Sentenced

I lost a place to stand on.

Imbalanced like a halm.

Tortured maiming beliefs threaten.

Diplomacy became truth.

Senseless conspiracies,

honesty like putty,

rule by force,

power-rush toxicity,

deities of greed and gain,

observed by AI,

judged by the blind,

sentenced by all,

executed by myself,

falling

towards nothing

clueless and lost

Hoarding

Me, me, me!

A contemporary slogan.

The subconscious, ‘very consciously’ ordering to hoard:

as much as we can,

as often too,

even forecasting the requirement of such self-benefiting actions

and somehow making everything right to achieve such,

ruthlessly adamant in its resolve.

Just look around.

Yeah, me too, also hoarding.

Why?

Is it for security and survival? Is it out of fear? Is out of hedonism?

Manic hoarding? Creative hoarding? Instinctual hoarding? … ???

Hoarding is a ‘feasting’ while the possibility exists, regardless (most are unaware of any impact during the quixotic rush) as long as the feast can continue.

It probably is a constitutional right too, wrapped into another layer of words for some clever jurist to unravel.

Premise

That

  what you say you are
      you are not.

Now,

  go critique yourself.

(Find who you really are, and who you are not,

and be Criti Cally)

 base it on That premise
         and not
on what you say you are.  

Thought-stream turbulence ahead!

      It's like wearing a garment inside out, 
       for the utter change of it 
       and accompanying perspective and revelation. 
      You should never have to do it
       you should only want to do it.
      Have a look at the 'what' and 'who' now.

Now, now then

 

a Moment

is a measure of Time spent in Now 

(the Present)

 

…Now is oblivious to Time…

– externally observed Now’s are chronistic (lengths of Time)

in Now there is all that there is now

magnify Time and reveal more Now’s

 

“Now, the focal point of our existence

 and also the oven of our creativity”

 

Now is elemental and ultimate

…time is only abstract and scale

Without Now, existence is indeterminate

…Now or never…

…Now forever…

Now is it!

 

photo: personal archive

Hey Life, you still there?

I owe life an apology. I am not sure if it would indulge an explanation?

Here is our life.
It’s analogous with our heartbeat.
It’s reliable, dependable and ready for anything every day.
But we are not.

Caught up in who knows how many schemes that whirl around in our head, do we give thought to life at all? We live life and accept it as necessary, abstract, but not really like this (magic) force of energy or a separate entity who/that actually has something to say for our benefit?

Are we the hedonistically narcissticating kind, the soul of the middle or grovelling the survival path? Be honest. It doesn’t matter but it makes you think. And while thinking :

When —, really —, do I  e v e r  listen to life?

If  life goes by the name of Google or Wiki,
 then yes, quite often.
...and maybe life is knowledge and data (too)?
...and maybe life is me without the I, but the us?
...but then, along came I... 
...and my confident, convinced action
   drowned any voice of caution or direction.

Life, this weird inexplicable thing that keeps (me) going come what may.

Is life perhaps G_od unvenerated?

We use life like a wheelbarrow.
It’s there; it’s convenient; it makes life easier and you can dump anything into it.
Case of beers, junk and yuck stuff.
Occasionally we clean it up with a hose only to let it rust in a corner and then moan when the wheel squeals after weeks of neglect.

Wtf are we doing with life?
It seems there is life and then there is us.
Split existentiality in a race with split personality.

Initially, we are homogenized, but then, along comes the mind and drives a wedge to create the famous lifelong schizo-split, the beginning of the ‘don’t tell me, I will tell you’ kind of relationship.

“I, the great sage are (because I am many in my head) now in charge.”

Often, even if not verbalised this bluntly means:
“f…off life, there is more important stuff in my life.”

Pressing on.
Another puff, shroom, swig or prick or whatever shit.

Life’s now become like a car.
It’s inconceivable that a wheel might be flat one day and we should become stranded.

Fcku!

“Where is the spare?
Shit.
OmG. Call 911.”

“911, what is your emergency?”

  “My wheel is gone.”

“Your wheel Sir/Ma’am, —?—.”

  “Fkcu yes my wheel, damn!”

“Sir/Ma’am we are not roadside assistance.”

  “The wheel is my life.”

“Oh, uhh, hold on please…”

 

A life later… as soon as that wheel is back, Voilà, ta-da, lots of smoke, full steam and ‘mindfully’ ahead.

 

Now life has become that pickup truck.
Big load bed and serious oomph between the …, oo-err, under the bonnet.
The wheels are now supergrabbers, they’re all on but sometime later you run out of gas.
Found deadish on the road going nowhere, load and all, and no life.
Now what? Stuck again?

I know I owe life an apology, badly, and then, as if scripted, I ask it the question:

"Life, 
  what do you suggest right now?"

If I’d turn down my noise, I might just hear its voice.

 

*It’s been three years since I wrote the book ‘Intercourse with Life’.
– Seriously, I also got distracted in noise.