Thought Ninety One

IMG_3259 2An older post from a few weeks ago:

Keeping busy keeps you from looking at the miasma that is the emotional content of your mind

Anxiety or fear is a huge driver. No one wants to do this shit alone. Until they realize the crazy compromises that are required of you and that you require of them (your partner). Our eyes fade as our hearing does, so that as we age, we don’t kill each other with each of our madnesses.

Our madness is what largely drives us. Our fuckup crazy emotionally damaged inner lives. Some drink and drug to escape it, but there is no escape. The only way around it, is through it. To wrestle with the maddeningly damaged creatures that we are. Sometime’s a minute at a time, sometimes longer. But time doesn’t really exist, so you get to make up the measurement. So build your own world and how you wish to see it. Make it as beautiful as you wish. Or a war torn dystopia with violence at every edge and place. I am building mine. It’s fucked up, but that’s me, fucked up, broken and just a hair trigger away from pulling on the ejection handles. Not that it would do any good. It just a worthless reset through the river of sleep. Start over for the billionth time.
This must be why the gods are mad. If they experience pain and madness in unimaginable levels, how could we expect sanity? Sanity and quantum physics don’t go together at all. The smaller the particles get, the more we realize how nothing is what it seems at all.

Sentience is overrated.


Thought Ninety

In a strange way that I can’t explain (but may in quantum physics I can see things. The end of life for some expressed as a number, sometimes more. I felt sad about that recently, realizing that. I wish it would never end, but then this wouldn’t be the opportunity it is to learn, become sentient, and remember.

Perhaps this is why we don’t remember life to life, because we lack clear sentience. It File Sep 11, 09 57 32makes sense to me. Life after life of reincarnation, doing the same stupid things we always do as the gods implacable are not interested at all.

Does a cat remember?

The good feelings, the fear, anger. Maybe, I think probably. But sentient thought, not likely. Us either. We don’t remember because we actively choose not to be sentient or thinking. We spend our time caught up in feeling, bodily need, or at least received that way (food, sex, comfort, anger, etc.).

No wonder the gods are bored.

Boredom indicates sadness (as in feelings).

We live in a magnificent place and time (movement). I am sitting in my garage before I start this day. Enjoying a hot cup of black coffee and an Arturo Fuentes cigar as is my want. We are here to think. To experience wonder. To love deeply and become unbound from our anxieties, worries, and the other garbage that drags us down into the deep like an anchor chain.

Don’t let anything matter except what you decide matters. Look into the sky and enjoy the complex and ever changing scenery of the clouds dancing across the sky. The water of the beach lapping at your toes. The feel of wet green grass under your feet. The subtle and complex taste of a black cup of coffee, the fine smoke of a good cigar.

Then think.


Thought Eighty Nine

Scale, IMG_3243 2

is an interesting thing. It all depends on your view. Something large can appear small and something small can appear quite large. 

Obvious you would think?

Maybe. When it comes to human communication, scale becomes a factor.

I learned something important yesterday in a discussion. In my broken universe, where the god’s rumble and destroy on vast scales across many a thousand million years, my reactions to people, opportunities and pretty much everything else, is in minutes. Yes, minutes. Not days, or weeks, or even months. Minutes.

Sounds pretty painful? It is.

Relatively healthy people react to situations, communications, etc. on a longer timeline. Perhaps healthy is a misnomer. Balanced may be a more accurate description.  For instance, someone sends you an email or text asking about something you think is important. A healthy person may think about it and then respond. An unhealthy/balance deficient person would look at it from a threatened point of view. This would in all likelihood produce anxiety. This anxiety might facilitate the person responding from a somewhat reduced vision viewpoint. If the unhealthy/balance deficient person chose to expand the scale of their response from three minutes to three hours or the next day, the response becomes less based on anxiety or fear. Perhaps instead based on thoughtful consideration. Anxiety and fear create a short functional timeline. Again it is about scale.

“It’s like juggling sphincters, your hands are going to get shitty” quote Robert Day 6/18/2019

IMG_3255 2

I have observed in my past life, persons practicing exactly that, although not well mind you. Choosing to make decisions after 24 hours of thought (Although if I am honest, it was more likely non-thought). Perhaps this is a good thing. However, our lives are lived in this moment. So we would be required to live our lives on a delay. In the hyper-awareness of the scale I currently live in, this would be a radical change.

How to do this and still keep up with the thousand million pop-ups that demand our attention each day? Something to think about or meditate on perhaps. Or I will anyway. For a least twentyfour hours or perhaps even three weeks as I attempt to change the scale.

Three steps forward, four steps back. The end is as old and bitter as an old cigar, long dried up.



Thought Eighty Eight

I am broken.

I walk through this world knowing that I am. There isn’t much I can do about this, but love the people around me in the ways that I can. For I am broken. Crazy, perhaps, broken, absolutely. I love Manya as if there is no tomorrow, for there is not. I accept the crazy stupidity that is me at times, for I know I am broken.

The dark gods that look at us and watch us impassionately know this to be true. Don’t destroy me for I am love. That is who I am in this and every other moment, but if you do, I will live in this moment forever. So say a prayer to whatever dark gods you pray too, I will beseech them as well. Walking along this dark path, we shall find things we never thought that we could dream and make them so. For we are the gods within our time.

Stay frosty my friends,



Thought Eighty Seven

My tribe.

What tribe do you belong to I wonder? When I was in the US Navy back in the eighties, I belonged to the tribe VAW123, the ScrewTops. As our boson,s mate called them, the “fucking dome heads”. I was in “first lieutenant”. The guys that cleaned the shitters, buffed the floors, that kind of stuff. Most sailors that joined a squadron spent three months or so there, then went to a shop. Airframes, power plants, etc.

Not me. Fuck that shit.

I decided to stay in “first lieutenant” as long as I could. I could buff the hell out of those floors. Cleaning shitters was like breathing to me. Then I started discovering the stencils I could make of the heavy cardboard material we used for making lettered stencils. I made images of our squadron planes.


The officers loved it and wanted that stenciled on their doors, Ivy stencils on the walls of their staterooms. I remember the officer that held the qualification of being a trombone major in college so he could learn how to fly an E2C Hawkeye. Jesus in a sidecar, the plumber was probably more qualified. I stayed there for a year rejecting anything that tried to get me to move.

In fact, I rejected the shit out of that squadron. I rejected them so hard, I was finally transferred to the ship’s company. Back then they called my group GSE (Ground Support Equipment), part of AIMD. Now I heard they dropped the “G”. Efficiency I guess. To much time and gods damned energy to say the full “GSE”. I loved working on that ship.

The USS America, CV66. A god’s damned carrier and the last of a dying breed. She still burned dinosaurs. A hundred an hours or so I think.  I was named a DCPO. I crawled through air ducts changing dirty filters. Did periodic maintenance on fire main, valves and hatches.

Good times.

After three and a half years aboard her sacred decks, I transferred to shore duty, A heretic to the last. Abandoned my post and saluted her amidship and aft once more. She was born on the year that I was, in 1963. Her keel laid and life among the endless waves begun. I, a young lass of dubious heritage and thoughtless countenance walked her decks for three and a half years of her long and storied life. I hope the echo’s of my footprints still tremble in her sea laden hull three hundred miles off the coast of Norfolk’s pier 12 at the bottom of the sea.

Fair winds and following seas…

That was my tribe back then. Until it wasn’t anymore. The world has moved on since then. It kind of makes you think, who is my tribe? How long will we gather to devour the others that threaten us so?

I wish I knew. Tribe or no tribe. The monsters, gods, and daemons await to slaughter us all. Our minds barely sentient and for only a few rarified moments when we are not consumed with sex, food, tv, etc. and other bullshit.

So I sit, writing to you who might read this and wonder, what foul mind is this that might write of this that indeed this way comes?

Perhaps a friend, known not yet.


Thought Eighty Six

What if we are already in a black hole. SKULL-alone-V2.jpg

All space and time are compressed into one and can never escape. We have the observable universe dancing around us in a never-ending cycle. All while our universe continues to uniformly expand at forty percent of the speed of light and scarily the speed is increasing. In our unescapable universe within this black hole, other black holes exist as per the majority of large galaxies. Black holes so massive that we can barely calculate their size.

And perhaps then within these black holes in the galaxies of our universe, once you cross the event horizon of one and go past the point of no return. Before the gravitational forces can twist and tear you into pieces, then compress you down infinitely. You reach the point where you can never escape and all of eternity passes you by. You find yourself in another universe that again continues to uniformly expand at forty percent of the speed of light and scarily the speed is increasing. In this unescapable universe within this particular black hole, that other black holes exist as per the majority of galaxies.

Then perhaps the universe that we started from, before we crossed another black hole’s event horizon and reached the point of no return. Perhaps that universe is itself is a black hole in another universe.

Circles within circles. Unending, interleaving the fabric of reality where we exist and don’t all at the same time.

Perhaps that is how we gods exist from one to another, at these scales and beyond. How we make up all that is and is still yet to come. The endless circle repeating over and over again. Across mythology and story, the same stories are told on a thousand million planets, worlds without end. When we reach the point where even the gods are reborn. Knowing not themselves, until they do or remember.

We wish we could when we would not.

We wish we did, but we don’t.

The river of sleep that all succumb to in it’s forgotten finality.

Ending and beginning. 

The story is written, unwritten and rewritten.

Until nothing remains, not even the memory of what once was…

Chapter 24, Scene 5 – Mongruxx: WolfPac (Copyright 2018)

Thought Eighty Five

I am finding it harder to care about things. My time means more to me than a possession.  What we subjectively experience as time passing by, doesn’t really, it’s just our experience of this subjective reality. How our brain filters out the bulk of the input overload from our eyes, skin, taste, smell, etc. and puts together a picture that we “experience”. Then, even that is affected by how our body may be reacting to being hungry or stressed, or if we feel depressed or happy even…

It is a big stinking mess. It’s hardly fair to even call us conscious at all. If that’s what we are. Maybe we have moments of it, between feeling anxiousness, hunger, feeling threatened, aroused, etc.

Only in those moments of clarity when our turbulent minds are calm and placid, do we perhaps experience consciousness. As we expand ourselves and reach out to be something else. Most of the time we are not much better than animals. Like feral pigs rooting around in the dirt, snarling and arguing. Feeling fear and regret. Flinching away from the pains that surround us. The word conscious is a Latin word, meaning being aware or knowing. We are aware of ourselves internally and externally. But most of that is either external stimuli or our own internal stimulus.

I have met many people over my life, that had very little internal awareness of themselves. That actively chose to be externally focused. With no inner life what so ever. Like alligators sitting in a bog looking for their next meal.

Or a duck perched in a tree, where ducks are not supposed to be, but that would be fine with me, if a duck chose a tree, to see what it could see while trying to be, as happy as a duck could be while sitting in a tree.