He stood before a crowd of thousands rising into waves and falling, and yet he never touched the earth but once in all his time. In his hand he held a weapon which though short was deadly to the kings of our new generations, and upon his body were the skins of the great hunters; the tanned flesh of mad beasts; a suit of shining armor which deflected death and drew his foes’ maiden daughters into his holy embrace. Inside this madness he roared and crowed, his ego showed and glowed, his voice became a golden spire and deadly arrow alike and his words the passions of the heart of mankind. And when the noise died to a buzz he crept forward, all muscles tense and ready, his tongue alight with still more fire, and to his waiting sons and daughters he spoke at last his name and power upon this simple earth.
“I am the lizard king,” he said aloud. “I can do anything.”
We are told that conflict is bad. Conflict is war; conflict is strife; conflict is ego. Ego is conflict. Ego is cruelty. Ego is taking for yourself what you want from others. We are all ego, and we are all unapologetic for our narcissism in the end. We are fully narcissism incarnate. I myself am the hand of my ego reaching out to disrupt your placid existence. I say what I want, do what I want, feel what I want, take what I want, and I deserve it. We all do. That’s the way life is.
But it’s worth it all because ego is ultimately what we seek. Egos melt together and become friendships and relationships. Friendships and relationships become families and states and businesses and nations and peoples. These things become the world. We are the world. We are the roads we travel, the friends we meet, the kindnesses given to the poor, the truths told by science, and the prayers offered for the sick.
When we melt through each other, which is inevitable, we descend into conflict. We fight and make war. Many people think that this is unnatural and terrible, that this is bad, but in truth, it’s a part of the circle of life. Conflict is how we grow and join again and build new foundations. It’s worth it because from the ashes of war, new life will always grow. The universe is an eternal cycle of creation and destruction.
You cannot stop this cycle, no matter how hard you might want to. It’s ultimately what moves all things: building, wiping away, and building again. If you can accept that this is how life is, you’ll be a happy person for the rest of your life, until the time of your ultimate destruction and perhaps “rebirth”, however that may prove to come about, if it does in fact come in a spiritual sense at all, is upon you. Perhaps we’ll just die into the dust, but it doesn’t matter: we have no power to stop it. We are only creatures of flesh and blood. Happiness is accepting what you can and can’t change in life and flowing with it.
I lay back in pleasure. I dream of the future. I touch my cheek with my fingers. It feels good and I am happy. I am free from worry now. Words don’t hurt me, people don’t hurt me. I need more. I am safe here. No one can hurt me. I vomit. I lay back in bliss. My stomach hurts. This smells sour. I am safe in this place. I lay back in bliss and enjoy my dreams. No one can hurt me. I am invincible and I can do anything. My stomach hurts and I don’t care. I need more. Nothing else matters. I am immortal and immune to hurt. I am happy. I vomit all over myself. This smells sour. I am infinite bliss. I am fuck. I am fulfilled where that empty place is. I cannot walk. I am invincible. I am safe. I cannot walk. I need more. I cannot walk. This smells sour. I am sour. I need more. I want more. I am invincible. I feel good. I want more. Nothing hurts me in this cocoon. Nothing matters but more. I want more. I need more. Nothing matters but more. I need more. I need more. I need more.
The old blind man picked up the serpent and touched its scales gently. It bit him. In retaliation, he broke its neck and threw it to the ground, where he stomped viciously upon it with his heel. Then he set off on his way and was not troubled, for the serpent had not poisoned him. The serpent lay dead in the hot sun and rotted away.
We are a planet. The universe is a planet. The universe is a net. The universe is a twat. The universe is what we focus on. We focus on what we want most. We want what we want. We deserve what we want. We take what we want. We deserve it. Take what you want when you want it. You deserve it. When you feel that cold money clenched in your fist when you took it because you wanted it, you deserve it. When you kick down that man who’s above you and stomp on his head and feel the good hot satisfaction of hate pulsating in your blood as you laugh at him, you deserve it. Take what you want when you want it. Have no regrets. Be everything. Be the universe. You are the universe. You deserve it. You are the universe to you. You are all that matters. You deserve it.
I have no content planned for this. I’m just writing. There’s nothing here, only a vapid emptiness. I guess that could be a metaphor for society in general. Or you. You’re vapid. I’m vapid. We both pretend there’s more to us than there really is because we want to be seen as interesting people who live interesting lives. But we’re not interesting people living interesting lives. We’re boring people with boring lives–and there’s really just nothing we can do about that, no matter how many masks we put on. We are not interesting. No one is interesting. Everyone is a ripple in an ocean of vast, ever-expanding nothing. That may seem philosophically meaningful, but no one’s going to remember a single ripple in the pool when it’s gone. Nobody’s going to remember you. You are not interesting, and you are not important, and you are not memorable, and neither am I. Nobody is.
Mustard is delicious. It’s bitter and very salty and goes good with anything that isn’t sweet. The molecules in mustard are made of atoms. The atoms that make up the molecules in mustard are made of prisms and cubic triangles. Everything is a cube and a triangle and a bird and dead fish and this blog. Everything is your breath. There’s no cubic difference between your breath and a meaningful word, even though you have never said a meaningful word in your entire life and neither have I. If you went out on one of the hottest days you could feel your mind melting into the rest of the universe like ice cream. It’s the way of the world. We are a conglomerate of the melting universe. The universe is baby shoes and mustard.
But though anything I eat is ultimately mustard, it doesn’t taste like mustard because it still isn’t mustard even though it is mustard, so I can’t just shake out a bottle of baby shoes onto a hamburger. You have to wait for time, and even I can’t wait that long. I’ll be dead by the time your baby’s shoes become mustard. I’ll be dust in the wind. I’ll be nothing at all. The earth will be gone. Time doesn’t work that way. But mustard is delicious. Out of the talk of baby shoes and dust and apocalypse, I have brought it back, because time can warp with the right way of using the mind, though it might not warp all the way and you might not be able to engage the full pleasure of the experience. But I have brought food from the apocalypse and the dust and the shoes with hands and thoughts alike and alone.