Post by iconoclasm on Dec 29, 2007 17:12:54 GMT -6
Being poe with lil care for money is a funny thing.I find myself doing what I can to gain info.In fact one of my hobbies is a trip over the water to NYC to Borders to check the occult section.Surely enough I found something on Gurdijeff. To fuckin plastered to remember the name of the book,I did recall some philosophy.
One of the main aspects that describe the sleeping is reacting.These reactions are best described as mechanical.As one is younger ,one is more connected to the true self but as one gets older,they get more robotic.Observing oneself is one thing,but recognizing one is simply reacting as a machine to input commands from the external world is another.The few that truly do awaken is the best explanation as to why history repeats itself.In my own words,following the design of the external world,humans seek the path of least resistance which is following the design of things that be obediently.
Now how to relate this to my own plight.I have numerous problems of the psyche.One of which is the inability to urinate in restrooms when others are around.Of this fact I would be severely tested.At first I managed to go on the ferry,too drunk to realize.However,my booze metabolizes fast and I am considerably more lucid far too soon.On my way back home from buying art supplies and Burger King,I dropped by Borders to read more of Gurdijeff.
Unfortunately I had to go,but the bathrooms were busy.Moving into a stall in which you close the doors I waited and strained to no avail.Much anger came of it.Full bladder,still wasted and considerably pissed I push through city crowds seeing none other than I,pissed of my suffering and all to eager to knock people out the way to start a fight.Seems most folks avoided me altogether in fear or respect.But the real war is in my head.
Why the fuck me be cursed with such a rare condition?Its no fair!I want to kill every last one of those bastards in that restroom,how easy the fuckers have it!Have you any idea how excruciating road trips are?Fuck my parents for bringing me into this world and this grim universe.Fuck it all,I want to hurt,to kill and to be kill.I want to express my desire to be cursed,to move against my own creation and unravel my death.And as such my mind continued in a deep heated fury.
Down Fulton to Wall Street and then to the ferry terminal.On to the ferry boat,even by myself away from the crowd I sit seething.Then I go outside because I am about to burst.But as I stare at the seagulls flapping their wings I laugh my ass off.It is so amazing how I never paid attention to the intricate design of their wings or the subtle strokes in flight.I realize how I just reacted,and nothing more than a mechanical reaction the anger was.I was asleep in my emotion and even in my observation of it,I felt it belonged,I was oblivious that I was asleep.
Upon the realization I laugh some more out of liberation and the joy the realization brings.I was a puppet in my rage!My curse and tendency to suffer long periods was then not a terror condemning me to pain,but a physical reminder of what it is like to be asleep.How can I get angry at a condition I had since childhood,far beyond my control?Was it not I that consumed massive quantities of liquor.What a fool I truly was,and it took my suffering to realize how far from awake I truly was despite having just read about Gurdijeff.
My curse,my shackles will now forever remind me to laugh at myself when times are dire.For I am asleep and it is the grimmest comedy of it all.
Later however thoughts of how we become robotic resurfaced as I listen to a song I loved when I longed to return home in the military,yet I felt it nor enjoyed it not anymore.I am growing old,mechanical and set in my ways like a clock.I realize that part of the magic of the song was longing for a sense of home in a depressed state immersed in my fantasy of black pyramids in silent sand,yet here I am now and its garbage to me...What changed?Was my notion of home now recognized a disappointment to high expectations based on the past at the time?Or is home a state of mind only to be found in those waking moments?
Unwilling to accept suicide I remove my box-spring and meditate,realizing the subtle change in the room and my bed sparked something.I long for change constantly yet know not why yet.It is a glimpse of my true self,unsatisfied by static reality.And as such the struggle to live,to truly live and awaken continues.It's not easy but I am unable to quit.
One of the main aspects that describe the sleeping is reacting.These reactions are best described as mechanical.As one is younger ,one is more connected to the true self but as one gets older,they get more robotic.Observing oneself is one thing,but recognizing one is simply reacting as a machine to input commands from the external world is another.The few that truly do awaken is the best explanation as to why history repeats itself.In my own words,following the design of the external world,humans seek the path of least resistance which is following the design of things that be obediently.
Now how to relate this to my own plight.I have numerous problems of the psyche.One of which is the inability to urinate in restrooms when others are around.Of this fact I would be severely tested.At first I managed to go on the ferry,too drunk to realize.However,my booze metabolizes fast and I am considerably more lucid far too soon.On my way back home from buying art supplies and Burger King,I dropped by Borders to read more of Gurdijeff.
Unfortunately I had to go,but the bathrooms were busy.Moving into a stall in which you close the doors I waited and strained to no avail.Much anger came of it.Full bladder,still wasted and considerably pissed I push through city crowds seeing none other than I,pissed of my suffering and all to eager to knock people out the way to start a fight.Seems most folks avoided me altogether in fear or respect.But the real war is in my head.
Why the fuck me be cursed with such a rare condition?Its no fair!I want to kill every last one of those bastards in that restroom,how easy the fuckers have it!Have you any idea how excruciating road trips are?Fuck my parents for bringing me into this world and this grim universe.Fuck it all,I want to hurt,to kill and to be kill.I want to express my desire to be cursed,to move against my own creation and unravel my death.And as such my mind continued in a deep heated fury.
Down Fulton to Wall Street and then to the ferry terminal.On to the ferry boat,even by myself away from the crowd I sit seething.Then I go outside because I am about to burst.But as I stare at the seagulls flapping their wings I laugh my ass off.It is so amazing how I never paid attention to the intricate design of their wings or the subtle strokes in flight.I realize how I just reacted,and nothing more than a mechanical reaction the anger was.I was asleep in my emotion and even in my observation of it,I felt it belonged,I was oblivious that I was asleep.
Upon the realization I laugh some more out of liberation and the joy the realization brings.I was a puppet in my rage!My curse and tendency to suffer long periods was then not a terror condemning me to pain,but a physical reminder of what it is like to be asleep.How can I get angry at a condition I had since childhood,far beyond my control?Was it not I that consumed massive quantities of liquor.What a fool I truly was,and it took my suffering to realize how far from awake I truly was despite having just read about Gurdijeff.
My curse,my shackles will now forever remind me to laugh at myself when times are dire.For I am asleep and it is the grimmest comedy of it all.
Later however thoughts of how we become robotic resurfaced as I listen to a song I loved when I longed to return home in the military,yet I felt it nor enjoyed it not anymore.I am growing old,mechanical and set in my ways like a clock.I realize that part of the magic of the song was longing for a sense of home in a depressed state immersed in my fantasy of black pyramids in silent sand,yet here I am now and its garbage to me...What changed?Was my notion of home now recognized a disappointment to high expectations based on the past at the time?Or is home a state of mind only to be found in those waking moments?
Unwilling to accept suicide I remove my box-spring and meditate,realizing the subtle change in the room and my bed sparked something.I long for change constantly yet know not why yet.It is a glimpse of my true self,unsatisfied by static reality.And as such the struggle to live,to truly live and awaken continues.It's not easy but I am unable to quit.