they say that enlightenment is unreachable, unattainable,
unfathomable
yet each day we continue to search
for our beatitude.
the bodhisattva
and i'm not very good at many things,
maybe nothing at all
but i know i can never transcend
with an anchor as a body.
still, the demons swim through my mind
and i watch with enjoyment
as they depredate my soul.
i like their cold breath on my skin,
in the winter,
for i can feel something
other than the numb that has encased my body. daily, i feel rough fingers ripping at the stones
that have replaced my heart.
nightly, i weep a sweet harmony of melancholy for the nostalgia that haunts my bones.
if you take me apart,
piece by rotting piece,
you'll learn i'm nothing but matter
controlled by neural impulse.
maybe it's benign to feel nothing at all
but this darkness is never ceasing,
growing more rapidly as i begin to shrink.
maybe i'm not good at anything
and maybe god doesn't exist
but i want to die knowing
there is a heaven and that i'm not going to hell. more often than late i've been asking myself
if it's all worth it
and to that i say
i'm terrified of the grim reaper
because his face looks just like mine.

i discovered philosophy late, i guess the best age to lose your literate virginity to the subject is best asserted aged 21, prior to that i read, traded Linkin Park's hybrid theory for a favourite book of mine by Stendhal with a friend, spotted in a second hand bookstore near Trafalgar Sq., i read Sartre's human comedy where with unabashed delivery he copies the ending of James Joyce's Ulysses, a stream of consciousness where there is no punctuation, a river of words, a great metaphorical technique, forget punctuation, leave the reader making his own indentations... the book in question? iron in the soul, a mimic of Ulysses, absolutely no punctuation, again a metaphor of a maxim by Heraclitus... and you know what sort of heaven i believe in? a place were you can find how each reader punctuated the text, you can see what punctuation was used where, otherwise, all punctuation was missing - i need to find this library.

i know i can have an obstructive demeanour,
but i'm shoving these swear words in your
face like i'd be shoving you pictures of torture or
*******, ****'s for real, you can't be serious
to suppose seeing a correct spelling is worth
a f ** or mm mm mm something or other, can you?
a little bit of criticism goes a long way,
now that i found out that i'm part of the 1.8 million
threshold,
force of nature writing a sociology essay
plagiarising to beat the system of anti-plagiarism
on purpose, not that i'd be found out but that i
wanted to see how plagiarism-proof the system was,
i just cheated using the synonym principle,
and it does indeed exist, received a 1st plagiarising
someone else's work by being a grammatical plumber
or electrician, hell a barber or a hairdresser if you like!
fiddle a word here, fiddle a word here,
do the most obscene mindless regurgitation of theory
imaginable, yep, the synonym principle,
a bit like deep blue v. Kasparov, only i was smarter
than deep blue... the infinite diadems of language
as appropriated by individuation, no wonder this
phonetic encoding produced the omni- to which
everything was ascribed in that unit of connectivity
spelled g o d... Kant does indeed mention this, for about
40 pages he's stressing a simplicity, something that has
to be simple, something necessary and something
simple... some key phrases:
defined throughout all categories (praedikamente)
or quiet simply "unavoidable" predicaments (well
"unavoidable" because it's already apparent that a large
number of people prefer to kneel and mumble
the our father and desire a pope's pomp of attire),
a german word for fiction (erdichtung),
i still need to find out what scil. abbreviation means,
highest entity (ens summum),
highest thing would begin with res... summum
i.e. the sun,
                    i mean i could list all the examples, but what
a waste of time if you haven't read it yourself,
40 pages? give it about three hours, and oddly enough,
listening to Salmonella Dub's inside the dub plates
album... outside in the garden measuring adequate
light with the setting of the sun, i can get lost for hours,
perhaps adoration for this subjects stems from a lack of
care, or the simplest imaginable life, a life were
"reality" is unquestionable, in that you have so few problems
that you have to invent problems, metaphysics;
you didn't actually think my interest in this field is
purely pretentious? i find the hardest thing in written
philosophy is: a. disengagement from internalised cognitive
dialectics that makes Popper a bit like Heidegger
tongue-tied in an incompetent lack of persuasion
(i.e. anti-rhetorical) of their own arguments,
and b. the adjective, i mean, come on, pure reason?
what the hell is impure reason then? oh i know, a thousand
psychological profiles, you see the critique of impure
reason all the time under the curtains of our social endeavour,
criminals, news flash of horrific stories, all the ****** time...
for goodness sake Kant mocks malignant gossiping /
the socially acceptable form of lying as the least of your worries
that doesn't extend to mugging or stabbing you,
some might just now exclaim with a phew;
but 40 pages and what not, a horror movie scene...
a man walks into a supermarket,
puts a beer and a bottle of coke into his basket,
walks into the hard liquor isle, his cheap-*** whiskey isn't there,
he asks the shelf stacker if she could get a bottle
for him... so she goes to the storage room,
the man ends up waiting about fives minutes
looking at Sharon fruit, apples and roll-mops of
pickled herring, bread and t.v. magazines at a distance,
the woman comes back with a whole trolley of goods
that need to be stacked, but she says to him
that she needs to put on the security tag on the bottle
(standard procedure in English supermarkets),
and the man is like, huh? i'm going to buy it in a second
and you're telling me that you'll actually put on a
security tag on the bottle, just so another supermarket
employee will have to take off for absolutely no
******* reason? this is what routine does to you...
an elephant just walked through the room and you
only realised 10 minutes later after memory electrocuted
you for a snap reminder.

There's whispering among the animals
They've come up with a master plan
As soon as darkness falls down upon
They're taking the place of man

This is years now in the making
To late to call the plan quits
For the comforts inside they are aching
The rebellion has arrived...this is it

First those that have been domesticated
Will slip a little summum, summum in masters tea
The shackles that have held our furry friends down so long
Will be loosened and they'll finally be free

The doors will be swung wide open
Letting their long lost relatives in
It's been years since they've been able to party like this
Gentlemen...let the festivities begin

All the people in the world when they do wake up
Will be doing it underneath open skies
The only question that will run through their minds is
Who, What, Where, and Why

While the animals will be inside frustrated
Where the 24 hour weather channel is on
Because it's nearly impossible to change channels
On the remote when you have no thumbs

Girl in black masquerade gown with books balanced on head

One high-heeled foot on drum

The other

A laceless sneaker


Long-stemmed glass of wine in right hand

Slim bottle of Summum ***** in left


Background dissonance


Vintage grey vehicle with red interior

PYT seated in the back

Tatted up bad boy in front seat

Bearded man in tailored blue suit

Hand draped over driver's seat door


Red carpet rolled out to the entrance of a dive bar

that leads into a mansion

Eyes Wide Shut

Another shattering of illusions,
as I sit here in cocktail mist
and cannabis descent,
staring with guilt at the nicotine gum;
all the time applying lotion
to care only for exteriors.

Gold *** in apple juice,
I unsettle the ice in partial decency.
Half-baked notebooks scatter
amongst the stray tobacco leaves,
neglected books, tablets and glue;
it's little wonder my life has
fallen
apart.

Old jazz queen,
she's rolling trills and cigarettes
and reminding me of my spine,
the way it twists to the bass-line,
sending chakras to bedlam
and returning to me
my recently lost youth.

Keep it off the record,
as I tumble on through another night
of poison and medicine equivalence,
a summum bonum of forget-me-do's
and elimination of both
the future and past.

I clear the leaves from my autumnal porch.
After the dead slate of winter,
I will emerge, sober.

The blues, the blues, these Blues, the Blues,
The Blues.  The Blues won't stop moving,
but haven't gotten to going.  They're a-move,
they're soluble insomnolence, they're
indefferant irreverence
in reference to reverence.
The Blues won't stop going,
but haven't yet left.
All day, I've sat on this Furthest Shore,
unsure if they'd ever get to outgoing,
if they'd ever get to outflowing.

All day, I've sat and worse yet,
all night (we know the nights are the
very darkest sorta pretend-to-be-blackened blues),
sat on this dew-damp Distant Shore,
unsure if I'd ever get to outgrowing,
if I'd ever get to outgoing.

The blues, the blues, these blues, the Blues,
The Blues.  The blues won't stop wounding.
I won't stop choosing.  I won't stop two-ing.

Tilting at horizons, I hold anchor to
Torii.  Summum Bonum, I insist it be.
(Can't let it be.  {whatever it is.})
(Can't let it be.  {whatever it isn't.})
Gateway from humdrum to hallowed.
A red atop blues, also unmoving.
But still in its unmoving, still unmoving.
How unlike the blues.  This red, how unlike the blues.

i had to turn to judaism, christianity was turning bonkers! what, with the nag hammadi library running rampant, and the vatican's cowardly lack of constraint, its sloth, its general absence... with the nag hammad library running rampant, no one is going to believe the greek fairytale of revising the "old" testament; it's still the only testament... just read two lines of the historian josephus, align that with the emperor nero, and, by my guess, the book of revelation, was probably the first book written in the tome.

i've already written about this,
   the *etz ha-chayim, oh no, these times
do not require a rebel spinoza
questioning chronological authenticity,
to keep the idea of a trinity,
   i already said my yesod "person"
and the subsequent dynamic for man...
    for man cannot meditate on either
    the keter (crown) nor
                            the malkhut (kingship),
in that the father is represented by
   the keter, and not the malkhut -
but akin to lucifer not merging into satan,
the heresy of the son becoming the father
is also a heresy with regards to
  the etz ha-chayim dynamic,
                                 which is as follows:
he, who has the malkhut of gevurah
  (kingship of strength)
is he who has the keter of chokhmah
   (the crown of wisdom)...
  ah... i'm stuck...
           i have to divide the tree in half,
and bring to realisation, which quality
is associated with the keter,
         and which with the malkhut...
i have to understand,
    and then the inverted complication -
a matisyahu song supplies the energy
behind the thought: king without a crown -
since the keter is but an ornament,
              and can be the highest tip,
  or the lowest ebb in what's actually
           the malkhut (kingship) / authority:
esp. one that doesn't require pomp & circumstance
of a public affair,
  the part where you don't wear
you sunday's best to church.
  and so too the revision with the revision -
life would be so un-interesting
         without the "plagues", pangs of either
doubt, or love...
             some settle for the uncertainity
of love, others who oppose narcissus,
cherish the racing emotions of doubt -
    and can see the cognitive speculo,
   dare i say, the cognitive kaleidoscope?
let's keep it german -
                          gedankespiegel...
beside the point,
   funny how the ejection of the jews from
europe occured,
   how the muslims came,
   and how someone born into
a christian "tradition" spotted a lot of sense
in what the jews kept for the past cenutries...
i'm enraptured by the teachings...
             i have no qualm with the, ugh,
passed sentence...
  for i do not believe in man ever attaining
the keter: ehyeh asher ehyeh
   ambition... for it is so grand,
      that i dare not act out the part
or seek a route toward representing it,
  however ambitious man can be,
           there is no man in the world, present,
future, or past, that can be the keter
expression of the tree's dynamic...
                         no man...
                                                 ever:
no utterance from a divinity, as divinity per se,
can ever come from the mouth of flesh.
yet i find myself asking,
   have i made a just system of
  dissecting the etz ha-chayim?
   after all, the keter is a Σ,
   otherwise also: the summum bonum,
i.e. that which is unattainable by man,
   with that said, the highest good self-evidently:
for what man would transgress his
     status ****, to reach for the castles
     made from clouds, in aspiring divinity?
prior to this ambition,
      the highest peak was of everest
   and a demi-god...
   after? everest humbled, and the saints were born.
nonetheless, i'm finding it hard
to attire the other qualities,
   is the keter superficial,
   as a wedding ring is on a finger
                                is to state a love and
the embedded laws of monogamy?
   or is the keter the ad infinitum potency
   of meditation, that leads to only the humbling
of donning the kippah?
                       here i'm cross-eyed
                   with regards to = ÷ (equally dividing)
the qualities between
   the keter: ehyeh asher ehyeh
                           and malkhut: adonoy -
thus said, the greatest point made by the tree
is a message: understand beauty -
                                           binah tiferet,
ah... the entry point of the disparity -
    no man can claim the dynamic of
                keter-chokhmah -
the crown-of-wisdom,
                                  no matter if donning
a liturgy of fancy attires,
    popes can speak the most baseless accounts
of what needs to be done...
   hence the superficial aspect of the keter
emerges...
        but indeed there is one,
  who can provide a malkhut-cholhmah,
               how many philosophers can say:
i have no university degree, i have no superficial
symbol of being, said authority,
  and still topple those who have "authority"
in what they attire themselves in,
  but nonetheless have no authority to show
when being unmasked?
                       as it stands, i will not make
this into a systamatic musing,
   where i might have dissected
                                  the entire etz ha-chayim,
while pondering whether
  the keter or the malkhut are to
be alligned with chokhmah (wisdom),
      binah (understanding), chesed (love) -
  keter-chesed - that's obvious:
   the superficial kind of love - as apparent
with lack of intervention;
          gevurah (strength) -
          malkhut-gevurah: the strenght to
not intervene;
                       tiferet (beauty),
                    hod (splendour),
                                 netzach (victory).
i exclude the yesod (foundation) from this
deliberation, since the yesod is reserved
solely for man to ponder the already mention
qualities, while at the same time excluding
the two impossibilities of attaining either
the crown, or the kingship (mastery) of each
of the stated aspects...
                   now that i can conclude,
      for god, the keter is what he is,
    but when looked upon by man,
             and in vanity trying to attain:
   only the source of superficiality,
           of fakery,
                            or the crown of myrrh,
the spectacle of golgotha,
                                   and idols,
    and iconoclasm...  and all the more fakes
             celebrated as pop culture...
                                        pseudo-martyrdom.