go baby, go go

Garbage - Cherry Lips

 

with a blessing and a curse
that both are too sweet
to make a voice or a need
go with a meaning, without
just take your purse and keys
and heart and little things
go have a wonderful new world
it exists and grows itself
believe!
buy into it
I cannot explain
I cannot give proof
I'd have to kill you first
I know
its tangle twine in a world
of agendas and races
but you cannot win
no one wins, just go
and make your loss
a grand beautiful thing
it will become, somehow
a win, you have to trust
the struggle within

raising kraken

 

will you live with a
kraken with its arms wrapped
around the furniture, floor
with its tentacles that creep in
louder stronger than before
so easy to slip down
knots and drown inside the puddle
that is all the creature needs
to slither inside your head
whispering, home sweet home

will you walk with it to
bright blue lights and turn
when it gets bored and just
presses down onto your neck
to guide you into bent alleys
to turn you into a messy wedge
of parts facing around
what used to be direction
with tentacles which used
to be your eyes long ago
stilling doubt, adopting
all the blanks in your soul
will you return

have you reasons to believe
that once a day once a night
a kraken can grow in the place
where you go to hide
just to lie down and breathe
slick out an arm and a leg
just to see
how soon you will succumb
to the idea of living without a
reason to find a place to hide
and the kraken will smile
with one arm

 

spinning

 

Each time I look back at my life, I get hypnotized. By all the great things I did, by all the terrible things I did, by all the angles of myself that are fascinating and complex and non-existent. and time sits by my side laughing so hard, tears rush down her eyes. I want to spin faster than time, I want to slow down so I can dissect exactly how I do it, so I can make it happen whenever I choose, instead of struggling to breaking point each time.

im warring with time here, the meaning of minutes that run away so quickly, more minutes watching steadily over me, the minutes leaving under crossfire, the minutes that become hours and days and years, growing giant and scary and loud, the minutes that become seconds and disappear, leaving no traces behind, perfect crimes that live on as punishment in my cursed memory. Time as I had always understood it, as I had been taught for years by an illusion of common agreement is being taken away and replaced with something black and hurt. not harmful, not helpful, just change, a battle without reason or light, with an outcome requiring intense faith, that used to be time for me.

I want time to be distraught, and decisive, or at least have the courtesy to be transparent. Instead of morphing constantly, leaving me uneasy and alone and ever unbalanced. Loneliness is usually my privilege but now im getting addicted, forgetting how my tongue works, forgetting smiles and recognition, forgetting regular courtesies, forgetting to wait, to touch, to go where im wanted, to leave when im asked, im getting slow. Simple movements are becoming projects, the roads are getting closer each day than my mind. The left side of my head hurts, my periods of drama grow further and further in my field of view, grow quicker to envelope me in full 3-d immersion of dispassionate fantasy.

And I know it will all get right once I figure out this new time. Once I have it mapped out in detail in my head, once I learn how to work it in a non-linear fashion, to empty every knowledge of time I was taught, and track this new creature step by step into submission. And I do see the potential, I see what cannot be imagined slowly descending into my field of vision if I only accepted it, without questioning, without judging, going against everything I stand for.

Thats the stumbling block, giving up all concepts of ID I have so far made my own, giving up all the holding I thought necessary, I did to pretend I was myself, and to accept with as much unravelling time as I can, that I will never be myself. Because my self only exists in the fully flawed perceptions of those who reflect light off me.

While its a comforting ID, a solid being with lots of excellent qualities, lots of hated features, lots of big worldly adult things, a job, a house, all the whatsitcalleds, it grows heavy. It gets cancerous at times, and foolish at others, it cannot even turn around without some telltale object or other falling off, its a big important person with goals and problems and meanings and gravity and I am just a transparent and temporary flitterbug. Spinning until I get dizzy and falling down to sleep for twenty years. Or was it just a minute...

 

riddle me this

 

care lives at the center of the puzzle, the maze that looks alike but is not. it builds fountains and views from gathered pocket change, it stays clean and calm and sure, it stays inside the center with a shell that cost a fortune. sleeps each night with a teddy bear and always has a hand to hold. the risk is lower, the gift all the time in the world. make of it what you will.

change lives at the edge, seedy and unsure and unrelenting, with cars peeling off paint, with fronts chipped and bleeding, but you can bet they run like any other wind, with an extra Heisenberg principle thrown in, the risk is higher, highway too close, the gift an alertness that cannot rush into closed eyes. make of it what you will.

if life were a fixed thimble of time, it will rationalize well, it will support regular swingset push and fall and push, but im not sure life bends unless we exert a terrific force cost half-a-thimble, well worth the price. take it from an addicted gambler, or take it from a builder, but take it before its time to go.

 

fake and real

 

illusions only work in specific control sets where the atmosphere is exactly so saturated, there are x people around, only these angles have light, there are y walls around, there is only so much input allowed, the expected output is specifically defined. its a lot like an experiment, of which you already know the outcome you want, and you set the stage to produce exactly that outcome. so a failed experiment in essence.

an experiment, by definition, should be unbiased to have any chance of achieving a useful output, to be able to point out as impartial a direction as it can.

illusions stimulate the imagination and have powerful feel-good factors, but no defined progress. they are addictive crack for the emotional world but have no measurable role in the physical world.

illusions are of course necessary, the physical world is a primitive dull thing with no personality whatsoever. it is allowed to exist only because there is no known way of getting rid of it.

in places of defined recurring physical features and rarely changing circumstances, people take refuge in the illusive world to add an increasingly necessary meaning to minute differences in daily life. it grows worlds that do not exist simply by having everyone agree it exists. like the emperors new clothes. a city is an excellent example.

in places where nature reigns, of hardships just to survive, where the environment is extreme and untamed. with constant physical demands, no time for tv, internet, no knowledge of alternate realities, illusions die.

along with them dies slowly, the acceptance of change that cannot be seen or felt, but exists in larger scales. life becomes an immediate event, no question about existance or its reason. the size of todays world makes this view regressive. in short, it has many major features of our evolutionary past.

our purpose is to strike a balance between the two, the physical and the illusory.

both worlds have only one factor that changes - our physical world. often we do not choose it, it chooses us. sometimes we are ideal for one kind of world or the other, our internal balance harmonizing with what the environment offers, balancing out reality and illusion evenly. other times there is a large scale imbalance that makes for a world composed purely of illusion or reality.

both imbalances drown out our sixth sense and make us behave like animals. if you have a waterfall roaring behind your ears all the time, decision making becomes madly impulsive, random and largely momentary, with repetitive long term consequences. left to our instincts, we all tend to move around in circles.

I don't agree either with the theory that we should be a product of our environments or that we should try to make our environments a product of us. our objective, with the responsibility of sentience, is to establish a working, mutually beneficial relationship with our environments without losing the uniqueness or the value we both contain as complex seperate entities. this is easier in physical worlds because nature helps us learn.

but in increasingly man made, heavily illusory worlds, symbiosis is a constant decision to be made and unmade and learned from. We should simply change environment if we are unable to harmonize. I have never understood the point or value of living constantly afraid or unhappy.

 

Tribute to a Thestral

 

To a man who bought me my first book. and then bought me a book every day and read to me until I could read to myself.

To a man who always returned from the market with at least one rotten vegetable, he never bought what was fresh, he only bought what he wanted

To a man who took ridiculous pride in even my smallest achievements, who taught me to take pride in even my smallest tasks

To a man who disapproved of all my decisions but only opposed the small ones

To a man so imperfect, he instilled in me a lasting contempt for perfection

To a man who taught me persistance with a glass of milk every night. He warmed it and brought it to my desk, sweetened. Long after I kept telling him I cannot digest milk and I hate sugar with it. He never argued and he never stopped. He figured he could fix all my problems if I would just drink my damn milk each night

To a man who could never be there for me because he was too busy breaking his own heart each time I broke mine.

To a man with a voice so sweet I cried whenever he sang

To a man who loved me so unconditionally he set all standards for love in my heart. who set up an invisible force field to protect me from illusions simply by showing me what real love meant

To a man who was so afraid that his madness was all he had to give to me

 

the trailing edge of a curse

 

which ran jagged and long and endless and had its claws dug deep into my forearm, that waited for me to give up. I have no idea what I was doing that I was supposed to stop, how on earth do I explain I am the same drunk or sober, I am the same here or gone, how on earth do you reason with a fever? speak to it in a language of humanity, say I am not going to succumb, because I am simply not weak enough. how do I gently unfurl the claws dug so deep in my forearm one by one, careful not to break the nails, and ask it to leave?

how can I possibly explain that I have already had a grand monster come and gouge its greedy hands directly into my heart, drag it far beyond my reach, just to see if it'll bounce back? it did. and after surviving that, how do I find scratches on my arms anything but amusing, how do I take shivers and constant irritation seriously? how do I waste time or money on elaborate defenses when I know they are all fucking cellophane? which way lies the great scary beast that will teach me lifes "serious" lessons, the ones that can make or break a few bones?

where do I sit for a nice view of the horrors of straying from correctness and manners? which place has the right rules for me to understand the enormity of my daily mistakes, to make me repent jaywalking and living exactly as I please? where are the scissors with which I can cut the right shape of my personality to suit random expectations?

tell me how to understand the rules of life explained to me from any place other than my own partially paralyzed heart? which rulebook can you hope to throw at me and make a dent? how many minutes of my life do you imagine I can waste on any demand without respect, or any exchange without value? how many wrongs do you think I will forgive or remember?

why will I not self-destruct every day when I have already aged beyond my complete lifespan? I really don't understand what you hope to take away from me when I have lost everything and lived. I chose all my fates, and will continue to do so as long as there is breath in my body. its really not up to you, have the sense to leave me alone,

 

excuses, excuses

 

so tell me how far you'll walk, if you understand, it isn't you thats gonna save the world, its that long forgotten dream of yours, that came alive when you were asleep and said so plainly, this is what you were born for, this is who you must always try to be.

do you buy into the illusion of control, so ludicrous in a world of infinite possiblities. did you know, life goes on just fine when you're not around, the world will spin just the same, and the whole dire inferno they made to keep you waiting forever, was a damned lie, a lie of the damned, with streaming cloth lights for fire and an operatic tenor singing in a vise.

can you accept, believe, theres more than one truth. that they all don't really care, if you live or die, that they sold you a beautiful heaven, then hid the good parts and called it hell, hell sells, they made the sale for money, and they want you to sell. too. because they can only make one truth if they share, and they are afraid you may make many more truths if you don't become. them.

can you believe, we were all born you. that somewhere out there in the world is a black hole that cannot be seen, it shows a beautiful mirage, and sucks souls clean. they call it "normal". can you believe it survives with a zombie deal, one soul succumbs, and it brings the next, with promises and dreams. can you believe balance is everything, or must you run away, rush inside, be the next to scream.

will you ever admit you know, that dreams only die when you allow someone to kill them for you. do you know, that you too, are someone who has killed a dream, sometimes we are all a rotten people. will you forgive yourself, and whoever killed with you, accept humanity is no perfect race, but filled with great souls, all the same. do you believe all forgiveness begins with you.

will you escape, will you make it. will you keep your legs moving on and on, if you found out, its not really the journey, or the destination, or anything at all that matters, other than the buzz in your feet. will you feel complete. will you hold on to your heaven until they tire and leave. or will you stop, build a cloth fire, and sell, to the next soul in line, without a clue. what means freedom to you?