Sea of Faces

The Walled Mindmaps

2011-09-02T22:59:00.000+10:00

Mir Age | Jabalpur, India

Composite image: Top thumbnail imprint from wall adjacent to the main painting, top segment of the photograph is of a fan between the two walls, blue wall consisting of main work

Hi!SenseOveReProduction | Melbourne, Australia

Apologies for the incomplete image and for it's abysmal quality.

Colourful Language/Idealculator | Nagpur, India

Apologies for the patchwork and the distortions in the image.

Exakta Varex II A

2011-08-07T21:20:00.003+10:00

The photograph is taken by a beautiful emblem of mechanical precision - for more from the machine please visit it's dedicated Flickr set.

Magically Misinformed Magicians

2011-08-04T23:09:00.004+10:00

Literally

2011-08-04T23:09:00.001+10:00

Emo Wizards

2011-08-04T23:08:00.003+10:00

Harry Ohm!

2011-08-04T23:08:00.001+10:00

Strictly Speaking

2011-08-04T23:07:00.002+10:00

Wordplay

2011-08-04T23:07:00.001+10:00

Stardust Desert

2011-08-04T23:06:00.002+10:00

Multimedia

2011-08-04T23:06:00.001+10:00

Hard Hat

2011-08-04T23:05:00.002+10:00

2011-07-25T13:24:00.003+10:00

Habilis: The Ape who looked into his mind and saw the anagram of a spine.

http://soundcloud.com/habilis

Hero

2011-07-25T04:41:00.000+10:00

...and they say that a hero will save us.
Once the babees let go of him.

Crakaraoke

2011-06-18T16:08:00.002+10:00

Psychogentics

2011-06-18T16:08:00.001+10:00

SK 1 and 2 TZ

2011-06-18T16:07:00.001+10:00

End of Reason Sale

2011-06-18T16:06:00.001+10:00

Revelations

2011-06-18T16:03:00.000+10:00

D.range Or How I learnt to stop worrying about Love or the Bomb.

2011-06-07T22:40:00.000+10:00

Being a quantum mechanic, I find myself possessing a quarky sense of humour.

You square the product of pi and a radius to determine a circle.

There is a lot of rounding off around these corners.

What happened to the physicist's mind prior to diving deep?

It walked the planck.

What's the slang for 'shrink'?

Bitch doktor

Why did the schizophrenic cross the road?

To meet his friend.

Why did the schizophrenic cross the road?

His friend wasn't there.

What did the schizophrenic tell the psychiatrist?

"We need help."

What was the psychiatrist's reply?

"Yes we do."

What's a bad idea?

A philosopher stoned.

What's the spell used by the linguistic mystic to raise the dead?

'Manifesto'

What do dead Tibetans do?

Write a book.

What do alive Tibetans do?

Read the book.

Why do smokers always flock around Buddha?

He has the light, man.

Why did Buddha cross the road?

He lost his mind.

Why did Ananda cross the road?

To bring Buddha back.

Why did Ananda fail to do so?

He saw the light. Two of them infact.

Why do Hindu's believe in re-incarnation?

Well, to begin with, they aren't grounded.

What's common between Romans and academics?

They both like to cross examine ideas.

What's the proof of heaven?

Burkhas on Earth.

Why should you make fun of religion?

For history has taught us that if you take it too seriously it makes you cross.

Who in their right minds is a communist?

Who shot the Sheriff?

The Deputy.

Who shot the Deputy?

Eric Clapton.

Who is a well-tuned twisted genius?

Why did Lao Tzu sit on a bull?

If Bull sit on him, make no sense.

What's a far fetched idea?

Extra-terrestrials.

What's a heavy assumption?

Humanity.

"An Unidentified flying saucer was reportedly seen hovering near a waffle restaurant in southern Texas that is frequented by astronauts, aeronautical engineers and other arial craft experts" reports David Wilcock.

What do you do after you get an arts degree?

Hop over to the other side of the money laundering business.

Pixel Ping Pong

2011-05-31T18:35:00.002+10:00

Two centres that are equidistant from a point of observation are emitting two different waveforms. One emits a high frequency (white) wave whereas the other produces an equally low (black) one. Now, upon reception, the high frequency emitting centre would seem to be closer than it's lower counterpart, or, if they were known to be equidistant, appear to be bigger than the latter.

Chiarascuro and others such biatches.

Fido

2011-05-26T11:45:00.004+10:00

There, floating drunk amidst this sea of information, putting it together, how, now, some bow to the row, wow, amazement, whatever hits you from this melting bubbling pot of derangement.

New Weave Psychedelic Speaker

2011-05-26T11:45:00.003+10:00

Cattlefish

2011-05-26T11:39:00.003+10:00

Goldfish's view of a cat jumping in it's bowl or perhaps it's that trip a crab goes through prior to being digested by a cuttlefish, or it could just represent meeting a carnivore - or maybe, just maybe, it's the guise of beauty.

Hypothesise not Anesthetise

2011-05-26T11:33:00.002+10:00

If you can close the eyes then you my friend are hypnotized.

AfriCon PeepLe

2011-05-19T11:31:00.001+10:00

2011-04-08T18:50:00.002+10:00

One Cell short of a Brain

2011-04-08T18:40:00.001+10:00

Conversationull / Telerevised

2011-04-08T18:39:00.003+10:00

Divine Recession

2011-04-08T18:39:00.002+10:00

Hip-Hopper

2011-04-08T18:38:00.001+10:00

Phase/State Transition

2011-04-08T18:22:00.002+10:00

Sound and Shadows . . .

2011-04-08T18:22:00.001+10:00

foiled

2011-04-08T18:21:00.002+10:00

Fried Egg

2011-04-08T18:20:00.000+10:00

Watch what your throat nose.

2011-04-08T18:19:00.003+10:00

the Sandpaiper

2011-04-08T18:18:00.000+10:00

Erode your ideals . . .

What do you Sea?

2011-04-08T18:16:00.001+10:00

Face recognition software

2011-04-08T18:15:00.000+10:00

Pi Mae

Pornographic Priestess

2011-04-08T18:14:00.001+10:00

It takes dignity to be a genuine pervert.

March on Fascism

2011-04-08T18:12:00.001+10:00

You can't kill and idea but you can conquer it.

Roses and Shattering Glass

2011-03-31T23:33:00.003+11:00

I hate to say we love you.

Trial and Horrors

2011-03-19T20:38:00.001+11:00

Just errors through fears.

Close encounters of the Theocratic kind

2011-02-03T20:43:00.002+11:00

Bureau Rats

2011-02-03T20:41:00.001+11:00

Brain Teasing humour

2011-02-03T14:33:00.002+11:00

Chemikazi | Coming Soon
Music that you listen triggers some kind of response.

Superstar Deejays

2011-02-03T04:24:00.001+11:00

Human Timagination

2011-02-03T04:23:00.002+11:00

Last Words

2011-01-31T21:55:00.001+11:00

For those unfamiliar with Indian mythology, Godsay was the man who relieved Mohandas of his earthly burdens.

2011-01-31T16:16:00.005+11:00

Download here biatches!

We are the Knife

2011-01-23T18:58:00.003+11:00

Welcome aboard My Aggressive Drive;
I call it the Mega Intergalactic Neural Dimension. Within this saucer the sorcerer will escort you to the source of the sauce.

“Hello. How do you do? I am pulsating light energy that has come through. An imagination, if you believe, a figment of purity from which you did conceive, all the ideas, all that which is pot boiled into a stew presenting itself in various flavors just to satisfy you. It is that simple if you dare to take the clue. Have some heavy psychedelics before you turn blue.”

The true beauty of humanity lies not in these words; an association with mutations of the linguistic dimension does bring about an unfaltering image of utopia in the mind but this is not where the soul of the blue blooded lot of us resides. There are actually methods of permeating through the layers satiating your myriad soothsayers – those voices within a head or many more if you may tread the paths entwined visions go blind, the deaf and the dumb are all falling waiting to succumb under the weight, oh wait, under all that we ought to negate.

Peeling the made up make up hello, hey, what’s up? No body, no remorse, no feelings of that curse, or worse; still coming back into the air, the sun, the water, the skies and the entire fair. Well it is a just point to make at this conjoint, seeing the scales balance and the micro cosmic laws of valence and bonds. Mutual discourses of cells and virus’ fighting, sighting, igniting, injecting, rejecting, diverging, dissecting.

From the pharmaceutical monk seven animals jump forward and merge in their attack, pouncing forward and congealing into one single track. All that the eyes can touch and all that we feel we can see, all the smells that the ears show are heard through the throat that knows these words are just versions of those shows that can be spoken through a well crafted knows. So in one swift move these animals become you but where did they go and how can this be true? A melted piece of plastic melting atop a molten bit of frozen glue. So the room that you are in did not have any bricks in the first place, that was the architect’s exemplar of slick. The space condenses into one snowflake floating along time wafting in the thunderous storms of the whirlwind. The thunder booms and you see it form, coming closer and slowly feeling withdrawn. Light may take years to cross a centimeter; it is a choice inside this comical theatre.

Within the photons, multiplying one by one, edging the horizons of the dawn, are reflections of all those worlds past seen – the rabbit, the cat, the leopard, the bear, even the rat along with others who have been, the same course of action going around in a sphere, shifting and shaping itself to make itself feel near, the adjustment and symbiosis what is all of this? Lose track, inside the centre there is no turning back, or facing front and moving on, these notions are just gone.
Now, this is an interesting place that you and I and us and all together really should try and deeply understand that through these writings in our respective heads we put out the fine threads that make us act like I am here and you are there and split up our souls are dead. Now with these lines, and lies, and the underlined meandering measured momentum resides the tides of that which we all fear is very near: the end and the death of it all. Shutting the fuck up would mean that the story would fall – isn’t it such a tragedy that this comedy would cease to amuse us all.

Circular traditions: the clock goes round and around making time seem so linear and conveniently profound: not quite that necessary, as dreams have found, that these rituals are as indefinite as that which is profound. Oh what is? Don’t know it yet then it would never be found, look under your nose not from the air with your silly crooked stare. Narrow vision: that which you physically see, mere spectrums of waves connected by some philosophy, of my body and yours too, they are different, seeming so it must be true. A belief carried beyond repair. Now we stand back and stare, at the cracking mirrors, the beautiful whores lie bare – silly thoughts discriminating all that which is there. Look at their tits, their asses too, see what the monkey is trying to do, frothing at the mouth and salivating are a few perversions if contained without being expressed, repressed ideas breeding your daily death in every little breath. Newspapers say so too, fear the faces, fear the few – fight with anger and aren’t you stressed? The politically weak and all those oppressed; now run along and do your best, dispense yourself and fight through this mess.

In layman terms, so we speak again from the cloudy pedestal of the uber-intelligentsia: the abstraction of thought through collective communication has lead us into a sphere where belief based on circular confirmation, that being our conformational bias (the repetition of a phenomena gives proof that it would happen again) would collapse. Thus systems based on these basic thoughts, such as you corrupt education, your banking cartels, you religions, would cease to operate in the manner that they do so, through division and dominion, as the conviction that they use to enforce their ideologies upon you would fail for your tools of perception would not be vulnerable to their idiocy.

Yet with these silly mathematical phonetics we believe we have mastered the kinetics of all that there is splitting it bit by bit, the beautiful morning, the ugliness comes with it, missing the sky at your feet by staring all the way at the horizon to see it. See that the viscosity of the air weaves the waves of the sea. Border condition shaped perceptions crystallize the fluidity within – these fine lines are very thin.

Words ensemble, orchestrate wit, words resolve to dissolve in it, word were the end of the split. Lisps, wisps, waves of unwind, rewind back to mankind.

You're dead.

the patriot

2011-01-21T22:55:00.002+11:00

Echo

2011-01-21T22:55:00.001+11:00

the Puranas

2011-01-21T22:41:00.002+11:00

Private Psychedelic Reel

2011-01-18T18:24:00.002+11:00

No way of knowing if she's right of if she's wrong,
no way of knowing if I sang this song;
So where do I start, where do I begin?
I leave this for you to take in -

Shiver: For my babe in black.

2011-01-18T18:23:00.001+11:00

Atlas

2011-01-18T18:22:00.000+11:00

The weight of the word on his shoulders.
Ha, silly fucker.

For all of us pseudo-tantrics;

2011-01-12T01:42:00.003+11:00

Note: Look past the swords, not past words and towards. No passwords as I pass to you these words.

INSEIN

Vision/Soul

Perspectives are strings of coherence. a lifetime. Snap into obliteration to understand the true value of creation. Death: Flying jigsaw cracks open, retrack. Another string. Holding on? Memories - True value = Reflective. A learning curve. Not absolute. Partial absorption + distortion all in the head: Reproduction, the world on which you tread. No one is ever alive and never dead. Radio signals, thought projections. Thought = worded feelings. Feelings = true regardless of worded package - reciprocation - Energy reception; don't even bother with deception. Love stands. All others self-spiral into destruction. Fear and hate, illusionary mongrels of a soul's spate.

Time/Mind

Compounded hypnosis - just a by-product of repetition in perception. Totally controlled by individual. Tick-tock, one side to the other. Arises only in splits, in unison it collapses. Absolutely illusionary. Wrong words? Correct me, drift away in your pride. Time = Subtle. Tricky. Convincing as we model our idea of proof through confirmation. It's practically relevant to navigate and interact, but not absolute, repeat, not absolute. Time creates mind, thoughts, self hypnotizing - word by word. Again and again. One triggers another through another by another for another in another illusion that you have entered. Adrift from reality. Trust perception, not mind. Mind is a tool, the whole universe - a history of all, is before you. Now. Mind creates the room of informational illusions. Custom made. Royal de Creme.

Space/Body

The place where you find yourself, no, not metaphorical. Physicality. Depth, height, length, breadth - constituents of the minds map of matter. An arrangement of energy designed to navigate yourself through. The body thus manifest - a tool to move and interact. Not separate, not absolute. Divisions in space (of energy) such as liquid, solid, gas - light, sound visible and those not are all relative. The appearance of the body and the primal nature of its physicality is the most captivating aspect of the spirit. Note: Physicality = relative. Particle <--->Wave. All three of these aspects are integrated to provide mechanisms of experience. Love the medium and change its only reality. Aum Shanti and some humour.

ONEONONEONEONONEONONEONEONONEONONEONEONONEONONEONEONOONE

Please understand that this is pure bullshit.

RoomHour

2011-01-09T20:53:00.005+11:00

Coherence is the gift of patience; it’s been along time.

The black and white keys of the piano were humming random tunes of another floating fife as its legs grappled and bumped against the surprisingly uneven ground – the earthworm dodged it. The instrument obviously didn’t foresee being dragged across the garden against its will and thus omitted making adjustments for the same in its evolution – now leaving marks on the floor. How random, we all thought.

The setting sun emitted some maroon, or perhaps the sky was pink, never can be quite too sure about the colour of the ink – each to its own anyway, so we argued, or agreed, argued to agree, to a certain degree. The mood was whirling a bit. It was then that we noticed the swirling of the tapestry, unfurling. The clouds and space moved sideways – a small clean crisp crackle is all we heard of the evening break.

“What is that?” she exclaimed, looking up at creation blinking like a confused tube light. Something is happening, something that even these words cannot grasp, how, can we clasp a, it was pretty, ah yes, the phenomena. There is something about it, something is coming down, I could smell some sort of vapour, maybe gas – or something, watch closely, see the bull, what was I saying, wait; something’s happening;

This is mad, mad net prisms, magnetism, word schisms, shifting revisions, match trick enchantment, magic hypnotic entrancement, invigorating figures fading light invading pervading all clear all that you know that you may know that you don’t know you know now that you don’t know now no one know to know one. Clear. Now. Teletranceportation.

Ebb and flow, to and fro, there was an echo – “Hello,
You cannot rule out the possibility that creatures only overwhelmingly superior to yourself are interested in what is happening here. It would be ignorant, and ignorant to a level that you would be ignorant about, to assume otherwise. Assumptions too; why even bother with limiting yourself to a few. Boxing, creating prisms for your mind, prisons of perception. A random kaleidoscope patterned in preconception – self deception, misdemeanor unparalleled. The gift of life and procreation held tightly in the crutches of conditioned comforts, repetition and other illusionary consorts. Aren’t you so happy now? Kingdom come crowned above the brow, ruling without even knowing why and how. Suspicious about your subconscious? Hold my hand –
Magnetic mechanism: Gravity – piecing together all that needs to be. A critical mass of energy. You see yourself and you see others that maybe just a reflection to give you an idea of where you stand, what you are and how you can. Push the envelope, the button, don’t throw it in a can and cannot, restricting the ways you were brought up till the top to be taught by the same silliness which you so conveniently chose to shun aside and forgot. Pointing fingers is harsh when there is no one to blame but you, I understand but don’t empathize, your stupidity is that which you must confront and revise. Imbibe be wise, not some smart ass selling yourself your lies to move along with all those mirages of death that dance before your eyes. The loud crowd, take a sword and bleed your proud little delusions and confusions until they shrivel and shroud into the darkness from which they did arouse. You are not your body, you are no body on a crusade against that which pervades the spirit of love – and no not words, these can be a twisted into convenience by any coward. Take these tools to enhance the trance in which through your body you dance, just by chance. Find the balance until then we will meet when we shall meet and greet and tweet and talk and walk and stalk and rock back into there from where I picked you into space that you know you should be back on the mother ship where there was a sound, a tone, a few bones and flesh and blood and sweat and Churchill and the rest slowly coming back to life and its hypocrisy after witnessing the mirror conspiracy.”

“Thievery corporation, they make some really good music don’t they” she exclaimed, looking at me with that ever charming smile, those glistening white teeth layered in her saliva, all so sweet.
“How was the DMT?”
“Oh, it’s mad. I can’t believe they sell this shit. All these songs coming back into the mix”
“Steven Wilson, Martinez, Pink Floyd, Shpongle, all these buggers are pretty nuts aren’t they?”
“Totally.”

Snakecharmer

2011-01-09T20:48:00.002+11:00

Listen to the music -

Coiled and curled, crossing in curves, contoured with colours – concocting crawling. From a hundred paths the centipede enters the canal, in ear park; quivering lips whispering lisps of those that would spark the light to split, slit, spit, and start:

“Do you know who you are or what you do? The priorities that determine me and you. Hey, hush – wait, don’t start. They may just tear you apart. Isn’t it weird, to be all alone – without a place to go to and nothing left to hone. There is no home for those who just want to roam. You can’t be a drifter, hear the bell, the ticking clock, it’s time to feed and time to sleep; work and don’t stop – Paolo’s pigs. See that. I offer the double deluxe bundle of doubt and salvation. Circular tradition. Come back for more, stay with me – discounts, freebees, the chance to see the light and others are all here for thee. See how fine it is.

‘There was a boy who went up a road. The strain upon his fragile legs was quite much. The altitude continuously changed, it affected his breathing – he was going higher.’

So many possibilities; metaphorical. Now pick any string from the rant and make your own stories. Is he is walking? Which road is he talking? What is his path and destination? Where is he going? Why? Or is he on drugs - high as a kite? Does a kite walk? Or flying? Which one is he doing? Floating? Swimming? Is air for a bird the same as water for a fish? Shit, the woeful lot of possibilities from such silliness. O’ hear my calls and answer me. Affirmations. Confirmations. You must be smart to make such determinations. My tongue of intellect has grasped your definition. Venomous injections, fangs on your neck, here is my kiss of romance, stay with me and I’ll slay you in my trance. It rhymes in an American accent, Puerto Rican ferment, North African descent, Arabian scent, British lament, Indian well spent, dividing you with geography, or any other differential possibility; the serpent.

Charm me, dance with me. Together we will orgasm in this fantasy.

Dramaticus Monologos ; Thencan

2010-12-28T04:44:00.007+11:00

"Hello and welcome to my world. This is where I will show you the trade of tricks, blubbery bubbling bouncing bricks, shimmering shape shifting spaceships, and astonishing acid allusions. Here we will entwine and unwind, curve the spiral back into these lines. No need for the 'n'.

Now before we really start, I would like to clarify that as a magician it becomes my responsibility to make this seem as, and this is the funny part, because it all just seems so plausible, seeming to be, that is what its all about, creating the seams, the stitching together of it all is the important part you know but that is where the trick really lies. Now, if you could see past the cracks in me then how would we ever be? Snap. Watch there, on the other side of the circus, a clown on a unicycle hanging by a rope - smiling at the dead. Deviate. It seems really funny as he flickers on and off again through the box, telepathically revised visions. My invention, circa ABCD, all patents pending, never really had the time to clear all of that out, you know iron the legalities, the formalities, anyway, why am I talking about all this personal stuff to you now. Let's continue with the show shall we?

All with the wave of a want, the magic starts to fly - around the stars and the sunny sky. I wish to create and it is all very appropriately flapping about, feathered in the colours of a splitting sun - prisms of sight. The winds flutter voraciously next to my hears, thumping on the drums - making tunes on my palette of this bittersweet orchestra. The high pitched short wave tremble cuts across the vast empty blue ocean and as I speak in streaks it enters. The flight begins to land. The swinging in winds the whirling sands conspire together in the vapour room hourglass as they con to form man made maps. The rocks rise out of aquarius, collide, crash and capsize, revise and re-rise. They make the realm appear and the plane curves, connecting dots all along the seams, out into and fro , all variety and levels of phenomena come into play and intersect. Here. Connect. Jointly the flatland warps the gravity of the situation into folding - touching its other extreme at the infinite horizon as it shapes it into a sphere. Then clutching under the talons as the feet skip a beat, on the left and then repeat, back in flight, now on the right, tap the tips and get a grip to grasp hold and keep it together firmly. Footprints realise the splash on the films of water as the palm's mystery doctor the history of the future - island tourists in transit, entrance in it, in the trance you are in.

A thousand suns shine on, there upon the blue reflective collectives splitting the sky. A becomes reflections of one sun distancing itself from what it has now become. The sky begins to fly and under it the sea sheds itself through sea shells that she sells this illusion to your feet. The ebbing waves slowly wiping away the remnants of your foot hints that were left behind so you could track now no never turning back. The water sends shivers up the spine, vertebrae upon vertebrae, creaking into shape as the pillar uncoils. An electric tantric walks on the land. You see your body, reflective surfaces, shining like slimy skin lying deflecting the light concocting that which appears to be in sight; waves of an ocean in you. The fingers stretch out, voltage fluctuations, border conditions, nail scratches in the pain to pulsate through the vein, again and again. Circuits spring, circular flings, these things now bound to go around, wound and round through this sound - very profound, this life we have found.

Then we start to generate the surplus; that which is all very neatly referred to as extra. Terrestrial activities begin to intelligently unfold and mould into the warping sands, crystalizing ideas and shapes, suckling from the ground and her ocean - taking the next hit of the vapour rumours filling your green bifurcating replicating lungs. The chlorophyl in bronchioles let it breathe easy. Trees; they came about with much ease - hard and malleable variety all around, wooden tricks well founded, neatly grounded. Self-simile, the narcissus of nature forms in itself. In fact, in finite spaces the replication of familiar faces emerges and leaves it's traces - this shot signals the start of the races. Flying in flapping fins fine fingers in figurines emerge out of the bearer.

'Ah, you are from Asia, are wah, acacia.'

I just conjure an audience for this show. Watch how they see you grow. My eyes, all to and fro, observing and shaping that which I think you ought to know. They walk about all around the concrete corners and crevices of hard bound beliefs, the jungles, tropical and hypocritical - the animal kingdom. All kinds of kin, strips and colourful skin, above under and around the sky water and ground. I twist a tongue and create diversity, I toss a name here from there and voila - we have variety. I warp a face - melatonin variance along with some concoction like cultural deviance. So you see yourself, the illusions, a house of cards bustling with mirrors. Biodiversity. Still not falling for me? Remember the memory. Oh yeah, that one - we are from here, you might be from there, in this asymlum you have a genetic phylum and this is how we compare and blare the dimensions of your delusion. How many billions now? Numbers dance to leave you with no chance to wonder if it was all just .... and here we play the game, watch as I show you how to tame -

A pendulum moves from one side to the next, sliding between the rest and states of motion. A pendulum moves from a side of rest to another to test its state of motion. A pendulum moves from that side to the other in order to create states of commotion. A pen do you move from a state of unrest to the next in states of emotion. Moving from one side to the commotion instead of emotion. Moving to a state of rest in your devotion to commotion. Break back, break the bounce back break this black hack - psychohypnotic attack.

So how does it work? I shall divulge. You seek patterns, it is who you are. You seek patterns, it is who you are. This is a repeat. You know it. Don't you, you spotted the repeat. Didn't you. You noticed it. Didn't you. Yes you did notice how I am repeating the didn't you?'s as well. It is an inherent tendency. I know you don't know that I know and that I know that you don't know that I know puts me in a very dangerous position for you but how would you know that? Pattern monkey. It is a beauty though; the programme that there is and I am the auteur. It's the only way to make sense, to see from a point of reference. Stand on a side of the fence to watch the pretense. Wait, poof, there, now I have an audience. Who want's an autograph? I can even get any woman I like you know, but masturbation is the only facet of modesty that I still flatter myself with. Anyway, enough about my personal stuff, let me get back to the explanation.

You wish to see something and it will manifest in front of you. It is as elementary as that. The dream, entranced by it as you are, in love with it that you are, if it were not you would not be here. You love it, even if you deny it, you love it baby, you love it from the deepest tenet of your filthy little black heart, you love the fact that you have a filthy black heart. You see the illusion of your creation and that is your delusion. You cannot possibly ever confirm anything, there is no way of knowing, because, for you, the creation and the witnessing of that creation happen simultaneously. Oh, it's beautiful, the game I make you play. The time you take and the space you manifest your hallucinations in are merely of your choice, I as the magician just tag along and give you a pat on the back for being the cool dude that you wish to be, push the dream further, because I am here, and without this, I would not be as conjuring, conniving and wickedly contriving as I am now. Total dilution, transparent solutions, perfect computations, brilliant assumptions and more - that is all that I thrive for. Infinite in dimension, the shaman, physical maneuvering, mental extensions, all through this creation, the master and the puppets - an ocean in a bucket. Splash it on your face and wake up from it. All I do is convince you of your trance, stitch the glitches, yeah bitches, sew a few hitches but I may say this or that, I may sway this way or that away I must sway some way I must give way someday for I am just your mind"

One Deadly Poem

2010-12-27T23:54:00.001+11:00

Death's become the reason for our

Death's the way to find the cure for

Death's why we are not too sure of

Death's the game by which we score our

Death's the world by which we view our

Death's the plane through which we breed our

Death's the card to propagate a

Death's the mind final treason as

Death is a dreams illusion.

Death is our fears and delusion.

Death is a thorn for solution.

Death is its own condition

to cover the dearth on earth.

Un-earth.

Come with Us

2010-11-30T01:03:00.000+11:00

Again I go around Again

2010-11-29T19:37:00.002+11:00

Dalai Pharma

2010-10-29T12:13:00.003+11:00

Breathe it in.

“You see this trip that you are about to go on is not something that I would recommend for everyone. Every person, living or dead, depending on which side of the mirror you stand on, has a certain mental makeup –
On the one hand you have interpretations, theories, theoretical interpretations of those theories, more interpretations of some other theories and interpretations of theories that lead others into interpreting more theories resulting in a theoretical scenario which breeds theories. While on the other hand you have already divided the whole and then you can theorize standing on one side of the fence about how theoretically green it may be on the other. I can keep on talking and you can keep on listening and I can keep on pretending to talk about profound divinity and the realms of extremity while you dream in the world that you are allegedly a listener in, and merge these theories of divinity into a profound sense of wholeness.
– so naturally we are all made up in a mind that must wake up. Living fearing the dead is as obsolete as looking at a mirror and watching a shivering image. You have to be born in order to die. So you see, these skips of heartbeats are those which I would not recommend.”

Take it in slowly.

“Whirling inside your mouth, coiling in fractal shapes that you might have heard about, words shape shifting before you shout and that is what this one is all about –
Have you ever come a cross in this sentence splits and deviates your attention. Shifting shapes moving around in this fluid wordscape are dimensionless in their attire, smooth as the warmth of the fire. The crystals rushing in push the world higher, the clarity of the sun
makes the sky brighter. The night looms around with the only moon that we have found and that dear fellow raises an answer. Those which we question thereafter are nothing but thoughts crafted by your master. Yes, you are a slave to the knave. Wondering all the way until your
– grave mistakes have been made, by a man named Masoch and his friend Sade. Disappear into it, dissolve this thin line within, make the blurring whirring sound around and you would never be found.”

‘Let’s skip the prayer and go straight to god.’

The lush gentle curves of the meadow, draped in the only green that grass has ever known, skips gently with his humble pink paws, an albino rabbit. The blades of grass bend effortlessly under his swift fragile pounces. From a distance he seems to be a floating snowflake, wafting aimlessly across a clear green sky. The rabbit runs around the genteel curves of the landscape, its bright red eyes flickering reflecting the shadows of the sun before spotting a small loop hole inside this drape. It dives down head first and is pulled upwards with a million suns flashing around him as the cameras burst bulbs fanatically, capturing the sparkling smile of a man with a hat trick. His smile shines on all the crazy diamonds who cheer at the woe of the one who has a dangling toe. So the small boy in his little stage holds the white rat before he begins to cage the circular thoughts that scream inside the blots of muddled memories. In an act of kindness he lets the rodent out of his fists and chases it into his darkness of his sleeve as a train begins to leave, puffing out thick white smoke from one end of the tunnel. Bursting through the fluid like a stone thrown in water kind enough to float in it, the camouflaged cat jumps out onto the tracks as we know it. Skipping from one sleeper of wood to another, the feline screeches around the curve throwing her pink tongue in the winter. She pounces on the jute holding the wood together, oscillating from one side to another, the height of the bridge makes one wonder if the water really is deep blue so far down under the clear sky sheltering the snow from floating by. The snow leopard dashes as his claw gashes across another member of the same rat race, morphing now into another state. The streak of red greased against his head, the fully fed polar bear begins to gnaw through the ice that only he could tear. Spinning inside his head, these stories that are a white being with a bit of read.

“You my friend, are in a state of paranoid schizophrenic manic anit-climatic psyched theatric little insane not mundane but definitely profane perverted diverted divergent indulgent mental condition. The rat bits and feline arctics are mere spherical tactics. The words flow from one to another, morphine in here and tethering together. Sedated existence into the never; a televised dream for you, forever.”

The flight aboard the Metaphysical Intergalactic Neuro-plastic Drive spaceship;

The crystals disintegrate a statue made out of sand, running through an hourglass. The cups are scarce of it, the memories flashing away bit by bit. Time scales and annual bookmarks float through the grains of rock in a glass globe – flying all around in this limited space. Sheets of photographs, scribbled with dripping wet ink at the back, voices echoing faces wishing to re-track. Blurring and tearing, unraveling the collector behind the box, you see me and then begin wonder why you forgot it all slowly, fading back to reality. You are here this is where you should be, what you do, the numbers and a country. Inside the pig sty, be a little shy. Work your wage from the sweat of your brow and slowly wait to die.

Exhale.

Eleven Entwined Elaborate Elevating Escalators

2010-10-25T16:59:00.004+11:00

She grabbed his hand and pulled him in. It did not take long for the two lovers to realize what they had walked into – The unfolding of an elaborate staircase before their feet started by taking them to a place hitherto: Unknown. There had been many occasions in which the two did find themselves before and through those pastures of beauty they did devote, without any form of restrain, their impeccable appreciation for the same. Rising, however, within now were a few doubts; where were they being led, what was it t hat they were being fed? Was it air that was making their breath or was it simply another trick unfolding the grand theatre of their death. They had that in common and that they knew, clutching each others hands as they flew – the same air feathered through their hair – what were they waiting for? From the left side to the right, that is what continued this fight. Neither did they win nor did they have a chance to fall – as they were at the heart of it all. It’s an art, eerie in nature, to make the blood flow through the veins – the muscles contract –

– a cardiac relax. The beat box keeps bleeping the blops conjuring illusions of rhythm and rhyme, clinging ching reverberate the chimes – all flowing in the streams of those times. The bells toll, amuse ink is on the roll, entertaining those who wilfully chose to listen and not miss interpret the sequence in all its eloquence. Where did Cam hide? In you Flage , yes you dear reader, language is the tool not the breeder. This art of numbers, the call of slumbers, many symbols in combinations and associations through denotations as connotations do you get my inclination or is there need for more unravelling while travelling through your imagination. Then swing from one side as you fling onto another, not knowing whether you will ever arrive or from this act there would be some salvation that you must derive. No one sits in a corner to contrive: prevent you from being alive and much more– there are enough worries Sir, the staircase is such. So sit on the side and let your bum slide – going around and down –

– into another realm with this clown. Hello, fucker, smile; this big red nose and talc makes me want to frown but you don’t see that happening do you? Silly fellow. Here is a joke, stuff out the popcorn lest it will make you choke:
There lived a man, he was not a particularly interesting man, you see, as he had lived. Now he is dead. Yes, if your profession spiralled from your passion, which involves vivisections, dissections, coronary inspections or other such interventions, then I would proceed but mathematically there is no such need. Did you laugh or did you cry, whinge and turn your eye? If it is the latter then ask yourself why ‘you would rather die. I would rather fly’. There are not my words, that would be a lie – the truth is disguised in a way very sly. I swear, an oath –

– taken with my right hand on a hard bound book, entangled in your mind like a hook. The left hand is a communist crook, crossed fingers behind the back, distant from the judges blindfolded look. So I pledge to tell the truth before you my jury, there is no need to hurry. Ram or Herr Krishna, stories from which you should prophet, not lose yourself, it is not dogma. The holy graced priest, will reduce you to your least, lest you walk the talk and not stalk a god from inside a piggy bank. Such a suicidal innocent prank –

– that keeps us from cranking this shit up. Lets run and never give a fuck. Go mad, go mental, go bloody nuts – we lived through the rut now its time to wake the cunts up. Rip your business suit apart Clark Kent, punch those walls and make a fucking dent. The only commandment: Never lament –

– and its so refreshing to stir these words and conjure thoughts and emotions, fictitious commotions which will only fade away, smile today – there is no other way –

– to be or not to be, we just have to see past the future for there are no lies. Just be –

– dead or alive –

– ? –

– A void thought –

– she holds his hand and spins in confusion, reeking and learning, weeping while burning, and in these moments somewhere there was fusion. Mergers, conjoint conglomerated together informate. No order, Chaos, bye. Let go and the flow will show, guide as it shall bestow all whizzing at the centre of the tornado and through us out.

You cannot rule out the Possibility!

2010-10-18T18:44:00.003+11:00

Mildly Hallucinogenic

2010-10-18T18:43:00.002+11:00

2010-10-18T18:42:00.000+11:00

Sessions with Dr. U. G. Sicher

2010-10-18T11:34:00.007+11:00

‘Hello, welcome; Please come in.’

The entrance to the psychiatrists consulting room seemed to be beaming with hopes of redemption and salvation from the increasingly menacing cruelties of my mind. The priest migrated into science. I see the couch, the small cubicle with its comforting cushions, their lust attracting me ever closer. I see the shrink; curtained behind his knowledge, suave attire and that plastic confidence bursting out through his polycarbonate eye piece – it’s the green glare. The wooden planks of the floor, thrown in together with rectangular accuracy, creak under my weight. The floor would, perhaps, understand me more than this knocked up contraption of doctrines and assuring strings of words. The peculiarities of my condition are not to be underestimated, and can definitely not be understood by a rat – torturing mathematician.

‘Please, have a seat. I believe you have been through this before. So you must be aware of our standard procedures and the way we move in towards the problems that have been bothering you.’ Dr. Sicher stated before pulling his chair to a position of considerable vantage. He sat down asserting every molecule of his physicality upon the cushions mounted by wood resting on wood. He straightened his back and with that same physical tonality shot a beam of his confidence that pierced me; forget the couch – I was already seeping between the cracks of the floor. ‘So, shall we begin?’

My heart was beating really fast. This is the problem with words. In their simplicity they can rob intensity. It’s all perceptual. My bloody heart was blatantly beating and bumping while bursting and banging against the breast bone of my barely bound body pretending to pump blood while it was in all factuality aiding and boosting the rates of perspiration of my rapidly flooding pores. I was oozing with sweat and in desperation trying to cling on to the leather of the couch leaving behind lined stains reminiscent of those shockingly unrealistic horror movies. Is that where we are cast now? Is that how clear the past is? Or the future too? Memories have had me and you. Again.

‘Right, so where were we?’ continued the doctor, blind from one sentence of his ramblings to the next. ‘You were brought here by a friend of yours who believed that you had lost all grip of reality as we know it.’
‘Yes that is true’
‘So,’ he said taking in a deep breath, putting his paperwork down and slowly merging into his standard rehearsed role, ‘what do you have to say about it at this point.’

At this point I am looking at a Galatea and am at war with that pretentious narcissist Pygmalion. How could that cock smoking bastard get away with something as basically fictitious as this? You know the story – a Sicilian artist named Pygmalion crafted a statue of, from the deepest annals of his sheer wit and genius, a lady thereon referred to as Galatea – as if they could not choose better names to fuck with someone’s head. Mr. P fell so deeply in love with his creation that he devoted all of his life’s stupor upon it. Once, chasing strawberries and rabbits, a goddess chanced upon this hypnotic vision. She peered from under her advertised satin white sheets, first from feminine envy and then quickly from that of sniggering reality, at the glazed Pygmalion – who was, as inferred, absolutely oblivious to the Her presence. She grabbed him by his belt and pulled him close to Her; ‘Listen fool’, she said bringing her curling lips scandalously close to his nose as she began to lisp in a tone conjured by the finest mix of pride and empathy, ‘If you want her so badly, just ask. Seek and you shall find.’ Pygmalion, still in the stupefied state of the afore, mechanically doled out a request to bring to life – this statue. Upon a brief reflection on her balance sheet of karmas the goddess took out a red pen and added his request into the ‘petty expenses’ column of the heavenly yellow ledger thereupon exclaiming – ‘All cool. Have a nice day.’

‘Do you know the story of Pygmalion?’ I asked after managing to squeeze, upon the application of all my efforts, this one line from the paragraph.
‘Yes, I am briefly aware of the myth. Why, is that on your mind?’
‘Um, yeah, pretty much so. Well you know doc, the events that happen in the story yeah?’
‘Uh huh, a man named Pygmalion sculpts a statue that comes to life due to his affections towards her. Beautiful metaphors.’
‘Beautiful metaphors? – would you be kind enough to elaborate on that?’
‘What I mean by it is simply this – when you shower your love upon something, regardless of whether it is inanimate or not, then you do not look at the creation from the eyes of life or death, your devotion, your intensity of love towards that bit of creation, albeit it being yours or that of a series of coincidences such as the formation of that stone lying there on the street, would be all that matters during your communion.’

My sweat signaled the onset of an advanced state of liquefaction. Oh, this fucker is good. This bit of neuron untangling would be an interesting venture. Oh yeah, fuck yeah – I cannot get over how good this guy is – the game gets subtle. I wish to tell this fucker that he is in a bloody dream. I know this but he, deep down inside the statue of his being, of his performance, being the psychiatrist, has forgotten. I know it, I have travelled across this globe, within it and beyond, to lands unknown to most except those with them shamanic passports, tan-tricks and others such. I have been there and seen that side of the world too and have known now that it is all a dream. This cunt is here in the dream too and it is me who is going to wake him up at the end of this session. He is me, I know this because I created him.

‘You see that is perhaps what you are lacking my friend,’ continued the doctor, ‘there seems to be imbedded suspicion within you about something that you basically lack the capacity to fathom or the will to accept. I would credit your intelligence and stick to the latter for that is what I do here, I conjure.’

‘Excuse me?’ I exclaimed, without much a due.

‘I cure,’ he replied, smiling as smugly as a child who got away with throwing an ink balloon on his teacher, ‘those who I believe need some clarification. I cure them. I am a doctor, remember, it is my job to do so, my duty. Why, my dear fellow, if I was not to be here you would have already spiraled into one of the worst trips of your life. I can see the acid in your eyes. I can see the twitching of neck muscles and not to mention the dramatic rates of perspiration. Why indeed, you would send my next patient down to wonderland without any inclination to do so, on both your parts. That is what I am. The two sided coin. Strawberries and rabbits.’

Palpitations and precipitations amidst reception without any comprehension. ‘Oye fucker,’ retorted Dr. Sicher, ‘what are you getting so upset about? Don’t add your potty to the couch okay? I can see you are far out now, and so am I, part of your trip you see, I am well aware of that. You think we are not but we are, to an extent that you would not be able to comprehend. You see, I heard this man in a song a long time ago before these curvatures of your ego, say something quite interesting; “It would be ignorant to believe that we are the only ones.” You see this room my friend, you see me, you form an image of you, but how much is there between these two folds of skin? How much of the glare of my glasses did you take in while I crafted the green for you to see?’

Laughing like a maniac the doctor got up from his chair and flung it across the room. The chair went hurtling towards the window and just upon hitting it – shattered it into intricate small triangles, forming rainbows as they shattered themselves into the stream of sunlight that they had previously allowed to penetrated this room. The small droplets of light in glass of various sizes transfigured themselves and realigned each other back onto the beams of the window. I looked back at the doctor to see knocked up pieces of wood knocked upon some more knocked together pieces of wood sandwiching a cushion between them and the doctors perm press trousers.

He was now branding his billboard smile, condescending in its timing but comforting in its stability.

“You are me and I am you. I know this because, and only because, you do,” continued Dr. Sicher. “We are not, infact, separate entities Mr. Maebevilebel, that segregation is merely a construct of the mind. Yes, deep down we are all aware of the dimensions of the timeless and do part take in it more frequently than you would imagine but there are no words, for there are no need for words, for us to describe it. Our segregation in the variety of bodies that you see around us is merely a reflection of the peripheral dimensions of existence. The circle extends and will always extend. The merging all of it inwards would be an implosion, a form of suicide if you could imagine that. The varieties of dimensions exist for people to experience them and to make their way inwards according to their own being and ability or will, if you must say so. Yet there is not one without another.’

‘You see Aaron,’ he paused, ‘if you don’t mind me calling you that, everything exists for a reason. I have had patients who come to me and who are deeply concerned about their memory and their wish to use it. Memory is a gift, much like this experience of life, which must be enjoyed responsibly. It is beautiful, as it holds the ability to recollect so we can learn and progress from each other and evolve the world around us in a communicative and conscious manner. On the other hand it is also deeply detrimental to the growth of some people who get over consumed by its ability to fabricate fantastic recollections of the past. You must have heard of the good old days – it’s an overtly simple trick. What do you think the whole psychedelic experience is all about? You have consumed the compounds haven’t you? It is merely for the understanding, the deep isolated understanding of ourselves – the dissolving of the mind and its stupidities. I am sure you did not expect to find Mickey Monroe in Technicolor when you popped that cube did you? Yet I am sure that when you wake up you would be glad to have met me. Oh well, what do you know, the alarm bells are ringing. Untangle those neurons first Sir.

Until we meet again.’

I wake up inside my room, unable to comprehend which dream I was trying to wake up from. I glance around at the time and what do you know, the batteries have run out – such a waste of batteries. The window indicated the presence of another morning. My feet are still warm and my hands sweaty under the white sheets which are playing about – flickering in and out of perception courtesy the fluorescent lights bombarding the room from the Disney channel. I pull a George B. Shaw manuscript from under the pillow before placing my skin on the wooden floor. I decide to walk out but stop for a second and glance at Andy Warhol’s collage of Monroe pinned affirmatively on the door.

The Janitor

2010-10-18T11:29:00.002+11:00

“I take out the skeletons and you fill it with corpses, I am the Janitor and you the Metropolis.”

The air was stale inside the room that he found himself in that fateful evening. A story starts with a familiarity that can only impart the notion of repetitiveness abusing the reader’s sense of decisiveness. Should I read on or shall I be gone? Confusion has been born before the break of dawn.

The windows were the same squared designs letting in the lines of light, which did ignite the colour pigments of his skin. He walked in front of the mirror, the only door, wondering if there was any point in it anymore. The broom in his hand and a task so bland and so bleak that it made him believe it was unnecessary and as he waged his war on the weak. “There would be days when I could feel, the coming of the end of this reel.”

That fateful day however, walked in a man, shaded in the white scalp of age, he did come unwittingly into the cage.

“Do you know what you’re doing here old man?”
“Nor I neither you.”
“What is this, a riddle in a can?”
“I’m here to see you through.”
“You walked in through the door.”
“I could not take it any more.”
“There is a whole world trapped outside the walls”
“Aye, I too do hear its calls”
“Yet now you believe its time to chase your shadow?”
“Nay, Its time to walk out of this hollow…”
“Remember – at one point you too walked under a sky so blue”
“I do, and you?”
“Stop. You don’t understand what its like.
The world out there is full of spite”
“I’m not sure if I should be the memory,
cast aside to reflect upon ever so meekly.”
“When we were young, now too old…”
“However did your confidence get so cold?
I was digging a grave that was meant for me,
But perhaps that is where you should be.”

And for a childish while, the Janitor did smile as the light bore into the darkness – dissolving eternity in its bliss. There were no windows, no doors, and no black bricks; for the man who walked did not know any of these tricks.

इ'म वेइर्ड्स दर्लिंग्स.

2010-10-13T13:12:00.003+11:00

अरे, what else is there to do but Go Mad?
For this state of mind there is no bloody ad.

Meditation

2010-10-12T12:34:00.004+11:00

There was a congregation of everything inside nothing.

That was just momentary – all just for a moment and a moment so fine that it almost did not exist. The deeper you think about it the smaller was its duration; it was literally, just a point inside a moment within an edge for a blink of a fraction. After this it blew up, and it was such a large blast that it created a very big bang.
Chunks of matter formed and floated spiraling, steering at sterling fast speeds transfiguring and transforming their shapes and forms moving moulding and manipulating themselves and the others all around tethering and teething through teeming masses. They bumped into, out of, within and through each other, through themselves, through rather convincing formations of neither them nor the others, through space and special times past alien rhymes.

They whirled in the winds that they created; they became solids amidst liquids, and fluidly became gases within masses and condensed, vaporized, much of this was just theorized. Soon and slowly they began to burst, to burn and in this chaos some chunks churned and spiraled into orbits little tidbits of the same blitz.

So spherically realizing itself some portions cooled in a settled whirl swimming around a burning circle. The circles spun and span until there was a moment where within one of them this scan did zoom and whom or what did the eyes see; smaller portions of nothingness expanding into everything that could be. They whirled and whirled inside and out from each other in many permutations and combinations of the same criteria forming the first sign of life that we now know as cyan bacteria.

There is a point from which there is no turning back and this point was now ready to attack with hysteria. The cells multiplied the biology we learned implied that from this point onwards replication and bifurcation did arise. Coupling together these built blocks battled against the other bits of blocks through clocks that floated, and rested on many trees melting while ticking dictating the advancement of what was only splitting and splicing.

The cells made fishes and fossils, aquatic puzzles, that came out of water onto land and quickly took off from there into the skies before the very same eyes saw the cooling of this fooling around and an ice age did stop most of the dinosaurs rage. Still through the cold heart of the start some did manage to depart into a warmer realm as little rats that were eaten by cats who were chased by dogs who took care of cows and who knows what else or how.

During all of this there came a monkey – who lived and evolved and learned to walk and talk and then the conversations did not stop. Julius Caesar, Jesus H. Christ, Gautam Buddha and Alexander’s might, all did come about and create a primate’s tale that to this day has not gone stale. The baboons spread, build their jams butter and bread, made books from where all of this could be read, and libraries to continue this story to be fed into more armpit scratching junkies, filling them with hopes, dopes, stories of priests with whom young girls unwillingly eloped – the popes. The buildings arrived, the civilization only then did thrive, and through all of this realization you find yourself on a road amidst this wonderful creation that has made you believe in the time that has put behind you this very heavy cross of duty that so many others endorse.

All about you all you can see, are people following a dream of maybe – one day we could rise and shine like the boys and girls embedded within these lines. Following this sparkling vision was the inevitable confusion for most did omit the fact that much and more of it was simply bullshit.

Religion was a Chinese whisper played by men who could not help but keep their creativity from Her. Their tales were nice and riddled with graced intents, but the morons who heard it thought of the deepness that it could have meant. Then they thought and that’s when they forgot that they were on a road in the middle of a show amidst sky scrapers and dreams that we all know. Spiraled from these visions that were heard came the business of fooling the herd. A foolish monkey told another of the world to be earned and in their foolishness did they churn the banking cartels or the monetary brothels raping and feasting on the lust of their desires and their cravings that simply must be fulfilled for King for Country for Glory and well you know this story.

So on the tar and gravel, with shoes torn from the long travel, where have you reached and what have you achieved? Tell another monkey; Of the prophecy that was preached inside some walls called a University, Of experiences of cheating and deceiving other idiots resulting in you receiving little green slips with fascist faces congratulating you on running in the races. No sir not today, for the only choice we have is to make way for the joy that was always there to employ the energies that we reserve and sooth ours and perhaps another fellows hallucinating nerves.

So the soles of the shoes feel the pressure exerted by the toes. The stiff burst of energy climbs ever so higher into the regions of ankles before you begin to perspire. The calves flex as the thighs bend forward angling the abdomen before reaching the thorax. A gulp of saliva runs down a stretching neck as it crosses another breath exhaling making the fine line between the within and the outside – blurring. The electricity makes the muscles under the tongue stretch out through the teeth eating for all these years and months and days and minutes and seconds. All of creation and eternity congregates and congeals getting ever closer and closer to the tip of that pink flesh stretching further and further into the outside from within and going beyond making the distinction between things slimmer and thinner, the lines get finer as there is no time or space to define this moment of grace.

There was a congregation of everything inside nothing.

Then there was the lemon.

Come: EnTrance to touch the pSkies

2010-10-12T11:58:00.005+11:00

A sugar cube melts atop of your tongue, seeping through those beautifully crafted, folded, and genetically moulded microscopic layers of cells, taking all of this in. Past the tissues, into the blood, through your heart it makes your body flood. The bitter sweet contrast of black upon the neat white sheets is attracting the pupil towards its master; the muscle beats faster. You smell rationality in the breeze, blowing through the trees, into the skies through thoughts as maybes. Perhaps someday, there would be a way, tomorrow you see, everyone will be free but today they will remain in sanity. So you see – how these words trapped thee into another vortex crafted by me. Now I shall enter and show you how it’s done; a black door opens letting in a shade darker of a thing into the darkness of your being. In limp hands there lies the sword that shall bleed the veins that run the fresh blood upwards into that conglomerate of cluster fucking cells, contacting and connecting through screams and yells – these messages; A chicken without a neck is a headless fear spiralling into blindness, flapping it clairvoyant white wings in the light of the sun – still reading, still bleeding. The swish and slash of the blades makes a dashing red splashing on the clean white walls of the asylum, integrated through notions such as name, sex, number and dear Sir, what may well be your phylum. We are just being you see, a human tragedy. Equality, you and me, language brings down the greedy into believing they are the needy. Oh the poor, the balance – fuck it; love thy fellow man even if it may be in silence. The body is now lying on the ground, shivering and waiting for it to be found, by another notion, another sense of truth, to be reunited and run as far away from this sleuth. The cut pieces are lying, crying while begging for mercy from the dying. There is not point trying. Give the best you can and for that you will be awarded as ‘the man’. The sarcasm; for these are not true, it does not make any sense to you so how can this show you the new? You cannot really be serious about change.

At this point of contact everything is evolving into something else that is joint and intact.

It is this seriousness that has changed. This has to be true; the one reading all of this isn’t you? Trust your perception man, for that is all there is that is real – it determines the way you feel. The tears roll and leave marks on your cheeks as they take a stroll to the smiling lips whispering words to stop you and to make sure you don’t keep that silly smile as everyone else pretends to weep. It is the soul man, that which makes you see the things through a hole, as the whole. Now stitching all the skins back, the body feels the lack of the thoughts that made it believe it was dead well before any attack. There are no armies; none of good old Caesar’s mercenaries, the barrel of the gun is pointed upwards shooting into your skull, these fears and others such to make you rather dull. Yet don’t be surprised if you think you have woken up and summarized all that there is to test your eyes. Colourful hues, pretty blues, swaying tunes and all others such are integrated into the loons. The dance goes on and has been so since the song was born. Words of silences between lengthy tiring sentences provide the gaps for the notes to enter and to perform their usual laps – tune in and about, let it out and shout. The white walls now blurring in the background – and oh, I smell the roast, after this lengthy boast I think I must leave you alone with your ghost and walk onto something far more super call in flower mystic expedition and as delicious as the meal awaiting my throat to make it feel great. Time is too late and let us never separate or let ourselves fall down and abate the love simply to participate in the do good and don’t debate. The force is now pushing you out, clearing the noise all of this created about you while trying to ensure that you don’t catch the disease of sanity floating in the air mentioned previously. Nostrils can lie too. The heart paces down, relaxes itself and thus you. Is there a difference between the two? The ink is ending, the layers subside – the flow resuming and maintaining its usual tide. Away from this the child shall see as this whole piece is merely empty, let it be, as you leave this tube.

Completely Geshtunkenflucked

2010-10-07T20:19:00.001+11:00

2010-10-07T20:18:00.002+11:00

Various Variable Vertical Vernacular Vortices

2010-10-07T18:57:00.005+11:00

∞

The air envelops in itself pouches of water wafting through aimlessly, cooling the dimensions of greater existence. A leaf shaped by its own chaos cups a drop of the morning dew sugar coating the platform for the swords of light to perform their daily dance. A bird chirps louder than the others as it shatters this paragraph of beauty for a prize guised as an earthworm – lying somewhere around the green, under the blue and now into the read.

I

Another dawn justifies the ineffable calendar.

The Royal family of the land is pregnant with pride. A Prince graces the world with what is only as cold as the steel that cuts the umbilical cord connecting him to her. After an ancestry of layering the development of this fine boy takes the form of a delicate receptacle – individual in the morning sun.

The birds fed by the land take to the skies, floating, singing and dancing to the rhythms of the divine. Underneath eyes of envy scourge around the leftovers, grabbing and pillaging in the Kingdom through ideas that only they could see. The crown sparkles on each side of the metal they use to continue the war – the smoke of which has long since clouded what the skies have to offer.

The King peered through the window of the hospital, reflecting on its glass, the thought of all that might soon come at the doorstep of his palace. He clutched his smiling wife’s hand as he pondered about the future of his progeny. “The blood line must be defended,” he murmured through lips too dry to talk, weakened by the fallibility of all the words that it ushered through the ages, “It must.” The Queen looked upon the man with empathy, and then turned her gaze to the boy. “It must be done,” she agreed. Two deaf ears echo each other’s silence.

The doors swung open and the oscillating stethoscope preceded the beating heart of the Royal physician. His body, frictionless in a known environment, glides through the white corridors caped by two well-endowed members of the opposite sex. The syringes strapped around their various cavities were ready for the operation. There are those who believe in choice and then there are those who know. The family and the doctors knew the boy had no clue.

A short while ago the news of the pregnancy had brought into the marbled courts of the Kingdom a paradoxical bundle of ecstasy and concern. There was an heir for the throne righteously guarded by the much loved and respected family. The King summoned his ministers in order to come to a consensus of what must be done. “The child is mine,” he exclaimed with authority that only he could fathom, “and I would not bear the sight of a tear from his eyes. For this purpose I have summoned you, my advisors, my colleagues and foremost to these, my friends. So speak henceforth if you have any suggestions for the dream I have – to provide a life not as cold and bitter as one that we all have witnessed.” A member of the bureaucracy stepped forward – his vessels pulsating with thoughts of penetrating the King’s heart with the perfect idea.

After the usual exchange of courtesy, your highness may I? lowered eyes and grace, he cleared his throat and unleashed his mind – “What we have seen through our experiences and the teachings of the greats down the ages, I can not help but believe that bliss is the chosen destiny of he who is a flower of your tenderloins.” The words pleased the King, his radiance was nothing short of an obvious clue to the approval of this fantastic conception. The little man started his story;

“When I was a small boy my father always told me that there are two things we should refrain from – doing that which is wrong being the first and foremost – for there is no explanation that could justify the same. Secondly allowing others to take advantage of us, as that would simply be an act of succumbing to the malice that could be entailed within. In the time that I have served your Highness I have always adhered to these rules. They cannot be broken or manipulated, as it would only bring forth plight in the life of the one who does so. I have, ever so sincerely, respected every command that has landed upon my ears without a slight doubt of its fallibility, for you Sir are better read, wiser, and are filled to the brim with the knowledge required to perform your duties – and in that I have faith. I have believed sincerely in all that is done around me and through my life all I have come across is a sense of failure and discontent. My Lord, as far as my eyes can see, the world that we find ourselves in is full of knaves and tricks. I do not believe that you would disagree for we have seen all that is around us – and perhaps more than what we should have. I would not like to speak on your behalf but the experiences we have shared have a common thread. We have both seen the tricks that have been pulled on us and on all that we believe in by our very mother, the Earth. She has scratched, with her hard grounds, the skin that binds us inward, She has hit our bones with her solidity, She has given birth to pain. Then there are the knaves, the protestors and the fellows who are not fit enough to be graced by mention. The elements are all against the order; all that we wish to stand up for and defend with our might, our learning, and our knowledge. This is not a world, if I may be pardoned for saying so, fit for Royalty.

The masters of the temples have summoned from the depths of their explorations words for us to read and incorporate. The sciences that we have so dutifully observed, supported and venerated through our understanding and undeniable generosity have broken barriers that are beyond the comprehension of most. These mingled with our hopes and understanding of that which ought to be compels me to dispel an ideal state that I believe is suited for he who is to bring smiles on our faces.

In a recent gathering of some of the elites in the biophysical realm of science, so my authorities supervising the department inform me, there had been an announcement of the ‘Bliss System’. Please pay close attention, as what I am going to say involves what I sincerely perceive to be the chosen destiny of mankind. The system is the integration of an accumulation of what the sciences have discovered over their entire quest with the findings and teachings of the great saints who have blessed us with their noble truths.

Sir, as the child would be born in this environment he would need protection, not just physical, which would be easy to achieve through our Court of Generals and the Imperial guards, but psychic as well. There are maniacs out there who are practicing, as you are very well aware, the dark arts without much consideration for us. The child’s heritage and culture must be preserved and through these times I would find it ineffable to even consider the possibility of presenting his fragile and receptive persona into the corrupt realm of this world. The system thus prevents this from happening by placing the child in a state of bliss from the moment he enters into our world through birth. There indeed are drawbacks, some of which are glaring. You would, for starters, never be able to talk to him, never be able to communicate with him, for these would only introduce him to the infections of imperfection that have riddled our hearts with miseries. Yet my Lord, I urge you to see beyond your comforts and conditioning, from the eyes of the child. He would exist in a world where he would not have anything to fear, he would not be riddled by the complications that we are engulfed in, he would not be pestered by the concerns that consume us. The Masters have witnessed this realm and through them we have realised our imperfections and the need to break from this world that we so foolishly entered. This, dear Sir, is my proposal for what I see as a method fit only for the finest member of our society.”

The King and the ministers engaged in an invigorating debate about the procedure. “The Royal physician must be contacted to provide the details of the procedure,” continued the bureaucrat, “for he is the head of the BS project.” The King immediately organised a special consul consisting of his wife, the ingenious bureaucrat and the Royal physician. It did not take long for a consensus to be reached by all the members inside the small room. Within closed walls the destiny of a child was decided.

Somewhere in the darkness of the world outside the fortified walls of the Capital, a magician roamed aimlessly, playing with tricks to entertain him while longing for an audience. He then conjured one, gathered applauses from them and then longed for one to see this apparition.

The Royal physician was busy preparing the chamber in which the Royal child was to eternally reside. “I would like you,” the King said walking in and filled with concern, “to tell me exactly what you are doing as you go about doing it. I would not like any harm to be inflicted upon my child, and if there is to be a tear in his eye, or any sign of pain, it is your future that would be in Royal jeopardy.” The physician nodded. His nurses carried the glistening cradle from the Queens suite into the chamber. “Place the boy on the mechanism as per the indications,” ordered the doctor. It was done. The procedure, simple in its appearance, had many complicated facets which the physician calmly explained to the King:

“The Prince would be lying constantly on this couch without any motion. You would be apprehensive about this”, he continued placing the boy on the couch, “as it would raise questions about his physical development but I should assure you,” he said while straightening his back and simultaneously smiling at the child, “that every angle of this procedure has been deeply thought of.” He turned to the King and reassuringly looked him in the eye, “And all necessary experiments have been performed in order to give us impeccable confidence in what we are about to embark on.”

He gestured to his nurses to hand him the conglomerate of tubes, electrodes and sanitized needles looming stealthily in the darkened corners of the chamber. Groping and grabbing at which he continued -

“The nutrition of the child would be taken care of intravenously.” He inserted a needle into the child’s arm. “We have concocted a serum that would take care of all his needs.” Another underneath his leg. “The processing unit” he exclaimed pointing without looking up to a steel box whizzing in technological fantasy, “of the serum is linked to his body’s metabolism centres.” An electrode is then placed swiftly, almost in a rehearsed manner, on his belly and on either side of his ribcage, “thus allowing the system to automatically determine the fine balance of chemicals that is essential for his physical existence.

The development of his bones and muscles would be accomplished through these nanotech strips of vibrators, compressors, and expanders.” The nurses marched forward in a theatrical manner as if obeying theatrical cues in a theatrical scenario carrying a mechanism intended to create a theatre. “They will envelop his entire body, almost as another body itself. It would, over time, provide pressure and exercise, and exert every other type of physical force required for his development again in accord with his need and age; it would even give him massages.” The doctor ranted dressing the newly born from neck downwards akin to practices of funeral houses. “The strips have electro sensitive fluids that flow through them In order to facilitate these procedures in a natural manner.” he continued as his hands robotically prepared the body for the System, all limbs disappearing in and out of perception. “On his eyes,” he continued now moving upwards, “we have luminescent cups that would regularly exercise his pupils.”

He stood up, performed another stretch to relieve muscles only physicians would be aware of, and then held the King by his shoulder as if to confess a private tragedy to a close friend. “His breathing,” he said looking down and emphatically pausing, still continuing in his curiously theatrical manner, “and heart beat are the only processes that would be natural, so to speak, but his mind, and this is the interesting bit your honour,” he exclaimed altering his tone and now looking directly at the King, eyebrows raised complimenting the smile, “would not exist in this realm.”

The nurses carried the helmet and positioned themselves behind the doctor, quite as pins that fell a long time ago in a metaphor.

“This here,” he gestured towards the contraption without turning back, “is the Dreamless Metaphormone Tributary of the Life Saving Device.” Another pause. “This here is the central piece of the puzzle my Lord. Let me introduce you into, and to avoid confusion, start the explanation slowly with initial and what I believe you may presume to be essential bits of information before further venturing into the complicated issues, such as those which are indeed often dealt strictly by qualified and seasoned philosophers who are aged in wisdom. You see Sir, complicated issues are best dealt by thinking of them simply at start, and then reeling into the realm of chaotic explanations with the light of simplicity in mind.”

He lifted up the helmet to show the inside to the King and continued, “You see these colourful strips sir, all between the lines, here are the neurophalic resonance enzymes that would vibrate with the frequencies of his mind while simultaneously seeping inside his skull the essential transmitters and inhibitors that would enable a constant state of no-mind.”

He kissed the boy, got up and turned towards the King. “You can visit anytime you like.”

The King and the Queen stood in solitude, beaming with the notion of the infinite depths of comfort that they had the facility to deliver to their offspring, their very own. He looked so comfortable, he looked so peaceful; he looked so still, born into the world with a destiny of bliss and no experience of pain. He looked so perfect that the magician could not resist himself.

II

“Where are we?”
“Aha, now that is an interesting Question Prince.”
“I have known you for long enough not to fall for that one again.”
The magician smirked.
“We are everywhere, that contraption,” he said pointing at the glow between the eyes of the Prince, “is a receptacle for everything that goes on in the world. You see a guy like me has a lot of time on his hands, and so much so that I don’t find the need to keep track of it – and over the years we have come to know each other and I think we both have come to a consensus to leave each other be. I have come across people who make bombs from him. Very dangerous stuff – time. You would know all about it but just like me it can trick you into not knowing anything at all – which is not too bad either, your parents can confirm that assertion. Still, do you have a clue what is going on in words. These words that you see now? Yeah you, or the King, which you would soon become inside. For these are just words you know, fragments. You have heard this story before.”

The Doctor glided past the chaos the Kingdom was now in after all these years that time dictated. The weary King had lost the control he commanded by his crown. The Court of Generals were now merely hypothetical bureaucracy and the Imperial guards had dwindled down in numbers existing in appearances as a reminder to the knaves; the only ones who believed in them. Appearances can be deceptive. The magician walked up to the King and explained, in great detail, the real art behind the Bliss System. “Listen closely” he said, crafting echoes, in the domes of the Kings chamber.

“The sciences, the philosophers, the sorcerers, the poets, the artists and every other mould of humanity’s facets, strived to bring forth something that would shape the people alive so drastically that they could never thank them completely. Media had evolved, the words once elaborate had seemed to have dissolved, the change rapidly engulfing most of humanity was seldom doing anything but driving it closer to the realms of insanity. It was within the depths of this prose, that this sentiment once dormant in minds did arose; the lurking shadow of that who everyone knows, the creature behind the mask who is forced to doze. The social spiral weakened under your viral age, the shadow deepened and it built up the rage. The war that we always yearned to wage had shattered and broken the rusted bars of the cage.

So came the dawn of a brand new day, lisping the thoughts we dreamt of yesterday, its stuttering salivating mouth being this way simply because it could not contain the joy from which it was taken away. The veins pulsate, the pupils dilate, the words that they once did dictate, are lying smouldering in some forgotten debate. The child has moved on, the man has grown, it took a long time for the Prince to be born, but there are no roses without a bloody thorn. Yet the red liquid continued to pour, as the voices of your family did soar, (in your illusions you once did roar) but are now reminded of how terrible your dreams were – a mere bore.

O’ hark – the memories of yesterday light another spark: Reminding you of the stupidity upon which shame and humility did embark their constant will to leave a deathly mark. Yet you never learnt, that through these mistakes you would come to yearn for a better goal, a cleaner soul; or perhaps the mystery was just made harder to unfurl by us who thought these revelations would make your blue blood curl. So how did you chance upon this theory once again? Did you stumble upon an old chain? It’s deranged self trying to refrain your mind from accepting the pain.

No dear King, not today. Where are you? The ghosts of sanity are out to get through all that you presumed to be noble and true; does this give you a slight clue? The colourful hue before you turn blue. Not a cancer Sir, don’t shiver, you were dead before you became a liver, this message through your cranium shall deliver, the ability to excuse yourself from all that bullshit claiming to be clever.

And I bet you didn’t know, that it was all going to blow; you were never in the flow, or else you would let go – your Crown, your Victorian noun; Subside Sir, the Kingdom is for everyone here.”

A man walked inside a chamber and woke up a boy from his deep sleep.

0

The birds returned to their nests, brushing their feathered details across twigs hardened by the days sun – leaving behind a small cycle of oscillation in a small fragment of a small tree connected to a small portion of a small planet in a small universe inside this large world.

So the moral of the story goes like this for there are no foes; This is either a good deed nor a bad read. The circle has to be complete and at the end of which you will see that it is neat.

You cannot understand History without accepting Her mystery.

2010-10-05T14:38:00.000+11:00

Copyright infringement, defamation, and censorship violation.

2010-10-05T12:40:00.003+11:00

This is for media lawyers.

Once a rather deluded man walked into a Gentleman’s club. Not knowing which girl to choose, he requested the Madam of the house to escort him around and give him suggestions.
“What are you after?” was her question.
“Someone”, replied the man, “who is calm, submissive, and would not mind listening to me while we are at it.”
The Madam, now fully understanding the man retorted, “This way Reverend.”

Shakti Path - The Cosmic Whole

2010-10-04T16:28:00.001+11:00

Stars.

Hallucinators

2010-10-04T16:23:00.001+11:00

Specially Packaged Sugar Cubes

2010-10-04T16:22:00.001+11:00

Left side of the Bed / Mirror Conspiracy

2010-10-04T16:21:00.000+11:00

2010-10-04T16:04:00.002+11:00

Rock N' Roll Saws

2010-09-30T11:29:00.001+10:00

uh-huh psychedelic

Painting the bigger Picture

2010-09-30T11:22:00.003+10:00

The enzymes in us release neurological chemical transmitters that permit the interaction of neurons via electric signals so that these electrochemical messages connect the brain to the rest of the organs permitting vital bodily functions to process through time and assimilate all that is essential in order to continue various circadian tendency through projected images of space and of course also enable Talking

which goes like this;

“Hello, you see if we were told that we were free, then we could possibly notice how I am pulling, and tugging and pushing all of this towards a reader - while roping in and tunneling through a tornado style sucking you within the labyrinth of these words. So while you dream an escape and think you would be released you continue in a desperate bid due to your addiction to a notion of closure. Thus this urge to believe that there is an end to all that begins and love for the beginning is what drives you away from seeing the whole picture as you drift from the notion of it ever coming to an end. Here is denial. None of this is true. What is going on will go on without an end. Though the morbid conception of fear has hampered visions through the tides of time they are all at your disposal right now to view with the subjectivity of all that has been through you and me or what is also referred to as space. That is history and it is all there to be innovated, renovated, analyzed, justified and others to continue this babble, and you are still here, still in the wormland of words, as it is easy to get lost and forget that these are just layers, modes of the same reality, shaping you according to thee. A lego toy looks at himself and smiles – for you are what you feel.”

2010-09-30T11:14:00.003+10:00

2010-09-29T11:49:00.001+10:00

Sound System

2010-09-19T21:51:00.004+10:00

Where do you think the term 'Boom Shiva' comes from?

Getting off on Junk

2010-09-19T20:54:00.003+10:00

The drugs that morality disseminates
are far worse than any opiates.

"Oh, he's a bloody junkie!"
exclaimed another monkey.

The Finger Revolution

2010-09-15T13:27:00.008+10:00

I got the title in the naughty spot there.

"A spirit only becomes free at the point where it ceases to be invoked as a support"
- Franz Kafka

There is a pervasive urge in the realm of humanity to divulge responsibility upon an entity perceived to be distinctly separate from an image of self. This small attribute of our attitudes is what beckons the rise of emotions and energies into states of conflict. An example of this is would be the call for revolution that many persons readily indulge in.

There have been numerous calls for the afore mentioned ‘struggle’, ‘revolt’ and ‘uprising’ against ‘the system’,’ the oppressors’, ‘the elites’ time and again. There have been various alternatives that have been taken into consideration and implemented on every conceivable size and scale on this planet.

The notion of supreme equality on the physical realm was implemented in all the communist countries. The idea of everyone having a say in the functioning of a system was implemented in democracy. There have been, aside from these two major blocs, various communities and lifestyles which have operated and persisted on this planet. The diversity of our experiments upon us is the subject of understanding here. The results – none of it works in order to optimally satisfy every individual.

The root of it all, so it seems at this point to the author, is the notion of individuality in itself. There is an image of a body built over time that is referenced as an individual entity. It is true that the physical self appears to be distinct and unique from that which is beyond the confines of its skin but the essential misconception is that this self exists as a unit in itself – and it most certainly does, but not in the traditional sense that it is understood in. The understanding that we have of the world around us is that it is comprised of energy or matter (they are interchangeable anyway), depending on your school of thought, yet this energy is not simply within the confines of your skin, it exists and will continue to do so beyond it as well.

Rerouting back to the subject of the essay; the call for revolution seems to miss this point entirely. A revolution or ‘change’ as perceived by most people is external. “Here, look son, there is some injustice happening there so we should worry about it here and parade outside a sandcastle called the parliament.” Perhaps even burn it down. It is absolutely ludicrous. There is no possible way to fight the so called system as all the pain inflicted by it is caused by the internal self. This calls for elaboration; So I continue to type like an idiot who has contracted a localized form of epilepsy that is limited to the regions of the palms - and sometimes the jaw.

The issue, so I proclaim, is internal as the imbalance that is perceived 'outside' is merely a reflection of the turmoil within. A truly content person would not be bothered by misappropriated portrayals of concocted concepts like 'injustice' or 'tragedy'. They are diegetic forces that are great for weaving exciting stories of Kings and Countries but in reality they are nothing but mere words used to invoke pointless conflicts in and around those who do not know better. On the other hand, it is a simple dismissal of the potential of those who enlist their support for these activities. Instead of actualizing potential and having the courage to accept and readily involve oneself in the process of bettering ones outlook the call for revolution simply provides an illusion of tragedy thereby giving its propagators a sense of upliftment for doing something about it. It is merely a transfer of responsibility that rightfully belongs in the individual into a constructed concept of the 'other' thereby ridding the indulgent from guilt.

So is there an answer at the end of it all? Do we just go on and accept whatever we get and not question it? Do we just accept all the killing the bloodshed and others such without saying a word as it is not 'our' responsibility?

These questions have one answer and that is simple. Yes, they are relevant as we are indeed damaging ourselves and others due to our wrongly assessed priorities but with a change from within a change beyond can be possible and not the other way round. Once the misconceptions of the mind are overcome only then can it be possible to move beyond itself and apply positive changes into the environs. Without this the effects can be damaging for both the individual and the cause.

Don't point fingers at others man, its fuckin' rude.

Him

2010-09-08T12:37:00.002+10:00

2+2 = 4.
It is a theory and it's proof is theoretical.

the Script

2010-09-08T12:35:00.000+10:00

2010-09-08T12:16:00.000+10:00

2010-09-06T13:18:00.000+10:00

THERE WAS A SWEET TAIL,

SOMEONCE DID SAY;

UN-TILL IT GOT TWISTED

TURNED HACKED and

PRESENTED THIS AWAY.

SYNTAX – FAIL

Ceasar's ghost

2010-09-06T13:16:00.002+10:00

"As a rule, men worry more about what they can't see than about what they can."
Brutus should have listened. Et Tu not paying attention?

Lysdexic Maniacs

2010-09-01T20:46:00.005+10:00

Well, I tried to say;
words someway
made me go astray.

So hear this out today, it may seem scary but that's okay.

BUZZ - masteredclip by Habilis

the Chiller

2010-09-01T19:43:00.003+10:00

2010-09-01T13:56:00.004+10:00

free your mind

Divide/Conquer

2010-09-01T13:49:00.001+10:00

Once upon a time there was a King. He, however, was the kind who liked to be reminded of his superiority over his subjects. Now, this King, passed a legislation, that all his subjects were to sit at a lower level than him. If the King sat on a chair then his subjects would sit on the ground. This is pretty easy to understand. This went on for a while until the King noticed how content his subjects were. They were chattering and laughing amongst themselves. He then thought that there was something interesting about the ground. He passed another law. All his subjects must sit above him. When he did this, the King realised that they were content sitting on the chairs and he was alone on the ground. It made him wonder. The king then passed a legislation that his people must never remind him of him being their king and the kingdom prospered.

Humans have an inherent tendency to dissect in order to provide an illusion of meaning and thus that of understanding the world around us.

Let me start this rant with a simple example of segregation;

There is a circle. There is nothing complicated about it, it is a small simple circle, elegant in form and complete in its simplicity. Human interference comes about and divides the circle into four different and equal parts. Now, the first part is removed from the circle and is subjected to a few centuries of thought, debate, understanding, equating, and others such. After a point of time the quarter does not garner much of human interest anymore as they see the banality of it.

Ain’t no quarter man, no loose change, the time for credit is here.

Now they are in the quest of finding the whole circle in order to apply the same degree of stupidity upon the other three. Having found them and doing the afore mentioned, they still would not be able to perceive the humble, cimple sircle, as it is. You see, they cannot get past the conditioning inflicted upon them by the so-called understanding of the first part. Partially it is very complex therefore the whole cannot be simple.

The semantics, you see, is where it all disseminates. There is much amped debate about the role of copyright in the age of the internet and others such. “What is right, is remixing an art or is it just stealing somebody else’s hard work” and so on. All these just indicate one thing – we have a hell of a lot of time at our disposal to talk about things that are at their base level, primitive, and then to spiral further down, irrelevant.

A long time ago, and this time that I am referring to is not something that you would ascribe inside a history book, there were intelligent people. The realisation of consciousness and contemplation upon the same brought about a change on this planet. Soon they found that their minds were capable of contemplation beyond the physical yet they were subjected to conviction by the physical. Therefore in order to keep the speculation alive the simplicity of the environment they were present in was not adequate enough to entertain their minds. Enter the rest -

Language, theory, art, expression, communication, religion, even this little bit of illiterature, all of it is part of a process that had been crafted for the sheer purpose of indulgence. This indulgence, and this is the cool part, is not about some berserk sexual fantasy or an expensive French meal. It is merely a satisfaction derived from the completion of an event that was perceived to provide an illusion of achievement, intellectual prowess, self-understanding, or any other such goals. Imagine it to be a big box of lego that was given to an architect who made a hundred foot tall maze with the complexity that puts the pyramids to shame. These are tools of satisfaction.

Alpha beta particles.

We are all products of mind. In this realm that is all we are. The whole notion of freedom, liberty, assessment, intellect and so on are nothing but tools of dissection. I am a free man therefore you are not, I am a citizen and you are not. Me versus you. The earth came as a small sphere but we had to make ludicrous shapes on it and call it maps just for the purpose of understanding. If you met a man then you could assess him by asking him which nation he is from, it helps your mind categorize and archive, then pull out a little bundle of preconceptions that give you an illusion of knowing the other man. What is your job, income, nationality, religion, sexual lenience, political allegiance, school of thought and a bit more babble…What is It?

Dismantle, recreate; Mentalmorphosis.

[RN]ationality

2010-08-25T13:57:00.008+10:00

I'm a hypocrite of the first order though; being polite and others such... tsk tsk.
Note: Image can be enlarged by clicking on it.