MAY I HUMBLY REQUEST YOU READ PART 1 FIRST?
MYCOMYSTERIUM – mY FAVe O WiT (wE ALL It) EEEEE!!
PART 2
My feet are cold. I am happy to have an awareness of my body. But the socks will not go on my feet. I can’t remember how socks work!! What a fabulous, intricate technology! I am forced to abandon my efforts to clothe the feet…
7 :44 almost 3 hours in and I have settled in to a relatively comfortable place. The hell is over, for the most part (it still commands a degree of concentration to keep it so), and I am feeling the first twinges of euphoria as I realize :
Where we look is where it begins. Where we choose to focus our attention is where reality fills in. Because I made it that way! And I made everything, and I made people so I could FEEL and REMEMBER love.
Why are these substances pushing me towards an increasing - no other word for it - megalomania? Why do I feel, no - KNOW that I am GOD? Inventing and projecting reality onto an empty field – a canvas… and where I have not looked, where my palette has not tainted the canvas, is VOID. Until I focus my attention, and it is SO.
My eyes are bristles, bristling with lustre, my mind a brush, sweeping the world; EVERYWHERE I LOOK I CREATE. And where I have not looked is the nothing that resides beyond nothing, reflecting itself and reflecting that which is not itself – that which IS…
My mind, or whatever it is governing these thoughts (if indeed they be thoughts) tells me that I AM because I willed it so. And my son is me. Not a part, but the whole of me from a different angle – a facet of a sparkling jewel. As it turns, it reveals more of itself/myself; a facet, my father; a facet, my girlfriend; my friends, facets all of them, and you dear reader, a glittering facet I have not yet met.
We are holographic bliss; the part is the whole, the hollow the bowl, the bone the ONE, the one the none…
I am slowly realizing that sanity, as defined, is the unwavering faith I had in the things I used to believe. But where does this lead me? Or leave me? Or lose me…
I am thinking of some of you. I don’t know why, but you, Gibran2, are in my thoughts. And you Antrocles. And others : Endlessness, Snozzelberry, Art Van D’lay. Strange that I should think of you all. Grounding? Don’t feel at all grounded! FACETS : You are my face, as i am yours.
It, the universe, me, is so mischievous! I feel its mischief. And drown in it. And learn to breathe water by its decree…
I now understand time as a system of co-ordinates. A map with two directions, the past and future, while the rest of reality comprises X directions. Through some of these directions, these « dimensions » if you like, the co-ordinates of time may be accessed.
I look at the clock. I designate the 7:58 read there as a specific co-ordinate, a time I may access as many times as I wish. If things get rough I replot to 7:58 and use A or B or M or Z dimension to rechoose and alter my path – the path through all possibilities, in this, my favourite reality. A system of co-ordinates to keep me here, in this, my chosen reality.
And so here is a paradox : I conjure a memory of Yvon, my stepfather, walking through the door and finding me in this incoherent state – a great fear of mine. And I know it has happened. And I know I replotted. To 7 :58… and chose another path!! But how do I have a memory of it if it never happened? Because it was only ever a probability, and once it happened, I forced it back into the realm of probability by remapping the co-ordinates. BUT IT REALLY HAPPENED. BUT IT DIDN’T.
I decided to test this new idea. I would have Yvon come through the door. I chose a different path and I started to feel it happen, just the way I remembered it – I SAW HIS HEADLIGHTS COME UP THE DRIVE. And I grew frightened. Frightened by the notion that I made it happen, and more frightened that my theory of co-ordinates was wrong and that I could not undo it. I closed my eyes just as I felt Yvon’s hand on the doorknob. I willed it away and sunk into the co-ordinates and opened my eyes :
7 :58. SEVEN FUCKING FIFTY EIGHT…
I checked the driveway – no car. I looked back at the clock to assure myself that time was indeed advancing – 7 :58, 59. Check. Check. And checkmate. I have created a piece of the REAL. And unmade what I had fashioned from the substance of memory, presence and desire, the three other co-ordinates, points on the scale - otherwise known as past present and future.
::: Unless that entire thought process, and the experiment, took no more than a minute… It may have been contained in the enveloping body of a 60 second time emission. But this is the monkeybrain telling the godmind that what just happened is not possible.
In my favorite reality, Yvon NEVER walks through that door. Or any of the doors I open.
Once all the doors have opened, what remains is me. The maker, the closer and the opener of doors.
Ask not how this is possible, a voice rings my mind, but rather how it is not inevitable.
What did you think? What did you fucking THINK? I mean c’mon - C’MONNNN!!!
!
I am just happy to be here
I am just happy to be
I am just happy
I am just
I am
I
I
Am I
Am I just
Am I just happy
Am I just happy to be
Am I just happy to be here
?
Forgetting is so delicious. It’s how I made I. To forget, to live, to love. The only thing worth remembering is that there are important things. They are important for their obeying of the laws of this, my favourite reality. And that is all that is important. And it IS ok to ask – to use these keys, these mushrooms, to ASK. The importance is discovered in the asking. And the laws are solidified, and made real. The laws provide the co-ordinates so I may return, and forget the returning.
I am so happy to remember the forgetting. I am starting to remember what it is not to remember, as I remember all the importance, the rules, the laws, the myriad details of my favourite reality.
COALESCING. IN CHOICE.
Choice is all there is in the rules of this paradigmatic box within a box.
Paradox,
Box blocks,
Blox bocks,
And blocks in box ‘n
O, Oh - The pair o’ docks!!
There is nothing more profound than this knowledge. I am beginning to contextualize.
Con-text-you-all-lies
The text rendered real. The text. The logos. In the beginning was the word. And from the word the con : All lies, all fabrication, all words, allcon. CONTEXT. THE LIE I MADE AND ALL OF YOU CON_TEXT_YOU_ALL_LIES_ED. Dismantled and remantled.
I am learning new ways to operate the apparatus.
The apparatus. A pair at us. DOO ALL IT EE. The apparatus lives. The apparatus loves.
Thank you, THANK YOU THANK YOU for this monkey skin, and this paradigm with all its crazy shifts.
How exquisite the monkey that shits.
How exquisite the monkey that fucks.
How exquisite the monkey that dies.
How - Ex QUIZZ it.
::: And how beautiful this – 9:20 and I remember how socks operate!
I am returning. Hang up the hat - chapeau, jeune homme - that’s all she wrote. That’s the marvel that is the manual, the operating manual of my mind. Unlimited warantee!!
I feel all the bits of me coming back together – my mouth, my teeth, asshole, toes, follicles – long live the follicular truth!
I am music. I am arithmetic. I am the spiral into you.
There is still interference – a vague noise in my brain. And I know there is only interference where there is communication. Communication interupted, jumbled and jangled, mingled and raveled. Unravel it. Unjumble it and jangle it back. Untie it. Put it to use.
::: IT SERVES AS YOU SERVE.
Already I am back to believing that when I cease to be, there will be a continuing reality of people beyond me. In time. TIME MITE EMIT. But that very belief is why, among all the possible realities, this one is the favourite.
How sweet the forgetting. How delectable the comfort in what was once fear.
I have brought it all back together. AND IT IS WHAT IT IS.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
well phoques, that is part II...
Thanks, again, for reading. And here's the link to part III - the chilling conclusion!8)
JBArk
MYCOMYSTERIUM – mY FAVe O WiT (wE ALL It) EEEEE!!
PART 2
My feet are cold. I am happy to have an awareness of my body. But the socks will not go on my feet. I can’t remember how socks work!! What a fabulous, intricate technology! I am forced to abandon my efforts to clothe the feet…
7 :44 almost 3 hours in and I have settled in to a relatively comfortable place. The hell is over, for the most part (it still commands a degree of concentration to keep it so), and I am feeling the first twinges of euphoria as I realize :
Where we look is where it begins. Where we choose to focus our attention is where reality fills in. Because I made it that way! And I made everything, and I made people so I could FEEL and REMEMBER love.
Why are these substances pushing me towards an increasing - no other word for it - megalomania? Why do I feel, no - KNOW that I am GOD? Inventing and projecting reality onto an empty field – a canvas… and where I have not looked, where my palette has not tainted the canvas, is VOID. Until I focus my attention, and it is SO.
My eyes are bristles, bristling with lustre, my mind a brush, sweeping the world; EVERYWHERE I LOOK I CREATE. And where I have not looked is the nothing that resides beyond nothing, reflecting itself and reflecting that which is not itself – that which IS…
My mind, or whatever it is governing these thoughts (if indeed they be thoughts) tells me that I AM because I willed it so. And my son is me. Not a part, but the whole of me from a different angle – a facet of a sparkling jewel. As it turns, it reveals more of itself/myself; a facet, my father; a facet, my girlfriend; my friends, facets all of them, and you dear reader, a glittering facet I have not yet met.
We are holographic bliss; the part is the whole, the hollow the bowl, the bone the ONE, the one the none…
I am slowly realizing that sanity, as defined, is the unwavering faith I had in the things I used to believe. But where does this lead me? Or leave me? Or lose me…
I am thinking of some of you. I don’t know why, but you, Gibran2, are in my thoughts. And you Antrocles. And others : Endlessness, Snozzelberry, Art Van D’lay. Strange that I should think of you all. Grounding? Don’t feel at all grounded! FACETS : You are my face, as i am yours.
It, the universe, me, is so mischievous! I feel its mischief. And drown in it. And learn to breathe water by its decree…
I now understand time as a system of co-ordinates. A map with two directions, the past and future, while the rest of reality comprises X directions. Through some of these directions, these « dimensions » if you like, the co-ordinates of time may be accessed.
I look at the clock. I designate the 7:58 read there as a specific co-ordinate, a time I may access as many times as I wish. If things get rough I replot to 7:58 and use A or B or M or Z dimension to rechoose and alter my path – the path through all possibilities, in this, my favourite reality. A system of co-ordinates to keep me here, in this, my chosen reality.
And so here is a paradox : I conjure a memory of Yvon, my stepfather, walking through the door and finding me in this incoherent state – a great fear of mine. And I know it has happened. And I know I replotted. To 7 :58… and chose another path!! But how do I have a memory of it if it never happened? Because it was only ever a probability, and once it happened, I forced it back into the realm of probability by remapping the co-ordinates. BUT IT REALLY HAPPENED. BUT IT DIDN’T.
I decided to test this new idea. I would have Yvon come through the door. I chose a different path and I started to feel it happen, just the way I remembered it – I SAW HIS HEADLIGHTS COME UP THE DRIVE. And I grew frightened. Frightened by the notion that I made it happen, and more frightened that my theory of co-ordinates was wrong and that I could not undo it. I closed my eyes just as I felt Yvon’s hand on the doorknob. I willed it away and sunk into the co-ordinates and opened my eyes :
7 :58. SEVEN FUCKING FIFTY EIGHT…
I checked the driveway – no car. I looked back at the clock to assure myself that time was indeed advancing – 7 :58, 59. Check. Check. And checkmate. I have created a piece of the REAL. And unmade what I had fashioned from the substance of memory, presence and desire, the three other co-ordinates, points on the scale - otherwise known as past present and future.
::: Unless that entire thought process, and the experiment, took no more than a minute… It may have been contained in the enveloping body of a 60 second time emission. But this is the monkeybrain telling the godmind that what just happened is not possible.
In my favorite reality, Yvon NEVER walks through that door. Or any of the doors I open.
Once all the doors have opened, what remains is me. The maker, the closer and the opener of doors.
Ask not how this is possible, a voice rings my mind, but rather how it is not inevitable.
What did you think? What did you fucking THINK? I mean c’mon - C’MONNNN!!!
!
I am just happy to be here
I am just happy to be
I am just happy
I am just
I am
I
I
Am I
Am I just
Am I just happy
Am I just happy to be
Am I just happy to be here
?
Forgetting is so delicious. It’s how I made I. To forget, to live, to love. The only thing worth remembering is that there are important things. They are important for their obeying of the laws of this, my favourite reality. And that is all that is important. And it IS ok to ask – to use these keys, these mushrooms, to ASK. The importance is discovered in the asking. And the laws are solidified, and made real. The laws provide the co-ordinates so I may return, and forget the returning.
I am so happy to remember the forgetting. I am starting to remember what it is not to remember, as I remember all the importance, the rules, the laws, the myriad details of my favourite reality.
COALESCING. IN CHOICE.
Choice is all there is in the rules of this paradigmatic box within a box.
Paradox,
Box blocks,
Blox bocks,
And blocks in box ‘n
O, Oh - The pair o’ docks!!
There is nothing more profound than this knowledge. I am beginning to contextualize.
Con-text-you-all-lies
The text rendered real. The text. The logos. In the beginning was the word. And from the word the con : All lies, all fabrication, all words, allcon. CONTEXT. THE LIE I MADE AND ALL OF YOU CON_TEXT_YOU_ALL_LIES_ED. Dismantled and remantled.
I am learning new ways to operate the apparatus.
The apparatus. A pair at us. DOO ALL IT EE. The apparatus lives. The apparatus loves.
Thank you, THANK YOU THANK YOU for this monkey skin, and this paradigm with all its crazy shifts.
How exquisite the monkey that shits.
How exquisite the monkey that fucks.
How exquisite the monkey that dies.
How - Ex QUIZZ it.
::: And how beautiful this – 9:20 and I remember how socks operate!
I am returning. Hang up the hat - chapeau, jeune homme - that’s all she wrote. That’s the marvel that is the manual, the operating manual of my mind. Unlimited warantee!!
I feel all the bits of me coming back together – my mouth, my teeth, asshole, toes, follicles – long live the follicular truth!
I am music. I am arithmetic. I am the spiral into you.
There is still interference – a vague noise in my brain. And I know there is only interference where there is communication. Communication interupted, jumbled and jangled, mingled and raveled. Unravel it. Unjumble it and jangle it back. Untie it. Put it to use.
::: IT SERVES AS YOU SERVE.
Already I am back to believing that when I cease to be, there will be a continuing reality of people beyond me. In time. TIME MITE EMIT. But that very belief is why, among all the possible realities, this one is the favourite.
How sweet the forgetting. How delectable the comfort in what was once fear.
I have brought it all back together. AND IT IS WHAT IT IS.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
well phoques, that is part II...
Thanks, again, for reading. And here's the link to part III - the chilling conclusion!8)
JBArk
