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.