LLTNF!

"its nothingness precisely its everythingness" - Sodō

[pennysparrows]

Fame is a cannibal Janus that devours on one end and shits out pedant ethos on the other.

[pennysparrows]

Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

- T.S. Eliot

[pennysparrows]

In the old days, people thought they were gonna live forever, not because of the magic of life, but because of the magic of death.

[pennysparrows]

Painless peace in distant things. A fire that lights the ages. A fire clean of the mind. It watches. It lights the toil. It makes me look up.

They point to the pit of my misery and tell me to dig. The pit, they say, is real. Is natural. They point to its deepest part and assure me its buried, burdensome, black reality is beautiful. Because it is the only thing. No faith, no law, no story. Just deep real, done digging in a pit. Bathing our heads with it. Cruel and ugly. Be certain. Story is not the window. Story is the bars over the window. Sickened, damaged and damned. They want you you to believe - not to believe.

But I see light and know they are liars. Their belief is a business. I reject it, and so am nullified to a degree of non-existence. And who is grateful for this? I am. I am learning to be grateful.

[pennysparrows]

They want you to be certain - story is not the window, but is the bars over the window.

[pennysparrows]

Brought low before it, humbled. Grateful to know this insignificance - brought so close to nothing as to be made whole. To be brought back to the universal threshold, where the individual gets glimpses of totality. Each day I die this way. Erased. Eased out of my frustrations, my bitter resentments - carried inside of me an enormity. A thousand voices prowling like a pained wind, pronouncing my worth as null, devouring purpose. Buried alive in voices buried alive. Beneath a bad X, in a cursed grove.

But I am able to turn my head from this tomb - pierced with light. Like a train coming through the dead of night, bending down directly upon me, through the naked branches of a desolated wood. It begins filling my eye, becoming my eye. This light.

[pennysparrows]

Eventide. Chthonic psychopomp. Lead me on beyond the line of the horizon. I don't know these people. I did not come with them. Birds are traveling west now. I've penned my letter in the sand of my life. It is a fair letter, and none will remember it. We've done away with honoring the ancestors because there is “I”. And mediocrity - a life plainly lived, creating a hieroglyphic figure of toil, as plain as any tree trying to reach up toward light - warrants no remembrance to these “I” people. No solemnity permitted at the banquet.

I dissolve, forgetting. Unbound in baptismal each day. The unbound - the body the bonds against which I strain. Ecstasy situated in the body reaches beyond, if it doesn't its intent is almost murderous. Celebrating and reveling over the throes of a dying thing.

Twilight rider make me undone. I will wait at each one. A lookout of dayend. Looking for my horizon.

[pennysparrows]

How is it possible to feel so impoverished when faced with such splendor? Don't ask the mind. Trust your eyes. If you can see to see, give your eyes to the blue of the sky, to the setting of the sun, to a single blade of grass. How much greater these things are than our troubles. Only for a little while. The struggle may be, only for a little while.

I like the things that will outlast us. Scientism takes all its innovation as meaning. I take the blade of grass. It is all cave art compared to the blade of grass. Your emotion and sensation cut both ways. While you play, a great deal more suffer. You do not get to say “yes” for them as you have been for centuries. Putting them to use for your pleasure.

I chose to tend my own garden, quietly, and with my back turned.

[pennysparrows]

How is it possible to feel so impoverished when faced with such splendor?

[pennysparrows]

We live in a world where the one who demands a mirror the loudest prevails

[pennysparrows]

The happy ending in our day has become that you move to NYC and go to arts school.

[pennysparrows]

Breathe, give it away.

It waits like a solemn oath to accept all your misgivings. Your heart - give it your heart. You will feel it yearn toward the light. Extend itself. The heart's cathedral gorgeously illumined with light, every filigree touched with gold - lighting up with marquee resplendence, like a warming wealth staggering one with its sensuous remedy.

I'm seen. I'm forgiven. There is a place to repair to. It isn't all hidden and obscured by talk. There is truth at hand - an unbelievable balm to the back of my beaten down head, lifting it to the flood of uplifting light. It gives freely, asking nothing.

Presence in eternity is what it imparts. And knowing it once is not enough - Eternity. We must return to eternity. Make our lives a returning to eternity. Anything else is just whistling in the tomb.

[pennysparrows]

You think the body carries the world, but some of us just like the meditative aspect of life.

[pennysparrows]

All bleak dreaming laid to rest, all headed to the west. I give it away with gratitude, astounded that something wants it - and burns all its inward ravening, turning and toiling - like a parasite titan baking in my insides - burns it away as simply as a bird turning its wing to spiral free with ease and play upon the air. Healed as if by a laying on of hands. Wounds carried away, undone in sun - dust to dust. To the infinite array onbidding before me.

Regality, no bodhi necessary. I dream backward toward beginnings. I dream in the ease of the sea of dreaming backwards, and I almost sleep. But I am a character of light, an ideogram of it. This language that is one, is one of its own - a character caught in the semiology of an infinite novel. A shadow as signifier, playing its part as symbol seeking signified.

To be burned clean of the word. This word, our lives.

[pennysparrows]

In the very moment of transgression there is truly nothing to stop us. This experience is akin to godhood for some.

Watch out for them.

[pennysparrows]

I'm against it.

- Ramones

[pennysparrows]

Who will cure human being of human being?

If you tried to cut that part out of it, it would no longer be itself and would die. But we must endeavor and improve - to reach what the silent and compassionate have known for centuries.

No.

Have your arguments. Save those who have already saved themselves by enslaving them further and binding them closer to your folly.

The corrective and the problem can not be one and the same. But ask them to quit "fixing" it and watch them react by desperately trying to fix the "fixing".

Those who abide are steered to disaster by those who "do".

The name they are attempting to name will never satisfy them, for it is not their own name. And there will never be enough names for them to ever fully name the extent of their folly.