Fettered and feathered shackles

[Sepia]

"Let me forget said the wolf Let me forget that under these paws there were once five fingers that caressed the sun, let me forget that under this fur was once a man, once a woman and once a child, let me forget the sweeping windstrokes of the past, let me pass by without friction for my mind has always been lived through friction."

  - the Necronomicon, preface by Olaus Wormius


By time, we forget. We've forgotten what we learned at 16, popping our first meta thoughts. We've seen the sun set and seen it rise no different than any day before and we've held the hands of our lovers and our friends and told eachother that this will be a special moment. We attach ourselves subjectively to objects in our sphere, in our world. We juggle, wanting to maintain little friction but we always see back to the moments of friction as when we learned something, when we saw something new. In the struggle between doing the dishes and realizing that she did in fact not love you.

These are the echo dreams. This is when you should be learning but won't. Most people apply this logic to their schoolwork or to their work or anything else but that of being a human, ergo, the analogy of sheep or ants fit perfectly as everyone is a very decent worker just not very decent people. You are allowed to bear arms. Thus, we should bear arms. CONTROL is what's happening when one has to look to the institutions for answers, guidance or inspiration. CONTROL is what's happening when we're so fucking bored and understand what we are doing but still won't give a shit because it's boring. It's not apathy. It used to be apathy but then it got upgraded and refurbished with a web2.0 logo for the new century.

The trends and fashions are the same the prophet mused as he watched the women in his master's harem. As above so below he said out loud and was caught inbetween Universe A and Universe B and saw the battle that was there, that will always be there and have always been there. The fracture is growing every day from the healthy A and the diseased B and the blind idiot machine, God, is yet again trying to restrain the diversities of both universes within one form, one body. The creator sits silently for a long time before joining the fray against God, against an irrational godhead within an irrational universe.

This is every story you've ever told, this is every story you've ever listened to.

Listen to the germs out in your unwashed toilet. Hear their hum. Can you hear it? Try going closer with a bottle of  chlorine. Hearing it now? Yeah, they're headed for a crescendo somewhere down that road, yeah and as you go closer you can hear daes irae booming from that toilet and when you open the cap and the odour spreads you feel it. The emancipation. The silence before the chlorine. All is washed away, everything is dead. If you didn't make peace with god or yourself, it's too late.

Let us not remember our old ways our old fashions, let's not even remember why we're in the middle of this, why we're here. It's off our shoulders now, we shouldn't remember this. We shouldn't have this knowledge, not now.  We shouldn't remember that every one is buddha or a glimmering shard of hope amidst all these anglers in that lake of darkness. Not all our stories are good stories, not all our stories are interesting stories. We have all stories to tell which is the same story all of us have heard but we still relate to things with attaching our subjective to our objective.

I have no desire to be buddha, i have no desire to save anyone and not myself. There is no salvation. There is no hope, there is no judgment. There's no justice, love nor revenge, there's just us.