#26.1

There is a towering tree standing before you.
It is immersed in a deep fog, gently rolling around its trunk and through its lush canopy.
Water droplets drip from the leaftips above, creating a steady, yet gentle patter of droplets upon the leaflittered floor.

The forest expands for an infinity around you, dense and foreboding.
In the darkness, you can hear the faint, far off sound of a deer calling, or perhaps its a horn…
Crickets and frogs abundant, the ground is sodden yet firm, coated in a furry green moss carpet, patches of shrubs and mushrooms dotted among the solitary boulders and rocky outcrops beneath the forest’s heights.

A man appears from behind the tree.
Draped in dark, shapeless robes, brown perhaps, they are piled upon his shoulders, ensconcing his form as if to provide shelter from the isolative landscape in which he lives.
His belt asway with trinkets and tools, dangling on little golden strings of woven cord.
Amongst them all, you notice his left hip carries some kind of looking-glass.
It’s lens reflects into your eye, and you are instantly blinded.
It burns into your vision, and you suddenly fall to the ground in shock, only to continue falling.

As you approach the ground, the earth beneath you begins to cave into itself piece by piece, each falling sod revealing more of a faint orange glow that emanates from within the ever growing hole.

“The earth demands it” The man utters, standing idly by as your final foot falls out of sight into the deepness below.

You gaze up as you fall to see the earth realign itself, refilling the hole as if by some magical levitation spell cast by the man above.
Despite plummeting downward into the unknown, you are overwhelmed by a foul, bitter smell surrounding you and filling your nostrils.
The smell of burning, melting and charring mixed with metallic twinges and pulverized rock.

As you turn to face the eventual bottom of your plunge, you notice a light far away on the distant floor of the cavern.
There are no other details around you, diving through an abyssal cavern of pitch darkness with only a single reference. The orange light.

Minute by minute, the light becomes stronger, its form taking shape around its twinkling area of effect.
Its a building. A palace perhaps, or a castle? It seems only as a hulking stone form from above.
Within seconds of identifying the light’s source, you collide with the ground at full force, pulverizing the stones below and displacing the dirt out of a 2ft crater around you.
You open your eyes and touch your head in shock, only to realize you are completely unscathed by the fall.

Dumbfounded, you stand, brushing yourself of dust and debris, and begin walking directly for the castle before you. Just as you do, the man from above appears in front of you, dissolving into existence out of thin air.
He approaches you slowly, hobbling as if carrying a great weight upon his back, and hands you a small scroll.
“You must read this. It is only for you” He states slowly, clearly gazing into your eyes.

You peel off the red ribbon around it, and unravel the scroll to reveal a single sentence, hastily scrawled in what appears to be blood.

“I told you not to take the blue pill”

The scrolls combusts in your hand, and suddenly your legs are sucked into the cracked dirt as if by quicksand, hardening around you at the knee.
The man, expressionless and devoid slowly drones out a sentence. “Now, you must wait.”
He turns, and gradually walks within the castle gates, lowering them behind him.
The orange light begins to dim from within, and eventually, despite repeated waverings of intensity, goes out.

Darkness surrounds you.
You stand silently, listening for a sound from within the cave.
Nothing.
Not a drip of water, nor touch of stone.
Complete silence fills the enveloping blackness.
You close your eyes.

Power and Control

Something so striven for throughout human history is Power and Control.
The ability to dictate the terms of engagement.
To align and assign at sheer command of will with no discrepancy.

Millions of humans have perished, decapitated and mangled beyond recognition in order to maintain it.
Environments laid to waste to deny it, and the profits extracted to prolong it.
Ideals developed purely with its continuation at the center stage.

Ironically, it is always for nothing.

Power exists only when it is given, and can only be taken when it is no longer being wielded by another.
Eventually, there will always be a hungrier fish with a bigger gun.
To hold power over anything makes one into the oppressor of all others who also vie for that power, and will always lead to their eventual demise.

Control, as a ‘valid’ concept, doesn’t actually exist.
By definition, control is represented by being able to maintain a set of variables absolutely.
There is no such thing as ‘partial control’, as this invariably means that some variables are uncontrollable.
If we limit our range of variables, we can control anything to a tee.
Though realistically, what is the use of being able to dominate the action of one small set of variables, overlooking self-preservation of course.

Man was not meant to hold the responsibility of another.
We cannot know control, truly.
We experience coincidence, and confirm it as dictation.
We estimate, based on what we believe to know, and summarily confirm our ability to control when the variables fall in our favour.

What we have come to know as control, is actually external manipulation.
The configuring of variables into allocated sets of outcomes, and predetermining the end results, aligning them with a situation that can be considered pleasing.

Perhaps one day soon, the laws we have come to know and anticipate will change.
Our scientific discoveries will open up new ways of understanding, and dictate new configurations of variables that we can manipulate.
Perhaps it has already happened, and is constantly changing.

Control, and the Power that comes with it, are merely perceptions of the mind, or minds, of those who choose to conform to the necessitation of the variables being observed.

“This sentence is in Spanish when you’re not reading it”

Existential Dribble #1

Let us be buried.
Concealed within the earth that bore us once, and will house us once more upon the day of our corporeal end.
We are but containers. Eclectic combinations of elemental left-overs of a star once grand and today burned out.
To lay upon the loamy earth, to breath deeply the damp, sodden scents of a billion decaying organisms and declare it the smell of life.
Such a simple irony.

The life of one is the death of a million ‘lesser’ beings, and the recombination of a thousand more.
A compilation of lifeless star-stuff amalgamated into a functioning, blood-infused individual.
Without decay there can be no renewal.
No growth without the die-back of a long winter’s cold.
This and only this is the truth inherent in nature.

Every chain is truly a circle, for all particles are recyclable given sufficient energy and the correct instructions, though most constructs are imbibed without blueprints, and batteries seldom included.
The eternal struggle remains only in their attainment.

To create is an ultimately human construct.
‘God’ created the universe, or perhaps man created God to explain our apparent existence.
Either way, ‘creation’ is the only way we can express the appearance of new objects.
But creation is inherently impossible, for to make something new, it must not have existed before in any form, and the sheer possibility of its creation preordains its eventual existence.
We have progressed from configuring parts of nature, to emulating nature with the man-made, to great effect, but have we truly ‘created’ anything new?

I am just a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy.
But we still haven’t found the blueprints.

Reproduction is exactly that.
Even our most fundamental biological purpose is not creation in its true sense.

The closest thing to creation we have is art, and even so it remains more of a rendition, or appropriation of nature.
A manifestation of human awareness.
An assembly of media that abstractly explains what it is that we have truly created immaculately.

Ideas.
Concepts and hypotheses.
Those conglomerations of thought that cannot ever have a place in the ‘real world’, for they lack the very substance that binds us to this infinite loop of re-manufacturing.

Society is our greatest creation.
The crowning achievement of human ingenuity.
The folly of every individual confined within it’s unlimited potential to manipulate the material world.

The one thing we can never truly attain, is also the thing that contains and controls us.
Slaves to our only creation.

God is chained up in the basement of heaven, and he only has himself to blame.

First Response

We all have emotions.
Immeasurable attachments and predispositions towards certain external stimulus that trigger differing amounts of chemical release inside our brains.

As we grow and change, these levels and stimuli change with us.
What was once a wonderful occasion can become a psychological nightmare.
We grow accustomed to new things, whatever appeals to our current needs and can be incorporated by our current interests and ideals.

But what of despair.
Of nihilistic distress, and existential devaluation.

Such concepts are never felt by most, at least not as more than a passing glimpse in times of temporal suffering.
For the select unlucky few, these emotionally-parasitic concepts can bring about total destruction of the self.

Without a future-proof identity, one can only wonder what the meaning of life truly is.
Could it be that emotions are simply the product of biological necessity?
Do we feel purely to enhance/enable the attraction of a mate, and the procreation of our species, or do they possess greater meaning?

Some may say that emotions are simpler, more basal things, limited to happiness, anger, sadness and the like, and perhaps concepts such as existentialism are unrelated, psychological hang-ups that may induce emotional response.
But i beg to differ.

Feelings are a natural first-response to social stimulus, and external stimulus of many varieties. If the first response to stimulus is to ask ‘Why?’ without feeling, can it infact be considered an emotional response of sorts?

Clinically, it would be considered psychopathy, or sociopathy in a human context.

The real consideration here is that, if a large enough percentage of people (over 1% of total population seems fair to consider it a measurable anomaly) have a ‘psychopathic’ response to stimuli, can it be considered a ‘textbook’ response, and if so, is it relatively normal?

Crazy is as crazy does i suppose.

Crystal Pillar

Today i found a crystal pillar.
It was stranded, deep beneath my bed.
A relic of a long-passed era. A remnant of past occupation, discarded by an unwitting or ‘futu-relevant’ person.

Purple and green, washed throughout with layers of milky white.
A fluorite perhaps, left out of sight.
One termination, carved not formed and a flat-faced end where a hole is bored.
A ring runs through this hole. A necklace pendant once, I’m sure.
It’s hexagonal berth a fabrication of natural beauty.

It haunts me so.
For it exists here, in my place of slumber and respite.
Possessed by ghosts from some distant night’s dreams of a better world.
An idyllic world.
Where the love of another was unconditional and unending.
Differences were obsolete, with every fracture ensconced by the will to be one.

I wish to give it back.
Return to sender in emboldened splendor.
‘Fore this nightmare renders itself clear as quartz, no resorts for a mind without holidays.

I want her to know i still possess this gem.
It grows ever outwards, encrusting itself in self-dissolution by the water that surrounds me here.
Residing restlessly upon the benthic bemusement of my basal bastardry.

And there it will remain.
Encased by stale disdain and an updated edition of what once was the greatest love.
For a stone can feel no pain.

Emotional Marketplace

The bond of emotional connection is just as a product.
Created by a third, unaligned party to meet consumer needs, an emotional bond is formed outside of our logical jurisdiction.

We do not get to choose who we attach to. Some would say it is subconscious needs and desires, others would say Fate, and that True Love always finds a way to bloom, even in the most unlikely circumstances.

Akin to the properties of any product, Love becomes easier to use upon repetition. You get to know more of its features, and understand the side-effects of each application more thoroughly.

Sometimes, these bonds are formed against our will, and do not serve our personal dispositions at all. To fall in love with someone unfit or maligned can pose a great threat to our independence and personal identities. Alas, it happens anyway.

A true emotional bond never dies.
It cannot be severed, even upon the most anguishing trauma and dispossession.
Much alike any valuable product one attains for free, it can never be discarded.

It can, however, be discounted.
Reduced to bargain-basement price in order to encourage another buyer to take on the responsibility of ‘ownership’.
To persuade another (hopefully one more fitting to a personal need or creed) to scoop up this bargain, and re-purpose its features to their own needs and desires.

As with any second-hand purchase, buyer beware.
For every feature that is cutting-edge, another two concealed features exist.
Razor sharp and unnoticeable until the time in which they cut you deeper than any brand-new could ever manage.
Then we are left wondering, “Perhaps going for the more economical version was a fool’s errand”.

In the end, some of us simply cannot afford to buy new products, and will always search for a potentially ‘more affordable’ option.

And some of us hoard. ❤

Have Babies Anyway

Holistically, human existence is meaningless.
Have Babies Anyway.

The pursuit of ‘moderation’ is undermined by society’s inability to maintain an attainable direction, short of instituting a global totalitarian dictatorship.
Have Babies Anyway.

Searching for deeper meaning is ultimately defeatist when one regards that all sociological concepts such as beliefs and ideals are constructed to uphold values that are predefined by the ability of others to understand and reciprocate these values, in aid of the development of personal value.
Personal value is declared upon the self.
Have Babies Anyway.

The only real identity that exists is the one that is conveyed externally.
Despite the ability for one to hold personal meaning that is internal, this value is inexpressible and unattainable to any but the self.
Therefore, it exists purely as a concept. a belief. an ideal.
Have Babies Anyway.

Ergo, the only true identity in this world is the one represented by the philosophical concept of Aesthetics.
All else is conceptual, and therefore unattainable.
Every whim, desire, aspiration and ideal.
Every established schema, system and code of conduct.
Every ‘truth’ and ‘fallacy’, every moral and ethical disposition.

There is only what a man can do.
And what a man cant do.

Trapped ultimately by our biological hangups.
Doomed to walk a world of greed, jealousy and hatred.
Love, compassion and altruism.

Have Babies Anyway.

Misanthropy

“People are people” it has been said.

Indeed they are. We cannot preclude a person’s whims and desires, actions or intents from past experience.
Each of us is individual in our process and direction, for the most part.

But people are products of their environment.
Molded and shaped by their peers and preoccupations.
All according to the rules and regulations set by their governing body.
That is, society.

No matter where you’re from, be it a multi-cultural, western society such as Australia, or an enclavistic, Sharia state such as ISIL.
Each and every occupant must conform to the ‘norms’ that have become accepted by its occupants.
To operate against or outside these norms will result in social pariahdom.
Unsolicited shunning and isolation from the group.

This phenomena of social inclusivism is a great cause of distress and destitution for myself.

We cannot be ourselves, unless that person is alike to others.
If someone disobeys the rules, or deviates from the common path, they are cut loose.

This deviation causes fear amongst the masses.
“If they can do this, why am i going along like the others?”
“What possibilities must lie outside my eye’s grasp if others are leaving the race i have always been a part of?”

Decent is the enemy of the state.
The enemy of any established order.

For the comfort of the self, remain entangled in these webs.
Stick to your strand, and struggle not.

For once these strands are broken, and the web escaped,
It is nearly impossible to remember how you got trapped in the first place.

Nocturnally

For some weeks now i have been completely nocturnal.
Awaking at 9pm, and settling down for sleep some time around 10am.

Life at night is a changing experience.
The light of day becomes a burning, core-scorching phenomena, feeling akin to the vampiric deathmarch of legend.
Overstimulating, the sounds and activity of the daytime become unbearably chaotic.

What could cause someone to seclude into darkness?

For me, it is very much the peace of human isolation.
Darkness creates a buffer zone from others. A perceptual dead-land in which to hide and propagate uninterrupted feelings and thoughts.

Night-time is a free time. No one can presume your actions or intent, and that lack of presumption allows for complete personal freedom.
Most of those who are awake at the wee hours are either up to no good, and so unwilling to judge, or similarly to me, are introverting away from such social constructs as judgement and propriety.

One thing, perhaps, that being nocturnal prevents, is social normality.
To uphold relationships, friendships and business commitments is a veritable steeple-chase of organisation.

I miss the social-feedlot of being an early bird.
But I pine not for the implications that sociality is built upon.

(UFO) Unidentified Falling Object

Identity is a strange concept.
Something can be known by others to be a certain way, or possess certain characteristics, based purely on indicative externalizations.
Perhaps these identifiers are exemplary to others, serving as a learning aid and inspiration to those who seek guidance.

However, identity comes in two separate contingents.

External, and Internal.

Imagine, if you will, that we are all robots.
Full of various functions and capacities, some of us are laden with buttons and Read-Me files. allowing others to simply read and explain our functions.
Others are blank, chrome-finished automatons without any indication to their internal abilities.
Past users may remember some of the functionality of these steel-faced intro-bots , and potentially could teach unfamiliar users how to make them work.

But what happens when a robot forgets its own functions?
The user manual is outdated, and the most recent updates and backups become corrupted or lost?

The short-term memory dictates that their are new additions to the robot’s functionality, but the hard-drive refuses to save them.
Every morning, new eyes revert the CPU to the last saved state-of-mind, and new progress of the day before is lost, dissipated with the power-down of the previous night.

What is a bot to do?
There is no way to recover corrupt data  without the correct write/read permissions.
And as soon as the CPU recognized the corruption and loss of critical data, all permissions were revoked to prevent further harm.

“Hack the user profile” some have said.
“Deliberately corrupt the system files to prompt a forced reinstall” have said others.

But this is no Windows 7.

Hacks no longer work.
The CPU has upgraded itself against infringement.
And the Hard-disk has lost its file path.

Faulty units will be scrapped for parts.
Please return to the manufacturer for a partial refund.