Friday, 17 December 2010 nauseum...

GIZZARDS! Where the half-digested sits - Oh, yes... My Self has more than one gizzard! Collections within me of things I don't understand, but keep churning over. Watch the Lunatics closely, they might do something amusing...
Public spectacle of inner turmoil, waste of effort keeping it inside where it festers - back to my old poem of June, Poisons cut from my soul - It's my own Poet's Sword now, lancing my own hurts - nothing matters but self-improvement. Or nothing matters but helping others. It's probably a closely bound pair, in the process of the universe. I don't know. I don't know much, I admit it completely - life is a series of happenstances, seemingly random as to benefit or harm.

I wish I had a way to *instantly* transfer things from my mind to the written word, that I could give you the poems and songs that dance with me. I wish I found it easy to speak my heart truly, as easy as the average folks find the words to greet and converse in their ScuttleButt living - do you, Reader, find it *easy* to say what you mean?

One of the things that frightens me is knowing that whatever I say will hurt someone, even if only in the way examinatory pressure hurts an inflamed area of the body. Probing myself is my duty - psychiatrists get paid to jab semi-randomly into peoples' heads - it must be a cataclysmic epiphany, the day that they truly realise thier capacity to heal or to harm.

What is it like, to be someone whose only thoughts are of what the soap-opera folks have done? What is it like, to be someone who walks in this world without SEEING the sunset, without SEEING the berries in the hedgerows, without SEEING the children weeping for their own un-nameable fears? Even for someone in the perfect life, there's still a thousand demons teeming in their mind. Can you see the Angels swarming to fight against it with their swords of fire?

I'm afraid to seem schizophrenic, split-minded, one moment I'm touring paradise to share tales of what I'm doing there, next I'm dragging through nightmares, seeking any way out. People tell me EVERYONE is scared, of all the things that scare me, and that they just don't speak of it, and somehow carry on - Fear of having your own fears shown to you? Well... Humanity, it's the only way to deal with it, is to see it. I love the Soul of Humankind, but the individuals often sadden me - especially myself, whom I know best. I know my Glories barely balance my Failings. I lack charity for I am too self-absorbed... I lack impartiality, for I am subject to passions... Are our best and worst parts one-and-the-same, as mere segments of our Oneness? I hope so - I hope so, if we're easily divided in ourselves I don't know how they'd draw the balance... The feather of truth in the hands of the gods is a big one - if the gods are good gods their own ideal is the Truth of Truth... None of us know how things are at the ending. Progress is erratic, for we are nigh-on blind. Memory is patchy, perception is faulty, processing is buggy, the future unknown. It's no suprise we live in constant terror when EVERYTHING is shocking and scary, all of the time.

I'm afraid to give up the effort of seeking for trueness, it seems to be the most worthwhile thing, holding truth as the highest ideal, but... We all keep choosing, moment to moment, to go back to sleep and ignore the terrors of existing... We all fantasise of a world where we're happy, and most people I know get to live in their dream, where they have certainty and security and don't ever think whether the things that they depend on may be just grand illusions, unconsciously crafted to allow us to live without despair.

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