox, naked, in tears, crouched on a bare floor, singing a
‘Whiter Shade of Pale’… a song whose lyrics are stream of
consciousness….the type of strategy the Beats felt would lead to truth…welI,
she sings such a song, looking around and asking, ‘Where is everyone?’
Where did they go? Where did all that faith in a process go?’…Everything
from that era has disappeared … Even the songs from that age that chanted
the hippie faith: ‘He’s my Brother,’ Thunderclap Newman… are never played.
Like Annie…I am alone, sad, yet hopeful. Somehow the past will spark and
begin the conflagration promised by those times. There was no revolution…
instead everyone put on a suit and tie…and joined the corporation. Then all
that crumbled. Now everyone works at McDonald’s. Yes, perhaps in a way
evolution has replaced revolution, away from highly paid do-little jobs…now replaced by computers… everything is now falling from the top, downward,falling from the city…towards the land…and, according to the hippie
equation, I guess…hopefully, towards Love.

Oh, that I were a soothsayer and able to envision the future. What
phantoms, dreams, nightmares I might have of that far off tomorrow. How
can this world, this troubled world, catapulting towards disaster, survive? I
anticipate the worst, yet there is a small part within me that tells me: ‘Man
has survived the past, man will continue into the future.’ My curiosity cries
out for one small glimpse of society as it will be a generation or two from
now. I wonder if Einstein’s theory of relativity could actually propel me
towards that which is to be. Supposedly if one moves fast enough, he can be
projected into the past…or something like that. By symmetry, one would
expect that some sort of opposite motion might thrust him into the future.
Theory says it is possible. Common sense pronounces such a concept to be a
fraud.

They marched down Telegraph Avenue that day. They were saying that
someone was taking their park, of all the damn things. I am convinced that it
was not so much that someone was trying to take their park. Instead, it was
the fact that someone was trying to take their lives. All I know is that it
began with a march, then came the usual demonstration and yelling. It was
different this time though, as the national guard was now a continual
presence. There were the speeches, and the curses…a scuffle, a burst of
shots, then he was dead. I remember it as if it were a moment ago. A patch
of agony scratched into my brain.
How is one to account for a decade as deviant as the 1960s? Before this
time were not the children of this great land content in their prosperity, proud
of their heritage? There was the war, of course. Boys were being corralled
and slaughtered, a practice not new in history, to be sure. But times were
different now. The real income of individuals would have doubled over the
1950 figures by 1970. People were now in mass richer than any peoples in the past. They were able to give their children gifts of knowledge and
educations befitting kings of old. One might say that the people now were
beginning to have too much. More disturbing, they were beginning to know
too mcuh. They could not be fed the baloney that the United States must
protect the billions from Communism. They knew that the job now for all
nations was to protect the billions from hunger, to get the economies moving.
To give other persons a life as they themselves now possessed. Materially,
many no longer felt the need for more. Now it was time to share. But their
parents could in no way understand this generosity and new wisdom of their
children and interpreted it as ungratefulness, obstreperousness, ultimately as
defiance.
And sothere was death, for by no means the first time in the story of
man, on the school ground as well as on the battleground. Now as I look
back ten years later, after a decade of supposed calm, although the New York
Times logs its routine thousands of demonstrations a year, I can see that the
1960s were not an aberration, but a harbinger of changes to come.

Time and Space. These words are perhaps two of the most important in
the universe. Yet what are these? I have an intuitive notion of such. Time is
that which unites the past with the present and allows me to anticipate the
future. A clock measures Time. But Time appears to be an abstract concept,
which is separate from the external world about me; thus it is difficult to
comprehend. Space at first seems to be easy to understand. Space is the
vacant area around me or around an object. An object, thus, may be
measured by a consideration of how much of this Space the object consumes.

But the Space around the object is infinite and it is the opposite of matter in
that it is the absence of matter; therefore, Space is nothing. Thus, Space
seems to differ from other objects external to me in its infiniteness and
nothingness. Space and Time are not objects in the external world, thus they
cannot be perceived directly by man. If Space and Time are not objects, then
do they in actuality exist?

From darkness into the Light. How trite these words seem, yet
nevertheless, they are true in an historical context. And more and more are
they true today as my whole being is constantly and completely infused with
the fact by the contradictions of an age…the schizophrenia…that is, the
multipersonalities of a species…which cloaks one with frustration, yet is no
doubt also the regalia, the harbinger, the psychodrama of an age in transition
and evolution.
Darkness, Light. From the dark cave-like refuge of the monk’s wall to
the expanse and splendor of the Gothic arch and tracery. From the bat-like
wings of priestly office and candle-dripped manuscripts of forgotten libraries beneath the earth to the erudite illumination of universities. From the
skulking, furtive transactions of the Jew…in the shadow of the wall of the
prince, sword, and early death…to the engines of steel and glass straining
forth with the energy of the millenia towards the expanse of the heavens,
towards the sky-brilliant Light.
So blinded by light in fact are we that we all too often forget that we are
still children of darkness. So frantically have we sought to place our whole
selves into that finest of pin-dots of light afforded by man’s technological
wonders, which by our estimation should immediately translate us unto a
paradise of equisite joy…that we have nearly torn the body societas asunder…
as foot, leg, trunk, arm are still firmly anchored…in relentless mediaeval
night.

‘Today, we know nothing. We accept everything. The truths of
yesterday are gone and we are too clever, too chic, too modern, to search for
new truths. Having a taste of freedom, we are slow to begin buidling new
cages, which trap and enslave and then melt as castles on the beach in the
face of implacable time.
‘In such a condition, can one be blamed for reverting to the pleasures of
the senses and the sensuality of the body as the only truths we can know? Yet
this base nature we can quickly know too well. If we plunge directly to its
depths without preparation and care. For to surrender to sensuality is to
confirm the dark suspicion that long has been luring within, hulking over
us …that in the end, we are but animals. If we are but animals, then we are
but dust. If we are but dust, then…
‘In reality something has already been learned from this preoccupation
with the body. A hope has begun to emerge. First, as man and woman have
become preoccupied with their bodies, the myths from the past concerning
this body have been brushed aside. Factual information about sex and the
body has been gained which will be important to building the future. Second,
preoccupation with the body has given man and woman the final proof he
and she have needed to convince themselves that they are indeed animals.
The comparison between the anatomies of man and woman ‘Today, we know nothing. We accept everything. The truths of
yesterday are gone and we are too clever, too chic, too modern, to search for
new truths. Having a taste of freedom, we are slow to begin buidling new
cages, which trap and enslave and then melt as castles on the beach in the
face of implacable time.
‘In such a condition, can one be blamed for reverting to the pleasures of
the senses and the sensuality of the body as the only truths we can know? Yet
this base nature we can quickly know too well. If we plunge directly to its
depths without preparation and care. For to surrender to sensuality is to
confirm the dark suspicion that long has been luring within, hulking over
us …that in the end, we are but animals. If we are but animals, then we are
but dust. If we are but dust, then…
‘In reality something has already been learned from this preoccupation
with the body. A hope has begun to emerge. First, as man and woman have
become preoccupied with their bodies, the myths from the past concerning
this body have been brushed aside. Factual information about sex and the
body has been gained which will be important to building the future. Second,
preoccupation with the body has given man and woman the final proof he
and she have needed to convince themselves that they are indeed animals.
The comparison between the anatomies of man and woman the stomping of feet, the whirling of skirts. In the primal band is there Love,
the true sharing of blood, which our flesh craves. In the whirl of the skirt are
we made one. We are made brothers and sisters in the flesh. And this
brotherhood and sisterhood of human beings, which we are fast gaining, will
also be essential to the creation of the future.’

‘I am caught in a crack of time. Nothing before, nothing after. All past
is in ruins and of little use in building the future. This generation must start
from scratch, philosophically and theologically. There are tools that can be
salvaged, to be sure. But tools are built upon the presumption that they are
worth using, that life is worth the effort. One can tax his brains for only so
long without reason. He can attempt to shut his eyes and attempt to live out
his life without vision or purpose. But the barrel of the gun is always so near
and tempting. It is inevitable that unless a new purpose and vision of world
is found, the wheels will slowly grind to a halt. Notice how desperately we
strive to keep the old myths alive. No matter if they have no substance.
They have worked in the past…so patch them up and paint them with
psychedelic colors, and let’s get on with the work. Even if the reason for
working is gone. Even if the goals we are working for are lost. Even if we
get richer and richer, yet become more and more miserable and unhappy.
‘We are caught in a crack in time. This generation must start from
scratch. We must act. We must build a future. And only one thing is certain.
Whatever that future might be, we must build it together.’

‘Oh, the gloom, the despair of an age, an age convulsed in tears. An age
of blackness and futility…All that is seen, heard, and said, the perceptions and
utterances of the condemned, reconciled to an inevitable disappointment.
Each flicker of hope and happiness a momentary diversion from a curse from
the past.
‘We were not always of this complexion. Once sunshine and daffodils
were consumed and savored as secretions and children of a universe of energy …manifestations and proof of the forces, the movement, the infinite possibility, and yea, even the hope, inherent in Nature…all symbolized by the Light. Is not the sun yet commanding imperiously, confidently from above? Is this not clue enough that this ubiquitous cloak with which we are encumbered is more
a shroud of the mind, than of matter itself?
‘If mind did indeed create this sepulcher of a death-life sadness, then
may not the mind be able to lead us thence from this shadow, into the
dazzling brilliance, hope, and exhuberance of which the universe is actually
embued? To reclaim and reestablish into their life and age this hope, this
joy …this Light…now must be man and woman’s paramount endeavor.’