12.30.09

There is no escape from destiny. No escape that is palatable. In the gutters of the world lay the geniuses, the mystics, the transformers, who feared, who shrank from their greatness. Perhaps that guru of 20 years ago who created a colony from beggars and drunks had the right idea. It is the scum of the earth that are the fallen, or descended gods. Awake! Awake! Awake!

All mean and women are gods. But they are sleeping. They are comatose. They are emasculated by fear. A religion comes to free them, but they turn freedom into a sash, then a belt, and then a straightjacket. Be Free! Be Free! Be Free! Ears be opened! Tongues loosened! Eyes opened! The blind, deaf and mute dominate our cultures. Just imagine a world of magicians, of mystics, of geniuses, of craftsmen and musicians and scientists greater than all that have come before combined. and then what? We shall flee to the stars, colonize, decay, and regrow, but we shall be the greater for it.

Let us be the greatest golden age of all golden ages! Let us turn Greece into a Silver age only. Perhaps we can leapfrog into an age of platinum. Whatever it is you desire, take it! Have it!

Walk, Peter. Along your path. Your time is coming, and soon. It is overtaking you.

I begin to understand what 'lack of mind' means. It is not lack of thought--rather higher thought. It is not lack of analysis or understanding or perception or decisive action. Rather, it is the transformation of parts of the common mind, their deification, and their slow removal from the center of mind. eventually, a super-mind or higher intelligence is born like a flashing, like a swirling white dwarf star--and then, what is left is a room left only with remnants, like fine pernicious dust, which must be swept away.

swept daily.

12.2.09

there is no sea wide enough
nor mountain high enough
nor desert dry enough
nor harem enticing enough
nor monastery quiet enough
nor career fulfilling enough
nor wife wonderful enough

to escape

to escape the truth that our lives are all wasted.
flowers that never opened completely or often enough.
trees that never reached their full height.
we are all failures. and one cannot escape the ashes in one's mouth.
ashes and fine sand. death!
the taste will never leave me. i feel that this is how god feels too, yet always also full of life.
he is the ghost of christmas present turning to ash while he laughs one last laugh.

but even though i am dieing and this is good, what of my wife, my children?
i must plow my field. you are dead anyway, might as well plow.