Tuesday, June 30, 2015

the humane thing to do.

now if you can play an instrument...cool, because my fingers
can't figure out chopsticks to this day.
i don't believe in myself.
i don't believe in much.

and i don't want anything to have to do with figuring out
refining motor dexterity.
concerning my gifts and talents, and those of others,
i know all it means is we are instruments....

something not born of man or earth but god
like the lavender and the mint, the road signs...

and let me just put this out there: i'm not nurturing anything except
my cerebral hemispheres with my nonstop philosophy shit.
i'm a self imposed academic. not someone who went to school
and happened upon it.
so it's safe for me to say that philosophy is pretty absentminded.
it's all about dissections. compulsive operating.

and yes, suicide really is a problem- but, everything else
since anything can wind up in the wrong hands and
be philosophized
also make philosophizing look stupid.

the clever tongue, the line up of saints-
action figures.
plains, prairies,
the anarchist refines their distaste or is shocked
by taste- i don't know. you

tell some difference. symphonic gluttony of the persona
who is constipated- i owe all my vouchers
of meaning to it. it looks effortless; but it isn't.
it does not want attention but also it does

and the inner glimmer
is either sexless altogether
or hermaphroditic. goes both ways or neither but
genitals remain gross all the same.

*i'll say that for humanity so they don't have to say it*.
something about proportions freaks me out. this is me-

grieving over the loss of someone other than myself
for the first time in my life. my best friend. my dog.
i read so much about buddhism and the tao and the upanishads....
so i figured i was just good at death because i know

death doesn't exist- i mean, if it doesn't equate biological cessation. egoic
attachments exist, which are bound to happen, but we can go beyond
that as we do that, too.

today it turns out i have the "beyond", which is pure love, and
the ego-attachment thing going on. i'm translating the breeze

as my dog soothing me.
i keep reminding myself as i feel hurt- hurt that i was the ringleader
in this pro-euthanasia thing and swayed my family
into agreeing with it- does that mean i'm fucked up and lazy?- no,
he had a fucking death rattle for crying out loud-
and hurt that i'm all out of sorts because *he* *was* *always* *there*.

he has been there since i was right out of high school.
we were brave. somehow i wound up the backbone again.
he died peacefully, his head in my hands. we said a prayer and
said goodbye.

i felt like i was abandoning either him or his body
which is probably now nurturing the earth with other
dead non-human animal bodies.

it's been a painful day but in a weird way. i keep reaching the
verge of hysterical crying than stopping, and it fades

into a fuzzy background thought.
the memories are a flipbook thing.

but me....i'm separated into several puzzle pieces in
a black place- not warm or cold or anything-
just naked of elements... i know i am all these pieces

and even the blackness itself. it's a kind
of spinning fish-eye vision thing

that has something to do with science
not figuring itself out yet.

it's like watching gravity
give up the notion of control- which is a notion and nothing more.
to elaborate, it's like watching gravity take care of itself-

and letting itself watch *us* learn how to take care
of ourselves
without it taking care of every goddamn step we're up to.

this is no longer a story of roots but something
concerning rest-
cucumbereyes, sitting back and

not telling everyone what i think is right
or is wrong. first of all,
the egalitarian thing is a dead giveaway as is, so i don't care-
it's a part of me. i'd go so far to say

it's like half of my personality and all my beliefs
match up to this equality for all thing.

but i'm not interested
in bothering with that, although

it has been made clear to me we- i mean, us people- know
very little
and much of what we know
is made up-

this too poses a problem, as this means action
must be violent, at all times.
now, look what we've done. we're just as

endangered as the bees.
the only explanation is the "soul image" of violence
is a limpwristed vagina-monologue that's smart but

totally neglected. it's an anima! it's
(this is the only reason why women need to rule the world.)

now we have to hold a seance to bring it forth
like how seances are operated upon me.

i love these values- without

the transmission from me to them, i would not
have them.
the transmission is a neurochemical autonomous one
that's been biopsied over and over into
fucking obscurity and that's not what i meant to happen.
now i say this:
"my brain is a little schizophrenic."

joy to the world otherwise, because
there's unknowing yes, but to unhave

the hyperfocus and lack thereof at once-

the hypercerebral and artistic fluency- no

the extreme-hopping
inability to identify mood swings, or identify
as one moody son of a fuck in the first place

somehow grants me a little balance,
and knowing the stuff i do about life will
save my heart from bursting. in fact, it is growing.