Category Archives: Self-conscious meanderings

Wandering In Chicago

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I love riding the El around Chicago.  I love to read everyone’s aura.  I think sometimes I’m coming close to understanding what I’m looking for . . . I just spent three hours playing “Metropolis” tonight, when I should have been studying for a “Theories of Personality” test . . . I was surfing the profiles of people I’ve never met and never will . . . there’s a vague outline of something, a pattern that is emerging to explain the terrible disappointment I’ve always felt in humanity . . . 

It’s a psychic understanding.  I almost had it a few seconds ago when I started this blog entry, but then it disappeared.  So much of my life is strange layers of energy that just shift and then the meaning of the previous moment vanishes into nothingness.  What held me together in this world?  Magic, I guess.  I’m a magical being, truly psychic now, able to act as a conduit for messages from the other side . . . and yet where is my home?  What the hell am I supposed to be focused on?  And the answer to that question comes easily but I can’t write it down because it’s yet another weird layer of energy . . . I wish I could have just been with people . . . just communicated with them instead of having to always skirt the issue . . . on the other hand I’m certainly glad I’m not “normal”, don’t have to worry about Obama vs. McCain or the Rwandan genocide or anything like that.  

Sigh, what a strange melancholy of anti-nostalgia . . . one might say I miss the future.  I can’t wait to leave this world and go into the light.

The Big Shadow

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for most of my life I’ve felt a big shadow around myself and other people — it’s always been difficult to define what i felt was wrong with me, why i never felt comfortable just “being”, why i could never accept people or situations the way they were and had to always be looking for a deeper meaning.  

somehow my aura shifted and this darkness turned out to be some kind of force, a presence in my aura that i had to allow.  it was actually the wind in my sails, the force that was pushing me through life.  this shadow wasn’t really dark, it was a level of consciousness that i could not see, and so it only appeared dark because i couldn’t look at it.  i couldn’t look at it because i falsely believed there was something i needed to learn or do in this world; i had tremendous guilt that i wasn’t living enough, wasn’t fulfilling the purpose of my life.  maybe it was left over from my last lifetime.

it seems like i’m about to accept this difference.  i couldn’t do it before because i would have felt like a failure, i suppose, as though i was missing out on a normal life.  i never wanted to be weird.  i always wanted to understand everything so i could “get my life together” and be highly effective.  actually, i wanted to be a rock star, so i went out and acted like one not realizing that a rock star without millions of dollars to squander is pretty pathetic.  

i don’t actually know what’s happening but my long work at shamanism and channeling is paying off.  i’m getting stable with these perceptions and i don’t know what is happening but it feels like i’m about to have that dramatic change i’ve always wanted — the one where i finally figure out what’s going on.

Watching the Matrix Again . . .

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I have a cute little DVD player/television unit upon which I am now watching the Matrix: Reloaded because even though everyone was totally disappointed in the Matrix Trilogy, I found it to be epoch making and I am sticking with it because it’s old and familiar like a your favorite sweater or something.  the Ethers continue to coalesce around me and I am understanding the various layers of darkness and alienation which have constituted my life for years . . . even as spirits, such as this one named Jill, come to me and show me a higher plane where I can go and be happy.  I’ve been submerged in first-person accounts of the afterlife for weeks now.  I know a better world is waiting for me, and what’s even better I am utterly freed of guilt for having avoided life in this world . . . as far back as  high school I knew it was all crap, wouldn’t play by the rules, couldn’t bring myself to give a shit about anything. And I was right to do so because all those normos were dead wrong about everything.

In search of an art form . . .

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I’m still in search of a mode of writing that does not turn to ash the moment it hits the page.  What narrative point of view, what purpose can be relevant in the light of all this light, all this multidimensional energy around me?  I don’t read novels anymore.  Novels are generally stories of linear time and linear time is an illusion.  Stories are generally uninteresting to me except as evidence of the psychic development of the author.  “Wanted” for instance, a recent film that had almost no redeeming value except as evidence that someone in Hollywood is still working with the Burroughsian “assassin” imagery — though they may not even know it, as it’s been filtered through years of comic books and action movies.

The books I like are stories of NDEs and psychics.  So I’ll have to write my own.  But what would it be about?  Could it ever be complete?

websearches

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its’ very saddening to realize that people can just do these incredible websearches for 10 dollars and find out all your addresses for the last 20 years . . . pathetic actually.  i’m afraid to look, really . . . everyone in the world can find out i’m a total bum.  but anyway the important thing is that i’m actually psychic now and so that shifts my whole attitude.  everything’s cool.  i should write something meaningful but i can’t.  there’s too much energy flying around.  if everything in the universe is synchronized . . . well, we have to go somewhere with it . . . 

here we go, into the true psychic . . .

Sound and fury

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so i’m writing a blog post which i know for a fact will wind up one of the 3 billion meaningless and instantly forgotten blog posts that are created daily in america, just as i am leading a life as one of 6 or 7 billion meaningless and instantly forgotten people who carpet the earth like lice . . . well, no, i’m exagerrating my nihilism a little, but it’s true that whereas once blogging was exciting because of the attention i got now it’s just a little tedious because nothing significant happens.  it may even be slightly hypocritical because i’m totally uninterested in anyone else’s blogs.  but i’m writing as practice for the fiction i’m working on.  you have to keep going even when it all seems pointless.  i’ve seen the power of working a little at a time over years — that’s how i developed my ability to dream lucidly and read people psychically.  someday i’ll be able to write fiction that pleases me.  i may never get published, and who cares anyway?  

it’s so sad to have artistic talent in the 21st century.  when i was a kid artists were like heroes, now they’re just characters in a trashy, sordid soap opera of media buffoonery . . . thankfully i believe in higher worlds and life after death.  i know i’m developing qualities that will improve my enjoyment of the afterlife . . . i don’t have to give a fuck what anyone in this world thinks about me.

Whee!

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Whee!  I’m writing again.  It’s very frightening because there is so much information on the web, and so much of it carrries a negative, fraudulent psychic wavelength with it . . . i don’t want to add to this emotional chaos.  But the world is ending anyway and also it’s a matter of slogging away, practicing for years with tedious crap like this until someday I write the Great Post-American novel.

My guru says there may actually be a big apocalyptic meltdown of civilization.  Now I don’t know ANY contemporary spiritual figure who doesn’t think this is possible.  It’s such a contradiction — everyone says the key to happiness is abundance and tranquility, but they also expect the Apocalypse any day now.  hardly anyone thinks humanity is worth saving anymore — except for fundamentalists who are gearing up to kill us all or imprison and torture us for supporting terrorism.  

I was just thinking the other day about those bogus “orange” alerts the government used to issue all the time, how they herded everyone like cattle to the 2nd Iraq war, and how that dumb “war” is still going on over there . . . on the other hand i was looking at photography books at Barnes and Noble — there’s a big one out called “aftermath” which is all images of NYC after 9-11.  the magnitude of it is staggering.  

i’m afraid of humanity.  i’m afraid because there are terrorist among us and there are fascists running a government with unlimited technological power to monitor and oppress.  the orwellian nightmare is here and i’m glad i’m 38 so i won’t have to see too much more of the future.  

i don’t trust human beings.  the “american experiment” is over and the results are in — we cannot govern ourselves collectively and furthermore we have proven ourselves unworthy of our freedoms.  

on my mind now is a novel about a writer who wants to write himself to death, somehow magically shift his energy on a quantum level into a higher plane because he’s sick of this world and human beings don’t have enough dignity or conscience anymore to make interesting characters . . . it would be a true story . . .