As
our illuminated vision (or “video-magazine”) progresses, it
becomes clear that through Crystal Stix one can master all aspects of
life, from improving one's “drawing skills” and releasing
“different areas” of one's “wisdom”, to healing physical pain
and helping one “connect” to “the rhythm they feel in the air”.
As Bob says in the midst one of the video-magazine's many
anti-climaxes: “I'm better than ever!” From atop the sacred
mountain Bob draws us with friendly confidence through the ascending
moves of the wobbling stick trio, and the warped body flexings he
employs to enhance the magic of the workout and overall visual
impressiveness. We flash across different planes of existence, from
the dirty camp palisade in the brooding sun, to a healing dungeon's
austere (but hip) mistress, to some kind of Lynchian blue lodge where
a beautiful woman mummified in white, diaper-like nylon gyrates to
unheard music.
Bob's
message (and that of his eerie Renaissance tribe of visionaries) is
that through the spiritual practice of the Crystal Stix, young
stixmen can become masters of concentration, control, confidence,
bravado and finally, pussy. From the writhing skirt-twirlers of the
opening Gypsy Magic procession, to Bob's open parading of his
beautiful wife and daughter's fecundity and poise, to the
unaccountably attractive women involved in this stick-camp
incarceration, it is clear that with the mastery of these three candy
cane spell-staffs, winning the heart of a fair young maiden
interested in self-improvement is a trifle.
The
viewer's building sexual hunger is at last released in one feverish
jam in the final inner sanctum of a geodesic tent-structure, where
the drone of hand-drum and didgeridoo beckon us across the last
groovy threshold. As the drums go louder and the acrobatics of the
stixsters more snake-like and complex, we depart in a shuddering
spiritual climax and then are sold a miracle garment also shaped
like a hexagon (pay attention!), that makes up Bob's tasseled pants
and (surprise!) many other garments from the anachronistic dreamworld
where these Northern California dervishes spin their rods. The video
is finally solidly backed up by some rock-hard science commentary, in
case there were any lingering doubts viewers still had about the new
spiritual precipice on which stands our funky world.
