Maynard James Keenan: Being Wrong Sucks
By Maynard James Keenan
Published Wed., Jan. 2 2013 at 3:00 AM

Editor’s Note: With a tip of the cap to the man, we bid Maynard James Keenan adieu. This is MJK’s final column for Up on the Sun, as he’s devoting 2013 to more music and more wine. You won’t have to wait too long to hear some of the fruits of his labor: On Tuesday, February 19, Puscifer will release Donkey Punch The Night, featuring two new songs, Queen and Accept Covers, and exclusive remixes. I spent some time on the horn with MJK about the record, so stand by for that feature in our January 10th issue.
Check out Maynard’s New Times archive, and follow him on Twitter, @Puscifer. Adios, Maynard!

This is dangerous. I’m pre-writing this column so I can submit it pre-holiday for publication in January. This is assuming January will arrive. So far so good. There’s nothing obviously hurtling towards us from space, such as a comet, meteor, or very large impenetrable minimalist sculpture.

Not that we’re aware of, anyway. No unusual spike in geological activity. No increased sun spot shenanigans. Snooky’s spawn has no anti-Christ markings or disturbingly evil powers. Yet. Maybe we’ll be OK. Maybe you’ll actually read this and we’ll all giggle with some modicum of humility over our collective paranoia. On some unconscious level I’ll be more than a little disappointed if nothing semi-tragic happens. All that buildup and no money shot. Bummer.

20th Century Fox
Beneath the Planet of the Apes (1970)
Think of all that wasted end-of-the-world disaster footage: Tommy Lee Jones ass whooping some Beverly Hills lava (Volcano); John Cusack fleeing from the whatnots in a bunker submarine ship thing (2012); Charlton Heston battling plastic surgery disasters (Beneath the Planet of the Apes); Liv Tyler actually dating Ben Affleck. As if. (Armageddon). Bill Murray apologizing for breaking the seventh seal of the apocalypse by agreeing to do Garfield and then DYING (Zombieland); Jake Gyllenhaal surviving Brokeback Mountain (Day After Tomorrow). The list goes on.
I had a thought. What if our understanding of the airwaves borders on knuckle-dragger? I mean, what if our flippant transmission of invisible signals isn’t bound by our understanding of time? What if satellite transmissions go up into space and slip through black holes and fissures of the space-time continuum? We’ve only been broadcasting these various forms of sounds and images for less than a century. We’ve had no real time under our belt to measure the damage or far-reaching effect of these actions. What if these images reach back in time?

Universal Pictures
Somewhere in Time (1980)
Let’s say that by some divine intervention or even random chance, a handful of individuals from way back when received some crude dental work. Bear with me. Let’s say that this crude dental work chanced upon a perfect combo of precious metals that actually received signals such as those transmitted. And now add the ability of said individual to “see” these transmissions and write them down as if they have been divined unto them.
The concentration of Doomsday films in the latter half of the 20th century would surely scare the shit of these poor saps. So of course they wrote it all down and of course they would be persecuted for being a few shovels short of a load. Yes? Maybe Nostradamus, the Maya, Bill Miller and the Millerite Band, John of Patmos, etc., were accidentally turned into makeshift ham radios by a clumsy quack of a dentist and were all victims of the interdimensional hypothesis.

It reminds me of that Superman film, Somewhere in Time. (I wasn’t crying at the end. I had something in my eye.) Familiarize yourself with the film before proceeding. Q: Where did the watch originate? It’s like the chicken and the egg head-scratcher. A: It has no origin. It’s cyclical. It’s a self-contained paradox. “We” wrote these scripts and screenplays in response to the above-mentioned dental disasters. They wrote their ticket to the funny farm in response to our time-traveling blockbuster disaster images. Pop on over to Colorado and indulge in the locally legal tender and ponder that shizzle for a mo’. You may find yourself in temporary total agreement.

I realize all of this is a stretch, but I’m scrambling here. The world didn’t end. I was wrong. How embarrassing. Not even a globally recognized elevation in irritable bowel syndrome or naked-first-day-of-school nightmares. Being wrong sucks. All of this hoarded food, ammo, and duct tape was for naught. (Had the end of the world occurred, you would be thanking me for the duct tape tip.)

In light of this extreme level of embarrassment, this will be my last column. Of course I’ll continue ranting over at Puscifer.com and Caduceus.org, but not here. I’m too so ashamed.

Chicken Little Present but Over and Out.

Maynard James Keenan: Events and Rituals
By Maynard James Keenan
(Originally Published Wed., Nov. 7 2012 at 3:00 AM  by  Phoenixnewtimes.com)

The journey known as “Vintage 2012″ is almost complete. Not finished, but it’s most certainly arriving at a fairly calm station. No more 2 a.m. panic-related insomnia attacks, where I stare at the ceiling going over and over the logistics of a tiny workspace. I’m not about to kid myself; there’s still quite a few long days ahead. Just none that involve an adrenaline rush. I’ve been trying to catch up on a bit of sleep, if there is such a thing. This usually involves a late dinner, a glass of wine, and some commercial-free iTunes downloads.
A few nights ago I woke up on the couch having fallen asleep under these aforementioned circumstances. I was out like a corpse. It was that satisfying borderline-fatigue-meets-insulin-crash type of sleep where you wake up feeling like a limp pile of lead marionettes. Had I hair, I would have most certainly been sporting some Gumby bed head. I found myself staring at Kim Coates (The Last Boyscout, Resident Evil) staring at a transvestite on an episode of Sons of Anarchy. At first I thought I was dreaming, because I don’t recall Walton Goggins (Justified, The Shield, Cowboys & Aliens) having breasts, let alone a pair with such – how shall we say — presence and perfectly executed presentation. I was disturbingly fascinated by Kim’s uncomfortably distracted obsession. Now he had me curious. What did he see that I hadn’t yet? I then had a startling thought. I looked around to see if my wife was staring at me staring at Kim staring at Walton’s divine assets. Good luck explaining that one away.

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Kim and Walton are just a couple examples of storytellers whose dedication to their craft has inspired me to do better, to be better, to reach for the unattainable when performing on stage and screen.

When I say “Craft,” I don’t mean “Arts & Crafts,” the kind of stuff you pass over without a glance at an artist co-op, swap meet, or the county fair. I mean “Craft” as in a combination of natural ability and focused hard work needed to develop world-class storytelling skills. There are far too many of these artisans to list in one rant. And rest assured there are many, many more I’d love to comment on. These two just happen to be on my mind at the mo. Like those yet to be listed here someday, they have taken the craft to another level. They’re not considered A-list actors or leads as far as I know, although they should be. They are simply the actors I’ll go out of my way to watch tell the story and become the character. They are among the many actors I look forward to tricking me into forgetting they’re just playing “dress-up pretend” even if it means making me uncomfortable during the observation process.

Truth be told, I was actually formulating a piece on the importance of oral tradition prior to this “event.” Having these freaks capture my imagination to this extreme only confirmed that I was meant to at least mention it.

If we’re at all realistic about the nature of inevitable change and the impersonal universe in which we live, we have to admit that someday we may be without the Internet. (Hello , Sandy. We didn’t really NEED pieces of Massachusetts in Michigan, but thank you I guess?) If we keep going down the path we’re on with regards to digital vs. analog, there may not be as many physical personal diaries left to discover in a post-apocalyptic world. I think on some level we get this. And historically speaking, we have understood the power of oral tradition.

To accurately pass on the details of life saving/threatening events and rituals over generations in the form of rhythm and verse is no easy task. Especially if some of those details include obvious references to the “other side of the story” – the side opposite the status quo. But that side of oral tradition has more to do with secret society stuff. Yawn.

I’m speaking more about the inclusion of important historical details and Life 101 classes. I’m touching on the simple yet critical tasks, such as water purification processes in the form of tea ceremony (boiling water) or fermentation (wine-making), sewn into our daily routines and rituals because of our local lore and tale. Quite often you’ll find some of these basic equations in the rhymes we teach our children, especially if the rhymes are as old as the hills. For those stories to accurately span multiple generations, the architect of the verse must have a firm grasp on the important details and be able to wrap them around archetypal frameworks that speak to our daily lives. And then the architect must also understand the importance of a compelling delivery. A skillful storyteller must be employed to pass down the story. And they in turn must be able not only to pass on the story, but also to pass on the skills necessary to effectively deliver the story.

I realize this may not appear to have anything to do with Mr. Coates staring longingly at Mr. Goggins as a tranny, but I assure you it sort of does. If what I’m suggesting is true – and I realize that’s a big if – and oral tradition contains bits of pragmatic or utilitarian information which is meant to survive being passed down over generations, then it will take a skillful, imaginative, and expressive artist and performer to carry out this task.

If ever there were ever an argument to keep the visual and performing arts programs in our public education system healthy and well funded, it would be this. Developing and then flexing our imaginative, creative, and expressive muscle is what eventually led us to flying to and walking on the moon. It will also assist us in escaping those sticky situations that tend to pop up during the Zombie Apocalypse, many of which I’m about to watch on this week’s episode of Walking Dead.

Chicken Little out.

Follow Maynard James Keenan on Twitter: @caduceuscellars, @mjkeenan, @puscifer. Read more of Maynard James Keenan’s columns at Up on the Sun.