life goes on and shit.. real natural

"Life goes on"

The words of many, and truer words cannot be said. There is a feeling that is real among all the fakeness, and in the eyes of storms who knows what can be beheld. No, perhaps no otherworldly message but, perhaps so. But one thing that we have been unable to find in our travels is an end to the whole show. Those who do seem to have found an end have left themselves behind, with no further explanation. Everywhere in every direction is heavenly existence, sweltering over a stove of cool vacuum and stars. The beings, yellow coated schoolgirls, trees made of plastic. None of them can point you in any advantageous direction. But the blunt keeps shortening, justs as our lives do, towards this elusive end, whispering to us in every goodbye and every departure. Every once in a while someone will appear who makes us not want it to end, or tells us the way to the end. But there have always been new beginnings after it all. So many new beginnings that a few have given up all hope and go beserk, following their basest desires and seeking no repentance. These people are enormously respected by some, and looked down upon by others. Secretly, perhaps they too have gone away and left themselves behind to live out the deepest desires of a world so tied into its old stuffiness. But in new beginnings there is always a new passion. A second chance at something great, something we can all enjoy. A world where all things are possible just by thinking them, where you can try if you want to, and if you would not want to, you would not have to. A world where participation is not neccesary, nor is it particularly encouraged. I wonder how we ever came to even imagine places that were not like this? With all the unused space in our minds that some people like to fill with religion and repetition of the visible facts, there is always that unforeseen wave working upon us, bringing change about, getting us into things we can't explain, taking us to places we never imagined, suddenly it is there and undeniable. We know nothing, but we don't need to know. Some people act nicely but we don't need to act. Lets just be nice, whatever that means to you, I am not sure. But life goes on either way. I started thinking of it as a kind of subdued orgy, subdued only because we may not have to energy to keep up the more intense states. But in that simple accepting moment where you realize you are in the corner of the room fully clothed while four couples unabashedly make love to eachother in ways both natural and utterly exotic. You realize you could take them off and join in, you also realize you could stay where you are and do nothing. The choice is yours, and that is the only true freedom. I was into buddhism at a young age, and I think I understood it a lot better then. I just imitated rafheeki from the Lion king and sat with my shirt off outside in peaceful places. Now it seems its become a matter of denying all that is real. All that is here. Of course it is not here, but that doesn't stop me from drinking water. Until it does, certain things should be disregarded. The outside and inside, with all their supposed differences. I laugh at them, with them. This is supposed to be an exercise in zazen, where the sitter has gotten up and began to write on her life. Life following its role and going on, leads me to state nothing over the songs of Jefferson Airplane and crave for respect and admiration from peers, the gods, science, and my own body. These things are all good, they protect me, and are important parts of any healthy life as alluded to in so many tea time conversations. But it took me some time to move past all that. Suddenly it didn't seem so bad to sit out in the alleyways and vibe with the rats, speak purely what I saw, elves and daffodils and this strange irrevocable desire that had been welling up in me to become a woman. But along that path where all those who seemed to have gone before and screamed back from miles ahead, that I was doing it wrong. Thus, I began to despise those old wrinkly faces who had spent only moments in my mind yet seemed to know so much more of my true nature. These were certainly not the teachers that I had sought so earnestly to learn from years ago, when I was only a grasshopper, when the bong and the pad and true love were all I cared for. Fucked up as I was, I was happy then, now the only thing I had was the possibility of a warm covered night. I left the rats to their dance but felt a certain sense of connection to them that before I had managed to ignore. Rats are people too. Some animal rights activist I had met a few months ago at a rally was saying something similar, and I didn't know whether to take her seriously or finish my chicken sandwich. The irony of it all was not that in a few months I would be a full fledged vegetarian, but that I would be talking to rats and trying to grok the eternal questions that plagued our society. And where were the hippies who were supposed to come and take us all away into their nirvana laden funny homes, in vans and on bicycles? Nothing seemed to be in its proper place, even cops said I seemed to belong in the 70s, whatever that was supposed to mean. But luckily, none of it all was too much, still I had the air and this whole poetry schtick to keep me on the trails of these ghosts who call out for me, and maybe it is just around the corner. The enlightenment that is everywhere. I had a few friends who would be entertaining enough, we understood eachother deeply yet still held distance. Some fear of another's ignorance of our love. Again, the orgy idea was tough to get past the babylonian system that didn't seem to even exist anymore, yet here we were paying it homage. After all, it was what kept us going all these years. Life goes on. I was trying ways to get my life back into some semi respectable condition, not having a job, not fucking with government flavoured insanity, I had consolation at least that I could die at any time should things hit the fan. In the mean time zen seemed to move me to my destiny among whoever. I was distraught for a while whether to call these people in their worldly roles or as the saints and sages that I knew them to be. But would I risk a reference to Kerouac and not delve into the new like a blind bat? I heard Allen Ginsberg or somebody echoing back. But what does I care? Just to tickle the mass with these lyrics massage. And build some kind of intuitive station of free will and peacable sharing that they all seem to like to say doesn't work. Well it also felt good not to give a fuck. And thats what led me on.

Theres only so much revolution that can occur from my little room and keyboard, looking out the window but maybe the woman who loves me can give me some advice, with her perfect friends and leaning into room thinking of new ways of saying this poem I had that never worked out in the end. I stopped trying, no need to take this beyond its true point. The ginger ale bottles rooted about made me feel at home more than anything. So I declared a new country, a place with no name. Suddenly all was gone. And I realized I was having a mystical experience and life was going on. It was corny, but whatever.. shit was mystical.

 

Life goes on because shit happens.

 

br0, can you please edit with paragraphs.

i hate to nag. but please.

 

paragraphs?

TAPS might help... but I can't remember what that stands for... time/action/place...subject?

 

weasel stocks pop...in the bar. walk right into one. ouch

i think you're on to something...

 

Well, y'know fools seldom differ (or read all the thread)

 

0o