Friday, April 29, 2016

If I am not here where am I,

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  

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