Episode 13

I'm not actually an anarchist…

For instance:

The Union Square Wholefoods has two clearly designated doors. Entrance and exit.

They both have signs posted on themselves expressly stating that they are (indeed) not meant to be used for their opposite function.

The entrance explicitly says "this is not an exit.”

The exit explicitly says "this is not an entrance."

But alas, the doors open automatically - so despite what the signs protest - people can exit through the entrance and enter through the exit.

I never do. I follow those rules diligently.

I also always walk up the right side of the train station stairs and down the left. I get aggravated when people don't follow this unwritten rule. Especially when I need to run the stairs to catch the train and the people who just got off are blocking the way.

Though I’m usually going somewhere I don’t want to go, I still don’t wanna be late.

I don't necessarily like this about myself. Sometimes I wish I would've caved in to temptation and became rich and famous so that I could take car service everywhere and scoff at such pedestrian trifles.

Or maybe I could’ve attained enlightenment by now so I wouldn't mind getting anywhere at any time.

I'm impatient.

~~~~~~

I don’t see any way out of commercial life so I have to keep myself amused, for my own sake. I know no one else here cares. I don’t expect them to anymore.

Part of me begrudgingly respects the oligarchy because they wake up early and worry all day. Worry about everything falling apart. Their everything is way bigger than mine.

What’s mine? This tiny apartment in this giant city? Sleeveless shirts and cargo pants? Dried flowers in a glass vase flanked by birthday cards on a wood stool serving as a makeshift table?

I promise I won’t get maudlin. There’s really no time for that. No time for sentimental reflection. They keep the pressure on, don’t they?

“Contagious” diseases - “natural” disasters - “migrant” relations…

~~~~~~

My writing is always either bad-great or great-bad - but it never smoothes out into good.

I thought I’d tripped upon a cyclical style that I could steadily ride - but it hasn’t work out so well.

It’s not as if there’s anybody waiting to see if I can keep this up. Nobody knows I’m a writer.

At least now I'm editing the last few years of what I already wrote - so I can finally stop writing it.

~~~~~~

I still can’t fathom how it became “right wing” to criticize eugenics.

How did the “left wing” become so fascist?

I’m using the word fascist in the way that Mussolini himself coined it, to describe the union of the corporation and the state.

I’ve always considered myself liberal.

I can put my own phobias aside and admit that everyone has the right to be who they want to be and love who they want to love, no matter whether I find it aesthetically pleasing or not.

I only have so much time in this life to do what I gotta do. Why would I spend it wagging my finger at people for their sexual deviances?

The only sins I recognize are cruelty and pollution.

Though I’m sure a lot of the cruel polluters are involved in some weird kinky shit - corpse medicine magistrates knee deep in murk and muck - I still don’t want to be grouped in with the puritans just because I’m refusing to accept being injected with whatever the fuck they’re injecting people with.

I’d probably even live in a “smart city” without much protest, if they didn’t make getting jabbed a prerequisite.

~~~~~~

I felt so bad the other day…

I said, “Oww you stupid fuck” to a woman with a stroller on the train.

I didn’t know it was a woman with a stroller when I started the sentence.

I was getting off at my station and I felt cold metal and hard plastic scrape the back of my heel.

It was crowded so I couldn’t really turn around quickly. I just said “Oww” - then - “You stupid fuck”

I kinda ended up whispering the “stupid fuck” part because I realized it was a woman with a stroller.

She didn’t notice me anyway. Both her and her baby were busy with their tablets.

~~~~~~

I love when I have a simple task like buying something at a different grocery store today because the one I went to yesterday didn’t have it. And I’ll get to walk in a different neighborhood. And while I walk, I’ll think about writing, Although tomorrow I’ll probably disagree with myself yesterday about what I was supposed to write today.

I see people. Cyborg Slugs. But I don’t want to be negative. So, what can I write about? Going back to the dojo? My “discovery” that there are not really two opposing forces - good & evil - but only vivifying spirit and unfortunate inevitable material dissipation? And how this dissipation seeds the future somehow - shit keeps happening.

No matter how hopeless I feel today.

You can probably tell when I have a little time to write but nothing important to say.

I lean on contradictory compulsions - they keep me alert - can’t afford to let myself be fully lulled to sleep - avoiding all traces of possible trances - can’t lapse into pure histrionics or schizophrenic phonics - have to stay here in the animated matter. Of corpse.

Sometimes I’m jealous that I’m not just one of those… I don’t want to call them, “N.P.C.s” because it feels solipsistic and I don’t really play video games like that, so, for now I’ll just just call them…

Consumers.

Commodifying, co-modifying, coma defying….

I’m not a vigilante, an anarchist, a socialist, or a republican.

~~~~~~

I don’t know if I experience events or occurrences.

I feel like the word occurrence more adequately describes how I experience time passing, but I like the letter V, and the word ‘eventually’.

I wonder one word at a time. I don’t usually use them to narrate events (or occurrences). I usually use them to make people laugh.

I try to make people laugh by augmenting the flow of words that they’re accustomed to. I deconstruct idioms.

I do this because I wonder one word at a time. Every sentence is wide open. I never know how it’s gonna end.

~~~~~~

Last year, 2023, worked out perfectly in that the Spring Equinox, more or less, fell on a new moon.

I took it as a sign that I should start to publish my prose poems - on this day - and I finally figured out how to make a website expressly for that purpose.

This is in addition to the previous year (since deleted) of publishing them orally via an RSS feed.

I originally thought I’d publish printed versions after every five episodes, but now I’ve decided to do it after every twelve.

I’m eventually gonna put out the previous years’ worth of my literary attempts titled, “Early stages of Pronia”.

I’m doing this all on Amazon because it’s the only way I can afford to self publish.

If anyone actually buys my books it’s because they’re interested in owning relics.

I’m obviously not a good writer but if I can become sufficiently obsessed with the craft then by sheer will I might (hopefully) eek out a living.

It seems improbable, but then again, so does life itself and I’m already alive so…

~~~~~~

Honestly, I feel bad killing roaches.

But I don’t want to have dozens of them in my apartment and I feel like if I don’t kill the ones I see sneaking around then there’ll be more.

Maybe this prognostication isn’t true - but my wife would never agree to any other arrangement.

I’m allowed to let flies, centipedes, and spiders live. The flies and centipedes I trap in plastic containers and set them free out in the courtyard. The spiders can stay.

I have no qualms about killing mosquitos.

~~~~~~

Sometimes I get mad at myself for caring so much about what Iamblichus thought concerning the nature of “gods”?

I should discover the nature of “gods” myself - right?

So how do I do that?

Do I have to wait until I die?

If so, I guess I’ve wasted a lot of this lifetime in contemplation - thinking, wondering, hoping, trying to “figure it out”.

For the past 6 years I’ve immersed myself intensively in (mostly Platonic) Pagan philosophy.

I’ve come out the other side wholly convinced in the benevolence of divinity. Pronoia.

I no longer believe in evil spirits.

This is good for me - one one hand - I can get through difficult times without the added fear of disembodied soul parasites.

But, at the same time, it isolates me. And I’m already isolated enough by my dietary limitations and disbelief in germ theory.

Oh well, what’re you gonna do?

~~~~~~

I hate when they call politicians, “leaders”.

Not that I actually believe elections are legitimate but even if they were, they’re not being elected to lead us anywhere.

They’re elected to serve our civic interests.

Where are we being led to anyway?

Transhumania?

~~~~~~

I was playing freecell on my phone instead of writing because I don't want to write about money. About anxiety. About capitalism.

Some people love it.

I'm on the train. Going to the Calvary Hospice in the Bronx to see Ruby. I feel so bad. Like I abandoned her - but I can't really write about that because I don't want to gossip.

I'm not in control of anything. I've been adrift, deep in circumstance for so long now, depending on my genie, how can I ever hope to resurface?

Maybe I can't.

Maybe this is just what it feels like to be one of those people who gets lost in the shuffle. Is that the phrase? Am I one of those people?

Sure seems like it.

~~~~~~

I just had this impression - while earnestly trying to remember a previous life - that I was once a ladybug…

A male ladybug, of course.

~~~~~~

It's not easy being a vegan pagan anti-vaxxer.

Most of the other anti-vaxxers are Christian carnivores.

Sure - I can be alone but I don't have a silent craft. I miss music but it takes over my life - and not in a good way - it's like I can't escape the trance. Besides, I only have so much time to dedicate to an art form.

I chose aikido. I feel like it’s the right thing to do, for me. I can even go so far as to say that I “believe in it”. It was my religion before “covid”. The physical aspect, at least.

Metaphysically, I was trying to mentally fuse Neoplatonism with 5th Dimensionalism - but that was before I realized that the Ptolemaic cosmos has no need for higher dimensions because the Earth, thus our conception of being, is stationary at the center of ethereal concentric spheres.

“Higher dimensions” are deemed as necessary when Being is thought of as moving through “spacetime” as opposed to being surrounded by / immersed in it. If Being is moving then there would need to be coordinates for the future (not to mention - the past).

That’s why they came up with that shit - but (just like ‘molecular biology’) in reality, it’s merely a psychopathological symptom of denying spirit and accepting the atomists’ paradigm.

~~~~~~

I don’t want to believe that the Earth is overpopulated, but when I go outside and actually look at people…

Soon they’ll all be wearing google goggles. Living in “augmented reality”. Fuck em. If that’s what they want…

I mean really, who am I to judge?

I’m probably this judgemental because I grew up poor and semi-empathic with a moderately high IQ.

If my IQ didn’t get in the way I’d write maudlin sketches of the working class. The brooding love of desperate nobodies.

But I’m too conscious of patterns. I’m able to solve riddles, and crimes. Large crimes. The large subtle crimes of the psychopathic archons. They call them “industries”.

I’m not bragging. My IQ has not served me well.

If I wasn’t opposed to murdering peasants I would’ve joined the air force. Anyway, here I am. Living through another day, like everyone.

Episode 14

I still can’t honestly say I always know what the “Neo-Platonists” are talking about.

But - I suppose - the important thing is that now I recognize spirit as being only good.

All that other shit about hypostases is for minds not so wracked by poetry, I guess. I disordered mine at the behest of Rimbaud, attempted to reorder it through P.D. Ouspensky’s and Rodney Colin’s dissertations on higher dimensions, and now it’s just kind of hovering slightly above - sometimes below - the surface of the universal psyche.

But at least I don’t believe in evil spirits anymore. Evil can easily be explained via matter’s imperfection - and that’s enough for me.

~~~~~~

The archons aren’t Jews or Reptilians - or otherwise “interdimensional” villains.

Yeah - sometimes they make blood sacrifices to imaginary space deities but don’t worry too much about that because any powers they possess are psychological (not supernatural).

They’re psychopaths - for sure - plucked for their high IQs from the general populace or - if they’re exhibiting less than stellar intelligence - from established oligarchical families.

I’m not afraid of them metaphysically. They can’t touch my spirit. But I have to admit - sometimes I’m dismayed by the damage they inflict here in the physical realm.

I don’t have a plan for if (and when) they shut off “the grid” and billions of us are left to fend for ourselves.

I don’t know if I’d succumb to hunger and resort to cannibalism or not. I can say I wouldn’t, but I really have no idea what atrocities I’d be capable of if I was starving to death. I’d like to think that I’d just return willingly to the spirit realm but who knows? I’ve never even fasted.

~~~~~~

I’m glad I called my friend yesterday when I was in the midst of my “no comma” crisis.

I’d gotten too high and almost convinced myself that I didn’t need commas anymore, that - because my writing is primarily vocal - dashes were sufficient to indicate all varieties of punctuated pauses.

She’s more academic than me - in a good way - and she gave me some semiotic reasons not to abandon commas.

I was quite serious about it.

During our conversation - I was saying ridiculous shit like, “I wanna write for illiterate people”.

But you know what really stopped me in my tracks? When it dawned on me that I couldn’t call these prose poems anymore if I only used dashes. The comma helps qualify this as prose.

And I’m gonna have to live with that.

At least for today, I won’t go back and eliminate them from the book I plan to publish on Amazon (soon because the clock is ticking).

~~~~~~

I'm proud of myself.

I didn't tell the little girl taking a picture of the Statue of Liberty from the Staten Island ferry about its true nature. She was there with her family, having a good time, eating American snacks.

I said “its” instead of “her” for 2 reasons:

1: not to cause confusion between whose true nature I’m referring to. Of course I mean the statue’s - not the little girl’s.

2: I don't know if the Statue of Liberty is a woman. I've read many different interpretations of its true identity.

3: It’s got nothing to do with liberty. Unless - by liberty - you mean imperialism.

~~~~~~

I’m gonna try to tell you like I just told my friend - (as if I could ever put real life into words)

I believe that our “dreams” are made up of an inner luminescent smoke emanating from a little star deep in the recesses of the “psyche” - whatever that is.

I can’t say the word “psyche” without reminding you that I don’t know what it is - and that hampers me as writer, but it makes me fun to hang out with when there’s nothing else to do because I can talk about anything.

Anyway - this inner smoke - I sometimes call astral light - but then I get embarrassed because I don’t want to be mistaken for a theosophist.

The other night - when I was almost asleep - I had one of those terrible realizations that one day I’ll die - and I was like yeah - I’ve read all this shit about the soul being immortal and I can personally say that I’ve encountered ghosts and spirits - etc - and I honestly - genuinely - mostly believe that I have a tutelary spirt, a genie, guiding me through this life - but still - one day I’m gonna die and if I’m wrong - if there really is no surviving essence of whatever it is that I am - then what? I’ll just be nothing for the rest of forever?

So, I sought my own soul, my own psyche. I looked inside and found a snaky ethereal entity coiled around my skeleton. It showed me its nature, to assuage my fears. Of course I can’t better describe the experience. If I could, I’d start a cult.

~~~~~~

Ruby died. Of course I’m sad. She was suffering for quite a few years now. I miss her already. We got really close - spent a lot of time together - during the “pandemic”.

Her husband and my mother both died from “AIDS” - so we had that bond. I don’t know if she ever quite fully believed me that viruses don’t exist - but she knew AZT was poison.

~~~~~~

I’m sure I’ve written this already - many times - but I always feel the need to justify why I write prose poems. While I was in the kitchen, it dawned on me (again) that I never take tomorrow for granted. I can never imagine actually having consecutive days, weeks, months, years, to work on one project. Even if - in my most manic moments - I can envision an entire work of episodic fiction, it’ll never come to fruition because I know I won’t finish it. I know I won’t finish it because I’d need faith in temporal stability. I’ve never had that.

I know I’m not the only one who had a chaotic childhood, but that doesn’t negate the fact that I had a chaotic childhood. I learned about death very early on, feared intensely for my mother because I saw her almost OD on heroin when I was 6 and well… what can I say? Of course it affected me.

But what can I do?

Listen to music? Make chocolate? Cut the sleeves off my t-shirts and dye them? Shut my laptop and do more domestic shit like vacuum, mop the kitchen floor, take a shower, lay down and watch basketball?

I’m stuck here for the time being. In this chair. I don’t want to gossip. I don’t want to rattle off any of my vague metaphysical opinions. I sure as hell don’t want to comment on the world war that’s brewing.

I have no trust in ‘the media’. I’ve already ascertained that matter’s imperfect and there’ll always be trouble until people can learn how to handle being ensouled. Until then, there’ll be false narratives and the hypnotized drones who fall for them.

There’s nothing I can do about it - I can only write for those in ‘the future’ who may be wondering if anyone in ‘the past’ was genuinely alive. I can tell you that I am. I’m alive. Today. And I’m not going out because it’s raining too hard and I have enough to eat for tonight.

I wish I had more interesting shit to talk about - but I’m currently rapt in non-discursive thought which may bring me closer to the ineffable but makes for boring literature. Sorry about that.

~~~~~~

There’s a battle raging inside me right now.

Should I read Damascius, watch basketball, or write about the raging battle inside me right now?

I was thinking about Damascius while I was vacuuming because - in the song that was playing - the singer said, ‘no one likes to be alone’.

My mind did what it always does, makes “no one” the name of someone and imagines that he likes to be alone.

I think a lot of the ancient pagan philosophers suffer from the same condition. They don’t allow nouns to represent nothingness.

There’s no such thing as “no one”.

Of course, when I speak colloquially, like everyone, I use such phrases such as “nobody does this”, “nobody likes that” - but I’m always conscious of how it distorts reality.

Did this realization start with Parmenides or is he just the earliest written evidence that there’s always been people like me who can’t accept the premise of an objective void?

Supposedly, even some of the Pythagoreans believed there was a void of space wherein existence occurs. But - most likely, they weren’t actually following Pythagoras’ teachings which is why Aristotle derisively referred to them as “so-called Pythagoreans”.

After refuting the void, we move on to refuting evil spirit - which is tricky because it’s easy then to mistakenly refute spirit altogether.

You get those arguments of “why would a good god permit suffering?”

Maybe suffering is equivalent to spiritual pullups? Maybe suffering is growth?

I’m not talking about torture. I’m not talking about slavery or “medical experimentation” - cruelty at the hands of others. God is not responsible for that.

Trust me - there is cosmic justice. There’s an afterlife - and cruelty and pollution are punished. Don’t ask me how I know this - it’s a secret.

Natural misfortune is a product of material being. Again, matter is imperfect. But without matter, we wouldn’t have this chance to reflect upon eternity. We’d have no reference. Matter was created - is created - at the last step of existence as an effluence, an art project.

We’re supposed to be maintaining this art project - not trying to figure out how to live forever. At least this is what I tell myself when I’m stoned enough to not fear death at all. When I’m numb enough to not feel the pain of embodiment.

~~~~~~

If anyone’s paying attention - they’ll notice that what I’m doing - artistically - is presenting myself as already doomed to obscurity.

As much as I’d love to achieve celebrity status - I won’t permit myself to spend an ounce of energy on trying to become “popular”.

In order to do that - I’d have to gossip or make a fool of myself. I want to be as honest as possible…

This doesn’t mean I have to tell my secrets.

I just have to describe my impressions regarding the most important issues of my time: the fraud that is molecular biology and the non-existence of evil spirits.

That was the bargain made.

That was the deal struck.

~~~~~~

I just read a few pages of Damascius and was audacious enough to think I could express in words what I thought/felt about it.

I’m probably not smart enough to be a true Platonist, which is fine. I’m a rational animist.

The most important realization is the soul - the spirit - first and foremost - everything after is anthropic mythology. Nobody knows the shape or structure of the universe. Nobody knows the nature of disembodied being. Nobody knows what happens when we die.

I’ve experienced my soul, felt the presence of ghosts. I’ve reasoned - with the help of some ancient pagan philosophers - namely Plotinus - that there’s no such thing as evil in the spirit realm. Even if that’s not exactly what he meant, that’s what I came away with and there’s no turning back now.

~~~~~~

I just finished editing Volume 1 of these prose poems. The first 12 episodes.

I was contemplating including episode 13, but I don’t want people to think I’m trying to be spooky.

In case you haven’t noticed, I publish each episode on a ‘new moon’.

There are 13 lunar phases in a year. Not 12. But… well I don’t know yet. I’m still trying to figure out what I’m doing with this ‘project’.

The spring Equinox already passed. That was the first anniversary of starting this, but I don’t know if I wanna get tied down to trying to balance the solar and lunar calendars. It seems impossible.

I think that’s the point, though. Imperfection.

The fact that there are approximately 13 lunar months in a solar year shows me that all this sublunar existence shit is imperfect on purpose. Probably to allow for introspection and compassion.