Our playful spinning of this label and its mash-up meaning is itself a manifestation– indeed, the manifesto– of what we term revolocutionary: the very cyclical revelation and creation, creation and revelation, of illusion.

Certainly our term includes the common spin on revolution as radical social, political or cultural change. Yet drawing our circumscription even tighter, The RPM is equally self-aware as locution— as caught in the web of words, the matrix of meaning. This is the cyclical paradox within which we play, for the appearance of circumscription, of meaning’s capture, is the most entrancing illusion of all.

For this reason/ rhyme, The RPM is always self-conscious as a play on words. But this is a play where words mean our very world. ‘I’ is the play’s central character, the dominant word and most oppressive illusion around which this dizzying drama turns; much as we cast blame elsewhere, ‘I’ is the ultimate authoritarian agent behind the twisting, pinching and bunching chains of each our bondage. Assuming the appearance of one’s own circumscriptions, including ‘me’, to be stable, solid, independent, is for one’s I to be tight, closed. Like a dancer, however, or a dervish, in peristaltic pulses of rebellious revelation and revel-utionary creation, The RPM is in turns imaginative and critical, reifying and deconstructive, often playing these contradictions of capture and escape as an ecstatic comedy: sometimes, it’s silly and embarrassing, like the dog, chasing his tail; yet sometimes, through exactly awareness of arrival as always beyond the horizon, the tail paradoxically can be caught, the spinning circle closed– an ouroboros— the snake swallowing his tail. This allows one’s circumscriptions to become revolocutionary: the circle closed, but to form an opening: not solid, but a vortex; a hole; an aperture through which to plunge ecstatically yet again, twisting back into and toward the next– repeatedly and forever.

Central, therefore, around which all our other insurgencies revolve, is the tirelessly revolutionary revelation and creation, creation and revelation, of self. While never accusatory and always radically reflexive, The RPM insists that I– a sentient being, spinning in the misery of samsara— will never enjoy lasting freedom without accepting the revolocutionary imperative: to continually relax the deepest clench and re-open one’s I.