04/26/04
I dreamt of the rest stop last night. I awoke in the wee hours of the morning to pee, and as my bladder squeezed itself empty, I ran the dream through the higher realms of my mind.
I stood impatiently in line. The people around me disgusted me, trapped me there on that line. I was unable to reach the fast food sustenance, the poisoned treat for all happy cancer mutants. I was equally unable to back out of my purchase of the once desired death meals. I was committed to fulfilling my duty as a consumer, unparalleled in laziness, cheapness and disdain for my healthy well being. I began to seethe with hatred for those around me, blaming them for my inability to leave this doomed transaction of corporate consumer hell.
I opened the bottom buttons of my rumpled suit jacket, and then drove my fist into the lower back of the bastard directly in front of me. My grip found its way under his chin and it pulled him straight back. He fell to his knees, helpless before me in a false penitence of fear. I knew him instantly. The bully.
He was a bastard and deserved getting taken down. I did it for everyone that he pushed around and shoved so we would not question his absolute authority. This fascist bastard, with his insecurity lying exposed like the Achilles heel it is, was ripe and ready to be knocked down a peg. It simmered inside, boiling and rising like smoke, drunk on the awesome power of control, you were pushed too far.
His weak spots exposed you, struck and pierced every single one, relinquishing him of that shred of power he had hoarded away. Complete and utter destruction of this being was necessary, and was just. At least it felt that way at the time. But then you felt pity. For him and yourself. Shame, for allowing the power to be used, and so brutally to one so obviously weak. Who was the bully? The one addicted to this moment. I was sick, repulsed at the pride, the joy of obliteration and domination.
He had his revenge in a surprise attack that would forever keep me in my archetype of the coward. My ribs made the noise one would hear while cracking the knuckles of every finger on both hands. Shoulders slumped forward, concave chest. Instantly I had been given the demeanor of the fearful and lazy. Wallowing in the shame, I was left wide open to retaliation. Deprived of my throne, I had to finish out the role of the coward, but he took with him the humbled ego of a Liar King.
And now he was defenseless before me, ready for my judgment.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
THE TOWER OF BRAHMA: Chapter 16 - Rankled Undressing Purgatory
04/22/04
Unraveled like the Invisible man, that's what I felt like. With a bandage wrap for every self-applied label and restriction, tied tight in order to help conceal anything real. Hidden beneath a flamboyant display of primary colors, the lightning icon pulsing against my chest, charging my system, preparing me for the physical exhumation of the decaying ick of my soul.
The nights of chest heaving coughs prepared me for the pain of regurgitation. I squatted on the small patch of grass across the street and heaved out the mucus milk that had been gurgling inside. My stomach acids had burned away all traces of infection. I was now purged of the poison, and immediately felt a swell of purpose and destiny.
The restless night had bared witness to the epic battle of the last remaining pieces of the decayed person I once knew myself as. The cardboard cutout personality that I had built so as to seem acceptable by society, or more precisely, my view of reality. I made myself what I thought reality was, and amazingly enough, I merely had to change my perspective to have it all shift. It seems so easy to say in retrospect. Choose to be happy, choose to be confident, choose to be optimistic. As much as you hate the clichés, it's the truth.
I am in search for answers to the simple truths, the true understanding of the most basic qualities of living life. We only reach understanding when we are removed from the situation we seek an answer to. Only through distance can things be appreciated for the positive or negative experience that they were. The bigger picture is revealed through hindsight, a greater knowledge of life is gained by simply leaving the moment behind.
Early fundamental moments therefore dictate the answers to all future decisions. First confrontation, first metaphysical lesson, first sexual moments, these are the pinpoints stuck on the map of our lives. These situations curve and bend the wavelength of our minds into behavior cycles and only through a breaking of the cycle is knowledge gained and evolution of thought takes hold.
Awareness is first. You must awaken. Wake up. There's more than meets the eye out here. There's some shit going down. Take a look around and see what makes you mad, what makes you happy, what makes you sad, and then do it all. Confront and challenge and don't be afraid to speak up and say something completely stupid and idiotic. Fear humiliation no longer.
Naked. Exposed. Bare. In front of people. A class. Co-workers. Random strangers. They laugh and point and stare and condemn. Some see weakness and go in for the kill. Leeches, sucking you dry, bolstering their power for everything you have to offer in return. So afraid of betrayal that no real person, save the one that serves the parasite, is left inside you. A husk, barren, bored clean through so as no substance is left behind and so significant is the hole that no substance may fill it.
You're free now, free from the pain that you once needed so dearly. That suffering, lingering, demolishionist was finally evicted in three concurrent spasms of your digestive system. The future is yours and your shackles have been removed. I'm rubbing my wrists and ankles. Sore, but hardly worth a notice when compared to the weight lifted free from my chest. The hand of god has reached into my lungs and slammed them with enough oxygen so as to purify myself.
Blind from the light of life unbounded, I'm stumbling and mumbling and deliriously dancing through the metamorphic resonance. The tones and vibrations bounce and throb into my nervous system, rendering it numb. A melting candle branching into an upside down, thousand branched oak tree. Putty, reduced to putty, I mold into a new shape, one that fits and sits properly in the role I have crafted.
The Identity shift is the hardest part. That's what I'm sending back to myself from the future moments of my dawning tomorrows. Waves of smiling sanity wash over me and I just know that everything is going to be new again.
Unraveled like the Invisible man, that's what I felt like. With a bandage wrap for every self-applied label and restriction, tied tight in order to help conceal anything real. Hidden beneath a flamboyant display of primary colors, the lightning icon pulsing against my chest, charging my system, preparing me for the physical exhumation of the decaying ick of my soul.
The nights of chest heaving coughs prepared me for the pain of regurgitation. I squatted on the small patch of grass across the street and heaved out the mucus milk that had been gurgling inside. My stomach acids had burned away all traces of infection. I was now purged of the poison, and immediately felt a swell of purpose and destiny.
The restless night had bared witness to the epic battle of the last remaining pieces of the decayed person I once knew myself as. The cardboard cutout personality that I had built so as to seem acceptable by society, or more precisely, my view of reality. I made myself what I thought reality was, and amazingly enough, I merely had to change my perspective to have it all shift. It seems so easy to say in retrospect. Choose to be happy, choose to be confident, choose to be optimistic. As much as you hate the clichés, it's the truth.
I am in search for answers to the simple truths, the true understanding of the most basic qualities of living life. We only reach understanding when we are removed from the situation we seek an answer to. Only through distance can things be appreciated for the positive or negative experience that they were. The bigger picture is revealed through hindsight, a greater knowledge of life is gained by simply leaving the moment behind.
Early fundamental moments therefore dictate the answers to all future decisions. First confrontation, first metaphysical lesson, first sexual moments, these are the pinpoints stuck on the map of our lives. These situations curve and bend the wavelength of our minds into behavior cycles and only through a breaking of the cycle is knowledge gained and evolution of thought takes hold.
Awareness is first. You must awaken. Wake up. There's more than meets the eye out here. There's some shit going down. Take a look around and see what makes you mad, what makes you happy, what makes you sad, and then do it all. Confront and challenge and don't be afraid to speak up and say something completely stupid and idiotic. Fear humiliation no longer.
Naked. Exposed. Bare. In front of people. A class. Co-workers. Random strangers. They laugh and point and stare and condemn. Some see weakness and go in for the kill. Leeches, sucking you dry, bolstering their power for everything you have to offer in return. So afraid of betrayal that no real person, save the one that serves the parasite, is left inside you. A husk, barren, bored clean through so as no substance is left behind and so significant is the hole that no substance may fill it.
You're free now, free from the pain that you once needed so dearly. That suffering, lingering, demolishionist was finally evicted in three concurrent spasms of your digestive system. The future is yours and your shackles have been removed. I'm rubbing my wrists and ankles. Sore, but hardly worth a notice when compared to the weight lifted free from my chest. The hand of god has reached into my lungs and slammed them with enough oxygen so as to purify myself.
Blind from the light of life unbounded, I'm stumbling and mumbling and deliriously dancing through the metamorphic resonance. The tones and vibrations bounce and throb into my nervous system, rendering it numb. A melting candle branching into an upside down, thousand branched oak tree. Putty, reduced to putty, I mold into a new shape, one that fits and sits properly in the role I have crafted.
The Identity shift is the hardest part. That's what I'm sending back to myself from the future moments of my dawning tomorrows. Waves of smiling sanity wash over me and I just know that everything is going to be new again.
Monday, February 9, 2009
THE TOWER OF BRAHMA: Chapter 15 - This Garbage Life
04/16/04
Crying tears of misbegotten moments. Sad frames of time that will never be. Lost in a desert of isolation, I am unable to scream for the pain is too intense. It feels like I have been impaled and perhaps I have been. Impaled on my own fierce and unwavering judgment. Trapped in fear and charged with anger, my body tears itself to pieces, as I lie writhing below. The sickness has overcome me and I no longer know or care about anything except the end of the pain.
It's weird to be suffering both mental and physical pain at the same time. You become lost between shifts of neurological insanity, nerves screaming, emotional implosion. You begin to wonder which was here first, or if that even matters, or if anything matters, or if it will ever fucking end. And it won't. It drags on through mindless hours of fist clenching sanity, dream-soaked brain hemorrhages siphoning out your will to live.
Sleep is the only comfort. Shut off from the body the mind lingers in its own universe, content to play with the clay of unfounded moments. Things that will never be, days that will never come, people that you will never know. Swimming in the ocean of eternal self, where you are the shining center of the entire fabric of reality and you don't need to feel a shred of guilt for loving every second of it.
Tried and tested, judged and sentenced, you awake into this reeking shell, this stinking and rotting corpse. Sludge and slime have eroded your insides and not even those fleeting feelings of being that delicious godhead can make the searing fragments of time any more digestible. You hate the world, you hate every person, you hate the act of hating, you condemn, you judge, you want to drive your fist through the center of the waking world and shatter everything that seems to matter to all these fucking robot slaves.
Your pain wants to stomp on the happiness of a million screaming idiots, wants to crush the empty dreams of a shallow and morally vacuous society that wants only to drain you dry and move on to the next fresh source of smiling, stupid naiveté. Nothing is worth saving for it is all truly worthless and meaningless. A thousand chanting teenagers, psyche-branded by the Brand Names of a conglomerate of money hoarding sociopaths who live equally if not more empty lives, usher in the further decline of me and this hopeless, Garbage Life.
Crying tears of misbegotten moments. Sad frames of time that will never be. Lost in a desert of isolation, I am unable to scream for the pain is too intense. It feels like I have been impaled and perhaps I have been. Impaled on my own fierce and unwavering judgment. Trapped in fear and charged with anger, my body tears itself to pieces, as I lie writhing below. The sickness has overcome me and I no longer know or care about anything except the end of the pain.
It's weird to be suffering both mental and physical pain at the same time. You become lost between shifts of neurological insanity, nerves screaming, emotional implosion. You begin to wonder which was here first, or if that even matters, or if anything matters, or if it will ever fucking end. And it won't. It drags on through mindless hours of fist clenching sanity, dream-soaked brain hemorrhages siphoning out your will to live.
Sleep is the only comfort. Shut off from the body the mind lingers in its own universe, content to play with the clay of unfounded moments. Things that will never be, days that will never come, people that you will never know. Swimming in the ocean of eternal self, where you are the shining center of the entire fabric of reality and you don't need to feel a shred of guilt for loving every second of it.
Tried and tested, judged and sentenced, you awake into this reeking shell, this stinking and rotting corpse. Sludge and slime have eroded your insides and not even those fleeting feelings of being that delicious godhead can make the searing fragments of time any more digestible. You hate the world, you hate every person, you hate the act of hating, you condemn, you judge, you want to drive your fist through the center of the waking world and shatter everything that seems to matter to all these fucking robot slaves.
Your pain wants to stomp on the happiness of a million screaming idiots, wants to crush the empty dreams of a shallow and morally vacuous society that wants only to drain you dry and move on to the next fresh source of smiling, stupid naiveté. Nothing is worth saving for it is all truly worthless and meaningless. A thousand chanting teenagers, psyche-branded by the Brand Names of a conglomerate of money hoarding sociopaths who live equally if not more empty lives, usher in the further decline of me and this hopeless, Garbage Life.
Monday, February 2, 2009
THE TOWER OF BRAHMA: Chapter 14 - Carcass of Calamity
04/07/04
I'm dying. I can feel it inside, burrowed deep in my chest. Returning to my life has caused the entire house of cards to crumble to the floor. The fevers cause the most restless sleep, filled with the most intense dreams. Life and death burst and bubble up all around me as something attempts to take care of me once and for all. Perhaps I have learned too much, or maybe my body is not able to withstand the pressure of a now fictional presence. I just want this delirium sickness to end and for some semblance of life to return to me.
The music that once guided me, as I launched that hopeful dreamself into a world that is only thought and dreamt about, is now gone. Lost in my absence, the pieces I left behind continued the daily dance, but lost the connection to me. We both would have been goners if we hadn't come together again. However, now instead of one whole being, I am now two sick and fractured halves unable to fight off this virus we've been infected with. Once separated it seems as if society slipped in through the cracks and the toxin has torn us both apart.
Words are hard to find. My thoughts are stuck in dreamstates and lingering lost moments. The world is changing all around me and I can feel my body pinned between the gears of the communal seasonal transference. I need a cleansing of mind, body and soul before I am able to handle life again. The madness in my mucus must be expelled. Civilization's clumsy and uncoordinated actions, in respect to the changing of our collective perception of time, have always caused me great pain and suffering.
Disoriented from the hitting of the restart button, the changes of this year are about to begin. The training is over and all the aches and pains of our annual alterations are nearly upon us. There is so much to do, to fight against, to reclaim. I must somehow find the strength to forge ahead through this cell of sickness and finally free myself from this carcass of calamity.
I'm dying. I can feel it inside, burrowed deep in my chest. Returning to my life has caused the entire house of cards to crumble to the floor. The fevers cause the most restless sleep, filled with the most intense dreams. Life and death burst and bubble up all around me as something attempts to take care of me once and for all. Perhaps I have learned too much, or maybe my body is not able to withstand the pressure of a now fictional presence. I just want this delirium sickness to end and for some semblance of life to return to me.
The music that once guided me, as I launched that hopeful dreamself into a world that is only thought and dreamt about, is now gone. Lost in my absence, the pieces I left behind continued the daily dance, but lost the connection to me. We both would have been goners if we hadn't come together again. However, now instead of one whole being, I am now two sick and fractured halves unable to fight off this virus we've been infected with. Once separated it seems as if society slipped in through the cracks and the toxin has torn us both apart.
Words are hard to find. My thoughts are stuck in dreamstates and lingering lost moments. The world is changing all around me and I can feel my body pinned between the gears of the communal seasonal transference. I need a cleansing of mind, body and soul before I am able to handle life again. The madness in my mucus must be expelled. Civilization's clumsy and uncoordinated actions, in respect to the changing of our collective perception of time, have always caused me great pain and suffering.
Disoriented from the hitting of the restart button, the changes of this year are about to begin. The training is over and all the aches and pains of our annual alterations are nearly upon us. There is so much to do, to fight against, to reclaim. I must somehow find the strength to forge ahead through this cell of sickness and finally free myself from this carcass of calamity.
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