What do we say in the end?

In the end what do we say?

That we drove cars, flew on planes, or that we watched sunsets.

That we watched TV shows on huge flat screens or that we watched the stars in the desert.

That we were mostly anxious or mostly relaxed

That we found time to find ourselves or that we never knew what or who we were.

That we lusted after fame (and even found it), or that we searched for what made us truly happy

That we understood what being happy was or that we thought we knew but were wrong

That we dared to be true to ourselves or that we languished cowardly in corners for fear of ridicule.

That we unraveled the puzzle of living, made peace with our restless spirit, mastered being alone or that were always terrified of it.

That we spent our lives in homemade cells or tried our darnedest to break out of them

That we lived in isolated mansions or that we felt

this planet, and the universe itself through our skins

That we lived hoping for the future and forgot the moment or that we forgot the future and lived the moment?

Life psychedelic

Life psychedelic.

There are no strangely brightly colors, no displacement of images to point out that our experiences are extraordinary.

The deep meaning eludes us because the sun shines the same in the Bronx, in Fayetteville, San Pedro Sula, Itaewon, and in Montevideo.

There are few mystics to cue us that what seems common place, and hence boring, is actually magic from infinity.

We are given threads of boredom and we tie them together skillfully into a predictable and dull occurrence.

With ink of boredom, we write our magical lives into non-consequential events. We write ourselves into workers and consumers. 

Through the veils we weave, we blind ourselves to the very nature of the universe in which we exist.

We follow an order, A leads to B, and B leads to C, and quite naturally we find ourselves where we are. One thing led to another, and the awesome logic of the universe, which has nothing to do with our crude common sense, escapes us.

But we are wrong, and even if the psychedelic portion of it escapes us, it is a psychedelic life, an awareness expanding life.

Sweet contradictions

In this case, my interaction with the environment takes place through pieces of paper.

I used to walk around cities mute. 

Now I have something to say and I hang it on trees branches, pin it on walls and on tree trunks. 

I will be heard. 

Though I don't really care.

“The squeaky wheel gets the greasy.” 

Ah sweet contradictions!

Anonymous ink

Anonymous ink that sinks into despair

It’s a fool whoever tries to turn stone into flesh

It’s a doomed attempt

Skip it

Start by writing odes to your failure

And then take a break from self-torture

Did I wake up prematurely while the rest still sleep?

The night terrors made of the morning a welcoming end

And now I tip toe around the slumbering

Should I go back to sleep then?

Could I?

Confusion

You will never understand, you will never comprehend

But you will have children

And they will have children

And you will build villages, and towns, and cities,

And you'll create languages (or perhaps one will be given to you)

And you will believe

And you will label

And you will divide yourselves among yourselves

You will fight in wars and escape with your life by a miracle

(Or die most freakishly)

And you will be driven by instinct

And want nothing else but to reproduce, to feed, and to relieve yourself

You will know how to keep yourself healthy (or not)

You’ll know how to make money (or not)

And you will hate others

And you will love

And you will laugh

And you will cry

And...and...and...

You will speak in hushed tones and in low voices

Or scream as loud as you humanly can

And you will smile soliciting company

Or you will chuckle nervously

You will court a woman (or a man)

You will create laws and break them

Or lay your life upholding them

You will kill and you will travel (or stay put)

And you will abandon your family or your family will abandon you

And you will invent

And you will manipulate

But you will never understand

You will never comprehend

And you will think you are better than others

And you will chase them away

And you will want to save yourself

And you will look at the birds and will want to fly

You’ll have pets, and pets will have you (you will be somebody's pet)

And you will notice the cycles and you will be a part of a cycle, and you will imitate cycles

And you will be a cycle within a cycle

And that cycle will be a cycle within another cycle

And you will be misunderstood

And you will be flattered

And you will be adored

And you will be watched

And you will be ignored

And you'll strut

And you will limp

You will stand (or sit)

And you will lie down on beds or on the grass or the sand or the dirt, and you'll wish to be older, or younger

You’ll wish for things you will not withstand

Or wish for too little

And you will wish you didn't understand

And you'll wish you understood more

But you will never understand really

And you will create order

Or promote disorder

And you will look around

Or straight ahead

You’ll stifle a cough

And you will run, walk, or stand still,

And you'll get tired, or be restless,

But you will never understand, you will never comprehend

You'll be numbed

You’ll be terrified, sad or glad

You’ll write poems, compose songs, play instruments

You will draw and paint

You’ll notice the summer, spring, fall, and winter

And you will write for hours

And your heart will ache

And you will stare for hours and do not comprehend still

You will be alone and wish for company

You’ll have company and wish for solitude

You will be hot or cold

You’ll sweat and be dry

You will swim

You’ll paint your face and talk close to the one next to you

But you will not understand, you will not comprehend

You'll be outside wanting in

Or inside wanting out

You will love the day and hate the night

Or hate the day and love the night

You'll move at night and stand still in the day, or vice versa

You’ll get tired of reading this and think there is no point to it

And be annoyed by the ands

And...and...and

Your turn will come and your turn will end

And another cycle will begin

And again will happen again

And you will realize you are imprisoned and know not what to do

You'll look around and see others, prisoners as well, who will not see you (or the prison)

And you'll choke and hate the blind and hate your shackles

You will peer in between slots and above rows

And you will peer from around columns

But you will not understand

You will never get it

You'll know that it’s all a farce

And you will partake of this farce and want more

But there will be no more

Prole dance and abandonment

What I wanted to say is being said

We hold ourselves hostages

Our captors: pets, plants, TVs, computers, rooms, apartments, houses, complacency, laziness, routines

Proles and philistines do the prole dance

It’s like this: one, two, three, turn, one, two, three, turn

On and on and on and on

Seconds turn to minutes and minutes to hours

We start with pirouettes on our minds

Daring free-style moves, but end up with the one, two, three, turn, one, two, three, turn

Old, and tired

Disillusioned and overweight

I don’t abandon you

I abandon cages and the captors within

Don't look up

This is for those who made the mistake of looking up

Keep your eyes on the ground, on the small pebble, on the fine grains of sand

Don’t look up; you’ll see the boulders, the hills, the mountains rising to the skies. They'll frighten you

Keep your eyes on the leaves, what nice colors and shapes! The small branches, the small capricious bush, the flowers, aren’t they neat?

Don’t look up; you'll see the sequoias, the red woods, and the immense forests of the Amazon. They'll unease you

Keep your eyes on the small details, the nuisances of your job, the grievances caused by co-workers. Worry about being on time, worry about getting off work on time

Don’t look up, you'll see the world's riches, sailing on monetary flows, and plunging right into the mouth of the insatiable beast. You'll get a glimpse of those it crushes, and you can definitely do without that sight!

Keep your eyes on your own groceries, your own TV set, your own car, your own tank of gas, your own pile of trash, your own plate of food, it’s so small!

Don’t look up; you'll see the ravaging of our planet and the indifference of the murderous millions, hypnotized. You'll see the

pollution spewed forth by the ever growing malignant tumors called cities, the trash that piles up without end, the starving children groaning under the heartless tyrants that serve us well. You might not like yourself if you do

Keep your eyes on the marvels of the time, the car – what a neat invention! The plane – wow! Computers, TVs, radios, electric lights, paper, ink – what an ingenious creature man is!

Don't look up, you'll run smack against the questions that still stand before us, and realize that the gadgets that make our life easier, don’t shed a sliver of light to reveal who we are and what we do here. You might lose your high self-esteem

Keep your eyes on your bible, the preacher, the choir, and pray to the Lord for all his blessings, listen to the message of salvation with your head bowed; if you believe hard enough you’ll save your soul

Don’t look up, you'll see the billions killed by religion, you might get a glimpse of the religious sacred-books and sacred-symbols – bearing murderers in their holy exterminations. The contradiction might make you doubt your God