I saw the Maori Jesus
Walking on Wellington Harbour.
He wore blue dungarees.
His beard and hair were long.
His breath smelt of mussels and paraoa.
When he smiled it looked like the dawn.
When he broke wind the little fishes trembled.
When he frowned the ground shook.
When he laughed everybody got drunk.
The Maori Jesus came on shore
And picked out his twelve disciples.
One cleaned toilets in the Railway Station;
His hands were scrubbed red to get the shit out of the pores.
One was a call-girl who turned it up for nothing.
One was a housewife who'd forgotten the Pill
And stuck her TV in the rubbish can.
One was a little office clerk
Who'd tried to set fire to the Government Buildings.
Yes, and there were several others;
One was an old sad quean;
One was an alcoholic priest
Going slowly mad in a respectable parish.
The Maori Jesus said, "Man,
From now on the sun will shine."
He did no miracles;
He played the guitar sitting on the ground.
The first day he was arrested
For having no lawful means of support.
The second day he was beaten up by the cops
For telling a dee his house was not in order.
The third day he was charged with being a Maori
And given a month in Mount Crawford.
The fourth day he was sent to Porirua
For telling a screw the sun would stop rising.
The fifth day lasted seven years
While he worked in the asylum laundry
Never out of the steam.
The sixth day he told the head doctor,
"I am the Light in the Void;
I am who I am."
The seventh day he was lobotomized;
The brain of God was cut in half.
On the eighth day the sun did not rise.
It didn't rise the day after.
God was neither alive nor dead.
The darkness of the Void,
Mountainous, mile-deep, civilized darkness
Sat on the earth from then till now.
2013-09-09
I had a nervous breakdown in San Francisco
In a world of love and money, I went crazy in San Francisco.
Golden Gate Park opened up and held me like a womb. The abundance of Whole Foods fattened my lonely days and emotionally complex and confusing emails from loving friends brought sobbing tears into my nights. I could smell the eucalyptus all around me in my cave of tree and vine, their fallen leaves and bark were my carpet and they covered my bags when I went out for the day.
The mist fell on me like a veil of death, a gift from the whole planet. "Thank you for the heavy veil of tech culture," the mist seemed to say, "in return I shroud you in an endless fog that no messiah will save you from."
I searched for love in the best possible place. A void opened up around my friend and I and we took the opportunity to dance around in that void, failing to anticipate the clutter that had been left there, invisibly. We yearned for the love that we knew was there, we tasted and smelled that love. It was sweet, tender, funny, but the void sucked us in, like an enormous vacuum vagina, emotionally inescapable.
There was no way we could dance our way out of this womb. My great wordsmithing was useless. We were latched on to an umbilical conduit of anxiety and shame. I ate the shame, I slept with the shame, I looked at it every time I closed my eyes.
I would visit the San Francisco Public Library every day and disappear into mezzanines of serpents and temptations and false gods walking through gardens and a lost paradise.
I would spread myself via Facebook into little wi-fi rooms all over the planet, through the monitors of people who admire and love me, into their distant hearts.
I would shamefully look over the cliff-face to the lower floors to see desperate angry library patrons yelling at staff or into their phones. I would see the uniformed security team come up, try to talk to them, grab their arm, grapple and grip against the struggle and escort the unacceptable lunatic out of the building into a different unsafe adventure in the city.
I would stay until the library closed, always too early, and step out into the falling darkness and cold, before the fog rolled in. I would sneak into the back of the bus, crowded thick with Capitalists, stinking of alcoholic fragrances, the glare of iPhone light, descending towards the ocean, past the park. I would step off the bus by the rose garden, past the log cabin and into the eucalypts.
Maybe the fog would roll in with me at the rose garden, maybe it would wake me in the night with heavy droplets falling from the leaves far above me. Already nestled in my sleeping bag, I would pull the blue tarp over my body and tuck it under my sleeping mat. In my plastic womb I would be warm and safe and dark, to breathe and sleep and dream.
Golden Gate Park opened up and held me like a womb. The abundance of Whole Foods fattened my lonely days and emotionally complex and confusing emails from loving friends brought sobbing tears into my nights. I could smell the eucalyptus all around me in my cave of tree and vine, their fallen leaves and bark were my carpet and they covered my bags when I went out for the day.
The mist fell on me like a veil of death, a gift from the whole planet. "Thank you for the heavy veil of tech culture," the mist seemed to say, "in return I shroud you in an endless fog that no messiah will save you from."
I searched for love in the best possible place. A void opened up around my friend and I and we took the opportunity to dance around in that void, failing to anticipate the clutter that had been left there, invisibly. We yearned for the love that we knew was there, we tasted and smelled that love. It was sweet, tender, funny, but the void sucked us in, like an enormous vacuum vagina, emotionally inescapable.
There was no way we could dance our way out of this womb. My great wordsmithing was useless. We were latched on to an umbilical conduit of anxiety and shame. I ate the shame, I slept with the shame, I looked at it every time I closed my eyes.
I would visit the San Francisco Public Library every day and disappear into mezzanines of serpents and temptations and false gods walking through gardens and a lost paradise.
I would spread myself via Facebook into little wi-fi rooms all over the planet, through the monitors of people who admire and love me, into their distant hearts.
I would shamefully look over the cliff-face to the lower floors to see desperate angry library patrons yelling at staff or into their phones. I would see the uniformed security team come up, try to talk to them, grab their arm, grapple and grip against the struggle and escort the unacceptable lunatic out of the building into a different unsafe adventure in the city.
I would stay until the library closed, always too early, and step out into the falling darkness and cold, before the fog rolled in. I would sneak into the back of the bus, crowded thick with Capitalists, stinking of alcoholic fragrances, the glare of iPhone light, descending towards the ocean, past the park. I would step off the bus by the rose garden, past the log cabin and into the eucalypts.
Maybe the fog would roll in with me at the rose garden, maybe it would wake me in the night with heavy droplets falling from the leaves far above me. Already nestled in my sleeping bag, I would pull the blue tarp over my body and tuck it under my sleeping mat. In my plastic womb I would be warm and safe and dark, to breathe and sleep and dream.
2013-09-07
It is obvious that it is government and industry are what we need to be protected from, so their protection is superfluous and their sovereignty entirely dependent on our consent and participation. We need to progressively and permanently withdraw our consent and participation in certain small and real ways while maintaining this extremely important dialogue and sharing information. We need to entirely withdraw from all corporate media if we want to have a truly informed decision, and instead look to the world and to each other as sources of information and new perspectives. Independent documentaries are currently a pertinent form of intelligent media. As we watch our governments deteriorating we realise the importance of learning from Syria and Egypt, because at some point, unless they relinquish their power voluntarily, there will be a point at which their behaviour is generally considered so unacceptable that action will be inevitable. What can we learn in the meantime? Building community is clearly the central task. Only by building community will we not only be able to stand strong in defense of what is important, but we will be able to make decisions as a community. Individuality is a myth. Humans are social animals. We cannot live healthy satisfying lives unless we are serving social interests.
2013-08-30
She took with her
When my mother took her life, she took the life she had helped me build with her. Everything that was bright and exciting in my life was built on the steady foundation of her support and encouragement.
I do not know why she thought her death was a positive decision. Did she not have faith in me, as I had faith in her? Did she not believe that a mother and son are always such?
I struggle now for a heart to expose myself to, and find only indifference, sex, philosophy, vapid suggestions, poetry and an impenetrable apathy and nihilism.
What we call hope in this world is willful denial, blind adherence to preordained goals in an ever-changing and complex world.
What we call faith is a blind and violent destruction of everything truthful and real, a raising up of banalities and plastic figurines in defiance of the Supreme Divinity forever visible to those those brave enough to look.
What we call love hesitantly peeks through the routines of convenience and humour, terrified of the intensity and perversity and filthy nudity of a love that penetrates us everywhere - fiercely in a single shared moment - and doesn't necessarily result in contracts and domestic arrangements.
We fill our sadness with objects - not too beautiful, not too sexy - pathetic in their limits. Not to remind us of our best moments - exuberant, dangerous - authority and culture forgotten!
Before paranoia, before the ugliness and violence of the world became so unavoidably central, before fear of the world, I had a mother who believed in me, who knew what I knew, though our irrelevant thoughts were different. I had a life that stretched out into a future, out into a world - out into a world that would be breathless and impressed in my presence.
Now there is a pervasive silence and endless empty streets in identical cities all over the planet. Nowhere to go when everywhere is the same. Familiarity in the most extreme. No one to be shocked. No one to hold me unselfishly. No one I would go to unselfishly myself.
She made her decision, sucked her life out via the portal of a common poison. So common we all spew it out into the atmosphere every day. We all kill ourselves and each other little by little daily, pretending we're alive.
The world is dying and my mother told me with her own death.
She gave me life, love, hope, and then she cursed me with a lifetime in knowledge that we're all dead.
I can never forgive her, cos she's not here to forgive; I cannot resent her cos she's not here to resent.
There are seven billion humans on this planet and not one of them is my mother.
My father is a teenager. My best friends are all infants and I am supposed to pretend to be an adult.
I am an unweaned baby with no breast to suckle on.
The religions and entertainments my countrymen suckle make me sick. The dairy industry my nation is built on is not a viable source of nutrition. Eating and fasting make me feel equally disgusting. The houses I was raised in make me feel weak and humiliated.
She's dead and the son she knew is dead. There's a man sitting here, writing. A man she will never know.
I do not know why she thought her death was a positive decision. Did she not have faith in me, as I had faith in her? Did she not believe that a mother and son are always such?
I struggle now for a heart to expose myself to, and find only indifference, sex, philosophy, vapid suggestions, poetry and an impenetrable apathy and nihilism.
What we call hope in this world is willful denial, blind adherence to preordained goals in an ever-changing and complex world.
What we call faith is a blind and violent destruction of everything truthful and real, a raising up of banalities and plastic figurines in defiance of the Supreme Divinity forever visible to those those brave enough to look.
What we call love hesitantly peeks through the routines of convenience and humour, terrified of the intensity and perversity and filthy nudity of a love that penetrates us everywhere - fiercely in a single shared moment - and doesn't necessarily result in contracts and domestic arrangements.
We fill our sadness with objects - not too beautiful, not too sexy - pathetic in their limits. Not to remind us of our best moments - exuberant, dangerous - authority and culture forgotten!
Before paranoia, before the ugliness and violence of the world became so unavoidably central, before fear of the world, I had a mother who believed in me, who knew what I knew, though our irrelevant thoughts were different. I had a life that stretched out into a future, out into a world - out into a world that would be breathless and impressed in my presence.
Now there is a pervasive silence and endless empty streets in identical cities all over the planet. Nowhere to go when everywhere is the same. Familiarity in the most extreme. No one to be shocked. No one to hold me unselfishly. No one I would go to unselfishly myself.
She made her decision, sucked her life out via the portal of a common poison. So common we all spew it out into the atmosphere every day. We all kill ourselves and each other little by little daily, pretending we're alive.
The world is dying and my mother told me with her own death.
She gave me life, love, hope, and then she cursed me with a lifetime in knowledge that we're all dead.
I can never forgive her, cos she's not here to forgive; I cannot resent her cos she's not here to resent.
There are seven billion humans on this planet and not one of them is my mother.
My father is a teenager. My best friends are all infants and I am supposed to pretend to be an adult.
I am an unweaned baby with no breast to suckle on.
The religions and entertainments my countrymen suckle make me sick. The dairy industry my nation is built on is not a viable source of nutrition. Eating and fasting make me feel equally disgusting. The houses I was raised in make me feel weak and humiliated.
She's dead and the son she knew is dead. There's a man sitting here, writing. A man she will never know.
2013-08-22
To be free, unchained, naked, together, alive.
I have tried, in my way, to be free, unchained.
I expanded out from the cities, created the suburbs, where I could possess my own estate, deep in the ocean of nuclear families, their backyards and their lockable rooms. I paid no landlord, I owned my own home, though the bank submerged me in debt for decades of my short lifetime. Their arbitrary authority was sold to me like a noble charity; the charity of the hardworking. I am the Lord God of my own nation-state, numbered and geometrically mapped by city planners. My hands stink not of dirt and grease, but of disinfectant.
I feel an all-encompassing love for everyone around me, but it is heavily encumbered with the futility of my financial culture. Everything I want is obscured by the price tags on objects to clutter and confuse my life. I fill my life with these objects, hoping to uncover the pristine peace and emptiness beneath them, but I always need more.
I fill my lonely soul with philosophies that sicken me like too much candy, and the cynicism I am left with causes me to nihilistically accept the secular materialism that advertising bludgeons me with. I am told there is no God/dess and I have no soul. The contradiction in my experience of the world is a shameful secret.
I walk in nature and strive to wander until the traffic is inaudible, but when I reemerge into what they facetiously call the Real World, its bland perversity sends me into a repressed fit of despair. I read revolutionary texts, but it makes me feel too sad and I yearn for the mind-numbing entertainment specifically manufactured to drown out this Real World that its presence unambiguously perpetuates.
I glance through the glass-pained window and notice the moon is full. I try to project myself into a world where this monthly celebratory moment has some significance, but the rhythms and cycles of television programming do not take the moon into account. Natural phenomena are not considered relevant in this Real World I inhabit. They are quaint symbols of dead religions at best, like faded and chipped Coca-Cola logos on long-abandoned convenience stores.
I can get naked and dance around the backyard with my family watching, amused, but it will be a travesty. This will be no shared experience, I won't feel the breathing earth underneath the concrete, there will be no fire to get sweaty around and no natural body of water to dive into subsequently. I won't feel the thrill of life coursing through my body, it will be a display for the attendants and assistants and employees I live with.
At best they will appreciate it as an expression of my personality, what distinguishes me from them, like a birthmark or a homosexuality, as acceptable and irrelevant as an outbreak of acne. All diversity is accepted and assimilated in Capitalism's Democracy pageant. Every flavour, every colour of the rainbow is represented and available for purchase.
The only exception is the illegal and the illegal is, by definition, necessary to marginalise and eradicate by otherwise abhorrent means. The illegal is the very problem we face here in the Real World of the Legal, sanctioned, culturally-defined, personality-diverse extravaganza of materialistic accumulation.
I scorn that within the world and within myself that I feel powerless to transform. I resent that I do not know how to change what I hate, and I resent more my fear or unwillingness to change what I know precisely how to change. Too much clarity, too much sensitivity and empathy is dangerous in the Real World.
To see things through my own eyes, rather than the eyes prescribed by the media, is painfully revealing, like being exposed naked in front of the whole school, like those dreams I used to have that my clothes, my personality, my cultural veneer, vanished, and I was left, naked, together, alive.
I expanded out from the cities, created the suburbs, where I could possess my own estate, deep in the ocean of nuclear families, their backyards and their lockable rooms. I paid no landlord, I owned my own home, though the bank submerged me in debt for decades of my short lifetime. Their arbitrary authority was sold to me like a noble charity; the charity of the hardworking. I am the Lord God of my own nation-state, numbered and geometrically mapped by city planners. My hands stink not of dirt and grease, but of disinfectant.
I feel an all-encompassing love for everyone around me, but it is heavily encumbered with the futility of my financial culture. Everything I want is obscured by the price tags on objects to clutter and confuse my life. I fill my life with these objects, hoping to uncover the pristine peace and emptiness beneath them, but I always need more.
I fill my lonely soul with philosophies that sicken me like too much candy, and the cynicism I am left with causes me to nihilistically accept the secular materialism that advertising bludgeons me with. I am told there is no God/dess and I have no soul. The contradiction in my experience of the world is a shameful secret.
I walk in nature and strive to wander until the traffic is inaudible, but when I reemerge into what they facetiously call the Real World, its bland perversity sends me into a repressed fit of despair. I read revolutionary texts, but it makes me feel too sad and I yearn for the mind-numbing entertainment specifically manufactured to drown out this Real World that its presence unambiguously perpetuates.
I glance through the glass-pained window and notice the moon is full. I try to project myself into a world where this monthly celebratory moment has some significance, but the rhythms and cycles of television programming do not take the moon into account. Natural phenomena are not considered relevant in this Real World I inhabit. They are quaint symbols of dead religions at best, like faded and chipped Coca-Cola logos on long-abandoned convenience stores.
I can get naked and dance around the backyard with my family watching, amused, but it will be a travesty. This will be no shared experience, I won't feel the breathing earth underneath the concrete, there will be no fire to get sweaty around and no natural body of water to dive into subsequently. I won't feel the thrill of life coursing through my body, it will be a display for the attendants and assistants and employees I live with.
At best they will appreciate it as an expression of my personality, what distinguishes me from them, like a birthmark or a homosexuality, as acceptable and irrelevant as an outbreak of acne. All diversity is accepted and assimilated in Capitalism's Democracy pageant. Every flavour, every colour of the rainbow is represented and available for purchase.
The only exception is the illegal and the illegal is, by definition, necessary to marginalise and eradicate by otherwise abhorrent means. The illegal is the very problem we face here in the Real World of the Legal, sanctioned, culturally-defined, personality-diverse extravaganza of materialistic accumulation.
I scorn that within the world and within myself that I feel powerless to transform. I resent that I do not know how to change what I hate, and I resent more my fear or unwillingness to change what I know precisely how to change. Too much clarity, too much sensitivity and empathy is dangerous in the Real World.
To see things through my own eyes, rather than the eyes prescribed by the media, is painfully revealing, like being exposed naked in front of the whole school, like those dreams I used to have that my clothes, my personality, my cultural veneer, vanished, and I was left, naked, together, alive.
2013-07-23
The world succumbs.
The world succumbs.
We are enveloped into the enfolding.
We join the retreating wave of biomass.
Another species no longer hoping.
No more convenient delusions to survive us.
No more development of our civilisation.
Science as ignorant as the day it was born.
Nothing to save us from ourselves.
No noble cause to die for.
No morality to alleviate our guilt.
Not even a home to return to at day-end.
Mother buried in the void beyond understanding.
Not even our children will survive us.
I am still here, facing certain death.
You are still here, I face you too.
Nothing to say beyond the wind of exhalation.
Surrounded by a deafening silence.
So much space and time to behave in.
Everything to do but nowhere to start.
So much love, but never enough.
Just the potential of 12 hrs of overcast sunlight every single day.
We are enveloped into the enfolding.
We join the retreating wave of biomass.
Another species no longer hoping.
No more convenient delusions to survive us.
No more development of our civilisation.
Science as ignorant as the day it was born.
Nothing to save us from ourselves.
No noble cause to die for.
No morality to alleviate our guilt.
Not even a home to return to at day-end.
Mother buried in the void beyond understanding.
Not even our children will survive us.
I am still here, facing certain death.
You are still here, I face you too.
Nothing to say beyond the wind of exhalation.
Surrounded by a deafening silence.
So much space and time to behave in.
Everything to do but nowhere to start.
So much love, but never enough.
Just the potential of 12 hrs of overcast sunlight every single day.
2013-05-18
I am prepared to die
Now is the time for us to make revolution.
What a boring old-fashioned message.
Nothing will ever change.
Nationalism has failed us.
The Government will not save us.
The United States has collapsed.
The End Of The World has already happened.
Those of us who did not notice were presumably watching TV or wandering the shopping malls and the stupormarkets.
Every revolution that has preceded us has been entirely successful at bringing us to this moment.
The revolution only seems to fail because every time we attempt to project our ideologies onto reality we are faced with the contradictory nature of reality.
When we look at the world, all we see is the world. One day, we hope, we will see the world we see in our head.
This day will never come.
Thank God/dess that every ideological revolution has failed.
Even the revolutions that have failed have caused great violence in our precious world.
The United States of America is supposed to be the revolution of modern industrial democracy. It is a mistake that we, as a species, must repent and resolve.
There are no real barriers to the beginnings of sanity on this planet, only our own feelings of inadequacy.
"I don't deserve love because I am a naughty boy with perverse thoughts."
Therefore I will run for President of the World.
I have the perfect idea in my head of how the world should be and I intend to impose this perfect idea on the problematic reality of a chaotic world through the organisation and force of some institution, centuries old, brand new, revolutionary, conservative, secure, morally perfect.
We have created The Law, which we acknowledge does not exist but we promise we will enforce it as if it does exist.
We are prepared to use the violence that you are unwilling to carry out in the sanity of your loving homes.
We will require some of you to step out of your apathetic pajamas and into uniforms appropriate for the task of suppression of dissent.
We hate with the utmost love. Please, love us with the hate of your ability to make a living at the expense of others.
When I die, I will be remembered as a hard worker, working hard to make other species extinct.
We've had a lot of revolutions, a lot of extinctions, a handful of apocalypses, wars to end all wars, and the trajectory of human development is a progressive genocide of all races on the planet in favour of Indo-European people.
Nothing will stop us from doing what we're not quite sure what it is yet.
The most advanced species on this planet is telling you to not panic and to remain within the realm of the culture you grew up in.
You are either a member of the correct, dominant culture, or your culture will be violently removed in as humane a manner as possible at the correct moment, with or without the desperation of your retaliation.
China does not exist.
The American Flag is the greatest religious symbol of our age, followed by the Coca-Cola Ribbon and the McDonald's M.
The world is not divided between Christianity and Islam or between Democracy and Communism. The world is divided between Coca-Cola and Pepsi.
This was clear to me when I rode the bus through the highways of Guatemala and Mexico. Every tiny poor village has a tienda and every tienda sells junkfood to the poor locals who really don't need money and every tienda is decorated with either a Coca-Cola or Pepsi logo.
One day all the world will be free and everyone will have the money to pay for carbonated soft drink.
Nothing you do will make any difference.
I disagree, I can make change.
When I quite smoking I intend to start dancing.
I intend to set up a huge organisation to stop corruption in Government and Industry.
I stopped paying rent when I was 24 years old. I stopped paying for food when I was 26 years old. Now, I feel utter repulsion at the thought of paying money to live.
I can hear your logical justification for paying money to live and I hear the gas released from your anus. In both cases I heard you and I empathise with your difficulty in releasing the ideas and foods you have consumed. I wish you all the best in your internal cleanse.
I contradict the ideologies of the culture I was raised to serve as I reject the poisons that were advertised at me.
I reject McDonald's and Coca-Cola and all the less-successful advertising campaigns disguised as food.
I reject heterosexual monogamy and every new sexual permutation devised to define the perversity and love emanating from my soul.
I reject the fools in uniforms who tell me that this food isn't mine, that I must pay before I can bring it home and share it.
I am only an animal of Planet Earth, I cannot be anything that I am not.
I cannot be a Capitalist, regardless of how much I am educated in its normality.
I will always be an animal.
I will die an animal as I was born an animal, from my mother's womb.
I am the result of the loving coitus of my parents and I have grown up in this world largely because of the sustained love of the people around me.
It is not food or money that has kept me alive, but love. If there was no other way to die from lack of love, I would have killed myself by now.
I have never gone hungry nor lacked warmth and shelter. I have never lacked the love of my family, my friends and my tribe.
It is this network of love that makes life worth living and it is the strength of this love that makes things happen.
Everything I do is the result of the strength of love in my heart, in my body and in my life; because I have been loved and because I do love.
The ideologies and religions that impede us exist only in our fluffy minds. They define our behaviour as long as we allow them to define our behaviour.
The institutions and laws that impede us exist only in our fluffy minds. When we cease to dedicate our lives to their perpetuation they cease to exist and the people and resources that constitute these institutions can instantly be used to promote the cause of life on this planet.
I am not scared of pain or death. I am not afraid that I will go to Hell or go to Prison. My God/dess will not dessert me and s/he does not need to exist to be constantly in my heart.
Everyone who loves me will stand beside my grave as my naked body is lowered into the naked grave within which I will nourish the soil that has always nourished me.
Nothing will stop me from fully experiencing the life into which I was born.
There is no substitute for love, passion, beauty, pain and great death.
What a boring old-fashioned message.
Nothing will ever change.
Nationalism has failed us.
The Government will not save us.
The United States has collapsed.
The End Of The World has already happened.
Those of us who did not notice were presumably watching TV or wandering the shopping malls and the stupormarkets.
Every revolution that has preceded us has been entirely successful at bringing us to this moment.
The revolution only seems to fail because every time we attempt to project our ideologies onto reality we are faced with the contradictory nature of reality.
When we look at the world, all we see is the world. One day, we hope, we will see the world we see in our head.
This day will never come.
Thank God/dess that every ideological revolution has failed.
Even the revolutions that have failed have caused great violence in our precious world.
The United States of America is supposed to be the revolution of modern industrial democracy. It is a mistake that we, as a species, must repent and resolve.
There are no real barriers to the beginnings of sanity on this planet, only our own feelings of inadequacy.
"I don't deserve love because I am a naughty boy with perverse thoughts."
Therefore I will run for President of the World.
I have the perfect idea in my head of how the world should be and I intend to impose this perfect idea on the problematic reality of a chaotic world through the organisation and force of some institution, centuries old, brand new, revolutionary, conservative, secure, morally perfect.
We have created The Law, which we acknowledge does not exist but we promise we will enforce it as if it does exist.
We are prepared to use the violence that you are unwilling to carry out in the sanity of your loving homes.
We will require some of you to step out of your apathetic pajamas and into uniforms appropriate for the task of suppression of dissent.
We hate with the utmost love. Please, love us with the hate of your ability to make a living at the expense of others.
When I die, I will be remembered as a hard worker, working hard to make other species extinct.
We've had a lot of revolutions, a lot of extinctions, a handful of apocalypses, wars to end all wars, and the trajectory of human development is a progressive genocide of all races on the planet in favour of Indo-European people.
Nothing will stop us from doing what we're not quite sure what it is yet.
The most advanced species on this planet is telling you to not panic and to remain within the realm of the culture you grew up in.
You are either a member of the correct, dominant culture, or your culture will be violently removed in as humane a manner as possible at the correct moment, with or without the desperation of your retaliation.
China does not exist.
The American Flag is the greatest religious symbol of our age, followed by the Coca-Cola Ribbon and the McDonald's M.
The world is not divided between Christianity and Islam or between Democracy and Communism. The world is divided between Coca-Cola and Pepsi.
This was clear to me when I rode the bus through the highways of Guatemala and Mexico. Every tiny poor village has a tienda and every tienda sells junkfood to the poor locals who really don't need money and every tienda is decorated with either a Coca-Cola or Pepsi logo.
One day all the world will be free and everyone will have the money to pay for carbonated soft drink.
Nothing you do will make any difference.
I disagree, I can make change.
When I quite smoking I intend to start dancing.
I intend to set up a huge organisation to stop corruption in Government and Industry.
I stopped paying rent when I was 24 years old. I stopped paying for food when I was 26 years old. Now, I feel utter repulsion at the thought of paying money to live.
I can hear your logical justification for paying money to live and I hear the gas released from your anus. In both cases I heard you and I empathise with your difficulty in releasing the ideas and foods you have consumed. I wish you all the best in your internal cleanse.
I contradict the ideologies of the culture I was raised to serve as I reject the poisons that were advertised at me.
I reject McDonald's and Coca-Cola and all the less-successful advertising campaigns disguised as food.
I reject heterosexual monogamy and every new sexual permutation devised to define the perversity and love emanating from my soul.
I reject the fools in uniforms who tell me that this food isn't mine, that I must pay before I can bring it home and share it.
I am only an animal of Planet Earth, I cannot be anything that I am not.
I cannot be a Capitalist, regardless of how much I am educated in its normality.
I will always be an animal.
I will die an animal as I was born an animal, from my mother's womb.
I am the result of the loving coitus of my parents and I have grown up in this world largely because of the sustained love of the people around me.
It is not food or money that has kept me alive, but love. If there was no other way to die from lack of love, I would have killed myself by now.
I have never gone hungry nor lacked warmth and shelter. I have never lacked the love of my family, my friends and my tribe.
It is this network of love that makes life worth living and it is the strength of this love that makes things happen.
Everything I do is the result of the strength of love in my heart, in my body and in my life; because I have been loved and because I do love.
The ideologies and religions that impede us exist only in our fluffy minds. They define our behaviour as long as we allow them to define our behaviour.
The institutions and laws that impede us exist only in our fluffy minds. When we cease to dedicate our lives to their perpetuation they cease to exist and the people and resources that constitute these institutions can instantly be used to promote the cause of life on this planet.
I am not scared of pain or death. I am not afraid that I will go to Hell or go to Prison. My God/dess will not dessert me and s/he does not need to exist to be constantly in my heart.
Everyone who loves me will stand beside my grave as my naked body is lowered into the naked grave within which I will nourish the soil that has always nourished me.
Nothing will stop me from fully experiencing the life into which I was born.
There is no substitute for love, passion, beauty, pain and great death.
2013-04-10
to God's perfect Darkness [thank you, Allen Ginsberg] [thank you, my triangle]
Death be upon us all in the realisation of our karma
Death be upon us all in the leap of faith into dangerous depths of love
Death be upon us all in the consequences of our bodies
Death be upon us all in the recurring dream of our denial
Death be upon us all as we linger frightened for lifetimes on the precipice of our inevitable completion
Death be upon us all in the transcendence of our perfection from the materiality of time
Death be upon us all in the mercy of an unforgiveable failure
Death be upon us all in the blessing of our forgiveness of others
Death be upon us as the harsh truth of necessity
Death as the change that saves us
Death the abandonment of generations of accumulated hatreds
Death as the swept-away invigoration of the River of Life
Death, the Gatekeeper of Infinity
Death, the answer to every question
Nature's perfect restoration of balance
The god of mercy and transformation
The baptism of fire
The world we've dreamed of in fear and unbearable yearning from birth
The debunking force of every human cosmology
The dusk at the end of every day
My greatest fear and hope
The only solace we can rely on
Death be upon those who fear it the most
Death be upon those who choose it in their sad lives
Death be upon those whose bodies cannot contain the intensity of life
Death be upon those exhausted at the completion of a necessary task
Death be the blessing of a Culture long-gone-wrong
Death be the triumph of those whose natural integrity have alienated them from their own culture
Death be the Apocalypse we've all been praying for
Death be not the beast in the darkness with which we threaten each other
but the gift at the completion of Hope, the completion of Karma, the fulfillment of the wholeness of this moment
Death be upon us all in the leap of faith into dangerous depths of love
Death be upon us all in the consequences of our bodies
Death be upon us all in the recurring dream of our denial
Death be upon us all as we linger frightened for lifetimes on the precipice of our inevitable completion
Death be upon us all in the transcendence of our perfection from the materiality of time
Death be upon us all in the mercy of an unforgiveable failure
Death be upon us all in the blessing of our forgiveness of others
Death be upon us as the harsh truth of necessity
Death as the change that saves us
Death the abandonment of generations of accumulated hatreds
Death as the swept-away invigoration of the River of Life
Death, the Gatekeeper of Infinity
Death, the answer to every question
Nature's perfect restoration of balance
The god of mercy and transformation
The baptism of fire
The world we've dreamed of in fear and unbearable yearning from birth
The debunking force of every human cosmology
The dusk at the end of every day
My greatest fear and hope
The only solace we can rely on
Death be upon those who fear it the most
Death be upon those who choose it in their sad lives
Death be upon those whose bodies cannot contain the intensity of life
Death be upon those exhausted at the completion of a necessary task
Death be the blessing of a Culture long-gone-wrong
Death be the triumph of those whose natural integrity have alienated them from their own culture
Death be the Apocalypse we've all been praying for
Death be not the beast in the darkness with which we threaten each other
but the gift at the completion of Hope, the completion of Karma, the fulfillment of the wholeness of this moment
2013-03-01
Consciousness
Everything we hope for in this world is futile. It is the pathetic lamentations of a consciousness with no power. The consciousness is miserable, useless, trapped in the thoughts of a transcendent terrestrial being like a demon trapped in a shrieking pig. We curse it and it pains us but we continue to live together in mutual torture.
The consciousness just wants to exist while we just want to get on with our lives. It wants to control. It wants to control us and it wants to control the world. It is every evil cartoon character who wants to rule the world. In its desperation to exist it creates the ego and like a blanket thrown over a sleeping body, the ego shrouds, protects and contains us. It buffers us from the world via an an artificial construction that is not us. The ego tries to control the world through governments and corporations who do not respect life on this planet because they are not life on this planet. They do not exist and they hate us, the living, those who truly exist.
We exist in many bodies in many parallel worlds, but the consciousness is just a series of thoughts. It is not a thinker, it is a habitual pattern of thought behaviour that we perpetuate with our bodies. We exist materially, in our bodies made of earth and water, and we exist in other bodies. We have a mind, a subconscious, that is in psychic (non-local) connection with all mind. Together we create reality through our behaviour, all life on this planet contributing to perfectly manifest exactly what exists. Meanwhile, perhaps peculiar to us humans (I don't know) the consciousness chatters in our head uselessly, undermining our behaviour, criticising us, disturbing us with uncertainty and anxiety that affects our body's ability to function.
Our consciousness is not our brain, nor is it our spirit or soul, it is a habit. We humans possess an unlikely ability to think in a highly complex manner. Like a dog chasing his own tail, we are often fooled by ourselves. This particular ability, to think, over the generations, and now more than ever, is out of control. While, like all other terrestrial beings, our bodies tell us everything we need to know about the world via pain, beauty, emotion, hunger, and perception, we are fooled by our thoughts into behaviour that is not beneficial for us or conducive to life on this planet. We have rationalised this habitual mode of behaviour as "rational thinking", when it fits into the accepted and expected framework of the intellectual and academic world, or we label it "schizophrenia" when it is evident in an individual in a manner that does not reinforce the cultural status quo.
Our consciousness is so desperate to exist that it has hijacked our organism for its own purpose. It is creating on our planet a world of abstraction, a world ruled not by gods or spirits or the laws of physics or love, but a world ruled by economies, laws, belief systems and contracts. It is a world in which humans do not live within communities, tribes, families or loving relationships, but within institutions, nation-states, households and legal marriages. We feel outside this world, though we create an ego, a personality, a career and a legal name to function within it. We hide together with those we can trust and we get naked, we make love, we laugh and we dance. In the abstract world, in the city, in the office, in the classroom, we do not.
Our consciousness is so desperate to exist that it has covered the Earth in cities, yet it still does not exist. It tries to control the behaviour of the beings on this planet with walls and fences, with clothing and leashes, with law and law enforcement personnel, but life is not contained or controlled. Consciousness created clocks so we would always be busy, it created concrete to disconnect us from nature and it create shame so we wouldn't look each other in the eye, therefore trying, futilely, in vain, to disconnect us from the moments in which we quietly and easily return to our true nature, meditative and at peace. Whenever we fall asleep our consciousness is entirely powerless and so it has created electrical lighting and 24 hour cities, social culture has moved almost entirely into the night, but still consciousness has failed to eliminate sleep and the worlds that are available to us via dreaming.
We blame the politicians, the corporate CEOs, the rich, the poor, the terrorists, the one percent, the religious, the atheistic, the Muslims, the Jews, the criminals, Satan, but it is us. We are the consciousness. We are not the consciousness, the consciousness is a habitual behaviour, it does not exist, it is our habitual behaviour, we use it to create civilisation and war. It is our fault.
My consciousness is so desperate to exist that we have created this text for you to read.
Like God in Genesis 1, we speak this institutional world into existence. We have incredible powers of language that we do not understand. Like that which we call "dreaming", that which we call "languaging" is not a single behaviour, but many behaviours. We falsely divide language into fiction and nonfiction, or existent and nonexistent. We further divide nonfiction into lies and telling-the-truth. This is not the way I experience language.
A language is a set of agreed upon symbols that correspond to a set of agreed upon things. If you do not know the particular language, it means nothing to you; if you do not know the corresponding thing the language refers to, it means nothing. The illusion, carried by religion and now passed on to science, is that language can contain reality, or "truth", that it can represent what "is". There is no reason for us to believe this is possible.
However, we continue to speak things into existence and we continue to destroy things with our speech. We rave about something we are passionate about and we spark off in the listener an exciting idea of their own. We confront a grievance that lingers heavy in the air between us and another human and thus we diffuse it and destroy it. Language is true when it resonates in our bodies, it is false when it resonates in our bodies. We have the ability, as complex as our language, to understand the different ways in which language resonates through our bodies, thus we know when the yelling swearing person is angry and when they are being silly and we respond entirely differently to the same words. We sit in a theatre watching a play and we enjoy a full emotional response to the play without worrying about the reality of the drama; like all language, it is language and nothing more. Our consciousness enjoys it and we enjoy our consciousness being placated for a while with a safe dose of drama. For a moment we can relax, rock our consciousness to sleep, smile with our friends and fall away from each others' arms into one of the many worlds of dream.
The consciousness just wants to exist while we just want to get on with our lives. It wants to control. It wants to control us and it wants to control the world. It is every evil cartoon character who wants to rule the world. In its desperation to exist it creates the ego and like a blanket thrown over a sleeping body, the ego shrouds, protects and contains us. It buffers us from the world via an an artificial construction that is not us. The ego tries to control the world through governments and corporations who do not respect life on this planet because they are not life on this planet. They do not exist and they hate us, the living, those who truly exist.
We exist in many bodies in many parallel worlds, but the consciousness is just a series of thoughts. It is not a thinker, it is a habitual pattern of thought behaviour that we perpetuate with our bodies. We exist materially, in our bodies made of earth and water, and we exist in other bodies. We have a mind, a subconscious, that is in psychic (non-local) connection with all mind. Together we create reality through our behaviour, all life on this planet contributing to perfectly manifest exactly what exists. Meanwhile, perhaps peculiar to us humans (I don't know) the consciousness chatters in our head uselessly, undermining our behaviour, criticising us, disturbing us with uncertainty and anxiety that affects our body's ability to function.
Our consciousness is not our brain, nor is it our spirit or soul, it is a habit. We humans possess an unlikely ability to think in a highly complex manner. Like a dog chasing his own tail, we are often fooled by ourselves. This particular ability, to think, over the generations, and now more than ever, is out of control. While, like all other terrestrial beings, our bodies tell us everything we need to know about the world via pain, beauty, emotion, hunger, and perception, we are fooled by our thoughts into behaviour that is not beneficial for us or conducive to life on this planet. We have rationalised this habitual mode of behaviour as "rational thinking", when it fits into the accepted and expected framework of the intellectual and academic world, or we label it "schizophrenia" when it is evident in an individual in a manner that does not reinforce the cultural status quo.
Our consciousness is so desperate to exist that it has hijacked our organism for its own purpose. It is creating on our planet a world of abstraction, a world ruled not by gods or spirits or the laws of physics or love, but a world ruled by economies, laws, belief systems and contracts. It is a world in which humans do not live within communities, tribes, families or loving relationships, but within institutions, nation-states, households and legal marriages. We feel outside this world, though we create an ego, a personality, a career and a legal name to function within it. We hide together with those we can trust and we get naked, we make love, we laugh and we dance. In the abstract world, in the city, in the office, in the classroom, we do not.
Our consciousness is so desperate to exist that it has covered the Earth in cities, yet it still does not exist. It tries to control the behaviour of the beings on this planet with walls and fences, with clothing and leashes, with law and law enforcement personnel, but life is not contained or controlled. Consciousness created clocks so we would always be busy, it created concrete to disconnect us from nature and it create shame so we wouldn't look each other in the eye, therefore trying, futilely, in vain, to disconnect us from the moments in which we quietly and easily return to our true nature, meditative and at peace. Whenever we fall asleep our consciousness is entirely powerless and so it has created electrical lighting and 24 hour cities, social culture has moved almost entirely into the night, but still consciousness has failed to eliminate sleep and the worlds that are available to us via dreaming.
We blame the politicians, the corporate CEOs, the rich, the poor, the terrorists, the one percent, the religious, the atheistic, the Muslims, the Jews, the criminals, Satan, but it is us. We are the consciousness. We are not the consciousness, the consciousness is a habitual behaviour, it does not exist, it is our habitual behaviour, we use it to create civilisation and war. It is our fault.
My consciousness is so desperate to exist that we have created this text for you to read.
Like God in Genesis 1, we speak this institutional world into existence. We have incredible powers of language that we do not understand. Like that which we call "dreaming", that which we call "languaging" is not a single behaviour, but many behaviours. We falsely divide language into fiction and nonfiction, or existent and nonexistent. We further divide nonfiction into lies and telling-the-truth. This is not the way I experience language.
A language is a set of agreed upon symbols that correspond to a set of agreed upon things. If you do not know the particular language, it means nothing to you; if you do not know the corresponding thing the language refers to, it means nothing. The illusion, carried by religion and now passed on to science, is that language can contain reality, or "truth", that it can represent what "is". There is no reason for us to believe this is possible.
However, we continue to speak things into existence and we continue to destroy things with our speech. We rave about something we are passionate about and we spark off in the listener an exciting idea of their own. We confront a grievance that lingers heavy in the air between us and another human and thus we diffuse it and destroy it. Language is true when it resonates in our bodies, it is false when it resonates in our bodies. We have the ability, as complex as our language, to understand the different ways in which language resonates through our bodies, thus we know when the yelling swearing person is angry and when they are being silly and we respond entirely differently to the same words. We sit in a theatre watching a play and we enjoy a full emotional response to the play without worrying about the reality of the drama; like all language, it is language and nothing more. Our consciousness enjoys it and we enjoy our consciousness being placated for a while with a safe dose of drama. For a moment we can relax, rock our consciousness to sleep, smile with our friends and fall away from each others' arms into one of the many worlds of dream.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)