We live in the future, but, we don’t know it.
I see the space ship zoom by the terrace.
Paper planes to the ones below.
But dreams begin on the plain lined loose leaf.
our caves are square,
our primitive brains trying to dissect hyper cubes.
1:06 am
The politicians(r)
were a distant memory.
everything else,
a broken record,
playing on a loop,
like all the other albums,
in a distant library.
The regime travelled far
to shrink and cover their talismans with oak.
their arrows with fashion,
their people in cloaks.
2:04 am (the degenerates)
He didn't know where to go next. Scratching his head. A music, lingering in front of him. A pointing finger of a tune, He pulls in the painting. Examining the impasto, he realizes where the light is truly coming from. The inspection proves infallible to his understanding of the lines, the symbols, the colors. Everything had it's source and completion.
A pause in the song, brings new thoughts. A chess board waits patiently for a phone call. He knows where the others are. On the mountain waiting for his arrival. He's never left anyone behind, and always pushes for the path of light. I remember Us lost once on a few planets, this particular one, remnants of the last scene of the original Planet of The Apes. A tribe of us had decided to find the spot.
The edge of everything.
The sojourn lasted days, if not weeks. Through jungle, concrete, and pinnacle where cactus live. The edge seemed unrefined, yet at the water's lips. A short run down the side of the mountain, to find this place where the gods peeled back the orange skin of reality. A long beach awaited us. Stones, fallen branches, and dust paved the way, until the sun found it's first touch of ground with rays.
That marked the spot.
The edge.
The six of us stumbled upon it while in the midst of considering our options. A hologram at first, then form. When you arrive, everyone's experience is different, but in essence their interpretation of the experience. Mine was,"The Orange and The Beach", a metaphor for what i saw that day. After that , I couldn't not remember much after.
But, what i remember stayed with me forever. When you watch with them new eyes. Those eyes of a child, eyes of a newborn. The world, and everything in it, new. When you traverse the plane of existence as with this vision: a combination of the universal mind at large, without the "human filter," you are transported to a new self awareness, a new self reality. Beyond the confines of human training. A literal melting of the programmed self. Only those that have taken these steps outside the normal realms of experience can begin to understand what is at hand here.
Throughout history, from.the time of the vedas, whom knew more than most through their meditative practices about the meaning of other and hidden worlds. With or without the use of the substances left behind by the gods, "the nefilim, anunnaki, the giants, the elders". They have had many names throughout history. Many incarnations. But also left the earthly plane with plant and fungal teachers for those who truly wandered outside the paths taken by the many. The hidden path. The road less travelled.
We are always standing on the universe. Standing on the stars. How did most forget, i do not know. I do actually, or at least have an idea how it slowly took its time to cover their eyes.
I used to believe that secret groups wanted to keep this knowledge hidden from the masses, but, im not sure anymore. Im at the point know that maybe most dont really want to know the truth. The real. The real truth of it all. Most dont want to take the plunge into the unknown. The dive into the abyss. The pluck out of the body.
I say this, only because on many occasions when i do tell people about my experiences and all that i had seen, (well some of what i have seen,there is too much). It seems that most lose interest. Trapped within the percieved confines of existence. Wake up, work, eat, sleep. Ocassionally fuck. As if that was all there was to this.
But, on the inner walls of the pyramids, on the steps of the vatican, even with the pages of the holy manuscripts of the bible, these evident truths are scrawled, painted, hidden within the lines of text for all to see. But most dont bother to look at the illuminated manuscripts for what they teach us. Only seeing the ink on the page. The nice drawings on the wall.
How did all this become to be the way of living? I don't and cannot grasp anymore. Once you cross over, there is no back road to normalcy. You can only "act", as Shakespeare put it. For once you see behind the curtain, all the world is truly a stage. This is me ranting, but i used to think humanity wanted the truth. Problem is someone told them what the "truth" was and they bought into it.
And so there we are, on the edge again. No map, only intuitions to help us along the way. Closer to the spot where Heston knew. Where they left that literal lady liberty herself. At the end of that beach that took us days to find. You see, the beach didnt exist on the map, they left for everyone to find. It wasnt there, yet all the clues led us here.
Let me.explain....
There are entry points for groups to enter into a shared experience of the other side. When i say shared, i mean everyone is together crossing, but still experiencing their personal journey simultaneously. Everyone is a passenger on the bus, but everyone's ride is different.
But, there is.more to the "sides". Its more of a revealing of layers that normally wouldn't be seen by "the sleepers".
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1:01 am (the Casio)
I stopped wearing a watch when I was seven years old. And for some strange reason, I remember that moment quite clearly. I was standing outside of our apartment in the "alto manhattan" part of the city. The hallways were newly painted. The walls were a glossy Yellow ochre. The sheen on everything made me dizzy. The smell of fresh enamel added to the colors of the hallucinations. Funhouse mirrors if you stood in the right spot. Up and down, the staircase a solid glossy black. I am serious when i say solid. I once saw a girl run up the stairs and bang her head against one of the railings. At first, nothing, then her head swelled up. A purple black balloon. Where her perfect forehead once dwelled. A dark thought now extended out above her fragile stare. I never forgot that moment. Her mother coming up behind her, half screaming, half yelling at her. This was the way parents handled situations with their children in this time period. Even when a child was hurt from playing outside, with the exception of death, the parents were always trapped between a scream of dispair and a yell of disappointment at the child's obvious stupidity. Oh boy, those were the times. A savage land for those growing up, especially in that part of the city. A self realized nightmare for those who came from afar with other intentions for their family and futures.
The building was built during the art deco period of the 20's, so, everything was wonderfully ornate. The railings, although still present, were buried beneath the remains of the aftermath of a vesuvian accidental flow. A thick skin of shiny lava covered them. The moldings, also covered in the same black frost, followed along those long glossy yellow ochre walls. Wrapping around all of the ceilings on every floor. The doors, Rolling Stone black. The floors covered in one inch tiles, a classic black and white, checkered, masonic floor pattern.
I couldn't remember much else about the building. The exception being the window where my sister and i would hang out from and dangle our feet, 7 stories up. A thin.half attached, so-called child proof gate protected from the impeding doom that awaited us below. One day my mother, caught us in the act and almost caught her death, showed us a better way to spend our time with two swift chancletasos. Come to think of it, I also remember the window where a thief came in and stole our very first cable box. Just a few years before, my grandmother's television still had those rabbit antennas that constantly had to be moved around to catch just the right spot in the "frequency" to get canal 47. On some occasions, aluminum foil was added as an extra layer to get those in-between channels that no one watched, but us young ones knew were there. In those days, everything was a mystery, an adventure, a question. The eighties, were the crux, the zero point, the transition for humanity, dictators, and cyborgs. Apparently.
Atari, 2600 for us, was that moment. When television and human played together. We were new to all of this alien machinery, but, fascinated at the same time. Mind you, it was not enough to get us to stop playing outside. But, for myself, enough to keep me interested as to its developments. We had 2 games, pac-man and pitfall. Both basically repeating screens of gameplay that never ended. The forever loop. If you died, you didnt go back to the beginning of the level. Levels didnt exist back then. Imagine the mind of a kid with ADD, playing the same screen of pac-man. Over and over for hours. The novelty wore off quickly with that system.
Outside was were it was at. Skelzee, skateboards, and 25 cent sugar waters. We had it all. As a kid, you didn’t have your own currency. That little which your parents could pass on, became valuable with what you purchased. Comic books and candy in the courtyard can get you further into the circle than all the ill spent money in the world. Purchasing power at its finest. Things were simpler. Things were also very cheap. A dollar in those days can get you a weeks worth of goods. Owning the right issue of spiderman, or having that newest of transformers toys, granted you entrance into the inner circle. It didn’t take much cause most of us were broke. But, not in the same sense as today. Back then, people who were "broke" still took vacations. Not to some fancy place like Disneyland. But, somehow, everyone's family had enough to take those yearly trips to the caribbean, or florida (not Miami, not disney). I dont know what happened to this world where the conspiracy theorist (such as myself) were finding themselves to be right at every turn. When did it all change? Was it 1984? Oh Orwell.
We had just gotten MTV( i think it had actually just come out), and I saw that astronaut and those crazy neon colors for one day, and Madonna's face in a video. The next day, the box was gone. The window which was loft large and stretched from floor to ceiling, and was painted white like the rest of the room, led out to a fire escape. Which in those days was a poor man's balcony. The other channel was HBO. Which at the time was fascinating, not only because of the content, but because there weren't any commercials. They weren't trying to sell you something every other five minutes.
The door, which I assume was made of medieval times steel, had a chain up top and a metal rod that sloped down and fit into a little metal hole in the floor. For protection. I guess the person who took the box knew about it cause he took the old window route. The bar let us know that no one had come through the door while we were gone, but maybe someone left the window open. I still don't understand what happened to this day. But, growing up in alto manhattan was quite an experience which I must have not enjoyed very much considering how much i can't remember from that time. Even my memories of kindergarten. I can only remember going to school 2 days. Well I remember 2 days out of the other hundred days. Is this life? you live an entire year of your life and only remember 2 days? I can only assume that it was one of those leap years, with the difference being the year only had 2 days. What about the first 3 years of life?
Today, everyone is Truman on that show. Whether we like it or not, we or someone else is documenting everything we do. Every single moment that we are awake, eating, walking, running, shopping, watching others, and looking at our phones at what other people are doing with their cameras.
Before any of these contraptions, there was only a wristwatch. Everyone had one, and everyone looked at it from time to time. But now our phones have everything possible to capture every moment. The watch, on the other hand, had only one purpose. To tell you or anyone you asked what time it was. What was strange, was that people had large watches in their houses called clocks. On their walls or inside ornate wood and glass covers. To let everyone in the house or mansion or flat know what time it was. Before all that, there was the sun and the moon. There was actually a time where people were only concerned with, "well the sun us up", and the sun is down". People don't say, "oh look, the moon is up". They say, "it's getting dark outside". or "Look the moon is out". Where does it go into? isn't it usually dark in space? Our sun isn't a very good model. It only seemingly shines on us. The rest of space? Dark. Even with billions of stars and suns, a dark mess.
Reminds me of a time I was out with some friends, and we had taken some hallucinogenic vegetation. I was near this one guy, a buddy of mine,K. We were laying on the grass looking up. The sky was filled with so many stars. I remember looking over to him and saying, “maybe it was just bullet holes left by gunslingers of the past shooting up at the sky during celebrations”. They always celebrated with shooting up. Yes I thought for a moment that it was just a dark sheet covering the earth. And Cowboys shot it the fuck up. I was 20?
So here's the logic of a seven year old. I'm standing outside of our apartment and looking at my friend's casio watch. With the little gummy buttons, that no human could touch without touching them all at the same time. It was part calculator, and part watch. you could add and tell time. This was huge at the time. All the rave. I think the eighties were a turning point in history. A quiet, slow moving shift from the old ways of the world to the digital age we live in today. I had one of those antique watches that only told time, and ticked. It was always ticking. When it wasn't, a little shake, a little wind of the knob and it was ticking again. In that moment, I distinctly remember looking down at my watch and hearing that ticking. Underneath I could hear and feel my tiny heartbeat in my wrist. And it just got louder and louder, until it was all I could hear in the hallway. The ovvertaking of everything with the ticking of that watch. It was then that it dawned on me that the watching was regulating my heartbeat and this was why people got old. The watch. The ticking was mimicking the heartbeat and changing it. Manipulating it. I would not have it. I took it off and told myself I wouldn't wear a watch again. When I was a little older I had forgotten that moment and wore a watch for a minute, but such a memory always crept back in and I quickly disposed of it.
6:19 am, eat shop
It took so long to get here tonight. The sign-ins. The passwords. The pathways. He told me all of this, a long time ago. At random,” to keep writing”. I thought he was from the future. But, he lives among us. In our time.
Like an old, distant, friend of mine. Whom I had not seen since way back when. Then, just like that, there we were. We had just landed on 14th street, and began walking around. In this sunlight. Amongst the pedestrians. The heat coming up from the freshly laid concrete patches on 1st ave. These were the 90’s. The Abrahams of plentitude. A bacon egg and cheese was in order.
When traveling to these parts, one must be wary of the delights of mankind. The sandwiches, the cotton stores everywhere. The smell of petroleum. The sanity of printed meat menus that mellowed out the disgust of the background. The only true sun, of sons, that shone down upon our everyday intermittent attitudes of the altitudes they were accustomed to talk about.
We got down to business. Beside us, them bees buzzed between their booths. Busy they consumed their consumees. As such was their custom.
The words, EAT and SHOP where everywhere. Unbeknownst to the other walkers. Sale means “Exit” in spanish. What where they trying to say?
What did all the words mean? Were they at least signals of some sort? We didnt have much time to learn its secrets.