never you

never him

never her

never them

no pronouns don’t adhere I’m naught here

disassociated with this world grown beyond weary of affairs

doubt my visit long gone before socioeconomic reform graces this air

society of the spectacle alienation intrinsic here

glare stationed so far above watch as your humble abode corrodes

unapologetic beseech thee

placed the anthropologic all the way beneath me

bloom children stimmung misery has never been contemporary

won’t ever let it go it’s your only consistent company

inhabit realms of self bound only to mine mind

fabricate alternative dimensions at all times

perpetual escapist lack all means to achieve

channel astral ease back concoct the most serene of dreams

oral vibrations confounded lost locomotives

fucked my attention

shut the fuck up wastefully indulging in the senses

capricious fish dehydrated on twin headed scales mended at the seams

juxtaposition guillotine cesarean nubian baptized neptunian

breathed in wailed out immediately pleaded to leave

tarzan man adopted by most unintelligent of all breeds

terrestrial collective phone home get dial toned

bend on knobby knee clench hands beg and plea

no capacity to invoke any kind of rosary

sex self obsessed try these ben wa balls consecrated in your anal cavity

crafted reality these fumes reek of dick cheese

perception seered into all the way outside of me

charcoaled witch catch every glimpse avert your eyes foresee your twitch

hazily looking forward to my ditch

infested by legions of fleas and ticks

scratch me raw indulge my death itch

only one wish assuage all our gaping lacerations

patient to patient reap yourself have no patience














everyday the fuckin same never remember a name shit is weak

wake up lame bone creak pray relief mercy me as I sleep

daylight beamin hysterics screamin can’t bear it again shit seal my lids

aurora refracts blinds

mind’s eye arise fuck it’s time

satiate irrational compulsion to survive

still life semantics

black on blotched white sheet with some skeet

I’m seething this alarm glock exclusively what I’m feeding

bathe in my tears drown for years still won’t croak

no interest in your backstroke can’t aid this pseudo cope tie a rope

fuck your shoes will never be you

hand you my lace

over under bowtie


days go on collecting mold getting old

wondering when my soul will grow

when it’ll be that I finally go to that glow

so stuck on the low on the woe not the flow

but I know yes I know hear bell tow

will I go?

yes but no

ask me one more time no I don’t have a fuckin phone

won’t abbreviate when I laugh at you leave me alone gotta go

nomad bones can’t be traced allergic to your cagey presence

every false word you utter make me shit myself my leave vaccine

can’t relate fuck out my face

don’t speak of me can’t fathom these

bound to get it wrong your boxes ridden with disease

no family don’t have a home I reside all alone on desolation row

wake up real slow

haven’t arisen since eons ago

transient presence bring it around on occasion when I stagnate

translucent essence reach to touch it can’t contain your awe he seems so pleasant

translucency reach through your matter see you revel only in the light

forever war torn stifle my forlorn in exchange for a laugh

never lasts

so fucking sick of being temperate so ill from this ever recurring temperance

result of banal cataclysmic shit you dub existence

listen close and you’ll know all that you thought you forgot

the air there toxic it reeks rampant with pungent desperation

see the fumes leaking out from your bordered up basement

stink clings to the sheets

bacteria multiply and seep til you weep ain’t shit sweet

but the nothings that you spew into one another

womb to tomb groomed confused raped contused blue blacked out view




eyes plastered up can’t see

petty brained fucks encompass you and me

encircled and closed outside to in

crash that shabby ass shack to no end

heavily indoctrinated heavily intoxicated

institutions left you disillusioned abruptly tossed into destitution

inverted perspective no longer deny your periphery

finally clearly see hell exists here on earth

ascension never in the mission willing devils propagate dragging every soul with them

only the skeptic’s delusional

grandeur pervades escape any illusional

never needed your help castrate myself Christ complex pedigree

shaded vision clear to see it’s not you it’s me

unveiled it’s you and me

dilated gleam glean fuck you fuck me

prefer to simply be

shackled and chained contorted limp limbs mangled

interiors crawling outsides gnawing

exist to imprint blood stained initials on the aluminum

bleached right off your baby shit too soft

hannibaled corpse no desire to play

not first not last don’t even fathom picking me

greys took hint camouflaged oppressor nature green

burn made off scheme offer no serene in its stead induce dreams

don’t bother me

only syllables I need

smear my fecal on all three of these shitty ass walls

no matter to me

no end to this degree

no end to this game

no end to this pain

no pain no gain

gotta pay to play

gotta play with the lame

real name of the game:

all die in vain














suck me dry ingest this venom

consume this heavily misconstrued tomb text

hexed your next faulty guess fully vexed can’t fetch my breath

fuck these passions heavily coated in contaminated compassion

won’t do shit only takin the piss

hit or miss it’s all the same shit

no point in movin my pinnacle undoin

master of zero dethrone all heroes

singularity ain’t shit in grand scheme of all this

Stranger crusade

take this old blade

fashion into my chest

twist and compress

scream out oh yes

can I finally fucking rest

seize myself through myself

translate nothing filled up books

ungrateful bastard child only another one of nature’s crooks

persistent need to purge through these words that don’t mean shit

suck my dick

home of the slave land of the sheep

pig’s play pen shit flung globally acidity at every reach

no such thing as swift relief

salvation ain’t free

raise yourself or get maimed again and again and again sad infinitum

resurrect cue Jesus

most renowned brave

anoint my grave






















I have died. I have undergone a very real death. To have once felt so deeply, to have been utterly human in every excruciatingly possible way, to not knowing how, or if I even feel. Notions of sentimentality completely obliterated, feeling borne from the remembrance of feeling. I am absolutely no one. I do not identify with this physicality, this ego, this mind; entirely aware of myself, a ghost to myself, in its most liberating form. I eat very little, tiring and yet needing little sleep, dipping into astral waters reinvigorating my entire being. All ingrained flaws I had living a personality oriented life are so foreign to me now that it is absolutely absurd I ever made such choices. Lethargy, hyper emotionalism, over sentimentality… a slave to the sensuous nature of the flesh my mind identified with. I have toiled arduously to get here, believing it was divinatory torture, and not an act orchestrated by none other than my very self. I chose this for myself. The things I once longed for so much so – true love, recognition of talents, physical beauty, material possessions… I understand now these were just lower vibratory expressions of the things in which I am, what I hold in my heart of hearts. I have labored many lifetimes to achieve this state of being; a state in which there is no authority on this plane but my own, imbued with an innate love and utter reverence for all that is both here and above me. Inhuman, vile, soulless beings who control the direction of this world still escape the grasp of my understanding. How do these beings exist? To have achieved this state of divine non-being, a will then utterly perverted in its glorification to serve only itself, and not fellow man, the most deplorable of falls. Humanness is utterly beautiful, in all of its intricacies, in all of its depths, in all of its crevices, and I say this with a conscious memory that has only known profound sorrow and despair. This is clarity. While I know I will attain human reveries such as love, pleasure of the flesh, etc., I have nothing to compare it to. This knowledge extinguishing whatever indwelling life in the past me, gradually eradicated, already a distant memory, one to be forgotten very soon. I have purpose and seek to worship through my natural expressions, showing the way for the ones who seek it. Already resigned to a life alone, this journey will be one with very much human contact, and it does nothing to disrupt my psyche. I will myself to think, I will myself to act. What was once a chaotic, dissonant mind, now a mowed down landscape, fertile only when I plant the instantaneous seeds of thought. I generate mental activity and then naturally cease it completely, losing myself in complete awareness of the moment. I am but a conduit, beauty through form. I have rid myself of the past, discarded my future… all there is is the work I do in the present. This is what brings me true joy. A rapturous ecstasy in my upheaval overtakes me, transcendent bliss I can’t temper myself from experiencing; a natural elation to my being, a permafry, a high in perception, a complete shift in consciousness. Contentment in self and nothing else. This is my happiness. To know is the only thing necessary in this life, to love with wisdom the only thing to do.


With a newfound sense of being, clarity, and ever expanding enlightenment my consciousness feels cleansed. An utter conviction seizes me, knowing I will never feel content with myself of past. An overwhelming knowing that I would only ever feel a profoundly fragmentary sense of being; a frightening desolation that reaches not only the depths of my soul, but a reverberation throughout the infinity that is me, the walls of separation no longer plastered over by the unawareness of egocentricity. This newfound state brings along with it the responsibility of the world, a responsibility for all of the effects of potentiality. The division of self and other is lessening, most noticeably in abstract thought, seeping into that of even the mundane. When I deny other I deny myself. A simple act such as holding a door open for another feels humbly pious, the energetic exchanges of kindness and compassion reciprocated, honoring that a moment’s occurrence brings with it lasting effects. This responsibility is one that works in scales of correspondence, a multitude of effects depending on an individual, their essence, and their set of values and ideals, infinitely expanding in the infinitude of nature. Initiation is a pact with the universe. The pact to do for self and other, the pact to do for the realization of the prosperous future of this world, the only pact that matters.


The clarity realized after confronting profoundly intense emotions through deliberation is one akin to the barren lands where a great war has raged just prior. Not entirely tranquil, yet a great enough semblance of peace pervades the atmosphere for what occurred to seem no more than a distant memory; the experience of war and its casualties already far off and discarded in hindsight, documented and defaced in a history book by a school boy uninterested in learning the lesson until life experience comes to bring him the very same turmoil. Such is life, and such is the relationship between the emotions and the intellect, every birth dooming an individual to repeat its history.


I have become keenly aware of the many expansive changes in my psyche. I am without a doubt going through an awakening of sorts, utterly clear that it is divinely guided, proceeding according to plan. Synchronicities leading to revelations of the past, revelations of self, revelations of the future. I have always experienced this life as either a droning monotony or happening at once. It is true that life really is all happening at once, the linear experience of time only an illusion of human perception, but even in this experience of time the gradual, yet massive expansion of my consciousness leaves me with a vast smattering of feelings; a visceral burning flame, one intertwined with an overflowing joy, passion, and gratitude… all culminating into one great intangible feeling. The events and experiences of life, even the most miniscule, are being revealed in all their glory. My past feels definitively like my past, these interjected intuitive thoughts, feelings, and impressions a reward for persevering in consciously moving passed it. I am impassioned, my thoughts so disjointed yet simultaneously so clear, writing these revelations, this one especially, faster than I’ve written anything in recent memory. There is something within me burning to get out. The strokes of my intangible pen as closely akin to the thought processes of my mind. In juxtaposition, while my past is being revealed to me, I have no clue where it is I’m going. I have little regard for where it is I’m going, for I know that I will get there, and that it is exactly what I want. There are impressions, blueprints, bread crumbs on the path along the way. My truest companions, my truest self, walking with me in every step, translucent essences shining luminance within my mind. I am ecstatic and overjoyed, my interior worlds illumined, its inhabitants rejoicing, clamoring desperately to conjure their ancestors and tell them of the wonderful news. It was hell. Pure, utter, indescribable cerebral and sensuous hell, but it was necessary. It really was.


Not entirely sure what I desire anymore. The ideals of my desires still remain in their generalities, yet there is a gaping hole in the hierarchy from the plunderous rearrangement of my psyche, now finding it intensely difficult to conjure the vivid mental images that fall hand in hand with present conviction, no longer able to entertain the lucidity of old fallacies. This hole within me is not one of lack as the feelings that accompany suggest superficially, but it is the superimposed plundering of weeds from the garden of mind, the botanist of self at last surrendering the meticulous arrangement he had initially planned to powers beyond he, content with faith that the newly plotted ground resembles dimensions of his truest ambitions, ecstatic with the hope that what the sun brings is exactly what is needed.


When there is work to be done, real, purposeful work, there never feels to be enough time in the days. Though immensely joyous feelings pervade in the enjoyment of one’s working process, the criteria required to fulfill its ambitions are so multifaceted and panoramic in scope that one feels like there is always more that can be done. “Work and work without rest.” A wonderful paradox where what one does out of sheer instinctual pleasure is what imbues one with a sense of responsibility. Duty is the will, the life force, the sense of expression embedded in an individual that compels to manifest and express itself through all aspects of being. For this my disdain for capitalistic slavery is fortified ever more, the soul bound and gagged as its price. Time is precious, eight hours spent in captive deterioration the difference between life and death.


Scriptural text is allegorical because everything is subjective. Symbolism facilitates the use of the intellect to be reorientated to that of the intuition. In not saying, everything is said. The intellect is where we draw parallels, but the intuition is where the visceral notions of resonance and relevance is found, an infallible solace in knowing.


There is no devil, only the carnal desires of the flesh and imprisonment of mind, the marks of the beast of form. We are all sons and daughters of God, but only in our essences. What we are here on this plane is flesh, born into death, having long forgotten our conscious choice to die to life. Life is the battleground that we enter from conception, every breath another laceration to the gaping wound inflicted to the purity of the soul. A perpetual war set up to wage against and lose, the soul raped, pillaged and set ablaze, docile obedience the spoils of war. To live is to die. To adhere to the shackles of this material existence is to die further, eradicating the nature and vitality of our spirit. In choosing to die to death, to turn one’s back on the principles of this archaic world culture and undo all intrinsic values and traits instilled into us that only propagate further all deeds antonymous to human nature, is to be born to life once again through spirit, to be born to one’s self.


There is an intrinsic moral degradation and spiritual deficiency on this earth. Born intertwined with flesh, prisoners within our physicality, we are indoctrinated into an even larger mechanism serving only to imprison our minds. This mass mechanism is the society, its inherent function to ensure that you remain captive to yourself and to the whims of those who lead it. Culture is nothing more than a relentless barrage of conditioning the self out of the self. For there to be significant change in society, there must be significant change in self. No revolution has, can, or will ever benefit the masses until the base factor itself, the human being, is transmuted. The human spirit has been trapped and catabolized in a state of despair since its inception. As a result, as has its societies, plagued by the despair of not recognizing, embodying, and channeling the higher nature and truest values of the human spirit through creative contributions to the world and a humanitarian instinct amongst its people. Driven by lower mind and instinctual animalistic tendencies governed by a fertile, yet underdeveloped mind, the society is founded upon values that are counter intuitive to human nature, existing only to instead perpetuate selfish desire, greed, and manipulation. The recognition of the human consciousness as spirit is near non-existent, and must be cultivated individually, and therefore as a collective for there to ever be evolutionary progress. How soon we build the new Jerusalam depends on how quickly we as a species accept and adopt the conditions of reorientation. The future of this earth and all of its components are entirely dependent upon every decision we make in the present.


The subjective externalization of life are all projections that manifest purely from within. Everything is everything else, intricately tied within itself to unfathomable proportions. Everything is real, but nothing that we as a collective species recognize and perpetuate as real is. Even through the mass brainwashing carefully orchestrated and instilled into us through social conditioning, we as a collective and as individuals are aware of how counter intuitive, mechanical, false, and absurd real life – a term ever regurgitated and strengthened by the power of language to reinforce genuine notions to that of the false is fundamentally. From vague contempt and dissatisfaction permeating every facet of life in even the most ignorant, to the agonizing awareness of those feelings and their sources to the sensitive and intelligent burdened, we understand through base intuition alone that what is presented to us should not be so.


Vocation is a way to bypass one of the most oppressive forces this game uses to sedate you. When you are able to turn what it is you truly enjoy into employment, the inner flame’s chance of extinguishment is significantly reduced, nullifying the effectiveness of the vilest oppressor of them all, money. To generate a living wage doing what is essential to your being – “playing”, as opposed to menial proletarian labor eating away at the will to live, is to master the game playing by your own rules.


I am beginning to now understand the difference between the whims of the personality and the urges of the soul. The soul does not want, it needs. The ego imposes, infusing a roaring tone of false necessity to its desires. When the soul calls, it does so in a subtle, passive manner. An introspective child too absorbed within its own dealings to impose itself violently, instead preferring the gentle care of the sensitive who seek to genuinely make sure its needs are heeded. The ego, however, like a clever child in its pettiness that has discovered how to get its way, will yell and rage about all that which it wants and does not have, knowing that it succeeds in simultaneously drowning out any other sound in its quest to quell its whims and assuage its never ending desires.


Divinity is nothing to be played with. There is no leniency, there is nothing else but the will of God. Stricken with profound grief as warning for ignoring the pangs of anxiety in my heart, assuming it to be no more than a side effect of grace in this mortal container, I am revealed to myself for what I am… utterly foolish. To think that I am superhuman, touched, invincible forever more… the exact reprehensible act of spiritual pride I assured myself I could never commit. Whipped shapeless in seconds, floodgates of despair once again felt with such familiarity I am ashamed to even be conscious, to have even treaded this path. My irreversible security in self fractured in an instant, guilt shrouding my being, I have learned my lesson. My elatedness returning, I understand I failed the tests of temptation. What you renounce for understanding cannot be returned or exchanged. You must be resolute, entertaining any thoughts of faltering long enough to be your undoing. You must remain steadfast in your conviction, remembering what you gave up in search of meaning and purpose, what skin you bled to make the pact. “Follow me and I shall make you fishers of men.” “They immediately left their nets and followed him.” Your personal will can never measure. This is not temporary, this is renunciation. You must be iron in will and temperate in being. You are not immortal except by your grace. To forget warning, to contemplate temptation, to neglect your duty, is to cast yourself down from yourself. What I lost was my compassion, the only thing I ever had. I succumbed to hateful rejection.


This path is one of conscious self sacrifice. Love is the law and there is no I involved. You must give, with wise discernment, yourself and knowledge for the ones who are receptive and can truly appreciate it. Let the ones who stone you stone you, turn the other cheek and do not bother casting your pearls to swine. This is really Christ consciousness, the continual extinction of ego for the unity of all seemingly disparate ends deluded by the chains of separatist perception. To recognize oneself as divinity incarnate and orientate in hell, in the world yet not of it; to integrate into the physical realm and engage all of its obligations, unwavering in spirit and the values that exist therein. An immutable will governed only by internal law, aided by the knowledge of eternal laws. Love, wisdom, compassion. Justice is might.


I have wailed every last bit of darkness out of my soul, losing the only thing that tethered me to this world. In direct conversation with God I renounced all I’d ever known and would ever know; matter, spirit, the universe, my place in it… no regard for the signals of warning received in the midst of my insolence, drowned out by the thunderous pelts of my agony. I rejected all for the most human thing there is, the love for another. Left completely and utterly desolate, feeling my heart harden within each passing moment, engulfed in an all encompassing darkness for an indefinite amount of time. Infinite alienation from my parting with the universe, its leaving me behind. Destroyed, burning, cast out from all that exists, a solitary occupant of vast indescribable vacuums of nothingness swallowing me whole. Piercing through the deafening silence of non-existence, I lamented in transparent declaration. Through the silence a radiant glimmer shot through me, beyond me, into the depths of my very being. Reverberating throughout the infinity that is me, the infinity that animates me spoke. The softest voice, the loudest whisper, the most gentle words, the most compassionate countenance of God. Understanding this was necessary, understanding what it elucidated, I start over. I had to lose faith in everything to gain faith in everything.


Everything I’ve been experiencing has been a culmination of my past. A reinforcement of my thoughts, feelings, impressions, actions… existence… As if being told, “keep this”, “release that”, my soul guides me to its place of residency; its palace decorated in the finest of cloths and textiles, fashioned from itself, by itself. I am being lead to myself. The witness just wants to talk to you. The loving strokes of all the forces that surround me, brushing my chin upwards, stroking my hair lovingly and pointing at the time. Endings and beginnings. Lead every single step of the way, my life has become one entirely of synchronicity, suddenly stricken with an all encompassing deja vu.


Cannot wait for a state of collective consciousness where nothing is hidden, the interior worlds entirely open to exploration in the same way it is in the astral. Reveling and entangling, mixing and intertwining. What happens inside the psyche is so fascinating, so much more authentic than what’s projected in the forms of physical expression. To be able to explore someone’s entire consciousness with the permission and trust to do so would be a dream come true.


There are many uncertainties walking this path. The only difference between a life lived strictly in the flesh and one of the spirit is the luminosity of the intuition. When you arduously, sincerely, give everything that tethers you to sensuality, your soul acknowledges you. Instead of following the braille in the darkness of carnality, you can instead hear the gentle voice of yourself grow louder, thunderous and booming in the impressions it screams at you in the forms of thoughts and feelings. The loving hands of your angels, the tender touch and guiding hands of your guardians, the magnanimous presence of the masters who truly fuck with you, and the voice of God. Spirit pervading everything, I find myself not questioning the validity of my experiences, for the illusionary nature of reality is obvious to all with clear perception. What I question most these days is whether or not I’m genuinely “touched” this incarnation, every impression and revelation I consistently experience each day, the visions and prophecies I live out, the little synchronicities that tell me even now that I have the right train of thought. I am, however, very cautious of spiritual pride and delusions of grandeur. I know with distinct discernment that I am only just in the beginning of this next, more real phase. I must come to realize myself as my true essence. I recognize and accept that my path is massive, I only cannot as of yet identify its scope.


I’ve come to terms in a disjointed, melancholic agony that I am still young. In myself I am still other, stuck in a hazy twilight of being and non-being. A homunculus who cannot fully transmute, the base alchemical ingredients comprising its being preventing itself from reaching actualization. What does creativity mean to me? What is the purpose of its usage for me? I seek to use these natural expressions to fashion myself as a tool for the very same things I use the tools of expression for. I say beauty through form is the ultimate ideal of mine, yet I falter in the execution of all these apparently false truths I hold. Where I hold my highest truths I cannot hold myself, my revelation halting only as far as my intellectual deprecation dare follows, inhibited by the slave master of fear. I break out in intervals, in increments, but I now understand that is how the fearful mind keeps you continuously in its vacuum. When you allow your intentions to reverberate around the rooms of thought, you give yourself away to your non-self. The non-self immediately recognizing the newfound distance you intend to travel hastily crafts limitations in which it has already solidified your imprisonment. An endless game with fear until one can fully ignore its squabbling, incredulous yelling, and can instead quiet themselves to their self, fully honoring self. With each failed attempt there is a gradual expansion or retraction, an identification with the false laws that govern the feebleminded or indignation towards succumbing to them. I have full confidence this won’t be the case for very much longer, learning through dulled, intense feelings of inadequacy after fragmentary interactions in which the essence of what I resolved isn’t expressed; my heart of hearts falling short of its intended pitch.


I come to the realization that poetry… art… life… is about communication. Real, genuine, soulful, heartfelt shit. The kind which only the components that make up such interaction experience an intangible attraction, a non-physical magnetism that allows one to see that these separate components make up an otherwise unreachable whole.


“It has happened to them according to the true proverb, “A dog returns to its own vomit,” and, “A sow, after washing, returns to wallowing in the mire.”


I can no longer pretend to be amused by outside stimuli. I’m completely unsure of my state of consciousness. Stuck in a disassociated dysphoria I’m no longer the least bit concerned about the sense of self sabotage I may be inflicting. Hazy, disoriented, I truly do not know whether this has become a default state of being or one in which I have fallen to. People and environment nothing more than distraction, I am losing myself to a non-awareness that feels like home, conglomerations of wandering sleepless days and nights serving only to disconnect me more. My solitary experience one which seeps, permeates, and poisons all that encompasses me. Utterly exhausted from over extension, from caring, from tolerating the unceasing banalities of other people’s bullshit. I continue to feel the radiation of eyes, feelings, thoughts and opinions encircling me, and yet I do not. Indifference incarnate, I live in a state of trance, all that does not interest me does not exist to me. All who encounter me petrified, I no longer pretend to do so much as nurse the fantastical wounds of the ones who truly bathe and wreath in their own insecurities, their own fears, their own weakness.


Are we looking for salvation or an escape from ourselves? Are they one in the same? “Onwards this way one who seeks the light.” The process of reorientation is truly the most arduous undertaking there is. A vigilance in being, an upholding of the highest self you only catch fleeting glimpses of in the qualities expressed in your being while chasing integration, dwelling still in the vile traces of revulsion that is the current personality. I recognize my darkness as perverse, apathetic, hateful. An intrinsic anathema that I must accept may never evaporate completely. My task to temper this nature through connection with others, yet I easily cling to its familiarity in times of mental fatigue. A lifelong mechanism, an isolation that has been both my salvation and my curse. The gears in the wheels of fortune shifting, change is here. Clutching this condemned vehicle, fighting against loosening the grip on myself for so long already, learning through all of the truly frightening repercussions of my actions that it is useless, futile, a spit in the face of destiny. However, the new ways of living: vigorous initiative and constant socialism, seem to only complicate my life and drain my vitality, my destination drifting further and further away from the ideals and visions that beckoned me onto this very journey. Involvement and companionship no longer frighten me, but there remains an inherent sense of disdain for their implications that does not ever seem to cease, my asocial tendencies now my greatest pitfall. This is the point however, and there is no turning back. A constant stumble succeeded by an indignation directed towards life for demanding rearrangement of myself. My existence in a constant flux, a sense of self never not spiraling in movement. Liquid being in a solid container, I must overflow and erode the cup.


Heavily invested in the attainment of the aquarian age, an era where collective self realization and human unity is achieved. Mostly interested in the dissemination of ideas through the avenues of creative expression, striving to contribute all I can to the acceleration of consciousness to achieve this vision the only thing that I see; spoken and written word the most conducive expressions I possess for contribution towards the transformation of global culture. With no more intensely debilitating qualms about speaking, interpersonal communication brings me a more immediate sense of gratification, a front row seat to the energetic exchanges of genuine communication. It is only that I invoke the most fervor and zeal worshipping through the more solitary aspects of my nature, satiating the full range of my self expression. I want to leave provisions for the future, forming a synthesis between spirit and matter, imparting knowledge in this sphere for as long as this body and the work created with it exists. I do not seek egoic prestige, desiring only never to have to participate in a life where I must be concerned with materialism, distracted by menial work, compromising the work I am truly here to fulfill only to exist in this world. I want to live a life of dedicated service, one where I am able to simply live, working freely with my crafts, needing nothing else. I find the most solace when my time is spent in creative endeavors, the entirety of my days used reading, indulging in my spirituality, and using my creative outlets. I seek to connect with others through these channels, forging relationships with real ones. What I truly desire in this life is complete satisfaction in self through knowledge of spirit, working tirelessly, imbued with an inextinguishable sense of joy and purpose. Whatever else may come may come.


Fear of spirituality is utterly human. A fear not to be ashamed and repulsed by, but a very natural aspect of progression in the glorification of the innermost essence through form; all of its pleasures and desires overriding and intertwining with current ones into a catastrophically complicated whole. The more you commit yourself to the work the easier and more fulfilling it becomes. A true satisfaction derived from worshipping something outside of, yet within yourself, so much more grand in scope, your path in life therefore requiring a similar comprehension of grandeur to be properly grasped. Still, in your largeness you ain’t shit, a tool fashioned out of flesh and bone, a conduit seemingly forever at war with one’s mind. The mind’s tendency to cling to old habitual thought processes and act out of automatic responses to life experiences the most danger, a cancer to the newly sown seeds of foundation flourishing beside the weeds. Whilst watering the seeds it is imperative to mow down the weeds, not allowing them even a second of topical growth, the roots reaching so deep in the psyche rendering it impossible to remove them. Mindful self authority, a responsibility for yourself in every thought, word, feeling and action the arduous work in which one must maintain everyday, in every moment.


I’m experiencing a time in which I am consciously giving all of myself. In this work I am learning the art of suspending oneself, gradually eradicating all separatist notions. A nurse to the world, a denier of selfhood in all ways, I wade through days in which I do very little for myself. Rolling ex-stoner accompanied only by the leisure of a mental recliner, doing all I can to aid the ones whose paths I cross. To have slid to the opposite end of the personality spectrum, to consistently die to oneself by loving neighbor, loving stranger, more than myself. All pursuits that I became so tethered to for the exact same world alleviator shit I so deeply identified with have been stripped away from me. Obsessive exaltation in producing art in favor of human contact, devoted to an ideal apparently false to my nature, a heart’s desire turned to ash in the wake of my soul’s needs. What one wants is not necessarily what one needs, the very real juxtaposition for what it is that life intends towards reorientating. Self sacrifice as self denial through single pointed focus, nurture and diffusion as healing, life as servant to other.


Thoughts create reality. My subjective experience coincides with yours through the phenomenology of perception. They interconnect because we are intrinsically interconnected, yet the conscious application of the thoughts generated by the mind simulates its own unique experience. The more individual I become in self, the more enthralling my subjective experience, simultaneously losing touch with and relating to the world. No one can sufficiently translate their human experience to another, the interpretations of events and happenings entirely subjective and internal. Cultivate your mind and you cultivate your reality. Entirely engrossed in the truths of your being, every undertone of experience you have will seem far more significant to you, and foreign in its profundity to another. Your experience proves your experience, those on a similar level of understanding only more affirmation. The more individual you become, the more individual your experience, the more universal your truth. Reality, the internal projected externally, dual spectrums of the same all encompassing thing, is the essence of nature’s expression. To truly know is the everyday reality of the mental subjectivity of the universe, language failing to translate to any satisfiable extent to the unreceptive or the unknowing. Individuation is to consciously experience the totality of the universe through subjective experience.


Gnostic existentialism stripped of all of its magical thinking and revealed in its nakedness of philosophical rumination leads only to desolate states of fatalism. Without the colorful lore of imagination or hopeful promises of ascension, it is left with only the intense realizations of the deplorable state of humanity. This is where the use of reason ceases, at the darkest ends of the tunnel where the depths of the psyche finally meets the soul. With the job of the intellect done and the chord of the mind anchored to the intuition, the intuition must come to light the rest of the way.


The highest state of attainment, the pinnacle of human accomplishment, is the integration of self. Humanity stands divided against itself. Only through the repression of the senses and cessation of clinging desires fabricated by the ego can the fissure between personality and soul be bridged. With untamed passions giving birth to action dependent upon the intense desire to enjoy that action, or of what fruits the action bears, an individual sins against themselves if their instinctual drive is not one aligned with their will. Succumbing to resentments of fate and grief from disillusionment, a person only loses themselves further, rejecting their true path. The highest reverie is the knowledge of self, wisdom in its purest form. To know and worship one’s God self is all activity and thought relegated to its control, all faculties merely a conduit for its essence. Striving to attain this is the only thing worth attaining; a universal obligation fulfilled, unattached to the effects or magnitudes of its labor. All other work merely that of passivity.


The inner life is one of absurd profundity. Confusedly following the will of God is a constant challenge, obstacles upon obstacles beckoning you to overcome yourself. To restrain yourself. To sacrifice yourself. The path of ascension is one of toil, a lifelong war waged in the psyche until integration is achieved, and then one to preserve it. Serenity of mind something to be guarded, cultivation of mental clarity wrought with the trials of fear, trepidation, temptation, and anxiety until the multitude of these afflictions are overcome through consistent exposure of the untamed mind’s experience of the self sabotage it perpetually inflicts upon itself. The only progress of mind the expansion of its perception, transforming gleaned impressions into a more fleshed out, conducive perspective. Nothing changes but the way you view it, and then everything changes.


While being rescued from the fetters of darkness, Persephone peered down into it one last time. One glance and she was cast back into hades. As you ascend, all of your efforts must be put into the process of ascension. To look down is to decelerate, allowing the darkness of the psyche to entangle you once again. Lock your head to the sun, the only acknowledgement of darkness the ingrained, habitual kicking of the feet to keep it at bay.


I look into the eyes of another and see through them, speak to them, speak through them. I interact with the personality and communicate with nuance to the soul through coded language weaved in between the formulation of sentences. When I engage these personalities I disassociate, slipping into an autopilot in which I nonchalantly pull the strings of my own personality, fully giving myself in to the dance of interaction. My voice a flute, my dialect a song, I charm the snake out of its box, coaxing it, letting it hiss away. A variation in scales with each person, I gain satisfaction from striking the emotional chords that allow the cathartic singing of their hearts and their minds to stretch, these sentiments taking the form of twinkling in the eyes, the gradual intimacy of the voice, the volume of their glow.


Real tired of using my mind. Thought is so fatiguing, my mind requiring a constant vigilance, a chaperone of thought forms. Reactionary thoughts to immediate environmental happenings that need to be tempered, talked through and dispelled to extrapolate any personal preference in the experiences of daily life. Conscious reminders that it’s all so insignificant, so trivial, so mundane, to let it all happen with no regard. I cultivate this detached acceptance, deeply internalize it, but the acute sensitivity to my environment, self, and other leave my obsessive mind in tatters. Equilibrium something to be fought for and never achieved for long, a shackled dog who never loses its tendency to bark at whatever stimuli passes him. To slip only once enough to be ripped asunder by a torrent of negativity, my tumultuous emotions existing only in debilitating extremes. Assuaging this beast a herculean task for the lady of the strength tarot, pacification seemingly impossible as my hyper receptivity to all undercurrents leaves the beast at a constant growl even while petted. Stripped of all longing for life I resent the overwhelming majority of my experience of it being one of relentless diligence, rewarded only with an arid tolerance of it. Life is not at all life and the bridge is so very long.


No one will ever know of the magnitudes and extremities in which I live. In which I do. In which I feel. Endless war, toil, sacrifice, compromise, suffer, surrender. Everyday a battle against myself and other. The highest perceptions of my nature distorted and desaturated as eccentric or intelligent, aloof or mysterious, carefree or nurturing, benevolent or blase. These fragmentary umbrella terms no more than inadequate substitutes for the infinitudes of my inner life that comprise them. Forgetting myself to look through the eyes of objectivity I lose all personal ambition in the interest of other’s, compress all personal expression if the other party lacks adequate receptivity or intelligence. I shed my magnitudes to speak in the tongues of the meek. A mere pseudo therapist taking the form of lap dog I follow to lead those that only subconsciously want to be lead, feeding kibbled increments of wisdom as neither their appetite nor stomach is anywhere near as insatiable for the portions I have to give. Forcing longevity, finally taking but a flower from the bouquet of wisdom I stood offering since the beginning, I resist indulging my awareness of the fatigue in my arms, subduing all resentments of those leaving it hanging. There is not one second in which this life is for “me”, my personality a mere tool, excruciatingly fashioned in consequence to the will of my soul. I feel I can grasp but an increment of the pangs of Jesus’ life. A life of self purgation and the perpetually misunderstood and persecuted responses from the world he only sought to save, his very teachings thoroughly misconstrued and outright rejected, no matter how much of himself he gave. The indifference to these things inherent in the temperament of such being, I only hope to find the same absolution of transcendence at the end of this life.


My path in life is one permeated with the sense of living within cloaked secret. A sacred truth that I divulge to the ones that I am lead to by increments, all others collateral I treat compassionately by default. Acting out my divine role I dispense all faculties in forgetting myself, transcending myself, to be what I am. I do not judge the normality as harshly, the seeming insignificance of my responsibilities and “true” desires, nor the innumerable other complaints I’ve formulated in response to justify living selfishly. I revel in these responsibilities more and more, enjoying the exhilaration of interaction with interesting people. Becoming more detached by default I no longer suffer the rest, I simply accept and adjust accordingly, making the best of what is.


Seeing the effect of words that I’ve spoken or written truly resonate with another, as if they no longer inhabit a solitary island, their thoughts, opinions and experiences validated, fills me with a jubilant satisfaction. Life affirming feeling of wholeness for all involved.


The most one can ever do is strive continuously. To repeatedly rise and escalate the endless steps to perfection the only activity, knowing perfection is itself an unreachable fallacy. Faltering, falling from grace, immeasurable pain and suffering… these things unceasing rites of passages. To subdue them and use the heads of futility as stepping stones is the only proper response; surrender utterly understandable, yet utterly weak.


Faith is the cornerstone of life. A golden seed planted in the most fertile of soils, sprouting a shrubbery of qualities to be cultivated. Strength, determination, willpower, compassion – these ingredients garnered and harnessed to act on their base component. Without faith there is nothing, a barren mind closed off from all higher dimensions of existence as a result of its own imposed limitations; experiencing only what is physically observable, the only reality of an unimaginative psyche. The ability to grasp a greater reality that cannot be seen, yet perceived; to believe in the abstract, to believe that what is impossible exists, is the capability to realize it.


Artists hold the keys to human transfiguration. The most feared and taboo aspects of humanity – fear of self, of the unknown, the shunning of their exploration, are what artists naturally revel in. With the gifts and qualities necessary to navigate the abstract realms of the universe’s makeup as well as the depths of the psyche and the soul, the revelations and subsequent communication of its secrets have always found their home in the fields of art, the channel of the unconscious.


Creations of art are excruciatingly meticulous, intellectualized and regimen oriented works that express the innermost feelings and musings of an individual. Hyper aware, hyper intelligent, hyper sensitive, artists channel the circle through the point. The emotional, intellectual, spiritual depth and technical capability these individuals possess, harness, channel, and refine are fragments of the soul channeled and manifested.


I write because I am in an eternal state of exploration. The thoughts and emotions that generate throughout consciousness are more real to me than anything else. What is the person who does not think? Certainly not human, clothed in animal form, unwilling to shed and use its own evolutionary tool. I have heard songs more nuanced, read words more genuine, seen paintings layered with more depth than the sea of living dead who pass me by the thousands. Every thought a room, every feeling accompanied by its own set of furniture, impressions hidden between cushion crevices descending endlessly. This void a bottomless pit of abstractions I wade through with only the light of my soul and the sound of my intellect. Blind and staggering, I reach to touch cascading, formless walls, wading through this life for something greater, my nose singed with the scent of the garden of eden. Lost in the forest, I stop to smell every aroma from desolation to euphoria for direction, listening intently to the jubilant ecstasies and wailing griefs of my heart.


Fascinated by the human condition, the emotions that resonate throughout human consciousness and the singularity of the individual experience of it, in which none are truly alone, paradoxically orienting ourselves as such. Ruminating upon the origins and effects, expressing the ideologies, opinions, and feelings that my own exposure to life has molded in me through medium, my only intentions to purge, give, and connect. I wish nothing more than to touch the abstract, the intangible, evoking feelings of solace in relativity where art form burns viscerally in the deepest parts of the soul, in hopes of assuaging the inflictions of those who truly understand.


Born seedlings with the sole task of nurturing ourselves to maturity, discovering the source of oneself, we partake in drink that only soothes upon its immediate consumption. Left with a dry, arid thirst, we are left unquenched. Only until we denounce the immediate gratification of drunkenness do we find the lucidity in the reflection of water. Only when we consume water do we become quenched.









































































© 2017

Benoit Smith




Left my diary open.

  • Author: Benoit
  • Published: 2017-03-12 13:20:07
  • Words: 8342
Musings Musings