synaptic-disunion

Expository humanitory

Whatever you think of me, whatever I think of  you, is probably wrong.  This unsubstantiated ideology we have of each other is predicated on the wrong notions of what it means to be real, to be human, to be alive.  We are nothing but molecules expressing themselves inside a framework of gravity and social ideologies.  Are you able to see inside the circuitous bones that contain the grey matter of my consciousness?  Am I able to see inside what you are, the very essence? Is your reality anything like mine?  Am I sitting here in my little library room and you are sitting there in your little vinyl listening room as I see in your whats spinning Facebook  post? I have no idea what you are, what I am, what we all are…we are nothing but molecules expressing themselves in rote and narcissist ways, and we live from day to day looking for more, looking for life, looking for meaning.  Whatever it is, we are still one, still leaving the earthly bonds of gravity and constraint to this earthly plain, to be something more than we are. Whether we delve into the earth to look at the past, or look into the skies to see the future, we are all human, we are all one, we are all connected.. so why don ‘t we fucking act like it already??

the inside out, the upside down

Entrances and exits, light and dark, sky and ground… all around us things like this divide and control and subjugate and articulate.  Rat pack fat black mat scrap knack willow tree’d sleep by the waters edge within the starry knight of days gone by and waters under bridges and lethal dosses of life and death and whatever comes from day to day within each waking moment of whatever passes as life.  Out there, beyond the glowing sunlight of a mediocre star, out there, beyond the gravity well of all that we will ever know, there is complete nothingness and emptiness.. and bitter bitter cold.  The vacuum of the empty void.  I am an expression of the cosmos, he said, trying to make sense of all that I see, and all I see is myself, and the cosmos.  Is that where we go when we pass on to whatever lies beyond, which is probably nothingness?  Incredulous I stand and look over the vast chasm of my own failing intellect and sanity, and see the void from whence I came, and see into that where I’m going… what is there but the now, the instant…this perception altering drink and chemical that broaden’s my head-space, to include the all…the everything…the infinite….that which passes from minute to minute as time drones on into the whatever-time, if time is even a thing.  My red kite flows into the stream above my head, hanging there like there’s no gravity, like there’s nothing but everything I think is real, and everything but nothing that I don’t know about.  What am I saying?  Nothing.. I’m saying nothing.  These are just the ramblings of a nothing, a nobody, a no-one, an empty shell with consciousness trying to make sense of what is seen, heard, felt, seen, using music to stream what reality really is, and never knowing whether anything is real at all.  I am exceedingly human.  I am exceedingly real….but I am transient, temporary, I am soil with life…I am not god, nobody is…I am the universe with the ability to look at itself and wonder what the fuck is going on….

Mind to fingers to page with no edits…

I have become death, the destroyer of worlds.

Those are the words that sometimes pop into my head, for whatever reason.  Reason has nothing to do with it, frankly.  Reason, though I aspire to be reasonable, I am rarely reasonable at all, because I am emotional, feeling, drifting, listening, I am human, after all.

Whatever music lies within me lies to me daily about how it might escape me into the world at large.  It remains pent up within me, singing, emoting, driving my thoughts toward some end I cannot see.

Where is the ending, where is the beginning, where am I now that I’ve drifted into this conflagration afterlife of sorts?  What becomes me?  What do I become afterward?

The music bounces in my head, grinding, churning, epic ballads and grinding rhythms.  Sinner, singer, song writer.  Standing arms wide while the music flows out of my mind with the force of a storm wind.  Nice though it flows my head keeps it inside and doesn’t let the world see…I abide within my own world of sound and fury, which ends up signifying nothing.  Nothing at all.

….and so it begins…

As the night fell on that election Tuesday, and my heart melted in fear and anguish, my body was thrown a small but tangible life line, in the form of a new space of my own.  We descended on this place like moths on light that day, but chaos was still the order of the day.  My own space, though, was all but complete.  Boxes of meaningless possessions, and a few that hold memories and sentiment, that make up our feeble and tentative lives stacked around the house, as I stared at books that were older than me, and that would outlive me into the future.  Texts written by persons long disintegrated into dust, leaving only their words on pages yet to be turned.

We had come through the fire, only to be piled upon with tasks and debt beyond measure, and decisions that needed to be made.

Here in this little quiet sanctuary of my own, what do I plan on doing?  What do I intend to study, to write, to listen to….how then shall I endure the next four years in my bunker of books?  I shall take it upon myself to write, and to create music.  some of it will be awful, and regrettable, some maybe, if I’m lucky, will be good.

The mythologies of our time, and of our past, are my current focus, as are simple expository and mind to fingertip writings such as you are currently reading.  Music of a sort that I enjoy, and perhaps, just maybe, someone else might also.  A place to retreat, to get away from the derision and division of the outside world, wherein I can talk at length and freely about how that outside world affects us all…protesting I suppose, in my own small way.  Because, as we are now the divided states of america, divided from family, from history, from the world, these thoughts need to be expressed.  I will attempt to refrain from preaching, from teaching, and try to simply talk, write, and sing about these feelings that we are all having at this tumultuous time in our world.

I don’t know what else to say…here I am.  Here we are.  I am in my basement cave, you are where you are.  We all breath the same air, look up at the same sun and moon, and walk on the same ground.  We should all be one, and yet we are all so far apart and distant, even as we ride together on buses, trains, and subways, together and apart.

library1-jpg

I’m still here

It is October, 2016, and I am still alive…still here in this corporeal body waiting for a new cave in which to lay my weary head.  This is supposed to be the month, the time it settles down to coalesce into a new life, a new beginning.  Autumn has always felt like a beginning to me, where others see decay and coldness.  I welcome the closeness of the darkness, like returning to the womb, in warm glow of firelight.  Hello fall.

true colors

You can delete all the evidence. The posts. The instant messages and the pictures. You can erase your digital past and carefully curate your pixelated present and future. You can try to change who you are, and who you seem to be, and who you want to be seen as….but when the night comes, and the darkness closes in on your bedroom, you know it isn’t really gone. It seeps back into your brain stem and worms it’s way back, through darkened neural pathways, down the shadowed corridors of your mind, where it raps silently on doors you wanted closed and locked, silently waking those memories you wanted to shut away from yourself, and everyone else. The doors open, and out they flow like mist over morning grasslands.  They become the quiet demons of your bedroom, the horror of your waking hours, and your facade slowly slips from your face, showing the world who you’ve always been, but never wanted to be.

Meaning…part 3

Giving up has it’s rewards.  Don’t let the positive thinking people deceive you in to thinking you can think your way to ‘positivism.’  The truth is more complicated, more visceral…and different for each and every one of us.

When you drift downstream, forgoing effort, you become calm, you lay on your back and look upward as the sky drifts by, knowing full well the waterfall is coming, but not worrying about it because it’s not something you can change anyway.  Let it be.  Let it flow.  Let it go.

Don’t let them tell you we make our own decisions.  We are driven by external forces outside our own control, causing us to make decisions to mold ourselves to that reality. The evolution of consciousness isn’t complete and we are stuck in a transitional state between control and controlling.  It’s always more complicated than what you think…because what you think is affected by so much else.

Giving up has it’s rewards.  You flow, you drift, you find peace, you live in the present.

46

Forty six times the event has come around, each one different and also the same.  Glacial changes over time, reverting back to the beginning and inching closer to the ending.  Forty five was half of ninety.  Ninety will never be seen, in all likelihood.  We only know the half way point once the ending is reached.  Every day is a gift and every day is a repetition.  The same gift, opened without excitement, excepting on rare occasions.  Oblivion calls, as life holds it back.  In the end, the abyss wins over, and we all enter.

quiescence…

There is a space between activity and sleep that I enjoy, and inhabit more often lately than I have in the past.  It’s not contentment.  I am not content with either myself or my situation.  It is, almost, resignation…a certain peace of mind that comes over me.  Maybe it’s like giving up on things, on everything, and just letting things happen.  Maybe it’s a zen-like state.  I don’t really know.

It is a kind of action, though…coming to a pause…the act of pausing.  Slowing of the metabolism in reaction to some external force or event…or even environment.  Yesterday, Prince died.  We don’t know why yet.  Today, as always, there is another shooting in the USA.  Life and death goes on, as it always will.  Today is Earth day…it’s not a day to help the earth, but a day for humanity to realize that this spherical space ship is all we have to live on right now, and that it will go on into it’s own future with, or without us…the decision is ours.  I am quiet.  I am peaceful.  I have no aspirations about the 2016 election because, as usual, if I dive into it too much, I become embroiled in my own anger and disdain for the rest of humanity, and it’s disregard for itself.  I am circular in my reasoning, so I become empty.  I empty the emotions out and seek to find bodily and mental peace…from nowhere…from oblivion.

What is the meaning of all this?  I don’t know.  What is the future like, you, who are reading this a hundred years from now.  Did we make it?  Did we repair the earth-ship?  Did we overcome our own petty squabbles and hatreds and live, finally, together in peace?  Come back and tell me some time.  I’d like to know.  As for now, this gen-x-er is going to nap for a while…mentally, and bodily.

slipping…

some days I feel like i’m slipping away…becoming invisible…and I’m ok with it.  like blending into the background…a warm, comfortable feeling of well being…where softness surrounds your body and infiltrates your mind…

you soar…away…wings of freedom and all that…release, renew…like an ip address…but the renew is somewhere else…alone, numbness spreading and dulling senses until all is nothing and weakness is the only thing left…

some days are like that…knee bouncing nervously…then nothing.  a desire for peace and alternate realities sets in…a comfortable unreality where dreams are…where you can be what you always wanted to be and so much more…