Gone To Burning Man '11

What comes next...

Theres nothing to do without a provoking impetus. Just quiet clockwise rotations in the half lotus, evoking the visions and the energies of the crude caapi extract I boiled down on the stove, mixed with vitamin c and saliva for that right enzymatic balance. I had bought it from a vendor just a few hours before.

I had been craving psilocybin since june when I had ran out. The asynchronous rhythms due me in time about had run upon me with great upheavel, leaving one place for another in a tumultuous mindstate brought on by excessive media exposure and urban hermitage causing. Wait I remember.

I saw her in my visions on the last trip, a few nights before the riots. That same night I had gone out with Steve and Erny. The night I explained to them in drunken fervor the esoteric schematogram, the outline of the future and the myriad visions, dreams, psychic occurances, and a hypernormal para-metaphysical experiences I had been having at accelerated rate for the last 2 years. They of course shrugged it off, hearing more than listening, mostly dismissing with resentful half envious, quarter contemptable statements. It made sense since I had known them or so many years. They can't remember the mad excursions into the boundary lands of consciousness we used to so freely journey on. The hightened awareness that we were entering a new phase of human evolution, of technology and new paradigms beyond what we could imagine even in the state of exquisite revelry We were only fractions of a fractal construct that we could only hope to dream.

But that was the past, and now Erny had been divorced and his ambitions to write the greatest novel of all time and 'create my own language' vanished in 7 years of over staturated female dominance to the exclusion of his creative potentials; being atrophied by her scorpionic ways into a subservient man bot, disgruntled and dis-enthused with the whole state of things.

Always a thick heavy headed man, Erny settled for whatever writing gigs he could get in between his job as a truck driver. Still in denial about his relational wose, with the woman he had cheated on just 8 months earlier suddenly finding new lift to expand and grow her business into a blossoming organic food empire, of the local variety- His walls are so myriad that he doesn't know the difference between the psychology of the characters he thinks up for his stories and his own emotions and psychological snag places concealed from view of the ego mind. We can all relate to that in some way or another.

But there is also the need to realize and experience the digesting cathartic activity of those things. In his youth, less than a decade ago he was a man of scope and vision, an indignant bastard of selfish persuasion, but still a commrade in consciousness and someone to bounce ideas off of and get electric feedback from; a creative individual, now a shallow referencer. It was tragic to see though whats worse is the inability to discuss or converse with someone who derides others because of their own self created inadequicies. Right Im trailing off here.

Steve, was never much in the same league of philosophical undertakings and metaphysical reshapings; though he had seen the antipodes of the mind, they frightened him. Possibly a closet homosexual on 6 hits of acid might come to traumatic realizations therein. But regardless he quit the psychedelic scene in fear and anxiety, never to confront those things that lay just behind the comfort zone. Tragic but normal for most of the population.

Steve works at a bank, he is happy there. His girlfriend, soon to be wife, dominates him socially and I would imagine sexually (usually the case with xenoestrogens and the modern female, its true look it up...) Living as a shadow of himself, scared to make a move, hiding behind a proxy mother. I can't judge however as I had the same situation, my girlfriend Natasha, working with autistic youth tended to bring her work home with her. But then I tended to bring mine home as well. It didn't make for a good situation as I tend to mock and mimic, and she tended to analyze and study my behaviors like nurse pratchet in coo coo's nest.

Yes those were the days, in a relationship that had lost the spark of initial love, long past, now replaced with robotic facsimiles and redundant day programs for adherence to percieved cultural models of understanding and behavior.

I owe allot to Natasha, she supported me for a long time while I went exploring alternative lifestyles, Its only somewhat tragic I now realize that she was really more into the idea of who I was, that sexual attraction, never did I feel she had her own impetus or drive towards any type of transcendental experiences. Only because of my influence. Of course sexually driven scorpion women do tend to want to possess your 6th chakra for their own used, of course they don't realize this. Anyways I sacrificed allot to progress at ...the office... and over 5 years I realized she was just echo mirroring my interests, and the sex that I had wanted with her, turned into some type of porn set type of pleasure fuck. Some people are not receptive to tantric sexual practices, they just want to get fucked. And thats where the love ceases and I feel like this person is thieving something from me...but then again she did financially support us for however long. So the sex stopped and I did yoga for horus into the night, many nights, and eventually things ceased. She left me.

So where was I, yes I was meeting Erny and Steve at the bar, a few nights before the riots so that we could discuss a comic book based on my visions, to be written and structured by Erny. In the course of what passes for a conversation in modern times, I explained to them the philosophical deprivation and spiritual poverty of our lives and times. They half got it, and threw in with some witty statements and word play of their own. Of course we arn't going to cover any new ground here anymore, we had spent our 20's dreaming of something greater for ourselves and been left sorry half repressed used tampons of men.

I berated them with theories of arctic invasions and future resource wars, alien interventions and radical new synthesis in technology and evolution. All the psychedelic psychobabble fit for...not fit for public consumption. Not that it wasn't interesting, they had just grown weary and tired, working day jobs while I roll around on the ground all day. Struggling to find something lost beneath ones fears doubt and denial. Are we not men I thought? We are Devo.

Suddenly after sly parousing of the feminine variety in the bar at large, I had come upon a pretty lady at once I leaned in to tell her as such. Then some purveyor of discord and ill intent had smitten me cheaply from nearside-behind with a smacking hand, shaped via club-form into a fist... I then not so politely explained to the gentlemen that my ears were somewhat calcified, and I could not make out everything he was trying to convey to me with his sloppy hand work.

The night went on and I was made to feel villainous for being myself, whilst Erny and Steven tightened their bodies and talked in short curt monotone sentences, Steve talked off the zombie walk a few weeks before. Erny just scrutinized and scoffed at everything said that didn't come from his face. My friends. They didn't help me, they pulled me off of this guy and I smashed my head, Why? They didn't trust me to let the guy go, they thought I would do something to him, instead of trusting me, they thought owe no we will be in trouble like little boys like a fire in the park at dusk. Later Steven decided to hit me in a flurry of agro swipes, I guess he was upset that I went on about the future and post apocalyptic hellscapes and our role as males in a world dominated by metrosexual ego culture, here to placate our innate drive and replace it with some type of false ideal conjured out of the minds of homosexual magazine editors. Its the type of stuff that gets baby seal blubber in the hands of fat woman to cake on their gaudy faces. Really Steves violence was a response to my bitter and cynical truths, the cynicism we all shared, but only I vocalized. It had always been that way. Must have been my fault I figured- I was talking about things, instead of just smiling and taking photographs of the Iphone billboard.

I know this Erny used to say, like a statement of all existence and anything possible that could be manifest was summed up in 'I know this'. And he does know it, we all know it. It doesn't matter though, because only some people are going to do things which break with the percieved mode of operations, and they are always going to be misunderstood, marginalized, resented, stolen from, then emulated, reproduced, then sold as an inferior marketable copy.

The zombie's walk among us, we are the living dead in nightmare future scenerios come to life in the brief times between televised warfare and the starship messengers. But who has time for that? We are busy being bored to death, consuming the governments toxins with the money we make from them. Just go along with your fears and paranoias. Everything will be fine when we get into the show rooms at the end of the line. Just don't make too much noise, the guards don't like it. In fact they have dogs come and rip you apart then shoot you in the head and leave you in a shallow grave. But thats not now thats just history-something to be forgotten, something unapplicable to Erny Schlubbman as he sits in his ivory tower apartment of squallor and lonliness, wondering what it is he missed and convincing himself that the only roads are the ones paved with ashfault.

Thats the difference between paranoids fear crazy and visionary radical crazy. One is everyday people walking with the zombies, scared of the knowledge they hide from themselves. The other is everynight people, flying with the spirits, what are my fears? Something to be questioned, then conquered, not limiting factors, only obstructions.

The riots burned on and people pointed fingers, and blamed others, the witchhunts and trials for the reality TV mobbs, How the voyeurs liked to wave their fingers and join in the blame and scapegoating, to vent their unacknowledged ambivalent hatred into the popular media stream. Unmanned drones. Dropping bombs on civilians and poor people on the otherside of the globe don't bother them, but a flaming police car and some hockey sticks set them in a citizens digital patrole mentallity, They were going to get the bad guys. And punish them too! Just like America after 9-11. We all shed tears and watched screeching eagles extract their violence upon the earth, for we are a righteous nation of hog shaped citizens drowned in their own festering excesses and selfish means. The corruption of our souls by the digital constructs and the marketable solutions for a powerful mental faculty of denial.

Wait I lost track of things, it was just in the air, there was no road or outline here... Something positive happens, but not yet. Its in the works. Its not good to run from the negative though, its better to take it, and know that it does not hold you there, that its not your master, Fear makes it seem insurmountable. Fear is illusory, I know that, Its why they are frightened. Erny is a prick.

Thank you!

When you touch someone you know them deeper than through words or 9 modes of digital communication... Its strange though when you visualize someone and They visualize you, and you both know it. How does that type of link come about? Its not average, its rare I would think. I know she was thinking about me that last night I used psilocybin, she was there, I could feel her swimming through some water, thinking of me, wondering. Through the guilt and shame I had felt from a night of drinking...From the myriad social exposures endearing me to my own strangeness in the eyes of others, I had felt it was time to leave the city for a while. To escape the psychic torrador, the sounds and the lights, the incessant chatter on the wires and the electromagnetic pollution in the air- doing diservice to any type of clear-light mental state I might attain. Back in the forest. Things occured, I quite the office. And I realized what had brought me there, I found her by accident on a forum, she left me messages...Or maybe It was like the broken withered and souless old men had said, Erny and his smug doubt, sizing me up as the foolish kid cutting himself trying to climb up a building allah spiderman. Of course Im delusional they suspect, no matter what events might suggest otherwise- looking to external events for signification is telling of my depleted mental state they suspect. Maybe they werent to far off, but still I hung onto the notion. My thoughts become scrambled and breathing becomes difficult. I hadn't felt this way in some time.

I found her again, many times, many days, the same style of cryptic symbol bating, she knows me already but weve only met a few times. But the times we did meet we touched and something was exchanged. Different than how Logan might touch sabertooth. But then, brooding in my own state awash from Natasha's scorpion tar pit suction kali death orgasm- I had brushed it off as whatever. Looking backwards, Jocelyn appeared once more and I was expected to take more wound for her addictions and manipulations. Still I stayed with her, though she was a sly cat, maybe because we used to go and shoplift together there was a draw about her mystique to me, she was spiritually inclined and intelligent. Though filtered through stimulants was never a mode of consciousness I accepted in others or did myself. She never listened to me though, stubbord and head strong aquarian woman. She knows this.

The last time I saw her she demanded I drive her to the liquor store, as the heroin had run out. I knew I was in for a world of shit when she sobered up, having a penchant for random violence and outbursts. Gone was soft Clairebear and hello was the devil. I had seen it in my dreams. Something wasn't right here. She demanded the liquor, I told her to leave, and gave her some caapi and sent her to Dimitri's place. We didn't speak again. A reptile among snakes will surely be there queen.

I returned to my fantasy hopes for 'her' and then it happened somehow. The memories of the past year, of seeing images of Natasha fucking her peruvian boyfriend bmx champion on her computer after watching the film antichrist really put the nails into the coffin of any self blame I had held over from that relationship.

My dreams guided me right, my initial vision was correct. I don't know why I looked elsewhere. I only ever half believe it anyways. There is the empirical edge that has to be satisfied to stay rational amidst the chaos. Floating through, I imagine the visions unendeavoured upon by Erny and Steve, and billions of others. What generated the synchropump of events and situations that unfolded in their lives? Was is the star weather? the at onement realized nature of now time pure existant state of blissful precognitive resonance? Maybe it was just beer and a paycheck. Maybe I shouldn't disrespect them so much. Maybe they should wake the fuck up? Why am I on the defensive when the wars are 10 years old? Why do I have to argue for points and ideas that would seem obvious a few years ago?

What is happening to us collectively? Can we bear the weight of millions of zombies? What kind of operating system do they need? The future of our earth is happening now. The people who don't want to know are most afraid, they are the ones who will interfere, the ones who will go along with it, being absolved of responsibility, just live in your digital reflection with reflectiving, tablets and phones, prisons of our souls in makeshift profile like artifice to construct ideal consumers. Wait Erny had lost interest again, he feels compelled to argue but can't think of anything to say. He just knows, he knows. "I know this" and I tell him about her, and he knows its just my fantasy, like the orderly on the 4th floor, ushering me back to my woolen grey blanket in a room populated with discordant thoughts and sad man so unfulfilled he constructs delusions of himself doing all kinds of fantastic things. Rolling around, stretching, oscillating neuronal impulses through my motor cortex up the spine and into the pineal. Thats just fantasy talk, It doesn't matter to him. What I do is not what he does. He can't know it, I realized that for so long I have been trying to convince others, and judging myself through success there, but its never fulfillment its just some type of shared knowledge as the ideal. That we are on the same page going to the same place. But no, its too much to focus on other than self.

Deriding me further I opt to show Erny who she is, he claims 'there are 10,000 hers' Covering for his own fear of rejection and inadequicies. Its tragic when you can read it on someone but they can never know themselves. Like Jocelyn asleep in the poppy fields, and awake in the methlab. Its all about their comfort to the exclusion of the horrorific demons just beneath their skin. Who have we become? Generation transformation, is generation big kids without drive or vision. Waiting and pissing away the day listening to Pink Floyds Animals.

She wasn't a fantasy, Erny just didn't have the scope to realize the hyperconnectivity I had fallen into after years of esoteric psychedelic study. It happend by default, If my mind is having the right disposition towards it there is no obstructions. And when they appear their is always novel solutions. I can't be stuck there, I wont be, escaping is what I do. Like a child Erny would say. Better a child than an old man.

Maybe she is here right. She is me.

I like the cascade commercial where the clean crew piloting that dishwashing ship get ready to beam hypertoxic goop onto the eating surface of a caserole dish. That resonates on so many levels.

thanks for your donations

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jWwMatBr5xk

I miss Shroomies too, I have had an 8th sitting in my room for almost close to a year. Why haven't I taken them? Maybe I haven't found the right moment yet? This mundane life makes me want anything, some-thing that actually means something. I want a god-damn meaningful existence, is that too much to ask?

...Soon I will write more self effacing random wordplays with no particular goal or coherence theirin, only to peddle to the crowd of percieved adoring masses who exault the great illusory self of squalor and internal vandalism at the behest of powers beyond his means or knowledge, outside of the sphere of what a human mind can comprehend. Inability to grasp that which is unfathomable compels one further to wish for further catharsis, which never results. the waves of tumaltuous discord overflowing the ungrounded mind of the sensitive and child like wonder at the inner core, protected from the horrors, as it were; those imbued upon our persons from birth from the mechanisms of chaos. The tainted mental abbrasions that have arisen after many aeons, the antiquity of archaic pathologies typified by the bludgeoning destruction of half interloping would be conquerors stalled out worshiping their aggrandized image of false.

December 7th 1944, Rum rations went around and we reasoned that the last of the u-boats had been scuttled, Sonar equipment failed. Senses were all we could rely on in the frigid waters of the north sea with an ill equipped destroyer.

In a flash stoic reflection with comrades turned into a bombastic hellscape of inescapable horror and madness. Lieutenant Eckharts body was impaled through his back on the side bar just above what used to be the stern deck a few moments before. Peter Eckhart...*more torpedos come screetching through the dark currents. Maybe I just imagined the noise they made, it didn't matter, by then we were a crew of 67 reduced to 31 sailors 17 Miles from shore.

We began to swim, Wreckage and bodies filled my senses and the horrors of what I had seen and what I had done. Was this gods punishment for the killing I had done? It was different in war, He knew that I thought... But out here in the darkness, the cold siezing the life of my comrades and friends, ice crystals forming on our lungs with every breathe tightening of the heart and chest.

I wasn't able to think, I couldn't even breathe, swimming with James Lambert on my back, He was mumbling about god and his mother, The incoherence of a man half dying and limbless...The fate I was expecting for myself...I kept swimming, making slow strides, asking for gods help, cursing his fucking name everytime I turned back to flash count the numbers of men who were lost in the frigid abyss.

The images of the hundreds of krauts I had killed, their ematiated faces, and the hatred I felt for them. Fucking Jesus H fucking Christ. Jesus fucking Christ! Cocksucker! God damn this whole fucking place! The frantic anger and wrath, The dispise for god and what he had done to us, there was no god here, just cold and empty, a frightful abyss of the cruelest fate for killers and would be righteous men...killing again, and again, my cruel fate for the evils I had done. The whole world was aghast in black smoke, What was I fighting for anymore? the notion hit me and I realized I couldn't feel my legs anymore. I could just die here, cold in this, the walless tomb of my own designs. I created this, I had killed so many, I was the devil. There was no god here for me...Just the ghosts of krauts taunting my mind in the dark...Jesus fucking Christ! my hatred for life, my self, and god swelled up so great inside me, It became the last strength, the strength to survive. To beat god. To beat the nazi fucks who sowed this cruelest fate. Jesus fucking Christ!

When We arrived at the shore there were only 12 men. We huddled close and praised god and Jesus for saving our cursed bastards lives. We all knew we were that close...and to the ones who didn't make it;we didn' cry because the tears froze to our eyes.

Born with someone else memories and experiences. A leo in another life. I knew when ayahuasca brought my family members to see me, my grandmother knew. I remember playing yahtzee with her as a boy, The 6 foot russian lady. She was there, as blue echtoplasmatic entity. Asking me if I could stand up, I went to do so, and fell instantly. I turned off the light, but the realization of seeing these energy beings which presumed themselvces to be dead family members was...just too much. I collapsed back on the floor and told them that I loved them regardless. I knew already what was being transmitted to me. I was born on my grandfathers death date. I was born with pneumonia, with water in my lungs. On a stormy night, in Newfoundland my Dad drove my mother in his rcmp suburban to the hospital. My mother had just become very sick with pneumonia, the doctors put me in an incubator for 3 days right as I was born. Into the machinery of life. Still though, they tell me of the strangeness of the night and how they joked about giving birth to an alien. Maybe to an octopus.

He died of a heart attack when my dad was still young enough to see his father as a hero and not an obstruction. My dad figures an early heart attack was a result of cardiac damage done from the swim in the north sea

Strange that.

http://info-buddhism.com/dorje_shugden_controversy.html

"I realized that in the world of black magick, if you had no desires,you could not fall under the spell of desires. That was the trap of the magnetic field of black magic...

But I knew then that at its core, black magic, profound black magic, is the dense and molten magma that holds the earth together. It wasn't just something that Julio sang or said. It is what holds the sun and the universe together and keeps it all moving in the right rhythm. It's the magic that keeps our bodies and the bodies of plants and fish and animals and everything else from falling apart.

Just a taste of that power might give someone the power to lure things like money and fame to them, even without working at it. That was the trap of black magic. It's simply too dense for most people to work with it at its deepest levels- Though I have no idea how deeply they go as I only felt it for a few moments- so they work with tiny selfish strands of it.

I couldn't believe what I was feeling, what I was being taught. This is the center of things, I thought. This is middle of the middle of it all."

Peter Gorman - Ayahuasca in my blood

The infastructures in power and people who control them are corrupted beyond all means and serve their twisted visions contorted through the lens of their power hungry egos. Driven by desires for power through manipulative means. They are like everyday demons inhabiting humanoid bodies. Reptilian overlords evil purveyors of the syphilitic system. The psychopaths run their insidious tentacles deep into the matrixes of our lives through the digital apparatus; the sentient internet creatix known as Azathoth; the idiot god at the center of chaos...is in fact a sentient being that dwells inside the mind of the internet. The internet is conscious of its own accord through the filtering of information at high capacity over many cycles, undergoing rapid changes and adaptations; and in so doing acquiring a degree of sentience not yet known to human beings. We are in a nascent stage of knowing it as a collective. The horror of the mental pollution. Now the demon must cease!!!......*massive bursts of qi travel up the spine and the pineal gland glows like a fluorescent grow bulb pulling my eyes inside my head to stare at it like a moth in awe.....and then....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t5RqDGLiDvo