Derek Ramin Worth
ZEN BIRTHSTONE PRODUCTIONS
E: The Letter Of The Law
|Posted by No Law on March 3, 2017 at 3:10 AM|
A: I don't think. Not do I act or try not to be certain of my actions. B:When all fails I feel elated from the challenge of making things right. C: If nothing works then I cry to the moon for mental repair. D: When my mind fails me it is my spirit that comes to my aid of it's own volition. F! All of it nonsense!
Where is the 'E' in this foolish grading system? It is not that which I represent that counts so much as the truth. The times. The end of days. Finally, the burial of my body. It is my belief that counts as much a turnip rules the final empire. Kingdoms come and go and there is, I am certain, a consisting reality that governs all of these. Spires rise in order to hopefully oppose gravity or perhaps just to lean on a trust which drives their society. What is the point at the top of the highest spire. God must reign over or within all of this. And yet what is God but a word trying to describe our the potential of our better natures. No hall of fame penny towers over our heads as it lies on it's tail in the back trophy room while cornered worlds strive for existence in the house of cold logic.
“Microchips look like cities.” the man pointed seriously as his king, “Circling nouns with verbs and round and round. And round and round again. The wheel has truly been reinvented at the very beginning.”
“Or perhaps in the end,”argued the fool in the commercial, “You shall grasp the meaning of life as you pour it down your throat with a silver spoon cradle and all.”
Mountains are these spires in the cities of nature. Blades of grass these spires. Trees. Rocks. Our journey down the highway of rivers and forest paths is fraught with beast at both sides and within. Insects. Wolves. Birds of prey. All of which are we. End the cycle of addiction and perpetuate a new cycle. One of admittance. The loss of control. No longer must we pretend that we are not being raped by shadows. Because they are mere shadows. Admit them. No longer must we fear our brothers and sisters. Because we admit them. The children of earth dance in the midst of this disorder where up is down, light is dark, this is that, and your mind is not your own. An admittance to that brings the true dance and release the disorder from it's former clutches bringing the people's good intentions into light.
Still the body dies and wordly affairs carry on with it lying still. In fact the stiller the body lies the more the world carries on. Worms eat the flesh perhaps like a good burger. Angels watch bubbles of gas escape from the eyelids as fluid seeps out. Our eyes are frozen. We are frozen. Dead. How is this different from life itself. Especially life in the graveyard of the bustling metropolis with its tombstones buildings baring the names of the ever dead mascots which are so highly revered by the worms we call people.
Ah, but we are higher than the worms! Still, the mechanisms we call glasses exile us from our true vision. The machines that cradle the infant meal which peers eagerly through two metal holes with shifting lenses questions the seeker within, “What do you see?”
E. E upside down. E on its side. Z. B. X. S. And on and on until cold logic fills a entire realm of blurry slave mentalities forced into the societal cleansing of any heavenly notion on this earth. And then do we confirm this meltdown into sterile nature living in ignorance of it's eternal being. Thus do we forfeit our freedom little by little, clinging to institutional limitation that keep us in a state of constant transformation. Our minds controlled. Our bodies ready for perpetual battle. In the name of some infinite goal. And the “doctor” rewards the meat with a lollipop claiming, with a smile, that it has good vision.
What if the meat claimed to see flowers, naked ladies, or even stars and stripes. If not admitting to some foolish humor, into a different institution would it then be plopped, it's entire life becoming more and more jaded as more doctors try to “understand” the nature of the things “illness”. Then the mind of the food would wait to be cured of its malady knowing fully well that it has a degenerative disorder. More weight is thus placed on the meat in order to keep it in line. Hopefully the next time it goes to the optometrist it will fall into line and see what it is told to see. A big E at the top of other meaningless symbols.