The Specialists

Formerly Opportunists, the non-specialists must explore.

Never stop looking over their shoulders.

Is that any way to live?


I am never completely at ease, and it only seems to be getting worse-largely because I don’t know what to do, I have too much trauma/negative experience over last two years in particular and twelve years struggling to get by – with a reprieve absolutely ruined by forces that have left me broken, afraid and without conviction. I’m just so tired of it. Soul-weary from this collective mechanation of the mind, commodified body, no way to find a way through the muck.


Miss Maslow.

  • The hierarchy of needs like a diaspora of the mind, a momentary lapse of hit send, revoke access, shut out shut-ins littering the lowlands.

<li>Disappeared.</li>
<li>Were they ever here?</li>
<li>She cried for the forgotten. Took that to her grave now forgotten.</li>
<li>

Who will weep for me?


  • Then.

    There was suddenly, overnight, in dog years (our conception of time is flawed, I feel in my bones), it would seem, there was too much information. Too much noise. To tune out. A body to maintain as advancements perplex the mind, solder the soul to empty turrets of half-chewed advice.

    You simply can’t learn enough. The rewards in society are ambiguous and strained. The fodder is there. The boat explodes. We are all adrift on the Miss Maslow.

    The criticasters are telepathically hypothetically signaling their displeasure seconds before the wiring between brain and mouth engages, at variable rates of play.

    So there is that. The obvious urge to be stratocaster mcsnark is overwhelming when one feels helpless and realizes it’s actually much worse.

    Everyone, literally and figuratively, in due measure, according to their thought machine‘s neediness, and seeking any available encumbrance, is starving.

    Some quite literally for nourishment of the body (which stalwartly holds up the capricious brain), some in the beveled corners of their soul. All, for replaying of time.

    The hierarchy of needs prevails. The soul gets bled out. The machine overrides the individual. All is collectively lost.

    The main feature of the plan is that it moves credit

    creation from private hands to public (government) hands, with the public unaware of whom is really moving the government hands.

    It would seem some of our species cause this. It would appear they are gearing up for some sort of purge. Just like science fiction. Notice who is bearing down on your brain.
    Paralyzed by inequity, uncertainty and dissolving commonality, every man becomes an island. Existing in hypostatic congestion. Coagulants of amorphous soul sauce, baked into the pan.
    Attack on all fronts
    Trauma Centrifugal Limit
    Sacred Geometry

    The number two health issue
    Time slides & we forget
    C-PTSD YEAH YOU KNOW ME

    Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn’t.

    G-force
    G chord

    And contrary wise, what is wouldn’t be. And what it wouldn’t be, it would. You see?

    . Alice in Wonderland🍄

    🛴Newspeak👍🏿

    But who’s

    Watching the

    Watchers

    Youth Against Garrulousness

    ‘He called this hypnotic process “brainwashing,” a word-for-word translation from xi-nao, the Mandarin words for wash (xi) and brain (nao), and warned about the dangerous applications it could have.’

    Due to integration with shortcut bells & whistles, the washing of the brains has been accelerated.

    mythological entanglements form integumentary patterns

    a format to interface

    with or without your

    platform

    terrifying ancient techniques to turn the Chinese people into mindless, Communist automatons. He called this hypnotic process “brainwashing,” a word-for-word translation from xi-nao, the Mandarin words for wash (xi) and brain (nao), and warned about the dangerous applications it could have. The process was meant to “change a mind radically so that its owner becomes a puppet.

    But that’s China, right? Not the USA where freedom is celebrated and your mind is owned by capitalism not communism.

    So, what’s the difference?

    State-created borders

    They are amorphous when you consider the history of wars.

    Because most possible answers are wrong, and there is no force to guide us to the correct answers. 

    So we are adrift, prepping for six month power outages, outraged over various multiple choice questions and just plain starved for what we’ve missed in letting the lesser of us take over the control over the rest. The money man over the teacher, the lawyer over the doctor, the marketing genius over the farmer.

    We’ve let this happen because everyone is too busy supporting a family, burying head in sand or building up defensive reactions to new ideas or old ideas repackaged in new millennial-friendly bytes since millennials are all that matter any more. Or so they believe and they have the upper hand of 83.1 million representing more than one quarter of the nation’s population.

    And because we are the tenth most dangerous country for women:

    The United States is the lone Western nation to make the Thomson Reuters Foundation ranking. The United States is ranked 10th because of its third place rank in sexual violence — which includes rape, sexual harassment, and coercion into sex — and sixth place rank in non-sexual violence, such as domestic physical and mental abuse.

    And this is our hierarchy of experience.

    Don’t hold your breath

    We stood at the precipice

    staring at bones

    they didn’t lie

    but had shattered

    with time

    That endless roar

    between the eyes

    herding us home.

    This is not as bleak

    as it sounds,

    we pander,

    to no one in

    particular.

    By holding on to that first note, it

    generates a feeling of suspense

    This time

    We inhabit together

    Can we make something

    of it,

    together?

    Do we not have the

    capacity to be

    compassionate,

    fair and wise?

    Saddened

    Sorrow fills the

    night air

    eery calm

    the center of the

    universe

    Mind mapping

    Dream leaving

    desperate by

    the side of the road.

    from the forthcoming

    Chimera Climate by me

    Dream Weaver

    False Face Society 

    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.

    Crazymakers everywhere 

    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.

    The Graph: Math of Story, pt. 2

    “No bones. Not even a knee cap.”

     

     

     

     

    As if knee caps are a different currency altogether, and, if that were the case, I should have a buried treasure full of gold somewhere, risk-free, in the desert.

    I’ve been watching Breaking Bad in consecutive order, an anomoly for me other than “Lost,” “Deadwood” and

    to gorge on one season a while back; I saw a middle episode of Breaking Bad (the one in season 3 where the twins are buying body armor from a semi-fucktard redneck in semi-trailer, but I knew everything (pretty much) that I needed to know. I think I watched that in a motel in the midwest or was is South somewhere on location and half asleep, and I can’t remember when that was exactly, but now I have made it to the gun pulled on protege and sensei, student and teacher, grasshopper and master, season 4 episode 12 or 11 or something, but either way, it’s been a bad season for Walt.

    I don’t

    feel as obsessed as I did

     

    when I dreamt I was in Deadwood (because I woke up bleeding

     

    Then, there’s Mad Men, which I watched on Netflix from the beginning and that show holds up but can be watched as a one-off, and you get the story of the man, in a Greek tragedy kind of way. Breaking Bad kind of unfolds. More disturbingly, Breaking Bad kind of unfolds in a strange parallel universe I like to call the entertainment industry which is in fact owned by the German Multinational that, on paper, owns the Laundry/Meth Lab and Chicken/Chile HQ, based on conference calls privy to, dimensions of difficulty it takes to function in the ‘real’ world, whatever that is, I still am not sure and all the signs are telling me I should be.

    Yet, this I know, I know how to tell a story. The math of story is a graph that must move downward spiral to be ripped usunder to go where no man has thought to plunder to be redeemed and taken to the place unimagined, beyond and beholden, all the nipping at the heels of and chasing with shadows has stopped, but the signs point nowhere, are quite deceptively evoking payment of some kind and this should be no bones, not even knee caps, but something else entirely.

    by 4:50 haven’t made as much progress

    Tuesday’s gone with the wind 4:44 started

    All these devised interfaces for me to write what I know for the immutable time capsule, the diaries of not a mad woman despite the claims by others who shall remain faceless at this point in time as this is just a platform trial and entryway error momentum: 101 cards, starting today.

    Making progress.

    I still think about what that icon meant when he said he hated progressives on both sides. I ponder such things. I need some sort of absolution.

    going with counter-intuitive as lesson for today

    card 101: See? I am not an asshole? Love letters 4 days away.

    There’s no way to know…

    …if this were true, you just have to go with it, I imagine myself surfing again on a perfect morning in the perfect temperature water amongst friends, no tiger sharks in the making or anything wrong with a perfect day, coz you get those once in a while even if Henry Miller turns out to be an anxiety-ridden, rule-maker not rule-breaker, and Jack Kerouac was delightfully all over the place but feels in the end like a Dead Beat Dad, since my generation, the X-girls, the generics, embraced it, not afraid of hiding out on the plains of nowhere. Until it means waking up Rumplestilkskin style, 25 years later after a bad, bad lapse in acceptance of what others refer to and agree upon as reality. And I’m not just talking psychedelic experiments, but the ways of art, or physical training that likes to puff up its spiritual bases (see tai chi, yoga, martial arts that are humanly impossible and make you feel like ben wa balls, the equal and opposite reaction).

    Repeated exposure to threatening stimuli also causes sensitization of the nervous system. Sensitization results from a pattern of repetitive neural activation or experience.

    The Math of Story, pt. 2

    Or the continuing math of the continuing story.

    the deep dark motion


    an expanse that happens to come and go  unpredictable,
    since the emotion attached to the action or inaction beckons 
    self-flagellation, mutation, abomination.
    But today that is not the way I feel or think perhaps it is the sunshine perhaps it is the adherence to whatever shreds of practice can be maintained in constant (chosen, assigned, managed, apparent) chaos, a swirly world of why is no one listening to what I want?
    Why am I not absolutely perfect, never misunderstood, completely influential, with flawless, arguments, solutions to every problem and that other thing, which remains to be seen, will eventually be determined as I am trying to sort that out each day as part of the healing I must face, or die. Literally I won’t be able to continue the way I was and that is both frightening and freeing–not so much for the baked-laced-drench-your-desires-saturated-over-consumption phase that occurs in many artist’s awakening and they use it as an excuse to get fucked up. Not that so much. This is one of those shifts they talked about but I was too far up the valley to feel it until now and I don’t want to jinx anything and go back to the shitstorm that usually seems to present course for me to chart my way through.
     
    I want, more Lonesome Dove cattle drive than Bonnie and Clyde so I can focus on things that I want to put energy into —  because sharkland beneath the sea of sharks swimming and eating and swimming and devouring everyone who is good, with those dead eyes.
    on a stretch of road
    littered with lost souls, we held our tongues.
    so now, in this
    day to day
    existence
    we can’t tell
    which
    is easier
    and all we want
    as days go by
    is less trouble
    less testing
    less trying
    for needless senseless random exercises in futility-
    no. no more of that please and thank you.
    even if no one reads this, no one cares, no one knows a god-damn thing – there will be no random futility here. That’s been disassembled and analyzed and I’d be happy to explain my theorems to you, they are well thought out. What else ya gonna do but work out those kinds of academic problems when you’re living a block from skid row and it’s hard to tell where your next meal’s coming from sometimes.
     
    but no matter
    no mind
    that’s all
    behind
    us now
    get it
    driving fast
    write off
    the past
    and then the hush that came before the roar…

    It’s as if
    the sea does part
    but
    these days
    it
    happens
    on the
    freeway