Wednesday, March 9, 2011

The Royal Scam

This is the tale of a strange locational beacon that is neither here nor there on a map. It is a place at the center of a black hole that crushes egotism without a pause, dead preferences swirl around it's circumference, vain dreams of choices in a matter that states very clearly without any provisos that either you eat the I, or it will eat you. The Vampire is a metaphysical reality of the dead. The living are elsewhere, or planning their own escapes in secret away from the addicted crying out for relief. This is a strange palace full of gilded surfaces and foul odors of decaying flesh, secret passages and dead ends. One that is hidden in plain sight. 

Drawn Toward The Locus of Manifestations.
The triangulation of a personal form of gravitational field draws one toward one dish on the menu of diversification of a common theme, or source, as we are transceivers in this personal gravitation field attracting or repelling, drawing in or being drawn toward one taste versus another as largely a matter of software, following the script or seeking confirmation of ourselves through electors, being elected, being noticed, being heard..expressing our art through various artifices, all of this to be a matter of very human psychology skating on the surface of perhaps largely pretentious choices, though the mainline of addictions, when this biological organ or that induces behavior which are in turn driven and drive the differentiation of space, or relationships that either expand or contract, wind or unwind, which may protect and be a self perpetuating odd sort of clock spring that utilizes space to create more to prevent it's own diminished apportionment. The manifestation of forms as pawns in a game of fueling an eternity vouchsafed from prying eyes.

The Stagecraft of A High Art.
The Royal Scam, and of the Humpty Dumpties of history..high performance vehicles fueled by addictions, randomness and default settings on the menu that attempt to take over the casino...parasitic mimics of evolution, bad imitations..half baked impersonations...that come and go in as many forms as biology provides...."look at that Humpty Dumpty, Man, he sure can wobble..look! out..look out!..damn. Next...bring in those swamp creatures,..give them a shot..."  All of this is played out in the context of a theater where there is no discernment between the characters on stage and those in the audience. In the cycles of civilizations much like the geological cycles, or generational cycles, or the cyclic nature of energy itself, the play is the thing, perhaps of a stagecraft that is the essence of an artistic expression, itself.

The Eating of The Eaten
To eat space itself through various digestive organs to create more.  What sort of intelligences may lie behind this royal scam? asks the devils themselves... serving on earth as a sentence pronounced by their own lack of self knowledge, gumming up the works, safely ensconced in small cellular matter, like ants on a misbegotten quest to unravel the mysteries of choice, induced by nature to dream of being elsewhere, the sheep who fence themselves to be sheared by a dynamo of a strange black sun that eats recycled forms, dead skins and illusions to create variations of itself seeking it's own nature, is this the That of a unseen reality, as a term, uncreated by form, that creates form as a mirror of exploration?

The velocity of space when traversing one state from another depending on the amount of relationships or complexities presented to the inner triangulation of perception, appears to speed up or slow down, while in the biological or planetary rotational speed as it's breath, or respiration of expansion and contraction  is driven by a more global differentiation, or wound watch feeds the other watch, minding the gap between them is called the possibility of sentience, perhaps.

A future evolutionary state where these various space keeping devices of form become entrained to human perception. What time it is depends on who you ask in this neighborhood as we hang on the edge of a mainspring while space eats as it is eaten to maintain some place either called Disneyland or the abode of the Immortalists.  On this rung of the spacial genome, we hang our hats on the binaries of choice while we are eaten as we consume in the stomach of the universe as no more than perhaps enzymes. Shhh..not in front of the children. They may lose interest in their indoctrination or worse, abdicate their roles in the royal scam. A game of rewards and punishments locked into a binary codex to feed a furnace of forms.

In this.. I dissent, in that choice is so rare a element in our metallurgy, it becomes more a hypothetical than a given. We prefer the scrim of choice on our menu as a bifolded sort of buffer, a mirror or a pamphlet or timetable of arrivals and departures in our gravitational field against the clashing and thrashing that accompanies space, the orbital rotation of clocks, the demarcations of or if you will, of time falling in a randomness of preselected potential outcomes that are limited by the vehicles at hand.  Take your pick.

It seems in terms of complexities in the human information field there is an unrecognized dynamic in that the more choices, we are presented, the less decisive we become, as if the capacity to maintain our own illusionary objectivity is stripped away and we become immersed in a more sincere state of not being able to organize ourselves out of a paper bag, as we spend more energy concerned with controlling outcomes, than recognizing we may have no choice in certain matters as a community of who clings fast to choice, certainty and control of a destiny whose end has already occurred yet in the lead\lag of space, we are on a sort of conveyor belt that feeds on itself in the throes of language in whose memory we briefly borrow this or that as a faux orientation of ourselves among relationships between objects that provide the relativity of inner space or time, when there is none to be spared but for the workings of the biological software we have been grafted onto, the mainspring of an infinitude of watches.

Call this post perhaps a rebellion against a more global nature that has in of itself rebelled against chaos in a game of cross purposes, poised as a menu. The cartoon of programmed behaviors masked as choice that require tampering is an existential wound that announces....

The Self Destruct Button of Spacial Relations.

Expansion and contraction of the breath of the universe as measured by spacial keeping devices, material mainsprings that consume energy in a unimaginable bandwidth in order to differentiate the production of various watches, all entrained to as many dimensions as you care to count, eating as they are eaten..and so are we contracting or expanding eating more and enjoying it less? Or eating less and enjoying it more? Or is this all illusionary,? Has a self protecting circuit been tripped in spacial relations and are we the planetary switch that pulls the plug on itself? The transfer of this complex arrangement is perhaps beginning to accelerate elsewhere in our solar system to maintain the secondary windings of a primary solar transformer. Life begins elsewhere anew. The lesser and greater resurrection of space as measured by life. Play along to get along, serve to be served, a royal scam or a loophole in this contract with biology. The trees are silent. The other creatures are gone. The smoke from the missions and embassies of the casino lazily wafts overhead unseen. Empty bottles are strewn everywhere from the last binge. The madman in search of a fix rushes through the forest hither and yon asking a vital question he shout; "Have I been scammed?"


  1. We come tumbling into this thing we call consciousness confident that the beings we find ourselves surrounded by are lovingly guiding us in the ways of the ancient masters. Their confidence in and their command of the world around us gives us a most false sense that if we only follow their lead we too will grow in our understanding of the situation we have found ourselves within. Perhaps the luckiest of us never see the veil drop away and instead live happily in the bliss and ignorance of our own creation. For others though, once the house of cards begins to tip there is no turning back. No amount of therapy or medication will ever replace the initial illusions that in one quick instant disappeared, vanished as a puff of internal revelation overcame a history of solid objects and instead replaced them with only images of varying transparency.

  2. Hi
    You are certainly not alone in this. I always thought the Dylan line of "I never asked for your crutch so don't ask for mine" seems apt to this dynamic, and a lot of the hubris I find is related also deeply to a fear of death, and all the garden variety of end runs that are ingrained to avoid recognizing the inevitability of a presumed non existence that begins to unwind at birth. So many psychic and psychological props are simply self comforting fantasies..I think it may be that more compassion for each other would occur if more had the courage to face that we know comparatively very little as to what contingent and temporary existence entails for all whom we love and that includes those we have never met. There is so little predictability in life, so it appears we create these faux moats and boundaries in the throes of some misplaced concept of the possession of existence in a spectrum of acting out our fears as unthinking behaviors. Transparent, yes. Denial, yes. So much of this infects the study of the paranormal as well as the prosaic. To live life with the courage to admit ones ignorance is a tough row to hoe in real time. That much I know is true.