It Snowed and I Survived

I thought this picture framed the weekend with a certain perfection. It was a long struggle with Netflix and junk food the likes of which I’m thinking many did not survive. My thoughts go out to those with family members who didn’t make it or are reliving some form of ‘shell-shock’ from having endured hours upon hours of ‘Family Guy’ or ‘Walking Dead’ reruns.

This is a view of the city from across the river. You see traffic and then a building that overlooks the riverfront property of Albany. Across from that is Rensselaer, which is my hometown. I’d like to say it looks much more welcoming without the snow, but really it’s always grey. I don’t mean that to sound as depressing as it does, but I don’t know how else to describe a city with very little to it. If anyone from the city was asked the same question, I’d bet it all on them either saying it exactly as I have or resorting to stories from their youth. They could call back ‘the good ole days’ or suggest you look at photos of their grandchildren, which, to me, is missing the point.

The point is… I’m out of shit to do in this damn town, so I’m taking pictures from undisclosed locations to make it seem greater than it is… so, here we are. I’m thinking that it’s only me who wants more, because the city’s been this boring for as long as I can remember. You get used to nothing changing. I’m sure it’ll settle into my bones with a few more years, but does anyone really want that? Shouldn’t there be something greater, some wisdom we reveal from years of experience with this or that? I’ve been trying to understand what deeper understanding of the self I might’ve come across from all my years in this town, on this earth, somewhere in the ether of creation and chaos… nope, still nothing.

Maybe some day I’ll get to that one post that brings it all together. Maybe some day this’ll all make sense. Until then…

Inauguration Day

 

Image result for trump naziThe funeral pyre was lit, not to mourn the lives of those presidents who devoted their lives to serving this country, but to mourn the future. The sun refused to break through that unremitting wall of grey that lurked behind the clouds, something menacing and reverent, as if a storm sat beyond the wall of mortal vision. Life sat in wonder, as the pyres became the only light. Nothing good would come of it. The darkness eased back with a brief glimmer of light, if only to shine from within ourselves, as we must forsake that wall of grey in the sky. It seems immortal, but what can one truly say about immortality? For all we’ve known of the modern era, there is no such thing. Everything passes. Everything has its time, before it goes the way of the dinosaurs.

They brought out two sacrificial virgins, which had been laced with angel dust to make them more submissive. Their minds had been molded from days of sensation, being blessed with everything their hearts might desire. They were given food and drink, sexual depravity, riches for their families that they would never see in this lifetime, all for the show… all for the inauguration.

Grand Wizard Kali Ma brought up the male sacrifice first. They stood him facing the crowd, so they could admire the swift precision of Kali Ma’s knife, as he slit his throat. It was a clean cut, I have to give him that, but my appreciation for this ominous ‘death cult’ that seems to run our country has dwindled beneath a cynical amusement. It all becomes quite boring after a while… I mean… how many times can we really watch a beautiful virgin die before it all becomes… monotonous?

The female sacrifice broke almost immediately after watching her male counterpart. She drifted steadily into the sea of bodies, but was brought back by a few men wearing SS fatigues. They threw her to the ground, denying the obvious urge to rape and plunder, knowing that the ritual of this day was more important than their petty desires. Grand Wizard Kali Ma fell upon her and drove his dagger into her heart. He ripped it out and presented it to her. She took it in her hands for a few seconds, which seemed so impossible, as if her body reached an untouchable state that waited between life and death. It lasted only a few seconds, before the heart fell out of her hands. Grand Wizard Kali Ma was lucky to have caught it before it hit the ground. If it had, the ritual would be ruined and the fate of our nation in peril.

Blood had to be spilled along the red carpet, for which our new overlord would walk. They sprinkled it, as if throwing rice at a wedding. It covered the faces of those in the front row, who looked with vengeful, atavistic senses, lurking, menacing desires to rape and murder. The day… no… the years of struggle to get their master elected, along with all their prayers to their dark and venerable gods had finally paid off. Now was the time to come out of the darkness, because the darkness had shown itself in full. So it goes, as the moon enters a cycle of darkness, which might seem eternal. So it goes, that everything has a need to be returned.

Although we all know the eagle represents the freedom and grace of our nation, it couldn’t be so with this inaugural day. They chose instead a chicken that had been locked up for weeks in a Tyson processing center. Its beak had been cut off, legs broken, body emaciated from disrepair. It was thrown out onto the stage, where it cried out in obvious pain. We don’t speak the language of the chicken, but pain is the one universal tongue that we can all decipher. If only I was a good enough writer to describe the horror and pain in its eyes. It played the most beautiful symphony of cataclysm and death, something that the great gods of old, from Babylon, Sumeria… even deeper, back to days when man prayed to sticks fashioned to represent his ignorance and greed, his hunger to stay alive.

Then… came the blissful moment of revelation, as our new overlord took the stage. He mocked the chicken, as he saw it trembling before him and then stepped on its head. It was his first act as our messiah and it was one of vengeful mercy. He approached the podium and said some things, all of which I could not hear. I heard something far greater, which I thought was coming from the crowd, but was instead coming from the earth. A rift tore itself open and unleashed an unfathomable army of dark monstrosities that claimed to only want to change our healthcare. They promised to give it back, as they ripped out the tongues of all of those who questioned their intentions. They marched into our world and slaughtered everyone in their path. It was truly a terrible day for democracy.

Lost in the shuffle was our new overlord, who had scurried away so fast nobody had a good idea as to where he went. Nobody cared, for as the rift opened, it could not be undone. The army that entered our world could not be denied. This inauguration day had opened something, a can of worms, if you will, that could not be put back. Everything changed. From this day, everything as we know it will be forever changed. It seems terrible right now. The future might hold something different, but it always ends the same. A rift opens. An army of aliens kills us all. Rinse… repeat.

The end.

Duality Principle (Happy Late Xmas)


The thing about the other guy is that, although he doesn’t share a single view in common with you or your friends or your family, he does still exist. I know this is a mind-blowing concept, but it’s very real. This is the only truth that one must understand, as if your life depends on it, because ignoring Duality Principle is to doom yourself and those around you to suffer. It’s Duality Principle that allows the world to exist. It’s the wisdom that shows all the variety in the world in one shot, something that the eye, heart, soul or mind cannot conceive. Our minds can’t process it with a few seconds of contemplation… even if you found a ‘dank meme’ that really speaks to you on Facebook. You won’t read it from this blog and understand. You have to feel it. You have to think about it for more than five seconds. You have to truly, deeply understand.

Duality Principle is what allows other people to have differing views from yours, which is most likely due in part to some miracle that allows the world to move on, despite our political, religious and/or contradictory views. It’s an amazing thing, you see, because… apparently the world will continue despite other people not believing what you believe. It’s truly a miracle… almost as if… your views hold no weight when measured against the burdensome necessity of everyday existence. Who would’ve thought? Let’s take an example: I consider myself to be more liberal leaning, while there are also people in the world who believe that Conservative doctrine is more easily accessible. Now, there are even others who don’t give a shit about either of our views and come up with their own interpretations… yet, the world moves on. The Principle continues still, as in when one viewpoint is put into practice, the others still exist.

Have I lost anyone? One political ideology being in power doesn’t mean that another is erased, although, certainly, when lunatics take control, there can be several attempts to eliminate other cultures, still, the elimination of a thought is not a negation. Simply put, in attempting to destroy, well… destruction isn’t the answer.

Let’s think about destruction, especially of thoughts that we find troublesome. Now, in killing everyone who doesn’t think like you, what have you done? In theory, you’ve erased them from the planet, although we present alternatives like an afterlife, their forms go through an amazing transformation into death. First, for any good lunatic obsessed with his own ideology, there comes a necessity for mass graves. So, you kill everyone who doesn’t think like you… and you stick them in this massive grave. Over time, there bodies break down, being digested by the earth, scavengers maybe, rotten weeds tearing apart their softening tissue, eating away at them. They grow from within, becoming one with the earth, put to rest allegedly, put to peace. What if your enemy presents itself as a growing flower from a mass grave? Do you keep stomping, because it might represent something that you can’t stand for? How far do you break it down? Do you stomp until it collapses on a molecular level? Then still, a nano-ish level? How hard do you have to work, until your way of thinking is the only way? How long until that weed that grows strong from eating your dead enemies strangles you in your sleep?

I’m not one to think that your enemies will haunt you in the afterlife or even that karma will catch up to you. Eventually, you’ll die to… and you’ll return to the earth, whence you came. You’ll be consecrated with those you killed, maybe not in the same grave, but still your time will come. You’ll be like other dictators, who either die in bunkers with a bullet between their teeth or warm in their beds… or tortured and dragged around the street for the world to see. Either way, you make it to the same earth you consecrated with the blood of those who held a few views that weren’t your own. Hence, therein lies… or truths, Duality Principle.

May every holiday be better than the next, until you meet your enemies in the end!

Sic

ether

A favorite watercolor painting of mine, “Hotei to the Light”.

“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”                                                                -Kurt Vonnegut

The one thing I’ve been asking myself since I started this blog is whether you people deserve the entire truth or a little bit with bullshit laced in or the pure, unadulterated lie that I’ve come to believe. I still don’t know the answer. I’ve given up trying to predict people’s movements and patterns. I’ve tried. I’m sure there’s some formation that comes from it all, but human behavior, even explained for an eight year old to understand, still manages to baffle me to no end. I’d hate to say that I hate humanity, because that’s the truth, at least how I’ve come to believe it. That answer is at least the truth I tell myself. The real truth is that I hate what we pretend to be. We’re scared children acting like we’re not still afraid of the dark. We’re witch doctors looking for miracle cures in chicken entrails, claiming to possess the meaning of life. We’re shepherds, each in our own right, leading other shepherds, while none of us know where we’re going. I’ve long-since given up trying to understand the fear, the terror, the unremitting danger lurking in our hearts. The more you look the less you see. That’s the fear. We’re petrified that if we look deep enough into the human soul we’ll realize that, in all the emptiness of the cosmos, as it is within our own hearts… simply put, there’s nothing there.

Kama, Patron Saint of the Doomed

 


Doom is the word. It holds a great deal of weight at the tip of your tongue. Sound it out and let it settle. Your ears don’t want to accept the presence of such a word in your vocabulary. It’s a word that everyone deals with in everyday life, yet only a few know the definition. Knowing is struggling. Knowing is being defeated by life or other forces that prove much stronger, greater, more capable of breaking you down and making you feel like less than what you are. Doom is the word. It can’t be written out of the dictionary. It belongs, just like hope and prosperity.

Doom is a symbol of greatest despair. It’s the ‘nothing left, game-over’ scenario, when you have nowhere else to turn. You’ve run out of options. You’ve failed in a way that nothing will ever get better. If anything, it’ll only get worse. A symbol of doom weighs heavy on the soul. You don’t often notice them right away. More often, you live such a life that you have to look back and see, before you can pinpoint the augury of your downfall. Think of the Statue of Liberty and what it’s supposed to mean to a person coming in after spending days at sea, locked shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers, while you hold your child close to you and hope that you both can weather the storm. Imagine looking up over the horizon of ocean that you’ve seen for days and seeing that beautiful sign of hope: a distant flame in the endless ocean, her torch, held high above inequity and doom. Imagine what you feel, what you think, what you understand about your future. It’s enough to fill a man with hope. So too is that point when you’ve run out of hope. So too is that point when you have nothing, but to accept your fate.

The ocean is doom. Your old life is doom. Doom is the point of no return, when all hope is lost and nothing can be done to save you. It’s been symbolized by mythical places, like Hell or Hades, but in using symbols to define it, we’ve lost what it means for the truly doomed. True doom is reserved for those beyond reach. It’s for people so desperate they’d flee across an ocean for a better life.

What is hope? Hope is wishing for something better. The doomed have to hope that they can be absolved of whatever sin has caused their suffering. Hope is beyond the ocean, yet absolution is so much further.

If you walk beneath the Dunn Memorial Bridge in Rensselaer, New York, you’ll find several things. You’ll find a baseball field with a tremendous history to the sport, although you might not think it. You’ll find the noise insufferable, as cars speed above on their way to the highway. Of utmost importance are the pillars that keep the highway from crashing into the river. Several artists perfected their art against the sturdy concrete, as a proper reminder that almost anything can be made beautiful with a little effort. I found this one (Top Left) of utmost importance, not only to our town, but to the world. I call him, Kama, Patron Saint of the Doomed, because we all need hope in some form. The last time I walked passed this place beneath the highway, I saw its trash bins overflowing, while crows pulled out leftovers and made off with them like victorious scoundrels. I don’t understand that symbol, but I’d rather find meaning in something more beneficial.

For the lost souls that roam in our fair city, there is Kama, Patron Saint of the Doomed. The fallen angel, Kama, sacred returner of lost souls, watches over us all. Predators threaten. Call the city a haven and that’s what it becomes. Treat it like one and you live up to your word. Deliver on this promise and it is so. Kama is the protector. He pushes those forces that would cause us harm out into the ether, allowing us to remain, like a bubble along the river. After enough time, the bubble will pop and Kama will return from whence he came. Until then, he watches over us. Kama takes the form of the spider, but unlike most spiders he has not set this trap. This is not his web. Our web was empty, this empty city would’ve been picked apart if not for him. Every so often the web will tear, threatening a collapse into oblivion. Kama holds it together.

Outside forces work to tear down what we call sacred. It’s only a matter of time before they succeed and we are torn apart. That doesn’t matter. It’s not the point to preserve what is inherently doomed. It’s the point to try. It’s the point to try. It’s the point to try. Kama protects us. Still, even with him as our protector, our fate is sealed. We’ll collapse into oblivion, yet we have this time to enjoy our empire of dirt. Let his name, Kama, Patron Saint of the Doomed, be praised.

S.nake O.il S.alesmen

Image result for trumpWe had a feller come to town

claiming he could turn water into wine

when he couldn’t he blamed the sun…

we didn’t think much of it…

The next day, he was gone

to the town of Kul

Where stories came about of a man

who turned water into wine

and they praised him as a king

and the world came to see

and the world came to understand his wisdom

What is the wisdom of a man who turns water into wine?

It’s the miracle

We all want to be a part of it.

And fools rush in – because it only takes one

Like those late-night telemarketers – they know if they get one

It might as well be a million

You get one disenfranchised, desperate citizen that feels like he’s been screwed into destitution by his country

That’s all it takes

Snake Oil – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snake_oil

There’s intellux and ‘male-growth hormones’ and viagra

and ‘making America great’ and ‘In God we Trust’

Boom – snake oil

How do you fight it?

When the people who are fool enough to use it

Praise its benefits

It’s deeper, deeper, deeper and deeper

Feel it to thrive, the instinct is to stay alive.

So… you’re saying… maybe they don’t believe?

Maybe their sense is more primal

Maybe they know to follow the one that swears to protect them

Because no one seems to want to protect

And so they buy the bullshit as a formal protest and claim to want to survive

And claim they want to survive… and claim they want to survive

Because America and Democracy come second to survival

And making America great means

turning back the clock

to when the KKK could march a million men strong on D.C.

And dogs and kittens lived in harmony

and every one every day one the lottery

and humble pie tasted like shit

and the Sun revolved around the Earth

and it only takes one to believe this shit

before we start thanking Ancient Aliens for the pyramids

and accuse scientists of hypocrisy

while we consume the oil of the snake

and thank the man

who brought it to our attention.

 

Lost Cultures of Columbia Turnpike: Kmart

Here it is… your moment of zen.

http://www.businessinsider.com/sears-obsession-with-wall-street-2016-3

For those who don’t remember (I haven’t written on this topic in a while), Columbia Turnpike is a long stretch of road that cuts through our town. I worked for many years in a store along this road. If you go up Columbia Turnpike now, you’ll see several abandoned buildings, some of which used to be thriving businesses or factories that helped to keep us afloat. Most of these factories packed up and left before I was born. These industries have an innate sense of survival. Unions gained momentum and threatened their ecosystem. The smart businesses went to China, while nothing became of those buildings… or the people who remained.

The fall of the Industrial Age has seen the rot of its decline seep into other facets of American life. Retail is no exception. The smart businesses aligned with China and other countries to get their wares for cheap, while exploiting labor that, while it might not be slave, still remains in question for morality’s sake. Factories shipped their business to other countries and invaded like a virus attacking a cell. You see this several times throughout history, especially with this being the time of ‘Giving Thanks’. The pilgrims left Europe, where they were certainly not welcome and had to kill many an ‘indigenous people’ to call this place home. It’s always been more a game of survival than anything…

I didn’t enjoy my time in retail, as is evident by the incessant nightmares that bubble up from time to time, where I feel the terror of being a part of that world. For those who haven’t endured it, I don’t know how to convince you of the terrible feelings that arise when I enter these places. I can’t walk into a Target or a Wal-Mart without feeling this sense of impending doom… most likely because I felt it for over a decade. I went into work without a sense that things could get better. Why should I? Every year that I was there things got worse. I grew accustomed to that feeling and, in all honesty, became numb. It’s the type of talk that a hardened soldier should use, not a man who worked far too long at a shitty store.

Again, I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes hell is the same to people and sometimes it’s different. Retail was my hell. More specifically, Kmart was hell. My coworkers and I endured something altogether baffling, as we watched our corporate elites exploit the minimal resources we had. They squandered and destroyed, like any other invading army. The corporate world is no different. It’s full of sociopaths and pederasts. They visited our store from time to time, always with a firm handshake, something vulgar when it comes to their touch. Businessmen use the handshake to fuck one another, because a firm grip assumes something masculine. It’s perverse. I wish they’d fuck and get it over with!

Trust was never established between us at the store level and those in corporate, but it didn’t seem to matter. We watched our store rot away, losing more and more of itself. We knew what was happening, but it all came with this sense of being overpowered. It was helpless… a lost cause. I didn’t give a shit at the time. If they were going to let this place fall I couldn’t care. I wanted it, same as them. I think that makes me at least a little responsible. I worked with ineptitude, sure, but maintained a bare-minimum within that same work ethic. I did what I had to, not what I could, because going ‘above and beyond’ was something a fool would do. Why work harder when you knew the outcome? Why work harder when you knew you weren’t going to get a raise? Why work harder when you knew that corporate had you by the balls and were just waiting for the right moment to squeeze?

The day that lives in infamy within the retail stratosphere is known as ‘Black Friday’. Thanksgiving is a pretty terrible day as well, but nothing compares. If you’re looking for a way to lose faith in humanity… go sit in front of a store around 530 in the morning and wait. What the public doesn’t know about this day is that three workers our chosen at random from corporate to be sacrificed in an effort to appease the crowd. The names come down from headquarters. We have no say in the matter, although we hope that the most inept employee gets picked, sort of to ‘cleanse our ranks’, if you will. The number of those chosen actually depends on the number of workers per store. We didn’t have many, so they went with three… but I digress.

Three sacrifices are chosen a week before the event. We honor their sacrifices, making them honorary guests at a party all for them. We get them drunk and provide for them plenty of escapes from the realization. The affair is always solemn. You’re about to lose a friend and while you’re happy it’s not you… well, you have to make the best of things.

Thanksgiving day everything changes. We surround them in a dark room and pummel them with socks full of bars of soap. We beat them within inches of their lives, strip them naked and tie them to posts outside the store. This all starts around 12 at night. We have to get ready for the day… this terrible day. People are already waiting by that time. The smell of the rotting flesh, as the sacrifices begin to chill on the November air is something I’ll never forget. They sit for hours. People change in that time. They can’t help themselves. It takes only a few hours, as more and more people come along and wait in the lines, before they attack. The sacrifices do enough to distract the people from our store. It gives us enough time to prepare and hope not to be their next victims.

Around the time that they finish with the three sacrifices, our store is ready to open. We wait at the front behind the doors, until they open and we run for our lives. There’s something in that hunger that is altogether human. It’s desperate and pathetic and… just a shame. I think of what it could mean to have so many people together and have it mean something. Instead, they fight for video games and bath robes. I wonder what it all means, but it’s like trying to make sense out of the movements of those little fruit flies. For some things… you’re just not allowed to know.

The building is still around for those to see. I could’ve taken a picture of it, but I found this one all the more endearing. It’s a husk of its former glory. For some reason, I get a calming sensation whenever I look at this photo. I had to share it with you all. I think of it rotting and collapsing to dust and feel really good. Most people will never understand the significance of this temple. I’m probably one of them. Nothing can describe what we endured. Nothing can describe the true horror of those days. If you’re curious, I’m sure you’ll see and think back to that time with a sense of wonder and, if I’ve done my job, hopefully an open mind.

Lost Soul Scripture 

In this city and no other, the lost souls converge to celebrate. None can say what they’ll be celebrating, as a form of expression for the deceased seems unnecessary. We do it with funerals, but nothing for when the deceased are long-since passed and nothing for which the living are not allowed to get involved. This is a ‘dance for the dead’. The lost souls that clog the entryways between vast, unfathomable universes flood our great city. You can’t hear them over the sounds of the train or the stupid mechanics who test their engines all night down the road from my house, but the lost souls find us. They come to this city to celebrate, if not for being alive, then for being.

One thing you witness is what significance they apply to our fair city. We don’t see it so often, with so many abandoned buildings, infrastructure falling apart or little effort that gets directed towards our city. The souls find us in good company. They come to this place, because it’s the ‘way-station’. It’s neither a good city nor a bad. They call it ‘the greyest little city in the world’. They point us to all the grey buildings across the river, as well as the plaza with its vast pool surrounded by grey marble. I’ve lived here all my life and can tell you it IS the greyest little city in the world. They say that Albany is the grey and Rensselaer is its shadow. There’s a fair amount of truth to that. I don’t know what it means to be in the shadow of Albany, although I assume it offers those lost journeyman a place to exist without exorbitant rent or indiscriminate neighbors who leave their televisions on full blast all damn night.

The lost souls come to us, because we are the way-station, which is neither good nor bad. They can come and rejoice in their decadent mortification without the worry of onlookers studying, photographing, preserving any moment that might ruin their fun. We’re not here for that. We’re here to experience for as long as we can, before we’re allowed to move on to that ‘hopeful eternity in the sky’. We’re the American dream. Give us your tired and poor and we’ll let them celebrate with the dead who come to dance into eternity. It is for this and nothing else that we pray.

The Empty Scroll

Image result for zen symbolThe other day I got high and decided to meditate. I don’t often do this, although I’m trying to get back into the habit. Getting high opened up the experience in a different way and showed me things I probably wouldn’t have seen. Instead of going on some pedantic rant, I wanted to write it out, almost in the style of a zen koan.Granted, I’m definitely not a ‘holy man’, but I felt that the experience was genuine and didn’t know any other way to document it.

The Empty Scroll

Don’t read too much into this. These words are as hollow as your heart, as false as your convictions and as empty as your soul. You give them meaning. I offer no wisdom and you drink it to become full. You consume nothing and feel complete. Wisdom is your illusion. A healthy diet of illusions poisons your soul. You read empty words, learn empty lessons that flood your heart. Empty your soul. Wisdom is a black hole. Your heart is the event horizon. Step too far over the line and you will be consumed. We call it life; life is our mission. Step over the line and become consumed. Zealots. Prophets. Slaves. Desire at its darkest; complete, unquestioning devotion. Empty as these words. Hollow, alone. Empty as culture. Is there an image embedded between the lines, the spaces, the paragraphs? Is your mind making you see? Hallucinating culture, hallucinating wit and personality. The poison of illusion causes sepsis to the system; it drives you mad. You see the image, their totem and pray to their dark gods. Refuse it. Deny it. And become as empty. Emptiness. Condition of the soul.

Tale of the Eternally Blinking Light


Time goes faster when you find something to do that you love. To the contrary, when you do something you hate, time takes forever. It wastes time, each time. We’ve come to understand that how we spend our time has to be understood. We have to appreciate the time we have, because we can’t always be doing what we love. Nobody enjoys waiting in traffic or sitting in boredom at your desk. In those moments, we allow time to slip away, as we imagine ourselves on beaches under the sun. We spend our time being happy, even when, in reality, we’re not.

At the intersection of Ring Street and South, there’s a traffic light that’s been blinking for the past two years. There’s still a stop sign at the end of Ring Street leading into South, although the light was constructed at least two years ago. The entire thing makes no sense, but it’s there. It exists, such as time, only constructed to perplex and confuse. Thinking about it is like trying to understand time and space, while existing in that same strata. Simply put, it cannot be done.

I don’t know how the world does it, but for all the money we claim not to have there’s an awful amount that we manage to waste. For those things that we’ve wasted our time, we have no choice but to call them sacred. If not, then we’ve lost so much. We lose that most sacred thing… our time on this earth. Between South and Ring Street, sits the ‘Eternally Blinking Light’. It just appeared one day out of nowhere, like the rest of us. Its existence is ours. We’re born from the same nothing that spawned the cosmos. It sits there blinking, one red and one green to each side, without a purpose. Nobody knows where it came from. Nobody knows. Some say it was put there as a warning for those who belong to a secret society. Some believe it was a waste of money. Others just ignore it, like everything else in the city.

The passage of time waits for no one. We’ve wasted enough time concerning what is sacred and what is nothing. For those that hold the light sacred, they hold a few ritual orgies at the beginning and the end of the month. They meet under the light for a few hours, give or take, depending on the traffic. It’s a sight to see… or be a part of… with so many bodies coming together, brought together by absolutely nothing. I guess time has a way of bringing us together. It offers us momentary glimpses of the sacred, before the illusion falls and we’re exposed for what we are.

I’d hate to think of my soul as an eternal tourist in this life. I’d like to think that I never belonged in this place or that. I think I’ll make my time as well deserved compost in this area eventually. If I get a say in the matter, bury me beneath the ‘Eternally Blinking Light’, where the orgies happen twice a month and if you look at the right moment up to the stars, you see the galactic battle between constellations we’ve named and stars that know nothing of their struggle.