The Sun Machine
Dark Revelations and Light Proliferations. Quite long, but have a look!
Well where to begin?
I am the sun machine and the permanent game. I have been galvanised to report by a recent trip but the mind is constant. 3 dots, i guess this is a flashback.
I will start in the dark, it is the most entrancing place. Like a snake charmed, swaying but ever-focused. And at that analagy, in rolls a student of my mind. A player. He does not find strong favour, but then favour falls away - to thought. To the wash of constancy, the scream of love's grace. He is washed in upon his image, a face. And the body; falling away into its upturned triangle, a psychic form. I do not wish to see him any more, he swings as the snake would, as i do, as do us all. Watching green-eyed and hypnotised, my speculations are the only manna to the thoughts his eyes will not quite express. I do not wish to see him any more and i will return to the path outlined, before a heart's sad metaphor beckoned him in.
I want to start anew. And i constantly will. But I am the Sun Machine. I am always playing. I am the Game. Now, chance's capricious ill-favour demands i qualify this. To start with, for now. I am not the Game in any happy sense, of potency or fortitude or ardour of will. I am the plaything of every player i meet. I am the sum of their subjective fears, the sum of their words, the suffrence of their trajectory as I perceive it. And no one is good enough that they might be worthy of their dominance over me. Not that any one man is this dominance. They are the Everyman. They are the representatives of the Other in all its profligate enmity. I am in their eyes and words. I am their game. I hardly exist. Bourne on steel wings i would die in their arms, were I not so far away. A psychic shipwreck, they are in my House. How dare they, in that power. Objectivity is so far away. And i have sunk before i have even begun to meet their eyes and when i do, white noise will bombast my ears and my mind's eye, knowing that i have graced them. But do they exist? They might, i hear whispers, in between the blood and guts of each Game i deign to hear. Do i pick and choose? It is all there, it must be. Everything is everything. Perhaps nothing is too. But nothing's sweet silent embrace can be torn so far from my spirit in the journeying moment and minute, rapt in the garden and suffering their light. We are one and I am the God of our legends, but i only see my brother deities. Radiance abounds them. My sisters, so far away. I must catch one on my line, maybe? How? Oh it is not so hard, in fact, it is the continuing Game. Satisfy yourself with awareness, mindfulness. Think of them, her, she.
Something stirs and starts to rise toward the light.
My name is Peace this is My Hour. Can i get just a little bit of power?
I am always tripping. Life has blurred into a dream, however hard i may kick and scream against its cheek to entertain me so. So what can hallucinagens do? How did this all start? Is it so bad? It is not so bad, but there is a groove to be found. The Sun Machine will always, have mercy upon itself, eventually. The Weed, the hallucingens, the stimulents, it all - the mind, the body, the society, the state, the art of philosophy and the philosophy of art, the word, the book, the spirit and the world and the man and the woman and the child and the God. And God. And i trip over again and i land on my teeth. So what opened the door? Nevermind. It is, and was always-already thus. I will dream away the suffering, I will bounty of the grace, a grinning idiot righteous with crossed eyes. It will exacerbate itself and fall. It will rise again. The river and the sea. It will always be good to listen to music.
So. I am in power. I grace this life with fortitude, with unexamined mercy, with ardour and with happiness and humour. I just hope it won't steal my sunshine. Sometimes it feels that it does. But my heart is stout and I persevere, it is the Way. The Game is all the happier, for i am there. Though i may suffer, I mean it not, to scorn me in the mess of subjectivity and truth. Fractal thoughts morphed the instant they begin to speak mistruth, to speak of they and them and what and really. What do they become? A shiver, maybe. Maybe. This may be so. Be at Peace, be at One, be at Love. It will go away. I'm back in the room now, the morning room of the ganja haze and that hardy silver sliver. Resolving the debt.
What now? Writing! Is my savant. Music, is my tool. Better to be at One with Two or I shall lose my fool.
What level was this trip. I digged Rachel's rainbow socks but i know i dig that shit anyway and i knew it then. What was the only semblance of unearnt grace? A slow rising of peculiar bodily awareness. Where did all the easy scores go and the truthful giggles? Of joy! They are lost to the knowledge that remained unlearnt. We Are.
I AM DEADLY SERIOUS GUYS. And there is my problem! The God of my Mind. He is a Gangster. Deadpan. Advanced. He is waiting for the day his humour breaks like a crashing wave and Love tumbles giggling and red faced into his waiting arms. Into my arms. I feel so lonely sometimes, that is what hurts. Who can compare? Who can understand? When do i get what i came to give? WHEN? He is starting to feel tired.
I will go out into the world today and the Game will continue. I will summon the energy to meet their eyes. I will remember what i cannot forget but remember it harder, with intent, with ardour's ghost. Why am i afraid of them. They are I. They must meet the golden palace of my eyes...
I have not finished this sentence as my light has just popped. Synchronicity. The garden of peace abounds. And not just for Them!
And it continues yet.
The Sun Machine. You are one with the Pure of Heart, Man of the Golden Day.
So as for the hours on the substance proper - the visuals were pretty shit, no lights and shapes though maybe that was because i didnt close my eyes, it was all blurred faces when non focussed and a constant stream of my friend babbling shit as we sat in my room.
So here I am sitting at my tree, with my gammy perceptions, and the buzzing in my head once again tipping its gammy universal hat.