The living world

It is one quicksilver fleeting moment.  Gone in a flash containing every piece of information there is in the world; But remnants emerge from the cloud of smoke that remains in the place of something, and they form a pattern, and then a narrative, and an idea.

If you've ever stared at an RGB white led, then shaken your head quickly you would get sort of an idea.  For a moment you see the individual red, green, and blue LEDs  firing off their respected color.  Then in an instant, its gone.  Back to the illusion, or rather the code gets adjusted back into place.

From that depth I emerged.  With a thousand silver streaks tracing the contours of my mind.  Forever being awoken to the constant language of the world around me and overwhelmed by it's complexity.  Just barley grafting by my periphery were glimpses of the fabric of meaning we all weave in and out of existence.  It was so dark, but with rich substance and texture.  I was not the only inhabitant of this space.  It was for a startling revelation to finally come to the realization that those were not itches... they were bites.  And so the war begun.

It seemed never to end.  Like there was no point.  It tested every last bit of my strength and I still don't know how I made it this far.  Because the war is over and I survived.  I am no longer punctuating with a semi-colon but writing the next sentence.  And a wonderful calm washes over me, and at the same time: Anxiety.  A natural reaction to a wounded psyche.  Adjustments are hard but with the right approach they can be minimized.   And with patience, the hunter extracts it's prey.  Knowledge is like food, once you consume it, it becomes a part of you. 

  

The walking dead

Inertia moves forward.  Rolling slow and steady the vile wad of phlegm rises up through the still waters and makes its way towards the mouth. The gestation period is long but its evacuation is quick and without mercy.  Like a crystal, the long hard hours of sitting still with apparently nothing happening quickly manifest into action.  Both parts are needed but only one gets the credit, and the masses cheer: Look at that! How beautiful! What grace and prowess! If only we could all be like that! But the fools who praise the quicksilver action have no idea as to the reality of the situation.  You see what you want to see and forever is there a screen in front of you occluding the true nature of the beast; Plato's Cave.

I'm thrust from the Earth's crust 30,000 feet into the air.  My sinuses expand, my mind goes numb.  My animal instincts clamor for comfort as it is not quite a natural expectation of my nervous system rooted in the confines of my genetic memory.  8 more hours. Leave this place for a while; Come back.  I barely remember why I came except that every time I leave I see the horror of what has been done to my mind.  To have to endure the sword of Damocles, forever waiting for that impending moment that actually may never arrive; To never really know.  There is solace to be found in the notion that we are all just constructing stories here and mitigating our experience with that fact you can maybe strike a balance and find the sweet spot.  That place where you see the waves of your imagination crashing against the shores of reality.  That it is not quite a line but forever a moving boundary that never sits still.

The chase never ends. My subconscious attacks me yet again.  Vomiting dirt and worms; Facing irrational adversaries. Trying to prove to myself that it is the clock ticking down, the process unfolding itself.  The pendulum swings again: Vast contentment, plunging despair, impending doom, then the sunrise.  The collapse of reason and the weight lifted with such gratitude that the world smears across my face.

What am I doing?  I must take responsibility.  But how?  I cannot be the tapestry; I am merely a thread.  Why do I contribute to the rape of the Earth? Do I really have to?  The answer is not as simple as I would like it to be.  Though I don't know if I could actually know an answer.  Were all just storytellers here and is it one to acknowledge that perhaps we tell ourselves merely what we want to hear.  Zoom out.  The cosmic order seems much more serener on a long enough timeline;  But is it too far?  Or is it more irresponsible to pretend like we know the answers?  To put the burden of the world on our shoulders is actually quite arrogant.  Though to not contribute, to not try and force the burden of awareness into the forefront is just copping out.  Like the crust punks of ye olde, dropping out of the system isn't changing a thing.  Neither is playing into an identity that perpetuates itself from polarizing its counter parts.

Sometimes I'm just waiting for it to be all over.  There is an ocean of blackness waiting to swallow me whole.  The eagle of awareness that maybe, if your just ____ you can slip past and remain intact.  Perhaps that is rather egoist, but maybe it's true.  Maybe we all think too much (well at least some of us) for our own good.  Did we get our Christmas present too early?  Did we get something we didn't have to work hard for, and in essence do not truly understand the value of?  It don't mean nothin' drive on.  We are the storm.  The storm is a force, and you don't control the force; You nudge it in a direction and it yields an experience that can be construed as control; But in fact does the gear control the clock?  Or does it just do what it was made to do under the right circumstances? 

I've always been a sort of left handed path person; And with that it's always nice to draw the 4 of swords in the throws of life, but as sweet as the sanctuary is, that tiled refuge, one must go out and face the storm again sometime.  It can be unsettling, discomforting and sometimes downright scary but the growth that happens when one faces such burdens is amazing, and in retrospect, always worth it.  I oft wonder about and want a stasis to this pendulum. I think it to be a projection of my subconscious and a capitulation of the kind of life I had as I was developing into adulthood.  You can't see your own eyeball... but damn if I don't try and gouge it out anyway, youknow?  And so here we are...


A strange sense of calm washes over a mood of defeat from the past few days.

I've been here before

I've climbed out bigger holes than this.

I have tools now, a map

maybe even a compass if I look hard enough (or stop looking so hard)

 Again our death ushers us into the appropriate mindset.  Drive on. It don't mean nuthin' it don't mean nuthin' my children love me but they don't under stand (Johnny Cash anyone?).  I don't know when exactly, but at some point in my childhood I created a mnemonic device to induce a certain mindset.  The first memory I have of it when I was 5 being out furniture shopping with my dad.  I hadn't eaten for a long time and I was excruciatingly hungry.  The store was enough to distract me but when faced with a 45 minute car ride home I could barely take it.  Understanding that there was nothing to be done until we got home, I went inside my mind as I usually would. There I found a vast ocean that stretched for miles with no end.  I looked and squinted off into the distance and felt a strange wave of calm come over me.  I felt as though I was seeing through death, like nothing mattered, but in a good reassuring way.  Before I knew it we were home.  It became a regular in my lexicon of mental tools.

And many tools and programs later we see the forest for the trees.... but we're still in the forest, but forests are nice... why would you want to leave?  I dunno a trip to the beach is always nice, but I digress.

The task at hand is realizing that which I pull out into the world is fit for my consumption and the proper mindsets are essential for their success:  

Tabun
Solve et Coagula


InthenameofthegreatPushTyberatleastimnotbored

satieted stillness and the thought of repression

Ah the taste of blood.

Sweet, slightly metallic, and thin.  Sure its thicker than water... but nearly everything is you know (because most liquids have water in them.... duh)

A daily reminder of the things to come.  The irreversible change that happens inside and outside of everyone at some point.

Death.

I was standing on a chair putting up a curtain with a knife in my hand to poke holes in the cloth I was using as said curtain when I lightly sliced my finger;  Not as I was poking,because I was fully engaging my consciousness in the act, but rather as my attention turned to raising the cloth to the screw hook on the wall, the knife gently pressed against my knuckle with enough force to allow my insides to spill out a little.  A little wound, and a gentle reminder of the eventual death that will come of my life.  One quickly witnesses the thought that a well played alignment of accidents could easily spell this event sooner than later;  The chair I'm standing on could tip and the knife fall with (into) me in a way that might make death inevitable.

Don't focus on that for long; You walk in the direction for which you look, you know.

The knife is closed within a split second. The thought lingers for a second more, and as my mind returns to present, I step down from the chair;  It it slides out from under me as I react and hop to the ground.

Good one universe. 



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     So what of our impending death?  Its always been the one great and true adviser to my life.  A genuine pondering of the temporal nature of your being can really put your life into perspective and motivate one to their true will's desire without the cloudy fog of fear and repression that emanates  from your subconscious.  So its not such a bad thing to live close to death;  To be aware of your impending encounter so acutely that you do not waste precious time basking in the uncertainty, and numbing calm of routine that so swiftly sucks the life from us while we (consciously) sleep.

You will die and so will everyone else, it is the one great equalizer.  The one thing ubiquitously present in the world we live in.  Perhaps if we all fully realized this we would live much more fulfilling lives, who knows.

The great lesson of death is to take action in one's life, but also to have a heart of abandon.  That is to live lightly and hold on to things with the proper grip, ready to let go when the tides are a force to free them from your hands.  For when you die, will it not be like a dream?  Slowly fading into another existence and in that "oh so way" that the vivid dream turns to sand as you descend from dreaming to "reality"?  I imagine death to be a process that ultimately tests your awareness in that manner.

I've been in shock before, lost a lot of blood, poisoned myself to some pretty far corners;  I've felt the pull of death. It feels like we are just a collection of feelings, and amassed in a certain way we become souls or arrangements of those feelings whose bonds don't break easily.  The life you live now will disintegrate upon death... you are not that person who you think you are... we all come from a source and the nature of that source transcends our ability to comprehend things that  destroy that temporary bubble of awareness, that for which we identify as being "me".

That notion has led me to always reflect on the proper attitude to a situation. Our minds run programs like the computers we created (projection anyone?) and the language we use to talk to ourselves informs our perception and feelings.  So with an adjust of perspective we can shift the situation in a way that it becomes manageable or even beneficial to our lives at large.  What lesson is there to learn?    How can I transform this into something useful?  What do I have to believe?

I will die, and I don't want it to be a heavy frightful event.  So I will spend my life cultivating the mind that is necessary to face that.  To live with compassion for others but live as well with a swift hand to keep the space around me clean, to feel like I lived a full life without a thousand desperate hands pulling on me.  To be able to let go, but try at least to cultivate the awareness of understanding where my consciousness is going and know that this life too may fade like the dream does.  It is not lost, but forgotten in a way that I don't have words for. 

So I engage my senses in the moment, show my gratitude for the experience of life, and be aware of the process from which pain feeds joy (and vice versa).  It is truly a strange world we live in and I will never forget that.

 

 

Dan Akroyd and the ghost of christmas past.

man its fucking bright in here... ah a button to fix everything... how modern...  freeing us from the shackles of daily survival, technology, a force, enables man to unleash a tsunami of repressed psychological backwash over society at large.  160 min Directed by Danny Glover

Really now... its been a while since we were on the ol tour bus of  ye olde yore but its a trip worth going on I think.  Kind of that whole seesaw idea... go back and forth until you reach a stasis... a medium ... or a large, whatever the case may be.  It gets less difficult to let it all pull you into a vortex, like Ray and Vigo in ghostbusters II.  Don't jump in, just ride on the edge... then you can tie knots in time and make this whole endeavor worth a while.

having to believe is one of the more effective measures... and that cubic centimeter of chance just might be the snag in the tapestry.  It's twisting again and I can see a new wave of nothing come my way.  There is no is.  There is no is. There's no is. Over andover again.


Intermission....

Blue Skies, Yellow desert, and a skull with a mohawk

I could hear the words steam past my mouth... but they didn't add up... What did I just say?  Gauging my listeners reaction, I seemed to have said something intelligible.  Like running on a collapsing bridge... one step just barley escaping a pitfall into the dark mental abyss of nothingness.  All too familiar a feeling, but its a little different this time.  I don't seem to care as much about the loss of control... but enough to still push the endeavor.  Many times that genesis was the eventual result in giving up to a self-futility in enacting my will.  Why bother saying anything at all?  Like chasing a moving car, eventually the car gets far enough away that you give up and stop running after it. Sae la vie, or so it goes.

This time it feels less abrupt... that for a moment I can reach back down into the pool of my mind and grab that fish that's trying to swim away.  And success is had in recapitulating the idea into something that I can remember instead of a slew of abstract feelings associated with the idea that melts into a fading dream that one can never quite recreate fully in one's head.  Is that our world is too dense, too slow, to realize some of the quicksilver notions that stream past it's peripheral?  How do I pull that candy colored sky and those mechanized cartoon washing machines back into something I can focus on tangibly?  I suppose there will always be some downgrading of resolution when it comes to these things but dammit Im a human and I try despite what seems to be the reality of the case.  That you can't really reconstruct a dream as it rests in the seat of your consciousness.  Less that reconstruction is a step toward synthesizing something new.

I mean I suppose its rather a rubicon of sorts when you realize the nature of language is something much more mysterious than we accept in our lives.  That simple logical hardness of the written word that solidifies an idea into a thought, into a solid notion, is a mere construction of your perception rather than an apriori thing that exists in the ether.  And with that, one extrapolates the idea that language stems beyond just mere spoken words but to our experience of the world as a whole.  That is, our perception is a language that informs us of the world at large. Everything (we percieve) is language.  Language is an abstraciton.   Forever chasing our own tail back to its beginning.

So what's the hook?  Chasing the unknown... trying to accomplish the impossible.  Set your sites high and be grateful for whatever you can scrape up from the attempt at something that is way over your head. The world is one big experience collecting machine scouring the four corners to find out everything it possibly can about existence.  Don't stop too long on a square... it'll just change into a pool of water.

The beginning of the end, or the end of the beginning... and how the fuck do you spell beginning?

There is no solace in living a life in fear, and when violence purveys in a world that proclaims to denounce it, fear is a much chosen option. It is no wonder we hide in the banalities of materialism to mask the contempt we have for ourselves; For all the travesties to the human spirit we allow to endure.

I open up my wallet and it is full of blood. And holy shit, my wallet was made in China too. I go to the deli, and biting into the Bacon, egg, and cheese I eat the rotten decaying flesh of our culture like a cannibalistic zombie. No wonder zombie movies are so popular these days, you know art imitates life right? And if you can't go through life with an 18 wheel Mack truck barreling down a country road firing off your machine gun into the black of night, then well I'm not really sure if I can trust you. I mean, if your not totally insane in a world such as this, there must be something seriously wrong with you.

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The expressions of the collective subconscious through the mediums of mass media:

Mass media engages our subconscious through what we are afraid of. We express who we are through our culture, no matter how sugarcoated and clouded through the fog of survivalism it tends to look. The violence we see in the media connects us with the violence that many people over the world experience daily. When we cannot experience the truth of this violence someway in our own lives, and it is kept from our consciousness, our subconscious actively seeks out it's expression. If the conscious mind rejects the expression of the subconscious for whatever reason, it will seem as humorous, without meaning, absurd, banal, whatever flavor you want to put on it. We need to experience the evil that is spread throughout the world. The uncomfortable things that are kept from our eyes, because if we were forced to live in all our useless toxic waste we would all be motivated to change the way we live much more easily. It is the legacy of the ruling classes to retain their footholds as the ones who once control the wealth of the land for the benefit of the "less evolved and rational peasants". And it is the fear of that ruling class, that does not want to give up it's position as the primary caretaker of the Earth's resources that seeks to keep us in the dark, to extend the infancy of consciousness in order to profit. To keep us occupied with survival in a world where the Earth can provide all of our 6 billion needs, yet we fight like monkeys over pieces of the ground. We have no rational concept of what "sustainability" is because we've never as a whole confronted the idea without pairing it to the "way of life" that we have all become accustomed to in this short but dense 100 years. And because of our refusal to confront this, and to those who profit from imposing ignorance upon the trusting masses, we will suffer.

It is an intricate tapestry we weave, and to be but a thread in a such a large entanglement of string is to humble one's opinions of what is "right" and how the world "is". We are fish in water and until we face that fact we will be but children dreaming of fantastic impossibilities rather than men and women who find the pragmatic way to make their dreams reality. To let go of the details, because nothing ever manifests itself the way you imagine totally. Unless you are one wise motherfucker.

And a wise motherfucker will always keep his eyes wide open.