better off without
within, the ups and downs
that are left out without
leave the with behind
be removed from the binds
of within. be without. without carries no pain. without doesn’t injure. within, there is pain. not letting go. attainment within. loss within. without, there is none. nothing. oblivion.
within within withering. without without without a thought. stay or stray. there is no way out within, so remove thyself, without. the only way to win.
The stop-clause option
cattles and rattles catatonic,
crediting the leaf flicking by the
trio, intending to employ the
fire ants, acing a non-supportive
taboo lexicon, smitten with the
nearest slapping stilt of an
ice picking gull-scepter
roofing the foundry ale,
awakened, first, on the sand.
Nicked from the cesspool
and served up on a hotplate.
a forgiven fillet
harvested by my little reaper
and the motioning vine.
The accompaniment are the notes of a ferocious fight,
tamed by the art of the thread.
An elated wound reflected upon,
leads to chunder.
Having the heart to face the sting of nasal notes.
The ice, at its optimum, flaking mist.
The intensity of an account of
strides and inroads. A gala of laws,
guiding a queer escape.
The first step will be to break up the barrier. The fear.
Afterward, the light shines down, into the deep. Into the dark. Scattering and killing that which dwells there. Consciousness will shine down. Antiseptic. Exposing it as the destructive power that it is. With knowledge will come power over all. A power, an ability to control and use it for purposes other than self destruction.
Aspiration perspiration, a longed for acceptance. The futile attempt to feel significant, the waiting to be received. The wish. The fear of rejection.
It is there, below the quiet. Lying right on the surface, of that below. Settled on top. Like scum on a pond, obscuring. Denying the light. Hiding that which is underneath. The fear obscures, washing out the light. Effects kept hidden. The creatures that live and thrive in the dark. Swimming about. There, light destroys the environment. There, they’ve evolved over time. There, they’ve created their own ecosystem. There, they flourish. And I have to destroy them. I, the destroyer.
Destroy it before it destroys me? Is that the resolution?
Through destruction, creation. A new Eden. But to kill….will they be integrated or obliterated? Am I the executer of the whole? Must I decide what will live and what will die?
In me. For, I am. And they, a part of me. A part of me apart from me. To integration/obliteration is survival over the long term.
Here, I rely on the relay. I somehow fit in a Venn Diagram, a niche, between Messiah and Jackal. Destroyer versus Order. And the ever present feeling of being watched by those in posterity. Not as a point of pride, but as a point of view. Although it is pride.
It’s time to appreciate the jackal. What it says is funny, not horrifying. The Jackal knows it’s all comedy. Some of it is just bad writing. Find humor in it all, you’ll be a llama. Baaa
Don’t take sides. Why play a game? good versus bad, bad versus good
Perception is the difference.
Check out and love it.
All of these varieties…All of these ideas. Slowing down on a selected path of identity and destiny. Black and white decision making, yes or no. All binary. And one on/off switch that decides your fate. It hinges on one switch. What pressure at this moment. Right now. What will the next thought be? Deciding. Solidifying my fate. Until the day I die. How and what is decided….on…this…thought. The pressure is immense. Best to not participate. Or participate at random. On a whim. An instrument of chaos.
Just reach a bit further back. Into the mind. Make a decision.
Messiah speaks: Glorious, self-aggrandizing, beautiful. Goody-little-two-shoes. Make the excuse for yourself. Jackal, Messiah, Self. Son of man? so you say. I AM.
The deflection of everything. In. Between.
Seen as innumerable,
damages and disasters,
inferring signs of The Flood.
Rein homage to
affairs of Estate.
Add to the rest
our current comet commodity.
Obliteration as an import aid.
Pry the re-nascent nation up.
Build a projection,
an overseas exponent,
in the crease of rational debt.
The buried money.
Far, as I know,
stars shouldn’t shine.
Their kinetic strength
choking and judging,
tempered by snaking explosions
in the fashion of the BEAST.
Black and silver.
A sun’s refusal,
a jezabel’s tool.
Gone, to the underworld.
A frank promise on the trail of dead.
Their own religion is telling them what to do and how to behave. But there needs to be a myth first.
THEY NEED A NEW MESSIAH
It has been 2000~1500 years since there’s been a good one. Joseph Smith and L Ron Hubbard. That shit is funny. Religion as/is an art form, because it is all art, unless its regimented and cemented, art moves and art grows.
Messiah can do that.
I mean look at the carpet in front of me. Beautiful and intricate. This is why there are sacred things, but when you look closer, there is nothing sacred at all. Sacredness is only rigidity. Some old codger got tired of the young people not respecting their shit. Old codgers work for their shit all their lives. So, they make up some bogeyman story to scare the disrespectful youth. After a few generations, the idea crystallizes into culture and law, then religion. Mapping the human mind.
000-000-0000 number called. ALIENS
Middle way says to go between
So the only way is to not care. That is the realization. That is why I’m afraid. Theosis. Holy Shit. Down the weird path. OCD comes to play and I deny. When I trust it, I become my opposite, The Jackal. THE SHADOW- DAIMON. The usurpation of my psyche. My Psyche, my brain is trying to get me out of this.
It’s how my brain works, DAWKINS can say we’re all handicapped, delusional. But this is how my brain works, bigot. It works in fucking metaphor. I think abstractly, not linearly. Led down a different route.
OK— what about cheating fucks that usurp religion? Well, that’s why you should read. Study the shit. Then they can’t control you. But rubes don’t have to courage to find out the truth, lazy and listless. So the sheep get fleeced and fucked.
This is fucking evil. Look at this path. It’s the wrong way. The way is The Dark. And I have to go through it.
It’s just a little bit better than schizophrenia with the paranoia. Feeling like the dog is distracting me - intentionally- At that level. My body is starting to crumble. There is a shower of fears flashing in front of my face.
Look at what they all mean. All the words. Any word. So many combinations, that’s funny.
All the poetry. Someone’s fucking dreams they felt were important enough to write down. Word it how you want it. Poetry, comedy, art, whatever. And then, sell it <—sell out. But the truth isn’t held. By them. Interpreted and sold. Packaged. That’s what it is to be alive, man. That’s what your existence is and you can either be that, or someone off the grid.
That’s how you sell it. That’s how you evolve. Become the Master. You make it just close enough to use it, and then not have to use it. Like the East.
Sell out —> use it inside the institution to improve it. Value or values?
The art of selling out while not selling out. The art of not selling out while selling out.
I can’t think about anything else. So, I feel the disappointment and that which lies just beneath. There. Under the disappointment, there weighting, that which pulls me down. There, life spirals out and in, Fibonacci-style, macro-to-micro. That. That is what is to be applied to other paradigms. But beware. Once started, you’ll carve yourself into the ruts of habit and culture. It’s hard to get out of the ruts. Progression toward the depth of reality.
Then you see your life, start to flash ahead of you. At 12*5*11 and 6. The stop-motion pictures of life. The revelation that life is fake. The revelation that it’s all a play. The revelation that we don’t want to play anymore. It’s an act that needs quittin’ and we can’t. It’s like finding yourself trapped inside your own body.
This is where the fear is. This is where I become afraid. The nerves kick it in and I have to kick it through. The only way passed is through. Down in the black. Down in the fear. The fear of there being nothing there. I resisted because I failed and in so resisting I fail before I fail, because I fail.
You know, to get this Jungian shit, you need a fucking thesaurus.