Aphorisms, Emotions, Suicide

Countless emotions and energies to process into myself. Where’d they all come from, and why am I under their siege? Now in the clarity that comes from externalization (in this case mid night writing) I feel like the answer is clear—they never were allowed to dissipate, be absorbed, or prosorbed: taken forward into evolution. They were just unspoken, unheard tragedies that linger on and even grow as weak generation after weak generation defers dealing with them. Well I am not one of those weak generations, so I am under siege by not just the breadth of genealogical back-log of lingering negativity, I feel as I’m under siege by my own generation’s weakness to deal with these energies and a bad karmic flow of it. They (my generation) are grand escape artists, except that there is not art in it, and there is nothing grand about it—at least on the individual level where countless individuals slink into prefigured norms such as pointless unneeded work and then private-indoor bread and circuses, mostly generated by the entertainment aspect of the culture industry. They escape themselves, and the obligations of the

People don’t know how to unplug, they just replug into a relaxing aspect of the same Matrix they were trying to escape.

I really don’t know where to put the suicidal energies. I have hundred of poems inside of me, but I fear to even begin writing them for the OCD that is so close to me will start telling me they are less than perfect and will stay my hand from releasing

The fucked up thing about language is that I don’t even know if this is what I’m thinking. It’s just the logic of language dictating the linear word “flow” come out in a certain way. I want this to be readable, but asdlfkjsflkjdsflsdkasfdfsadfladsj; feels a bit more expressive of me but less of the reader. Who the fuck would read this? And I don’t say that in a self-pity kind of way. I have no desire to read other people’s works. I think basically all written works and to get even larger—all human inventions, all human work, all human pastimes—are all a bunch of shit. I have little desire to toil through my own writings and expressions, no matter how decent and insightful they might be, and I have even less of a desire

Am I now a different character in an existentialist’s play? I don’t have a name for them, but I think I used to be one of the characters with great anxiety but also great love and hope. Now I am the cynical misanthropic one. I hate the word misanthropy and I hate that humans thought of it, obscuring that there are people who hate humans. Be proud of hating humans! Be a human-hater. I am even more proud because I’m both a human hater and a human lover. I hate most humans’ ideas and lack of thought, and there behaviors linked to their non-reflexive. I hate this in myself. I hate their sheepishness. I hate this in myself. I hate how their norms and ideas invade me and create a plaque. I love the human spirit, and its spontaneity, and that it breaks free from the countless generations of damage and shit all in an instant, when two or a group connect and come alive, or when an overpowering biological environment surrounds an absent human and brings them in to full, undeniable presence. This I love. I love the joy found in children. I absolutely fucking hate the control of authorities, I hate the weakness and pr

____

And so I write aphorisms, a lazy mode of expression.

We must do our part, and not just part of our part. And you must do your part, and not just part of your part.

I’m sick from being around people who think with their logic and not with their love.

Usually they are too weak to look up to somebody that is above them. Doubt in the sky doesn’t come from eyes raised but from eyes lowered.

No one else can say whether you’ve won or lost because they don’t know what you’re journey is playing for.

We are so successful as a protest force because we are not protesters, we are revolutionaries with a vision of a future that doesn’t end in our mass extinction.

I am a nomad and I forage for revolution. 2019 this fruit is ripe—join in and bring your own fire to counteract the Earth’s blazing fever.

Wild Earthlings with their wild Earth blings. (picture forthcoming)

I can’t escape it. I agreed I’m in the immanence, and only in the immanence. And the immanence—the Universal self-containing totality—is imploding.

Anyone you have to push to do the right thing is not a friend, they are a vulnerability in the enemy’s campaign.

Road blocking is an end in itself—an end to cars.

The real problem is when we let the matrix enter into us.

Fight for the living.

Figure it out when you get there, or you simultaneously disrespect the integrity of both here and there. #immanent #nomad

There is no theory of immanence—only the theoretical is theoretical.

 

 

 

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Mirages of Wisdom 0020 – MayDay Earth (rush post raw)

If you won’t live to see it, live to seed it.

see it seed it doubled final

We are not out of control, we are outside of your control.

Extinction Rebellion Climbs New York Times Building

 

May 32: Our Struggle Is Timeless

May 32: If you want free time, then you must free time

May 32: Yes We May

 

Animals that have lost their kingdom.

There is no written language in all these lands that could convey the crimes done here. There was no written language in all these lands until an invasive species

Lead! Don’t follow this May forward.

Your religiosity is a measure of your oppression.

Let’s dig up (and root out) the antiquated ideas.

Those who only hunt diseases are apt to be yet another one.

The rule of globalization turns the Earth into the excluded middle.

With regards to the weighing the value of the older generations’ contributitions to where we are now, their colloquialism “separate the wheat from the chaffe” comes to mind. I’d like to say that we now know literally both wheat and chaffe are not healthful to humans, and both, along with over-used non-wisdomed
If we are in a critically failing civilization, we must spread our criticism to the bullshit we hold dearest, for it is quite possible the seeds of our current destruction linger in the most overlooked areas.

 

 

 

Fey

Fey

Fey

Into The Fire

Speaking of Puns

Puns are a reflection of the nomadic spirit of humans (and the spirit of all that is living) towards difference. The joy of puns is that they break what could be a particularly awful positivist-view of the world and in this instance in particular of language–for things to be self-same over time and not have any ambiguity. Ambiguity implies movement, becoming, the opportunity for change and a new experience, and puns are an opening up of a pathway from one thing in to others that wasn’t necessarily pre-dictated by idiomatic rules. If language was all about rules then why are all ancient languages no more and new languages forming out of old ones? Languages evolve over time (and in the case of our times and what puns are a symptom of, devolve). OCD evolves and wanes, too, if one let’s it, as I’m about to do without even looking back to edit this post or try to infuse it with puns. There are enough of those, enough screams of the oppression of our language and physical structures that leave us all marketing and sloganeering and appreciating the same in others. Enough words for now, more actions, less linguistic signifiers!

Climate Commandos (climate movement reflections) – ongoing edits

Vigilantism –

legitimating ourselves and not giving additional credence to outdated, extinct-driven legal systems.

No time for a marathon, we never had time for it

The old adage that activism is a marathon and not a spring is completely wrong and misguiding. By allocating our time and energy in a marathon fashion, the system we are fighting as a totality (whether or not we choose to recognize the cause of the many different symptoms we come up against) is winning/growing because we fight for it more of our hours than against it. Your 40 hour work week completely invalidates and counter-compensates your 5 hours of activist work if you have a system supporting career.

 

-3 full time additions to xr-nyc – 2 job loss and 1 quit, housing people

Mirages of Wisdom 0012 (My Thoughts Inexactly) [unedited, quick publish]

If I went to hell with you they would have to change the name.

There were certain indigenous that had children that had children that had children… that had children, that had a child named Cristòffa Columbus.

Don’t start your count from when you started counting. But so too only count the active, ignore the self-ignoring ancient.

Not allowed is not allowed! (Say it, Say it, Say it LOUD) #ChantingCarlessKarlos

There’s no place like tribe. And for most of us we’ve been homeless for several millennia.

To be a human is to be with other humans.

Allow for a healthy dose of mystery in your life or allow for a ceaseless misery.

Wisdom isn’t usually formally communicable, it is discernible. Listen more to what the wise do, rather than what they say.

A nomad is not supposed to travel from person to person to person to constitute the tribe. The tribe is supposed to move together from place to place to place. They should be the norm, not the place(s). People need to lean on each other not cold ground. The cold ground is for individuals as they end. An end for individuals not an end for individual. In and off itself.

An individual is a disease in the context of the human. An individual is a disease in the context of the human.

To sit and think about the problem is it’s amplification. Academization cannot solve what it has created. Movement solves everything. Go into the future by moving there. Let go and watch the boomerang return with tenfold the positivity as when you released it.

One year a revolution. One solstice two another.

I was not born with a tribe but will die with one… or die because of a lack of one. I make myself vulnerable to this chance and this is the only way I can leap forward.

When the light at the end goes out, all becomes a cave.

If you lose others and otherness along the way, the way necessarily becomes longer and more homogeneous. Ultimately the traveler is left in stagnant repetitive motion, and so is fascism born in the blur of the unchecked dromological, erasing forward.

The grass is greener on the side where there is grass.”

The idea of savagery was created by them—the savages who ravage with machines.

Prisoners? Slaves? It’s getting very blurred.

(As the future) So too can we only predict the past.

I trust the youth—they are unadulterated.

I don’t dysfunction because of me, I dysfunction because I lack you’s. What your lack subtracts from me and my potential.

Word is bondage.

Aphorisms for XR Movement

Keeping Extinction Rebellion From Going Extinct. A “future post”. Do you want to

4 groups-sprinters, unadulterated-youth, endurance runners, newbies. The first two I trust, the second two I do not.

Human civilization is a mass concentration camp to extinguish life on Earth—how else do you explain the human caused sixth mass extinction?

Our generation or no generation.

Santa will be out of a job—no children to hand toys to. #XRmas #WhyWeFight

If teachers really cared about the kids they would put all their fight into this Extinction struggle and not into their pensions. Teach Extinction now, or learn Extinction later.

They don’t want their kids exposed to sex, but they look the other way when they are exposed to the ultimate violence of extinction.

We are all schizophrenic—the problem is when you do not know your own voice from the fray.

When you find out that reality is real.

Shade into darkness.

And So I live…

My Thoughts Inexactly: Z is for Zeroing (2018 Remix)

It is not enough to only lose your own chains, for if your comrades don’t lose theirs you are sure to keep tripping over them.

The only thing worse than a single leader is a single enemy.

From hand in hand to device in hand. Alienation has become very human.

Maturity is reached when the desire to go back in time ceases. Maturity is not fixed nor one way, as made plain by the aged. We immature as often as we mature. Civilization tends to invert the direction of maturity—one of the great many inversions.

Money is how the past comes to control the present. Inheritance of such control is not a present, but a curse.

If you are only interested in maximizing your existence in this world, then you are fortunate for your interests match the reality.

Those who commit themselves to total war are usually the first casualty.

Doing nothing is death.

You will never be the same, as you never were the same.

Attention is intention.

We rise to the occasion, not because of what we are, but because of the occasion life is.

Better a mistake of words than a mistake of weapons.

The Universe is not built out of particles, it is built in to them.

The zeroth dimension endures all different spaces. It is everywhere without running through anything.

The universe speaks to itself–keep listening.

The olders are not our elders, they are our enemies. They didn’t plant seeds for us, they chose to plant concrete instead. Fuck them.

The disease that has many fingers but few eyes.

Man-aged or man-lived. We must choose wisely, for ourselves and for our future!

Polyamory, because then everybody’s doing it.

Instead of cars that drive themselves, what about people that walk themselves?

I’d prefer a forest to an aphorist, but since I am not even grown to the depth of a single tree, I must choose the latter to taste such heights.

Parts are important enough to stop regarding them as mere parts.

If it isn’t visceral enough it isn’t real enough. Too regularly the artificial layers acting as a protective glove will suffocate the naked hands of we the primary creators.

Tribes raise children, parents raise hell raisers. How to climb back up to Earth and its tribes?

An hour long lecture from the ocean has greater value than a two semester seminar at the likes of a Harvard or Cambridge.

You are the flower.

If you won’t be with the whole, you’ll be apart, leaving a hole behind.

It is not the problem of being too introverted or too extroverted—it is the sitting on the wall that we built between the two, stagnant and unmoved by either… diverted.

They ask me why I travel to places where I don’t know anyone, and I respond that it’s no different than here, for they don’t know me.

Writing feels terribly futile, probably because it is!

Civilization doesn’t provide us the luxury of time for rumination, it provides us a plethora of lonely spaces that we can only fill with melancholic rumination.

The one and lonly.


Original Version

https://subversesjournal.wordpress.com/2016/07/20/my-thoughts-inexactly-z-is-for-zeroing/