The Bunker of Desperation

The Bunker of Desperation

There is an immense desperation that takes over the heart when we stand next to the abyss and peer into its emptiness.

Next, I find myself in a bunker in the middle of some war. Which war it was, I was not sure. It really doesn’t matter, a war is a war. In every war, people’s lives are placed in the hands of fate. More times than not, a person’s fate is to experience the end of their life. This is true for those unfortunate souls who find it their duty to kill and die for some cause.

There were soldiers there, and they all were wearing gas masks. Bombs are exploding all around us. Each time a shell met with the earth, there was a loud horrific sound and dirt flying all over us. I could see the fear spread across their faces. Their faces said more than they could put into words. Their faces were a universe unto itself.

They were all young men, probably only in their teens. There was a naivete that oozed from the pores of their skin.  

We found ourselves in the midst of something impossible. At the core lay something illogical, something twisted. There was an absence of any profound reasons, nothing we could put our finger on. A tempest raged around us. This was a place of consequences. They had been living among the razor blades, being cut by the slightest movement. They all had little cuts here and there and their uniforms were covered with blood stains. It was a reality of delirium. We were being taught a lesson of how small we are.

They were parts of a machine that once gave them a false sense of purpose. Now they saw that the machine itself was the reason for suffering. Their illusions of war had provided them with a sense of security. Their security was bashed in the head by the harsh and brutal reality of their existence. Their part in the machine was to die. They were the raw materials that were destroyed in order to make something else. Blindly they thought that this something else was peace. But, the machine does not want peace, it only wants war.

Their minds were introduced to the thoughts of the shadows. The objective mind was impossible in the midst of their situation. Their fear of death brought them to the inevitable conclusion. The limitations of their world showed them their true selves. They became willing to give up that which was so precious to them.

They were struck in the face by the absurdity of their existence. Absurdity was the only definition of their world that made any sense. Does this absurdity of life require blood? Does life only have meaning through death?

The origin of intense feeling is a ridiculous beginning. These soldiers were certainly in a ridiculous situation. They were trying to end the lives of some unknown enemy before the enemy ended their lives. Their anxiety was the source of everything.

Their feelings outlined the borders of their universe. They delineated a point which no one should venture past. Thus, they put a limit on their feelings because to go beyond would increase suffering. A person is defined by his or her feelings and the limits each places upon them.

Faced with the reality of their situation, they could no longer invest in a future. An unknown future stood before them and they were helpless in its grasp. They admitted to themselves that they stood at the threshold of time. A time that was running out for them. They were victims of time. They had been clothed in illusion, They prepared for a future they didn’t want to accept.

They were concerned about questions concerning their immortal soul. They attempted to face their reality without flinching. They faced the certainty of death without hope. They realized that the door of hope had been closed for them and they could not find the key to open it.

Some put their hopes in the existence of another reality. Hope they considered to be their greatest ally. Their hopes were reaching out to another world. A hope for a life beyond this life. A more valuable real world. They looked away from this life to a life that comes later. A life that is filled with happiness and eternal joy. They put their hope in an escape from their suffering. A reality where their suffering will no longer exist. They desired to live a life with only joy. This idea of joy is an illusion. A life without suffering is impossible.

Hope is an evil that has been let loose upon humanity. The machine feeds us hope so that we blindly do its bidding. The source of the solders’ hope is the machine. Hope is the reason they let themselves suffer. They suffer for a peace that they hope someday will exist.

Now they knew the truth. It was a truth that they could touch with their own hands. They discovered that life is full of suffering. Their calculations resulted in a conclusion of death. They previously had put their trust in life. This trust was their nourishment. Now they put their trust in suffering.They realized that their suffering would only end in death. All they had was the present and a future that they could not fully comprehend.

rm17b

readymade1 - postmodern art

The Hallway Part1

The Hallway of Oblivion

I recognize that my metaphysical world was outside my past world of experience. This alternative world was not above my past world, but beneath it. The alternative world that I was in was a corruption of the human experience. I did not find joy there, I only found fear and desperation. My fulfillment as a human being was suppressed in this alternative world. This alternative world was an evil world, a shadow world of the life I once enjoyed. This was a world without change, my life of becoming had ended and now I was in the nothingness of an alternative world. I was trapped in a permanent world without change. This was a world that has no way out.

Human life does not have a greater significance. This has all been a catastrophic miscalculation of reality. Our histories are written as a slow and certain decline. This life is a burden. There really is no good reason why human life should continue to exist. Are we alive merely for convenience? When a life is weighed upon the scales of reality, every life is discovered to be lacking merit and value. Everything in this existence is trash, rotting garbage that has no value. The good in life does not justify the evil in this life.

Sometimes we strain to see the other side and then there are those moments when we can see clearly and everything falls into place. Of course we may not like the place where it takes us. Most of us do not have a choice in the manner nor the strength to resist it. Sometimes you can feel it inside of you growing beyond your control.

This dark place must be destroyed. I deny the existence of the absolute. I have learned to deny the possibility of certainty. I reject the possibility of absolute moral or ethical values. There is no truth. The concept of truth is a social construction. Truth is defined by the powerful. Thus, the destruction of all truth is the foundation for the improvement of life. Death has its own hidden forces which can only be experienced through death.

the pointy stick

That Pointy Stick

she found it, running around

where she said that she couldn’t

I think I will, Vickie had it

recite your prayers, it goes back to Sue

too little, too late, too much for the pictures

to bind your will, last rolling papers

I did not mean for this, solid bloom

it came out all wrong, sipping whiskey

to the window, your thrill, as I climbed upon the ladder

she said it was all about love, all about the intention

the bet upon the wheel, to jack the bitch

gone all week, all but the original purpose

plastic bags, about 4:40 or so,

that will work, for original sin

The Visionary Ghost

The visionary Ghost

Seeing is ethnographic

high upon your perch

questions from the sick

squeeze and cough

I looked up Wednesday

she saw stars in my eyes

doing the devil’s bidding

her grayness was excitable

I will wait until the time is ripe

embrace your ritualized cruelty

the play without words

only the actions of the fearful

pour your distrust upon me

I have learned to see through your eyes

A Note on Pathos

A Note on Pathos

Weak feelings of foreclosure, one breath high upon the pile

a monumental steamroller, underneath, while the crowd shouts for more

eating flesh, pulling the flesh, smashing everything down, eviscerate

incited agenda, want to dissect, everyone who stood

you feel nothing, to lose everything, emotions through, and the distance grows

no internal apocalyptic, never loved, evil compelled by logic

the numbness, a rejection of everything, furrowed people

and care about nothing, the strive, the purpose, the agenda

struggling within, to die once more, dead in their eyes

this creeps upon, from her lips, with bright eyes and darkened souls

you, recognizable soul, slow corrosion, I nail you to the floor,

crawls up the back, the forces of good and evil, bloodthirsty ghoul

and takes you with the wildness, never inhabited, under the devious face

by surprise, raised in your own image, they do lie, falling asleep

with capacity, chewing your heart, here to trick you, to fold

the most important, turns to the mouth, seeing darkness, into little creatures

you feel nothing, hoisted white flags, plastic spreading sickness

or capacity for empathy with anyone else, giving the flame

you become a blind and brutal force, a proxy for freedom, for execution, sick like you

that has no direction, burying your head, breathe in the dark as the others sleep

or destination, swallowed, engulfed, feeling the blood, out into the streets.