There are several states of being for human activity, one being individual, and another being social. There are many different versions of social that all have varied parameters. The most numerous in count tend to have the greatest longevity and of those the largest tend to be religious in nature. Then there is another nether world of essential identity that though much smaller is dependent upon the larger groups for their own continued parasitic survival. The ratio of one to the other being on the order of 1 to 100 percent in relative numbers of membership. A causal number that works on the basis of creating confusion through the use of didactic and an innate several skill in shifting from subject to subject throwing their audience out of kilter at will when it directly suits their agenda. A conversation not unlike when someone suddenly picks up a book of matches, sets them alight and unexpectedly throws them in your direction. One can imagine some odd aspects that are particularly human in being particularly susceptible to sound and image as far as imitation. Taking ritual visual performances to heart at an almost subconscious level of influence. The repetition of the same words three times for instance being synonymous with casting a magic spell to impose one’s will.
A conversation held at length with opponents from the past. Some would not actuate and others turned into full bore explosions of sentiment that draw heavily upon one’s past. The shadow of former experiences coloring the appreciation of the interchange. Destiny provides as varied experience for most with the struggle to stay alive despite adversity an individual affirmation of the human condition. The chaos of dreams overlapped upon the meandering path of waking existence that end up as what is misunderstood over the long haul as palpable reality. The steersman that carries on monitoring activity for the balance of the day while the swarm of impressions slowly drift off like a fog of gnats past one’s inability to recall. Then so many times the events of the day become transposed through the night acquiring a magical quality of material to esoteric transmutation. Occurrence that come from times past that are recoverable from the archeological pit of one’s self providing points of order chronicling the degradation of one’s behaviors suffered during the interim. No idle boasts for the sake of sounding logical but a dark basement where one must pad around with a single lit flickering candle looking for an elusive switch box to re-light the world above the way in a manner similar to the way it once was. An elusive task to play the guest in that domicile, as opposed to some old chronically lackluster pensioner engaged in just repetitively cruising the airport again, and again, and again! Never deigning to land, or conversely, to fly off to another useful place, knowing that there is no possibility of ever returning! Just locked in a holding pattern, squinting hard, trying to see if one of those specks on the tarmac is someone that I once knew?
What is there to believe in? Massive world wide epidemics? That history is simple a ruse to keep people from getting out of their seats on the plane? When you are young you seem to like monumental challenges. Yet, when you get older you just want to sleep all the way through the night.
The end of my life I always knew would be a challenge. When I was a little boy I was always scared my parents would die and I would be left all alone. And I would close my eyes and push my face into the pillow and tell myself that I wanted to die before they did. But much later on in life when I realized that their time was coming up I made a resolution that I would be brave. Since they had provided me with the gift of life I would see things out to the final conclusion. I would persist and go as far as I could to whatever end was waiting. I knew by this time that each era tends to to fall to the next. I knew intellectually speaking that everything that I came to know over my life would end. But I wasn’t sure if I had the wherewithal in terms of my own sense of courage or material ability to make it all the way through to the end. And now it seems in this magical year of twenty twenty that so many dire changes that were previously forecast have come instantly into being as if designated to do so. Humanity at large being in danger suddenly of being swept from the planet as if by prior design. There has always been a sense of apocalypse waiting in the wings of my generation. The twin anchors of faith based religion and an ethical compass point have fallen away leaving a directionless zombie cult to realize old prophecies. Ones that discuss destruction of all things as a routine expectation. In this case being one that promises that a percentage of humanity will be unceremoniously taken. What might have once been common sense responses offered by the powers in control of the larger society will not be put into force. The population will be allowed to die in order to keep the worldwide Globalist economy from falling by the wayside. A classic decimation in the sense of Roman times where collective punishment demands that every tenth must be ushered out of line and slaughtered for the good of keeping the empire in order. What the actual percentage of culling will turn out to be up to factors yet unknown save perhaps by those that designed and tested the hellish thing? No one really knows the full perversity of the minds of some human being that would conceive of such an invention and then allow such a thing to occur and yet do nothing! We live in a truly demented age that has become its own reward.
The young being fascinated with challenges there were some neighbors that I once lived by that take on challenges to test the theory behind their courage in odd places. One of the strangest ones that I had ever heard of or read about was a series of underground quarries within an extraordinarily massive rocky outcropping of a nearby mountain range. Anyone could enter into its progressively massive halls and walk on into its empty maze of vacant space unmolested. A series of rooms that progressively became larger as one traversed what was a progressively greater distance to arrive at the entrance to the next. The ceiling of the next demonstrably higher in each successive case. Nothing contained within beyond prodigious echoes of one’s footfalls impacting back accentuating a feeling of helpless solitude. Spaces that seemed properly carved in rectilinear fashion to produce a universe that made you realize that you were nothing but an insignificant gnat. Maybe it had started out in the first chamber being fifty or sixty feet tall? But much further on several successive chambers later that dimension slowly rising from space to space to an astronomical distance of probable thousands of feet above one’s head! This increase in both vertical and horizontal relentless in its increasing scale until finally it was impossible to determine if there was a ceiling literal multiple miles above? No one had never gone that far. Some promoter had heard of this place and set up a series of challenges that contestants would be required to take on one by one by one. Their efforts televised by a self based system of video transfer so as to avoid the need for accompanying technical personnel. A crew not able to be counted upon to keep pace with the finalists in terms of demonstrating raw courage. The challenge of unbounded height and depth presenting a level of scale that was itself terrifying to a human consciousness to contemplate. Most people were too scared to take on the challenge especially when rumors began to abound of those that entered but then had never been seen or heard of again!
I then dreamed that I got this job in a big fine art based design house. A high tech concern with Asian aesthetic high tones and nothing but polished wood floor space. The business play in the market was that they would produce these massive hand dyed wall hangings. The floor was covered with bundles of exotic fabrics and weaves with interesting patterns that overlapped each other. Pigment was supposedly blown through to create many varieties of offbeat complex patterns. My boss was a true martinet who demanded that I knew all the many techniques that they employed as if by osmosis. Survival in the job came from experiment and sheer luck that what one produced was not considered a grievous accident but creative inspiration. The name of the game for myself and two others was, “Get going!” Three desks stood to the side where one marshaled the day’s instructions and drew the supplied materials for enacting same on an expanse of floor. And so I went about my task and made one half way decent enough to be acceptable without comment. No direction forthcoming, no comments as to the quality of workmanship, or reaction, positive or negative, nothing! Just start working. I had no idea of what I was really supposed to doing or who I supposed to take instruction from so OK! So I am doing the best I can pulling some stuff out looking to see where the elusive pigments are stored. At some point I get a phone call that I have to exit onto the terrace and walk outside and around the Japanese garden surrounding this one story to take. I get on the phone and talk for a while. When I return to my shock the room is completely vacant! Everything is cone, the side office is locked up, the desks are gone, no material, nothing! The lasting impression I detect being some form of a big, “Fuck You?” My own reaction being, “That’s nice!”, what am I supposed to say to that?