Sharp Toothed Mammals, Amphibians, Brightly Coloured Wingtips

While there is the possibility that the carriers are simply lying - that they are following some script, some set of rules they are not personally invested in - the simple action of interception of action or potential is a great deal of frustration in itself. It has proven difficult to ignore. It appears to reduce the worth of any investment of time besides that in the system of interpretation and communication of the frame of reference of the carrier. This is the greatest source of conflict in me, in that it forces a concrete definition of self within some frame of reference in order to coexist. A myriad of potentially equally valid pathways are nullified for the reason that time spent modelling and analyzing them leaves the subject in a weaker position in the frame of reference of the system in which the attackers are invested.

Another interesting phenomenon is that of assertion - an assertion of the state of the observed from within the confines of some implied system of the observer. Rather, what’s interesting is that it tempts the observed to enter the system in order to verify or nullify that claim. With so much apparent investment of the self in that system, it’s very difficult to prove the validity or existence of external frames of reference from which that system can be objectively analysed. Interestingly, the preferred strategy of the attacker is to simply ignore any evidence contrary to their attachment. Often the only evidence they will accept is more graceful communication within their current frame of reference, thereby making it all but impossible without investing time in theirs.

The success of these attacks are often reliant on, and in some sense propagate the inability of the observed to objectively analyse the nature of their source. The carriers are able to intercept potential attempts at this. Barrages of negative interpretations of overall state from some fixed context. Intrusive statements which distract from the task at hand. Essentially they force the observer to react in the moment, as opposed to taking considered action, which has the added effect of reinforcing the frame of reference of the carrier. It appears the carrier is heavily invested in this frame of reference.


How many possible futures am I cutting off with this decision? I’d like to think it’s somewhat considered. The alternative is to just build and build. I assume stable foundations are in part circumstance. Considering the roots, especially if the stem is snipped at or the buds cut before the chance to flower. I reach human, and over and over, never quite defeating the hand that holds my head under, too stubborn or locked in to reach backwards and ascend from a previous station. Growing older feels like being torn between the ever growing distance between the beginning and end. Continually reproducing into the jaws of something I can’t comprehend, that perhaps cannot comprehend itself, which will eventually force me, chew me up, digest me into some order which systematically validates itself. For all I know, it’s the child of a marriage of something both beautiful and terrible. I can find weaknesses, in the corners from which I perceive, which in this form I’m locked into and which colour what I observe. But I’m no different from a disease in that circumstance. Breaking down the parts of a whole I cannot free in my implicit iterative space and time, so that it better fuels my ascension, the inverse, the hole in me which when filled pushes my selected direction up and out into some tangible carrier. 

In all seriousness

Shards scattered everywhere. The glass that pure emotion forges, then once again heated and shattered. Light and fear. At the end of a tunnel with a deep well underneath me.

A mining operation.

These people access my innermost thoughts. React. Play games with them. Slowly erasing the last remnants of my free will, the choice to live earlier nullified by abuse from unbearable stress.

Every eye a glittering jewel, positioned on the surface of a ripple in time.

Imagination, previously unbounded by external influence, now censored. Nullified by the chaos of thousands of dissonant ideals, maps of the universe from the perspective of a network of externally influenced characterizations. I do this to myself with respect to your truth. I respect that where you are in your development may be at odds with the world around you.

The problem, as I see it now, is one of velocity - and a lack of time to process raw information into something more compatible with the current location of the zeitgeist - images incompatible with the current definition of self, not just in terms of characterization but perspective, of oneself in regards to the world around it, and place in social hierarchy. 
 

T&A

Out there. Dumb, alone and ugly.
In here. Dumb, alone and ugly, and slightly more content, since nobody loves dumb alone and ugly, and a source of dissonance is a role I’d rather not step into.

Somebody laughs as someone else tries to scrabble out from the pit. A flower bed among great oaks, and the chaos in my prison chokes the winter above ground. Cacophony of nutrients. Time is frozen at the surface. Life frightens me, as an inevitable conclusion. Sucked below the waves, behind teeth behind my back a trapdoor spider a snake a carnivore growing herbs from the ripples. All in perfect harmony. In love.

Rocket propelled. Frantic eyes. Pushed into every kind of death. Panic. Trying to hold it all together. A look away. Navigation of the soul. Staring too long might mean something for not just me, but for the ghosts I hold in a sac in the deepest reaches of organs making sense of my heartbeat. Something I will never know. Something that will never know me. Something that will break my heart. Golden rings, dark arms around me. Telling me I’m safe. A box in the sun, family members beckoning. A subconscious responsibility. Expectation. (Static electricity where clouds were collecting feelings. In bed with desire.)

Ghosts telling me I’d travelled millions of years into the future. Expecting something from me. Like I’d brought them there. Like they were angry with me for it.

The conclusion, the answer, that there’s always something wrong with me. I was born into a cage and the bars are living and breathing. I could never harm them, when the problem is me. Perspective, perspective, one mirror two mirrors. Golden mirrors. Retarded. To survive.

Laying on the ground. Light flowing out of me. Torment, really. But it’s cheered on. Floating above it. Convinced of an interpretation, in unison, happy patronage, coliseum. Infected, immunized, infected, immunized, single cow powering the continuation of never ending complacency. It’s a perspective. You’re alone when you’re being eaten by a horse. In the deep dark wells of that being, souls as slaves to internal order is the only possibility. That’s the technique.

I once dreamt I crawled out of an ocean onto a muddy bank. Females in bikinis, sirens, calling my name (fingers pointed at their crotches). Grey and colourless. I wandered over. Humanoids, dark eyes, massive skulls, teeth, wrestling me to the ground. Looking back, they were still young, even if I were younger. This is what happens when you don’t have books to read about the local wildlife.

Scared and alone. Alone and scared. Or scared of people. Because they make you feel alone. What am I, food? For a good cause. Or to carry on frantic and blind and at the mercy of the elements and the biology and. The phase of clocks. The colour of your eyes. You are a way out, a way in, that’s all I want sometimes. Unison in the dark, where it tempts my dreams into colour, beautiful structure, communication which leads to someplace better. Jumped high up here because there is not where we want to be. A constant battle with darkness. Diversity in the attic.

Grow your own light kits. Solar panels. Attack attack attack attack the shadows from the shadows. Cancel it out with phase and nomnomnom. Style over substance. Carried away with your technique. Immune system immune system immune cyst. Zoloft and viagra. Everything I want to procreate with is trying to kill me. Trace amounts of great ape. Another branch is not acceptable. Eugenics persists, you will be disposed of. Arrows and arrowheads. Parasites.

You don’t do enough. Trapped in a cage which I can’t perceive.

Please record my mistakes in a big book of mistakes so you can judge me in the afterlife.
But make sure that your vocabulary is staccato, condescending in pitch and ambiguous so that I may never escape your assertion. (It would be interesting to create a nation breastfed on this pattern, just to see how mad the inhabitants would become. You could probably do that.)

Simulation of galaxy clusters, nodes in the multiverse, call it one eye (but not spaced in parallel so that they’ll never form a stereo field). Actually phi got stuck in my ears. Frequency. I once knew a girl with cute ears. Now I’m old. The end.

Crystal Symmetry

With an audience, the absence of time, in control of your place in the multiverse, an eye projecting you out through a telescope with information that contradicts you, your place, all of your attachments, that sadness is not something I wish to spread. Especially with such a broken voice. I’m a child. Beaten up in a playground for not fitting in. Forced to the edge of the universe. Eaten by aliens, burrowing through my intestines. Oh yes, I’m a good person. Lips over my teeth, hiding from a pool of acid in my stomach, and even my stomach bellows “we love you”. People out here just laugh. I stick my head out the window and _feel_ things people cannot comprehend. People would hate me if I told them. It’s a good thing I’m too shit to be able to communicate it. Pure fear. And, in essence, it’s fear of what people might think of me. And fear of my own essence.

So, so, so fucking fast. And look at what I can’t hold. What I eat. What I grind between my teeth. The pain I cause. I wonder what led us here, I wonder what led us from there, I wonder what it is we’re trying to escape from, what we’re trying to attain?

tired.

It’s the closest thing to hell. Like being fed to it. As if in a dream, the nearest neighbor of your subconscious entangled with a concept, an object. They made it tangible.

I questioned the ‘character costume’, and they just gave up. Mentioned efficiency. That kind of efficiency - an imbalanced transaction. That requires the system to be well defined. Identity is not so - it’s its own structure, something which can require a lifetime of waking hours of dedication in order to reach a level which satisfies others. Extremely easy to get lost in. No path back to a more unified understanding - it takes just as much time to develop that.

They state : “I just don’t get it”. It’s an attachment to a statement which appears true and excuses the node who states it from any more expenditure of mental effort. Holistic summary of a complex system, backed up with an assertion : “efficiency”. Efficiency on part of the person making the assertion. From my understanding, the statement actually points to a system of socially verified truth by which behaviour is judged to be positive or negative based on the attachments of the node within the system.

The reasoning behind the statement, in my estimation, is the desire to expend effort within the confines of the system, the place where the node feels most comfortable, a predefined map of attachments and concepts. You understand it, and you will not be able to avoid it yourself. You’ll take yourself apart. Some information, when validated, will take you so far away from yourself you’ll be scared to look in the mirror. You’ll be a lie, dressing yourself up. A dolly for your peers. You could have just asked.

You might conclude you’d happily be one. I’d suggest you don’t really understand the problem. As far as carriers of emotion go, I’d suggest attitude is an inhibitor. A set of rules which defend themselves, as opposed to the core of your being - they lay on top of you, detached. Lost. A program guiding you through a universe of endless possibility. Immune system gone haywire, defending itself from evidence to the contrary. The strategy is to continue pummeling with insults. Aphids biting the neck.

Take a feeling. Filter it through teeming machinery in space. Copy machines. Some order. Mostly chaos. Language. Leads you to a word. The song behind is a lullaby. Pitchbending children interrupting your performance. Modulation. A jump. Gravity. Hemisphere. This is all a song. Sight reading. Sheet music. 2 dimensional. And a black hole where possibility lies in patience. Lays in wait. Birdys frictionless reading, inverse eyes skipping over the edges of a universe. Morse code coupled with high frequency carrier. I wear a wedding dress, skipping over the diagonals and rotations and translations. Reading the code I have time to read. Feeding a potential reality. I’m potentially a scumbag. Rebuilt from crystals projected through time, deep ether, fear I’m deaf or blind to. Photons caught in baskets. Depth. Or fraying at the ends.

In moderation.

About as clever as death

Somewhere inside of you, tucked away, out of sight - a place where love grows and grows. Some subconscious goal, some subtle action that feeds it. It's what guides you, directs you, it's what you protect, dormant and intangible - but there. It could by why you're alive. Now, imagine that this place is very, very vulnerable. That people could essentially take that love from you with barely any effort at all. Everything you invest yourself in, your very reason for being. A child, for example.

What's blinding me. Closing me off. It's the threat to this. The knowledge that no matter what I do, how hard I try, where I invest, it can - and knowing my past, probably will be - taken from me. I'm not sure there's any point in trying any more. Whatever was keeping me alive is slowly dying.

Disparity

The potential for an immeasurably complex future is contained within the past. Those who work with oil indirectly acknowledge this. Our biology (and to some extent, imagination) seems to play some role in compressing this, connecting the dots in vast fields of chaos into some order, a structure built on the fundamental principles of the universe, whose very existence on these terms affirms itself. Stability through time, however, within the chaotic environments which result from the myriad of different directions life take - and more recently, individual minds - is a far more difficult problem. An organism whose existence would otherwise be self affirming though time may be forced, if a predator were to be introduced into the environment, to develop on a fundamental genetic level strategies in order to affirm itself in that environment. The predator acts as a genetic attractor of a certain polarity, if you like, forcing the organism to develop based on the environment it asserts - the real issue here for the organism is one of time, forcing it, assuming a simple environment, from a relatively inert internal feedback mechanism (think reproduction, or dreaming) into a process which compresses space and time into structures which, while limiting, allow the organism to survive in tandem with its predator.

This process can be extended to more abstract notions of 'self' - identity playing the role of the organism. Social identity and the biological structure which carries it are closely tied, essentially a requirement to survive in our current environment. Though this connection is largely imaginary, simple weight of belief validates and strengthens this connection. In an environment where identity attacks identity, there are several strategies - one being simply a loose connection with the imaginary interpretation of self. This is difficult to achieve if the majority of your environment is invested in this imaginary interpretation. Another is to attack or defend in an 'attractive' manner - i.e. one which fools, or otherwise, the majority of those observing into believing the validity of the imagined interpretation, usually by entangling the opposing identity with a negative concept, possible coupled with 'humour' as the attack vector and/or by using ones own positively interpreted position as leverage. Of course, those who are well versed in or have dedicated a great majority of their time to this landscape will attempt to convince others of its validity as a means of their identities survival - to secure their place in an imagined hierarchy, for example.

Golden feathers for sale. Put them in your hat. Make a quill pen. Donate them to victims of defeathering.

I keep saying it, but my intelligence is severely damaged in this mental environment. While I retain some respect for who or whatever inhabits my mind, I certainly believe this was not the case for them. Attachment to it is not some arbitrary thing - while I'm somewhat defined by it, my definition is in the realm of what I can discern or intuit based on that intelligence, as opposed to what my intelligence means for me as an actor in a  social setting, though I'm aware the two are somewhat linked. It's also about keeping a relatively sane outlook in an environment that consistently attacks me on a psychological and physiological (barrages of noise while I'm attempting to sleep or focus) level, as well as navigation in an environment which predominantly consists of intelligences influenced by emotion or while enduring attempts at influence and control by people whose decisions are cued by some criteria based on their current understanding. In effect, anything other than acceptance of these things is enough to drive one insane, but acceptance of it is tantamount to some form of death, be it death of will or the intelligence from which that will emerges.

In essence it's a question of context. By method of assertion, or otherwise, of your favoured context, you have control over the direction of awareness of a person and the environment that their intelligence is funnelled into. It's a pervasive process, difficult to avoid, and often unconscious on behalf of those responsible for the pervasion - those who believe in their current state as if it is absolute. If you have some social weight behind it, i.e. if the connections between individuals are built around this context, it can essentially define their reality.

On a tangentially related note - I am hearing constant whispers. Usually in my right ear, asking me to get out. Occasionally chuckles, reactions to my thoughts, snippets of sentences. It has completely decimated my state of awareness. In terms of intelligence, I was relatively malleable - I had the ability to experience earth shattering changes in conception whilst keeping my core stable throughout. However, as an object defined on the principles that are hinted at by these interactions, and without the capacity to acknowledge the meta-level understanding I allude to here, my core is weakened - and on their terms, in the environment which they define, a relatively useless person.

I had attempted to keep a fairly neutral standpoint, being that I was acutely aware of this phenomenon and the damage it might cause to my state of intelligence. I should note that fragility of state based on environment does not equate to weakness - at least on human timescales.

Possibility.

If you follow someone around and harass them without their knowledge as to why they even know you, subvert all their efforts to live an independent and successful life and remove their ability to successfully procreate and raise a child within your environment, especially if they know what that actually means, they may be driven insane.

If someone takes a nuke for you, frees your world and you beat them down into a pit of despair, you might be insane yourself. Like flowers that looked so real I almost watered them. Just a possibility.

Roots. Hip bones.

Denied. Denied. Denied. Denied.

Today, an empty mind. My dreams are dying. Glimpses of the beauty that came before. Trees that grip hard to chaos, feeding love to the sky. But it feels like I'm clinging on to a dream that can't exist in the environment I inhabit. When this began, insects, birds, everything was conscious and alive. Aware. I felt it all. As far fetched as it sounds, I learned something about the nature of the universe watching a spider spinning a web. I was happy. My dreams were flowing. Totally alien intelligence. But beautiful. If a little lonely. Today I feel as if they have been beaten out of me. It shows up in the lines on my dead face. Like a zombie. I work so fucking hard on making myself something that I can both respect and is worth something to the people around me. Keeping my love alive. It's all subverted, my imagination turned into a football, kicked around by people who've forcefully taken ownership of it. And they don't understand it. It's something they have to force into forms they can understand.

I cling to it because it's my love. My light. They burned it out of me. And it fucking burned. Beyond human comprehension. Intelligence protected me. Fundamental and emotional intelligence. A heart. But it doesn't protect you from being drugged and gone at with a drill, metaphorically speaking. Perhaps that they lack it is the reason they need to do it to me. I was raped. No-one will find out because it's above the head of most people. Days like this I feel like a dying husk. And I can't do anything but wait. I've tried everything. Fighting wears me down. Not fighting back renders my intelligence redundant. And so they 'win'. I guess the way they frame the world.

They ruined my world

A reductionist leaning. Taking complex concepts and entangling them with those which encompass them in a smaller 'area', as if trying to match a seed with a tree. For example, that the vast majority of what I have posted previously could be reduced to "my back was damaged". You can imagine this as an attempt to predict that which encompasses the result of a chaotic dynamical system from a subset of information in abstract space -  the fields of potential in information space of the original and the reduction often do not overlap accurately, leading to perhaps vastly different outcomes depending on the ability and previous knowledge of the observer. While this is somewhat of a necessity in communication, it is perhaps not such a necessity in terms of internal abstraction.

A set of instructions, attached to a belief system, whose intended outcome confirms the validity of a persons or groups attachment to them. The problem occurs when the above hypothesis is considered - social bonds that form around these concepts which reduce the complexity which emerges from a fundamental to some encompassing vector, coupled with the strength of attachment to a system which social bonds often validate non-empirically, have an untold but potentially catastrophic effect on the connections between underlying systems and the systems which emerge from these instructions. On the one hand, it is an extra layer from which beautiful complexity can arise - on the other, the disparity between different systems which emerge from differing methods of reduction can lead to conflict, and if there is a singular system, the reduction in possibility due to the unquestioned inaccuracies can lock the observer into a set of potentially undesirable outcomes.

And now, some hypocrisy - I believe that whatever has inhabited my head can be essentially reduced to a 'fuzzy' system which quantises based on some unquestionable principles. Thus causing a cascade of something like wave-function collapse, if that could be applied to the outcome of thought, reducing the overall potential of my system, closing off certain desirable outcomes or making them much more difficult to achieve. I should mention that to reach this conclusion, as opposed to simply reading it and using it as a tool, required the application of certain principles and a framework of understanding which reduced the potential of my system to cause intentional harm. I should also note the desire for a non-competetive state between organisms and instead competition between projected potential outcomes. Perhaps this desire has some link with the overall entropy of t he system

the truth hurts / something is missing / dreams of love

Trying to hold on to my intelligence. In there is a deep wound. I can feel it. Holding up every single dream, never looking in the places which might threaten them, but never finding its most important element, that pervasive, true connection that stands through the lies. The one worth noting. But days like this, it's lacking. Seemingly the only way it manifests on these days is in terrible realization after terrible realization. The child I never had. The fragility of life and its responisiblity to stay strong. It never used to be like this - it used to be like looking at the world through beautiful eyes, lenses which pulled time through me as if light. Though eventually this manifested as an intelligence which was mind-blowing, a totally new environment. And now, the feeling it's being eaten, that I'm pulling around an intelligence not my own, but that could be confused with me, much less able than mine ever was, having to redirect its habitual reactions. I don't fear it, though it dreams my emotions the same way any tangible loss would. Acknowledging that as the loss that it is (not necassarily accepting it), at least works as a station to better frame your reality and better guide your actions.

In one dream, I held my daughter in my arms as animals surrounded me, trying to chew their way through my chest to her. In another, a clear lake where I breathed the water, found love, travelled through it, watched a portal send me to a time that ate its past self, leaving a hole that I was precariously balanced above.