When people talk about the moments in their lives they often relate the success or failures of those moments to timing. They bemoan the fact that this or that missed opportunity came down to poor timing. Timing is relative. When it comes to human relationships and timing,time is nothing more than a construct that depends on too many variables to be … well depended on. Humans have survived on instinct, and loyalty and love, not the timing of it all. We stuck, and stick, together because in order to survive we had to. Timing is irrelevant to the whole thing. We forget that in our self centered drive for our distant desires. Down the timeline is where our heads are but the rest of us is still right here, right now, disconnected from ourselves.If I wanted you in my life I would take you right now, as you are lock stock and barrel and I would walk with you, and I would love you with my whole heart because my instinct tells me you are worthy. Timing? Bah! This is the time. It's the only time we have because the next second exists just as much as the last second does. Only as constructs in our muddled minds. I could be dead by morning. What does time mean then? Nothing except to those I've left behind me. Before this time I was there. And after this time I wasn’t. But it still means nothing to the right now. That's how I see it. I have always seen time that way and thereby live lost in the linear. I live in a linear world because it's the world forced upon me. If I could just live and write. Time would mean nothing.
I could go on having crazy conversations over the mad strains of Duke Ellington about the irrelevance of time, the frustrations of love and the fact that in my mind I am smaller than I have any right to be, but in the minds of others I am bigger than I deserve to be. Wanted by so many. Needed by so many. Understood by so few. Forced in this Xian world to compromise and dance and live in a linear circular meaningless cycle of 8 hour days. Forced into the human constructs of the past and the future. Time and space and money and politics and hope. Not just live in the right now. Not just live in love and passion and need. Why? For what they call survival. So we can afford to buy twenty dollar meals that are bigger than we should ever eat. So we can discard more than we ever deserved to have in the fucking first place. Survival they call it. So we can fill a house that’s bigger than we need it to be full of shit we never use. Survival is a pile of discarded junk on a street corner mouldering in the summer sun. Even the home free man passing it as he pushes his cart squeaking and clanking with aluminum cans knows that pile has no value. It never had any value. It was always misdirection. Even he refuses to dig through the refuse of your nugatory, trifling lives. His survival depends on more important things.
Survival has itself become a corporation that bleeds us as sure as a jugular slice. We dance on the strings of greed and needless needs. We follow the folly and work for pennies better left strewn in the streets. We are addicted to our addictions. We are led by our bullrings. Piercings that we inflicted upon ourselves. Masks that we wear and fucking chastity belts we locked and threw away the keys to before we even knew the importance of what we were doing to ourselves. Killing ourselves, destroying ourselves and doing it gladly for what we term a “Higher Moral Cause”. Fucking ourselves up the ass with a rigid corporate cock. Moaning in delight as we make them rich off our own blind desire for more. More corporate cock, give us more, we insatiable greedy whores. And doing it gladly for the next steaming pile of discarded junk. Dancing on our puppet strings, we our own puppeteers. Dancing not to the unholy Devils tune, or to the holy strains of some fucks forsaken God above, but dancing to the discordant tune we have created and modified and ruined in our mad dash for uselessness. A cacophony of lost souls screaming in the fires heedless desire. What shit music they make.
But they don’t understand. They don’t see while they walk the streets the work that’s being done in the minds of mad poets. They don’t see the that infusion of thought fed to them came from the tip of a rigid shaft bleeding onto the page. Screaming in your fucking faces. Choice is a lie! Free will is an illusion! You are conditioned, instinctive creatures. You are dirty groveling animals simply trying not to fucking die and trying not to miss a chance to fucking fuck so you can make more dirty groveling animals. Look at your beloved histories and see the men and women who truly changed the worlds we live in. They are your gods. They are the lasting forevers of human history. The lifted you and have kept you from the morass and they continue to do so. Rest on your dried up bloody laurels you worthless mass. Weep for yourselves for you are stagnant and in stagnation every species is doomed.
