Friday, October 16, 2015

stylizing the brain as medicine.

garbage: i didn't know why it was sitting there, so i threw it out. the garbage pail is a list of garbage you are making up as you look at what appears to be a big white illuminating space (it's where you're about to put your garbage):






















:since the mid-twentieth century, psychologists have, collectively, grown a lasting fascination with this deception known as "the garbage exercise". there is no right way to project garbage- you're going to project, and there's going to be an aspect translated as garbage-like.
i accidentally threw this scientific information away immediately upon secreting my recognition of it, though it stuck to me until my next bath and i didn't know what it was. it turned out it cost money- someone elses money. this took up a big wedge of some pie chart.

it's lonely at the top:

"where is everybody?" (xchoral: they are practicing religion elsewhere. for what reason
do you wait? william shakespeare
will not immortalize you
otherwise- the imago. at the top of your head, where
the final stage enlightens, "elsewhere"
is paradise.

listen- i know damned well people- are obsessed
with dreams. paradise

is where you're no longer conjoined
to your dreams- no longer are they
a medical necessity-
you are your dreams.

in paradise the sun is bright. the sky
is blue. there are riptides. animals you are
told in advance are always around
but never are? they are around, but with a power: they can
see you, but you cannot
see them. in paradise, you see each other.
)
(xxchoral: this fugitive wants to coordinate his location):  "where am i?"; the "i" with whom you are heavily involved is being removed by way of surgery (the insidious return to sameness). from now on, you will never return.
(is religious practice surgery? what is removal? is it religious practice? is it surgery?) religious practices of the past are foul unless they continue to be practiced. all of them
are remembered.
religious practices that continue
are memorials.

the deep-down:
when i was little i closed my eyes in order to not be somewhere- anytime i wanted- and pretended to be asleep. this was my way of getting control. it's the control i still have.
"where did everybody go again?" this question is something constant- for i am still little. i close my eyes all the time and they go bye-bye on my own accord (because of my control). i practice
my religion. (religion is practicing
getting control). although i'm trying harder at it, one can see
all i'm doing is refusing
to open my eyes. have i got it all wrong?
)
xxxchoral: shun fugitive a, shun fugitive b and the seeds they've sown. kill! bleed, pussies! ass-backwards is your religion and i can't wait 'til it dies to the core.
xchoral: many seeds have dutifully been sown indeed, throughout the waves-interacting. where is the genius (big gold glob-ball, disco-insurgent)? as far as observances go? it is lost-
it loses reserve when an urgency requires
a subservience to it. this is a subterranean demon convincing.

i am the dog of the urgency; the faithful hound howling- possibly,
a subterranean demon who convinces. i howl

because it raises my threshold for sound, drowns out
the other sounds i hear- all, uninvited. the other faithful hounds

howl back. there is no other satellite to howl at but that urgency
which extends itself outside
of ourselves; emanates. we signal to each other to
learn who has the back of

who. we expand.

let me set you straight about something important. when the faithful hound fails to step on their brakes, it's for no other reason than a loss of focus on the driving. i've learned i do this with the unconsciously-driven intent to ultimately be rewarded. fucking up gets the urgency to bow down to me. i get as close as possible to letting go of everything i'm holding. my boundaries are significantly unhealthy: i'm giving away. revealing is a necessity. this pet dog is the kind of dog that doesn't change in effect to socializing- henceforth, this pet dog is blind as a bat, cowers and whimpers. this dog is on a waiting list to be put to sleep. this dog is practically
asking for it.

a seizure is fragmenting itself? i allow it. i know you can feel without naming the feelings.
feeling 01. glass washes ashore. fossilized? it's a remnant of an old civilization
feeling 02. the waves of now are where i come from
feeling 03. i am a seed right now-
feeling 04. fully here.
feeling 05. this must be a denial. have it be
feeling 06. sacrificed for the greater good: a cathartic
feeling 07. release of toxins. have it be an ocean of
feeling 08. once-cried tears.
feeling 09.
feeling 01. i've had enough of chewing solids. this art
feeling 02. form doesn't complement my constitution.
feeling 03. though i chew solids all the time, i don't
feeling 04. make eye contact with it. it's not something
feeling 05. i want to get to know.
feeling 06.
feeling 07. look at this child: entropy. passive entropy
feeling 08. does as expected without thinking twice. it is the genetic-programming of the dna of entropy (the no-choice) to pass the opportunities outside of knowledge. in movies, people process as if
011001 ff. they weren't alive- as if they were commodities processing manufacturing (surgery).
110000 ee. entropy: there is an audacious amount of information to take in. due to it, my pineal gland
011011 ee. cannot stop secreting. my dreams are felt anyway they can be felt, and they race very
111110 ll. fast. a part of my body is falling off, but because pain doesn't exist in my
000110 ii. dream, it just feels like this feeling is not mine to possess. it doesn't belong
110111 nn. here.
000001 gg.

(a cry to the virgin-whore...)
000000 001.
000000 00.
000000 00.
feeling 00. my fulfilled perceptivity wears the red shoes. if i'm the protagonist, then we are all lost.
feeling 00. avoidance of insanity- the demigod of concepts. we are not sure it exists. these are ancient
feeling 01. burial grounds we set on fire.
feeling 10. the living fetishize the dead. dear the dead- please, exact our vengeance- grow from
feeling 00. underneath. make the buildings look like civilization is preserved.


(a cry- not a reply to the former cry by any means- from the virgin-whore....)
one day i shut down and aimed for short term efficacy. my balloon vision failed to center itself into a sense of "me". it drifted into a sense of a past-life: i saw the one who is not my child.

feeling 10. he is not my child. look at him. there's one fucker who gives a shit for certain. if he were
feeling 01. my child, he'd have my smile. this child's smile is different from my smile. this child is a
feeling 12. man that does the best he can. he's a man with a hat and a tan. where is his inner peace? it
feeling 23. was taken into custody by the police. look at him go- look at him banging the back of his head
feeling 34. over and over into the wall behind it. it's scaring his pet dog. he falls asleep somewhere
feeling 45. between one thousand and fifteen hundred counts of head-bang.
feeling 56. look at him. would you just get a good look at that? i gave my head away to him.
feeling 67.
feeling 78.
feeling 89.
feeling 91. and if this were my child, his middle name would be danger. i highly doubt the
feeling 98. middle name of this child is danger. if he were my child, though he'd not honor
feeling 87. danger, he'd ache to. living up to danger would be his long-term goal in life.
feeling 76.
feeling 65. this child is homeless, for he turned into a ghost, and lost his gravity. this was the moment
feeling 54. he learned to respect gravity.
feeling 43. he lost hold of his stuff, lost handle. so the ghost went to search
feeling 32. for a shelter of forgiveness. it took years.
feeling 21.
feeling 10.
feeling 001.
one thousand and fifteen hundred counts of bang and not a single thing accomplished otherwise? faster, faster: a zillion realities all the same measurement effectually responding to all colors at once. away from parasitic-destiny, unhappy upon learning we're all replicas of one another: the one sophisticated amoeba crawls from the hall of mirrors. present day: individuality is political. the earth is not under attack. the earth is under attack. the earth is not under attack. the earth is under attack. the earth is not under attack. the earth is under attack. must i spell it for you? it's the heartbeat.

feeling 002.
i am intimidated by

the customary pretenses which i speak against; distance
myself from for the sake of this intimidation
as well as seeing past them. i do not go to funerals
nor do i go to weddings. the flag stands for
something that i don't know about.

some say patriotism. i say patriotism is whitewashed
nationalistic pride. we are everything we already are

without pride. how lonely are you? really, that
lonely? that lonely.

i am a column (the architecture of the old soul). the sarcophagus
over which i firmly stand and refuse
to move
is whose? i admit i know not. this column

is set to crumble: there was a discrepancy in the news
that i noticed and didn't let go of. a scapegoat
for my crumbling is going to be blamed. i'm no good

at being a column. i ain't got no class, father. rules
made me laugh, mother. i didn't follow rules, father.
i found rules too difficult, mother. when i did, father,
i was at a loss, mother. i was a failure at rules, father.
i'm damned if i do, mother, and i'm damned, father,
if i don't.
and if all this turns out i'm to be an organ whose function
has always been my destiny- god's
designated plan for me to execute
on his behalf- wherefore? know not i

my function, know i- be still- my
failure- my fear- of failure- also- my fear-
of- success. better i breathe in, better i breathe out and forget about
everything else- though- surrounded by
extremely fast trains. binary, so better be one half of a pair of lungs- my better half?-
better i to admit it's unknown to me- the invisible source- to which i'm connected-
by my finger-reach-
better my fingers one to ten be
bitten off- these fingers do not finish- what it is- which
they start.
and underwater? paradise is above all this. water is wet. summer's
subtleties blend into those of falls 'til wintery.
nature is indistinct from itself, blends, even throughout
pride. (you have won
a free car.) you have won life from the start.