Contentment

I thought wisdom lay in my optimism, but only the forgetful are happy. It is the wise who are content to live each day as it comes neither uplifting nor diminishing those around them. I cannot believe that happiness lies serving all of mankind. It is a perversion this “godliness”, this incessant desire to tame and protect all that can and all that will harm man. What of those plants and animals who die living through the course of that particular form of being. If you truly see we are immortal, consuming and being consumed by each other living forever as the wind, the star and the little peel of orange.

How is anyone to say that collective happiness is the most excellent form of eudemonia?

How can anyone presume that this will bring to fruition any form of equality?

All these are only means to approach equality and they may be farther or closer to equality than each other but by no means are they equality. Our instincts are not yet dead, our wisdom not yet expunged to see that these are truthlikeness and not the truth itself. To be in the midst of life and see that it is not the world and I but that the world and I are just two aspects of the same thing, two planes of a singular object is the art of living. Cry not, laugh not, pain not and you will see a vivid beauty the likes of which you can rarely see otherwise. To understand that the source of these comforts and discomforts is us, ourself and therefore cease to entertain them thereafter is the greatest gift one can give to oneself. This is wisdom, I have come to see and now I must let go. Imagine then what we might do by not doing anything. What beings we might be? I can see it. I can feel it. I will go there now.

Slowly.

Ever so slowly.

Far Away

What do I do?

He went on stuffing his face. I hit him. He brushed off all the crumbs on him and turned to me and said, “You already know what you are going to do.”

He takes my hands. And then folds them.

After this he leaves.

Even in my fantasies I am not brave. I cannot be happy in make-believe. I want to. I want to. Can you see how much I crave? Every day I crave. There is a hole in my heart and no end to craving. There is hope only in contentment. Contentment is what I want.

To be content; that is my dream, not happiness.

I am done with it. Content is to know that this, right now, is someone’s perfection an even if not so – it matters not.

The Gita tells us to realize that we are god. Think about it. If you take into account how much you can truly and do affect the world you would not deny that you are a god. Every particles of our being tells us that we are special and every construct in our head with the voice of society, whatever that is, tells us we are not. Get rid of that voice and you will not need a revolution. You are free from everything but your mind. It clings to itself that is me that is I for safety. Hold it and teach it to let go and see. Feel. Hear. Taste. Smell. And then sleep. Everlasting sleep.

The Theory of Many Selves III

I wave past her dismal attempts at politeness, niceness and manners. All i see now is the cupidity. Presented with that exterior even the kindest of persons might be stirred to anger. It is true we inherit the loves and hates of our parents just as they share in our joy and sorrow. My anger I realize is in part from them; they who shall unnamed. I can see her and myself. She is so child-like. Why is it so? Is it that when we are youthful and full of vitality like butter, golden and so alluring that we forget how fragile we have always been and will continue to be. Is that what I really despise or is it because she is so fucking annoying? And then I see it; the golden afternoon truth that she lacks only the means to reach my head through words but our hearts are strong and much passess therein which we may choose to ignore only at our peril.
I am of the opinion that we are comprised of more than one self and that if we are not careful then one day the self that dwells closest to the surface innuring us to life will be struck down as tyrants all over are, and then justice shall roll down like water and righteousness like an everlasting stream. It is to you, no, I that I speak too.

The Story

"What are you angry about?" I asked.

You refuse to touch me, why?

"It is my shame which prevents me, I love you, i do!"

That's not an explanation.

"No, it is not. I ... cannot undo it but I, shit ..."

What?

And there against the sun he leaned forward and hugged him. And what could not be set right by words was once again as dust in the wind.

Sweet honeyed sleep

So I have hit a bottom. It is surmountable but I need new old things. I need them desperately. I have none of my spark left. I am diminished.
Already I feel exhausted writing this. It is done. The year is over and not a moment too soon. Okay I would prefer it end now. That’s all.

I suppose a blowjob on the terrace would be nice.

Au revoir.

One Missed Call

Well I did my job,

I did it well.

I know I’m four hours late.

If you think about it

We aren’t built for those,

Those manners or woes

But to get through every day

Feeling better than before. 

Well I did my job

I did it well,

I know I’m four hours late. 

But can’t you see

Its stifling me

Killing every piece,

Piece of my sanity

And no it’s not me

It’s them.

Smell

I smell him every day, his scent is so tingly there, right there, near my heart. It has come to represent not him but that which I wish would take me up in its arms and kiss me forever.

Am I lonely?

No, that is not true. I simply crave for it every time I smell him. Wave after wave crashing upon me calling out to him, desperate in its desire but I know once he is mine I will be alright but so much more that I will shine not only for me but the rest of the cosmos.

So kiss me.

Or not. You never even saw me did you?