Absentee Reality

Sans civilization and its relative conveniences, we might think ourselves lucky at the end of a day that found us still alive and basically unharmed. What, then, is there to fear? When you answer that, you see the bars of your cage and that is important information. This safety is an illusion. If you were to see the bars of the cage, you'd regard differently the kennel you sleep in and the kibble you stuff in you to keep going through another day of watching the days of reality show plastic fails. It's so hard for us to pay attention to anything. The whole universe is screaming at us to wake up. Our species. It's hard for anyone to notice. Even when trying.

"The synchs, the omens, the communications weave through media and time, such that they reveal, by extrapolation, a great intelligence of a scope that, once the mind begins to conceive of its mere possibility, without and within soon become circuitous, non-closed, tentacled and prone to slippage. Once you see it, well, you just do. A more convoluted description could be purpled up, but descriptions don't describe much. That's what they're telling us as our metaphors become anti-metaphors for a professionally managed reality experience..." the speaker you hadn't previously noticed, crackles off. The message will pick up in somewhere in a strange somehow-again.

Sometimes the connections are just so-so.

The Mystical. Pure art. Poetry. This is the jouissance of having survived the Dionysian surge/dissolution.