I will be overseas and off the grid, for a while.
The me that emerges after will be something new entirely.
Goodbye.
Something to think about in my absence:
Do not choose a course of action because it is safe or is logical. That is a terrible waste of living. Choose a course of action because it leads to something you are Thrilled about. Life is too short for security. If the greats in history had lived their lives based on "what is realistic", nothing of greatness would have ever been accomplished. Something Becomes Real, when you refuse to accept that it Couldn't be.
I call it-
.....................THE GOO
The Goo
I'm sick of the goo, the sick goo, that covers the entire world.
I needed to get the fuck away from all of it, and I don't plan on returning until I've found some peace.
There is a prison everywhere in the world of man, and everyone in it a prisoner. If it's not people and twisted relationships, it's the masses of society, if it's not society it's therestrictions of corporations, if you're not a prisoner to your global responsibilties, you're a prisoner to your personal ones. It's always "if not this, then that". It's a Goo. It's a goo that has coated the entire planet and I refuse to contribute further to it. I'm staying away until I've developed a plan. Which will either be becoming Buddha and going off into the woods forever, or something else. The disease which has overtaken it, and how no matter where you look theleprecy it has left is imprinted. There is no escaping the prison as long as you are attached to it. So I had to, I must, leave it.
It's easy enough to see how one could be drawn to it. There's so much of it, so much goop. And it's goop that has additives in it that make you stay addicted. The good food, oh! Thetastes and variations and types of it, heaps of it, mountains, truckloads of it, everywhere. Themoney, and all the stuff, all that goop of stuff that you can buy with it. The cinema, the films,the media, the mags, the television, it's all so very good so very pleasurable. The sex with allthe people, all the pleasures all the differences. The internet and it's vast information, all thetechnologies, all the inventions, all the interesting plays of mathematics and physics that created them. All the artworks and the books, the great thoughts of all the men and the great thoughts they give out. The relationships and the pains and joys they cause. The success andthe failures of the game of achievement. It's all so very addictive. So very easy to succumb to. To choose one tentacle of the goo and be inevitably sucked into all of it. Try a little nice cake at the bakery, remember how good that buttery mulf feels, take up a job to support your cravings of it. Take up an apartment to support your job. Take up friends to support you thru it all. It's a mad fucking cinematic episode it is. All of it. And I could easily take up part in it. I have, I've lived it. I could probably rule the whole thing with enough effort. world domination and all that. But the thing that bugs me about it, the nagging thing that just won't leave me or let me be is that in essence, it's all fake. All that work and all that effort and all that slavery, and you aren't left with anything Real at the end of it all. You can't take a biscuit or a trophy or a wedding ring with ya to your grave. All that is temporal. No matter how high in the goo you rise, how much goo you acquire, how deep in the goo you get, the truth doesn't escape that the goo is fake.
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I am remembering a poem I wrote as a child. Poems rather, that won contests. I remember seeing my poems in comparison to all the other children's pathetic attempts for poems and feeling so superior, so above, everyone. And the other children hating me for it and not understanding me for it. And even the teachers somewhat skeptical of me, almost hating that I was not like the other children who were so comfortable in their pathetic mediocreness, that did not strive for something higher in their creations.
This is how I continually feel about the human race when being compared to members of it. How pathetically mediocre their existences are. How they settle for lives that are so drone. That will be forgotten as soon as they die. How they hate me for wanting to believe that I can be something more, how they don't understand me for thinking that the world is so different than the one they perceive as real. How hating me for not valuing their material successes and realistic achievements. For having no congratulatory respect for their bmw's and their private practices and their big houses. For feeling that all of their material grandeur will die when they do. And hating how comfortable they are about it. Not only comfortable, but feeling proud of themselves at their miraculous understanding of the real world they inhabit and being able to conquer small parts of it. And not understanding why I too can't be like them, covet what they covet, value what they value. To them my strange idealisms are ridiculous and irrelevant to the life which they know as life. I am viewed as selfish and unrealistic for valuing a higher philosophical plane than their superficial, temporal one. They tell me that my selfish ways cost other people money. They don't understand that money means nothing. It only has as much meaning as other people give it.
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