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Reflections on an Election

The end of ideas, imagination and vision
In favor of fear, jealousy and derision
A dearth of high values and beliefs
in favor of food and aid relief.

Thinking people unsure in their opinions and divided
While our doom is by the thoughtless decided.
A victory for empty-headedness
and for elitist inbrededness

A plethora of wealth, privilege and right
A paucity of health, values and delight.
The economy onwards, like deadweight is tugged
The Atlas of a hopeful world, dismissed, shrugged.

Fundamentalists and Reductionists: The Miraculous, the Rational, and the absence of the Real.

Let us take a typical quote of a self-assured rationalist. And then discuss what is so wrong about it:

“Life on earth is not a “miracle” but can be completely explained by science.”

It is statements like this, sneaked in by many atheists and rationalists in to their discourse, that are completely unjustified. They try to polarize the debate between idiot fundamentalists and creationists who believe in childish miracles, and themselves, mature adults who know the rational truth in such an obvious way, that they can make offhand statements about science being able to completely explain life.

What happened to this world that the supposedly “rational” and scientific people have become so deluded about what they know and about what they can explain? There is no God, so they feel compelled to play god, or let science or rationality take on the role of a god, by being all-knowing, Omniscient. Is that what it is?

It seems in human society as a whole there is only ever two choices: between Idols and Gods. Gods are on the back foot currently (For us “mature” non-fundamentalists who don’t believe in “childish” miracles), so idols have come to the forefront. Material idols of celebrities, possessions, money, success, popularity, and ideologies as idols, such as rationality, science, capitalism, individualism, collectivism.

Why and when did we become so conceited to think we had broken free of millenium-old human patterns of social behavior? I think it can only be due to the distance between our own mental fortresses of the night and the social and practical worlds we live in during the day. It has created a disconnect, allowing us to make confident mental assertions since we know there is little likely repercussions of our statements in practice.

In truth, we are mentally conceited, precisely because we are so materially impoverished in our practical influence on the world. We would be better suited to be more humble, to acknowledge our miniscule influence in this overgrown runaway world. Then maybe we can overcome the disconnect in our own minds, and begin to further our awareness. So we do not need to rely on “rational” ideologies, or “unquestionable” miracles, but can once more appreciate the real. A limited power, for sure, but at least a real power and not a conceited illusion setting us up for a fall.


An enveloping calm, a nebulous embrace

warmth enthused with grace

I come to no harm, in this safe space

Clarity cuts through the haze,

murders like a vacant gaze,

like a worn out, clichéd phrase.

Blurred boundaries and hazy lines

Perception never once confined

My imagination renewed, refined.

There is life in the unclear,

in the far, as opposed to the near

to which our nostalgia endears.


Mental Supernova

The aftermath of destruction is quite gratifying to the mind. There is a sense of freedom: of a return to the void where all is possible. No burdens and no responsibilities. Problem is, we often just go down the same path all over again, and make the same mistakes. Like a person who does not remember, and so cannot learn from their experience. Gratification and what is best to do, thus are rarely aligned. But just as a too willing desire to destroy leads to repetition, so a refusal to ever destroy leads to stagnation. We are stuck in a tight bind, a vise.

Can the forces of creation and destruction be harnessed in a healthy way or is there always an element of insanity in the breaking up of solidified habits and rituals? A madness that creeps in insidiously? Can the mind stretch to encompass its world, or must it always compartmentalize itself away in to some comfortable niche? Pure awareness would be the ideal goal for an integrated mental entity. But you can be certain that such would not be ideal for the propagation of the species. Do we choose our own integrity, or a world that will slowly tear us apart and break us down?

The only difference is in the way we depart. Maintain integrity to the end, and explode into a million pieces when the pressure reaches a critical point. Or steadily disintegrate and drift apart in the void. The life of the mind, it seems, follows pretty much to a tee, the life-cycle of the stars.

Humanity: In Retrospect

Excerpt from the posthumous writings of the last articulate human being, Daniel, E.L. Arving

The world had come to a graceless end. Truth and honour, once prized possessions of the noble amongst the human race, had been abandoned. Worse, they had been betrayed. It was a very subtle dismemberment, a very clinical operation. But the end result could brook no feeble excuses, to the effect of, “we didn’t see it coming”, or “it snuck up on us”, or even “it’s not my fault it was like that when I got here!” For the effect was no accident it was a cultural decision that we all partook in, and that we all would be destined to renew from here on out, from one generation to the next.

All the ritualistic gestures of adolescence: the hazings, humiliations, drunken episodes, debaucheries. All the cynical bitterness felt towards an adult world of following the orders of ones superiors. In each and every case, the human individual was being placed in a tight corner from which the only escape door, the only way out, was to leave his truth and honour behind him, and fall in line.

How to do this? Simple: a lie in plain sight was to be acknowledged. If a person would believe and affirm a lie above what their own senses, and their own better judgement told them. A lie placed so blatantly and arrogantly in front of their eyes. If a person, rather than trust their own vision, would bow down to authority out of fear on such a basic point of individual integrity as this, then there was nothing left for them but a life of slithering chicanery and back-handedness.

Yes, we have been told such lies. And guess what? We were even told that they were lies. No one was hoodwinked. Each betrayed not the judgement of reality, not the judgement of others, but their own judgement. Their own intuition. Their own instinctive feel for their surroundings.

We created a schism, a polarity, a compartmentalization, call it what you will, within on our own mind. We rendered ourselves insane so society could carry on as if normal. This was the crime that extinguished humanities hopes, and ensured it of an ignominious end.


Battles and destruction,

facial reconstruction

Envy and Aggression

A “rightful” Possession.

Laughs and Sneers

Intoxicating Beers

A shout and a scream

All not what it seems

A war waged under cover

for the sake of a “lover”

to give the girl her kick

A long hardened stick.

To give her airiness some solidity

to justify her vanity and frivolity.

Let me tell you my point of view,

though it is nothing special, nor new:

Conflict has its eternal source

in this crime against out better minds

for which we show no remorse,

and to which we remain willfully blind.



My Fortress, My Passion

Indifference is my fortress
Solitude is my consolation
Emptiness is my distress
Pride is my self-immolation

Dwindling life seeps through my pores
I cannot grasp it or hold it close
Shadows of emotion shudder me to the core
To love, to feel are to me things otiose.

My fate left to the breeze
to knock me this way or that,
to lift me up to the sky,
or send me to the ground, face flat.

It is small matter to me,
for I have no company.
Just the cool aether waiting to embrace
My hardened, fractured face.

Take me if you dare
My spirit will yet rebel
For Love I may not care
But tough remains my shell
Unlikely even to despair,
though I plummet down to hell.

What is this force that remains
this power in which I trust
though all around screams and complains
I still don’t turn to dust.

My life cannot be captured,
I know no thing for sure
my soul continues enraptured
I can think up no lasting cure.

As Deadened as I may try to be,
From my passion, I cannot break free.


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