Posts Tagged With: Survival

Who is Society?

Who is society? (A Subjective Coalescence with the Living Object of Society)

 

While contemplating the concept of society, I often forget to consider myself a member. Society is a living, breathing, and constantly changing aggregate of economies and entities. Forgetting this, I envision myself as an observer, somewhere high above the petri dish of humanity. In doing so, I sterilize all learning with the immature habit of disconnected reflection. I avoid the dust of the world so as not to get my hands dirty.

I don’t want to take responsibility for the ill effects of industrialization & globalization. Dirt is inevitable. I’ll effortlessly purchase throwaway cell phones, receive goods in plastic containers, burn fossil fuels for travel, & spend US Dollars.

In avoiding major sources of societal expansion, my sense of pride tells me I am making a difference. Through this feeling of pride, there arises an idea: I’m not like them. I am not better or worse but I am certainly different from them. This type of thinking brings separation with it. Embracing separation from our environment denies a fundamental law: nothing exists separately.

This very idea of the rugged individual, I believe, is responsible for a dangerous disconnect. The individualist diverges their identity with the organized human form, creating a dualistic separation of organism and environment. This dualism leads to avoidance of the tough issues of life, mainly ethical & philosophical.

“I love man not the less, but nature more.” Lord Byron

Industrialized humanity has abandoned wild nature in favor of human nature. Human nature is a part of nature. I consider it to be inhibited, suppressed, in denial. Extending this to myself, I realize that I too, am those things. In me grows a resistance to accept the ultimate nature of society as it is, here & now. Living in a world of potentials and ideals, I sometimes miss the pragmatic counterweight of realism.

I feel a restless spite toward civilized humanity; at odds with some greater human entity. Denying benefits in favor of losses, focusing on ugliness rather than beauty, giving in to self-loathing before recognizing self-approval. If I am to take responsibility for my membership within “this”, how am I to feel? Rejecting society, living on the fringes is only an avoidance of the real problem: how do we cope with ourselves?

Through quiet acceptance, a door beyond intellect opens. Emotional states become unreliable. Just as thoughts, feelings are mere relative responses, not to be confused with ultimate nature. Soon the thought might arise: I am society.

All these things I am, in an ever-expanding fashion as all forms consistently dissolve into space. I am ultimately inexpressible. I feel myself filled with life, I feel myself decay. I see it everywhere, inside and out.

All mammals arising from the womb of a beautiful female, we share these experiences. I am not separate from life function & the cessation of life function and neither are you. We share this and we are this.

None of these ideas belong to anyone, as much as character doesn’t belong to anyone. They are collective reflections of influences, both inward & outward. They are gifts from society, just as much as our biological makeup is a gift from nature.

As a member of humanity & its greater idea of society, we are inseparable from the discoveries & failings of our members. We are able to share (or deny) these discoveries just as we contribute to the overall catalogue of evolution & decay.

We are these ideas. We are this ignorance. We are these inventions. We are this destruction. We are society.

“You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.” R. Buckminster Fuller

Advertisements
Categories: Essays | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

For these eyes only

A message from the eyes
behind the character
who maintains this profile:

I see you.
Im here to rip you to ashes.
you are dry leaves,
I am matches

open this mouth
find misery

shut up, look, and listen
find me

broken channels
mended minds
hearts unspoken
thoughts unkind
keep to myself
weave between everyone

if you read me,
if you feel me
you are me
I am not one without you

reaching out, reaching in
vast seas

bow drill notched
tinder ready
laughter silent
eyes steady
draw forth
draw back
get hot
blow

Release all the words of the worlds that you cannot directly feel, feel the feelings that your mind says are real, burn them too. Unlock the little place beneath the locket in your chest find the place where your heart beats the best.

stop

breathe

blow

I give the fire all my anxiety all my pity all of the feelings that I feel to be shitty, the fire of unchanging change makes me never the same, let me feed you my pain and I’ll put it all in. The little bitty wind carries me away and I just wanna get this water boiling but I can’t think about how thirsty I am ‘cus I still need to blow

stop

breathe

blow

Damn what a man what a plan what a sham what a scam, we think we got it down til were bleeding on the ground knees all down asking heaven “how?” But the skies are deaf and the words dont listen so the tree falls; if we hear it, we’re around, sound is only sound when there’s an ear to be found.

break sticks
youre next

Categories: poetry | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Home Sweet Home

East Coast, I can feel your restless, aching legs from all the way out here. I can smell your rainy streets, I can taste your stormdrains stuffed with cigarette butts, tampons, receipts, orange needle caps. We both know you roll with the safety off. You’re a reckless, callous kind. I can already feel myself not giving a fuck. I can already see that red flag pop into the dirty water, smack between the lines; but I’ve read between your lies. I know what you’re sellin’.

East Coast, I brought you some presents. I didn’t bother to wrap them, I know you’re not one for ribbons and tape. I’ll send it USPS, while I travel “United Spiritual Principles & Service”. I’m just struggling to find myself getting there. I can hear your road rage, resting between visors & glares; hard looks and stares. You’re angry, like a freshly spent shell casing. You’ll burn anything you touch for a moment, if it’s soft enough. You’re crass; made of brass. I share your anxiety. It keeps me up when I have nothing better to worry about. I never sleep anymore. I go to my dreams and I meditate. And last night, I thought of you.

East Coast, I breathe you, I know you. We slept together beneath cool skies, soft stars, calm breezes. I long for your sunset hues of grapefruit juice pink and whiskey amber. That sweet smell of shady riverbanks is calling me. I miss the creak my knee gets when your skies cry; I cry too. I wish I had given you more than my troubles & tortures, but I’m coming back to make it full circle. I’m still here to let you know that I have no fear. I’m still around to let you know that I worship your ground.

East Coast, I’ve seen your demise. We expired together on that garage floor, suspended gracefully between life & death. If you OD’d, I’d probably be out of town and miss your funeral. I’d expect the same from you. But we both know, as long as we are together, we can’t really die. We embark on our maiden voyages, alone. That day will come. It always does.

East Coast, I’m here to help. I bear the burdens & the releases of medicine. It is my belief that before one becomes a doctor, one must be very ill, and recover. We all share what ails us in society, our ability to recieve healing relies upon our perceptions of ill will. This is the art of preventing that which ails us. There is almost as much hope as there is dope. You are a mighty pendulum, mesmerizing the populace with your fine china and silver spoons. The scale will eventually tip in our favor; illness can’t exist without good health. 

East Coast, I hear your message. You preach tough love and survival. You keep us fit and afraid. You are forcing the hand of evolution, in a dirty set-up of a poker game. Your boys are around back, waiting to stomp me and run my pockets if I win. I get it. Yours is a game of rigs and fixes. The House always wins. And that’s why I love you, because whether or not you know it (and I think you do), you’re paving a painful road to eventual freedom. Old giants will awaken, and old habits will become useless. Pile it on. Use less cut, & more scissors. I take it as a challenge and a mockery of life, to live in a land where the authority of death holds reign. I keep a flame close to my candle for the ones we lost, and the ones we’ll lose. They’ll light our way and I’ll walk for them. Damned if I take anything more than a moment’s rest, I play this game close to my chest.

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.