I wrote a philosophical essay for the illustrious kglw.net, a site dedicated to Australian psychedelic rock band King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard. I reference Taoism, Philip K. Dick, Gnosticism, and more. It was edited by the wonderful Boiler Rhapsody, who was kind enough to introduce me to the team. I’m extremely proud of the essay, which is free for all the read. Please enjoy the rest of the site as well. Yours truly has contributed somewhat to its development.

While I have you here, how ’bout I clue you into why this band means so much. I first discovered KGLW at Amoeba Music in Los Angeles (the old location) in 2016. Those days I was spending most of my time in the car, commuting to and from work, plus hitting up venues for comedy shows. I needed music to occupy that frequent metro-arterial travel. I was a true Californian Cyborg in search of sonic fuel for my diminished soul.

At Amoeba, I’d made a practice of trawling the $10 DVD bin to expand my horror and sci-fi horizons, doing director deep-dives, and guzzling psychotronic mayhem. Now, I found myself wandering the CD section seeking musical portals to a similar landscape. It was the cover of Nonagon Infinity that changed everything.

Badass cover. Esoteric album title. Dorky band name. I was hooked instantly. Tossing the dice, I bought the CD blind, played it on the car ride home, and found myself irrevocably altered. There was no turning back. Looking to strengthen my fix, I returned for more: I’m In Your Mind Fuzz, released from Castle Face Records, and Float Along – Fill Your Lungs from Flightless. And on and on and on, until I had devoured it all.

I had just scratched the surface of what would become a full immersion into the cosmic ocean of modern psychedelic rock. And it was these seven Australian freaks that first pulled on my toes. See also: L.A. Witch and Death Valley Girls. Castle Face would take me on a parallel route through a lavish dimension ruled by John Dwyer and his shapeshifting outfit the Osees. But more on that later…

KGLW released five albums in 2017. One of them was the first vinyl record I ever bought, Murder Of The Universe. It’s content took root in my 8th cranial nerve and flowered many generations of parasitic lore. And it didn’t stop there. King Gizzard’s incredible output was nothing short of life-changing. I blasted their albums in my car and in my room every day, grinding the sound waves into my DNA. I channeled my panic and anxiety into those polyrhythmic symphonies, which vibrated me into a healthier headspace. I found peace in the aural calamity. And I could tell other fans were doing the same.

King Gizzard’s 2018 show at the Hollywood Palladium took place the night before my solo Fringe Theatre run began. That concert was also my first time in a mosh-pit; I felt initiated into a modern Dionysian Mystery complete with mind-warping substances and ecstatic dancing. I tasted a kinship to the weirdo swarm around me. We sludged together into the nucleus of a new world. We were engaged in the next stage of shared spiritual spaces, a place where we felt we finally belonged. “For tonight, I don’t have depression,” I heard one kid say.

The essay on kglw.net is a cumulative step of this journey. Like many others, I found endless enjoyment in the shamelessly nerdy themes of science-fiction, horror, and fantasy that populate the Gizzverse lyrics. Running parallel to this fandom were my autodidactic researches into world mythologies, Jungian psychology, Buddhism, the exegesis of Philip K. Dick, and other assorted psychedelic philosophies. Then––in the twinkling of an eye––it all connected. These disparate topics fused into a shared thread of meaning that bound itself to the very fabric of the living universe. The word tethering this knot is anamnesis, but I won’t give it away. You’ll just have to open the door.