Sunday, May 18, 2008

Bon Appetit

Let me ejaculate upon you a bit, you hapless reader that has suffered the great misfortune of stumbling upon this, my scattered seed, which takes the form of letters conjoined to form words, which attached to various impressions and associations may convey a multiplicity of meaning, of which you will ingest only a miniscule portion due to an unfortunate condition of your consciousness which causes you to reflexively "spit" rather than "swallow". All of this is of course most unfortunate. I go on pouring myself out as if there is no end to the richness which has come to tentatively inhabit me as the result of my being just the sort of psychic fluff girl that enjoys bringing once hidden teachings to a head, a fount from which I may suckle a while on the knowledge that is forbidden in the common culture, and swallow all that I can stomach without loosing control.
And you, unfortunate soul, are either reading this by accident, or are reading because for some reason you desire to acquire a taste for this troublesome potion mixed and re-mixed by twisted clowns, liars, and devious alchemists. This potion you have been seeking, if you are a seeker, would do more than you are likely to like, if only you could manage to ingest and digest just a bit of what I presently attempt to blow up your blow hole. The problem is that particular malady of your consciousness already mentioned. What goes into your head usually falls right back out, what goes into your being is flushed out by the head, and you will find, if you dig deep, that as a whole, you, along with almost all others of your species, suffer from a form of spiritual bulimia.
That great way you have of categorizing, understanding, and navigating through this experience that has been termed "Life", is the way of the shallower surface consciousness which we usually refer to only as our "consciousness", as if it is deserving of the role of Rudolph the red nosed sled dog in the internal structure of self. This aspect of consciousness is your DOS operating system. It is a simple consciousness designed to get you through the brute world with your tail still attached. When you try to stuff it with things it is not designed to deal with, things that reach far beyond your tail, it will spit up, like a Nun that has been asked to gargle down a warm glass of semen before bed, all of that precious stuff that it is so unaccustomed to taking in.
If it is among your chief desires to cultivate within yourself the fruits that these fragile seeds may become, it is necessary to take it in with the appropriate part of your self. The part to which I am referring reaches deep beyond the surface consciousness into regions that the previously discussed consciousness cannot fathom. It has inappropriately been referred to as the "sub consciousness", as if it were secondary and lesser than its counterpart. It is in fact the truer of the two. What successfully burrows into its mysterious folds will infect the entire human organism, and its perceived reality, without fail.
Therefore I thoroughly encourage you to spread wide those folds and let those things which you long to know penetrate there, where they can be properly digested and assimilated, in that deep, dark, and fertile region.
Perhaps you do not want to let these seeds in. If that is the case you should stop reading immediately. Chances are that you have already ceased to read if you don’t want to let these tiny linguistic intruders into your fortress, and if you are continuing to read now it means that you sincerely desired to offer them sanctuary, for at this point you have passed through the first barrier.
Getting this far has required that you exercise a measure of attention, a difficult feat for those raised in this culture that intentionally contributes to the decay of that particular faculty for the purpose of selling more cars, shoes, and cigarettes. You are being called upon to make an effort to take in the transmission that rides, like Achaeans in a wooden horse, in this configuration of the written symbols of the English language. I hope that you can accept this gracious offering of mine without gagging too much, and moreover it is my wish that you take good care of it. Warm it deep within and see what springs forth from it…perhaps a winged horse or an armored goddess, perhaps a balloon. I make no promises.
Take or leave this shot in the dark.

Labels: , , , , ,


Post a Comment

<< Home