© 1997
UNTITLED, as yet
They think I’m unconventional, bizarre, eccentric…insane. So be it. They will think as they see fit. I shall not be the one to disillusion them, at this point in Time.
Time.
Ha, hah!
Time.
What is Time but a construct by which they further bind their minds, locking themselves deeper into the gloom, which is civilization. Structure! Walls built to block out that which is real. Illusion, the structure in which they live. They fear. Madness, they call the move toward enlightenment.
Transcendence!
Get over it!
Get over yourself!!!
Or under…whichever.
Maybe quite beside.
Or on the other side.
They, those who must embrace order, are those who are insane! Truly! The structures were built to keep us in line, to keep us ignorant of reality, to keep those in power in power. So embittered with jealousy, so paralyzed with fear are they.
Eradicate the lamest threat.
Erect the walls of order.
Decimate the chaos. Render it impotent.
In a contained (unnatural) system, the rule is this: over time, order erodes into chaos, then to pure entropy. All travels in directions same. Hence displaying the natural flow of events in all cases.
Any statistic may be made to show any message. How can that display order? Consistently? Didn’t think so.
Nature continues to be denied.
Who are you to think you’re above Nature?
And, pray tell, does Nature agree with your assertion?
Give me one concrete example!
I have all the “time” in the world.
Right here in my hand.
See? Look!
A bit closer.
Closer.
A little more.
Still don’t see?
My, I didn’t realize my fingernails were so sharp; got some clippers?
Oh, and forgive please. Won’t happen again, I should hope.
Some mighty nasty scratches on your cheek, my child.
Of course you are a child.
Age has nothing to do with it.
Does not! Want to see?
Ah! Why, you may yet learn, at that!
“Aged” whiskey is not “aged” at all. It merely contains more bacteria.
Teria, teria, teria.
What do bacteria and cafeteria have in common?
Oh, it’s just a little joke.
Go on, guess!
Why, teria, of course.
You didn’t laugh.
Keep doing that and your face’ll freeze in that position; that’s what Mom always said.
Well, not always, she said lots of other things, too. She had a rather extensive vocabulary.
How does a sanitarium relate?
It doesn’t, until you bring another onto the scene. Then they’re sanitaria and we’re back to the teria again.
Still here? Usually by this point I’d have gone through many subjects, which I have, yet you’re still the original one.
See her? Over there. She’s also the original one. And him. And them. And everyone and everything. See the particles jump?
Individuality? You may so think; I know better.
Want another lesson?
Didn’t like that last one?
Oh no?
Guess what.
You’re not a shining ball of energy so you haven’t yet had the LAST one, only the previous.
Yes, of course, there’s a last one, but it’s definitely not the previous one.
Watch the particles do-si-do from one mass to another!
You’re not you.
I’m not me, nor he, nor she.
We are.
You’re not made up of the same particles you started with. In fact, without lipstick, you’re not made up at all. I have this friend; oh, what she could do for you!
But I don’t want to go down that track. Been there, done that.
I don’t do tracks, or roads. They all lead to the same place, right here. It isn’t relative, though it could be.
Semantics. Paradox. Juxtaposition.
Semantics.
Words are powerful things.
Though a grunt or a moan or a purr may ultimately mean much more than a mere word, though, on paper, they’re words just the same.
Alphabet.
Systematic letter position.
Structure.
Parts of speech.
Formation.
Punctuation.
SENTENCES!
So, what’s a sentence?
Quick!
It follows a plea, and a finding.
Though what was found wasn’t lost; anything lost can’t be found. So simple, yet overlooked.
Hehehe, I was lost, until you found me. The picture play is in the mind of the listener. Sound is color; color, sound.
It’s an illusion.
See?
Of course you don’t. It’s the damn structure. Tear down the walls!
Who won World War II?
Who determines?
Am I eye, aye?
Ate boys eight boys. To girls, two.
Eye, I, cap’n!
What’s real? Doesn’t it make you reel?
The truth will set you free.
If it doesn’t first overload your synapses and kill you.
In your structure, you’d probably prefer the latter though. Understanding then may dawn.
Exploding structures are very pretty, though not to the “owner.” Rather painful to them.
Alas, how do I know? No? I have been there. And lived to tell. Though not many are willing to listen. Wearing their blinders, the see naught, minds closing incrementally with each new situation, life becomes dull, boring. No novelty. Escapism ensues.
Break out your crowbars and let’s go open some minds!
If you take that literally…well, I’ll probably just laugh.
Ah ha ha ha ha haaaaah!
Thought I’d laugh anyway.
A little splatter of blood and brain matter isn’t bad sometimes.
In actuality, nothing’s bad sometimes. Or not. Or so.
Nothing’s good sometimes, too, to, two.
See, words, what good are they?
So confusing, yet so entertaining. Some take themselves much too seriously.
Attaching feelings and meanings, sometimes very strongly, to markings on paper and sound waves in the wind.
Makes such little sense.
I could go on and on.
On and on and on.
Alcohol, drugs, sex…lead to fixations. Those who indulge, or have, have had a taste of it.
The smallest taste.
Some move on and grow, some get stuck, searching, into death and beyond. Can’t get here from there. Can only get a taste. Once tasted, it’ll never be found in the same place again. One must transcend and find the path in the next level. And it will not be found in the same context, substance, experience, situation, etc. as it was in the previous level. Must keep moving along. Stagnation leads quickly to forgetfulness, blight, death.
And I feel, and I feel, when the dogs begin to smell her…will she smell alone?
Lies! Lies!
She.
She lies.
Does this mean she doesn’t tell the truth?
Possibly, yes, though can you tell?
Look at her. There she lies.
Were she standing, we’d deduce untruth, not in the statement but in her being.
Still she lies.
Upon her….
….bed of velvet moonlight, sliver crucifix rising, falling with her breath. Auburn aura about her head, her beautiful hair, disarray.
I knew I had to go, though I might not return. She pleaded that I stay.
Dark despair had captured the night, none were safe, the dead now walked, she was afraid, was all she’d say.
Curiosity had me, nothing I could do. I had to face her fears. To her, I vowed, I’d always be true. In my mind the feeling, smell, taste of her tears.
She got the call the next afternoon. She wasn’t there, and didn’t erase the message after she heard it. Thirteen times. Collapsed on our bed, wracked with sobs and tears.
That’s how I found her, after listening to the machine in the kitchen. Now there she lies and here I stand. She looks so innocent and pure. Should I rouse her, let her know? Ask her to share my fate? I think not; it’s better she doesn’t know. I really miss her so.
This day, much later, she still cries, and I cannon come forth. I take care of her, her guardian angel, ever watching over her. Yeah, so I’m a romantic.
She still cries, I’m on her mind. I want to go to her, though I don’t. It’ll remain best if I keep my distance, in my present form.
Letter from Heaven, for that’s where she thinks I am. I can hear her prayers. I sometimes subtly answer them. I am her god, though she’s not aware. Someone has to be; no one else will.
Why the Mickey Mouse snow cube means so much. Letter from Heaven, delivered by a devils hand, hung from the refrig, under a magnet…a Mickey Mouse Christmas magnet.
The letter, so simple, allayed all her fears. Wonder and miracles, those gifts of faith, in which she so believes.
“My Dear,
I am well. Please don’t hurry, for now is ever, it will always be the same. Enjoy your life, live it up. Live and love. I’ll be with you, smiling, always. I’m behind you all the way. I don’t miss you, because I’m there with you, until your dying day.
With much love,
Yours
She’s doing very well, happy, alive. She knows what I said was true. And I’ll say, in all truth, that I hope this never happens to you.
What does it all mean?
Why are they all so mean?
What is the mean?
Words, words, words.
Context, schmontext.
There is an underlying meaning to it all. And beneath that (for lack of better words) is another. Then another. And yet another. Unending. Finality is yet another illusion. All and nothing, all at the same instant. Forward, backward, and in between. All at ONCE! [Refer to “time.”]
Beauty, the only reason for anything. That and love, though most don’t even understand this one.
I speak of love, and love is all that is. The only absolute. Context is in the breath and synapse of the receiver. And context is just another word.
What’s the big deal?
Here we are, let’s do something to stop this decay!
Morals are cool, kewl, whatever. Only thing is, they’re based on thoughts and feelings which have been attached to words. Will you ever truly be free?
Will I?
Is there really a you and I?
Remember the particles?
They weren’t that long ago. Come on! Pay attention, ATTENTION! It isn’t that difficult! Wake up!
Is nothing sacred? I’ll let you think about that. Remember context and semantics.
Let’s talk about castles. You like castles? I do. Lots of room, airy, fun. Though not always.
I’m quite a dreamer, let it be known. It has a lot to do with how I got to this point. Want to hear? You do? Sorry, in this medium you’ll have to read. I’m not really sorry though. Learning anything?
Okay.
I’m a dreamer, though the form has changed over the years. Once upon t time, I did it differently. I created a dreamworld. All was nice. I didn’t want to see this “real” world I was being socialized into. I escaped, to my dreamworld. All was cozy, safe, and beautiful there. Over time, I went there more often, and stayed longer. I journeyed there when this “real” world became miserable. It didn’t get better. This was all before I learned about transcendence.
So anyway, I’d take a pleasant piece of the “real” world away with me, sometimes, to my dreamscape. And there, I would create. With gossamer, light, color, and mist, I would create. It was absolutely beautiful there. In the “real” world, I’d go through the motions, escaping to my “illusion” when I could. I learned very much through this, which is a way of saying it got very uncomfortable.
Growth is ignited by pain. I had that, in abundance. <smile>
One day, my dream became nightmare. The “real” world was nightmare also. As above, so below. As within, so without. No more escape, anywhere. I had to face it, whatever it was. All the pain I’d hidden away had broken out, mutated, bad and mad as Hell.
In the transition, the castles in my dreamworld, once grand and beautiful, constructed in the stuff of dreams, had changed to solid granite, dark, malevolent, vindictive. These castles, as I was about lost in confusion, began to crumble. Pain was intense, as the stones fell, knocking me about. No physical damage; permanent psychic scars. After, desolation of major proportion ruled supreme inside me. The “real” world was much the same, only without the theatrics.
Building castles is fine. I just choose not to live in them anymore.
I liked all this not a bit when it happened, though it was a major positive step in my life. It allowed me to see through the walls I had built. It was the crowbar that opened my mind, so to speak.
So I cleaned it up. It’s beautiful once again. I go there often, though not for escape or to live. I go to remember what I’m surrendering for. And to remember where I’ve been.
I’ve been through Hell, which was created by my own hand. Now, I am a tour guide.
The price is steep.
It is well worth every “penny” spent.
If you live.
If you don’t, well, you’ll just have to do it all over again.
Myself, I don’t charge anything to guide you through your Hell. You’ll pay enough yourself. I do it for personal satisfaction. Knowing I’m helping my brothers and sisters transcend is enough for me.
So!
Wake Up!
Think! Or don’t; whatever works.
I may stir this soup a bit later. Peace be with you. As if. Ah ha ha hehehe!
Wha'cha think?