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Saturday, September 10, 2011
Fuck the System. Let's Make a NEW One.
Time.
I Am my father's daughter. Science, in a combined fusion with politics and economic strategy, is the only hope this world has. Not only is our economy in shatters, but our Climate!!! Us Los Angelites are all witness to the strange weather that has been happening on a daily basis. Today, thunder, combined with rain (hasn't rained in 3 months), sunny on one half of the sky, cloudy on the other. This is not "normal". Global warming can no longer be claimed to be a fairy tale spun by the media. People across the world are feeling its' subtle, but very real effects. People continue to live out their lives in repitition, as if things are all ok, essentially. They're not. Worse, there seems to be a mentality of ,"ah well, even IF the world does suck, I'll just take care of me and mine, and, that's the best I can do." Bullshit. WE, can ALL, do better. We need to raise our individual and global standards.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Non Servium
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Spirals
This is your life.
Monday, March 07, 2011
Knowing harmony is consistency. Knowing consistency is enlightenment. – Tao Te Ching
****These days....my words don't quite describe my feelings, which is based upon a metaphysical concept that is difficult to explain****
No Catch-22's, This is Real Beautiful Life
I have not written here in a while. I have many entries in logbooks, journals and accounts, but have not had time to type them up.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
10 Commandments
I HAVE BEEN MARKED. MY FIRST TATTOO. I HAVE WANTED IT SINCE I WAS 16. AT LAST, THE PERFECT MOMENT PRESENTED ITSELF, AND I RODE THE WAVE OF THE UNIVERSE...THE MARKINGS OF MY DESTINY. IT IS...WRITTEN.
My 10 Commandments:
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
The Steppenwolf
reading Hesse's Steppenwolf today was a grand fucking insight. The man who is outside of society, looks down upon civilization, hates the hipocracy, struggles for liberation and isolation from it. Yet what is the root of his disgust of humanity? Self hatred. Bleeding, vile, unmistakable, undeniable and inescapable self-hatred. Self-hatred which is the same side of self-love. He hates humanity and yet loves it more than anyone on the planet possibly could, the depth of his hatred as deep as his love. And how he feels of the planet and the human world is how he feels of himself. How ironic, how bitter it is to know that I am indeed this Steppenwolf. This creature of the steppes, this diseased being. Despite all of the external pleasantries, this putrid knowledge of the disappointment I am to my own self, this horrific truth that I cannot run from, that is the key to my freedom. Me facing my own self-hatred. Combined it is with self-love, combined with love of humanity and hatred for it's systemic rule. But without this blinding self-hatred, I really have no ambition, no goals, no drive, no need. It is this tormented state which makes anything possible. Where does it stem from? Well, yes, as the logical psychological analysis would assume, from childhood. From knowing that what I am is so different and so marked that it will never run alongside the sheep, such a wolf I am. And knowing that my own parents not only know this putridity, but are also ashamed of it. Yes, that is partly where it began. But the root of my self-hatred lies in me not ever being able to match my own ridiculously high expectations. Needing, craving, wanting to be a god. A god trapped in this human vessel. Seeing it's limitations every second. Suffering with the burden of supremacy, masked by this disgusting skin, body, soul. It never goes away. Everything is an escape away from it. The self-hatred never, ever, ceases to taunt me, mock me, what a joke I am.
What a wretched mess. What a beautiful creation.
I need a miracle. I need to break free. I am tired of this limbo land. I am tired of being forever trapped in this pandamonium. Give me an answer, give me beyond truth, give me the key to unleash my true self.
Blast and damn you universe, for surrounding me with Alexander, with Homer, with Hesse, with Socrates and Da Vinci and Van Gogh and all the Greats. Damn you for allowing me to believe that I could be greater and making it impossible for me to ever be more than what I am.
I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. I love you, I love you, I love you. This mirror, this mask of myself that I constantly see, this is not me. This is too awful to be my reality.
I am a GOD. Let me be one. Please. I'm sick of this. I don't want to be the Steppenwolf. I don't want to be the shunned. I don't want to be the prodigy. I don't want to be just the genius. I want to be a fucking GOD. Why would you torture me with this vision of grandeur if it is unreachable? What kind of living hell are you imprisoning me in? What wretched sins has my spirit done in past lives, in the re-encarnations of my history, to deserve this?
Free me. Free me or give me a way to free myself. This is far too much to bear anymore.
This self-hatred explains Everything.
Explains why I continually suffer and choose to suffer, choose to torture myself, choose the hardest possible path. I am punishing myself. I am killing myself trying to destroy this thing that I am, but never fully destroying it, just close enough where I am always at the brink of destruction. That's the only place I can ever be slightly free, because that is the place where my guilt is appeased. Any shot of happiness, any shot of actual light, I shun it, I turn away. The beast within me can't stand the light, can't stand me shining, knows the horrid thing I actually am.
They think I'm the good guy. The hero. I'm the villian. The demon. The anti-christ. Pure evil. Not because I'm actually powerful enough to be, but because I'm so fucking powerless in my ambition to be all of this. They think I'm Machiavelli. I'm nowhere near it. I'm a constant experiment of my own wants, meeting up with the blockade of possibility. A self-fulfilling prophecy of eternal failure. A doomed one.
It explains why I can only ever fully cum when I have rape, abuse, torture fantasies playing in my head. When I imagine men banging the shit out of me, cursing my name, bitch, slut, whore, violating me, abusing me, flinging me across walls, pissing on me, cutting me. Only when do I feel at the brink of abuse, torture and pain do I cum. So deep is this self-hatred of myself that the only light is for someone to feel the same about me, for another to agree with my own self-hatred.
That is likely why I run away from real love. My system can't process it. Can't fathom why anyone would actually love this horrid thing I am. Can't understand why people call it beautiful, can't comprehend why people call it smart. It's diseased, it's faulty, it's a broken machine. It's a machine that couldn't be fixed even with the best gadgetry. They don't know the real picture. They don't know what's inside. They don't, can't, understand what I actually am.
So that is why I levitate towards people who treat me like shit. It adds to my comfort zone of hating myself.
It's why any time anyone treats me nice I'm in a state of paranoia. Wondering why.
Whenever I face rejection, failure, disappointment, suffering, abuse, these things all make sense to me, these all correlate directly to my truth, to my hatred of my self. Winning, champion, success, all these things make no sense to me, don't fit well or sit at ease with my system. Successes come and go, never consistent, never stable, because I despise myself. I hate myself so much that I subconsciously always find ways to destroy myself.
Well no fucking more.
Fuck my self hatred.
Fuck it all.
I'm going to start learning how to let go of my expectations. I'm going to start embracing people that actually care, actually love me. I'm worth loving, I have to remember that. I'm not a god. I suppose I never will be. Somehow I have to start believing that's enough.
I have to stop with the self-negative thoughts, the self-demeaning traps, all of the negative poison flowing thru my veins.
I have to become whole. I have to become free.
You are what you Decide to be
They were all pigeons. Birds that flocked together, willing to be molded, aching to be taught. Searching for truth, searching for meaning, all too scared to pursue the mysteries of life themselves. It was strange to me the way that they considered it to be holy to bow down and believe in a force that had no mathematical proof. How the whole of generation could sit in this dark tavern and sing choruses of virtue in tribute to nothing but hope. They were the intellectuals, the beggars and the elite. But they were all just helpless pigeons and this empty cathedral was their nesting place. Great wells of fire curled/crawled and purred underneath my eyes. Satanic perhaps, but ever so angry with an astonishing purpose. They were all machines, all hopelessly devoted to being oiled parts of a wheel that would never stop turning. Shaking their palm trees. I was terrified and angry at the revengeful power of Mother Nature. To use her greenery as means of false worshipÖ. Who were they worshipping if not themselves? They waved their palms. Mine stayed by me. They applauded. I raised my eyebrow. Counterfeited money. Crisp new material. All being folded into tiny crucibles in order to worship their master. I doubt that Nature would ever ask for nickels from her trees. And yet the pigeons paid. They paid for the lamps that lit up their temples. The lights made for knowledge were being used for idle worship. I closed my eyes and breathed in the darkness. They burned and glistened in the betraying light. Words made for sentences were being used for flattery. Flattery that was scorned and ridiculed in our world became accepted among them as long as it was being used for a "holy" purpose. I wanted to laugh out loud but instead I clasped my palms in gratitude that they were mine and I mine alone. They proceeded to be fed. As their ministers would mercilessly devour their hunger before realizing it had been struck with poison. It would kill them. They were not immune, I was, for the crumbs did not touch my lips, just greeted my eyes. My tongue did not make water as theirs did. I swallowed my spit of anger. They spit with words of peace. I was ready to kill the pigeons, then resurrect them as my own. They struck with their gentle thoughts. I grew ill and naseous. But ? Did not spit out my ????. I could not throw out my dismay and it grew in me. Stronger and stronger. Each red day. Every head turned in magnanimous union as the whole moon spoke. Their eyelids closed and opened while mine only fluttered. They were slaves to a master that was keeping them in in destructible chains. Gathering to respect and unleash themselves from the burdens of this supposed world. They were all pigeons. I cried. In this holy tribe I was alone in living on a hilltop with the wolves rather than in a teepee. A teepee cut out of bleeding trees. They who worshipped all of life had the arrogance to chop down Nature's gift to fulfill their superficial and selfish desires. They clawed at my soul as vultures who would never return it. My lips blistered at every word that came out of their song. Horrible entity of time wasted to a mission of absolute hipocracy. Worshipping every human as a whole, I felt separated in my love. Those who I honored, those who I walked with were ignorant to all the greatness of life. These birds built their branches to rest on when all the branches of the world were still unoccupied. The oceans were cleansed and the sands lonely. Then they were in their man-made temples, when the greater asylum of tranquility was lying upon the air of the universe. None looked up, only ahead. I sighed. The fire on the candlesticks stood still. The passionate fire was being murdered by its own hand. They ignored its pain. They blew out its arrogant flames and bowed their heads to the mysterious creature that was unholy in itself. They worshipped the one who worshipped "himself", yet ridiculed the confidant beggars in the street. Their logic amused me, for I watched myself watching them and outside of my head I laughed. The voices while sang in perfect harmony and unison spent time. They could have used it for life. Instead they sang. Their chirping was so beautiful that it caused angry tears to melt upon my face. My skin weeped in the agony of the scene. The beauty and irony of it all. The trained pigeons who fly, but always must come back to where they came from. Their wings clipped at their (the) ends just enough to make practice that they were well. My skin ripped and as I never glanced at the blood I did not bleed. They would have. The chained pigeons. My pigeons. They clasped their hands again. The mantises of Nature always did this ritual before killing their enemy. I was their enemy. I was their friend. I was stabbed but not dead. Not knowing which was ? I kept silent and pinched my body to know it was mine. It was. They flew away and departed in happy praise. I was mournful through the night. Who were they worshipping? Who were they killing? I arrived at the conclusion that they had no idea how fooled they were. I hated church.
I had created a complete world of morons that ironically I happened to love. On a daily basis they ignored or adored me, having absolutely no grasp of everything that they blindly believed in. And I am everything. The worst part is that I have to constantly remain an illusion, because they would never believe that what they knew to be the infinite truth was merely a very elaborate lie.
You've seen me before. Forget the fact that I may have used incorrect grammar or smiled when the occasion called for a frown. You have seen me. And right now I know every thought erupting in your mind. Perhaps you are a critic, analyzing every piece of alphabet that I use so you can conjure up your own american soup. Before you proceed with ideas, I shall inform you that your pitiful attempts at decoding will not earn you fame or retribution. What I am writing is the truth. It is up to you to decide whether it is your truth as well. But remember that no matter how elementary my concepts may be, or how famililliar the "story" sounds, at the end of the day you will know that I can still reach you in dreams.
I was not always so hostile. In fact human beings are not born knowing how to hate.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Deck the Reindeers
The internal work requires painful efforts that many are willing to make.Correct deviations from our thoughts, emotions and desires, requires a continuing commitment. Some beings, out of laziness or fear of facingtheir own fears and bad habits before they want to help themselves tohelp others. What help can come up with a defiled mind? .. Also, as acommunity, no matter how needy we are, we check carefully who is theorganization or country that offers its assistance in the form of loan.Perhaps accepting that "generously" gives us, because we aredebt-exploited in return give our products at ridiculous prices, and alsocatch his mangy system. A healthy piece of bread is better than afragrant stew poisoned."
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Canvas
credit to Los Angeles South Bay artist crew Belen Hernandez, Dave Vernon, & Shaun Singer.
Photographer credit to Irvin Rivera
Location: Hollywood
THE MISANTHROPE
on the battle of digging deeper past the surface, vs. taking all "as is".....
ALCESTE:
In this regard there's none I'd choose to spare
All are corrupt; there's nothing to be seen
In court or town but aggravates my spleen.
I fall into deep gloom and melancholy
When I survey th scene of human folly
Finding on every hand base flattery,
Injustice, fraud, self-interest, treachery...
Ah, it's too much; mankind has grown so base,
I mean to break with the whole human race.
PHILINTE:
This philosophic rage is a bit extreme;
You've no idea how comical you seem;
Indeed, we're like those brothers in the play
Called School for Husbands, one of whom was prey...
ALCESTE:
Enough, now! None of your stupid similies.
PHILINTE:
Then let's have no more tirades, if you please
The world won't change, whatever you say or do;
And since plain speaking means so much to you,
I'll tell you plainly that by being frank
You've earned the reputation of a crank,
And that you're thought ridiculous when you rage
And rant agains the manners of the age.
ALCESTE:
So much the better; just what I wish to hear.
No news could be more pleasant to my ear.
All men are so despicable in my eyes,
I should be sorry if they thought me wise.
PHILINTE:
You're hatred's very sweeping, is it not?
ALCESTE:
Quite right; I hate the whole degraded lot.
PHILINTE:
Must all poor human creatures be embraced,
Without distinction, by your vast distaste?
Even in these bad times, there are surely a few...
ALCESTE:
No, I include all men in one dim view;
Some men I hate for being rogues like brothers,
And, lacking a virtuous scorn for what is vile,
Receive the villain with a complaisant smile.
Notice how tolerant people choose to be
Toward the bold rascal who's at law with me.
His social polish can't conceal his nature;
One sees at once that he's a treacherous creature;
No one could possibly be taken in
By those soft speeches and their sugary grin.
The whole world knows tha shady means by which
The low-brow's grown so powerful and rich,
And risen to a rank so bright and high
What virtue can but blush, and merit sigh.
Whenever his name comes up in conversation,
None will defend his wretched reputation;
Call him knave, liar, scoundrel, and all the rest,
Each head will nod, and no one will protest.
And yet his smirk is seen in every house,
He's greeted eerywhere with smiels and bows,
And when there's any honor that can be got
By pulling strings, he'll get it, like as not.
My God! It chills my heart to see the ways
men come to terms with evil nowadays;
Sometimes, I swear, I'm moved to fee and find
Some desert land unfouled by humankind.
PHILINTE:
Come, let's forget the follies of the times
And pardon mankind for its petty crimes;
Let's have an end of rantings and of railings,
And show some leniency toward human failings.
This world requires a pliant rectitude;
Too stern a virtue makes one stiff and rude;
Good sense views all extremes with detestation;
And bids us to be noble in moderation.
The rigid virtues of the ancient days
Are not for us; they jar with all our ways
And ask of us too lofty a perfection.
Wise men accept their times without objection,
And there's no greater folly, if you ask me,
Than trying to reform society.
Like you, I see each day a hundred and one
Unhandsome deeds that might be better done,
But still, for all the faults that meet my view,
I'm never known to storm and rave like you
I take men as they are, or let them be,
And teach my soul to bear their frailty;
And whether in court or town, whatever the scene,
My phlegm's as philosophic as your spleen.
ALCESTE:
The phlegm which you so eloquently commend,
Does nothing ever rile it up, my friend?
Suppose some man you trust should treacherously
Conspire to rob you of your property,
And do his best to wreck your reputation?
Wouldn't you feel a certain indignation?
PHILINTE:
Why, no. These faults of which you so complain
Are part of human nature, I maintain,
And it's no more a matter for disgust
That men are knavish, selfish and unjust,
Than that the vulture dines upon the dead,
And wolves are furious, and apes ill-bred.
ALCESTE:
Shall I see myself betrayed, robbed, torn to bits,
And not...Oh, let's be still and rest our wits.
Enough of reasoning, now. I've had my fill.
------------------------------------------------
On jealousy, love, affection, being admired, and the catch-22 of the entire situation...from both perspectives:
ALCESTE:
Shall I speak plainly, Madam? I confess
Your conduct gives me infinite distress,
And my resentment's grown too hot to smother.
Soon, I forsee, we'll break with one another.
If I said otherwise, I should deceive you;
Sooner or later, I shall be forced to leave you.
And if I swore that we shall never part,
I should misread the omens of my heart.
CELIMENE:
You kindly saw me home, it would appear,
So as to pour invectives in my ear.
ALCESTE:
I've no desire to quarrel. But I deplore
Your inability to shut the door
On all these suitors who beset you so.
There's what annoys me, if you care to know.
CELIMENE:
Is it my fault that all these men pursue me?
And I to blame if they're attracted to me?
And when they gently beg an audience,
Ought I to take a stick and drive them hence?
ALCESTE:
Madam, there's no necessity for a stick;
A less responsive heart would do the trick.
Of your attractiveness I don't complain;
But those your charms attract, you then detain
By a most melting and receptive manner,
And so enlist their hearts beneath your banner.
It's the agreeable hopes which you excite
That keep these lovers round you day and night;
Were they less liberally smiled upon,
That sighing troop would very soon be gone.
But tell me, Madam, why is it that lately
This man Clitandre interests you so greatly?
Because of what high merits do you deem
Him worthy of the honor of your esteem?
Is it that your admiring glances linger
On the splendidly long nail of his little finger?
Or do I take a stick and drive them hence?
ALCESTE:
Madam, there's no necessity for a stick;
A less responsive heart would do the trick.
Of your attractiveness I don't complain;
But those your charms attract, you then detain
By a most melting and receptive manner,
And so enlist their hearts beneath your banner,
It's the agreeable hopes which you excite
That keep these lovers round you day and night;
Were they less liberally smiled upon,
That sighing troop would very soon be gone.
But tell me, Madam, why it is that lately
This man Clitandre interests you so greatly?
Because of what high merits do you deem
Him worthy of the honor of your esteem?
Is it that your admiring glances linger
On the splendidly long nail of his little finger?
Or do you share the general deep respect
For the blond wig he chooses to affect?
Are you in love with his embroidered hose?
Do you adore his ribbons and his bows?
Or is it that this paragon bewitches
Your tasteful eye with his vast German breeches?
Perhaps his giggle, or his falsetto voice,
Makes him the latest gallant of your choice?
CELIMENE:
You're much mistaken to resent him so.
Why I put up with him you surely know:
My lawsuit's very shortly to be tried,
And I must have his influence on my side.
ALCESTE:
Then lose your lawsuit, Madam, or let it drop;
Don't torture me by humoring such a fop.
CELIMENE:
You're jealous of the whole world, Sir.
ALCESTE:
That's true,
Since the whole world is well-received by you.
CELIMENE:
That my good nature is so unconfined
Should serve to pacify your jealous mind;
Were I to smile on one, and scorn the rest,
Then you might have some cause to be distressed.
ALCESTE:
Well, if I mustn't be jealous, tell me, then,
Just how I'm better treated than other men.
CELIMENE:
You know you have my love. Will that not do?
ALCESTE:
What proof have I that what you say is true?
CELIMENE:
I would expect, Sir, that my having said it
Might give the statement a sufficient credit.
ALCESTE:
But how can I be sure that you don't tell
The selfsame thing to other men as well?
CELIMENE:
What a gallant speech! How flattering to me!
What a sweet creature you make me out to be!
Well then, to save you from the pangs of doubt,
All that I've said I hereby cancel out;
Now, none but yourself shall make a monkey of you;
Are you content?
ALCESTE:
Why, why am I doomed to love you?
I swear that I shall bless the blissful hour
When this poor heart's no longer in your power!
I make no secret of it; I've done my best
To exorcise this passion from my breast;
But thus far all in vain; it will not go;
It's for my sins that I must love you so.
CELIMENE:
Your love for me is matchless, Sir; that's clear.
ALCESTE:
Indeed, in all the world it has no peer;
Words can't describe the nature of my passion,
And no man ever loved in such a fashion.
CELIMENE:
Yes, it's a brand new fashion, I agree:
You show your love by castigating me;
And all your speeches are enraged and rude,
I've never been so furiously wooed.
ALCESTE:
Yet you could calm that fury, if you chose.
Come, shall we bring our quarrels to a close?
Let's speak with open hearts, then, and begin...
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Strings
People operate the same way.
In martial arts, determining your opponent's weakness (es) is what will win you the battle. Strength, speed, training, all of these are not nearly as important as this one key point.
People are machines. They are organic constructs, they are flawed, they have chinks.
Uproot and discover a person's Achilles' heel and you can get them to do anything you want, get anything you want from them. As the world system is comprised of people, decision-makers, gate-keepers, those in ultimate power, find them, target them, decipher them, push every button to keep them aware you know their darkest truth, and play the world as your theatre.
Puppetmasters are only able to control puppets because between each separation of wood, there is a break.
Why share this information with you? Is it not counter-intuitive to strategical planning?
No, you are mistaken.
Whilst you have just read this tiny blurb of a thought, I've just demonstrated an example of puppeteering-something in here grabbed you and you succumbed to it.
Don't worry, don't think about it too much. It's just bullshit, right?
;0