Simplification is violence

Our desire to categorize things, and understand things, requires a degree of simplification. Reality is immense and a total understanding unknowable. People are immense and a total understanding unknowable.

So when we simplify people, we deny them their full complexity; the many shades, moods, perceptions and ideals bundled together to make their person. Simplification allows violence; it is not only demeaning but also other-ing. Us and them, real people and the simple-people.

Memories can also be simplified into ‘general feelings’ of the past. General sadness, general frustration. Break it apart – how, why, when? What really happened? Who was that historical figure really?

The truth is always too big to be grasped. Be satisfied with your handful, and accept complexity.

Why?

Why is my body not doing what I want? Why can’t I sleep, why can’t I shake inner fears? Why – because it never does, or did, what you want. You are not your body, you are the conscious-aware-miracle experiencing the world through it. Your body is beyond your total control.

For instance – how does your heart beat? Do you regulate every pump? How does your brain choose which memories to surface? Do you dictate every thought in your mind?

Understanding the subconscious, and the deeper nature of your body, you can perform actions which lead (through trickery or chemical reaction) your body to respond in a certain way. But this must be regular, for chaotic as it sometimes is, the body is also prone to systems.

Why? Because you have not adequately trained yourself yet. Break those bad habits.

Orphic Beast

An injection of self, a reflection of self

Orphic explosion, in this brain of mine

I touch the sky, my shaman-self lifted

To realize some kind, of undefined divine

My soul wants to soar, although some parts to plod

Among the grey citizens of order

Dull thumpers of the one, dull god

 

(And as I come to fear, the night, boredom

And my internal extremes, the hyper-brain

Says ‘enjoy this, though it ends in a crash

You were dead before, so live and fear not death’)

 

Somehow free of the hate that claims others

Oh those self-defined, self-refined prisons they create

Only to lament their loss and deny their place

In the ranks of bile, and spite and hate

Maybe to cloak themselves from the leviathan-machines

Which provides their plenty, as the global south screams

Their shit-eating hypocrisies, judgemental non-philosophies.

And I have landed among their pretention, problems hidden

Beneath the rug, the armoured iron carpet

That supports the weight of their bloated heads

And blood-drenched souls.

Child to man

I am trying hard to remember when my child died. Was it the realization of my mortality aged three? Was it the brute hierarchy of school? Was it the troubles of family life and its lasting sadness? Was it the wretchedness of seeing so much worldly suffering; the enslavement of millions for the betterment of a few?

Probably all of them combined.

A child’s innocence cannot survive for long. It is feared by resentful men, reminding them that their identities are a façade, that once they were but unformed children; happy, innocent, inspired. My child is dying, screaming in fear. The adults stand in triumph with a ‘told you so!’

But children are playful entities and silly. I was only pretending to be dead, and I still got a few lives left! Na na na na na, guess whose coming back!

Simplification is violence

Our desire to categorize things, and understand things, requires a degree of simplification. Reality is immense and a total understanding unknowable.

So when we simplify people, we deny them their full complexity; the many shades, moods, perceptions and ideals bundled together to make their person. Simplification allows violence; it is not only demeaning but also other-ing. Us and them, real people and the simple-people.

Memories can also be simplified into ‘general feelings’ of the past. General sadness, general frustration. Break it apart – how, why, when? What really happened? Who was that historical figure really?

The truth is always too big to be grasped. Be satisfied with your handful, and accept complexity.

Come ye shadows, my scabbard is empty for a reason

No more running from stillness and silence. No more running from yourself.

Put nothing between yourself and your fears; hide behind no shield. The longer you leave it, the worse it will become, the less and less free you will become. No castle walls can protect you; shadows can pass through stone. No distance can deter them; they are slow but inevitable. Turn and make a stand.

Let the shadows catch you, let all of your fears come and open your arms to them. Feel what it means to be in the presence of something that scares the shit out of you – it is your soul speaking, screaming in pain.

Devour your nightmares, draw your sword and harness your rage – the rage of the oppressed; the wrath of the silenced. Tear the shadows to pieces, as they come in wave after wave, fuck them up like a raging berserk; toss them aside like a rampaging bull. Nothing can defeat you if you are willing to fight.

The inner-demons cannot harm you, they can only make you harm yourself. You can make yourself love yourself, but first you need a sword at your belt and a rage in your heart and the might to face earthly evil. You need the valour to risk shame, humiliation and failure. You need the experience and discipline to endure pain and torment.

The Dark Ones have planted these demons inside of all proletarians, to make us hate ourselves and work their profit machine. They made the abusers and the psychotics and the oppressors who stain our souls with neurotic self-hatred. They made the social rules which call our rage barbaric and low, for they know rage is the cleasning fire which will ultimately transform this depraved society.

Fuck them back up warrior, for this is the only way…

Fear of the Nothing

Sometimes it comes, the fear of the nothing. Sometimes it goes, the fear of the nothing.

A formless entity, bouncing around inside like a ghost. Over time it clove its pathways, over time it gnawed at self-love and implanted viruses of shuddering fear.

It is nothing new, this fear of the nothing. But time could not always heal its tortured echoes, or selfish destructive tendency! The nothing grew in importance, and is hard to catch or face down.

Its trail left ruins over my character, and a pain born of its own void. Like an irrational counsellor, always whispering black speech to dominate the narrative of your being, it haunts, it haunts.

How do you banish the nothing? How do you banish fear?

I do not know yet, but I am on my way to discovering. I think someone wise once said the worst wounds will heal, eventually. Sure, unless you are an amputee!

Ha ha, fucking ha.

The giving (or not) of a fuck

Starting to not give (as much of) a fuck anymore. Is this a natural reaction to extended periods of suffering – real or imagined? Is the inevitable jadedness and world-weariness of getting older working its endurance-melting magic? Something deep inside has evolved to become moderately wreckless, impulsive, id-centric!

Less fuck-giving.

Chocolate. I want chocolate. I want chocolate lacing through every nerve in my body. I want to become an imperfect, bar-lowering creature who doesn’t give a (chocolate-related) fuck. Chocolate. It is one of life’s escape valves. But I can’t vent steam off through chocolate-based self-destruction, for that would cause anxiety! Not sure I fucking care anymore.

The perverse and hypocritical nature of ‘perfect’ people – exemplified in my particular life by ultra-critical, hyper-self-righteous Mediterreanean grannies – is more depraved than the stink of a thousand, long gutters. There is my sign post – its much better to just let go a bit!

Meds. I stayed away from them because I feared the unknown. Wise at the time. And the pharmaceutical industry can be a dark path. But now I fear being a lifeless zombie far more. Another dark bridge must be crossed, another necessary evil to continue feeling human. A few pills to help dip my toe back into the waters of society. It means surrendering belief that my will and soul alone can carry me the whole way. Meh, meh.

The spiritual healing aspect has helped massively, but it takes time to fully actualize. I need something to tide me over until enlightenment is reached and my soul is cleansed of illusion and shit. Oh yeah.

Not giving (as much of) a fuck.

Expression

And expression, oh expression

The truth, the lie

From my pen flutter, in cathartic flourish.

These thoughts trapped you might release

These bounded philosophies, between

The unbreakable wall of my skull

Set free, through the tendons of my hand

Unto the pressed, pulped tree.

Humanity, caged, has but one freedom

Infinite, boundless, mind surpassing matter

The words, in stream, resolving truths

Dissolving lies, fantasy and reality in one.

Those who express, know its true value

To nurture empathy, sharing the journeys of others.

The future is neither bleak nor hopeful

Like the cosmos, it is an unwritten page

For our minds and imaginations to jot

And scrawl, and pen, and scribe, and articulate

And write, and write, and write!

On Dread

The power of dread cannot be overestimated. It is a psychological shadow, a battering ram against the gates of the soul. Like magic, its power is invisible, stored in arcane fonts. For the power of dread is its potentiality, not any actual reference in the world.

Dread is the ability to inflict fear across impossible distances and eternal time-spans. It is an army of darkness which can cross an unguarded border at any time. It manifests more in the minds of the oppressed than it does the image of the tyrant. It is the sum total of belief and fear, sustained by the false reasoning which blasts it out of all proportion. It is a most unnatural thing.

To defeat dread, you must learn to face it. To be upon it, sword in hand, is to triumph. The tyrant’s strength is division and fear, his downfall is always unity and courage. Dread cannot survive an assault, it needs to remain invisible to wield power. The philosopher’s edge can cleave through dread for this reason.

Just see reality. Cleanse yourself of fear through self-empowerment and connection with others, and dread will die with it. The more you realize there is nothing in this world you cannot face, the greater courage will grow, the more dread will diminish.

Ask – what is there to actually fear?