We Built the Pyramids

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I was high when I wrote this…

Where I compose my scriptures can define this town, like Jesus’s sermon on a mount in a place that I can’t really comprehend. I know nothing of that time. Even in reading something out of a history book… reading and being are not one in the same. You have to feel it. I felt hell the other day. Hell is a karmic flow of energy when it tilts towards the negative. I’ve been tilting towards the negative all my life. I thought it was the worst, but it gets even better. The nightmare of life is what I’m talking about. If you don’t know, I’ll try to describe it as best I can.

For starters, we built the pyramids. It wasn’t ancient aliens. It wasn’t God. It was us. Skilled artisans crafted it with meticulous precision. A man with an intimate knowledge of how this should look drew up the plans. The plans were followed by workers who knew how to give instructions, while going along with the plans of the person above them. The workers followed in point. Laborers stacked the damn stones on top of each other based on what their bosses told them to do. It seems like such a simple explanation, but there’s really not that much to it. We built the pyramids.

Karmic justice is based on this same principle. Every nightmare is an inevitability, as well as every fantasy. We can’t comprehend in this life the consequences of the next, because we only know this life. Knowledge, no matter how powerful, has limitations. Those limitations expire when you die. When you die, you move to another wisdom. Some might say it’s a ‘greater wisdom’, but really it’s just another step along the path of something we’ll probably never, ever understand.

It’s not wisdom in the sense of knowing. Knowing attaches limitations. In this life, I refuse to believe in God. I refuse to follow a religion, because people have yet to relinquish the atavistic sense of the self. We’ve not reached that point of perfection that allows us to judge one another for what we consider a sin. Even in sharing what I’ve seen, it’s limited by senses that my mind views from a time that has such a limited, narrow scope. I mean… why the fuck would any of you listen to me?

Capitol in Albany. We built this shit too…

The Vision: I lived out such a short life that it had to be lived over and over again. This was hell. I was dropped into a terrarium with glass walls, roughly two feet wide, although space and time seemed irrelevant at this point. All that mattered was survival. We fell into a terrarium and our sole purpose was to die. A massive lizard came to ensure the price of our sin was paid. Heaven for the lizard meant hell for the cricket. Hundreds of us… imagine that… and N-O-N-E of us would survive. The creature tore one man apart. If you could see the horror on the man’s face and understand the true nature of anguish. The lizard was so damn happy, as he roamed the confines of this prison. This was paradise to him.

A young boy is God to the lizard. He’s so happy when he feeds him, but the lizard looks to him with veneration and terror. How can you not? The boy is massive.. roughly four feet tall. He grabs the lizard from the terrarium and lifts him to the boy’s heart. The poor lizard hovers in the air. Four feet off the ground is a mighty fall for such a minute figure. In this case, when you see the lizard between the tiny fingers of the young boy, you think that… our scale for all that we know is off. The boy is massive. The lizard is small in comparison. I’m at the bottom. I’m a cricket waiting to die in a terrarium full of sinners like me.

What is my sin? How do I prove to God that I don’t deserve to be here?

Proof… it’s not what we think. You don’t bow down and pray and make everything better. I learned that the hard way, as I waited for the young man… who seemed eternal, indomitable… at least as I lived as a cricket, to return the lizard. Proof that you deserve to live is in living. Fight for survival. I have nowhere to run. This is hell. This is to suffer. My mission is whatever I god damn feel. I feel terror. The lizard returned. He was bored for now. He shit out a few of my friends, as most of us cowered in the corner. I found the remains of some unlucky cricket resting at my feet. It was half an abdomen and a bit of a leg. He died without a name. It shows you what’s really worth a damn in this world. All your names and disappear with death.

Vision: I’m a worm. You’re never warm as a worm. Nobody understands that worms rule the earth. There are massive worms deep within the crest of the earth. The core itself is made up of one giant worm that has rolled himself into a knot. One day, he took a bite out of his tail and, in struggling to break free, made the knot even worse. He tried to eat himself and couldn’t stop. He wrapped himself around in one great big knot and this became our core. The friction of his body creates the super-heated essence, the delicate ether that has supported life for countless millennia.

The core is the mind. It moves everything. We think we have free will and absolute control of our destiny, but this is one great big lie. The core has control. It’s responsible for global catastrophes. It’s responsible for great works of art. You can look to any painting, any scripture, anything vital, anything destructive… you have the core to thank. It moves us based on a whim within itself… this is survival. The core wants to survive, just like I did when I was a cricket. The worms move with the seasons, which depend on the position for which they belong within the levels of the earth. There are entire ecosystems within the planet that we’ve yet to understand. There are black holes, which I can’t explain right now, just because I don’t have the time. There’s just so damn much to this universe and I’m just a god damn worm.

I’m a worm. I move through the earth blind, because I have no need to see. All I feel and know is cold. I’m moving along with the rhythm of the earths core, when I feel that jolt of energy, the essence, prana, ether, rippling through the earth. The delicate vibration can’t be explained, because it doesn’t belong to the core. It belongs to me. It’s within me. I’m moved by my own vibration. It’s a confusing feeling to be in control, especially when I have no mind. I have no face, but I believe I understand how I look. I have an image of myself and for the first time I see it. I’m ugly. I’m hideous. Years of chewing away at the earth has made my face a rounded off nub with no features. I’m featureless, because I decide to eat on an endless path, shitting along the way, trailing my mess behind me, as I carry out my quest.

I have no sense of direction. I break free of the earth and reach that other strata. A worm, if he had a basic understanding of a ‘religious experience’, would believe that he reached heaven. The sky opens in a light blue above me. I feel warmth for the first time. I’m blind, but I feel the sun. I don’t know it’s the sun. I feel it and know it all the same. In this context the sun is God, but what is the dagger?. The next phase is me squirming along the ground, because I can’t find the point of entry for me to escape into the ground. A crow jabs its sharp beak, which pierces our rubbery flesh like a dagger and picks up several worms and keeps them in his mouth. I can’t see him. I feel his sharp beak prodding. He tears me in half and two broken pieces of my self litter the ground. I feel nothing. The crow abandons me and steals more of my friends. I hear their moans of unremitting torment.

“This is the eternal torment of the Lord”… so sayeth the worm.

A sun shower is something altogether nightmarish, but for some reason we carry a sense of relief and hope when it comes. I’m brought to the surface, watching several other worms with faces, as their plucked free of the earth and swallowed by the crow. It flies off. We’re left alone. The crow is not God. I have a deeper understanding, for what I feel is beyond all that I’ve known. I feel the sun. I can’t see it, but I feel. It feels so great on my rubbery skin, until that vital essence inside me runs dry and I feel the truth. My body withers. The sun eats me alive. This is God. It isn’t the core. It isn’t the sun. It’s the constant movement of karmic justice. The core will wither away. So will the sun. So will the worm and crow and cricket and lizard.

Where is God? The pulse. The trigger. The heart-beat. It pumps blood from one second to the next. When it stops, when the flow is severed and we bleed out from an irreparable laceration… where is God. When everything goes silent. When everything ends. When we don’t have the capacity to question.

I return. Eternal return. I’m the pharaoh. I built the pyramid. I preached a bunch of bullshit, not because I knew it, but because this is the wisdom I’ve inherited. Pharaoh after pharaoh claimed the rank of God. Now, I return. Eternal return. I walk the steps shaped at such an odd angle, because, at this time, people believed that maintaining a direct link to certain stars and constellations allowed a man to possess some greater power than he deserves. I believe this, because this is the wisdom we’ve inherited. We’ve passed it on, generation to generation. As to what the generation that follows will believe, I have no say. I won’t make it. I can’t see beyond this point. This is the end. Eternal Return.

A Quick Shout-Out to All the Vermin in the World – The World is Yours

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The World is Yours 😉

Events of the past few weeks require a greater introspection. In the moment, they seem catastrophic and dire, but if you step back and reflect… yeah… still pretty shitty. I thought that using this photo I took of graffiti overlooking one of the bridges in my town would cheer me up. It did. I like to think there’s some hidden meaning and that maybe whoever wrote it had some significant ‘touch’ from a blessed, all-knowing spirit who wishes to guide us through the maelstrom that infests our world and threatens in every day to tear it to pieces.

God must speak right through the person responsible.

I come here to reflect, because I can look to all sides and be inspired. If I look one way, I see the entire town, with the Rensselaer Rail Station serving as a focal point. Everything revolves around it, which is somewhat symbolic for the entire town. Everything pales in comparison to the train station, with its parking lot laying flat despite the hills that make up its boundaries, which happen to be the streets and businesses that are our town. If I look to the opposite direction, I can see the tracks leading off into oblivion. They move south towards New York City, cutting a straight line from us to them. They leveled a path for progress for steel to tear through the wilderness that would otherwise overrun our city. We’d live like barbarians, eating other scavengers for sustenance, gaining no greater understanding of the self. Instead, the woods serve as our boundary, covering the town in a thick blanket of brush and trees, giving birth to myths and legends of monsters that wait for night.

Still, the maelstrom is all around me. If I follow another direction, I see house after house with people living within inches of each other. We’re living in a busted bee hive with shambles and debris making up our nests. How does society keep moving like this? Perpetual motion. If we stop now, we’ll never be able to gather enough momentum to get moving. We’ll be trapped here… and we all know what that means… death… decay… faltering into the abyss… the old goodbye… the grim reaper’s kiss… something fancy to kiss us all goodbye. We can’t afford to stop. We can’t afford to take a moment to reflect, when a moment’s all it takes.

We can’t afford to stop, reflect, repair. There’s only enough time to move forward. Sometimes I wonder if I keep moving forward I’ll end up right where I started. Then I realize that’s the point. Society can’t stop to reflect, because it has to make it’s way back around. We’re heading toward the Stone Age carrying what we believe is a deeper wisdom of the self, but is instead a bit of hot air that got caught up in our lungs. We thought it was a touch in the heart that could transcend every wisdom ever inherited. By the time we’ve reached the finish line, it’ll be gone. We’ll burp it up in time.

Pick a direction. I go down East Street towards South Street. Don’t stop until you hit the creek. Even then, why stop for anything? Society will implode within a few more years. Reflection is this narcissistic thing… after all.

Where The Buffalo Roam

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Photo of me, circa 1995. I enjoy hay most times, but there’s just something about grass… Oh give me a home… where the buffalo roam…

Over time, I’ve grown accustomed to my cynical interpretations of the world, although I will admit for honesty’s sake that I don’t think it’s the proper way to view the world. Being a cynic is the same as being an optimist, is the same as being a broken clock… you’re likely to be right at least twice in a day. Still, when you see the amount of stupidity and arrogance and brutality it’s just impossible not to cling to your ideals. Most of us need them for comfort. I see the future in blips that my mind tries to decipher. I see a little bit of what I remember from history classes. Repetition is the way of the world. You’ll see a glorious Fourth Reich emerge under the guise of the ‘American Dream’ and that’ll be the end of it. Rome prospered as a Republic. It floundered as an Empire. The era of the Christian empire… we refer to that these days as the ‘Dark Ages’. And, for all my cynicism, I can’t shake the bitter truth that’s chewing on my insides… you know, that vital point where the gut calls out to those who refuse to accept it.

I woke up during a generation that wasn’t accustomed to such harsh realities. We knew the world around us from a twenty-inch television screen. We saw the horror appear between cartoons, when our fathers would flip the channels for a moment, and in this way we were exposed to the densely packed chicanery of the outside world. If anything separated us or made us unique when compared to the generations before it’s that our parents and various consignment of adults seemed to inspire the apathy that would cement our legacy. They wanted us to be less inspired. They wanted us to be comfortable, because they weren’t when they were at our age. We weren’t hippies, although we enjoyed the drug use. We weren’t our harsh conservative counterparts leading impetuous, vulgar crusades against any other forms of reality that might coincide with our belief structures. Simply put… we just were. We saw the worst of both worlds. We saw Columbine, when two teenage boys brought in assault rifles and made their school into a war-zone. We saw Bill Clinton and the amorality that accompanied him, although the macabre demeanor of the entire circus was something all the more vulgar, as those who persecuted him were outed as pederasts and conmen. This is the world that my generation knew. We heard the words of our doom and devastation, but none of it seemed so real as to shake us out of this spell, for which I have no words.

I’ll admit that all the dangers seemed far away. We were a generation that grew up playing as pirates and soldiers, while not knowing that children are age in worlds far away were playing these games for real. Child soldiers, child slaves, child abduction. There was no such thing as ‘a childhood’ in other worlds, where kids our same age were forced to grow up much too fast, while we were allowed to hold onto ours up to the age of… well… I’m thirty-one… so… I think I have a few more years.

If it was one issue… and only one… which is a stretch, as I’m sure you could pick several issues with how our society operates… I think that our culture developed some form of impenetrable, narcissistic wall around us. Our parents, along with various corporate sponsors and conservative, amoral senators, took special care in protecting their children, protecting us, although the harsh realities of the outside world still remained. We maintained a delicate, oblivious nature that continued into adulthood. That’s what I blame. Every generation has a struggle of self, something that would’ve been labeled a ‘spiritual dilemma’ in days of old. Our generation has no spirit. We have no struggle. This is the dilemma. We’ve never been challenged or at least, whenever we’ve been challenged, someone else comes to our aid in miraculous fashion.

The real price of our narcissism is a willingness to allow everything to fall apart, because we think it will illicit a response from a yet to be determined messiah. We’ll let the world fall apart, because we expect a winged figure, not an angel, but superman, batman, whoever, to put all our fears to rest. The problem with this belief is that the rest of the world isn’t in on the joke. Our parents let us believe in monsters for too long, while the rest of the world already knew. We have a lot of catching up to do, but I don’t see it happening. We’re far too cynical. Most likely, we’ll let it all fall apart, because the comfort of our situation has yet to be compromised.

Overcoming this era in our lives, when we’ve been set to such a moderate standard, for which the challenge was never necessary is, in itself, the greatest challenge of our generation. We have plenty of goals, we just have to accept them. We have far more goals than we do limits. We have far more opportunities than we’d like to admit. We have far more chances for greatness than we do possibilities to hide when the nightmare finally asserts control.