I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone.
Rainer Maria Rilke
an impossible extradigital wheel, exploded. step inside the wheel and a vast file tree, infinite card-catalog of experience. zero-lag, subjective precise recall of anything anywhen. experienced in 0-time. work out your own salvation. ("Oy vey, have you got the wrong vampire!")
That weapon will replace your tongue. You will learn to speak through it. And your poetry will now be written with blood.
i see an end…parts of my body fail. a soreness, a physical expression of ennui, pervasive. i will push my own burning boat out onto the river styx and fall asleep, peaceful. painting face with blood for battle that doesn't come/sits across the street, points and laughs, comfortable in the knowledge that it pulls every string, everything. as if on cue, a headache drags mental faculties back down to the physical realm and thought is vapor.
Rise now, and drive your cart and plough over the bones of the dead!
hear music softly from another room. soft crooning. pipes creaking in the cold. what a sham, this body.
a revolution to be had (but not ours)
we are not wanted here.
where is Out?
"Easy, John" they said as they wheeled him back to HQ.
But they all knew he was dying.
"He walked straight, with firm proud strides, without a doubt. He was doing something that would never end; he would go through death without hurt."
**it dissolves you into a confrontation with authentic being tmk
A less-than-surgical removal of illusion, fantasy's stage lights switched off abruptly, intimate encounter with the Real. unspeakable unknown death truths. when i go to the jungle, the key is to find your secrets.
"i lubricate my rifle with liberal tears." he said.
funny, i just soak mine in pig's blood.
the controller is the controlled - j krishnamurti