r God or love for our kin? Where you stand on this shows a lot about how we seem to devolve as a species rather than experience the maximum awareness, pursue the purest consciousness, save mankind from inevitable external destruction – prepare for that
instead of constant cock fights putting every living thing on this glorious planet in jeopardy over what? N Korea brainwashes its people in a different way than “America.” We are beyond that in some ways and yet beholden to this God-forsaken desertscape
We once thought decent
Believed was Good, innately
Cherished certain values after we thought the massive divisions after ww2 when we didn’t have so much attitude coming off of the Great Depression.
Yet here we are
Handed this god-damn mess
Well what if we don’t want it
Why do we have this bullshit happening now or nothing at all?
Are we happier as sheep? Get it over with already I say or hand us or swords and give us our daily rations of bread and water. This daily bile turning to nuclear holocaust is so fucking ridiculous I can’t believe I’m witnessing it – it’s like half the idiots can’t read so they forgot all of history including a few years ago, they want a cult leader they got one; the other half bemoans some fucking magical time when everything was apparently so great that it ended up in this steamroll of shit we have now. Hypocrisy, corruption, dishonesty and just pure disgrace populate the chambers and halls of “governance” we gave ourselves over to in the name of the values printed on our dirty money.
It sucks being Rome in the fall of the Roman Empire doesn’t it?
I was almost killed, nearly.beaten to death in a McDonald’s parking lot in February of this year. This violent assault resulted in brain trauma and amnesia and as such. White memorial hospital really fucked up – but that’s a whole nother story
Then the city terrace chop shop experience.
And my wonderful nonexistent friends – in this city that is. The subpar producers whose jobs I protected and mortgages I assisted the payment of – as I endured slander that didn’t even have the balls to say it to my face. And anyone who knows me which is turning be under 5 maybe including ducks and dogs, anyone knows there’s no way I could have accomplished all the things of which I stand accused- from the pile of cocaine like scarface to the Keith Richards consumption of inebriants apparently chronicled by Dave Oliver and Justin Steinberg who actually are complete liars who were also malicious for some reason. Then there’s the complete scumbags jay and Jamie who just boggle the mind when you realize they went out of their way to hurt me never once show compassion or comraderie I. A world sorely needing some basic acknowledge that being In the trenches mattered.
To think I was such a fool I actually cared that I had your back Jamie when you were incompetent, sniveling and under-handed. Hard working but weak minded. Kiss ass who couldn’t accept loyalty and friendship how sad. How telling that he’s still head of Sony prodding and poking the zeitgeist for some clue as to why they think he knows what he’s doing. On top of being stupid, to have no morals is well that’s the course of de jour. [idiotic repetition intentional]
So there you have it
One of the major causes for the creation of False Self identities is betrayal. It is a form of chaos which is caused when someone we trust is unfaithful, disloyal, or deceives us in some way. Identities are formed in an attempt to handle or overcome this crisis.
If someone abandoned you after your repeated efforts, you might absorb the message: “I can never do enough. I must prove that I can accomplish and do enough.
When you are told the same shaming story your whole childhood, you believe it, bury it, overcompensate for you darkest ingrained beliefs foisted upon you as a unassailable truth.
…we draw a false internal conclusion from the external events that occurred. We spin our mind in circles, desperately repeating the story to ourselves and trying to rationalize the shock that occurred when we were separated from love.
It’s so difficult to relive any of it.
Experience the core shame. The feeling your body is always trying to contract, avoid, distract, and disprove.
Protect, suppress, deny, keep secret.
..you do not heal the core shame, because it is false. As long as we try to heal it, our lives are still organized around the premise that it was true. How can we heal something if it is not even who we are? If we try to heal it, we are accepting that it is a part of who we are, which it is not. Instead, you are realizing that it is not who you are, and “un-being” it.
Awhile ago I wrote “What is home?” as a study of my emotional attachment to 25 acres that passed out of my grasp at 22.
Little did I know then, when I could have envisioned myself marrying Mom’s newly discovered yard man, I forget his name but can still see a glimpse of him in my mind’s lazy eye.
Yet, here we are.
Here. We are.
We are present and accounted for. We belong to the beginning of light. We can only try to advance what is good in mankind with tremendous effort.
Our DNA is simply not wired to be good. In fact, that moral Notion takes consciousness and will, when propelling mob mentality is more expedient and not only are there no free lunches but you can’t even sing for your supper.
I am reminded of how I used to write when the click pen I have chosen has trouble flowing and after two short sentences I go looking for the backlit keyboard like Pavlov’s dog salivating over the bell signaling auto-correct of the brain.
You see, I straddle the timeframe between pen and paper (curiously, “pop em” from google algorithms, but not my brain) and backspace keyboard. I am both the white out generation (eschewing the subpar Tandy corporation’s first “word processer” for an electric brother typewriter – the irony still holds).
And so I think (or the voice refuting translation bouncing from coast to coast in the linguistic vortex of my cranium and cortex) I just want to write.
[A little backstory]
I began writing at an early age, possibly 11 or 12, writing in a serious way.
To me, that meant cathartic if obtuse expression of deep pain and confusing, conflicted emotions for what was happening to me and who I was told I was.
Writing is a way through that-being adopted, having dissociative disorder, reliving trauma and actual repeated abise, continuing thru a treasure trove of toxic workplace Who’sWho of Assholes into a wasteland of small-minded, back handed hacks across the industry – of highly paid hacks.
Cho Ch ok Kay oh
Sick of the nomadic privilege
The hours turning into days
of wasted time
Who wants their legacy to be invisibility? What then was the point of suffering then?