Crystal

Spiritual diamonds in the rough overcome the anxiety of existence.
because we've infused them with all the right frequencies
by our hand, within the cracks between
empty space
the energies are dancing right with us tonight
we've locked in,
frozen time
synchronized our minds...
my thoughts push your thoughts
off a cliff
free-fall
joy
in

Witch Hunt

There were pale leaves spinning in place on the ground.
Surrounded on all sides by the green of your innocence.
When we speak, it all slides away
shedding my skin,
only tiny electrified hairs remain.
I unravel your nervous system,
just to take a look.
But the shock kicks my jaw and
acidic liquid flows down my arms simmering exposed fibery flesh;
dripping from the crevices of your brain,
you take flight
spurting fountains of shimmering adrenaline
along paths of dead treelimb
leaving me in a puddle, reflected...
I've melted, I've melted
You've revealed me.

We sat

we picked our flowers among the wreckage
we sat that night, barefoot
got lost for hours, tracing each others minds
past the wall of masks, past
shattered shards of clumsy glass
that threatened the soft flesh of the sole

The eyes spill stillness
into the antsy unrest of flesh
o how exciting it is:
geistige Schmucksteine ursprünglich
die Angst um Sein
überwinden.

but like that poem I never wrote,
all relations dissolve into the night sky
and mystery fades away into nothingness
where I'll remain
a small layer of nothing
wedged in between the minds
of all those
whose blue gifts wither away
hang another star in the sky,
reflecting the glimmering light of my own loss.
I'll be there soon.

Backwards heat

All my life I've done everything backwards
Living from the future to the past
going from the inside to the out-
and jumping in the big holes last.

Heed the somber wisdom of old
or submit to the rush of youth.
Serpents taste freshest
when eaten alive,
and served with Witch's juice.

The sun is too harsh for mine eyes
The moon so benevolently snide.
But it's the sun I lack,
the orb of living electric,
overtaken by the waves, I know
the moon is a blanketed tide.

and this oppressive heat
wed to the noxious carbon smog
rollicking from concrete streets
won't go away.
This scalding, simmering, smoldering heat
is infusing itself
into my veins.

Personas

Ever since I can remember I have operated under the assumption that something else is going on underneath the surface level of things. I work(ed) to penetrate beyond the superficial and into the dynamics of a (not-so-)hidden landscape.

Everyone has and maintains a persona, whose character is essentially mandated by socio-political self-interests, as a socio-political expression of the anima, which is itself an expression of the blind Will extended into the realm of possibility via DNA-information-distribution. Thus, the persona you interact with as a result of any coerced socio-political contract is not a true representation of that person's deepest qualities, but only a co-modified expression thereof, edited and 'fixed' to suit the interests being pursued (social, political, economic).

My persona is on auto-pilot and no one really affects it outside of blood and like-minded doubters. I don't know if this signals a disconnect from the Anima, or if it simply is an imbalance of social energy.

My persona has no hooks on it, like a pop-song that just isn't catchy. Why? Has no time been spent cultivating it? I cannot latch onto and enjoy the collective activities of persona, whose joy attains in that o-so-superficial delight, mouthing empty pleasantries and masking negative energy underneath euphemistic semantics and forced smiles. I always find myself digging th rough the surface, through the persona's actions and into the Anima, of which those actions are an indirect, socio-political expression.

There is a war of the Self--the Anima cannot hide from me. Personas do not cover-up the anima for anyone who cares to see, they only compartmentalize and categorize it beyond any of its unique or idiosyncratic properties.

In every expression, an ulterior expression which contains the first-level expression but is also much broader and more honest, aimed true.

I see social dynamics and they are locked inside a pattern that does not follow from true understanding and empathy, but only from competitive egos, fear and institutional propaganda. People only feel free to act in a way that promotes an the institutional Absolute...a fiction.

The thing of it is, I see through this power-play, and what results is that I must doubt everything, simply because everything is not as it appears; I have lost any sense of trust for anything outside my own judgment & understanding ... I must reconcile the tension between all-is-not-as-it-seems, and the fact that appearances (via sensual input) are the only thing we have to go by...what decodes it?

Free Will

Humans are free in the sense that they have a conscious choice to alter the energy-flow within the infinite set of possibility, which is given by the necessary & sufficient conditions for existence (mathematical truths, physical laws, etc.). The Will is always given...we do not create it, we only have a hand in altering the flow of possibility.

We inhabit the realm of extension. We, as a physiological system, are a process imposing structure on the information-flux. As consciously extended becomings, we are extensions of reality into the realm of possibility (space), the existence of which is interdependent with time (temporal). As extensions we alter reality by altering the flow of change within the infinite set. Thus, we, as independent convergences of the Will (limited set) in the realm of possibility (space-time), affect the flow of the infinite set via choice. The choice is given in space-time via information-flow. Genetic mutations carry information, and become the basis upon which new information is received and assimilated into the subject.


>>>Come upon a place in the psyche where all physical laws collapse on themselves.

The intellect can no longer isolate acute elements and categorize them into a navigable representation of the world...

We cannot make predictions about future states based upon the causal relations observed in the past, and on present conditions...ie, physics and math go out the window.

If there are no elements to rearrange, there is no experience.

As long as experience is the ability to manipulate energy, the necessity to re-arrange the elements of possibility, experience is characterized by lack. A lack of one configuration leads to a new configuration, and so on. The Absolute is used as a directing arrow, a towards, against which the presented choices are compared in order to orient the chooser towards a goal.

There is nothing in history but an infinite regress of causality; the elements of possibility must always be re-arranged...no Absolute exists outside of our conceptions of it.

Old Woman

I am an old woman
I was grown in an attic
with no light-source
to orient my ascent.

I am an old woman
Insects crawling through cracks of
wrinkly decrepit skin
colored by constricted veins and
anchored to arthritic bones...creakkkkk.

I am an old woman
though my time on earth
has been short
The cosmos has reigned on me
all the woes of Job in that
ultimate trial.
God's bandits stole my faith
Before I even had hands to seize it.

To be torn through heaven and hell
and arrive somewhere beyond
Is a journey containing both life and death.
But the decay has had its way with me.
Nothing inside works,
yet it refuses to quit.

Journal

I am reading a book by the Fourteenth Dalai Lama titled The Universe in a Single Atom. It has been illuminating on many key issues of existence, giving me the Buddhist perspective--which mirrors my own but is a lot less destructive and reductionist.

I've decided to adopt more of these ideas and return to a progressive philosophy.

There is something about the cosmic nature of the universe, and ourselves, that is united at the very core.

What it is is not a thing-actually. More of a structure, or a form, around which all life dances, to which all creation humbles itself.

When we lack understanding of one or more of the states which this form takes on, we enter a darkness within the psyche.

We fear that which we do not understand. I am as much guilty of this as anyone and everyone else. Therefore, to overcome fear we must strive to understand.

Full understanding--Absolute understanding--is to conceive of the totality of all possible states of affairs, to understand the structure by becoming the structure [becoming god]. (of course there are all kinds of linguistic paradoxes when arrive at the godhead, but understanding transcends conceptualization).

This is not an actual state of affairs within this existence, but instead an arrow, a direction to guide us through a fluid existence.

Paradox-Me .... hello, I'm a Vulture!

Everything I've ever written is wrong.

'I' slip out of my hands like sand, every moment of the day; at night I disappear. Tomorrow I will be different, with different (red) waters flowing through my mind.

Can't you feel those chemical explosions in your brain? Doesn't that electric shock make you feel alive?

Absolutism -- it is maddening to grasp for something that isn't there. You can almost sense it, you can just see a little of its light leaking through the cracks of the Realist's stone ceiling. Is it just my mind fooling me, or is it really there?! It is like trying to cover a missed paint spot while being perched on a ladder at a precarious angle, two stories up from the ground. The hard concrete below is begging your bloody submission, but your Idea perseveres and fights Gravity's seduction--you reach out to paint but your brush comes up just centimeters short. How far out do you lean before the ladder tumbles?

There are two halves colliding, like a cold fist of Abstraction against my fleshy face. I am a walking paradox--THERE IS NO SYNTHESIS TO GRASP. Somehow I am the synthesis, and I escape mySelf.

My death calls out to me--Love seems just an illusion compared to its monolithic presence.

Flesh is too fleeting--

can I retreat to my imagination? It is where Father Death has imbued in me his eternal power--his freedom--

I don't know what to think. Do I even know how to think?

I think thinking will get me overthunk.

The Self does not exist in thought, but in action. Thought is the result of action. What I mean by this is the following: the Self cannot plan itself out, it must only act out of its own interests at any given time.

(My question is--is it desirable to abolish the self, or is that nihilistic rejection of humanity's most basic condition?) I am starting to think abolition of the Ego is what is necessary. Have I only become more attached to my ego, to my ways of thinking, than before?

What has been the point of all this--Challenging reality's limits, pushing mySelf and my thoughts to the edge, to the abyss where there is nowhere left to fall from? Is driving oneself mad in search of Truth really the answer?

I cannot find--me--any immutable self. It is not there. What, then, is this Ego I am attached to?

The ego is a blockade to the Will? I don't want to come upon this dualistic idea but it's there in my mind, in my life, in my actions. The Will that drives life, that infuses me with my anima, that allows me to declare with no uncertainty "I AM ALIVE" is flowing, in constant motion of change, reconfiguration and energy-exchange. This is the intersection of knowledge and Faith. That somehow, regardless of the Ego's panic, everything is flowing the way it should, the way it ought.

Ought--and there you are again, you IDEALISM. Curse you! The Will is the ought? Aha! What is, ought to be. That is all.

The trouble is this: Through actions I see faith, through actions I witness faith, through actions faith affects me.

But I am an outsider from this ring of right-brained do-goodedness.

You see, I HAVE NO FAITH.

I HAVE NO FAITH.

I HAVE NO FAITH.

Morality

orality is Dualism's screaming daughter.

Dualism as a metaphysical position is in its final stages, dying a messy death, but it is not going out quietly.

Morality is revealing itself as a human abstraction. Anything which can be spoken of non-contextually is an abstraction of the human brain and therefore refers to, or models, reality without itself existing.

Morality is thus a framework, a structure, by which humans may navigate their surroundings. It is an offshoot of the conscious Intellect, that is to say the tool within consciousness responsible for creating linear structures between objects where previously there was none. This structure implies connectivity between its agents, and therefore is relegated strictly the realm of the Ideal. One then comes to find that the Ideal is actually the non-existent, and morality is questioned.

Thus, these so-called structures are symbolic. Symbols obtain their meaning only through existential need, or lack. When a lack is sensed or fulfilled, a symbolic representation is applied thereto. The framework that is built through symbolic manipulation refers, therefore, only to the internal life of the subject manipulating those symbols. Because symbols are not a part of empirical reality they are subject to an ambiguity of identity.

When one discovers the efficacy of a symbolic representation, publicly expressed, one attaches to that symbol the context of the situation in which the symbol was seen to be effective or ineffective at communicating the need. Thus, contextual evidence is responsible for the meaning of symbols, the subjective meaning being altered by existential considerations. The framework that is built by the process results in an Ideal Absolute, the way that subject perceives what 'ought' to be. In 'ought,' all need is met and all symbolic manipulation is relinquished and unnecessary.

Morality, then, is a part of this subjective conceptual framework, wherein the subject devises an Ideal Absolute ('ought') and works to reconfigure the elements of spacial possibility to match this goal. When one holds a morality close to him, he is delineating his own path to the 'ought.' The persons' belief that someone 'ought' to do something or 'ought' not do something, is only a preference signaled by the symbolic interpretation of an act's efficacy towards the subjective 'ought.'

Thus, morality cannot be established, since morality is a subjective preference toward attaining the non-existent Absolute. The Absolute cannot exist but within the head of a subject who has applied a symbolic meaning to empirical events and their linear path to the Godhead.

Morality, then, is a series of preferences expressed by the subject, in which the subject attempts to attain a symbolic singularity of the elements of possibility, a singularity which can only be imagined, not attained--this is because reality is fluid, always producing lack. Morality, then, doesn't exist except as a tool of the Self's own self-preservation tactics. It is, as the Self, a process of reconfiguration, integration and survival.

For example:

Moral (illusion): One 'ought' not be violent.

Preference (real): I would prefer that others are not violent towards me, since I am not violent towards others. My idea of an Absolute utopia is one in which all humans are peaceful; therefore, your attempts at violence sabotage my imagined utopia.


Moral: It is wrong to steal. I am in a comfortable enough position in life that I do not need to steal, therefore I believe no one else should steal either.

Preference: I would prefer that others did not steal my belongings, because in my Ideal world everyone has access to, and can afford, everything they need. If someone steals it goes against my ideal world.

___________________

One's true preferences show through in one's actions, and also are by nature contextual and not universal. Morality, on the other hand, being an abstract conception of 'ought,' implies a universality that is untenable.

Travel

I keep my mortality close with me as I travel;

I see myself running away

and feel the cold wind of the moment

sweeping past my face

Here I am

child of the cosmos

A tick-tocking collection of stardust

An unfortunate occurence

in time and space.

A resistence to the Nothingness that seduces

my Mind

Sometimes my reality buzzes

& I have to get off the train.

Third Time's the Charm

Maybe third time's the charm
But maybe there's no charm at all.
Ever think of that?

Maybe at the end of this candy-rope
When we've filled our guts
With unbreakable bits of sugar suicide,
there's no juicy morsel
at the center

Solitary questions of the ego

My solitary nature is colliding with reality in certain ways.

I feel that I am surrounded by people whose projections of reality are muddled and confused.

I feel my own philosophies cheapened by the rhetoric of solipsists who have devoted mere fractions of the amount of time I have to thinking, to observing, to exploring, to the dedication of wisdom.

The perspectivists are finally revealing themselves to me as what they are: weak.

They cannot bother to chisel away their models of reality, they cannot align their imagination with the cosmic, organic nature of our existence, enough to search for truths that apply outside of their own heads. They are frightened of the challenge, they cannot stare deep into the void. They do not want to lose control, but also do not realize that control comes at a price. They maintain a superficial control over their own minds, but allow the fundamental nature of their thoughts to swim with the current of the socio-political norm.

The Metaphysics of Becoming

I stumbled upon something many months ago, which was later confirmed by the current-day philosopher Satyr, whose metaphysics is the clearest model of reality yet developed.

All is 'becoming,' not 'being.' Being describes an abstraction of the human mind, a resistance to reality. Becoming describes the motion of change, much as like Heraclitus' metaphysics of 'dynamic reality.' The Self is an abstract projection of the human mind, in order to unify the concept of an organic, ever-changing process with the human brain's projection of absolute being.

Imagination and Reality

What I'm continually coming to realize with psychedelics is my own --entanglement, my own relation, my own ties to -- my environment, the world around me, animals. I understand my internal, biological ORGANIC, processes are coalescing into what I know as my mind. Coming to be in touch with my energy-system, my sleep-system, coming to explore alternate states of my mind, has made me realize I am a biological process, a dynamic becoming. Human beings are animals of this earth, and somehow this has been cast down the wayside in the wake of transhumanism. Was it the enlightenment? Is philosophy itself humanity's poison? So aware are we of our death, we behold that orb of Esoteric knowledge in the palm of our hands, so that we cannot see the hunting grounds before us. We project our abstractions, so that we may claim victory over death,we attempt to solve the mysteries of the universe, to conquer the celestial bodies, so that we may transcend them and fulfill ourselves as the godhead, find the ultimate state of Being, the Absolute. But these are projections of the human imagination --a mechanism emergent of physical states -- a mechanism which is a tool for interpreting, understanding, coping with reality.

So, the human being's consciousness has created in him a mechanism for the projection of that which is unattainable in reality. It is this that keeps him from submitting to the physical woes that torment him daily. He must continually fight lack -- in other words, fulfill needs. As Camus postulated, man's status as an absurd Sisyphus, constantly plagued by lack, does not cast him into the pits of nihilism because of such mechanisms within the Intellect. However, modern and postmodern (Western) civilization is structured in such a way as the basic needs of the human being are met effortlessly by a seemingly omniscient State-propagated-economic-system. If not carefully tended to, this leaves the mechanism of imagination either overactive or completely dulled as an element in a culminated intelligence.


Psychedelic trips are a projection of conscious imagination, human imagination being a survival mechanism (as one aspect of an overall Intellect), sending one into a state wherein subconscious projections overwhelm conscious awareness. Because we are the culmination of all that has come before us, imagination is composed of symbols from the collective unconscious infused into the individual through genetic mutation, as well as that which the individual himself adds through his experiences, and his Ideation which always in some way directly or indirectly refers thereto (for example, a unicorn is an ideation and is strictly unreal but is composed only of that which can be found in the real world). The imagination thus validly refers to the real world in that it is emergent of specific, long-evolved physical states which have developed over the ages in accord with the very same forces, elements, and limitations as the cosmos itself, and all the celestial bodies. Thus, when those who are especially adept at retrieving messages from deep within the psyche compose works of metaphysical and/or ethical mythology or lore, their works and ideas coincide metaphorically with actual states of affairs. This sort of understanding of reality appeals to the right-brain sensibilities and is useful. However the capability that the imagination introduces to the human mind is the capability of mis-representation (see Dretske). Those who are not so skilled in retrieving and deciphering messages from the psyche, create ideas that do not dovetail with reality, and in their incompatibility, create confusion.

Thus, the reason I believe that anthropomorphic polytheistic mythology, artwork and philosophy is important is because it casts an engaging, thrilling, lucid and personable light on the underlying forces of nature and of reality that define us and our universe. Thus we use our imagination to find our own place as the species homo sapiens sapiens (other species have other mechanisms) and also to understand how it is that we are a part of it.

The most important thing psychedelics can help you do is to observe the way you fit in with the ecology of the earth to create in your mind a firm understanding of yourself as a dynamic, biological process, and further attempt to project those observations into a lucid, clear and viable conception of your place in the cosmology of the universe.

Pondering such matters in a balanced and disciplined manner leads to spiritual wellness; which in turn leads to a drive, or a "fighting spirit" as it were, to achieve mental and physical wellness in turn. Thus, we can achieve healing through the use of naturally-occuring plant compounds, by allowing ourselves radically different perspectives on the way our imagination informs our experience as human beings with unique minds.

The Monolith; Prelude to a Metaphysics of Becoming

Human beings were invaded by the Monolith, the Other ... that is: the Knowledge of Mortality.

The Other exists inside us, as a knowledge of the opposite forces of nature.

We are synthesis of analytical models (mathematical truths) with spacial (visual) abstraction (archetypal [metaphorical] truths).

Temporal duration is the primary characteristic of the Real, or the Actual, which is in constant rebellion against the Absolute.

Temporal duration as the functional characteristic of the Actual, negates the existence of the Absolute.

All that is Actual is interrelated, resulting in a closed system [Kosmos] in which energy can be neither created nor destroyed (Conservation of energy). Energy patterns in temporal flux constitutes the Actual. This is what Schopenhauer may have referred to as the Will. As agents of the Will, our existence is necessitated only by our Death, a knowledge of which results in an imagining of the Absolute as a resolution of the temporal flux which constitutes the Actual.

The Absolute as a creation of our imagination, is merely a mechanism of the human psyche, a measure of the imagination towards resolving the conflicts inherent in existence and overcoming death anxiety.

This has reached many idealistic manifestations, from primal animistic religions, to anthropomorphic polytheism, to Abrahamic monotheism, to New Age neo-mystics, to scientific transhumanism/utopianism.

Because the arisal of conscious awareness can be explained within the constraints of current evolutionary theory [see: my paper Against Naturalism], we must understand that it plays a functional role in the survival of an organism. Because all things that exhibit temporal duration constitute the Actual, and because the Actual is a reaction against the Absolute (or non-existence, unReal), we know that consciousness is emergent from objects that display a temporal duration.

Because all energy patterns which constitute the Actual are interrelated, any object which exhibits temporal duration is simultaenously whole and non-whole: it is an entity in and of itself, while also being a part of a larger entity [e.g., a slice of ham between two slices of bread is both a single enitity (slice of ham) and part of a larger entity (sandwich)]. That goes to say, that any object, state, or event that is Actual is also self-referential. This is not the case, however, for conscious awareness. Consciousness is entirely referential-to. It is not existent in-itself but exists as a discreet value attained by its difference-to another value. Thus, consciousness emerges from the interaction of subject-object. It relies on what is Actual for its existence, and is always modeled after/co-modified with it.


Next:
Moment of singularity?

The Moon is a Benevolent Master

Don't worry about it, Mama.
The sand looks coarse
but it's actually pretty
soft.

Don't worry, Mama
I know it looks
like
I'm buried here
with only a protruding head
to prove that I'm real
but
I'll be alright.
When the tide comes in
I'll be swept away with it.
Tear away this leash around my neck
leading me like a dog
along the tightrope whims of men,
I'll be pulled only
by the solitary wisdom
of the moon.

Firelight

Sitting 'round the warmth of firelight
We had nothing to see but faces
illuminated orange, firefly.
I divined a message from the flames
Whose tongues leapt in foreign ecstasy:

"Fertile blessings
from the towers of Babylon--
The furniture's been moved out
the space is vacant."

From out of the darkness a man approached
a Shaman of distant lands.
In his hand a grand walking stick
And in his eyes the wisdom of Ages.

"It was all empty to begin with,"
the man with the long beard said to me.
Later that night I realized he was right
When suddenly I could see
The stars in the sky were reflections of mine own eye

And on this flaming orb of stardust we sit:
Reflections in the eyes of distant Others.
An endless hall of mirrors,
The Universe unfolds itself
as a spider caught in his web.

Anxious Concrete

I rise through the air in sleek metal-winged bird
Aviator, protect me from the ground
For I am not afraid of death,
only concrete.
And the bitter sting of blood in my eyes
Keeps me awake only long enough to check the kaput timepiece clinging to my wrist and ensure I'm still dead enough
to be alive.

I might disintegrate into thin air
That's okay
Tell them it's okay
Tell them he just wanted to leave teh world a better place than he found it
Tell his unborn son he loves him more than anything in the Kosmos
And bury his memory behind the dumpster where he used to get high
to learn about the meaning of Life.

Jake! I return to you in spirit
I can see now where you were going, always
And forgive me
for being confused -- I am just learning
A shiny new pawn in his first match
Against omniscient opponent.
I have more to learn from you, dear child,
than from all the aggregate words of Madmen that line the shelves of my study
Where Apollo and Dionysus grapple-hold my soul and drag me through the piteons of Paradox!

Ah, but Paradox, so very much our own human creation!
In Nature no Paradox,
only Motion
Re-Action remodeling
the Cosmic source
Continual and without pause
dynamic
And the 'I' inside
Stuck! --
in the static spiderweb models
synthesizing my understanding with objects around me,
my intellect like a receipt of my actions,
a builder of motionless model airplanes,
a driver of rearview mirrors.

My Father is Death and
Nature my Mother.
These parents, so opposed,
are the seeds of my triumphs and the vein of my suffering
Somewhere between the great white flash
of Father Death's beard
and the stones of crystal waters
is me, myself, my slice of reality so humbly allotted.

So protect me, o Aviator!
from the concrete below.
For I fear the harsh grit of your condemnation over
the cold unfeeling Death,
knowing that that Death
is an inextricable part
of my identity.

I thank the doe for allowing itself to fall in front of me.
I smile because...

Generation

The Baby Boomers gotta go
Gotta get out gotta get
Runnin.
Can’t stay here no more
On this planet there ain’t room for the both
of us.

Sometimes I withdraw
From the world which suckles my
fear like ravished (ravenous?) babe on supple breast.
So deep in thought
Not having thoughts
But living them
Swimming in the them
Entangling every inch becoming the introspective spiderweb

Room full of anarchists
black jackets cigarette smoke
all starin at the ground
tracin' checkerboard tiles with dilated pupils
feedin hungry retina,
dreamin their big dreams of
the revolution
but there’s no energy in the air left
for raised fists
only the sloth hum of beat down refrigerators
and the empty promises of jacked up car
salesmen.

So don’t blame me when they say,
“The Earth is no good”
Because sometimes I withdraw.

And the Baby Boomers gotta go
Gotta get out gotta get
Runnin.
Can’t stay here no more
On this planet there ain’t room for the both
of us.

death

I have gone to the realm where witches and wizards play
I have vexed eternal patterns and
stared godly figures into existence
I have painted the walls with my crimson hand
and shouted my existence from rooftops
where down below the peddlers pay’d not a glance

I have climbed mountains no one else has seen
I have gone beyond the orientation of the compass in my hand
Between north and south
And arrived exactly nowhere
And everywhere

And at the summit of my journeys, I proclaim:
“WHERE ARE YOU, DEATH?
HATH YOU NO HAND HERE
TO GRASP MINE AT THE TOP OF THIS CLIFF?
WHERE ARE YOUR LIPS, SO THAT I MAY TOUCH THEIR COLD ABSTRACTNESS!

AHA! YOU ARE BUT NOT REAL!”

‘Nay, naïve fool!’ Father Death hath replied!
‘I am more real. You have fallen under the spell of Woman. Her flesh, that so near to yours, that you can take in your hands, that too thrives on air, water and the elements…that is but the illusion presented. Your sensual desires have overtaken you! You are weak!’

“What matter you, Death, if you cannot touch me, here, on my hand? Why shall I not take the hand of a mistress, the flesh so real and warm?”

‘I touch your life eternal! No mere proportion of time and space can withhold me. The eternal power you seek lieth with me. The liquid of my essence rusheth forth to fill the cracks of your fractured soul!’

“No! I am at the mercy of no Death!”

‘Then at the mercy of a Woman? Ha! A more pithy and pathetic existence I cannot conceive! Take your choice, wretched mortal!’

“God! Why hath you forsaken me?”

‘My son,’ Father Death replied, ‘or hath ye yet forgotten,
the price or an evening with Maya
is a lifetime on the moon?’

Blue Heron

I fall from the fear of heights

and plummet

where your wings cannot reach.

Surya had bathed my flesh with his sustaining gaze
and all the cosmos had reached out its hand to touch my heart.
But a line of bottles, green and red
does not dissuade the darkness descending
and soon miraculous colors submit to grey

Over the past few months I’ve witnessed
Life blooming in
A reservoir once devoid.

Systematically I have seen
Green overtake monochrome
And flourish
where water gives way to flora
and life celebrates itself.

Out come the birds,
The ducks, the swans, the pigeons.
The majestic
blue heron: Matriarch of the birds
heart beating, central harmony

Life prevails where it can!

And yet overhead in fractal asymmetry
Swirls the Vulture
intimidator; He is not drawn to life but death.
black-crimson eater of dead flesh.
Worshipper of putrefaction
he thrives on rot and
feeds on decay

And I?
The Vulture among men.
Feeding on the death of moments, never inhabiting them I
flourish in the rot of neglect
and dance with mummified viscera.
An empty well with no water;
The children have been abandoned and there are
no coins left to shimmer with the gentle sparkle of wishes
once magical
but now forgotten.

Charles

his Mother is never heard from, save for some hollers from downstairs to check if Charles is okay with all the interviewers and the commotion.

Art ecstasy God

God is manifest viscerally. There is no logic in God because God encapsulates all things; there's no distinctions in God between good and evil. God is beyond mere good and evil. You know God because you've felt Him, in the experience of immediate art..the ecstasies that are available to the human form; the smell, taste, touch, "the feel of bodies in motion." God in art. You cannot grab art, it grabs onto you. Our only experience of it is mediated through the body, through the mechanisms of sense perception. It is further mediated when recorded onto an external medium...painting, film, We can only reach out and touch bodies but like invisible electric currents we know we are dancing through infinity...

Every person is becoming. A historical process, not an immutable self. The Self as continuous is illusory. In truth the self is created in every moment. Feel your Self at the vanguard of creation -- the Ego emerges in every new moment processed, and contains all previous moments. Art--creation of the self into a medium in which it can be expressed--

Dance is the ultimate experience of art...it is humans creating themselves in every moment, every second, realigning their bodymap to the cosmic groove channeled, creating the self with the entire body, the feeling of time and space condensing, navigating the road ahead of you without the rearview mirror. Disappear into your Self and erase it--find your God.

all these things which you cannot grab onto...they grab onto you.

You cannot grasp God...he grasps you.

Ignoring immediatism leads to self-alienation, chronic self-delusion.. Look around and see, the self is hiding from us. A proletariat that does not know what it means to be human, a blind and complete acceptance of the authoritarian theft of SPIRITUAL AUTONOMY... Conventionalize into nothingness. . . Prometheus committed a treachery of the most infernal kind when delivering fire to humans... we no longer know how to dance with the gods.

The man and the bee

A 30-year-old man approached me.
I ran away from him, screaming.
Later I explained it was a bee
encircling the man's head that had sent me aflight.

But I don't think he bought that.

Cathedral of Silence

I am an eavesdropper
Words taboo to these ears -- not meant for me
But I scoop them up greedily, without discrimination
like a jellyfish
a floating observer
information junkie

There's a transparent wall touching
the tip of my nose
I heave myself and feel
the daed weight of water fill
my lungs

I am silenced

A cathedral of echoing silence
--footstep footstep footstep--
Is anyone in the bell tower? --

who will ring the bell? that empty
sound to call the practitioners
but no one comes...

The priests have hung up their robes
and the masses burn shit in the streets
up in smoke it is written:
SPIRITUAL AUTONOMY

"there is a revolt out there!" a voice rings
through the cathedral of silence.
its echoes fall into the cracks of
the architects secrets
and no one hears--

Outside there is a fire
inside, a perpetual process

Where have all the priests gone?

The Self

May 11, 2009
Tryptamines

This is not stuff to be taken lightly. At first it enlightens your perspective and promotes self-discovery. But its continued dialogue begins to untie your mind and dig away at the self.

From the ground up everything is gradually knocked away and imploded until you're afraid to look down -- you know you'll see the ground falling away with every step and nothing below !!VOID!!

The "light of God" extends only insofar as the Self permeates the void... it is an illusion.


Frequent trips into the psyche rub out Maya's warmth -- a voice shouting "Kyle is schizo! -- Hey Kage o' Rage!"

No! Rage is dead
there is inner contentment

"or are you just falling" ??

Checkerboard floor and beings with ballon heads
--why do the gods act like children??

Most people could not handle this but I've taken it on

Just erase yourself!
Just erase yourself!

It's not practical -- I've taken this on but the battle can only rage in the drome of my self. Within the jurisdiction of my Self there is a boundlessness...

Autonomy means nothing unless it is challenged. Do not shy away from it.

I come back to this: every person is becoming. A historical process, not an immutable self. The Self as continuous is illusory. In truth the self is created in every moment. Feel your Self at the vanguard of creation -- the Ego emerges in every new moment processed, and contains all previous moments.

IMMEDIATISM -- create the self with your whole body

ART - experience the self created by your body within every moment

philosophy - it is most immediate in a continual creation of the self by action, movement-- to bridge gaps between abstraction and sensation equals --

HUMOR moves, like a bridge over !!VOID!!
Philosophy by humiliation. . . . In the land of the jesters the Dunce is king.