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The mythology of self-annihilation.

The idealist is still alive, surviving along with chivalry of contemporary discontent and suspicion and dubious thought of the masses. He runs low, afraid, waiting to be summoned… The people speak through the people and their tune mellows swiftly with the thin air of sorrow, with the hints of hopes that have been shattered, ruin, the dreams that were violently expropriated from the public: utter annihilation of imagination. Surrender to the general thought, let the coldness of this sorrowful melody creep through your skin until your bones are frozen to death, and let it be the anthem of damnation. Chant along and you will surrender your life, until the brightness is dimmed to vanish, until one becomes not one but a disposable component of the Machine.

He is educated in the matters that matter most, the proof of fit to his well-known hero propaganda. His nemesis, the Lernaean Hydra of society, the perpetual problematic of the social body, rattles and hisses and threatens at the opposite end of the slaughter field. He thinks with the pragmatism of the impotent. What has been done cannot be undone by mundane human power of will, not even the most ferocious warrior in his titanic effort, not even struck with blessing of Olympian fortune. He cannot save us, but is not because of him that we condemn salvation as impossible. The Ruler dictates through the Machine, mechanical dominance is then enforced; the rule of law of this dynastic tyranny is now imposed. Spread the viral fear! Spread the senseless fear! Pundits, profess the Book of Ignorance! They must never know the truth, but lead them with the blindfold of false hope into the Ultimate Truth, the path of stealthy counterfeit. Proclaim the conquest of dominance! The ONE who rules over existence is not to be challenged, for consequences transcend the mortal punishment.

The hero crawls back to the dungeons. Impotence has struck his confidence. He knows no other way; he cannot help without help of the others. Relinquish the thought of the impossible and life might have the last chance for the verdict of plenary indulgence.

The Menace

Incredulous at the slightest sight of death, evasive, horrified, the silent walk of the lambs is brought to memory. This unrealistic scenario , that of death, that of ending the life as a living creature is beyond mundane intelligence. And yet survival conduct prevails, the light of hope so weak, we grasp that dimmed hope and keep it lit , we summon the spirits of forgiveness and we pray to the Heavens once again. See, we still believe, at the edge of death, the mortal finale, in pleading for the executioner to forgive . The cold sweat of fear makes itself visible and the flesh, so tender  and the body so languid. The unstoppable forces lie within ourselves: fear, ignorance and uncertainty. Death is external, beyond human intelligence, trascending that which can be controlled. Death come forth, holly or unholy.

Why summon the imaginary acquaintance when life itself is fading? Why the ritual to unknown and the unseen?Why cast a shadow away from the celestial fire? Behold, a grasp of the wind’s breath: fear not the wilderness and the beasts, do not fear the poisonous leaves: Nature’s will is unintended. What most be fearful for yourself and others is within the realm of humanity, it lives amongst us and breathes our air and nurtures itself with our thoughts and worries. Fear no the thunderstorm, or the power of incessant streams of water or the tremble of earth’s core that rattles and rattles and crumbles until nothing is left but debris of shattered hopes.

Love and disparity

I’m capable of getting to know you, I am human, I know what we feel.  I can be emphatic; I can summon feelings from different memories. We come from different backgrounds, we’ve been raised on different books and we now enjoy different lifestyles; lifestyles which society has tried with great effort to make incompatible. We’ve been fed with the same ideas since social interaction emerged: there is a difference among human beings, and that difference can be traced back to one’s social group, economic capability and race. I do believe in difference, but difference expressed as authenticity and uniqueness, the intrinsic characteristic of being irreplaceable.   You may have had or not a wonderful family, a beautiful childhood and some easy going teenage years. Whichever the combination of ups and downs throughout your life, every experience, every moment, every person you have met, loved and admired has left a mark in your heart, your memory and your flesh. But you are more than that; you are much more than a compilation of past events. You are what you do with your freedom, the choices you’ve made for good and evil. You have developed a way of thinking, a way of looking at things in the world, diminishing or accentuating your passion for life and humanity.

You can be alone, have your space and time of your own. But you cannot be lonely, since you will be fighting against your social nature and loneliness is a dark hole in which you can stay for as long as you want, but you can only emerge selfish and unable to love. You need true human interaction, not trading merchandise, buying or selling, but casual conversations, intimacy, the beauty in sharing and creating knowledge, open up the door for someone, doing the right things and doing them right. Every experience is good experience as long as you look for the lesson beyond this or that event: embrace mistakes, learn empirically and have a laugh about it. Great times and horrible situations happen senselessly, they are the product of life’s maternal indifference about individual existence. Life, if life can be, it could only be careless, indifferent and unpredictable. So use it, that time lapse between birth and death, as an experiment. Travel the world of your internal being, explore your thoughts, your beliefs. Find your principles and values, your moral grounds, which come from what you value from yourself and the life that surrounds you. Those surroundings are building blocks of what you are made of today, they can be constraints or limits to your life, but they will never define who you are and who you try to become, they cannot define your existence. “Blaming” life and your surroundings for being who you are is an awful excuse, and I am sure you don’t need to hear another story of the underdog enjoying a happy ending.

This not a love letter, this not an invitation: this is a bet against destiny, this is me telling you that there is no other way in which you and I could be together just because life as we know it has being impeding love and friendship arising from randomness , which is going against the nature of life’s unpredictability.  Don’t try to stabilize and standardize your existence and place great effort in finding bricks to build your comfort house; your life can be shattered in the blink of an eye. In all the infinite array of possibility, this is just another option, another risk, another choice; we could be each others’ choices, each others’ option and each others’ risky, safe bet. This may or may not be “meant to be” but nothing has been made to match or fit, the pieces of any of life’s puzzles need to be polished, its sharp edges softened  and still perfection is absent. But who needs perfection, allegedly something unknown to the human intelligibility? I do not want perfection when we can have a bond of happiness uniting each other’s absolute existence as human beings. You and I develop ourselves through spontaneous evolution, through change and the way we react and adapt. You and I cannot be, we are being. And as I am being, this time I chose being different, I chose being with you. I am fighting against destiny, but fighting along the will of free individuals, your will. Love and friendship have a spark of chemistry, a leap of faith, a hint of erratic coincidence and the most complex simplicity in the most psychotically imperfect amalgam. What if you and I was not “us” because we did not take our chances?

The menace

Incredulous at the slightest sight of death, evasive, horrified, the silent walk of the lambs is brought to memory. This unrealistic scenario , that of death, that of ending the life as a living creature is beyond mundane intelligence. And yet survival conduct prevails, the light of hope so weak, we grasp that dimmed hope and keep it lit , we summon the spirits of forgiveness and we pray to the Heavens once again. See, we still believe, at the edge of death, the mortal finale, in pleading for the executioner to . The cold sweat of fear makes itself visible and the flesh, so tender  and the body so languid. The unstoppable forces lie within ourselves: fear, ignorance and uncertainty. Death is external, beyond human intelligence, trascending that which can be controlled. Death come forth, holly or unholy.

Why summon the imaginary acquaintance when life itself is fading? Why the ritual to unknown and the unseen?Why cast a shadow away from the celestial fire? Behold, a grasp of the wind’s breath: fear not the wilderness and the beasts, do not fear the poisonous leaves: Nature’s will is unintended. What most be fearful for yourself and others is within the realm of humanity, it lives amongst us and breathes our air and nurtures itself with our thoughts and worries. Fear no the thunderstorm, or the power of incessant streams of water or the tremble of earth’s core that rattles and rattles and crumbles until nothing is left but debris of shattered hopes.

 

 

The “who and why”

I am a ghostly ghost in my own theatrical plot. Wallowing in sorrow I rejoice, my mind a dreadful menace for that who personifies my being in the material disarray of the “universe of outsiders”, trascending the inmaterial. All is myself, and myself is mere reflection, or illusion, vanished with a swiftly unanimated wind stream carrying the thought of her; she is real and real the way she deprives me from relying solely on my rational senses and lifts me, levitation of mind and body, into clouds of aromatic happiness, just as if I was a conscious conglomerate of weightless smoke. That is one of the elusive mysteries which I can’t dare to explain, limited by a humble sense of comprehensive constraints endowed to my humanly careless humanity.  That which I, as sir, can attempt to discover, as that of a suspicious detective approaching the complexity of a puzzled criminal display of a neurotic, artistic murderer, is the subjacent question that underlies  the phenomena of earthly-disposed patterns and events to which we are exposed daily, even without being conscious of them happening constantly and endlessly. That inquiry is a simplistic, yet profund: “why?”. Why do life operates the way it does? Who can behold and be entitled to a noble criteria under which he or she can arrange and re-arrange an infinite spectrum of variables?  Who is “who”? Who decides “why”?…The bitterness that derives from the  impotence we feel when addressing matters as such, can only be sweetened by a nostalgic, hence romantic, yet drastic turnaround to centralize our attention in the human being as whole, as individuality multiplied and extended until the miracle of communion of the parts takes place in creating a social conglomerate. Humanly-limited minds have, and rejoice in having, the power to create and invent that which will be known as “reality”. Primitive mythology is now obsolete and precarious in explaining a “contemporary” and “evolved” sense of reality. Now, myths and unfunded stories are targets of idle mockery and a true start-up for laughter. Science, as a counterpart, has risen as a self-explanatory discipline that combines, as if it were an amalgam, data with a dynamic mechanism that can prove and sustain the validity of that which is contained in facts. Scientists ridicule their creationist “enemies” (and viceversa) when attempting to find the “primary cause” that embraces and contains the “why” and “who”, inseparable, co-existent, co-dependent… But what if science was contemplated by this mighty force of the “who” and “why” as a human-driven mechanism to discover and explain that which surrounds and contains its existence in the physical, obvious world? What if science was “holy” and was contained by the infinite “who”? What could possibly science do to abolish this relationship that links and limits the independence of science towards the “who”?  How can science attempt to explain whatever it is that invades and takes control of my body when seduced and enchanted by her, the delightful swift that lifts my being, mind and body, and body and soul, into a state of everlasting pleasure, freedom and irrationality? How can science approach the unexplainable?

The “who and why”

I am a ghostly ghost in my own theatrical plot. Wallowing in sorrow I rejoice, my mind a dreadful menace for that who personifies my being in the material disarray of the “universe of outsiders”, trascending the inmaterial. All is myself, and myself is mere reflection, or illusion, vanished with a swiftly unanimated wind stream carrying the thought of her; she is real and real the way she deprives me from relying solely on my rational senses and lifts me, levitation of mind and body, into clouds of aromatic happiness, just as if I was a conscious conglomerate of weightless smoke. That is one of the elusive mysteries which I can’t dare to explain, limited by a humble sense of comprehensive constraints endowed to my humanly careless humanity.  That which I, as sir, can attempt to discover, as that of a suspicious detective approaching the complexity of a puzzled criminal display of a neurotic, artistic murderer, is the subjacent question that underlies  the phenomena of earthly-disposed patterns and events to which we are exposed daily, even without being conscious of them happening constantly and endlessly. That inquiry is a simplistic, yet profund: “why?”. Why does life operates the way it does? Who can behold and be entitled to a noble criteria under which he or she can arrange and re-arrange an infinite spectrum of variables?  Who is “who”? Who decides “why”?…The bitterness that derives from the  impotence we feel when addressing matters as such, can only be sweetened by a nostalgic, hence romantic, yet drastic turnaround to centralize our attention in the human being as whole, as individuality multiplied and extended until the miracle of communion of the parts takes place in creating a social conglomerate. Humanly-limited minds have, and rejoice in having, the power to create and invent that which will be known as “reality”. Primitive mythology is now obsolete and precarious in explaining a “contemporary” and “evolved” sense of reality. Now, myths and unfunded stories are targets of idle mockery and a true start-up for laughter. Science, as a counterpart, has risen as a self-explanatory discipline that combines, as if it were an amalgam, data with a dynamic mechanism that can prove and sustain the validity of that which is contained in facts. Scientists ridicule their creationist “enemies” (and viceversa) when attempting to find the “primary cause” that embraces and contains the “why” and “who”, inseparable, co-existent, co-dependent… But what if science was contemplated by this mighty force of the “who” and “why” as a human-driven mechanism to discover and explain that which surrounds and contains its existence in the physical, obvious world? What if science was “holy” and was contained by the infinite “who”? What could possibly science do to abolish this relationship that links and limits the independence of science towards the “who”?  How can science attempt to explain whatever it is that invades and takes control of my body when seduced and enchanted by her, the delightful swift that lifts my being, mind and body, and body and soul, into a state of everlasting pleasure, freedom and irrationality? How can science approach the unexplainable?

The forest

Vacuum, it was all gone…and the silence of the forest takes over, embracing life as if it was life itself being encapsulated by a forest-green urn. Every thought, every sound, the entire spectrum of possibility, it is all within the grasp of the living. The living is we and them, the covenant of the natural and nature.

Tall were the trees, inhabiting the heights and rooted within a living carpet of life in minuscule forms, infinitesimal possibilities of the expression of life and living. The crisp of leaves and wooden solids orchestrate sound with the chimes of winds, whistling through and from this scenery, the mighty forest of the living creatures. For the forest can sing devoid of voice, exists without being and breathes without existing. It envisions without its own eyes and commands: the sounds of the forest are the thoughts of the living.

It is alive but unseen, somewhat like the existence of air, somewhat like the lies, the conspiracy of the ballad of masquerades. For that who exists beyond sight, in the reign of abstract form, needs not of eyes but soul-full imagination. Evidence there is not, not for any eye, not even the eye of the experienced curator or the gifted artist. Is the experience of the forest what lets you know it is alive, not composed of living elements but alive by itself?