I feel the vertigo.
I am trying to anchor in this idea
of being.
I am trying to shed
personhood.
The machine of the brain comprehending
is all a body is.
A body is the arbitrary source code
of genetics.
The true matrix is not just the world
or the atomic universe.
Well it is, but the true way to
access comprehending the matrix
Is to understand one’s body is the
matrix.
The source code is one’s genetic
assembly.
The machine conducting human
perception is not so much an enemy,
But a machine operating inside a
systematic web of illusion
Evolved in the source code of what
one is as part of the atomic universe.
Becoming conscious of this has me,
Distancing consciousness from my
machine brain (i.e. the ego).
To participate in the human exchanges
on a surface level instigates a level of trauma.
Rattles, I see the layers, subtext
mathematics in basic placeholders serving as symbols.
A computer, an orange on a grocery
shelf.
“How is it going?”
“My daughter had her confirmation. She’s a junior, not graduating yet,”
Seeing societal construction of
worries, fears, tasks, basic come to work paycheck with fish eyes.
Ant’s pheromone nature of instinct
in iPhones.
Bucking consciousness.
[escape], but knowing there is
nowhere else to be,
But in this machine as the idea of
me.
Not that I want to be another
person.
The idea of segmentation is
arbitrary, illusionary.
The idea of I do not exist in any
of the paradigms child assumed were real.
None of this I am touching or
serving is real.
Panicking and calming meditating in
cycles of consciousness.
Want deeper and oblivion.
Want lost comfort in
ignorance. I
Want to have like sugar or being
intimate or a surface level to extract brain pressure and be good, but
That quit working.
I am like an addict understanding
none of the drugs work.
Deep awareness in love, sex, and
human contact of going to and exploring that internal place together.
I want to cultivate that and have
failed horrendously.
The inability to operate on the
surface anymore or even to some extent prevents the spark.
I felt becoming a farce of the
machine of brain of the paradox of the matrix enveloping the whole deal of
being consumed by the tentacles and layers of breathing the Jello in whole
throat.
Balance.
This is a rabbit hole.
No one would openly choose to enter
if they were aware of the cost.
Body to touch, hand to hold, lips
to kiss, lungs to breathe with…
If it wasn’t for survival of the
vehicle almost all human behavior would be altered or eliminated.
Thus most of what people do is arbitrary
and impertinent to what reality and existence actually are.
We are love, as basic an idea as it gets, god-juice, energy, love in conveyance
Independent of the atomic as one shifting our perception of illusionary barriers of segmentation
We hunger for the flow, sometimes enraptured in the encapsulation of a pill-casing termed identity
Of other, of self, of friend, of lover, of family, of enemy
But the unbound is one love swishing inside itself,
That is what we are
We are love, as basic an idea as it gets, god-juice, energy, love in conveyance
Independent of the atomic as one shifting our perception of illusionary barriers of segmentation
We hunger for the flow, sometimes enraptured in the encapsulation of a pill-casing termed identity
Of other, of self, of friend, of lover, of family, of enemy
But the unbound is one love swishing inside itself,
That is what we are
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