But can the universe think about you? You could believe that it thinks nothing about you, that it doesn’t recognize you.
But you must remember that from the beginning of this universe, and all the universes it contains, you specifically, precisely, were brought into existence, every atom is arranged in just such a way as to become exactly your personality and your freckles and your secret dreams, everything all at once, for all time in all directions, is connected.
It’s not the universe which doesn’t see you… it’s you. Better recognize. Look in the mirror. And by that I mean look around. You’re everywhere! You’re a superstar, a supernova, you’re blowing up! You can be seen across time and space, expanding, growing up.
You’re a star, you’re the Sun. Sol. Soul.
There’s a whole solar system around you. A speck of dust in your orbit has life bursting forth from cracks in the thin film of dried rock. What that life thinks of you, if it worships you, if it hides itself from your explosive integrity, it doesn’t matter to you. You’re not aware of it, not the way that life is aware of you.
We live in meaning
Surrounding us but not beyond
Calcified Krystle’s bathtub rings
Autocorrected my crystals
to a possessive feminine
Authority entitled to everything
Whatever it meant to me
The truth of what I see
Shares held space with
The truth of what you see
Locality and layering
Coats of paint are not a building
The foundation equality of being
Residue of everything true
The purpose of man is two:
Make more of you.
What is left of life
What did you do
It is like something
To be the crust
The husk of trust
The skin of the pudding
Herniated disks exploding
The relativistic speed of us
At the edge about to pop
Stretched to infinity
And the second thing
Is stick together
if life matters
as always or never
#1 — Do nothing.
Do a lot of it. All the time. Why hit the brakes when you can simply let your hands fall to your lap and prepare to receive the wall you cannot avoid, not anymore, not at this speed and course. Don’t inhale or exhale, but don’t hold your breath either. Now what? Whatever it is, it’s key.
#2 — Do something.
Something is better than nothing. More than something, because more is better, sometimes. This might be one of those times. One is the fewest things you can do to qualify for completing this task. It starts with one, Chester.
#3 — Do everything.
More is better, and since everything is the most more there is, it’s the most better you can get. Even the betterest aren’t the best because everything has problems. Hey, stick around for the good news! With new problems coming in every day, there’s no time to be bothered by the old problems. Feel pathetic, unhealthy and weak? That one pushup wreck you bruh? Try going to the gym with someone way fitter than you which would be a cinch, then take a hot yoga, run a couple ultra marathons, become SuperBowl MVP and heavyweight champion in every martial art; start now and never finish.
#4 — Do one thing.
Done with all your might and passion, all your courage and conviction, every word and gesture, every moment and material component will embody one purpose. Making music turns you on? No matter what you do, if you’re never not making music, you’re really only doing one thing all the time.
Perhaps your purpose is to keep life going. Not just for you, since that’s not how this all works. If your purpose is life then you’ll drive not to a destination but to preserve life. With a single criterion, results will be singular. Babe Ruth batted for home runs, not average, not technique or tactic. Aiming is correlated to achievement. Enough advice?
#5 — Ignore all advice.
Go rogue. You’re a maverick. The first of a kind. Nobody has ever played the role of you before. This is all new, so their maps might be to entirely different territory, or they might knowingly give you false directions. So, whether you take a sock of quarters to the face, the wealth of nations through the stock market, or a mere penny for your thoughts, experience is cash you can spend again and again, donate and still keep the change.
#6 — Question yourself.
It’s a meditative exercise to think about where your thoughts, your principles, your preferences all come from. Do you like spicy food? Is that really your idea? Did you decide to like it or are you merely reporting an internal state of consciousness; pleasure when you consume ghost peppers? Do you have the idea or does the idea have you? Track down who you heard it from, find out what podcast, and then the source material, and discover where it was collected from, research the author’s life, and before long you’ll realize that you can’t ignore anything. Everything you think and do is built upon not only the shoulders of giants but the structural remains—reverberations of consciousness—in the artifacts of one peculiar species of primate on this planet, underpinned by the great unknown, where there is a universe, a sort of background which creates stars like our sun, that create the planet which creates the plants which create the primates which create the ideas which create experience which feeds back into the loop as what we perceive as actions, our creations are as echoes, not a new voice responding to the original.
Emotional wrecks heap up on either side of the great divide of pride and point fingers at the other side. You lied no you lied no…
One finger shames, three point back to you. What you think it is is not what it is it’s what you say it is is not what it is, it is what it is and since it’s not a name, you’re not wrong all the way, since what you say is real… speaking of speaking, so to speak.
Why don’t we play a new game? Every one of us knows it by heart, you make the rules that apply to you, and tell the truth. But what if, you read lips and after taxes…
The fix is to do what you say, and say what you mean, because one thing leads to another, and the word becomes flesh and flesh becomes light, and steps on the stones.
Try to put civilization on skids, lay a new foundation and pray it fits, well, it sits but it’s the details we miss and we kiss our dumb asses goodbye when the big one hits.
We’re safe for a bit, but we’ve got to keep moving or call it quits, cash in your chips where the house always wins, be not afraid to step out of the valley of sins and repent, lather, rinse and repeat.
Do it for the kids. Oh speaking of which, Miss Givings and Ms. Carrage, have you been bullied and badgered and hounded, nagged and bagged on by a crowd of cowards, empowered by a pyramid scheme that stole all your spare hours, seized in a fever dream of eminent domain wolf blitz in sheep dip new media smoke screen?
No? Well it’s time for some answers, after these messages from our handlers: you cast the first stone, you rile the panthers, you dig in your heels, next come the panzers.
The infinite universe is apprehended through the compression algorithm derived by multiplexing peripheral input of limited array of spectrophotometers, mass spectrometers, pressure plates and gyroscopes, honey whether you do or you don’t believe, we can at least agree, something mysterious in each one of us, something dangerous and petty, violent if necessary, perverted and unsanitary, vestigial and involuntary, pentangular plenipotentiary to enemy territory, the immortal and the way of the monastery beckoning back to the caves and trees, in the dark ages, the shaded places of history whereby many peaceful graces worked the land with fellow hand and hand far from the walled and wicked cities, filth and grime in every crevice, paved with misery, lapping up luxuries but dumpster dive for decency, disposable identities, life-size cardboard intimacy, in a grand sort of Ad hominem fallacy, prithee praytell what in the living hell is the moral of this droll and dilatory postmodern tribalist twenty-four hour newsrecycling convenience story, a cultural no-go zone of sedimentary slaves in existential promontory?
Never underestimate anyone.
Life exists and that’s proof enough it is more powerful than death. And even if life is extinguished completely, never to return, and yet it does, popping up in a new form, lovers over dinner and intellectual banter, cicadas on biochemical dimmer switches, watermelon jolly ranchers and dissolving stitches, we are always coming back together, we are always building bridges. Artisans of scorched wood, thermite charged with playing a peaceful corpse in the world premiere production of united dominations, see it first or see it last, you will see as the sinister mob sees with hidden fees and unpaid dues for dividends in arrears for years and forgive us for we know not what we do to hit continue one more time of all the twitching lines that seemed ripe until the first bite and it’s rotten inside the beautiful hide you ride or fly in a lie of the emperor’s new clothes, truth is contagious share the wealth of our ancestors table scraps of a feast from a fable in a fairy tale castle and weddings like funerals conveyors of coffins dance on like ducklings into the sewer later or sooner it’s beads on a skewer or a calculator, what’s useful gets used up without remainder. A brown butcher paper flap creased along its center of mass, died twelve thousand and seventeen meters later in a bionic bird nest.
The veiled one replied,
And who wouldn’t be proud of me?
An atmosphere of polka dots of
Light bent on gravitational waves
Within a vast ineffable folded space
Some degrees north of an asteroid
Belt held her nebulae in place
Beneath a sulfuric acid sky.
There is no weave, no hue devised
What can hide divine form from the mind.
Even the deepest blackest masses
Yield their truth with backstage passes
All in their own due time.
It’s just a little ways
I said to make the 6:58.
Stopped once along the way by
Stutter steps and heavy breath
With diesel passing on the left.
Three chums into the boxy whale
Before I scarce could catch its tail
And mouth agape it kindly waits
To catch me in the baleen seats
Along its windowed flanks
Only to spit me out about
Twenty-some odd times a week.
Been awake awhile now
While most are still asleep.
I could regret about everything
But I haven’t got the time.
I’m not the strongest link
The weakest or the richest soil
To grow a crop of human
If you hold on to your pride,
My name is gratitude,
I will remember you.
You oh my beloved are the unredeemable sickest sadistic and twisted worst thing ever.
You are the holocaust and the survivor at one such time or another.
You are the ancient all mother, the eternal concept of the father.
You are the simple sisters, the brotherhood of ever, the comic tricksters.
Not always on the same side as the good guys, but most days while
our history is maddening just managing a smile without the customary grime is amaze.
A lot more than crime exists, for us to say it doesn’t pay or is useless,
it does pay, look at Wall St., New York Style puff piece buzzing in the postmodern way,
politics a noose for inconvenient truth, a trap set for the muddled youth
let loose over rumbling volcanic vents voluntarily vomiting out violence
shaking the momentary myopic myelin sheath of parallel peace
Haves and the Have-Nots have got to stand up with spine and thrust
against the spears of the nail salon clade before they can upgrade
the hypergamous tirades, the privilege and safe space hay rides, for slaves
without soul, without face, without mind or what to say when they come for it.
The nations are mere states of matter we make up of late
individual lives that strive to revive what once was of value
speak up, speak out, speak on what you know — listen though
to everyone you can’t stand: the blogs, the critics, your fellow man
rock beats the bleep out of paper for sure but word covers the earth
the fissures in the fractal foundation of our towering irony
with our books, stacked up thoughts and filmy frames go unseen
the losses and the greater gains made as a species
we carve names in stone and grind bones in a coke stove
stoked and broke and laid open to raise the roiling smoke
and the molten gold in our hearts flows into the holes
kintsugi kin broken again and again made whole.