It is a dank and dreary day with just enough sunlight to de-moisten my pillow; de-film my floor, but not enough to rouse me from my lethargy nor vitalize my version of Camus’ - “invincible summer.” Oh fucking well; within a day's drive there are people: old people, young people, babies resorting to temporary floating housing because of a pernicious rain exacerbated by a cloud cover capable of retaining far greater amounts of water than ever before in the known history of our species. This emerging anomaly is due to the unflagging greed of petro-nazis hell-bent on squeezing every last farthing from their myopic trust fund accounts which they have mostly inherited and have lived large by through no effort of their own other than a pathological disregard for human existence best exemplified by the about-to-be-deposed Mssr. _rump. So that another puppet less conspicuous in its consumption may rest upon the throne of our withering ruling class responsible for extinguishing human life on our planet and 3/4 of the other species who shared their home with us.
Ironically the selfishness and greed responsible for our eviction from this planet, is the same behavior for which i have the greatest difficulty in demonstrating “unconditional love.” This behavior is not writ large, nor particularly obvious in daily exchanges: people cutting in line, merchants short changing or keeping paid-for items, punking to gain prestige and prominence in most social circles, i mostly avoid but at times am forced to traverse. At first i thought the punking reflex was a gender issue; protecting the “fair damsel” from unwelcome advances, but later learned its origins are spawned in the uniquely feminine, but sadly unconscious “biological imperative” where the much smarter dames in our herd winnow champion sperm donors by contests for which the brutes remain blissfully oblivious, and readily engage in just for a whiff of poontang.
Unfortunately this is the same yoke the “masters” utilize by allure and the bait-and-switch of modern advertising - the whiff of poontang · I like pussy and some of my finest memories are between the sheets with an enthusiastic loving other. This inclination sufficed through the first of two marriages and got me into and out of a 3rd. My best friend who happened to be present when i’d met my last wife, apparently smelled the same thing, but didn’t possess the backbone to come at my claim frontally, rather convinced her piecemeal his prospects were superior - and she believed him, apparently. Neither carried their audacity to the doorstep of my heart, rather chose to slink away in the dark of night - she days after the emergency appendectomy my karma provided her for the daring escape, and he, nothing more than the same wish for being loved that i devoted to her, and from which i can only hope he learned nearly as much as i.
It’s a lot of fun to be removed enough from those events to try and jest, however sardonic it may sound to others. The feeling is not dissimilar from parting company with violent minds - however much might be discovered by remaining composed near hateful thoughts, it is a relief to pull the blinds aside and be once more aware of the larger peace of our passing lives. My pain is so constant that it is a challenge to be aware and accepting of the loving hearts with whom i am constantly surrounded. “I” the ego can struggle to take action relieving suffering which i perceive, but is often confused by the fact, it is the “i” who am being relieved of suffering. Fucking “Madame Paradox” and her coterie of tricksters only convinces me further of our proximity to a solution for all, rather than the seduction to _______fill in the blank, that those who claim high ground resort to preserve a power so vacuous and empty that even they do not believe, rather remain in a state of constant persuasion that all those who would follow must emulate or be trampled in the stampede for conformity.
I could give a fuck if you believe me or not, and even by the language i use, if you are alert and awake, will see the lie of my statement. I am dying; my body is wracked by a disease that is not how the practitioners would have you believe - i have broken myself by my own hand and an unwillingness to comply with the simple logic of body and spiritual health. I have dwelled overlong in the terrain of hate and envy; my suffering is at my own hand and any cowardice i attribute to others is a lesson i have not completed · that is truth as near as i can tell. This doesn’t mean i do not possess much detritus from past conceits: the delusion of passion on my person; the faith that i can heal another with devotion, or the fantasy i have any effect on the outcome of any other person’s life by choices i make, or they on mine. More to the fact that time is long and life is short - “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.” - Lennon/McCartney · et., al.
jts 18/10/2020
http://stoanartst.blogspot.com
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