Sunday, March 27, 2011


Style? The gaseous emission from some cosmic nebula, that style is post-modern.
Good? The white dwarfs, neutron stars. Bad? Red giants, blue dwarfs.
A HOLY CRUSADE FOR THE STELLAR MEN! Fill the ignorants with star dust, destroy old brain patterns by creating new ones! Your SECRET sinturd. My back arches for your love, 3.1415.......... tick tick tick, your measurements divide the waters.
"I'm in it for the water" Stop splashing, stop typing, stop fucking, stop eating, stop breathing, stop stop stop STOP THINKING!
Mow your lawn.
Paint your house.
Go out and have dinner, pretend FOR ME.
Envelop me in your skin, wrap me in your sin. Keep believing that I'm not here, so I can have some fear.
Security, encryption would mean no-more color, the grey little alien derive no dollar
You can't grasp the flow, touch the fence and your fingers crumble.
He sharpens his crude iron blade, made of the souls thrice slayed.
Stuck in this cycle, rebirth everyday... there is ~about~, numerically, a place to play.

The loudspeaker above me crackles "Number 84, your time has come."
White walls, white tile floor, calm angels wearing turquoise.
Me get up, me no where to go, the angels in their smocks direct me to freedom.
The path to the door is lined with dogs in kennels, speaking to me in tongues of a language long forgotten.
They were out once, and they were in, and me see my own paws now and my body grown thin.
Me used to only be my sight and smell. Now with these angels I AM and have a Will.
The door isn't pure as the rest of this place, bloody paw prints, and desperate scratches.
A golden door knob protrudes from the right. I dare not touch, but the angel's hands are the keys to all the doors we please.
And there he sits, as though he's at the top of the world. My blue green guardian-guides leave my sight, but not out of mind.
A woman dressed in a black dress and a blood red poppy pinned to her chest. Surrounded with gold coins, and mounds of currency dressed up for all the nations.
My eyes follow her form from her soft red lips, down down down, my mind and eyes are falling to the floor.
Past her perfect breasts.
Down to the house of the reproductive system, which creates the slightest, subtle hill where the stars are born.
The dress is now lace, black and intricate, covering her legs. Ankles. The horror of the floor she stands upon. The faces of living zombies, lost souls staring up her dress, needles, white faces of the ones that finally made it. They fold over and under under her stance. The woman in black still on this ocean of secure bliss. The tiles made of human life, bought and sold they flow up, then down behind the desk of the man in the Grey suit.
His desk is mahogany. They say if you can craft mahogany, you can craft anything.
His face is neither young or old, he is neither fat nor thin... and his smile is made from Light stretched skin.
Not even a smile, a slight upturn in the corners of his mouth and his jaw slightly slack, holding an orb of Air between his tongue and pallet. His eyes stare, his chest doesn't seem to move.
To the right of his mighty empty desk stands a man on a chess board extending to the infinite. He is dressed in a white suit, decorated in metals, ornaments and sashes I've never seen before. I covet these things immediately, I wish to impress this man.
I remember my paws.
I remember my worthlessness. How could I ever be him, be as valuable as him? I feel shame.
It's my fault.

This man, he speaks, he speaks words of Madness staring out on his grid of black and white.

As soon as my mind settles the Grey suit at the desk moves.

His face doesn't change expression, he reaches slowly, purposefully to a drawer and removes a small dagger. Closes.
Another drawer he opens and removes a glass phallus, holding his careful expression he places both the dagger and phallus on the mahogany pointing in opposite directions. The blade towards the White suit. The phallus towards the Black dress.

He stands up, walks through the polished wood desk as though it were air. One pace, two pace, three, four. Another four and his nose would be at my snout.
~Fellow. You are on the path between SEVEN and EIGHT.
The path between FIVE and FOUR.
You don't need your beauty anymore.
His eyes were locked with mine, but his face hadn't moved. There may have even been a glow coming from inside his mouth... if he opened his lips.
The squares began to twist and turn under the White suit. The black and white spiraling in a pattern, as if it were a chore for them. Just as winding a spring is a chore, less force required at the beginning, then it gets tighter, and harder, and tighter.
The humans under the heels of the Black dress began to rise, speak unMadness to each other. The womans face was changing, her nose became larger, left eye just slightly lower than her other, her tits sagged just a little unevenly and the perfect lace became tattered.
"Know were I can score some x,y,z?" Dope, pussy, dough, a job, a good time, beer, friends... some water? All the risen were needing something, to do something, to get somewhere and make something out of themselves.
The man in the Grey suit still stared unblinkingly into my soul.
The White suit began to turn with the patterns beneath his feet, each rotation created another man in a special garment. First was a priest, a police officer, a good looking man in a suit and tie and a smile that could woo millions. Boy scout leaders, girl scout leaders, a pretty third grade teacher, and eventually mall security officers.
Still, we stood still speaking the language of silence, staring into each other's eyes.
The crowds were now intermingling. Each one latching to another, grabbing this, killing that, believing this and shunning that. The ones who spoke unMadness were beginning to speak Madness, following one of the chessboard people, building bridges to somewhere, making something of themselves in their Destined image.
Reality set in around us, Grey suit and I, now us.
Factories, green grass, stone, mountains, streams, computers, blogs, information rates, explanations of their birth into this cosmos.
The right side of our lips move up so slightly and our hearts melt for every single one of the animated ones, for reality, for the food and the worm.
Love is their work, worm and word. Love is a lie to us.
The smile spreads to the left side of our mouth and we turn around, eyes shared reveling in the mathematical chaos. Person(A) chasing Person(B) creating Chase(X). Nouns are dead. Verbs live forever. XXX

Str8 up G-Ma in da Hozpitall

I wake up at around 11am today with my grandpa calling me. "Your grandmother is in the hospital. Nothing major, just an ulcer."
I talk like a normal person pretty well I suspect, voice raspy from just waking up from a night celebrating the chymical union between two friends of mine. Smoking rollies, drinking cheap beer and mexican food (as well as smoking too much JWH-073 at my own loner after party) doesn't help the morning rasps either.
I hadn't talked to my grandfather in a long time, there's been this big ordeal with my grandma thinking I am a drug addict, weakling, that needs professional help etc. I really don't think people "with ADD" (since that's what I have according to the TV: "Living with ADD and Loving it!" -- it's a PBS special).
My grandfather was to have a knee replacement soon, but that doesn't look like that is going to be delayed (Oh to everyone that is after their health information: now you know...)
The suburbanite paranoid "imagination" (advertising, mass media mind virus of distrust and contempt for your fellow human being) can run rampant and make a million different reasons why I shouldn't even post what I have posted on the internet. And my grandfather is the one who said Assange should be "castrated with a dull rusty blade" in an email to me when WikiLeaks was ~big news~ (Look over here, look here!)
Same tricks Charlie Sheen, Lady Gaga, etc are using to create fame for themselves. We are all cosmic background radiation (From the big bang? Sure, I'm not that enlightened yet... however I use the big bang theory because all the robots who don't know how to think for themselves believe it instead of Psalm 23 now)
Now we are all stars. Some of us superstars. And some are just queers saying EVERYTHING IMPLIES EVERYTHING... statistically.

No, life is all about layers of distractions. Jokes, paradoxes, word-play that's where The Truth lies.

Plasma antenna truths. Meatflapping clit-twiddlers.
Probably means more to you than it does to me.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Hide It! and play the SHAME GAME

You should be ashamed of yourself. (WHAT? NATURE vs GRACE? HA)
LIVE ANONYMOUS. I'm sure I can make it real. I can empty my pain on the rest of the world, they don't want to think they took part in the original birth of this all, but we'll remember soon enough, and the good thing is, we'll remember we are all in this together as the lion snaps our neck with mercy.

OVERSTIMULATE YOURSELF! -- miss the subtleties
Notice the subtleties and they drive me to madness, maybe it's the eyes I see with.


5% of the universe is visible? Well then the 95% is what we INFER from that five percent.

It's DARK energy because that's what I see for some reason. It has been menacing for me. So menacing I've been AFRAID TO TALK or WRITE about it. Not fear of DEATH but fear of IRREVERSIBILITY, fear of an eternal TRAP. The EYE watching over me, GOD, the one I can't help but STARE at constantly. "The Mean Reds" -- I love the main character from Breakfast at Tiffany's, I relate to her mental processing.

But it's been too long, I'm getting tired of this HELL ON EARTH, might as well jump straight into the CELL, lock the door and hang myself with my intestines only to find myself waking up on groundhog's day again.


Well, good, then they shouldn't be able to understand a fucking thing I write. Which is FINE WITH ME. 1st Degree, 2nd Degree, INNER CIRCLE, TEMPLE, TEMPLE holy PLACE... Garden of Eden, the jeweled dance of eternity, the SELF IONIZATION OF WATER.

SO. I shall thrust myself in deeper. Go to India? Sit with the Dali Lama reincarnating OVER and OVER and OVER again telling the same FUCKS the same thing? Stand at the gate of eternity staring at the Bodhisattvas egging me on "Yea trust us ya slimebag we're not trying to selllllll you anything heeeehheeehehheeeee, it's FREEE"

Hide your deviations. Let them infect your insides, let the bastards say "UR DOIN' IT WRONG" -- "Hey square block doesn't go in circle hole!" -- WHO INVENTED THAT GAME ANYWAY, THE RULES, MAO MAO MAO place a card, is it right? PLACE A CARD.

Well, this works. So does the OTHER SIDE OF EULER'S IDENTITY. We don't need no STINKIN' APPLE PIE FROM SCRATCH we just need our IMAGINATION hahahahaha another UNIVERSE? No, the apple pie IS, but describing that tasty pastry is the tricks and quibbles and fun tink-tonks.

Say something like: "Meditation is pointless" -- the ones that frown get kicked in the balls. The ones that laugh are eating shit from the not-quite.

You think I know what I'm talking about? NO. I don't know ANYTHING, I'm not trying to say THIS is THAT. = equals = equals? Fuck you professor, sigma infinity infinity, and work your magic.

Making things happen.

LUST is important.
DESIRE is important.
Carve that bone from the clay elokim babys! Wrap it in flesh and CHASE IT LIKE A WILD ANIMAL.
ABSTINENCE, HUNGER, PAIN, DEATH OOoooh, don't talk about those~~~~ look on the BRIGHT side of lifedeathlifedeathlifedeath, and send a check to the hungry fucks (your human counterparts...), they can really use your fake.

I'll do IT. And I'll wait for your hungry mouth to eat me alive. If I am not lucky enough to gain the good death, then the wretched worried death I shall endure. Prometheus never had it easy. Burn the books with his fire.

Faggots Arete
Blogging 4 Lyfe
Research things you don't understand, take yourself closer to the center of the MANDALA... forever, not prestige, not money, not bitches. They're EASY like shooting dumb doves with a BB gun. CHASE SLAUGHTER CHASE RUN RUN, FASTER, NO ESCAPE. hahaha, and guess what... it's like the best dream you've ever had, just don't wake up and find yourself working at a POST OFFICE.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Rant and Rave

I write like a bozo, because I am a bozo. I don't hold my own in the human world, I am a leech, or not really a leech, I'd prefer to be seen as a maggot eating something that's already dead... ~mere meat.
The things that I hold dear, the things that are important to me are the same as everyone else. Shit, food, cumming, body parts not hurting. I am not able to see myself as separate from the rest of the world, as do the people parts that follow the "Novus Ordo Seclorum" Seclorum... ages? More like seclusion, seperation, divide and conquer "strong" weak people, yes you're strong, you can stand up for yourself without help, you are alone, you need us, but not really, you're making your choices.
Peace found me for a split second last night.
For a single moment, the fear dropped and there I was with another human being. If I could of killed myself in that moment, I would have so I could let my life force dribble bubble into that little slice of the cosmic pie forever...
But no, it was fleeting, like a strobe light switching on for the first time, the AC voltage being directed though the diodes to the capacitors, them draining out slowly enough to "double" the voltage, finally twisting the spring in the main capacitor, getting it ready for another huge release of energy to arc the void, to jump it.
Nietzsche isn't a man, its a type of an electron with a property. The electron that's reaching so hard through the void, with the eyes of a tiger, the one burning "the new path" that was burned through the xenon thousands of cycles before. Splintering through the veil, the insulating nobility. Then the masses of scumbrain, buck-fuckers feel the safty of a road well traveled and it's the way to go, only to be brought to the height of the trinity of trinitys of etc etc to the very top of the pyramid of quantum energy states. Oh we're enlightend! we're here! for how long? Maybe a tick or so, a century or so, then it leaks away. Each person dropping to a lower energy state, but the flow from above is already charging that capacitor once again, getting it ready for another age of enlightenment, to cast a flash upon the rave of the alien bastards dancing to pedophilic techno, over and over again. Working for themselves always but always working for the rave, towards the grave, ground, falling. The wheel in the sky keeps on turning. The cigarette in the mouth keeps on burning.
The passion of the heart always yearning, she's on the screen now, knees to her face, and her panties over that plump cunt of soft, warm, flesh. Fleshy Gates to the other realm, connecting the dead with the living. My boney cheek rubs from anus to the Mound of Venus, my dog nose inhaling the vapours of the ancients. This one is part of the eternal tribe. I know. But I wake up again, she's on the screen. I have a hand full of half people, worthless meat things in a sea of protoplasm. I slurp this up to prevent the demons from getting to my half children.
Digesting them, the billions of half-lings swimming in the pool acid, mingling with the Sin-o-Men Toast Sugar Teat Dribble industry's anus breakfast. They make you work so they can shit in your stomach, NOT A BAD THING.
I suck the puss oozing from my teeth, and it fills my olfactories with signals telling the CIA, UPGRADE FACTORIES OL' FACTORIES ROTTING. So they start to try and find the one thing that will clear the shit away, to clean my dung stained rose glasses. FORGET! BE THANKFUL! I'll be thankful .sure. once the grass blades stop cutting, the factories stop leeching off SPACE ENERGY from the SUN. The MEXICANS and BLACKS aren't so lazy. Once ROBERTS #1 #2 #5 stop being ROBERTS and get with the BOB program. I'll be thankful when THANKSGIVING is called GENOCIDE. I'll be thankful when CUBICLES are called KENNELS. When FAT, SWEET, SALTY chip-chunk is called PEEPLE TREATS(Yum! They'll LOOOOOOOVE them!). When GOD is called &&&53nmnm_--xx(.
When I realize that I AM HELL.
When I get my dick in so deep, that it wont EVER COME OUT.
When I find MIND CONTROL and the CIA hiding in my ANUS.

But to look on the bright side of all these ~wonderful TRUTHS~, that are so much more conducive to a productive life in the society of INFINITE MIND (no the universe is 13.7 BILLION EARTH YEARS old! Duh!)
I don't feel sorry for me.
I don't feel sorry for you.
It is DOING, and you will DO when it is TIME.
I want to point out the big old shit WE'VE left on the VICTORIAN CARPET together and want to rub your NOSE in it and say "SEE. WE WORKED TOGETHER to make that, you couldn't have done it alone and well... I'VE BEEN EATING MY SHARE OF SHIT, now let's drop your little dress up game and get to the REAL FUCKING"
The DEVILS look like ANGELS to the hardworking, penance paying, lovers of say-do-not.
The DEVILS look like FRIENDS to the wobble bunk shit fucks able-cain oopsie-knife-sticks.
The DEVILS look like DEMONS to the PHATBOI alpha-dur dur gotta fiance with a PhD lawyer oh lawdy I gotta do and hold on hard or else, o worry worry brain-fucker laden po-pos.
And do the dumb mother fuckers who can't even know what, they're all of the above in some sorta geometrical shape that folds over itself like a future imaginer. (thats me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MEMEMEMEMMEMEMEM)
Twist the dick in 6 dimensions find out you have a string of people.

Finance your folly with poison ivy and cock-swabble.

Finish the race BACKWARDS.

Destroy all and blow it out your ass in a poof to find a million truths, some shine like dirty diamonds and are worth 4389723 times as much.

Have CONFIDENCE in your ABILITY to drink the GREY smoothie, digest the white LIFET and condense DARK TURDS OF UNSPEAKABLE EVIL that are flushed to the underworld to produce ORTHOSZZZZKKKKKT'gagghaA! THE ELBASPEAKUN ONE. $$$ is GOOD. DISEMBOWLED NUNS, good FUCKING. TEDDY ROOSEVELT BEARS good PORNOGRAPHY. BANANA APPLESAUCE good MEALS for the elderly and weak. This kind of SHIT is CONSISTENT, "Would you like to buy our product protection plan?"... "Can I please help you find your demise in technology?"... "Do you believe in Magic?" ... "Can I have your daughter in the laptop room? ... Oh she's only 16 years OLD? HOLY SHIT I AM A FUCK UP, I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON FOR BEING ATTRACTED TO HER SIR, PLEASE HAVE MY HEAD ON A PLATTER, CUT MY DICK OFF!"
"OH it's NORMAL? OH interesting, wow I read that 4 month old babies have been reported having orgasms! After what, sir?" -- "YOU SUCKED BABY WEE?!" -- "Sir, I'm going to have to take you to the bathroom and sodomize you, just to balance this equation."
Normalacy ~IS~ RIGHT... Normalacy ~is~ the OBJECTIVE RALLY-TEE.
FUCK "is" toss it to the road and have a semi-BMW run it over as it become another pavement person, word, brain, hair, blood, scraping off the skull of our lord and savior the ETERNAL dying one.
Play some CIA war game "Call of Duty"? Sure thing, you paid for it, it was your choice BITCH. Go study your CONTROL SYSTEMS. Eugenics, conditioning, RE-PROGRAM. RE-PROGRAM. Happiness is: Gambling, Ex-Sin, Adultery, Murder(aka WAR, CRUSADES), Purpose, Pride in your WORK, Coveting technology-boredom, substance use... etc you know how 666 and 777 work over a cup of coffee discussing your very life, laughing with their pinkies up and playing footsie. The end, enjoy your life FREE MAN.

Unsinkable Sam

Unsinkable Sam
Doesn't give a damn
aboot the ferries or the moats

Wikipedia Article about Unsinkable Sam

Monday, March 21, 2011

What is science beyond cause and effect?

It doesn't matter WHO is making the choice, what matters is a choice is being made(sure.) and there is a result that occurs.
It doesn't matter what we call this or that, just that something is happening and can be described.
Instead of looking at the equals sign as an assigner, better to look at it as the point on a perfectly balanced fulcrum.
Reminded me of the cat analogy in "The Book" by Alan Watts:
A similar solution applies to the ancient problem of cause and effect. We believe that everything and every event must have a cause, that is, some other thing(s) or event(s), and that it will in its turn be the cause of other effects. So how does a cause lead to an effect? To make it much worse, if all that I think or do is a set of effects, there must be causes for all of them going back into an indefinite past. If so, I can't help what I do. I am simply a puppet pulled by strings that go back into times far beyond my vision.
Again, this is a problem which comes from asking the wrong question. Here is someone who has never seen a cat. He is looking through a narrow slit in a fence, and, on the other side, a cat walks by. He sees first the head, then the less distinctly shaped furry trunk, and then the tail. Extraordinary! The cat turns round and walks back, and again he sees the head, and a little later the tail. This sequence begins to look like something regular and reliable. Yet again, the cat turns round, and he witnesses the same regular sequence: first the head, and later the tail. Thereupon he reasons that the event head is the invariable and necessary cause of the event tail, which is the head's effect. This absurd and confusing gobbledygook comes his failure to see that head and tail go together: they are all one cat.
The cat wasn't born as a head which, some time later, caused a tail; it was born all of a piece, a head-tailed cat. Our observer's trouble was that he was watching it through a narrow slit, and couldn't see the whole cat at once.
The narrow slit in the fence is much like the way in which we look at life by conscious attention, for when we attend to something we ignore everything else. Attention is narrowed perception. It is a way of looking at life bit by bit, using memory to string the bits together--as when examining a dark room with a flashlight having a very narrow beam. Perception thus narrowed has the advantage of being sharp and bright, but it has to focus on one area of thc wold after another, and one feature after another. And where there are no features, only space or uniform surfaces, it somehow gets bored and searches about for more features. Attention is therefore something like a scanning mechanism in radar or television, and Norbert Wiener and his colleagues found some evidence that there is a similar process in the brain.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Numerical Alchemy

Transmutation from blah to blaaaaaaaaaaah to blahblahblah.
Contemplating this: Intuitive Understanding of Euler's Formula

Also had to think about 'imaginary' numbers, I can see why I related to Descartes... he used imaginary as a derogatory term. Sour'd bitter bastards are we, un-open to new ideas in the idea playground. :)

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

A history of western philosophy

Here's a quote:
"...any hypothesis, however absurd, may be useful in science, if it enables a discoverer to conceive things in a new way; but that, when it has served this purpose by luck, it is likely to become an obstacle to further advance."

Thursday, March 10, 2011

I need to time bind this!

When you forget you have a personal relationship to "God" or whatever you want call the intelligence. You really FORGET. It's weird to realize, and REMEMBER, because you REALLY REMEMBER. the memories align like planets in your mind, and you remember and you forget that you've forgotten or will ever forget again (if that's even possible! see...)

How interesting.
I wish that made more sense. I wish I could put a "cheat code" that could be read in case I forget again. Silly silly.

Singularity is here! it is near!

Feeling your life parts move around is weird after being dead for so long.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Seeing God

I ran across this article today after putting "Godel's Incompleteness Joke" into google, I used the term to describe myself on facebook, and found this great article, good message all around. Here's an excerpt:

What is God's best joke? It's called Gödel's Incompleteness Theorem. It is so powerful that, when I first met it as a graduate student over 40 years ago, it almost caused me to have a mental breakdown. I had built my life on a foundation of logic, and logic was now showing itself, at best, to be incomplete.

Roughly speaking, Gödel proved that there are truths that we can never know – that human beings cannot know all that is true. What does it mean for there to be a truth that we cannot know. Who knows it? Only God.

So Gödel's Incompleteness Theorem basically proves that God knows things that we cannot. If one grants that Gödel's Incompleteness Theorem is part of God's Creation, not only did God set things up so that we cannot know everything, but God set it up so that we can prove that! Quite a joke, though perhaps at our expense.

And here's the link to the full article: Seeing God

The part where he talks about repressing anger, is dangerous, imho.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

DNA Replication


4th Hexagram

I asked if I should look for a job.
The 4th Hexagram
Follow my folly?

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Entropic Gravity

Entropic Gravity Wiki

Of course I don't understand the GRAVITY of this theory yet.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Henry Miller: Sexus Excerpt

Copied from: Spirit and Flesh website
Henry Miller

excerpt from Sexus

at The Spirit and Flesh World Religion and Spirituality Online Library: uniting seemingly opposed ideologies and vibrations into the true, pristine harmony of cosmic oneness.

Henry Miller book excerpt

"If you persist in throttling your impulses you end by becoming a clot of phlegm. You finally spit out a gob which completely drains you and which you only realize years later was not a gob of spit but your inmost self. If you lose that you will always race through dark streets like a madman pursued by phantoms. You will always be able to say with perfect sincerity: "I don't know what I want to do in life." You can push yourself clean through the filament of life and come out at the wrong end of the telescope, seeing everything beyond you, out of grasp, and diabolically twisted. From then on the game's up. Whichever direction you take you will find yourself in a hall of mirrors; you will race like a madman, searching for an exit, to find that you are surrounded only by distorted images of your own sweet self. ...

The world would only begin to get something of value from me the moment I stopped being a serious member of society and became- myself. The State, the nation, the united nations of the world, were nothing but one great aggregation of individuals who repeated the mistakes of their forefathers. They were caught in the wheel from birth and they kept at it till death- and this treadmill they tried to dignify by calling it "life". If you asked anyone to explain or define life, what was the be-all and end-all, you got a blank look for an answer. Life was something which philosophers dealt with in books that no one read. Those in the thick of life, "the plugs in harness," had no time for such idle questions. "You've got to eat, haven't you.?" This query, which was supposed to be a stopgap, and which had already been answered, if not in the absolute negative at least in a disturbingly relative negative by those who knew, was a clue to all the other questions which followed in a veritable Euclidian suite. From the little reading I had done I had observed that the men who were most in life, who were molding life, who were life itself, ate little, slept little, owned nothing or little. They had no illusions about duty, or perpetuation of their kith and kin, or the preservation of the State. They were interested in truth and truth alone. They recognized only one kind of activity- creation. Nobody could command their services because they had of their own pledged themselves to give all. They gave gratuitously, because that is the only way to give. This was the way of life which appealed to me: it made sound sense. It was life- not the simulacrum which those about me worshipped. ...

What I secretly longed for was to disentangle myself from all those lives which had woven themselves into the pattern of my own life and were making my destiny a part of theirs. To shake myself free of these accumulating experiences which were mine only by force of inertia required a violent effort. Now and then I lunged and tore at the net, but only to become more enmeshed. My liberation seemed to involve pain and suffering to those near and dear to me. Every move I made for my own private good brought about reproach and condemnation. I was a traitor a thousand times over. ...

The purpose of discipline is to promote freedom. But freedom leads to infinity and infinity is terrifying. Then arose the comforting thought of stopping at the brink, of setting down in words the mysteries of impulsion, compulsion, propulsion, of bathing the senses in human odors. To become utterly human, the compassionate fiend incarnate, the locksmith of the great door leading beyond and away and forever isolate. ...

In the beginning one wants to approach every problem directly. The more direct and insistent the approach, the more quickly and surely one succeeds in getting caught in the web. No one is more helpless than the heroic individual. And no one can produce more tragedy and confusion than such a type. Flashing his sword above the Gordian knot, he promises speedy deliverance. A delusion which ends in an ocean of blood.

The creative artist has something in common with the hero. Though functioning on another plane, he too believes that he has solutions to offer. He gives his life to accomplish imaginary triumphs. At the conclusion of every grand experiment, whether by statesman, warrior, poet or philosopher, the problems of life present the same enigmatic complexion. The happiest peoples, it is said, are those which have no history. Those which have a history, those which have made history, seem only to have emphasized through their accomplishments the eternality of struggle. These disappear too, eventually, just as those who made no effort, who were content merely to live and enjoy. ...

The creative individual (in wrestling with his medium) is supposed to experience a joy which balances, if it does not outweigh, the pain and anguish which accompany the struggle to express himself. He lives in his work, we say. But this unique kind of life varies extremely with the individual. It is only in the measure that he is aware of more life, the life abundant, that he may be said to live in his work. If there is no realization there is no purpose or advantage in substituting the imaginative life for the purely adventurous one of reality. Everyone who lifts himself above the activities of the daily round does so not only in the hope of enlarging his field of experience, or even of enriching it, but of quickening it. Only in this sense does struggle have any meaning. Accept this view, and the distinction between failure and success is nil. And this is what every great artist comes to learn en route- that the process in which he is involved has to do with another dimension of life, that by identifying himself with this process he augments life. In this view of things he is permanently removed- and protected- from the insidious death which seems to triumph all about him. He divines that the great secret will never be apprehended but incorporated in his very substance. He has to make himself a part of the mystery, live in it as well as with it. Acceptance is the solution: it is an art, not an egotistical performance on the part of the intellect. Through art, then, one finally establishes contact with reality: that is the great discovery. Here all is play and invention; there is no solid foothold from which to launch projectiles which will pierce the miasma of folly, ignorance and greed. The world has not to be put in order: the world is order incarnate. It is for us to put ourselves in unison with this order, to know what is the world order in contradistinction to the wishful-thinking orders which we seek to impose on one another. ...

The great joy of the artist is to become aware of a higher order of things, to recognize by the compulsive and spontaneous manipulation of his own impulses the resemblance between human creation and what is called "divine" creation. ...

To be caught in a glut of dramatic episodes, to be ceaselessly participating, means among other things that one is unaware of the outlines of that bigger drama of which human activity is but a small part. ...

To ask the purpose of the game, how it is related to life, is idle. As well ask the Creator why volcanoes? why hurricanes? since obviously they contribute nothing but disaster. But since disasters are disastrous only for those who are engulfed in them, whereas they can be illuminating for those who survive and study them, so it is in the creative world. The dreamer who returns from his voyage, if he is not shipwrecked en route, may and usually does convert the collapse of his tenuous fabric into other stuff. For a child the pricking of a bubble bay offer nothing but astonishment and delight. The student of illusions and mirages may react differently. A scientist may bring to a bubble the emotional wealth of a world of thought. The same phenomenon which causes the child to scream with delight may give birth, in the mind of an earnest experimenter, to a dazzling vision of truth. In the artist these contrasting reactions seem to combine or merge, producing that ultimate one, the great catalyzer called realization. Seeing, knowing, discovering, enjoying- these faculties or powers are pale and lifeless without realization. The artist's game is to move over into reality. It is to see beyond the mere "disaster" which the picture of a lost battlefield renders to the naked eye. For, since the beginning of time the picture which the world has presented to the naked eye can hardly seem anything but a hideous battleground of lost causes. It has been so and will be so until man ceases to regard himself as the mere seat of conflict. Until he takes up the task of becoming the "I of his I."

(by Henry Miller, excerpted from Sexus)

Henry Miller book excerpt