accomplishment, delight, despair repulsion

accomplishment, delight, despair repulsion, what brings you to the table to eat. what gives you ownership and need? Desire and Fear. the twin towers of your existence, waiting for the taliban of your nightmares to take off in flights of irresistible insanity, to bring them crumbling into the endless void your standing in. you believe there is earth and air and gravity, spherical structures exploding into greater and greater levels of complexity and wonder, reaching higher than ever before to touch an unrealised reality and even in that instant, realize another and see that it goes deliciously on forever in a world expanding like mirrored walls, never ending, never revealing anymore than the one layer you reflect. the vision exceeds the truth. the matter of the most importance. the illusionary nature of the fun house that is our skin suit and our merry go quickly round that never stops. the illusion of motion but never going anywhere, the promise of a gold ring or another horse to ride, but the feet stay firmly on the whirling disk and the music cranks and the engine clanks and thuds with a sickening certainty when you feel it. the minute you see the light, the carny atmosphere is exposed and the secret is revealed. we are prisoners of our own device, to be entertained, to be enticed with false prizes and gimmicks and lies, given cheap trinkets and forced to work in the yard gang when the carnival pulls up stakes in your town, you go with it. you arent just the mark, you're the huckster and the carney too. you built the ride and now you have to keep it going and get more to ride it with you. proliferate not, lest ye be proliferated. what you cast upon the waters draws more fish to the hook.then must you eat the flesh you carry and wait ten thousand eons for another boat to sail. the water connects and separates all, the flesh is the craft of the soil to rise out of the water, the air is the dream of freedom. the sun is the truth, leaving nothing behind but dead rock, where first it bore life emancipated. the eons never end as the rage of time extends, the difference is in the perceiver, not the perceived. what life is, the manifestation of existence, is the reflection of what cannot be, the undoing of unknowable being, the action figure of truth, with arms and legs that move, but no speck of the truth exists in the form, its in the possessor of the fetish, the light within the eye of the beholder. what do you see in the mirror that is not already there. look inside at what cannot be shown, see the reflection of your own fears and desires, parading into the end of your world, where nothing awaits but the truth that doesnt exist in this world.

how low we stoop to reach god

how low we stoop to reach god. the employ of the substandard to make economic guidelines results in the fracture of the supply chain. hindsight is equal to mindless conjecture plus one half parts imagination. whatever we accomplish is truly the only thing we have been able to think of. judge first before the prizes are all gone. where did all the cool hangouts go in the interests of community standards.  if theres a man who can laugh at himself then he's not taking this seriously. before i reflect on the art of self recrimination id first like to introduce our celebrity panel of experts, from Hollywood, washington DC and the ever popular home of inorganic cess pool living Hawaii. But first lets meet our contestants, losers all, but one lucky soul will get to revel in their shit in front of millions of viewers every day. So here he is direct from the talk radio oil slick over paradise, toomy fartmouth! it your day in the shade mr sunshine and look theres a parade just for you and no one is wearing any clothes. the important thing is that everyone wears blinders and earplugs at all times with what little attention they have directed exactly where they are pointed at.so with the flat screens attached to the wires from their ears they walk in a very neat pattern, much like delicious little gerbils. if we could just get them to spellout product names or form logos as they march the entire world would understand the attainment of the greatest product of evolution since refined opiates. no one can escape the spell of the dreamweaver or the narcotic of self. for who dreams the self and who casts the dreamweaver upon them. even the disgust of the self with the self is the self and accomplishes only what the dreamweaver wants, more dreams.the self loathing is thinking theres a perfect way to dream, a finely tuned set of rules and requirements that somehow override the actions we take naturally and that the reactions of others satisfy us in some illicit manner  that would never be acceptable in a court of soul baring inquiry.  what right is ours but to be the instrument of whatever powers this amazing universe and the worlds beyond that even unto the emptiness that holds all in its formless guise. from what grain of sand does descend the equivalence that one slip of the grain this way or that is the result of the sands doing. you are at the pleasure of the whims of the forces that are beyond the human, to go beyond you sit in judgment upon that which you are and decide what is needed. but this is playing cards before the battle. the outcome of which, the winning or losing of this game, is immaterial to the war. its a pastime with no result, building the sand castles before the tide rises. what ego sees ego destroys and recreates. the living is the significance, not the individual lives. we power the engine of unpredictability, the xfactor of inconceivable brilliance that exceeds the abilities of the rational conceiver. the dog that talks and plays cards, the human that flies, the pure force of being fully extant in the awareness and in that instant alive as the miracle of birth where nothing can live. i sweat in a cave in a world borne of nuclear fusion, rubbing stones together to fashion my expressions. we evolve in such limited strokes,predictable growing like viruses in a host, dieing off as the host nearly collapses then coming forth again. yet the true energy is galactic, universal, immaterial, but none look there, only closer here, where theres easier access to things to look at. it doesnt matter, but the game is bigger than all this examining our own spoor and dissecting our piles of dust and clay pot shards. be not amazed at what little you can understand, but at how much you can forget.

i stand where the mercy of god cannot protect me

i stand where the mercy of god cannot protect me. there is no higher source or greater good. the world its devious and enchanting ways pale before the reality of naked truth. no mountain, no star, no galaxies or universe created me, but unexamined nothing remains in the well of knowledge. what truth am i, this soul that has no other, no sense of brotherhood or friend, no love lost or gained, no shared meaning or intention. the watcher before and behind me, the undoer and the unknowable.not just a silent replica, but the connection to the perpetual eternity. we seek to find the shelter of each other, to find truth in union and fellowship, but none exists beyond this moment, this flesh, this day in the sun and rain. what we seek we find and we rejoice or commiserate with our fellows and friends, that is our protection from the rays of the undying light. its said no relationships exist, none are made or broken  except what god wills. think this through, for what is it that we take with us, the leap beyond the body, is there family and friends, enemies and lovers. Are we not alone, even if one exists, is there another. from what source derives us all, one common spark from which all fire is lit. and if one fire only is burning, then we all burn together no matter what our due in this lifetime after lifetime of existence. but beyond this, for those of us that know death is just a breath away, where is that door leading us. and is it the same door we came through just swinging the other way. i lay down my thought of having any say in this matter and await my final enlightenment, perhaps consciously this time, since the last million times didnt stick, but then what can to this emptiness disguised as a man.

immortality is acceptance of infinity

immortality is acceptance of infinity. there is no living forever in the body, nor is that a remarkable event, for who would want to. the death of the flesh is the culmination of living, not its unending servitude to the needs of the soul. as we become free of the form the light in us is set free to not be confined to the einsteinian conventions of matter and acceleration. what is infinite mass and speed but the experience of totality, where everything happens instantaneously, at once, all past and future collide in one immediate now. and is left behind as the first step of what is the next passage. each soul continues to the end of what is and then isnt. we become isnt even as we are all that is. how do we maintain this structure we created, the continuum of time and space and form and energy and experience, is that the natural state of the soul, the part of us that cant be measured? or do we become that which is the natural state, not timed or spaced or felt, not energy or matter but the next evolution of being, the totality becomes the building block of truth, the formatted field we cannot touch but only pretend to describe as we lay down and die, one by one yet all at once we are only one.and that is the birth of the enlightened soul into the next plane, the dimension unknowable yet known as surely as the genes know how to make bodies, so our soul knows this extrapolation of being beyond living and yet not of any idea of dying. we expand and contract even as we fill and empty and somewhere it changes, and we can never know who we were again.

its not that bliss doesnt exist

its not that bliss doesnt exist its that there is nothing, nothing at all. whatever it is we experience is gone, leaving the world empty and formless and beyond recovery. the road back is no longer open, the road ahead is gone. it becomes clear there is only this and nothing and this seems like nothing but i am this and what does that mean.no expectation, or memory, no time or place to be.  purpose vaporizing off the sense of intention lost somewhere in the last part of the ride. everything got me here and now what is it, the last ghost train to the next station and as i get off the whole station, tracks, train, all disappear and where this is vanishes as i lose my sense of separation and what was is no longer and what is cant be distinguished. i am form without shape, time without a clock, place without a map. i know sense intuit, there is as i am, but i cannot sense anything separate no othering or doing or knowing just liquidness evaporating.i would sell out all my friends, condemn them to death as they already are, to get back into the matrix and taste the steak and onions one more time, and never know i wasnt always there. some pissed on peon life would be more than this and theres no sense of loss only dull awareness of what i was escaping from to be lost in the freedom of living without knowing who i am. i know there was a book or a movie that said there was more to come, but what is more to everything, and what can come from nothing. the truth is in your mind and your heart and your flesh, not here, not in the absence of existence.

morning's mask rests deep

morning's mask rests deep, the light still hours away. full moon and clouds hide the stars, meteors, comets, cosmic conjunctions and alignments. mere humans walk beneath the feet and feats of the gods atop the mountain of flame. i wonder and wander in my darkened house, what coolness pervades even as the heat awaits us all. the sun, like its meteoric brethren, hides behind the earth until there is time, time for seeing what is when there is nothing but light. inside the holiness of my thoughts the religions of my mind the tranquility of no thought and the madness of imagining, where is truth for the insanity of living. helpless to resist the heart shudders in unison with all and every drop of pleasure and pain is no longer sleeping. the short hours of the darkness bring no relief anymore, the time of childlike quiet is rent with pyrotechnics and screaming of the holiest and holier everywhere i go. even as i sit they come to me in droves, leaving their bodies and their emanations of the flesh all around me. i fly under the ground, pulling the dank and warmed earth of my alien sisters over me and fright eyed and trembling, hoping the christians forget to call. i read in the moments left of the dead fathers and mothers that have followed their paths to the graves of golden light and find the streets a bloody mess. what sense of truth is there for the left and right of us that cannot be in the world like souls of dead men wandering looking for the last meal to share with the living. the feast of the few and the banquets of the poor filled with the grave and trembling knowledge and need that never ends but only fills the soul with wanting. i wont last long, the earth a hoary place and the living a dying race of idol worshipers. where i sit is under the horizon, staying low where others soar and let their light of passage be my cue to pull up the covers and hold shut these delicate orbs of seeing ,looking deeper than i can bear.

there is in each of us

there is in each of us the truth of what everything is. nothing exists alone or unconnected,yet ultimately we are here to be that one, that totality unto ourselves even as we are the everything. this is the magic of life, to think we are separated yet to experience the unknowable union of us all. the days becomes minutes the hours seconds, i'm under the spell of not being in the moment but being in every moment completely.what is happening is all thats happening there is nothing added or taken away even if i think it is. my existence is the being, when that falls away i become a non thing a beinglessness that has no entity but the one that inhabits this shell, a zephyr of zeroes the light in the daytime, what i dont know anymore is who i was. that is vanished under the relentless becoming of what is now the undoing of who i was becoming before. the god self vanishes as well as the small self, there is only the unexperienced truth that exists without any relationship to the dream or its requirements. what is the reality but the folding of empty space into form, we become our dream exist in the unreality of time and space, only to collapse in fear because we cannot believe anything is real or not. i know when the truth fades, i have only the anxiety of knowing there used to be something but even that is just a faded memory, a conceit of habit and repetition. who has the fear or the pain, is the one you cant remember who that was. but the memories of those feelings linger like the odor of old clothes pulled from storage. i use the pronoun but sense the verb,i am the adverb of my self becoming that. wind whispers louder than i can feel and skies blue more than i can see. whoever comes experiences and then goes as quickly. in between i am. today the truth, the storm the lightning strikes and the wind whips wildly aound the circle of the well of gravity. in the end all is victim of the black hole and nothing comes out the other end. that is why love remains, to bring the remnamts back together even as we see only the tatters flying away. i touch every heart i have ever known and all the others that i know now without touching, each the miracle of love giving the light where only the blackness prevails, the one percent is the light we imagine the rest. be close to me and we can share what is never lost but always looking for finders to keep forever