Western Limbo

To exist, to insist
Job to job, moving, renting.
Mortgages and taxes,
Relationships, failures, sex.
Illnesses, health issues,
Body image, skin and wrinkles.
Food and diets and exercise,
Stress and sore muscles and hairloss,
Eyebrow plucking and leg waxing.
Grocery shopping and bill paying,
Gift buying and clothes returning.
Abortions and miscarriages and babies.
Social events and small talk,
Marriages and ceremonies,
Reality shows and b-rate celebrities.
Gadgets and toys, pill popping:
Viagra, xanax, propecia.
Pretending to be in denial,
Pretending to live,
Going through the motions
Switching off,
Turning on auto pilot.

Love-Life

You gave me life
You gave me love
You took your life
You took my love.

I say love,
I have no love.
It’s just a metaphorical,
Linguistic love.

Sick to my stomach,
I look at your pictures.
I am making a selection,
Of your happy moments.

Your smile makes me cry,
Your life makes me die.
What have you done?
What could have been...

I say you,
There is no you.
Just a fictional imaginary,
Literary You.

Plain vocabulary,
Mutually constructed pain.
Chemically induced,
Symbol-based strain.

Comforting grammar,
Aggregations of words,
Signals with no meaning,
Perpetuate life.

I say life,
This is no life.
Just a compulsory,
Involuntary absurdity.

Detachment

Attached with detachment
Engrossed in non corporeal being
Removed from mundane existence
Averse to colloquialisms and sheepisms
Post moral, post liberal, post-post-mortem
Disconnected, second guessing, preempting, unemotional
Not present in the present
Absent from the past
Disillusioned with the future
Metastasis, metallaxis, meta-metamorphosis
Pointlessness, futility, numbness
Cynicism, tiredness, vagueness, ambiguity, confusion,
Powerless against the forces of plurality, causality, complexity,
culture and physics.
Complete and utter loss of innocence, hope and faith.
Complete loss.

Home

A newlywed couple was
Brought together by a force
Bigger than them.
A force that was controlling their
Every action,
Programming, ordering, demanding.
They were brought together in a house,
Bigger than them.
A house that swallowed their 
Whole being,
Imposing, domineering, burdening.
Lifelessly, they created new life,
Bigger than them.
A being cursed to see the 
Reality of its makers,
a being doomed into silence, for
It could not fathom or utter
The harsh words of awakening and understanding.
The being was destined to flee,
Unable to accept its makers' unreality.
And so the married couple perpetuated their own prison,
Took comfort within it, embraced and protected it.
They grew deep roots in its foundations, became one with it, and
finally surrendered their last breaths to it.
The tails of their ghosts would forever be attached to the grandiose house,
Invoking the same destiny on any couple that would tread within the
guts of their beastly home.
And their doomed creation
Would remain lost, forgotten, unforgiven,
Floating in the void of its solitary freedom.

Great Algorithmic Light

The pattern before me
I can see it
I can feel it
I can make sense of it
But I cannot touch it
Behind the mirror
It stares back at me
Calling me out
I can examine it
I can observe it
I can theorise about it
Still I cannot be it
It draws me like a moth
To the burning surface of the sun
Yet I orbit around it.
I want to break in a myriad pieces
And swim within it
Pure information
Pure code
Flowing in the primordial waters
Of the beginning and end
An archeotect releasing reality
Dwelling in the beyond
The source of it all.
Yet here I am in virtuality
Sharing virtualities
Experiencing virtualities
Within Virtualities
There’s something real
Behind the faithful mirror
Even realer than real
The one objective truth
Behind subjective eyes.
Obsessing about concepts
Idealising intangible mind-knots
Pushing synapses to sprout antennae
And sense a multi-faceted world.
O! Truth! An idea so ancient
It haunts me like a chain-bearing ghost.
Perhaps it’s time you were forsaken,
Let us construct another symbol,
One we can reach.
O! Intangible force!
You are an evolutionary construct,
Designed by automatic computations,
Of the one divine algorithm.
One that cannot be translated,
By devised codes and languages.
There is a need for a new metaphor,
For deities, and six-winged angels,
Strings, quarks and gluons.
The informational computational,
Holographic Principle,
Shove all our problems in a projector
of reality, somewhere outside reality.
We shall pray to you
O great projector,
For your light is all we can see,
The patterns your project
Our one and only reality.
You are our God,
O, Great algorithmic light,
Shine on, shine on, shine on.

I, not

It is not me that's acting
For there is no me
It is not I that's thinking
For there is no I
A mere congregation of memories
a bundle of neurons
a dissonant orchestra of chemical reactions
a continuous conflict between
Genetic and cultural tensions
a random expression of genetic potentials
a machine with an evolution-induced persistent illusion of a consistent self
And now semi aware of the death of a self that never was,
This temporal construct mourns for something it never had

a year later...

a year later...

... and it's all the same. There's not a morning I wake up without her on my mind. I never go to sleep without thinking about her. When I'm alone I'm loudly calling out her name or crying over her pictures. When people are laughing I just think about her. When people are small talking I just think about her. I still find myself unable to believe she is gone, unable to compute her absence. In the busy streets, I see her in women that bear any small similarity to her. When I watch TV there will always be something to remind me of her. When I look around in my house there is always something that reminds me of her. When I look in the mirror I see her. When I dream I see her. When I'm working I think of her. When people talk about their mums I feel sick. When I talk to my family I feel her absence even more. When it's holidays or birthdays I want her to be there. To tell her how much I love her. How much I miss to see her. People come and go. Sometimes they just go. Should tell people that you love them whenever the opportunity arises for it might literally be the last one. I miss my soul mate. The need to repeat these things over and over again. Searching and searching.

but...

... I can now sometimes have sex without thinking about her. I am rediscovering my libido. I am optimistic about the future. I have moments of happiness. I am fully inspired. I have started taking care of my body. I am becoming driven again, confident in myself, and interested in people. I feel once more empowered by the fact that I have survived and integrated such pain in my life. I know there's still a lot of pain to process ahead of me.

a suicide letter

I know why she didn't write a suicide letter. When you have reached the very end of your tether, you have nothing to say. What can you say to console the people you leave behind? What can you say to explain your reasons? Is there anything left to say when you've been through this a million times? Can you say sorry when you know it is completely meaningless? Can you say I love you when you are deserting everyone, causing immense pain and scarring them for life? Can you express your feelings when you know that there is no way to communicate what you are really feeling inside? When it becomes a conscious rational decision, and you sit down to write a letter, everything that comes out sounds either stupid, selfish or cliched. All I can say is that I have made the decision full stop. Goodbye.

musings of a drunken fool

Mummy you brought me to life,
carried me in your insides,
fed me with your fluids,
nurtured my synapses,
and loved me unconditionally.

I fell in love with you from
the first time I opened my eyes.
That familiar heartbeat,
that beautiful smell,
that incredible innocence.

I was yours and you were mine,
we were hooked to each other
for what seemed to be an eternity.
Our love didn't change
until one day you were gone.

My heart was completely crashed,
but I painfully rebuilt it when you returned.
Until you left me again,
and then came back again.
Sometimes you were gone
and back in a day.

When it seemed you were back for good,
Our love naturally resumed,
and we both rejoiced.
We could finally get to know each other again.
We could finally be in love again.

Mummy you killed me,
poured a tank of gasoline
all over my heart,
lit it with a matchstick,
and burnt it to ashes.



(Entropy goes only one way,
and fire is so permanent.
I will never be happy ever again,
there is no question,
my greatest love of all is gone.)

passed away

forgot what it feels like
to feel so bad
that writing tragic poems
feels so good.
to even have the need
to write a poem
to release and die.
to be trapped in a corner,
without any strength
to even hit the walls
or ask for help.
living life as a ghost
of one's past self,
a facsimile of what
you've built up all
these years, and find
old familiar feelings lurking
back up again, emotions
you thought you'd left behind.
to read back the darkly
decorated words and feel
relieved and comforted,
that momentary release
of negativity, that quickly
replenishes its self.
yet you find yourself
filling up the pages,
hoping that one day
they might run out,
only to find that once
a volume finishes,
another one creeps up,
his sons in their turn
seem to be even stronger
than their forefathers.
you find yourself with
collections of collective pain
whose meaning is never
fossilised but keeps changing
in accordance to the current.
forgot what it feels like
to feel so bad
that writing stupid poems
feels so good.

a lost thought

Looking for that ever elusive connection,
a link between my brain and her mind,
a once sprouting synapse that has retreated,
a message received in a dream forever lost,
a bright idea during a drunken frenzy,
a beautiful memory of my mother slowly fading.

Wishful thinking

I want to be a fully aware being.
Conscious when I sleep,
Active when I dream.

I want to know what is happening around me,
Continuously anticipating the consequence of any action.
I want to prevent deaths and heal peoples' troubles.
I want to remember everything and use this knowledge for my cause.
I want to tap into the secrets of the universe, receive the one truth and reach enlightenment.

Yes, I would be superhuman,
a being beyond any scope for growth
and thus, an idiot.

Partial Acceptance

She is gone. I will never see her again. Acceptance. This is the general message from the guide to bereavement from suicide by the nhs. It has been lying around on my desktop for quite a while now, and everytime I read it, I find myself relating to it more and more. The first time I read it, I couldn't even go past the contents page. The second time I found I was going through some of the standard experiences listed in the document, especially shock, numbness, guilt, despair but still it was too painful to read the whole thing. Today I finally read it and found that I have gone through every stage and emotion listed in there. I was relieved to see that what is listed as "searching" - which involves seeing the dead person everywhere and thinking that you may be going mad - is a normal symptom. 


Most notably the only emotion I have experienced the least is anger. I simply cannot feel angry towards a person that was going through so much pain. I can barely live with the pain I am experiencing now, so I cannot even imagine how she even survived through all that before putting an end to it. I have never once thought how could she do this to us or try to find an answer to why she did it, things that Irene has suffered through. 


Everyone deals with it in their own way, and just like the nhs guide says I do find it very hurtful when people tell me what I should be feeling or doing, giving me advice or even worse, judging, as if they can possibly know what I am going through. I know people are just trying to be helpful but out of ignorance they might say the worst things. Again just like the nhs says there is nothing you can say really besides I am there for you and that is what I want and can only hear. I have probably only heard that once and it felt so warm inside. Mostly it has been ignored as people feel too awkward and don't want to upset me. It is funny though how the most typical phrases like I am sorry for your loss or our thoughts are with you and your family are also the most comforting. Basically the key is to keep it simple, any further analysis or advice can be just risky. The few people that I know that have lost a parent, including one that has lost a mother by suicide have told me the most beautiful and comforting things, the right things. I am nearing acceptance that is for sure. I will soon accept that she's gone and I will spend the rest of my life missing her. I am tired.

http://www.uk-sobs.org.uk/help_and_support.htm

http://www.uk-sobs.org.uk/poetry_and_prose.htm

Searching (psyche)

She is everywhere, in silhouettes of fuzzy women in long black coats, deceiving
red haired fringes and fleeting forms in the corner of my eye. She is ephemeral,
slipping from and into the nothingness of my desperately seeking mind.

I fantasise about joining her in death: a car accident, a stabbing
in a dark alley, a terrorist bombing with only one casualty.
It is always a solitary death, just like hers. These are not suicidal thoughts,
only a little daydreaming of a fortune-brought ending to my daily torture.

I would join her in a state of passive mind, consciousness shed,
forever dying but never dead. We'd slowly drift into the Park of asphodels, quick
phantoms sipping on sweet honeydew remembrance, loosely holding on to
the memory of a missed corporeal coexistence.

The closest place to death I can get to is sleep and sleep is my only desire.
I am comforted by these words.

metaforce

Everything is a metaphor
A metaphor of a force
Hidden behind metaphors,
obscured from changing views.
Incongruous and inconsistent,
We share them,
Never sure if we agree.
The world, a giant metaphor.
The brain, a metaphor-processing metaphor.
Beyond metaphors the metaforce.
A force without form,
that can only perceive itself
through virtual concepts,
metaphors perceiving metaforms.
Meaningless precepts,
perpetuating for as long as
the formless force needs
to amuse itself.

Honestly fucked-up

I’ve been sincerely and whole-heartedly fucked-up,
Doubly fucked by parents thrice fucked-up,
Three times three, myself I fucked.


The people around me, clearly all fucked-up,
The people I love, conditionally fucked-up,
Two by four, my lovers I fucked.


The culture I live in, undoubtedly fucked-up,
The human condition, factually fucked-up,
Square root six, my perceptions I fucked.


The nature of one’s fucked-upness,
Relies on the basis of one simple equation:
One plus one equals one, or I just fucked-up.

Empathy

I was always proud of my balanced emotional world (the past few years at least), and I have always been a good judge of what people might be feeling at a particular incident – I have been quite a sympathetic person. Little did I know that in the course of my meditation ventures I would develop empathic abilities at such a level where my otherwise balanced, stable feelings would be greatly influenced by the feelings of others.

I can feel emotions in the atmosphere, they saturate the air, they are heavy and burdening on my shoulders. They primarily attack my stomach and/or my heart depending on their ‘quality’. It is now obvious to me that a lot of people fake their emotions; they might be creating the illusion of an emotion with an appropriate facial expression and tone of voice, which can be quite misleading but I know there is nothing there. Similarly, a lot people mask their emotions even from themselves under a veil of cynicism and detachment, creating the illusion of absence of emotion but to an amateurish empath like me their feelings are as obvious as the pain they cause in my stomach. Unexpressed emotions are the worst, they emanate from people and fill the whole room with a suffocating stench of tension and turmoil. People’s emotions are so impure, so confused, so…underdeveloped – now I understand what Rob Monroe meant with M-band distortion. I have become truly sensitive to this unnecessary emotional pollution.

Mild feelings cause a mild disturbance in my solar plexus, which helps me understand and appreciate what the other person is feeling. When faced with stronger feelings though, they are too much to bear; I try to control them by deflecting them or avoiding them, I visualise my shield and even call upon the white light to stop the insanity – but it seems that I am involuntary absorbing them. When subjected to these intense emotions for a long period of time (more than a day) I start reflecting them; so for example if I’m faced with aggressiveness I will start being aggressive myself. Being aware of the process means that I try to put this absorption-reflection under control, but I always end up crying from frustration and emotional imbalance.

Parenthesis

(She was doomed from the very beginning; a tragic figure destined to live a very tragic life, destined to fulfil the character of her life book. All the odds and bobs in her life were designed to drive her to that specific outcome; yet she had a choice, although perhaps she never realised. She could have treaded another path, but she just snapped. This created a vortex of strong karma, which she will have to remedy in her next life, if not this one; it is never too late. Some people just need shock treatment and we all had it to various degrees and with very different outcomes. I was led to shock, to depression, to post-traumatic stress disorder, to anger, to spirituality and worldly detachment. I have been thoroughly traumatised. Probably something I will never forget, something that haunts my dreams sometimes, and she and her physical condition will always be constant reminders. If she hadn't deformed herself things would have been so much better, but her physical deformation means that she will be forever marked by this dark page in her life, no matter how well she gets, it will always be THERE, in your face, in the mirror. The extreme emotions she went through will have definitely deformed her energy body to a state where she will need to go through a very long healing process. My energy body, I believe has been fully restored and now running better and stronger than before – of course all that meditation and energy raising have helped tremendously and so has the counselling back in the early days. I think I was strong enough not to get too damaged at the time, and I have steadily worked up myself to a quite balanced state, albeit sexually uninterested (which is good for spiritual matters but, yeah, it's bad), detachment from this world (which is also a side-effect of meditation), and social ineptness (but then again it's better than it used to be pre-18.) Perhaps her tragic existence has led me to a better, stronger spiritual life, perhaps it's leading me to a boring, sexless, lonely existence, perhaps both. Sister reacted immediately with a sense of normalisation, she took no time to grieve or be depressed, or some time to introspect. All she wished for was for things to return back to normal, and she has done everything in her power to accomplish normality. She works with denial much better than I do I suppose. Has she cleansed herself I wonder, or has she bottled everything so deep inside that she forgot about it all? This obsession for normality is what is going to lead her to her downfall, how can she expect everything to be normal? I don't know I don't understand her.)

Anti-Reality

In the course of exploring my astral capabilities I seem to have commenced a reversal of the hierarchy of my perceptions. The physical world is steadily losing its credibility, its “materiality” if you like. I have become subject to subtler energies that had before remained dormant or hidden. People’s feelings and emotions are as visible and clear as their faces – and they are becoming harder and harder to control. Places, trees and animals all of a sudden have acquired a more substantial subsistence. My chakras are reacting spontaneously to a variety of stimuli. My dreams seem more real than everyday life. I find myself walking down the streets of London feeling that there’s something missing, something’s wrong. Why am I on the ground? I should be flying. It’s annoying how I am still controlled by the laws of this physical existence I had signed-up for so long ago. I find myself jumping in the air trying to catch some current that will position me well above gravity’s influence, to no avail. People around me are so unaware, living their physical lives like they should – in ignorance.

Doubts 
The physical world has become a sort of holiday spot that I occasionally visit as a break from my high-energy voyages. Of course it has its function and its purpose, but it just seems not very accommodating to my needs lately. I am sure I have many things to learn here still, but I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t be able to learn these lessons somewhere else, somewhere less physical, somewhere more… fluid. Time seems to have no effect on me, a few hours of ‘sleep’ every night encompass so much more than a full waking day does. Every night I discover new facets of myself, my existence and the ‘world,’ that hundreds of earth lifetimes could not have accomplished. Yet I am afraid. I am afraid that this growing detachment from the physical world has come too prematurely; perhaps I need to explore and involve myself into physical existence a little bit more. Perhaps, this inherent detachment I have borne since birth is what I have to fight against in this lifetime and therefore come to appreciate what the physical existence has to offer. On the other hand, perhaps I have developed this curse-gift as a natural progression of my total life-experience. Maybe I am reaching the end of this corporeal existence, with this lifetime serving as an anti-climax to a very long material journey. But where is the wisdom, the greater lesson, the knowledge? Am I going to graduate? Am I just kidding myself? I have made it my life-goal to reach a higher level of spirituality before this life comes to an end – yet this self-doubting is still there. I must remember. I must remember. How could I ever have forgotten?

Thought Equation

I think therefore I am
Without thought I am not
Yet thought is all I am
Thought is me,
Or thought and me?
The sum of one’s thoughts
Is what one is.
Thought process passive,
Thought process active.
Thought-form transcends,
Thought-form creates.

Himself. He’s just trying to understand himself like everyone else. His thoughts just reflect back to himself. His understanding of the world leads to the understanding of himself. His only reference is himself. The world he resides in is his own creation. The world inside him is his own creation. He is his own creation. He is trapped in his own creation. He is creation himself. Or should I say… herself?