I suspect more and more that we do not project the universe, rather are we the projections of the universe. But then, if we ourselves individually and collectively are its symbols, its memories and its experiences, might we potentially manipulate those experiences, those memories and those symbols for matters other than masturbatory fancy? Could that be the aim to whichever grand purpose to life, giving the music of the spheres fuel other than new sheet music?
We’ve culturally opted for legalized gambling, over a system where a company’s sustainability depends fundamentally on the merit of its products and services successfully meeting existing demands. I know crowd-funding has individualized the process exponentially, but in the doing are we reprogramming ourselves to believe that nobody must be helped unless there’s a thing in it for ourselves. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy crowdsourced in real time, a demand manufactured to meet preordained profiteers.
I am not hiding from any person, place or thing, but nor am I partaking. I am not participating or contributing. The enemy of your enemy may be your friend, but from where I stand you all appear to be interceding on behalf of the universe, as though it required your 2 or 3 cents.
No matter the specifics of god and country all terrorists view themselves as freedom fighters, every villain a hero in their own mind. What some see as a replacement theory others may find as free market capitalism just doing its thing. If I had a god complex like everybody else, I’d say that anything not appealing to me and only to me 24/7 is clearly some malicious plot, on behalf of a minority of perverts who somehow have supreme power and authority over my livelihood and well-being as though I am required by law to be an audience member for any popular culture. And that none may like a thing more than me as I am the one true believer, but should I fail to like a thing then clearly it has no merits or value because my decision-making is so flawless I am privileged to set all standards for all peoples. If I can have my thoughts and feelings then others can have theirs, because at world’s end they are neither theirs, yours or mine but that of the universe. I’ve no more right to mandate mine be replicated by others than they do theirs onto me. There is no actual partisan divide when everyone’s a capitalist, only competing profiteers of your costs. They cannot order you to love or hate as they themselves do, they can only do it for themselves.
Technically, lynch mobs might be the will of a peoples, but I don’t believe that populism is about following the “customer is always right” idiom as its core principle. Not when populism, where the many benefit over the wills of the few, has always been the opposite to capitalism, where few benefit at cost to the rest. Being dumb enough to fall for any politician’s advertising is one thing, but deification above and beyond is a head-scratcher. No matter who your heroes are, if they can do no wrong, you are an idiot. There is not a person in this country who has a happy ending waiting. We’ve socially prioritized the indulgence of fantasies to the extent that reality is bleeding from our neglect, like how the personality cults of gated communities intentionally block out the mass of reality contradicting the proclaimed exceptionalism, thereby cutting themselves off from life support.
The first anniversary is days away. Very likely I will never be at that physical place again. Currently spending 99% of my time neither awake or asleep, mostly with cigs burning down to nothing in my fingers. Don’t go anywhere or talk with anyone. I don’t want to be friends with anyone, I don’t want to even know anyone, because I don’t think lives being savable or not should depend on whether I see value in it for myself. I’ve normally the constitution of a team of oxen, but these months do I dwell within experiencing a lot of health issues mostly heart and lung related choking up blood from my eyes in the middle of the night before I give myself a heart attack or aneurysm, and while awake my lung capacity feels at 23%. There is a nonstop tension within my chest and neck, and feeling of hyper-density. The trenchmouth of my jawbone is eroding itself into disconnect, my eyesight and hearing contesting to see who fades last. Energy and strength physically nonexistent. I believe my will being gone is making it easier for my body to start pulling up its stakes and shut down. There is nothing I want from the world; or what remains of this life, so it feels like my time and space are together a ghost facing a future, which they never do.
I haven’t read any of their work in years but I feel degrees of Camus and Lord Byron. I live enveloped by this existential crisis on infinite Earths, the futile depravity found in the aftermath of failing to save a life. It clutches all things close, and yet still goes met with unsure footing, handholds of shadows I no longer recognize for the life of me. I feel more and more in this, how lust and wrath must not be regarded as deadly sins, for mankind was built for an emotional spectrum, all free to love and to hate as their private thoughts and feelings champion their narratives for the benefit of the interactive theater all about the world’s lonely stage. But I support this from a malaise of prolonged entropy, this ennui. I do not recognize my authority, I recognize the authority of all things, every glimmering flash from the greater whole of all that ever would be. Like a death-rattle in morse code.