culture is software

i was thinking that terrence mackenna was just being deep.....but look  WATCH AND SEE

dark dreams and angles

It is  my tale so I will tell it. 
It is one thing to observe and another to be and experience it. Either way you are changed.

 See,I was present to my hanging. The sentence once read, was carried out  with  pageantry and song, a happy masquerade by the denizens of this 'Verse.     

And being the guest of honour , It could not start without me .( it has been noted by those whose  art I am subject to that

 The hope best  and most pleasing to the crowd is the one shattered. And that

 the most ardent petitioner is always at the end of his rope. )

And so.. 

                                       The stage was set -

 The flames lit and  minds teased into breathless anticipation,by rumor and and nervous chatter.yet these would proove but pale shadows to the real.( i have been here before... watched joints pulled apart. when the bowels give over , and the strong appears week. when fair maidenns bubble and pop like candles.r own doom 
and their screeches remind you of you
 If they really wanted to be enthralled they needed to be in my chair.

Because Damned and Damning Hope, behind my blindfolded eyes was there  still. A rapid and flighty pulse in my chest, the thrill of anticipated reprieve or ultimate desecration. Hope at the precipice.

 The executioners tools were ready . gleaming in the stark unforgiving sunlight .Sentient and seductive, these blood thirsty metals ; laid on simple and workmanlike surfaces of wool, wood and steel.

 Seeing them . you cannot turn your eyes away. you feel a serpents cold lick on the underside of your breastbone . right above your heart.and sense of horrified wonder  even as your guts heave..you will wonder

For now you know what the true torture holds for you ,what the torturer wields

 the true tools of the trade are WHAT YOU BROUGHT WITH YOU!

 it is not the glinting metal all sharp and shiny . or the blunt and rusted, dirty brown blade.

 these are not the tools of your torturer. No, no no no no. Let me enlighten you.

 It is not the red hot pokers hot and dry breath that crackles your skin.

 Or the rough edged and intricate knives that will rip the squeals from your creature self.

 No.my friend. It is what you bring. Going away.Slowly. Surely. Bit by bit. In impossible and mesmerizing sequence.

 It is those things that you had always thought were essential to you being you. You bring these things to your own undoing.

 you are the torturers  greatest and most perfect tool .You are his instrument. Your perceived strength is his/her joy.

your sense of self is flayed from your soul

 Your ego gets ripped in parenthesis  and

 Your manhood ,your self hood...

 you loose this when the first scream leaks form your lips. Of course that had to go. Welcome to the poetry of pain. the time lapse subjective of the destroyed.

 everything gets reduced .and at the same time transformed into higher metaphor. all that you claimed was really authentically you..Your pride. your integrity. your fame. your skill .your ability to be that person who once bore your name.......are you enlightened yet??

 well let the screams begin . Let your weeping; that deep rooted biological reaction spawned by nature and nurture, to turn hearts and hands to your help, feed instead a disgust and contempt from those you held most dear. Let your sweet breathe that once was a much ignored but sweet spring of life . turn to  gasps of burning air that fuel your pain.

 My disgusted and contemptuous friend. 

 it is not what they bring to the table-  it is what you bring with you .there lies the true  torture.

 your pride . your ego . it all goes when your eyes swivel in impossible directions to try and NOT see what has just irrevocably and messily left the building . You will be present during the demolition of your edifice . You will be here and pray for madness. except that, that is the one blow that promises that you never were and never can be , 

 so do you see why i needed to say this?

 because i can never say this again.

get my stories back

i want my stories back

when did  i give them up?

my stories was exciting and riveting
 No one was more involved than
 me
 when did i start to drift ?

 I want my stories back

the Passion, in  the action
 all my senses were open  available to my needs
 i was not a thrall

 i want my stories back
 i was each and every archetype tuned to my joy
i was each and every moment  responding to my dreams
 i was each and every place made magickal and alive
 I was this place and that place I was these things s that words could not convey
but all was so alive

i know where i am and who I IS

i know where i am and who I IS

see below

warning

avoid
evade
.... the invasion

of any idea whose internal logic requires mass death
any "compassion " to or for   mass loss
Any way of being that leads to sadness and death
       even if it seems compassionate
  or "heartwarming"

 or like it is for a "GOOD CAUSE"




u must not give your energies to anything less than a joyful creation

you cannot allow any of your power to "leak" out!

there is going to be a mass transition



on one level it is going to be BAD
on another level its going to be gruesome .
 there is going to be a mass extinction
that is if your left


and your apocalyptic fantasies will be fulfilled


this is where love might lead you

or


if you find a place within you
that at story teller
 that lives
 alive and smiling
the one that journeys  wildly and widely
whose root are the stars
'

then you may find sorrow and joy in a quieter place
see that you were "cursed" with a better place

an oritronic  hologram
where the occasion and creation of you. balances out

what if u could change everything
what if you were the author of your being
 what if you looked around you in wonder
and found love in each and everything

what changes would you bring