Our Collective, Expectation Driven Reality

I'll get the "pseudo-science" out of the way now so Skeptics can respond directly rather than read the entire post. This idea leans very heavily upon studies done with perception of electrons, and that is essentially the only evidence but I think it's rather good evidence. Basically when scientists try to predict the path or spin of particles, they discover their expectations were deciding both the path and spin. In other words until they observed the electron it was literally exhibiting all possible outcomes. Perception caused one outcome to manifest rather than the others. At this level of observation, particles take on the characteristics that we most expect them to. Imagine using a Guess and Check table for observing particles, only your first guess was always right because the particles had no right answer until one was provided for them. Feel free to sigh and roll your eyes if you think I'm misinforming people on the conclusions reached with these studies. To me it seems undeniable that our expectations have a direct effect on reality. This line people have conjured up between mind and body (imagination and material) is illusory. Like just about everything else in the universe, it exists on a spectrum.

The problem with solipsism is it invokes the idea that one mind is in control of everything, this mind is solid and non-fractional. The Hindu form is much more appealing to logic: One single mind has divided into every droplet of disconnected awareness. But enough with theology. Accepting the postulate that mind, energy and mass are all basically the same, one can begin to see the connection between what is manifest and what is possible. And between what is imaginable and what is possible. Consider the idea that every expectation in the world creates for itself a possible future and as long as that future does not get impeded by other, more powerfully expected futures, it will manifest. Now you understand the war of expectations. Our expectations compete as they are pulled ever closer to the present moment. When you desire something, you are creating a force that both pulls it in and pushes it away. The pushing away force is stemmed from your clinging to this desire. Your fear of an outcome outside of this desire in fact empowers these other outcomes and makes them more likely. In much the same way when you fear something, you are creating a force which is both pulling and pushing. To exercise one's power over expectations, one must accept all possible outcomes and fear none.

Your expectations are directly affected by your mood. If you are angry, for instance, you'll have some ego-driven energy to feed off but this, in turn, empowers aggression and makes violence a more likely outcome, handing victory over to those who prefer aggression (such as police. In other words never get angry at a cop or you'll make him stronger). If you want your expectations to be stronger than others, you must focus on inner peace and non-being. Non-being is the greatest source of energy.

Books like The Secret can be misleading because they tell you anything you imagine is possible, you just have to believe in it hard enough. This is false, believing in things really hard does not make them more possible if you're too attached to the outcome. It will make you frustrated, though, and less likely to believe your expectations hold any real power. Keep the Collective Reality in mind. If your expectations are to manifest, they must agree with the overwhelming collective expectation. In other words it's a lot easier for a telekinetic to do his thing if he's surrounded by a room full of people that believe in telekinesis. Cynics literally dull the universe. Your expectations of people can also influence the way they behave. By expecting people to behave a certain way, you are providing for them an intuitive compulsion to behave that way. While it is necessary to accept what is, it is also necessary to keep in mind the best possible result. When dealing with people in controversial circumstances (such as being stopped by a police officer) its far easier to expect the other party to behave immaturely or in an undesirable way than it is to expect them to behave positively. However, by keeping these positive expectations in mind without being attached to their outcomes, you are actually providing intuitions for the people around you to behave better and with more compassion.

Hence the greatest weapon is compassion. In fact, if our enemies are corruption, greed, ignorance, apathy, oppression and violence then compassion is our only weapon. Acting from any other emotion (rage, pleasure, boredom) and you have already lost, or even worse you've become a foot soldier for what you're fighting against.

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It is golden fingers wrapping against my skull, grazing and clawing its pretty pink nails. It is stripping me wet and throbbing. It is bellowing like wind, it is god damned awful. It is so tingling. So livid and living and alive and lovely and I die in its grace. I die like ribbons floundering in a gust of wind. Like an ice-dance erupt in fire and split down the middle, and a demon emerging ripped in proud muscles, torn like ambition and cowering in the face of its majestic opposite. So massive and powerful and ferocious, and yet useless as a rusty old heap of monumental pieces chained and growling from its post in the junkyard. So ugly and worthless and creative and burning.

And dying for the reason itself. To be able to. Because that is all we can do. But we can do it in so many different ways. We can do it long or real quick like a shadow black envelope or a dull, murky lake collecting in its place. And always there. And I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop needing it. I can't stop yearning it. Not death, oh no not death every stupid driver is in my cautious gaze and every weapon pointed the right way. Not a physical one anyways. But what can truly be lost? My memories exist in the same way they could. Nothing I really need would die. Just this illustrious, bleeding suffering in the back of my mind. I choose to kill that thing.

I crave it. That shadow. I crave for it to stop haunting me. So come at me, I say, and I expect nothing but what you are. Come at me, demon. You are and you are. And I... will find the God again when this needful thing ceases. Me and the illustrious void together in lovely harmony. Shadow as my friend. The tiger walks the same path as me, and though we find ourselves at odds with each other from time to time I fuel this flame with my nourishing guts. I collect the grounded things, the left-overs, the forgottens. And me and my people pitch these bits for our trolleys and truck them to the furnace, our tiger.

And he burns them all to void. New beginnings then rise from their remains. What was void is now ashy, silky soil. My team and I then water and ponder and blow empathic little kisses against this nasty manure until it grows.

It grows so lovely, and the loveliness shows as our little hearts dance at colors indescribable to us who only know blackness. And we pray so hard that our creations be strong and sturdy and always as pure as they were then.

And we protect what we made with our friends. Though the leeches and the weather plunder at our treasure, we build shelters for these things and work so hard to keep them clean. Though they dampen and they stain and willow in the sun rays we build walls and detergents and washers and gates.

And we protect what we made from our friends, those tarnishing blades they call trust. To plunder and sulk and you know that they must at least get a gripe of what you hold hidden. Bare and then thin and groping like mad at the blackness, looking so hard for a shard of what used to be pure and delicate and colorful.

...

But it's all over, now, isn't it? We didn't even make anything here at all, as far as the earth knows. And I see a family of little creatures below me collecting the dust and feeding it to their mothers. Beating their little hearts in pride for something they don't understand at all.

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This is a nonsense feeling. Like dripping molten rubber, absolutely stale in smell but rich in texture. That meal so delicious in festering bacteria only eskimos dare call it a delicacy. That richness like solidity, like salt and fleshy membrane. And ounces of it, too. Drippling a stream of unsettling goo. Oozy eggwax, it founds a pool in my mind's sewer drains and gathers up into a growth. And settles longer, still, growing roots. Reaching further out into parts of me even I don't dare explore. And there it truly feasts, and buries its feet so deep in me I can't hope to pull it out less I remove every chunk of my insides with it.

And so I do, bit by bit I chewed and grit against it with my canine teeth until I'm scraped hollow. And when that day comes that I've licked every reachable corner clean, I shall await the boiling. And I hope to sizzle well, to not give way to easy thinking nor needful clinging but to boil with perfect meaning and finally be the seeing. Finally see the being.

This is what my mind finds in that nonsense It's entangling, unsettling and far too enchanting too ignore. It's gentle darkness is so unspoken that everything within me calls out in utterance. I am alive only because something like death exists. I have projections only because it presents its lovely canvas for me. Only in darkness can light exist. Only in silence can we find noise. Only through hollowness do we know fullness.

Every single thought, no matter how pure and beautiful, is an act of rebellion against death and God.

The Beached Whale

I don’t want a soul mate, I want a total stranger
I want to reach across the stellar chasm of anonymity to a world of veils, masks and painted faces
And find another person there
I want to bond two quarks completely foreign to each other
To start new
To defy fate
To divide by zero
And let the magic dissipate
Let the color dry to stale white
And fuck all the angels
I don’t need them casting charms against my sails
I don’t need reminders that God is real, that life’s not mundane
I don’t need to be happy, successful or sane
I don’t want it
I want to be a warrior in a crowded death museum with paintings of old wisemen smirking from a joke you wouldn’t understand
I want to be an ugly weed stripped to withering stem by herbicide
The one that still grows
I want to be the point zero one percent of germs that survive antibacterial soap
I want to be the gas leak in a bankrupt bar caused by an “accident” that leaves the broke owner with an insurance check
I want to explode
I want to be discarded teeth, a bit of ear left bleeding on the ring
I want to be the fight between the weirdest geek in school and the jock boyfriend of his crush
I want to be the child’s shoe locked on the gas pedal of a car speeding to the hospital, eyes barely able to see over the steering wheel, the younger sibling struggling in the back seat to keep breathing
The cancer that grows in your belly telling you you’ll never have children and pushing you puking tumor juice through the gateway to heaven
The dream of riches that comes to mind when investing in a Ponzi scheme
I want to be the tv show running another season after the title character quit to do features
The house on a vacant street that just went for sale
The song of a beached whale
The teeth that tear your leg like sweet release when a bear trap’s caught your paw
The rocking shell of a top-turned turtle cooking in the sun
Defeated but never quite done
I want to grab a boulder by the balls and make my climb humming rock songs like a true Sisyphus
But I won’t buckle and let it drop
No, I’ll push it off

An Ocean bound Experiment (part 1)

The Parasitic Egg lay in my Brain

I can’t stand to live in my head these days
But the locks on these doors refuse to break
It’s a shallow circus / of rotting lurkers / waiting with pokers
to push my presence off a cliff

Rolling a boulder up a hill
Trying to pin it on top and keep it still
Worn out text book / Thrift store jacket / Recycled plastic
And I can’t count all the things I miss

It’s all museums in my brain
It seems these thoughts will never change
And every layer / That’s peeled away / Leaves me in shame
My pale skin burns in the sky

You have no idea with it’s like
What I called real left me behind
I’d rather stay here / Drowning in water / I won’t go farther
It’s just me here with my lie

And I know that door’s not really locked
I barred it down and made a wall
Left me sleeping / Left me sunken / Keeps me dreaming
It’s my drunken parasite

Been told since birth that I was blind
Never knew I could open my eyes
So much beauty / I have a million / Unanswered questions
I left God for in the mail

Hard to admit I’m scared to die
I’d die twice before meeting your eyes
And though it hurts me / I’m not afraid now / So come back in here
I can stare you in the face

How I love to make mistakes
Why should something be made if it can’t break?
You know I’m sorry / But I’m trying harder / I’m still not sharper
All I do makes more decay

I’d do it right with one more try
But this world works in real time
And all my grace / All goes to waste / I have no chance
Where is God with my reply?

So leave my body on the ground
Name forgotten, memory drowned
There’s nothing left / We’re here by ourselves / Nothing else lasts
And all my questions were declined


Chemical Conclusion

She looks out a window in her eyes
To a microscape that she’s too big to fit in
A little world too small to have a name
And as she looks closer she decides
That she wants to get an invitation
To perform a song for this domain

And she decides
that she’s gonna find a way to shrink her size
So she can meet
All the little people that she sees
And they see her
Reflected through their optic mirrors
Walking down a street
Looking for someone who wants to meet
But no one’s coming out
No one wants to think about
A place out there
Where giants roam around the air

So she goes home to the place inside
To her body’s chemical conclusion
A place too big to have a name
A speckle in the iris of her eyes
And the people hear her play some music
So they cut their little ears off in disdain

So she decides
She’ll grab a drum and beat it loud enough
That they can choke
On the rhythm pulsing from their little guts
And they’ll hear her play
The sound will pound their heads buried in the ground
Because she needs
To play her music
And she doesn’t care
About a place where giants fly the air


Satan Loves You

I was walking along a road
With those warm coals under my toes
And I know he knows I know
Oh yeah it’s him
Satan loves you more than Jesus can

And I bend over to look at a girl’s
Butt hanging out of her skirt
And I’m sure as I watch her look back
Satan’s back
And he loves you more than Jesus can

While I sit playing poker with no chips
And my friend looks away so I take his
Then the dealer winks cause he understands
Oh you know
Satan loves you more than Jesus can

When I die and I fall below and I fry
At least I know I won’t have to sit in the sky
And hear you talk about how good you’ve all been
That’s how I know
Satan loves you more than Jesus can


Doused Lantern

I finally see the stars unfold the night
It took so long to escape these city lights
I wonder how much longer is the drive
Before I escape these thoughts of you and I

I’m not upset but my head is stuck
On the wish that we’d never met
So my tank’s dead, my tires raw
Just go away now, just please be gone

I lived so close to the waterfall
But I never bothered to look at it at all
And the state they came they built a dam
Now it’s gone and I’ll never have the chance

And I’m sorry that I was so loud
We got buried by an avalanche
Just accept what’s happened now
Cause you’ll never change the past

I parked my car at the edge of the sea
Laid down on the sand and had a dream
A table lay arrayed with my insides
A flock of eagles sat around and dined

But I didn’t care, no I was fine
A hollow body makes a simpler life
Sticks and timbers were stitched into my skin
And thick with embers was the air I breathed in

And you can never doubt yourself
We live a life of accidents
Just accept what you’ve become
You’ll never find that form again

And I ignited like a bottle rocket
Split to bits so small I couldn’t find them
Now they’re carried in the gentle wind
Off to find undiscovered lands

I awoke and I left the beach
Leaving behind all of those pieces of me
The sun was born on the baby dawn
So go away now just please be gone



Later to the World

Let me take you by the smile
And lead you somewhere no one’s been before
We’ll leave our clothes off for a while
Let the tide float us gently passed the shore
Touch my fingers and forget
There was somewhere else we lived before
Forget the people that we’ve met
We don’t need them, don’t want to see them anymore
They never once believed in us
So far we’ve made it fine all by ourselves
So I’ll hold your hand and smile
And softly hum the sound of wedding bells

I couldn’t ask for more
Than to leave this place, escape with you
And float along the shore
To find somewhere completely new
The waves rock back and forth
Like hands massaging sand beneath our feet
It’s all we once prayed for
A place simpler than humanity

Listen to the breeze now
Underneath are seas of sounds
Listen to me now
This place is real in our minds
We’ll get there some how
Cause I feel the waves touch my
Fingers and I forget
There was ever somewhere else but here
My mind is so clear now
Without the real world to pester it

I couldn’t ask for more
Than to leave with you, escape this place
And float along the shore
While our old world disintegrates



Crawl Aboard the Mole Machine

the Floor beneath my feet
feels Stranger at this speed
and i Look out the window
and See the little moles
with All their fragile goals
they Grabbed with all their hope
Dreams they’d never know
don’t Ever let them go
but as Every breath is pulled
this Train gathers more steam
and the People that came with me (it would seem)
Got off at the last station

and Soon they would repeat
their Thumping little beat
and they Sigh with all their might
to each Other they would pray
a wish toGether they had made
as a Family live each day
on the Things each got and gave
they Wished their world could change
to a More beautiful place
in this World they planned to make (out of love)
it was plenty to be thankful

they’d Grown so sick of greed
that they Cast out all their things
when their Needs became disease
but they Found themselves a cure
they Built themselves a world
rich with Adolescent dreams
a founDation of light beams
but their Dreams would fade away
because They were too afraid
that the Beauty they had made (with all they could)
wouldn’t be appreciated

my Stop passed me long ago
but I’m Not worried cause I know
no Matter where I go
my Heart will be my home
and i Swore I’d live each day
only On what I got and gave
cause i Wish this world would change
to a More beautiful thing
and I confuse my dreams (with real life)
But I prefer my mind’s vacations

Desolate

I want to build an island with my salty blood and live there
Make a fire and burn the trees down until it’s desolate
Haunt a cave with my inner demons and storm the beach with my latent fears
I want to live where boats can’t sail
The radar misses it
A volcano built it, never noted by geologists or marine biologists or environmentalists
And it sat there collecting seeds of many kinds
Some nice and some just parasites
And it grew trees, moss, mushrooms, rats, bushes and weeds
And it grew me

This island made from mud, from my salty blood
And I decided to hide it so no boat could find it
And I decided it wasn’t worth it to write HELP on the beaches
Or burn black smoke for the airplanes and rescue procedures
I decided I didn’t care to tell anyone where I was going
Nor tie my boat down to keep it from drifting
No, now it’s just me and my gentle breezes
And my frightful storms that scare the beaches
And my white fire burns wet wood like coals
And my hidden talents creep in termite thickened logs
I save them for when my scuttling beach hugging luncheons have all been plundered of their meat
I save them for after the storms cast away the last of my precious, milky, motherly coconuts
After the hot sun has left the breeze stale and my fires have burned down all the trees
And I realize there’s no one to hear my cries now, my boat’s drifted off and no one knows I’m here
And I’m left desolate

But I feel that breeze again
And the critters creep from their hollowed logs, fat from larvae and all sorts of little things that burrowed deep beneath
And as they fed on my secrets, I feed on them, digest my demons and excrete angels that sweep my ash and pack it down to paper then fold it up and mix in sand until they've built a sail
And I set off again, to another unknown island

We are people

Ask me what makes someone a person
Ask me what talents someone needs to deserve dignity and respect
To avoid cruelty, captivity and shame
To have their time, to be listened to
And have their rightful claim upon the world.
Opposable thumbs? Flapping gums?
Is it buildings and telephones and satellites and photographs?
Or killings and megaphones and conquerers and holocausts?
Or gossip, envy, curses, and swear words like nigger and lies and ads on TV?
Or art, beauty, culture, feelings like love and poems and paintings and ancient mysteries?
I don't know what makes you a man, but I had an idea one day while I cried
“This is what makes you a man,” I thought with surprise
"This is what makes you a person," I said and I saw
Tears swelling from heart to heart as people stood tall