Dorsum Oppel
December 13th, 2011, 10:48 PM
what stuff how do think i
What is ~*real*~ is defined by an individuals perception, experience is the essence of existence. Everyone has a different mode of experience, and therefor a different mode of reality, so why do some insist that the nuerotypical and common-found mode of reality is an infallible alpha-perception? Science makes sense, sure. But damn so many things are so much more interesting. Why do we cling to the fetish of pragmatism, we lock up ourselves in these unnecessary fetters, our black iron prisons.
Lie lie lie. There is no such thing as an absolute reality just as there is no absolute truth, a truth is a condition. Once moved outside of those conditions truth and lie are the same thing. I love lies. Because in the grandest of schemes a lie is truth. Lie and truth aren’t real things, are they? They’re words used to juxtapose one idea to another, but we make the mistake of juxtaposing ideas to a false absolute. The grand and infallible truthlie. It's the pragma, in which we attempt to justify our opinions with a coherent thoughtstream, to put some meat on them bones. But we are lying to our selves. Our opinions are just extended emotions, which we try to beef up to appear valid. Boring. Messy, it's all so fucking messy, there's no way to wash your hands with beliefs, they stick to your fingers and stain everything you touch, like uncle Abraham just chowed down on some motherfuckin' baby back ribs and refuses to use a napkin that messy asshole dumb fuck.
I’m no longer interested in what’s real. What I’m interested in is intoxication, with beauty, with lies, with bastardized realities, with poetry. I’m interested in things that aren’t the way they should be, with changing definitions. Calling a tree a fire, and an eel a goat. Definitions are shiftier now that truthlie is lietruth and through rejection of my own personal alpha-perception I can look through my beta-perception or my gamma or omega or omicron or mu. Our heads are just waiting to be filled with new ways to consume experiences, new mirrors which warp the world into something distinct at every angle.
I want to be overtaken with mirrors, I want to be drunk on sight, I want to feel the fervent passions of beliefs, to hate and pity and love, I am simply blithe with the thousands of electrical-riverbranches of synapses in my heads waiting to be animated, thirsty for an rush of connections and reconnections and diversions, for tributaries and deltas of these elating mindways. I don’t want to think one way all the time, because once the river runs the land deep a canyon shall form, all the harder to escape from. I want escape to be a constant option, easy as breath. My brain shall be not a canyon, but a wetland, every thought and divine contradiction engaged at once, flowing every which way in a glowing cesspool of sapic-electricity, bubbling with songs and words and lietruth. I want to be wrong. And I will embrace my wronghood, I will not attempt to justify. I will be pure emotion, I will fuck shit up.
Poetry is the new logic. Boredom is the new falsity, the truth is that which rings most potent in your head.
“I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn’t impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.”
-Anais Nin
(♍) a virgins (♍) eyes (♍)
What is ~*real*~ is defined by an individuals perception, experience is the essence of existence. Everyone has a different mode of experience, and therefor a different mode of reality, so why do some insist that the nuerotypical and common-found mode of reality is an infallible alpha-perception? Science makes sense, sure. But damn so many things are so much more interesting. Why do we cling to the fetish of pragmatism, we lock up ourselves in these unnecessary fetters, our black iron prisons.
Lie lie lie. There is no such thing as an absolute reality just as there is no absolute truth, a truth is a condition. Once moved outside of those conditions truth and lie are the same thing. I love lies. Because in the grandest of schemes a lie is truth. Lie and truth aren’t real things, are they? They’re words used to juxtapose one idea to another, but we make the mistake of juxtaposing ideas to a false absolute. The grand and infallible truthlie. It's the pragma, in which we attempt to justify our opinions with a coherent thoughtstream, to put some meat on them bones. But we are lying to our selves. Our opinions are just extended emotions, which we try to beef up to appear valid. Boring. Messy, it's all so fucking messy, there's no way to wash your hands with beliefs, they stick to your fingers and stain everything you touch, like uncle Abraham just chowed down on some motherfuckin' baby back ribs and refuses to use a napkin that messy asshole dumb fuck.
I’m no longer interested in what’s real. What I’m interested in is intoxication, with beauty, with lies, with bastardized realities, with poetry. I’m interested in things that aren’t the way they should be, with changing definitions. Calling a tree a fire, and an eel a goat. Definitions are shiftier now that truthlie is lietruth and through rejection of my own personal alpha-perception I can look through my beta-perception or my gamma or omega or omicron or mu. Our heads are just waiting to be filled with new ways to consume experiences, new mirrors which warp the world into something distinct at every angle.
I want to be overtaken with mirrors, I want to be drunk on sight, I want to feel the fervent passions of beliefs, to hate and pity and love, I am simply blithe with the thousands of electrical-riverbranches of synapses in my heads waiting to be animated, thirsty for an rush of connections and reconnections and diversions, for tributaries and deltas of these elating mindways. I don’t want to think one way all the time, because once the river runs the land deep a canyon shall form, all the harder to escape from. I want escape to be a constant option, easy as breath. My brain shall be not a canyon, but a wetland, every thought and divine contradiction engaged at once, flowing every which way in a glowing cesspool of sapic-electricity, bubbling with songs and words and lietruth. I want to be wrong. And I will embrace my wronghood, I will not attempt to justify. I will be pure emotion, I will fuck shit up.
Poetry is the new logic. Boredom is the new falsity, the truth is that which rings most potent in your head.
“I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn’t impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.”
-Anais Nin
(♍) a virgins (♍) eyes (♍)