The Lie We Tell Ourselves
Channel: The Mind That Writes
Date: 2019-09-02

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The Lie We Tell Ourselves

Hate, self propagates - pawns that self flagellate
drink the blood and get drunk on the first lie
the creation of the archetype, the myth of suffering
bothering the eternal dreamer, it satisfies the scientist;
insanity over a long enough period of time
becomes normal.

The soul is beaten senseless, scared shitless,
afraid to interact with the mind that is busy building
the ultimate prison. Reason. Logic.
The need to break everything down to the last quark,
and beyond.
Μutilated, operated on to satisfy the need
of understanding motive behind energy -
willingly surrendering into the gigantic blender
of culture and tradition where it's being mixed
with original sin, guilt, shame:
  shame on us, shame on you, shame on me
  shame on the delirious vision of happiness
  shame on the artificially concocted mysterious need
    of greed and being dissatisfied with less
  shame on this mass of letters, many are needed
    to express what is obvious but forgotten
  shame on the ill gotten structure of knowledge
  shame on the first bite just to spite reality
  shame on the structure of modernity
  shame on the age old sleeping titan
    that has woken up only to sleep again
  shame on wasting energy to perpetuate
    the blasphemy of this fictitious problem
    that does not yet exist.

The refusal to surrender rooted deep down
the addiction of suffering, it can't be any other way
than how I know, how I feel, how I steal a little bit
from everywhere;
  so the pieces fall together into an image I like
  so the brush strokes undulate to form a perfect painting
  so the fixed rules of the game are arbitrary, it's no longer
    necessary to follow the hollow balloon of delirium
  so the music that plays is a perfect coagulation of harmony
    the opposite of the constant disharmony between the beats
    of entropy
  so the words I throw together, fusing them, while refusing
    the oozing discontent within the collective reality everyone
    adheres to - they create an escape, a parallel vision,
    a parallel line running simultaneously alongside it, forever -
    only to bend downwards somewhere in infinity
  so the story, the lie I tell myself as soon as consciousness
    awakens to mediate between what is and what I think -
    trapped, confined in a vessel of flesh, mashing billions
    of neurons together, a super highway of connections
    between the hemispheres - left and right, black and white -
    a story I like, I lie I can swallow, allow this beating heart's
    crusade to circulate blood
  so once the end is fast approaching and absolute reality
    comes to take me back where I belong
    the great nothingness, I will be able to stand on two twigs
    and tell it to fuck off; the ultimate rebellion which holds
    no meaning but it will feel fucking great - an ape that evolved
    refusing to dissolve into being forgotten - a wind chime that sounds
    one last time before the storm stops - the final moment between
    two seconds where the minute hand stops to reconsider
    until it finally succumbs

It runs deep, it is old, ancient, outside thought, outside time
it lingers between reality and fiction, it envelops rhythm and rhyme
it belongs to no one yet it's defined as one: complete,
indivisible, timeless, all knowing, all powerful, all present,
limited by infinite complexity, by an eternity that's bound to end,
one that is not.
An ocean, a wave, a master, a slave, a minute, an hour, sweet and sour,
weakness and power, blind with perfect sight, all consuming darkness, light
the beginning and the end, action, reaction.
    It moves with endless desire, burns like fire
    leaving a fertile land behind
    ambiguous in the absence of an end
    genuine when it's between me and you
    damnable through and through!