World of Machines

I know not where to go. Indeed I know not what to do. Does the eye of the storm know of the absolute chaos that surrounds me? If it does then surely in a purely metaphorical sense we have all been the eyes of our own storms. Perceiving our own chaos and destruction as though it was separate from oneself, whilst knowing that you form an absolutely integral part of the destruction.

The sheer depravity of mankind,, Of myself! I am but a wheel in a useless machine, hell bent on working without knowing the cause or the why. The inherent ability of creativity may still reside within my metal bones yet the application of such feats of genuis evade me. So I remain trundling on my circle of nothing and nowhere. Powering this ridiculous sham of a machine that people call civilisation and society.

Like A wretch my body is purchased for labour. My comfort. For love. I would say that I may make love to my wife and to a hag within the same instant. In the encomappasing energy of the same dedication and love. So divorced am I from myself that it no longer matters. It is no longer me that is present in such an act as love making, It is simply my body, like a machine, ever watchful always dutiful.

The people that comfort me mistake my need as genuine. When it is only their own genuine need that is being addressed. They wish to comfort , they crave that opening to experience their emotional side. See them become anxious become rabid in their need to help. So I allow myself to be a vessel for the necessary outpouring of their emotion though inside I remain the same. Perhaps its better to say nothing.

Like a prostitute my body is laid out for the use of others. My labour and skills have a purpose for someone higher than myself. Thy shall employ my body, my labour and my skills. There is a price for how much my labour is worth, yet I did not decide the amount. I accept it all and lovingly expect no more. I beg for more labour, they pay for me with their wares and I devote myself to them.

See my emotions tattooed upon my skin. Use them how you will. Praise me or curse me. Call me a faggot, a slut a harlot, treat me as you would a rabid beast. Dirty and scarred from abuse. I am worth no more than you say I am. In this desert plain of reality, nothing has worth which you do not give it.

I have lived for a long time, yet I remember nothing. The paths to the self within have been twisted and distorted. Brought and corrupted. Cheated, outlawed. Lost. So I come to you on bended knee and beg of thee to reveal who I am. And you bless me with the identity which suits you.

Tell me my interests, I shall cherish them as my own. Help me! Reveal to me my dreams. For the ivory towers are too high and shall surely crumble. But with them go the dreams you birthed in me. So I defend them as I destroy them, in a maniacal dance of confusion. You have caused me to lose that which I am. And you did not care to know me. Only to use me.

Tell me what to love and how. Teach me how to think and make desisions. I am a slave to you. Bound by laws, observant without acknowledgement. In this miry mud I believe I glimpsed me once. But you have hidden me so well, and I remember naught.

Like a baby I must be dressed my defecation is indeed my crowning achievement. Like a child I must be nurtured, worried for and petted. This is not all I am. I say again to you This Is Not All I Am. I am a human. But I am trapped in a world of machines.

The Deception of Non Forgiveness

          There is an incredible deception which has taken place in the mind of almost every one of us. Any of us who have made the callous mistake of not forgiving someone we've known and loved.

Most of you out there would have spoken this lie to yourself, and acted as though it were true. Which by definition is delusional and insane. Yet you can observe this many times in life within people around you, and yourself.

          The lie is a bend in the perception of time. The subtle drift of events in the past, flowing forwards or back. Depending upon our emotions towards it. With non forgiveness the distant and recent past become almost synonymous with each other.

          If any one out there know anyone whom has problems with a close family friend or relative, you may observe this. The two people have fallen out, and often recount stories of how they fell out. Why they fell out. A conversation not only covering all of the hypothetical ways in which this breakdown could have been avoided but also all the lists of past wrongs through which justification is possible, As non forgiveness continues, the reason dissolves from being one single concise reason and spreads out into various factors. Over time a person is able to say phrases like 'I never liked so and so that much anyway' and suchlike. Petty arguments from the past, which for the most part had been forgiven and forgotten until this point. Every day nuances become pillars of justice as to why one shouldn't spend too much time with so and so. What so ans so did which was so wrong, so terrible so unforgivable.

              Within the third eye of the unforgiving person a dark gleam covers the person on whom they're troubles rest. A descending spiral of justification and bitterness. Perceiving them through a veil of their own making. Projecting all manners of negative thoughts onto a person. Away from the self and onto another and observing it. Calling it bad, dangerous, unforgivable.

            Forgive them, for they are your only hope to forgive yourself.

Equality of Love

I can say in all honesty that I have loved many women in my life.

                  Yet people say that love is too strong a word, love is something which people spend there whole lives looking for, fighting for alas many have nit taken the time to understand love in the first place. Many seek love in others, but if you do not know what it is you seek, how do you propose to find it. Most do not question what love is beyond what they see in movie's. Some happiness, some struggle, some compromise, some meaningless fights. We say that God is love, and that God is worth adoration because of 'His' very nature. How then do we continue to allow ourselves to dedicate so little time to the meditation, contemplation and adoration to love itself?

                      I have loved many women in my life. And I mean exactly that word. I loved my first girlfriend. At the time when I was in love with her, I loved her with all that I knew how to love. Perhaps it didn't have the depth, or the mature understanding, maybe it wasn't refined or polished to some suitable degree. Simply in order to be rewarded a rock quantifying that very strength and impeccable finish in that wonderful and crooked institution of love named marriage.

                      Humans love, there is no boundary or quantity to which to measure it. You love the same as you live. You may be active or inactive, sleeping or awake, regardless you are still in some form living this life in your body. With that same effortlessness humans love. You can abuse or assault the object of your love. You can treat it with disdain and resentment, indeed you may care for it and cherish it. Either way you remain in love.

                     In the same spirit I fell in love with a woman in the desert of the Sinai. A love which may indeed have been the fabled love of first sight. This love like all other forms feel different and at the same time distinctly the same. How have we constructed a language where the most important things to discuss are those which may only exist in paradox when symbolised by our wordy system.

I have seen love as the most delusional and enigmatic of states to exist in. It refuses all boundaries, and the flimsy fences we have put up around it cannot last. The ideas of when love is applicable. When it's possible. Ideals of how it should come about or when in a persons life.

                 I suppose what I'm really saying is, when love happens, its valid within itself. Justified and complete. No time is needed before it becomes true love. Love is love. It is all true. There is no where to aim with it, it can grow into a positive or a negative. But it is still love. For I have loved many women, in the hues and shades of that glorious palette of love.

I shall weep for you

A voice calling out in the desert.

She has a pail with which to collect the water

From the Great Fountain of Life

She is the vessel for the Earth

And we did not see her.

See, how she handles her pail with care

Indeed it has stood the test of time

The time of the eternal and the infinite

See how the sand around her scorns her

For in this desert of life, what use is a pail?

Watch the people taunt her.

Watch them spit on her

Watch them discard her like a rag

See the man who casts the first stone?

Watch him, for history shall listen to his story

See the love the people have for him

Heaping him with undue adorations.

What him become a great man in history

Watch her....

She remains silent.

The wise men reason with her

The strong threaten her

The martyr would die for her

All just to change her mind

'Oh she is insane' they say

'A woman without talent nor beauty' says more

'She says she shall bring to us the water of the spirit

Yet surely in her mind she is lost.'

'For we need not this magikal water

We need water for our bodies

Our parents and our children '

At this hear her speak

Listen to her voice

Flow like a gentle stream

Hear the tears in her eyes

Resonate through her voice

'Listen. To the Sound of Natures Speech'

'You have all forgotten truth

You have all become lost

See you survive off the dust of the Earth

When I offer you water with which to live

Oh I have waited

I have waited day and night

For the time when you would turn to me

Without scorn or hatred.

Without a need to dissuade

Without a need to control

Nor destroy

I am in this desert before you

I am in this desert after you

I have my pail and you laugh

Yet you have no pail.

For you never look to things to become better

And therefore you have blinded yourself to all that is

For all that could be. Is.

If you knew the truth

You would have a pail

By that act you would create your rain.

You of little faith

I shall go into the desert

And there shall I weep for you.

For you having no faith

For you having no dream

For you having forgotten

And for you not knowing.

So shall I weep.

Night and Day

Day and Night

So shall I weep

See I shall return one day

Bringing my pail of tears

So that you

Through my souls tears

May have life

One answer to the question of love.

In a roomsurrounded by the smoke of ganja and the incessant whine of todays contempary music relentlessly being pumped out by the stero three people discuss relationships as normal.
The thing that stands out to me is always the constant need for control people have such a need for in their relationships. Whatever happened to just being?
After a while my quietness caused such a noise in the room that it was unavoidable, my answer to the question of love was required for the conversation to continue to flow along its normal path. We all have had such experiences, when there is a sentence of approval that one must utter. We all know what is meant to be said, what one is expected to say, in regards to reltionships and love. I knew the 'line' I should say. 'put yourself in the driver's seat' or 'let her know that you're the one in the driver's seat' are common phrases heard in these talks. Such an abhorrent phrase, why such a need to control another?
But for some reason this time I felt a need to simply be me,
'Falling in love is always called that, falling in love. It's not that which we always consciously intend to do. It is always considered a 'falling'. I think when I fall in love it shall be with someone with whom there is no driver, nor is anyone being driven. It's just two people in each moment pulsing around the earth. Falling in love with each and every moment with them. And every moment around you is another moment in which you are falling deeper in love with that person. I hope that shall be what love shall be for me.
'

Interview by a casual observer.

Who are you?

The question is relative, who I am is really up to you, how you perceive me, whom you percieve me to be. We all see someone through a veil of our own projections. I might look like your father for example, so you link to me emotions you have to your father whether positive or negative. Not quite so clean cut of course but for the sake of example such a simplification is acceptable. In my true self to my understanding I am the same as everyone else, I am everything in the universe because in me I carry the same oneness of all. Just like you do and the street that we're standing on right now.

What inspires you to write?

Writing for me is the inspiration of life. All that one really has to my way of thinking, is thought. The conscious. A wise man recognises what is most precious and puts his effort into that. Realise I'm not talking about words or books which are the most precious. Writing and reading allows me to acknowledge those thoughts in my life which are like portals to other realities. Really, if all I have is my thoughts, I'd better take care of them, make sure that I don't forget them. So I'll write about them, experiencing them as I live them, as I write them, as I read them.

Why do you write?

Aside from my previous answer, I write because I would love more people to wake up and realise we are all one. We can be true human beings of love and light and creative energy. We can change everything. Writing is an exploration of my soul and the changes and experiences I have had, by writing them I tell the stories of my soul to others, hopefully that shall mean that other people start sharing the stories of their souls which shall inevitably lead to more people realising that we are all connected. We will realise that with stories of the soul. So I'm writing mine, and I would love to know if others do too.