Ironic distance(mi kommer for å ta dæ)

[Sepia]

"All Scientology churches built after Hubbard's death include a corporate-style office set aside for Hubbard's reincarnation, with a plaque on the desk bearing his name, and a pad of paper with a pen for him to continue writing novels." (Retrieved from Wikipedia 090715)

And darkness, darkness and all the whores: Shining beacons making yourself think in the opposite of direction of where thoughts flow, making you think that all the things you think you need you don't and here is your uselessness, getting lost in thought thinking about the thoughts, calling it cognitive dissonance when in reality you have no idea who you are, you've never had any idea of who you are, who you really were and you knew this in your gut as you wrote dissertations and rants, ramblings with an ironic distance leaving a saccharine taste in your mouth but spouting shit mouthing words, you never knew who you were, you developed yourself too quick, too soon in areas where none else went so you grew the weirdness of thine own mind from that and you wore it as a badge for all the wrong reasons because really, you didn't have any you went with it, you tried to construct this person you were not and the irony was lost on you then as it dawns on you now and you feel old and stupid but hey you know it sorta fits, there's a symmetry there cuz you were young and fucking smart, smarter than anything else of the rabble that roused around and you looked down on them but you didn't want to be that so you wrapped it up in friendliness and smiles and you were genuine but for all the wrong reasons, there were none, you were afraid and you couldn't bear to bring yourself to that, you couldn't see those eyes in the mirror and accept the truth

you couldn't accept you were something else than what you had constructed so you let yourself slip further while what you did what you thought were that there was a schism between your brain and your body, the meatship indeed and you were only the captain, slip and slink and slither further into the shadows and do not wake up, become shadows, you aren't even weird, you're just a sad little man now, sad in this darkness you've built yourself because now you're finally starting to understand how the fuck the world hangs together and you're missing something now, something everyone else either have understood or never understood as a question because you've thought a lot of thoughts but they never really got you anywhere, did they?

you can keep waiting and for a while you'll do and you'll understand that it'll never come, it'll never be there and when death come for you, you imagine you won't regret it but there's nothing there but hope to hang it onto and death: my shadow, our shadow, will it be what you imagine, swift and in sleep or will fate say that wishful thinking will get you nowhere and there you'll lie in bed and die as you lived, one inch at a time, nothing profane, nothing holy, nothing more than a wasted life like all others lives that pass us by, nothing more than the shit we come from, the shit we are the the shit we'll become so new generation can sow the seeds upon our rotting carcasses, re-redoing our mistakes, becoming ourselves once more yet again, reborn in all senses but the soul, every action the same, every misstep the same, every lack of learning the same

you peer out the windows and despair when you look upon at this here humanity but you can't really see it for shit through the clouds and up your horse imaging you're fighting windmills, thinking you're part of something more, something otherly, you know that for everyone else it's the old culture jam adage of eat buy consume die but you, the one eyed-king in the land of the blind you're part of something else, something more, something holy gleaned from the pages of the masters you alone worship


aren't you?

[Sepia]

Fat men airing their dogs, reading their ipads, muttering to themselves.

[minuspace]

One sobering thought is that, at the time, Kant published the CPR in his 57th year, after playing cards with his friends for over a decade without publishing anything else at all.