>Visitor<

You are standing in the middle of an infinite forest of darkness.
The trees, rocks and the terrain around you is dark for as far as you can see, spare the area directly around you.
A small fire smoulders in a pit adjacent you, so you toss in a few twigs from around the fireplace, exciting numerous small flames from the coals.

The clouded shadows around you whip back and gain definition, and you notice a large log. In fact, you are sitting right next to it, in the dirt.
It is far too large to move, but is solid hardwood, hundreds of feet long maybe.
You search the darkness for tools. An axe or saw would be ideal. You see nothing of use.

With the last licks of flame you bound recklessly into the darkness, hopping a stone and landing in a pothole.
Your ankle twists in your boot and you topple to the ground atop a thicket of what feel like blackberries.
Bloodied and beaten and accompanied by much swearing, you arise and continue collecting usable firewood.

The darkness seems to extend on eternally ahead of you, your shadow projecting faintly onto the surrounding pine trees.
Despite the darkness, You see no signs of any animals.
Just trees.
Their shaggy silhouettes standing idly, as if on any other night they would come to life and trade positions.

You turn back to the now-smouldering coals to see they have attracted a visitor.
You decide to approach slowly, and from the front as to not alert the creature.
This seems to work as you get within a few feet of this strange creature.
Amidst the darkness it is impossible to discern hide nor hair of this whateveritis, so you toss a few short branches on the coals.

The creature startles, and jumps back instantly.
A glint of light from the brewing fire flecks a deep green through its eye as it stares at you in shock and misunderstanding.
The fire builds, and new flames entice the creature back to bask in the heat.
It was completely covered in fur, mid-length and white. White-ish.
Almost tall enough to be a human, it walked on two legs with relative elegance.
It turns to you, elated now and gestures its paw straight into the sky, staring upward as it points.
How can one creature resemble a horse, a polar bear, Grug and human all at the same time?

You gaze up to see the end of a sisal rope, hanging just above your head.
Hanging rope?
Where am i?….
With no further forethought necessary, you begin to climb the rope.
Arm after arm you ascend the rope as it swings wildly in the air below you.
After what seems like 10 minutes, you look down to see a little dot of light, and a shadow standing next to it, looking on eagerly.

You continue to climb.
Pushing through the burn, you climb for what seems like an hour until finally, the rope begins to get tighter.
There is an anchoring point ahead, a tie-off ring as it happens, which is directly connected to a small platform, old rusted steel, seemingly abandoned for many years.
There is a small table, and a glowing green lamp.
As your eyes adjust to the new radiance, you notice it is no lamp, but a computer console.

You scour the console for an input device, but find nothing.
You wipe away a thick layer of dust from the monitor.
The screen displays a few lines of text, written in grey;
“Coupling procedure failed. Manual override terminated. Connection to gas interrupted.”
“This facility will be at 5% efficiency in 00 Minutes and 00 Seconds”
“Please stand by for extraction”

Extraction?
Desperate to know more you scour the dim surrounds for further clues.
You can see a ladder on the far edge of the platform, extending up out of view into the air.
Its rungs are cold and wet, rust flakes chipping off with every grip and release, you rise further and further above the now invisible firepit somewhere far below.
Suddenly, the ladder runs out.

The ceiling is dull and solid. It isn’t metal.
Small pieces of it sprinkle off as you brush your fingers over its surface.
As if it were raining sand, you scrape your hands around in the pitch black, searching for something to give your journey meaning.
There was something here once.
Something metal, above the ladder.
A square framework juts out of the crumbly ceiling, its hollow cavity now filled with even more ceiling.

Disheartened, you throw your arm down in disgust.
The rung you are standing on gives way, and your hand slips from the rung above.
You are plummeting toward the ground in total darkness.
The light begins to get bigger.

Your vision floods with bright light just before you arrive at the ground.
Then everything goes black.

You are standing in the middle of an infinite forest of darkness.

 

De-Humanisation & The lives we lead

Modern society is filled with bells and whistles.
New fashion, new gadgets and an ever-changing sphere of what is ‘trendy’ and ‘cutting-edge’.

We live today in a world of distractions.
Meaningless ‘filler’ items, sold to you under the guise of ‘self-development’ or the acquisition of fame and social credentials.

These inconsequential choices, such as “What colour iPhone should i get?”, we face everyday, and are the building blocks of a troubled life.

In this scenario, it becomes all too easy to forget about the truly important aspects.
Those essentials required to change a directionless fumble through time into a rich, fulfilling experience.

If you find yourself waking up each day to confusion, fear and misdirection, wondering what you can do to turn your existence into a lifestyle, you too may need to reevaluate.

What do we want?
To be happy.
But how do we attain happiness?

Go short, and grab a few pick-me-ups, and find yourself forever searching for new sources to prolong the feeling.
With each quick-fix, each one proceeding it becomes less and less effectual.
This is the plight of the addict.
The eternal struggle of balancing the constant barrage of bad news we receive to reach a contented middle ground.

We all do it, or have been in this situation before.
Eventually, after years of grinding against your own dissatisfaction, we are faced with an ultimatum:

Commit to a life of trying to negate the personal impacts of our world forever, or to look into the future.
To look into our truest selves, and discover how to maintain our balance in a sustainable  way.
SUSTAINABLE.

Rule of thumb; if the thing/feeling you need is sourced from an external source that is unsecured (drugs, food, validation, sex, the list goes on…..), it is NOT sustainable.

Every second of life is a war.
A war against decay, an infinite maintenance of our positions here, within our own minds and in the view of others.

Would you feed your soldiers with handouts?
Load your cannons with forks and spoons?
What happens when one day, support for your cause wanes, and the hand-outs stop coming?
Your force disbands, and your cause is lost until you find the support to raise the banner once more.
After all, Mercenaries are not known for their loyalty or morale.

Do it right.
Build your army from battle-hardened regulars.
Feed them with homegrown crops and never lose sight of your supply lines.
Keep them open, or better yet, build your own.
Soldiers march fastest as the crow flies.

Whatever you want in life, remember this:
If you blow all your funding on mercenaries and fancy gadgets to shock and awe your contemporaries, you may earn their temporary respect, or even admiration.
But once the fighting truly starts, all of these quick-fixes will evaporate away.

Only home-grown troops and resources cannot be sequestered by others.
Only by investing time, effort and care into the development of the self, can we resist and overcome adversity.

Invest in the only force that will never leave or disband.
Invest in yourself.
Invest in your self-esteem, and value the only thing you will ever truly possess and experience directly.

You are Mr. or Mrs. X.
And this is your life.

“There is nothing more difficult to take in hand, more perilous to conduct, or more uncertain in its success, than to take the lead in introduction of a new order of things”
                                                                                                 -Niccolo Machiavelli

>>Cove

You are strolling on the sand, water slowly lapping at your side.
The night is dark and still, a new moon hangs idly above you, concealed in blackness by its renewing cycle.
A dense fog lazily rolls around your body, condensing droplets upon your shoulders and sleeves as you walk.

A faint sound of a distant machine working quietly fills the lower register, its tone synchronized with the gentle hum of the vast landscape between you.
You sense unrest, but it is tired and sleepy. The kind of restlessness implicit of a long journey. Not a cause of distress, but as if the energy of it’s labours go unexpressed.

With each step, the sand bitterly migrates around your soles, as if to avoid being crushed.
There is no one else here. Not a living thing within your scope or sense.
The beach extends for miles, gracefully ascending inland into smooth undulations that could easily be grassy hills.

The air is laden with salt so heavy, each breath includes a slight tingle, enough to overwhelm the sharp chill that accompanies it.
You inhale deeply, and your cough echoes along the dulcet tide.

As you turn away from the hilled silhouettes and face the ocean, a calmness envelopes you.
Like entering a lukewarm bath, the calm radiates from your temple, and slowly courses down your body, clenching your toes as it exits into the ground.
Lapping against your knees, the water’s icey grasp welcomes your venture.
You tread lightly at first, but smooth ripples afoot encourage you to remove your shoes, followed shortly by your other clothing.

Naked, you turn once more to gaze towards the once-invisible hills to see their silhouettes glowing the faintest amber-gold, each ebb of light slightly stronger than the last.

Arms raised at your sides, you tread backwards slowly into the waves.
As you are consumed by the sea, the glowing continues, uninterrupted by your presence.
You smile, and take a final breath.
Holding it deeply in your chest, you close your eyes.

Autumn Rust

The background steadily dissolves away as your eyes are drawn into the centre.
Towards that single point of absolute investing focus.
There are no ‘other things’ or ‘different perspectives’ in this world.

Just a freshly-framed picture, every second of every day.
Each one appearing crisp and bold with definitive contrast, before a point is selected, and the periphery begins to exponentially corrode into that ubiquitous rusty blur that surrounds everything we cherish within the borders of our perception.

No amount of rustoleum can prevent this.
No quantity of refurbishments can lift its oxidizing growth once initialized.
All is consumed.
All, except that tiny moment.
That ever-resistent speck of data among a memorial sea of autumn-hued forgottens.

It lives on in each as a reflection of our own time-honored perceptions, and to remind you that there is always more than what we care to remember seeing.

Always another page to the chapter, another side to leaf accompanied by another insect we have yet to meet, but never will.

For he does not exist, this beyond-beckonable bug is yet another riddle pasted upon the mind’s crumbling prologue.
To know his name would be to forget the greeting card of another, as much as one cannot catch two trains at once, no matter how ‘on-time’ they may be.

The question is not ‘which bug do i want to meet’ and it never will be.
It is simply, “Do i wish to meet this bug?”

To which there is only ever one true option. Only one that requires us to invest time and energy into its manifestation.

“Yes”

(BUBBLE)

Submerged in a bubble, a thin prismatic film refracting the light into its hollow volume within.
The red checkered floor tiles, some pieces overlapping to reveal a blank and slightly  chipped fibre-board floor.
There, off in the distance across the bubble, a small metal valve is lodged directly through the bubble’s reflecting radius.
This is where the gas is injected.
There are many gases.
Some of these gases have both benevolent and malevolent properties, if applied correctly.
I am not sure who controls the admission.  Perhaps there is a red button somewhere.
One thing guaranteed throughout, they are po-tent. Always applicable, seldom renegotiable and always a value guarantee.
Or your money back. Within 24 hours of purchase.

Some eras ago, there was a day when the injection never came.
The button-presser just kept waiting and waiting.
The cities fell first into tyranny.
1 full day of civilization rending, page turning historical devolution.
Starting with the latest chapter.
Chapter 26: “This chapter is incomplete. Please complete chapter to see review”

But that’s kind of o.k, really.
Chapter reviews were never an accurate reminder of the trials at the time, or the adversity overcome.
As one looks back, the once real becomes surreal, changing forever within the frame of your mind’s limits.

There is only one time that exists.
That is this moment your spending right now.
The ever-present Present presenting itself presently.
Trust Master Oogway on this one:
Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the present”.

#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.