yatta yatta. 2015

Last entry of 2014. 12:39 AM.

A time for retrospective, but instead of looking at the past, I'll state something catchy, pithy...cliche: let's look toward the future. yatta yatta. 2015. New year. New beginnings. blah blah. New year rants are so last year.

And linear concepts of time--beginning, middle, end--are soooo Western.

Let's look East: the end is the beginning is the end. The past is present in carpe diem memories and etc etc...and the future is Kalachakra "time-cycles" which recycle, like rubbish and Phillip Dick's "Kipple," and nipples. Bloody Re-volutions a la Crass and Mariano Azuelas' The Underdogs. But if you go east long enough you'll end up back in the west and then east is west and west is east and soon "the end is the beginning is the end" is a hit song, by a 90's alternative rock band, about a rich man who was taught to fight in some type of esoteric eastern occidental fighting system by an organization called the League of Shadows.

 Circles are hell: you end up where you start.

 Lines are madness: there doesn't seem an end.

Circles and lines O-O-O-O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O ad infinitum & ∞ and so on and so on and son and father and...

...

              ...

                          ...

Antiphon held that time was merely a concept while Parmenides added that time was an illusion. I'm not sure that Pope Gregory and the 365 days a year calendar aligned to equinoxes and solstices would agree (well, I guess religion could link Antiphon and Parmenides with Colossians 3:2).

Still, time as illusion does hold some weight in some metaphysical sense; it can give hope that after death (the ultimate end to the time of one's life-span), there is another "plane", or "realm," of continuation. More lines. Heaven. More circles. Nirvana. Lines. Purgatory. Zig-Zag.

At the end it's probably a big Nike sign telling you "just do it" and go into the light, keep calm and Go Gently Into That Good Night. Relax. It'll be alright. The brain acts to protect itself, and why wouldn't it create a massive illusion, or Honest-to-God scenario (ba-dum kshh), near the end in order to remain calm and go easy into that "light." Keep ©alm and Go into the Light.

But enough about time and death and birth and rebirth--- 2    0     1     5.

(SLEEP INTERMISSION)

7:14pm. 5 hours away.

Yatta yatta. click. tap. scroll. like. post. update. omg. lol. idgaf. ... . .. .. .



.- / -.-. ..- .-.. - ..- .-. . / --- ..-. / .. -- .- --. . ...


words words words. 2015. Goodbye, for now. Headed to a "party."

Man with a hieroglyph face

The city lights flicker a pale orange as the spark plugs in the twilight night recede and die out with the light pollution that fuels the dreamless madness of caffeine fueled adenosine blocked out insomniac trippers, hopping from one drug to the next.

This one keeps you up and this one can make you go down
                                                                                                                        down
                                                                                                                        down

They both rob you of you, but who, or what the flux, r u anyway?

Here, take this, watch this, consume this, be this, you want that, you need more, more, more!
HA HA HA HA !
What do you want to be ?!
HA HA HA HA!
get a degree~ be all you can be!
HA HA HA HA!
the show must go on !
This roller coaster never ever ever ends! only you do! so do you! do you?
HA HA HA HA!

Neeeeeeeeeeext!


The red and blue neon flashes "open" as the white fluorescent lights shimmer down on the monsters, next to Red Bulls and a handmade sign advertising Tostilokos.

It's witching hour and I am too far down the aisle to realize the terror in the tomato, and I am too self-conscious to even think twice about the strawberries, tu sabes.

Down the aisle Whitman and Ginsberg frolic among the bananas, and a man with wrinkles and a hieroglyph face paces back and forth between 27 varieties of Colgate toothpaste.

I'm here, at an slant angle to the shelf, searching for Juanita's canned menudo, mm mm good. 

"caramel colored cooked beef" gum

The irony is that I'm reading about Buddhism, Śūnyatā and quantum entanglement as I step on a smelly brown dog turd and chant a common mantra of irritation: Shiiiiit!

It's 8am and I'm rushing to the grind a little earlier than usual, but lately that's how it's been---such occurrences disrupt reality and one should be in the "isness" of such moments wherein the program of repetition has been unsettled ~~ommmmmmm~~

~ॐ~

It's funny how a piece of dung has the potential to ruin a morning and call you back to reality (perhaps a "reality check" was what was the holy mission of this jumble of smelly neutrons, protons, and electrons). In an instant, that small piece of turd jumbled all of my philosophies and theory of words into a hodge-podge of shit. Sorta like that army field ration beef stew, which is made out of chewy "caramel colored cooked beef" gum and peas and carrots and potatoes that turn into one mushy brown syrup. You cringe at the flavor yet need the victuals to keep you nourished. My thoughts must've been too airy this morning.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that it can be hazardous to philosophize when "shit hits the fan." It can be very difficult to ask someone to calm down when stress has got them feeling the effects of vertigo and the walls in their tunnel vision are painted red with rage. And to top it off, let's just say, they step on a piece of (metaphorical) shit...sometimes there aren't any schools of thought that can reason you back from the guttural instinct of simply shouting an expletive: "fuck."

This piece of shit was very real. And the stink of solid, moist matter digested from dog intestines was enough to make my day foul, even repulsive, evidenced through the fact that I said to myself that I must dislodge, detach...it's just shit, really.

And actually It's funny, as I stated above. It's all just shit and none of it matters yet matters at the same time. You can't completely dismiss all the shit as bull and chant a prayer/mantra and say "it's all good" and wait and wait and wait and "we must overcome;" after a while even Martin Luther King said enough (though my mentioning of MLK seems a bit random, the very randumbness of it reflects the effect of that piece of matter that distrupted my senses which has made it difficult to "stop and smell the roses," and the insertion of that "cheesy" cliché further illustrates my entropic decomposition).

“The conservatives who say, 'Let us not move so fast,' and the extremists who say, 'Let us go out and whip the world,' would tell you that they are as far apart as the poles. But there is a striking parallel: They accomplish nothing; for they do not reach the people who have a crying need to be free.” -MLK, Why We Can't Wait

I think MLK might've been saying that extreme polarities clash and neutralize each other and thereby reach a state of impasse, Stale-mate, though I'm not too sure that is true with the current state of affairs in Ferguson and Arizona and, doubtlessly, in other parts of the nation.

In any case, what I think I'm talking about is shit in the metaphorical, allegorical, and literal senses. Dealing with shit and telling it apart from the bull. I'm dealing with the "crisis of representation" here; how we interpret "social reality," yet I think I do not posses the savvy and skill to blend it all together and communicate it properly. I'm lacking the verbosity of the cultured aesthetics underLYING the...ahhhhhh~

I need to get this shit together. badum-kshh.