Harri Teikka

accept chaos.
"A little over 21 years ago I was introduced into what is laughingly referred to as civilization. This term in itself demonstrates how mankind has managed to maintain a sense of humor throughout all of history's chaos".
- Gil Scott-Heron, 1970
Vegetable Man, Where Are You?
People talk strange things in hieroglyphics. When you lie in your bed, the insects would come and stare in the corner, 3AM, bathing in the blue neonlight. Peculiar forms start to form out of the flickering strobe lights. You swear you can see human skulls on the light show screen where they have projected liquid slides with their ever-mutating, dancing Technicolor ectoplasm figures. The giant black spider goddess will rise from the night skyline, emblazoned with ancient symbols. A billion TV sets will scream white noise to the audience of empty satellite eyes worldwide. Skeletons crash out of the closets with a bony, shrieking laughter. You have missed the last train to Alphaville and the PSI-cops are after you at the station, though you can never be sure if you actually lie half-dead in hibernation tank, with electrodes pulsing sensations to your brain to keep it occupied. Visions, sensations, cut short by commercial breaks. Even your hallucinations include product placements. Kabbalistic honeycombs cascade there. What makes La Luna tick? The eye in the pyramid gives you a mischievous wink, then you're gone. It's the Day of the Dead and you hit the piñata with a plastic baseball bat; it crushes open with a disgusting cracking sound, and a swarm of moths rushes out, tempted by the sweet taste of all those sugar skulls you have devoured today... You are 33 and waiting for your crucifixion. Remember all those innocent small animals you tortured when you were a kid? Now they have returned to have their revenge on you. All those little claws and teeth scratch and gnaw your skin till you bleed, an army of frogs will pump you up with air till you explode, giant flies will tear off your limbs one by one, a cat will shoot you in the eyes with her air rifle, a dog will pour gasoline on you and set it alight. No escape from the Wasp Factory. (Ecstasy is the brother of panic.) These androgynous, sexless pop elves with their bottle-black hair and delicate figures surround you and pat you on the head. You feel embarrassed and strange in their world built of multi-coloured Lego bricks where everyone looks like a yellow smiley and says: "Have a nice day". You start to scream.
- Harri Teikka, June 2001
If You Show Me Your Reality Tunnel, I'll Show You Mine:
"i almost never refuse people but if you seriously believe in that nostradamus shit (i hope it's a joke) and this 1+1=11 and 2+2 is 22, then fuck it!! otherwise apart from that you seem to be a funny character it's a shame..."
- An answer by anonymous to a friend request by Harri Teikka
(I wonder what his own reality tunnel is like?).
"Magick does not tolerate 'belief'." - E.E. Rehmus.
"Do, or do not. There is no try." - Yoda.
"I do not believe anything." - Robert Anton Wilson.
Ergo, what we are dealing with here is a collection of diverse and often conflicting belief systems i.e. reality tunnels, but because we can't be sure if anything is real at all (or if I'm "real", either: please see below) or if it's all just a vast cosmic joke, let's just by default agree that someone is seriously pulling our legs here (though, alas, actually believing his/her own stuff) and keep our heads above the surface by surfing that chaos.
"On the road again. Mutta mike missä milloin ja cassu kumpi kumpaisen? Streetti on puhdasta purppuraa ja merituuli on piipannut talojen seinät ja katot pehmeille permanenteille. Koko torni kaupunki korkkiruuvikiharoi, sulanutsuklaastadi. Kaupunki kuin kynttilä jota Mike ei halua myydä vaan antaa itselleen joululahjaksi ja Casimirrille pinkpantterintopiksi tuon Royalin ravintolan tuolta. Sitten tulla ujeltaa tuolta ajotien kahta puolta 30 metriksi veenyyvää autoo ja Mike miettii, että saa setä tulla kunhan vai varoo ettei jää alle vai haluaako vähän maihinnoususaappaasta perään. (...) Pojat ylittävät ehdin nahoin Pohjois-Espan ja tulevat puistikkoon. Cassu vain nauraa ja nauraa. Mike vain uhoo ja uhoo mitä sylki suuhun tuo:
- Cassu hassu punanassu, huuhkahapsi happomassu. Älä nää näkätä, elämää räkätä. Nosta säkin kätes ja stendataan tää stadi elesdiilieskoihin. Tajuut sä Taika-Jimi, että me heitetään noille sokeille köpeille vähän disniländii! Puhalletaan happonapalmia puiston puihin ettei noista hevonperseenreikäkonttoreista jää kuin kipeet kekäleet. Nostetaan tää sokosgomorra taivaan tasalle ja kustaan pissanpaisumus tänne, että stockmannit ja wulffit vaan vinkuu kun ne hukkuu. Knepataan pikkurillin kynnellä lakoon koko keskusta ja hönkäistään poliisien temppelit ja pappien putkat ympäriämpäri!
(...)
Huusi ja huhuili jokaiselle vastaantulijalle olevansa ainutkertaistettu, ainiaallistettu. Hölötötteröö, hela tiden läpäläpä loputonta läppää. Saappaat täynnä venyvää ja paukkuvaa pakinaa. Totaalista sekoamista. Piripintaan täpötäynnä pöörplepirtaa monta triljoonaa. Kuinka hän oli halunnut kourakaupalla jakaa ihmisille ilmaisia trippejä. Sulasta armosta pelastaa tuttunsa taivasten nauravaan valtakuntaan, kuningasidioottien ilmaiseen iloon. Bion jälkeen tuli täydellinen niks naks. Filmi poikki ja katselija katki.
Kamera kateissa ja teatteri taivaan tuulissa; vihlaisevissa valojen valööreissä, väriräntänä aluttomien ja loputtomien ooh-elämysten mielettömässä hyrskynmyrskyssä. Lentänyt purppuraisessa psykoosissa Mike vaan only."
- Arto Merenheimo: Mike vaan only
"'Don't get jumpy,' he said calmly. 'There is nothing in this world that a warrior cannot account for. You see, a warrior considers himself already dead, so there is nothing for him to lose. The worst has already happened to him, therefore he is clear and calm; judging him by his acts or by his words, one would never suspect that he has witnessed everything."
- Carlos Castaneda: Tales of Power, p. 32
"On the back part of the step, toward the right, I saw a small iridescent sphere of almost unbearable brilliance. At first I thought it was revolving; then I realised that this movement was an illusion created by the dizzying world it bounded. The Aleph's diameter was probably little more than an inch, but all space was there, actual and undiminished. Each thing (a mirror's face, let us say) was infinite things, since I distinctly saw it from every angle of the universe. I saw the teeming sea; I saw daybreak and nightfall; I saw the multitudes of America; I saw a silvery cobweb in the center of a black pyramid; I saw a splintered labyrinth (it was London); I saw, close up, unending eyes watching themselves in me as in a mirror; I saw all the mirrors on earth and none of them reflected me; I saw in a backyard of Soler Street the same tiles that thirty years before I'd seen in the entrance of a house in Fray Bentos; I saw bunches of grapes, snow, tobacco, lodes of metal, steam; I saw convex equatorial deserts and each one of their grains of sand; I saw a woman in Inverness whom I shall never forget; I saw her tangled hair, her tall figure, I saw the cancer in her breast; I saw a ring of baked mud in a sidewalk, where before there had been a tree; I saw a summer house in Adrogué and a copy of the first English translation of Pliny -- Philemon Holland's -- and all at the same time saw each letter on each page (as a boy, I used to marvel that the letters in a closed book did not get scrambled and lost overnight); I saw a sunset in Querétaro that seemed to reflect the colour of a rose in Bengal; I saw my empty bedroom; I saw in a closet in Alkmaar a terrestrial globe between two mirrors that multiplied it endlessly; I saw horses with flowing manes on a shore of the Caspian Sea at dawn; I saw the delicate bone structure of a hand; I saw the survivors of a battle sending out picture postcards; I saw in a showcase in Mirzapur a pack of Spanish playing cards; I saw the slanting shadows of ferns on a greenhouse floor; I saw tigers, pistons, bison, tides, and armies; I saw all the ants on the planet; I saw a Persian astrolabe; I saw in the drawer of a writing table (and the handwriting made me tremble) unbelievable, obscene, detailed letters, which Beatriz had written to Carlos Argentino; I saw a monument I worshipped in the Chacarita cemetery; I saw the rotted dust and bones that had once deliciously been Beatriz Viterbo; I saw the circulation of my own dark blood; I saw the coupling of love and the modification of death; I saw the Aleph from every point and angle, and in the Aleph I saw the earth and in the earth the Aleph and in the Aleph the earth; I saw my own face and my own bowels; I saw your face; and I felt dizzy and wept, for my eyes had seen that secret and conjectured object whose name is common to all men but which no man has looked upon -- the unimaginable universe."
- Jorge Luis Borges: The Aleph
Since there seems to be every now and then some dispute as to my "true" identity, to make finding the real answer easier, I have provided some multiple choices for you. Please, put an "x" where you think it's correct:
[ ] I am Harri Teikka.
[ ] I am not Harri Teikka.
[ ] Harri Teikka is me plus someone else.
[ ] Harri Teikka is not me plus someone else.
[ ] Harri Teikka is someone else than me.
[ ] Harri Teikka is not someone else than me.
[ ] Harri Teikka is a famous celebrity wishing to remain anonymous.
[ ] Harri Teikka is not a famous celebrity wishing to remain anonymous.
[ ] Harri Teikka is not famous at all, but merely someone who, for various reasons, does not want to use his/her real name there and wishes to remain anonymous.
[ ] Harri Teikka's real identity is of no importance, anyway.
[ ] All of the above.
[ ] Some of the above.
[ ] None of the above.
"Before the time of the Great Deluge the Whoreslaves would rise: serfs and subservient drones for their corporate masters, donating their bodies and minds and selling their souls willfully, voluntarily... I've seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by mammon." [From The Whoreslave Chronicles, Babylon 2012]
9/11 2001 was just the beginning, starting an eleven-year endtime period which will climax in the final cataclysm of 2012. During this time we will see such an amount of chaos, death, destruction, sin and lies that mankind has never witnessed anything like it before. Number 11 is not here just coincidentally. In numerology 11 is one of the master numbers alongside 22 and 33 (the age of Jesus when He was crucified, also 3x11.) 11 also stands for two towers that were destroyed on 9/11. 1+1 equals two. It should be noted that Nostradamus implied this number in his famous prediction of "the great king of terror" arriving from the sky in the seventh month of 1999. Nothing remarkable happened then, of course, but now add two to 1999 and two to the seventh month (July) and you will get 2001 and September...
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[ all images by Spektakl GrapHcs - used by permission ]