Casualty of Solipsism

This is a short story that I'm debating whether I should continue on with, or leave it as it is. I suppose if I get hit with some inspiration for it, I'll continue. I've been thinking of making a series of short stories based on my many seemingly-conflicting-yet-married-together-in-an-orgy philosophies and spiritual views. Hopefully they'll shed some light for myself and others on the nature of reality and how we percieve it. Anyway, here's Casualty Of Solipsism, a look into what it would be like to travel along the left-hand path with a narcissistic, solipsist worldview.

Casualty of Solipsism

As I paced around the room, I wondered how much longer this fairy tale can keep up. How far can I take it? Can I mold the entire world; will the universe bend to my whims? Has my solipsistic world view defined my narcissistic existence, or has my ego determined my philosophy? How can I trust myself?

Apparently, I can't. The two dead hookers lying in a puddle of blood and feces is a grand testament to this. I'd have to take care of the other one soon, before she walks in the room with her saggy Mexican tits and her collection of dildos. She'd cause a scene, and I can't have that. She'd wake up my redneck, white trash neighbors and I'd be off to some maximum security prison where'd I'd wake up each day to an ass full of semen and my resilience left for dead.

I took another line of cocaine and decided I'd strangle the bitch. Much less noise that way, although truth be told, not half as much fun as beating her over the head with whichever blunt object of choice happened to be on hand. Before setting off to increase my counts of homicide, I decide to liberate the oppressed urine from my tyrannical bowels onto the lifeless corpses of the low-class prostitutes that littered my floor. Really, they shouldn't have insulted me like that. I'm not some sort of depraved fucking homosexual; they should have told me they weren't really women.

It's not like they had much to live for anyway. I was freeing them of their flawed material existence, and all things considered, I should probably be awarded a medal. Maybe in their next lives they'd be born caterpillars or something, although I've never seen a she-male caterpillar. Shit, I've never even seen a caterpillar in action, getting all hot and heavy and finishing off with a money shot. Oh, but that's right, caterpillars undergo metamorphosis into butterflies. A bunch of fucking pansies they are, I guess butterflies are the GLBT of the insect world.

Not that this has anything to do with the problem at hand. I stepped over the heap of dead bodies and fluids, exited my room and closed the door carefully. The spic whore was in the bathroom, brushing her hair with all the attention only a woman of the night could give to her strung out, disease ridden body. I stroked my cock until it was erect, strutted over to the bathroom, bent the harlot over the sink and shoved my male figure of dominance into her filthy cunt. She acted surprised, but I knew she could barely even feel it. Not that my prick was small, far from it, but this bitch was a classic case of a "hot dog in the hallway". I'm pretty sure I could fit my foot inside of her. Either way, I wasn't fucking her for my pleasure or hers, hell, the only reason I was hard was because all this killing had my blood pumping, regardless of all the cocaine swirling through my veins. I just needed a distraction.

She was still preening herself as I began to choke her, strangling her with the gentle assuredness that only a man with an ego the size of an elephant and a cock buried deep in a pussy could muster. It didn't take her long to stop struggling and give way to my asphyxiation, and as soon as we both went limp, I slammed her head into the mirror and let her body fall onto the sink, and then the floor. A job well done, I think. It wasn't possible to make her death anymore fitting, I'd wager. I'm sure she always knew she'd go out with a bang, or at least while getting banged and jacked up on blow and hash. Or maybe she was just trying to save up enough money until she could return to back her family in Mexico, marry some nice young man and share the gift of herpes with him.

Fuck! I've probably got it too, now. No matter, I can take care of it; I can take care of anything.

Five in the Morning; The Words Don't Stop

What is it about writing, reading, thinking, and learning that I love so much? It's like chasing after the greatest high there is, but with only occasional hints of it with an occasional rush of bliss.

I love the smell of books, the feel of paper, the ink that rubs off on my fingers and turns them black.

I love feeling a keyboard at my command, feeding words into a document until page upon page is filled up.

I love holding a paper down while I scrawl my indicipherable printing onto it.

I love the feeling of making a sudden connection, the moment of Eureka, the apple of newton, the apple of discord.

Oh, Eris, oh lovely Eris. Oh Mary Magdalene, oh Sophia, oh Holy Spirit! Every word I utter, every sentence I write, every thought that I could ever think, they are your doing. You have imbued me, I have imbued myself, I am part of you and yet I am more than you and less than you.

Oh, Eris! How I love thee! All the paradoxes, the confusion, the chaos, all the reasons why we ask, "why?", they are all because of you! They are all hoaxes as you and I are hoaxes ourselves, as we are all nothing and everything! Duality, seperation, they are all born soley from an individualized, contextual perception at a specific point in space and time.

You are the reason, you are the rhyme
You are the spice and you are the lime
You hold me up while they hold me down
You make me smile while others make me frown

Praise Eris!

Dreams of Hell and Freedom

Strange dreams, strange dreams of men and of war. Of fright and of adversaries stalking through the night. Strange enemies that bring death and gloom, fires burning a home. In such dreams I dwell, and as I dwell the passage to the portal of Hell pulses and it grows. Sickly green odors sludge from the bowels of Pain, dripping acidic horror to wherever evil resides. I sit and smile as the clock winds down, winds backwards, and eventually breaks down. So too must I wind down and break my back, backwards.

In such lives we live, in such dreams we die. Then we are bon, reborn, dismantled, assembled, and repaired to perfect condition. The condition being, of course, that we don't fuck up. As such, here I am once more: fucked up, drugged up, brought down and feeling down, with my head in the skies and my heart buried for dead. It still pumps power through my veins, and the murderer will hear the sentence; justice will be served as one portion per day. No cholesterol, no artificial sweeteners, colored dyes, or preservatives. No, sir, this is the real god damn thing, here!

Don't talk back, for I am superior, inferior, both, neither, nothing at all, and owing much to quantum consciousness. Dare you heed my stories? Only at the cost of being liberated! Heed my warnings: free your mind.

The Leash of Existence

The proces through which thought becomes action is a curious one. Which of us controls it: the concious or the subconcious? The trying or the doing? What is the force that causes us to move? That moves us to do?

Although logic sometimes leads us to believe that the idea of free will is naught but a fallacy, it is quite apparent that it is a truth. If there were no free will, there would be no need for leashes. In fact, it is the leash itself that is a fallacy. How do we justify the use of leashes? We are superior, and we are right! However, if we really were superior, we would not need leashes. The shepherd knows what is best for his sheep dog, and he treats him as a compaion, as an equal.

He that knows best for himself, knows best for another - and treats another as he would himself. Indeed, any that would act your better is really your lesser; for we are all but equal to eachother. We who are of the same flesh are of the same blood. We know who we are, and those that know, are. If there is to be, there is to be nothing at all. There is no question,

Existence is futile.

Madness - A Product of Insomnia and a Vaporizer

There is no end to the madness, the bottom has fallen out and revealed itself for the true nature it holds within itself. The sinless nature of knowing nothing has been shown for the true representation of itself; ignorance is not bliss. Ignorance knows nothing of bliss, ignorance knows no suffering, but knows no bliss. The frightful will be over taken by the frightless – not by force, or even choice, but rather process of elimination.

A gentle madness creeps over my vapors, crawls into my brain and slithers through my waves. The vibrations feed off of each other, a symbiotic relationship between the self and the self. Both sides of no coin – there is no coin but there are plenty of sides. This makes no sense, but it can’t, it is madness.

While homosexual pedophiles are running the country, the churches, and the schools, people are finally waking up. Evil is rearing its ugly head and the people have become disgusted, or at least the people with soul enough to realize these situations should elicit disgust.

A disgusting, disgraceful world that does not matter, an infantile creation of chaos and energy, the madness seeps through and wallows in its sacrilege. This, too, makes absolutely no sense, although maybe it could if this were not the same universe we inhabit. It most likely is not.

Clouds pass by and I know the truth, they are watching and they are waiting. They take our dreams and they play in the sky. They dance and tell tales, and even light their own fires. To be a cloud would be a fluffy existence. Water is obviously the next scale in human evolution; we’re already mostly made of it. Dolphins and whales have the right idea – they’ve immersed themselves in water even though they’re mammals.

Cleanse yourself. Wash yourself. Water yourself. Grow yourself. Give fruit to yourself. Spread your seed, young plant, beautiful plant. Plant of the Earth, child of the Earth, give wings and give chase. Grow up and look down, spread leaves and leave knowledge. Know this:

There is no meaning.

Marijuana and my world

Marijuana is a unique plant - this much can not be disputed. What other plant is like it? What other plant has so many medicinal uses? What other plant has unique, visible sexes? What other plant can be used so widely in industry? What other plant can bring about spiritual, philosophical, and otherwise higher thinking revelations? What other plant can make you so relaxed? What other plant can enhance everything, make everything look, taste, feel, smell, and sound better? What other plant is so harmless that it not only will it not give you cancer if smoked, but will even prevent it? What other plant can make everything so fresh and new that even the simplest of "inherent" cultural values become the most obscene picture of absurdity ever painted by so-called intelligence?

Indeed, what other plant possess all these qualities? There is no doubt that there are separate plants that could meet most of the qualities of marijuana - psilocybe mushrooms can do many, for example. None, however, contains all of these at once. What kind of strange plant is this? What is its purpose, this plant that grows so fervently and spreads with such zeal that it has been dubbed "weed"? Is it even native to this planet we call home and Earth?

Could it be, perhaps, that marijuana is a complex plant meant to treat a complex problem? For those of you that have any experience with Terrence McKenna and his thoughts on psychedelics, this may sound familiar. Indeed, marijuana is a psychedelic, although not to the magnitude of most psychedelics. It will not produce a trip like psilocybe mushrooms or the peyote cactus or the ayahuasca brew, no, but neither do those psychedelics have the physical healing capacities and industrial uses of cannabis. Marijuana is not especially strong in any one field, indeed it is often thought of as being able to compliment most other psychoactives. What drug is out there that does not go great with cannabis? Scary, terror-filled drugs that are more poison than anything else, and even then one may find marijuana comforting.

Erowid lists cannabis as a, "stimulant, depressant, psychedelic" and as an "intoxicant." It can be all of these things and it can be none of this these things. It can be some of these things, a combination of these things, or a combination of the subsets of these things. Marijuana, in a way, is a metaphor for life. It is the infinity: all energy and life are merely derivatives and subsets within the infinity, all possibilities are traveled and chaos produces the creativity and originality that turns the universal infinite consciousness from a deterministic experiment to the playground of energy. Truly, what else could one call life? It is the playground of energy, of motion, of vibrations and waves, of ups and downs, male and females, good and evil, the bottom and the top of the wave. In the center is the balance, the asexual, the absolute zero, and also the infinity. Infinity is special like that - where it exists, it exists everywhere, for that is its nature. This may seem obvious, but to state something and to actually be able to perceive it are two different things. Can you truly perceive the infinite?

I can, to a degree. I would not be able to do it without cannabis - at least not in the way I am describing. The eyes I see through are the eyes of energy, of chaos, and of love - but at the same time I see through the eyes of complete stillness, of perfect order, and of destructive asymetry. These conflicts rage against each other in only a manner in which waves can battle and copulate, with each further hit taking the next to an exponentially smaller infinity. Indeed, that is what I am doing with marijuana: with each further hit I am becoming exponentially closer to the smallest infinity.

Many people who are spiritual view a higher conciousness as, well, "higher", moving UP, like steps on a pyramid. This highlights a central flaw in the way the whole basic idea is trying to be symbolized: the highest conciousness of infinity is no movement at all - absolute zero. In other words, infinity is also known as nothing - it doesn't exist, but it does in a way in which it is extremely hard to wrap the physical mind around. When one reacts, you are displacing energy and creating more waves and vibrations - moving further away from the absolute. I have to give credit where credit is due - Ate introduced me to this idea: allowing energy (life, chaos, vibrations, etc) to flow around you and not reacting, you gain greater control. The smaller the wave, the more control you have over it. However, one must recognize that duality is present in every situation, especially those regarding duality itself (moderation in moderation). When one achieves total control over everything, you realize that total control is no control at all. The more you try and control something, the less you actually do. The more you just let things be, the more you are letting them be, and thus you are controlling them by optimizing their inherent purpose.

This is the world I see with cannabis, this is the universe that it has shown me, that it takes me to with every inhalation to every exhalation. I am the alpha, and marijuana is the omega. Yahweh - God - His name literally means, "I am what I am" , or in more simple terms, "I am". That is the infinite consciousness, the absolute, the zero, the ultimate vibration of no vibration of all. The only eternal truth, that which is, is, or mathematically, 1 = 1. Descartes famously said, "I think, therefore I am," I would like to point out that if a = b, then b = a, as well. I think = A, I am = B. Not only is it true that all things that are, think, all things that are, think. Yes, that's right, all things are part of the infinite consciousness - that's what infinity is, everything. You are part of it, so show yourself some love, treat everything with respect, and learn true unity. Anything that is matter is energy, and anything that is energy is life - and should be treated with love. Yes, even a rock should be treated with love. Why shouldn't it? Just because it doesn't meet our perceptions of what life is?

Marijuana is alive, and in more ways than one. You would not regard your wise grandpa as a tool, even though he has a purpose to you, would you? If you did, you would be thinking in cold, logical terms that eventually end up contradicting themselves as they are not aligned with the infinite truth. Marijuana is not a tool, although it serves many purposes, marijuana is a companion, another living being with a soul and a purpose and an existence. Every time you strike a flame to it, remember that, and treat it with the respect it deserves, and it will treat you with the respect you deserve and have shown.

I have no more panic attacks while high. I have no anxiety, no paranoia, no bad vibes, bad thoughts, bad feelings, or otherwise. And yes, I get very fucking high. I treat marijuana with love and respect and in return it does the same; it dissolves boundaries and I impart patterns. True patterns are not those that define a set to a limit - true patterns know that there are no limits. With each hit, more boundaries are dropped and less limits are set, more skies are opened. When you have the infinite, anything is possible. When you are the infinite, you are possible. When you stop being high and begin to be high - that is, to be the high, when you for a give-give, love-love relationship, the plant becomes part of you. You return to each other as all things are.

This sounds absurd, but at the core of all absurdity is truth. There are some plants that we share more DNA with than with other animals - why would it be hard to think marijuana is an extension of our souls? No, I take that back, they are not extension, they are our souls, as all things are, as I am you and you are me. I am what I am, you are what I am, and I am what you are. We are the alpha, we are the omega.

I am the up. I am the down. I am the balance, I am the derivative. I am all the shades of grey, all the rainbows and all the fractals. I am every wavelength there is, I exist on all planes and in all dimensions. I live in every place and in every time, in every universe and in every atom.

Marijuana is my world.

Love.

-R

Nothing To Say

I have nothing to say. It’s quite interesting that I have nothing to say, and in fact the very presence of words on this screen signifies that I do indeed have something to say, it is just waiting to come out. The very idea of nothing is in fact something, although this something is in fact, nothing.

What is nothing? I don’t know, I don’t think questions make sense in the universe. Nothing makes sense in the universe, it’s not supposed to. Why would the universe make sense to humans? We just see things they way we want to, the way we’re bred and brought up to. You can’t put a grid over chaos, it doesn’t work like that. It’s not even chaos, it’s beyond words, language, emotion, sight, color, art, feelings, the universe is so much more than that.

The scale of everything is so large that something, anything at all, pales in comparison to the vast infinity that is the universe. The universe is so large, in fact, that it seems not to exist at all. It’s said that two straight lines eventually meet, and although I don’t know if that’s true or not, it certainly makes sense. Nothing and everything are one in the same, polar opposites are in fact polar twins. Everything comes full circle for there is no circle at all.

Relativity destroys everything, without absolutes you slide into a hole of relative nothingness. There must be a balance between relativity and absolutes, but being human I am still restrained to our strained perceptions of even the most basic concepts of “relativity” and “absolutes”. What is absolute? It’s not something present in nature, it’s something we’ve made up. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing isn’t present in nature, either, how could it be? By it’s very nature nothing doesn’t exist. But none of this matters, this is all just semantics, word play. You can run over words trying to find a meaning, but when you get stuck up on your language you forget your substance, and it all dissolves away into aether.

None of this makes sense. It strives to make sense, I strive to make sense of everything. How can I do this? I can not. How do I know I can not? I don’t even know that. What do I know? Who am I? What am I? What is “I”?

Surely I am not a thing, if there even is such a thing as “thing”, I am a collective. Or maybe I’m not. I’m questioning every basic tenet and facet of life, slowly everything is falling away. I’ve pulled a vital piece away from the master construction, the great veil over our eyes has been dropped like a jenga tower. The iron curtain, a curtain that exists only in our minds.

Everything is gone, embrace nothingness.