most of this content was a whole lotta indecipherable crap i scratched onto a bit of paper near my bed upon waking, however that moment between light sleep and conscious clarity made it somewhat difficult to write without feeling as though i was wearing buckets on my hands and had to attempt a delicate chiseling modus operandi, what with the stone tablet and all. what?
i was building a machine that would screen a human being's body for any and all disease or silly business and cut the crucial diagnostic time to near zero, thus allowing one to begin treatment at the most advantageous point in time, near detection; provided of course, one actively seeked to be screened by the machine and how many i could manufacture within feasible limitations.
the cat woke me up before i could get the read outs on the first prototype, which annoyed me greatly and so i spent the better half of my morning being a grouch.
it was so devastating to be cut off like that; the perfect stream of consciousness, where the the level of immersion is so deep that the possibility of an alternate reality ceases to exist as a credible option. the lines are blurred - escapism at it's best. though i do acknowledge the fact that it's not purely escapism because the nature of the dream was evidently powerful enough to erase that tiny bit of doubt that is usually present in most "strange" dreams. and so the dream-like quality itself is removed and you are lent a sharp world where all of your senses work.
where did the red paint go? must have lost it. fire those people and get on the train? where is my wife, where are my shoes?
mind you, my desperation to get the machine built was due to the suspicious lesions i found on my arms, which indicated to me that i may have contracted aids. so yeah, there was that delicious element of panic.
once upon a time, there was a little boy who lived on a tiny island. he didn't have a name, he had a several hundred. the island was just large enough to allow 30 or so people to stand without getting wet. there were no trees, no stones. there was a fire pit in the centre which was only brought to life when the boy had visitors.
and the boy had lots of visitors, mostly they were just passing through; and he'd never ask them where they came from or where they were going. he was content to start that bonfire and admire their world worn faces and smiles. that's what got at him the most, their smiles. they never spoke of things at present, always what had happened and what was to happen. the boy couldn't leave the island, but listening to their stories and studying their faces allowed him to travel, in a way. he didn't think much of it. his heart pumped furiously as he listened.
soon he would become tired.
years and years and the boy had become a man of sorts. he was slight and girlish and the sun couldn't touch his skin. nothing much ever got past his skin anyway, his insides were clean and his heart, accustomed to hammering against his ribcage at nights, steadily nurtured hope with every excited twinge.
his mind was tired however. and each year as different faces appeared his fires had shrunk and burned away pathetically fast. a point came where, when all were gathered around the fire, grinning at each other and the air like idiots, the man tried to coax the embers and finished driftwood sat in the pit; one of the smiling and healthy and colourful faces had gripped his forearm, cold hands, and waved him away with a laugh. a laugh the man once loved, it now hurt him. confused, he took his place just outside the circle, and the laughing face with cold hands lent the fire a strong, roaring life.
the faces spoke of travel without maps. and the man must have made a sound, because all of their eyes were trained on him. you should come with us, they said. and the man smiled maybe his third smile ever, and his vision was blurred by hot hot tears. he moved within the circle and lay close to the fire. he slept and dreamt of the next day when he would finally leave and become one of those smiling faces. he and the other smiling beauties would embark on awesome adventures. he would have friends and wouldn't need frowns or heavy thoughts, it would just be good and how things were meant to be at the beginning. his dreams asked him why he never joined the smiling faces as a boy, and he said that they never asked him, and he didn't feel good enough to intrude anyway. satisfied with his reasoning, the dream led him far and away. the smiling faces watched him as the fire became sleepy and they soon forgot him, the man sleeping and broadcasting his dreams through a small smile.
the man awoke to a dying fire and the dark made the sand look purple. the stars were white points in an unchanging blue blanket. he saw the smiling faces as a silver light, already sat on the horizon. the horror sunk into him and with a dark surprise, he realised his smile was frozen and his jaw was set and his fists were clenched. he dove into the cold purple sand and dug at his anger and stupidity and his frail beliefs and he watched the silver glint a little before disappearing. he tried to make his own getaway, but the sand slipped through his fingers and the water was never really wet enough to hold anything together for very long.
he slept.
strangely, and this is something i dont understand, a lot of straight people have very little imagination and perception when it comes to discerning homosexuality. some of them equate it with sex only, others can see past that .. barely.. to the love part. and most of them stand around scratching their heads, thinking that there MUST be a male female dynamic if a relationship between two human beings were to last beyond a fuck. hence the "who's the man/woman in the relationship?" question.
everyone i have ever known and heard of are here. we gather outside the front gate of the house, on yellow grass and uneven pavement. we stand in a loose circle, eyes on the skies. it is noon and there is a veritable space shower. shooting stars streak across the blue, leaving a gold trail that will stay for good.
this is how we know there is no god. we look to each other and some of us are scared. some of us are impatient. most of us are relieved. we are being told to move forward now.
we’ve spent too much time with our hands pressed to our ears.
this is why the english language is an inadequate vessel for expression.
is a whole lotta maybes and the road to exploding arteries in the brain.
another note, certainty is a delusion. there isn't certainty so much as there isn't chance. they are the same but on different ends of the spectrum. we create certainty based on chances, but if we were to take the certainty and the logic and all of our comforts away, we will naturally get to where we're supposed to be going. without the steep therapy bill lodged in your anus.
it amuses me when people can't differentiate between religion and philosophical thinking. some say that every religion is a singular philosophy. a relevant point - fisting without lube is a religious practice as it requires little more than faith and vague guidelines.
religion is a path with promises and security and beauty and a sense of belonging; this path stretches to the promised land - whatever is the equivalent of heaven in all religions. you're following this road with your trusy book and knowledge of the religion and all it entails, then for a split second, you look over and you see a person stumbling around like an idiot and think to yourself, "what a moron, can't he see that this is the best way? it's all here. it's all pure. you can't deny this, he must be lost". he isn't lost, he's on the philosophical road. its paved with uncertainty and frustration and the enormous pressure of everything that's ever mattered - because this road is different for everyone - and there is no end in sight. there is no promised land, there is no certainty, there is simply accpetance. he knows what road he's on because he thought it into being. he may be stumbling but he's finding things and taking them home
he's adding to himself and he feels good because he'd
forgiven himself and that forgiveness, not in the egotistical sense,
allows him to love himself and free himself because acceptance, as
he's accepted, is a beautiful base from which to jump. jesus moses what's easy and what's worthwhile?
snow white would be all attitude, arse kicking, ball breaking independent fiesty feminist; she wouldn't be innocent or naive. the prince would be voiced by zac efron. the retarded dwarf would be cut out, the queen would have a change of heart halfway through and sing happy songs about diversity and acceptance at the end of the movie with all the characters. the animals would talk and make references to pop culture. the freaky forest scene would be a rainbow CGI montage set to the tunes of keith urban with ashley tisdale screeching the chorus. the hunter's scene would be cut. miley cyrus would do the soundtrack, and the film's name would be changed to slightly tanned and of ambiguous racial heritage and the seven vertically challenged men.
extremely rushed and dodgy first grade nonsense. part dream part dirt bath. rolling.
i have little ambition, but only because of the limitations of earth. put me anywhere else and i'd be more balls to the wall with the things that i do.
i can't be distracted ever; and that's where the trouble comes from. what goes on in my head is infinitely more interesting than that external rubbish everybody keeps harping on about. since i don't have mutant powers, i can't project my fantasies into the real world because i'm an arrogant cunt and i believe they are too fantastical for the world to appreciate. short of moving to another planet, i'm just going to have to deal with chasing earthly, primal pleasures. all i care for is that my senses are buttered up nice and good. i don't care for food but i love drinking, even if it's just water. i like to satisfy addictions. i love to smoke cigarettes, i love anger and fighting but hate excess relative to gluttony. i value sex and affection above all. now all i need are millions for security so i can do what i want and still do nothing.
i crave things that aren't there. to quote, "if we discover a desire within us that nothing in this world can satisfy, we should begin to wonder if perhaps we were created for another world." it can mean a number things, however, reading that, i didn't interpret it as a sign or directive, but rather, a nod of acknowledgment. me and other sensitive cross wired freaks can do fuck all about ourselves, but we are at least aware of what we are. it is a stern admonition.
i tend to gravitate towards things that are beyond your run of the mill human expectations. for instance, i am hoping that aliens abduct me and make me immortal so i can be a galactic pirate.
i strive to distract myself with pleasure because i know the futility. i hope that there is something more. nothing supernatural of course. but something. a leap in evolution or something. i hope i am just pretending to be a human. i hope there is something different.
i am simple. there is no happiness. not even if you snort a white sausage three miles long or down a bag of mushies. there is only sated or starving. saturate your senses in the right stuff and you'll tip the scales in your favour. we exist in a state of deprivation close to torture. for some reason it is acceptable, to be accepted, to be expected. it's the status quo by default. synesthesia makes me feel too much, so i crave deprivation. only because what i am feeling is wrong for me. i hope to chance upon the right set of things that will satisfy me. then maybe a while after that my want for something else will spur the aliens into action and they may finally pick me up.
we are simplistic, stupid creatures. we create surrogates for everything because we are afraid of ourselves and too busy staring with disbelief and what we think is a world that can be perfected; a world much too big and small at the same time, a world of disappointment. is that it? probably not, we overestimate ourselves. could be that we are looking at the world through a straw but we have nothing to measure our scope against in order to make a decent comparison.
i'll try not to spend the better half of my youth acting as a deranged scavenger; putting away for a rainy day that i won't live to see, 'cause that rainy day is the day i expire. we built this shit and now we get to step back and admire our poor architecture.
my goals only seem insurmountable because i am swimming against a powerful current while most others are comfortably floating downstream like obnoxious turds. maybe this is why i don't like the taste of salmon. my subconscious deems the animal too noble for a dinner plate.
if we could just let go and stop blindsiding ourselves the days would be easier to run through. it's not that we set out to deceive; it's that we actually bother to put useless rules in place with every intent to bend and break them as we see fit. it's only a formality.
there's not much point. we are all made of the same things and generally respond to certain things in a group mindset rather than stand-out individual opinions. diversity is lost a lot of the time in favour of the mob. we react to stimuli in almost the same way, so who is it we are trying to appease. maybe that's the wrong question. what is it that we are trying to make ourselves into?
