Face Me

November 21, 2009

In the mornings where the moon fails shining, or on your own terms. I will not easily be erased or eliminated, temporarily circumvented at best. I am a creeping pestilence that will taint and turn your blood sour as winged maggots come to consume you. I am a decaying corps dreaming of a way out, leaning on stilts and riding unicycles through your sleeping years. Your rotting memories are transmorphing into cheerily over saturated undertones that vaguely cover the gloom that slipped under your regretted yesterdays. I am, have become, a wind blown rickety picket sign stabbing deeply into the icy earth of your defaced self centered dementia. I am the undead brain spasm that will convulse you into a convoluted lack of delusion. You will fuck me in silent nightmares and awake screaming and impregnated by the deformity of my triumphant will. This is not a reflected metaphor, I mean all of this literally. Someday somewhere you will wake up and I will be sitting serenely on the edge of your bed. My mouth will slowly turn cheek-ward and my smile will become your horror as you erupt inwardly by the pain of your own ignorance. This is not a test or a day dream, the something coming for you is so far beyond your conception that your fathom will fail and die a shrieking death of impunity. I am your death bed, and for you I lie waiting.


Long long ago in a deep darkly wooded forrest, a young rabbit girl was on a journey to find some poison berries. This was of course, when the rabbit and wolf peoples of the earth where dominant species. On her way to a particular stretch of wood where the rare poison berries grew abundantly at that time of year, the rabbitress was spotted by a fiercely strapping and viscously cunning wolf boy, now waking from a short spell of hibernation and achingly hungry. Quiet and cautiously he stalked her on her path, drawing near and nearer to her as she trod hopingly along the forrest floor. As he stalked closer and closer he became more and more enchanted with the quirks of her merry bunny way, singing to herself quietly and jumping merrily with her fluffy bunny bottom shaking adorably behind her as she went. He prowled and stalked, closer and closer until anti-climactically he howled out rather shyly, “pardon me miss, do you know the time of day per chance?” In a sudden move to make small talk as apposed to devouring her. She looked up at the sun to check the time, confused and rather taken aback by his sudden emergence from the wood, but as she looked back to him she became entranced by the handsome lack of ferociousness in the charming look he gave her. Forgetting his question she respond timidly, “excuse me”, he then burst forth with some meaningless small talk about the great abundance and variety of mushrooms abound in the forrest that year. Before the two of them knew what had happened they had fallen madly in love, and tried desperately to conceive a child together out of the immense adoration that without warning had befallen them, being only slightly saddened by the lack of conception. Their love for each other was so grand and profound that soon all the other bunny and wolf peoples got wind of their great and epic love for each other, and began more commonly seeking out such previously unthinkable relations. Specialty establishments began popping up all over the forest, catering specifically to this new niche of singles night life. Eventually it seemed, the trend grew so common for bunny and wolf peoples to mate, despite the obvious lack of offspring, that to see a bunny with a bunny or a wolf with a wolf, was considered ultra passe and unfashionable, and as the years went by a general decline in the genetic diversity required to continue each species as such occurred, so they slowly devolved into what we now know as the common bunny and wolf. Though every now and then in the declining forests, one will see a bunny and a wolf getting on rather oddly well, and those in the know smile at the remembrance of the old wives tale about the great love between the bunny girl and the wolf boy.

It Isn’t What It Is

September 22, 2009


“You can run as fast as you want. But you can never outrun the cliché”

The Urban Dictionary contains twenty varied definitions of the phrase: “It is what it is”. Some are dismissive, many point to similar moments of relative appropriateness.

Predominately, I strongly agree with the following:

“A phrase that seems to simply state the obvious but actually implies helplessness.”

“What every last ignorant person in the universe uses to signify an inevitable situation.”

“A trite, overused and infuriatingly meaningless cliche that is utilized by provincials who think they are adding some deep, meaningful insight during a discussion when all they are offering is senseless, unwarranted repetitiveness to what would otherwise be a far better conversation had they not shown the shallowness of the gene pool they spawned from by using this asininely useless and redundant phrase to begin with.”

In my experience the seemingly witty meme is one of the most vapid and rapidly widespread I have encountered. I cannot recall the context I originally came across it, but it seems as though overnight I began hearing it everywhere by everyone, with no common denominator to trace it to. I found all types of people saying it seemingly suddenly.

There are several aspects of this phrase and its presence in the fabric of our language that bother me. The first supersedes the existence of this or any particular phrase, but serves as a prime example that illustrates to me how commonly many thoughts and ideas embed themselves into cultural validity without a hint of conscious consideration by the majority of those whom put it into use. People seldom question the reality around them, which is precisely why reality is what it is around them, it is their own mental neglect, laziness and abandonment of responsibility that contributes to the reality that surounds them.

Things are what they are because you have allowed them to be. Nothing is just what it is, everything is the result of conditional circumstance, which in some small or great way you have had influence over, and thereby contributed to that reality being as it is. For me when I hear someone utter the phrase, I hear someone saying subconsciously “It is not my fault, I’m not responsible and there is nothing I can do about it!” A widespread intellectual coping mechanism that nurtures the mindless sense of excusism that permeates the landscape of the conversational wasteland and serves to bolster the widespread mindlessness that has infected our common culture.

What I find most troubling is its capacity for self restraint and disempowerment in the way it binds ones hands from taking any action. “It is what it is, so there is nothing I can do.” In most cases there is in fact something you can do to alter any currently dissatisfactory circumstance. The hard part is getting off your lazy ass and actually doing it. “It is what it is.” is a sort of mind couch to sit your fat lazy mental ass on so you can do absolutely nothing and avoid conscious responsibility.

Things are never what they are! Things are the current state of a gradual accumulation of conditions or knowledge. An iPhone isn’t what it is. It began with the telegraph and the record player and became an iPhone due to the efforts of people who do not make excuses but push technology further. Saying it is what it is to dismiss potentiality, to deny what things are capable of becoming. Yes, things are what they are in the moment, but the phrase doesn’t go “It is what it is, right now!” Imagine for me if you will the first Northerner disagreeing with the state of slavery in the south, and the plantation owner just saying “It is what it is!” Perhaps then you would be outraged at its use from our current societal vantage.

There is also the logically absurd instances people use it to blatantly disregard consideration or abandon any effort to justify doing what they know is unacceptable. A distraction method used to bring ones attention away from the sheer asininity of ones behavior by directing attention to the utter illogicality of using the phrase to excuse the current circumstance.

There are ofcocarse circumstances in life where it can be appropriately utilized. The following definition from the urban dictionary encapsulates just such a use:

“A phase used to instill a sense of acceptance in a situation. It is used to remind one of the unalterable elements of life.”

There are times when the acceptance of current situations is the healthy and appropriate disposition to take, and such a phrase has a way of illustrating just such an occasion. Personally I feel the negative aspects of the coinage outweigh the positive by ten to one.

Lord Zero

September 21, 2009

Les Mystères de la franc-maçonnerie dévoilés

Les Mystères de la franc-maçonnerie dévoilés

I have referred to him minimally in my work though he looms large in my mind. Lord Zero is a tittle of my own coinage, but he is known throughout history and mythology by many names. The Ouroboros in Egypt, the Sanskrit Anant, Indian Supreme Brahman or Hindu goddess Aditi are a few prominent examples. My personal favorite representations for this inconceivable concept would have to be Cthulhu and Tiamat. All of these names refer in some way to infinity. To attach male or female associations to such a concept may be a bit of an unavoidable error, as infinity would include both male and female aspects, and may lie beyond such dualistic thinking. For me infinity relates to the Hindu or Hermetic myths of the world egg from which chaos and ether arise. The egg broken and duality becomes manifest, spirit-matter becomes spirit and matter, male and female, light and dark, ad infinitum. Another important correlation to consider is the division between the conscious and subconscious mind, as we know in this instance, each counterpart is but an aspect of the other, much like the left and right hemispheres of the brain. When it comes to our brain we are less prone to let such a division elude us from the essence of it’s totality, as we generally consider it a unit, a whole, a sum. All of this says to me that the sum of our reality stems from this elusive and ungraspable concept of infinity. The closest conception of “god” I can fathom. I use that word as far removed from the myriad of common religious connotations associated as possible. Essentially, infinity was divided and polarity became manifest, I see this as the basis of our experience of “reality”. Essentially we are “god”, we are infinity- but in order to engender experience, duality was a necessity. As Bill Hicks put it brilliantly.. “We are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively. There’s no such thing as death, life is only a dream, and we’re the imagination of ourselves.” Duality may be a necessary illusion, but an illusion none the less, all is one and it’s only a ride. As we emerge from the darkness of this illusion we are becoming more aware of the interconnected nature that underlies our reality. I find this apparent in the frequency in which I see the idea being presented in various forums and other media occurrences. Another instance that bares evidence of this to me is the deterioration of the solid traditional male and female roles in society. That is not to say we are headed toward some bleak asexual future. Masculinity and femininity are principals not absolutes. regardless of our inherent gender, we all enact and utilize each of these seeming opposites. Receptive and assertive principals are apparent constantly in conversation; one listening one speaking. As you read this you are essentially enacting the feminine principal regardless of your gender. The essentiality of this dynamic interplay permeates every aspect of existence, and stems back from the throne of Lord Zero, as I have written in my poems. I have also stated that I am but a fool, as the fool represents infinity and absolute potentiality. We are all this fool, the trickster whom tricked ourself into the delight of existence.

Pits and Acorns

September 19, 2009

Illustrations from the Nuremberg Chronicle, by Hartmann Schedel (1440-1514)

Illustrations from the Nuremberg Chronicle, by Hartmann Schedel (1440-1514)

There seems to be no escape from the aching feeling in the pit of my stomach, that the relatively immediate future holds in store life altering, perception shattering events for collective humanity. The feeling is not new, it arises from a long planted seed, and has been nurtured by copious amounts of reason and observation. I certainly am an emotional person, constantly attempting to fine tune my intuition. I am however no stranger to logic and other more mundane yet indispensable tools at getting to the heart of any subject. Discernment in such matters often leaves ones head spinning in the seas of overloaded information trying to decipher the truth, where everyone is in the know. The truth is there is none, reality is dynamic and the universe is one step beyond logic. One of the most dominant ego cogs of self delusion is the deep subconscious need to be, “in the know”. We all want to have the world around us pinned down and properly allocated. Segmented, labeled and explained away until the sky stops falling and things stay in their place. Reality knows better, reality knows enough to perceive it’s own illusory nature and lack of permanence, the sky is always falling!

It’s no exaggeration that Chicken Little was wildly paranoid, or that the end times have been impending since the begin times, but that is an excuse not readily capable of wiping sweat from the brow from anyone remotely aware of the world around them. I’m referring to those of you whom have looked up from your own false ego long enough to grok my allusions. I mean not to say whatsoever that the sky is actually falling in a remote sense of apocalyptic metaphor, if there is one thing I trust however blindly, it is that life will go on, just perhaps not as we know it.

What prompted me to externalize this train of thought at this particular instance, is the way I continue to bury my head in my own hopes and dreams for the future, aspirations that run on an operating system that may soon be defunct. As I breath in the air of uncertainty I challenge myself perpetually to come to terms with it, to understand at the root level and brace myself to walk the fire. These hopes and schemes of mine and us all are the very fluid within the Artificial Womb. Over the years I have referred this concept to many, among other pertinent ideas found within it’s source document. I will quote it here for the persistent.

“From the time a person leaves its mother’s womb, its every effort is directed towards building, maintaining, and withdrawing into artificial wombs, various sorts of substitute protective devices or shells.”

I have noted over the years that this is why the helm of humanity is blindly left to those whom take it. Grossly we all just want our little sheltered worlds of hopes dreams and aspirations, we are all undiscovered rock stars and secret masters of whatever subterfuge we delude ourselves with. But as the western world view sets itself up for hypocrisy with it’s dualistic view, so do I. I have come to terms with this fact based on my observations of the essential unity masked behind apparent polarity. In this way, hypocrisy and self delusion may be an essential proponent for our experience of reality altogether.

Life is a ride and the slow graduation we have been clicking upward, strapped into our own little cars of this roller coaster. It’s bound to come crashing downward displacing the pits of all our stomachs, and tearing the sky down with it. I look forward to riding it out, but I must ask myself the question… “Shouldn’t I be stocking water and canned goods?”