Thursday, November 22, 2007
ugggghh. the glass is both half full and half empty. inspiration leads to desperation. words, images contained in books open imaginary worlds. like dreams. the dust of the past, fixed as ink on page. shapes of sounds. colors that blend and form images. old books, dusty fingers, just touching them, their fragile skin leads to bruises. So we as a culture protect them, isolate them. contain them in temperature controlled bags. the sun keeps spinning. the now moment does not move. constant. here, while everything that emerges from it grows and decays and disappears. like a comet. like fire. a trail. all of us. all of this. every goal we work for that dies behind us as soon as we achieve it. grasp it. try and contain it. maintain it. trap it. us. our body. our personality. a vessel, hustling to fill it with eternity. trying to be the exception to the rule of decay and disintegration. marble busts turn from white to green, roman noses filled with moss. a history of currency transforming into legacy. the pursuit of immortality that fairy-tales reinforce, and condition the immortal mind of youth. mind compass re-set towards a path of suffering. only looking towards the unachievable. the illusion. the comet treadmill keeps spinning, set in motion by our hungry feet. my hungry feet. stop. stop the abstract illusion of the comet. stop the abstract illusion of the treadmill. stop the abstract illusion of me. these text fonts i type, crutched by electricity are already lost. lost, washed away on the beach of time. the only way I can explain their existence here is as a manifestation, an urging on by my heart. lost amongst these other hearts. looking into each one I find, like a cavernous ruby, extending forever as light and color, yet so so tiny that it could disappear at any moment. we build so much to try and cover our hearts with crowns, and robes, and capes, and wigs. covering them, weighing them down. needing other's approval to feel worth of self love. the shame of it all. the energy spent on building our modern jewels. aaahhhhhhh... it feels good to look it at it...deeply...with love..see it and come out of it...work out of it, these mental shackles we are in such the habit of placing onto ourselves. poof...they don't exist in reality, but they do exist as some collective unconscious suffering that connects us all...all burdened by culture's mental byproduct. all trying to disguise our suffering, chasing after the next jewel to stick on our crown that remains here and turns to dust shortly after we do...how does one choose to spend one's life? what are the real priorities? are priorities false goals? I am comforted by the image of a beach of a billion ruby sand, and the waves of life just lap up against us gently and violently, and what can we really do about it other than feel it? be aware of it, as it changes. this timeless cycle. this moment.