This one has a test for you. Find forest. Strip down amongst the trees, lie on your back and stare into the expanse. If done right you can fall upwards and never make contact. You’ll find that everything you own is right there with you. The other things are not, not things, but weights, illusions you hold in hand and cower behind to limit your exposure. Your titles are allotments, they exist only for as long as other humans address you by them. Your wage is an allowance, the minimum amount agreed allowing them to still turn a profit, a dollar to a dollar fifty. Your property is rented, whether leased or mortgaged, no man, king, or bank can own soil. No empress can stop it from being sea swallowed, shaken and gobbled by the earth, drowned out by the rains. Your conception was non-consensual. Your fashion is fleeting. Your popularity is permission. Even what you “know” is no more solid than water in a lake, trapped on all sides, run through the filters of upbringing, culture, language, religious piety, scientific knowledge, and the ignorance or enlightenment of your village, tainted by the ink of a thousand pens of TV writers, political aides and news briefs….and even these being the remnants, curated, the survivors of an abattoir. Think of all the content that died from red slashes on the pages of political speeches, scriptures, and films scripts, left cut in the editing room or to die on the house floor, all products of creatures who have a vested interest in controlling what you think. But me? I don’t care either way.
I don’t get paid when you hit like, I’m not fazed when you scroll by. I said it some 72+ weeks ago. All I want is to show you something you couldn’t otherwise have seen and tell you something no one else was willing to say. I say it for our benefit at all cost to me. The pain will abate. The time I've spent here will become monochrome memory, essentially intact but missing vibrant details that make a thing worth experiencing. I wake to the a nightmare that plays in 4K. Youth fading fast, all these negatives, leeching technicolor when the sun is out. Lust in UV and infrared, strong herbs keep me from the ultraviolence.
MOTOR asked if I’ve ever considered that these words are lost on you. Said if I want to be famous I’ve gotta appeal to the bottom line, reign it in a bit for the common man. I write Ave Maria passages, pitched prayers that pass far overhead. I never wanted to be famous, only to be FELT, but that ain't the age we live in. When I spoke simply and wrote plainly they told me I was crazy, so I obfuscated the meaning, trapped everything valuable behind a lock that couldn’t be cracked so quickly. Always been sluttier with mind than body— had to stop giving it up freely. Figured that anyone who’d go through the effort of breaking in and breaking past deserved in anyway, that the kind of person to figure out the lock is owed everything it protects. That’s the kind of soul I want coming for me anyway. Fuck a common man. I keep making the mistake of being real with people who’ve never seen that type of shit before. Bad habit. Most don’t know how to react to sincerity. Nor to honesty— they don’t respond well if they respond at all, so I have to remind myself to love the struggle as much as the goal. I’m just a little Dutch boy with my digit in the dike, finger wet with a slickness that I know is disinformation. When the floods flow I hope I'm the first to drown. I’m back to my old habit of disassociating if I don’t like the interlocutors, so if you see me sitting still life motionless observe the technique. How many more hours will I spend listening to sentient apes posture for their egos? How long can a rock withstand current before it crumbles or is carved anew? I had two settings: Lover & Logician. Now, I really don’t know. It’s taking me a couple solar cycles to violate all my brainwashing and revert to gut feeling. Doing away with the dregs of my humanity that can’t be salvaged, the vestigial, back into an animal kind of operation. Nose to the air, taste prey ten miles down the road. Vibrations on the wind. Condors circle. I know when you're in heat and when you're running scared. I can see in your gait you're unsure. So far I've been civilized, but I'm eschewing that mode. It's written in your eyes. You don't live by a code.