"In a wasteland empty of substance you have to learn how to drink from the dirty cups of others in order "
Not to die of thirst, and if you want to stay clean you have to know how to wash with dirty water.
f.nietzsche-thus spoke Zarathustra.
Often the reality is completely different than the image stemming from saying all the right things. Unrepentant in full view of my yesterdays and their memories saturated with images of actions and reactions once considered mistakes, twists of a truly tawdry chemical fate and at times accomplishments, I find that I really don't have the time or a need to dwell upon the technical description of who I was supposed to be based on the appearance I proffered and the verbal embellishments I created to enhance my reputation.
In the progressively barren landscapes of my personal brand of street life's chemically inspired sub-cultural evolution, the malice, intent and presumptions of those all around me were blatant and obvious. Pre-packaged ready to wear and express emotions assaulted my intelligence with their Pavlonically imprinted predictability. Everyone's personality seemed designed to cover any confrontation or situation in whatever particular frame of sub-cultural behavior and expression that fit the moment best in success or failure. It was always without any depth or true individualism. It was just basic generalities flavored with an almost animated absurdity, an absurdity proffered up in those good or bad schemes of interaction with any variations keyed into existence by an ingrained subconscious emotional program of give and take.
It was a world where sound and sight took a back seat to assumption and subliminal expectation. That is why in order to do more than just go through motions that were without substance, in order to function within a sub-culture and yet function without it, in order to live in a chemical lifestyle that controlled living without sacrificing the life living within the battened down soul of my true self a balance had to be maintained between the life being taken for granted and lived without passion and the life chemically assumed to be mandated.
In that retrospect the question of how much falsity and illusion was the by-product of that balancing act with its own pretension and rote reactions tempered by fallacy always rears its self- torturing head up.
"Powerless against what has been done; we tend to become angry spectators of the past. The will cannot" will backwards and that we cannot break times past with our retrospective covet nous is our wills loneliest melancholy. ( f.nietzsche-t.s.zara.)
Yes, no matter how hard it is tried (in spite of the ego stroking pleasures of re-living times and places with those who did not live up to expectations) the past cannot be changed. The words cannot be re-spoken and any shattered bonds always remain broken .It is easy to lash out at the specters in memory while crudely trying to re-pixel the images to satisfy base desires of different emotional and physical conclusions, and it is even easier to re-manipulate old conversations to include the phrases that imagination and constant reflection have ingrained into the subconscious. Words that are keyed to just the right mixture of sage-like wisdom and egotistical expectation in the scenarios being re-created and ruled in the mind. They are usually words that would have drastically changed the outlook of an interaction then even as the now that is taunts that even in the best case scenario it would still not been worth more than a fleeting instant of self- gratification. To change the past without affecting the now would be impossible and yes, admittedly undesired in the shadows of the structure that is now declared as true self. Still though, I/we? Advance and retreat in perpetuity because of the incompleteness of so many of yesterday's interactions.
" That time does not run backwards is a major cause inner wrath, "that which was" is the name of the stone" wall we cannot break down and our will "our liberator" begins to ache on everyone we suffer willingly, we seek to extract revenge on our inability to go backwards. "Revenge" our wills ill will against time and all our once was's. (Nietzsche)
Suffering myself with obvious correctable flaws and suffering others with presumptions to unwelcome no matter how factual to even be considered for re-translation through the eyes of their personalities own multiplicity, thoughts written in the blood of my chemical souls spirit seemed to coagulate in the aether above the words on every page as the vacuum of that chemically influenced sub-cultures mass autism sucked the essence out of my believed to be concisely structured presumptional perceptions of what my once was could have been, perceptions often in contrast to the illusions of reality left stagnating in memories, memories crafted to personal specification in response to the involuntary invasion of vacuous stimuli injected into an existence obliquely by sub-cultural philosophies seemingly designed to guide one to self- annihilation .
Even for just a little while, a minute, a few seconds is all the mind, memory and will desires in long eternities of reflection. It all about a chance to make a point, change a viewpoint and then perhaps deliver a glib parting shot designed for shock and to emphasize the essence of a perception of the something that once was in a way that can change the awareness of that reality. Little things designed for personal gratification after a moment is once again beyond retrieval, but that is the sometimes sad manner of life.
All of the most perfectly constructed positivity the mind can inject into a reflection of a memory would not have actually made a difference and "THAT" is where the root of my wills ill will is anchored, firmly in the morass of all my against the grain desires for substance in a chemically inspired sub-cultural void that sucked at the flesh of my life so toxically infected by those who were seemingly born into conscious awareness already soul dead. The animal instinct in me cried out for its own taste of soulful flesh and even now it sometimes does in those reflections exacerbated by any lack of positive reciprocation from those in my pasts who still haunt my todays.
"Revenge is the subject of our most intense reflections, in our sufferings we always seek avenues for punishment, the punishment our revenge tends to hide in, as with hypocritical lies we strive to create a sense of good and clear conscience. (Nietzsche)
Real or imagined, over-exaggerated or under-emphasized my own thirst for revenge is either teased or sated by the ebb and flow of my own states of sense, spirit and conscience. The aftertaste of every drink is flavored by the coherency of the memory being re- animated and the interpretation of the interactions are structured by the willingness or the lack thereof to look at actual self in hind-sights focus; going back far enough into the memory to see if the seed that bloomed into the want for revenge was planted by my own hand, nourished by my attitude, forced to ripen by my own actions and ultimately poisoned by my own callous indifference to the to me theoretical individuality of others and of course perpetuated by my inability to accept the possibility of fallibility in my mind, soul and conscience. Aspects of self- tainted from my tendency to exile myself from realities full scope of interaction in my chemical cocoon.
"Our Life, our once was , was and still is at times so good to look at with its scenes all so well played by" characters full of vanity, and vanity was essential because it insists that the act be great and the characters well versed and dressed in the spirit of the act. Inventing self and enacting self, making it good to look at the life being mocked and crafted, well-disguised in that vanity and make believe. (Nietzsche)
"The Show Must Go On!", it did, it does and it always will, with all the rough edges, all the inevitabilities of defeat sugar coated in physical pleasures, chemically inspired, hard fought for, much to quickly experienced and matter of factly forgotten in the "it's always time for the next dance anyway" festival of fools macabrely pretending to be stars in the grand improvisation theme of a sadly misrepresented addictive life, playing on endlessly, incomplete like it was a minor partial after thought of a passing god dressed up in the tattered robes of a madman who forgot to say oops!.
Everyone was just right for the part they played (or in fairness) the part I thought they played; All that mattered was what I thought. The inconsequentiality of any other "hypothetical" independently created minds faded into the high pitched whine deep in the white noise of my sub-consciousness and its already over-extended involuntary thought process.
Everything was either too good to be true or too animated and ironic too be anything more than a comprehensively designed joke that nonetheless made me still stand up tall and proud in the often pathetic little moments of self- perceived mastery over my nemesis called everything else, well dressed up in my own robes vainly applauding myself in each epilogue of every sad scenario.
"I wanted, and yet I want to see "them" well- disguised and vain portraying themselves as good and just "and I wish I could yet again sit amongst you similarly disguised; misjudging you and myself. (Nietzsche)
Through the eyes of my chemically twisted mind the reality perceived as three dimensional was as illogical as it was predictable. To live in it again enjoying that illogicality in the same spirit of experience would be an absolute luxury with my now detoxified and rational awareness. As I re-create some of those situations and others in my imagination I find myself taking pleasure in the hectic eccentric realities that once irritated me so much, taking advantage of all that now apparent predictability to move away a second faster and ducking a bit more advantageously when the ironies of life inevitably swatted at me in my obstinate arrogance and to the bitter end as the last man standing.
"I walked among people of my own kind with my eyes wide open, but they never accepted me or forgave "me of the fact of how easily I could ignore and not at all envy their vices, lashing out because I would say that those vices were petty and small and that only small people need small vices and I found it hard to accept that small people were needed..,
There is a lot of lying amongst the small, "some" were genuine but most were just bad actors, the genuine were rare so there was little of man amongst my kind in my once was and the women tended to act mannish as a result of the void.(Nietzsche)
My most fractured reflection of self, my most unforgivable sin, my most overwhelming short coming, my technically saddest tragedy was simply an inability to lower my actual physical existence to the levels of my chemically predicated animal instincts and there gutter rush spectrum of desires.
In a figurative way moment to moment, hour to hour, day to day the flanking movements of constant currents of deviation rose and fell in synchronicity with my vision and thought. Out of the corner of my eyes and on the fringes of awareness the petty vices that drove a world of selfish desire and minimum effort at times seemed like things to be chased but as soon as focus and clarity were attained the momentary dreams fueled by desire quickly turned into a parody of the sadly clichéd nightmare that was my and our addictive chemical reality.
Any emotions in contrast to the pettiness and basic negativity of a sub-cultural asylum unconfined by conventional walls and restrictions, a static madhouse without exits always brimming over capacity with the petty and small minded who require group dynamics to function were treated with disdain. Positive emotions were the joke on me because I did not exploit the seeds of hate that steeped in my soul and any objections to those emotions always came from the ones they were inspired by, souls of leather calloused by the trauma of their once in a beginning was, jaded by the hypocrisy of a life promising all that you can dream of, yet only able to deliver the kinds of things you never imagined could be so. Still nothing good can be lost if the soul is never known.
They were times of supposition, assumption, imagination, and of course disregard. A once was unable to deliver that just enough in the face of its excessive far too much. It was a life lived in the mind, controlled by instinct and theory, flavored by the bitter tastes of what could have been, full of captions and mumbled self -narratives delivered in off key monotones between rolling peals of laughter at a taste for fallacy served up with ludicrous presumptions of infallibility.
"I often tend to throw my grand philosophically inscribed stones up, up and up into the aether, but every" stone has to fall. I am seemingly sentenced to myself and therefore sentenced to stoning by myself as the words so full of essence fall back empty of the meaning that the significance of someone actually catching them and absorbing the words scribed on those stones would have given them. (Nietzsche)
Perhaps if another day and age or another manifestation would have greeted my 1st initial conscious thought of resistance to what was chemically perceived to be it, then all of the subsequent accusations of societal, emotional and physical repressions I used as the catalyst for my personal rebellion and quest for some supernal moment of ascension.
All of the idiosyncrasies of a mind destined to be situationally considered off rocker would be perceived in a different way in this time of life where everyone seems to know all they care to about the usually unacknowledged travesty of their lives stuck in places and situations where to be truly cognizant is to have to consciously acknowledge the sensory, spiritual and emotional brutality of a chemical existence that permeates down into the lowest strata of sub-culture and rises to the grandest heights of societies levels.
Any ascension into true individuality (how many people have searched for that?) in harmony with sense, spirit and soul is far more than routine and easy, and the savagery of mind that stalks the soul in a chemically infected sub-cultural with all of its accompanying self-doubt, self-pity, paranoia and insecurity is enough to cauterize any tendrils of that kind of desire. When coupled with the collusion of deceit and disregard and the conspiracy of the toxic world that both infests and surrounds that desire and any subsequent attempt at ascension becomes a whipping post at which to be constantly lashed by a nightmare of mocking betrayals and disappointments that have tendency to eviscerate the sense and spirit of the soul. Sounding good to self does not always equate to good. Coherence and rationality set their own mark, a mark that can only really be hit when the words crafted out of the heavy dark matter of the emotional world and life land on someone else's consciousness lightening their own emotional load, touching the sense and spirit of their soul.
"Sense and spirit often cloud the perception of self behind thoughts and feelings.., "
Under the influence of sense and spirit we tend to create overcomplicated impressions of existence as what is, struggles to manifest in conscious. (Nietzsche)
Overcomplicated is a mild descriptive as a diversity of thought built on a foundation of assumption and suspicion creates monstrosities of technical reasoning twisted out of any reasonably coherent shape by the influence of individual flaws and misperceived reality. Perception is the catalyst for our forming opinions and our opinions are the wings on which our passions fly forth to present themselves to the reality that encompasses the soul.
"In a world where you suffer for your passions, calling them evil so often that you need the pain of "disappointment so much in order to feel your devils become the angels that deliver the emotion that fuels your life. (Nietzsche)
Some souls are just too busy trying to rediscover accidental manifestations of certain emotions and realities in the multiplicity of dimensions that infect chemical existences. Some souls are trapped here or in some there with no hope for escape, some get lost in a feeling that pleasures but makes no sense in physical manifestations, others live lost with the selfish rudeness that fragmentary enlightenment breeds in those small and shallow, some souls do not have any desire to share in anything beyond their own immediate reality, but all souls tend to at some point become the victim of some sort of restrictive bond, self –inflicted or otherwise.
"To me, you and I are still prisoners plotting freedom, in such as us the soul becomes clever yet deceitful "bad. (Nietzsche)
Is it really deceitful or bad to desire all of what your reality, your soul, your destiny can hold? Is it wrong to spend so much focus in on internal intuitions that insist there is more to life? Is it so wrong to put the soul at risk of a "technical annihilation "by living and striving to exist in a state of blatant contradiction to the observable societal structures of reality?
In that deceit and badness can lie the roots of simple desires of emotion and awareness in their full range not the extremes of bad emotion and tainted awareness that existence in a chemically stimulated rebellion can and does foster, real emotion, not the cloying patronization of a good emotion offered up in a cartoonish caricature when a situation in sub-cultural drama and confrontation calls for some overemphasized clichéd reciprocation in the flow of a predictably intense moment.
To know in the soul that that something more is possible and sadly only ever find that anything actually found falls short, to see it possessed all around and to feel that it taunts with its evident presence affects the very perception of reality and destiny that fuels passion.
When everything in a culture, when everything in the observable reality in a subtle or even direct way hints or promises a realm of truly passionate reality and destiny attainable by sensory, spiritual and soulful perception it becomes ingrained in the subconscious and that inner influence becomes a force that can in itself further twist the actual perception of reality, perceptions that can cause fanatical delusions of reality, illusory images of a something else hidden behind a veil of reality, a reality that is suspected to be manipulated somehow and in a juxtaposition of perception one can easily come to assume that that illusion what is, is the illusion to be rejected as not even enough and that that not enough is a product of some karmic cause and effect, the punishment for something that once was somehow and somewhere not allowed to be remembered.
"To every soul there belongs another world or two, for every soul every other soul is an afterworld and in "those afterworlds we are more alike than what is now can imagine.
What is imagined or convolutely sensed as being the more that is somehow hidden or kept from you becomes focused in on in anger and contempt. (Nietzsche)
In a world full of scenarios that all constantly inspire thoughts and desires of just a little more, a better manifestation of the structure of reality more in tune with the reality perceived by others in the emanations of their contentedness that permeates the barriers of ego and automatic bias we use in our viewing of others and of the reality around us.
"An unconscious envy stares out of the squint eyed glance of our contempt" (Nietzsche)
Desiring a world of dreamscapes that can be found or consciously dreamed on purpose, we pretend to be uninterested in the landscapes of others because our perceptions leave no room for compromise. The kind of compromise that would bring their world into ours, a world of possibility fenced in by the irrationality of desperation and of course, our "Ego", a desperation fueled by an actual world of emotions incomplete in atmospheres of selfish misunderstanding. A world of ironic miscues and misinterpretations where at the wrong time we always seem to reach the wrong conclusion even before the moment is complete enough to render a viable and logical judgment, a world clothed by mass ideals and expectations imprinted by the virtue of having no other choice to choose as a belief used as the catalyst for perception. We lose sight of the fact that we are all so potentially alike. Our tastes for positive or negative have many variations and mutations but at the end of all of our spectrums ends whether good or bad we all arrive at the same final stops in the conclusion of an emotion.
The cynicism and expectation of always impending disappointment festers and at every final stop the bridge between two separate souls in their ascension will throw up barriers of suspicion that seek out any reason to over-convolute and misinterpret situations, any situation. In misunderstanding, individuality is usually the villain.
"Precisely between what is most similar, illusion lies most beautiful, that smallest gap is what is most "difficult to bridge. (Nietzsche)
And so we are damned to strike out against that abyss of illusion in futile impatience with the inconsistencies of self that are usually the only things definitive enough for us to see.
Our awareness tends to nurture selfishness with a sense of isolation, that isolation creates over emphasis on every minute nuance of interaction pulling focus on sound in so close that whispers sound like shouts and touch is so sensitive that caresses can feel like blows and it tends to dilute emotionality into emptiness.
That was my every day I called "here", and sadly the lighted path of all tomorrows "there", and all that is now.
"In every "now", being begins, round every "here", rolls the sphere "there", because bent is the path of "eternity.
The worst enemy you will ever encounter will be yourself; you lie in wait for yourself in the dank caves of soul and in the great woods of existence unseen. (Nietzsche)
It is perhaps more simplistic than I care to admit, the formula for correcting "My own" flaws, those flaws are merely products of histories of personal existence in the depths of a once so highly vaunted chemically saturated series of sub-cultural environments. A history for me of looking for rays of light in the darkness I fought so viciously to call home. The inconsistencies of my own self were absorbed into those shadows as I strived to find a mind and soul like mine instead of one compatible with mine, hoping to confirm my beliefs, justify my fears and exploit the breeches of metaphysically hypothetical fortresses containing a different reality that flashed into femtosecond like existence in the extremes of one of my many, many chemically oversaturated hectic, hectic one tick away from death moments.
"Some souls one will never be able to discover unless the one in search invents them first "(Nietzsche)
Thanks to freddy from way back then, all the rest thanks to me2002 Corcoran caliph
No comments:
Post a Comment