Zen suspension and graveyard talk.

I’m not sure, yet, what I want to write about but… I think if I keep writing, someone will tell me.

I spent most of the day in the sun.  I’m kinda shot.  We had a garage sale.  I like garage sales, because I like all of th e different kinds of people that you meet and see.  I like people watching.  Their mannerisms are so key to their existence, it’s awesome, I mean, watching people grow into their niche in life.  For some it takes a little longer, but others… I have this feeling that I’m getting very old, very quickly.  I don’t know where the hell it’s coming from, but it’s kinda buggin.  It’s like tomorrow I will wake up and have wrinkles.  I’m not even really LEGAL, for Christ’s sake. 

Every once in a while, I think about the dead.  Actually, I’m lying my ass off.  More than every five times in a while I think about the dead.  They know all of the answers.  They know what it feels like to die, what it feels like to live, and to sleep, cry, fear,; most also know what it feels like to be happy, content, and beautiful.  I think they’re watching us.  Every day we wake up we wake up to a roomful of the dead who are cringing, watching, adn waiting for us to make the same damn mistakes they did.  Every once in a while, their feelings carry on toward the living, and we feel… different.  Elevated.  As they communicate, WE know what it feels like to know everything.  But yet we don’t know anything, because we’re living, breathing flesh.  The dead don’t hate it.  They’re tolerant.  Some are bitter, and some of them fear.  Some do hate, I can’t lie, but I think they are very rare.  Most of the time they are just angry, that they can’t do anythign to help us, as they watch us screw up again and again and again.  Maybe one day, the human race can accept the dead, mold with the dead, and become stronger and more knowledgable.  But I don’t know how this is possible.  A severe form of meditation?  Honestly, I’m not sure if I’m even strong enough to do that.  As a mild necro, I don’t…

One’s inner obsession is one’s true fear.  But I don’t think I fear the dead.  I think I fear the knowledge that comes with accepting the dead, and their mission.  Maybe, even in a way… I’m scared of happiness, and the contedness that comes with accepting another’s mission.  Of course, the dead may not even be listening to me right now.  They may never know how I feel, what I feel.  But I don’t think so.  Because I feel the dead.  I FEEL them.  Sometimes I am terrified, but sometimes all I feel is their bitterness.  Unless this is my skitzo ass brain talking…

Then we have a different story alto-fucking-gether.

Just think about it though, the things we, as humans, could learn.  But who the hell am I kidding?  The human race refuses to learn from each other when we’re alive, who would learn from the dead?  Who likes history?  I do!  Who else?  ::counts on  fingers::  Maybe just a few more.  That’s it.  No one wants to learn from anyone.  Is that what’s wrong with society?  However, if you ask someone, they’ll say they’re willing to learn.  It’s our own blindness that eclipses ourselves from the knowledge to continue our lives as an ongoing vessel of success. 

Hmph.  You’re probably thinking, ‘All of this from a gangbanger?  Fucking please.’  But I’m going to take this time to clear that up, too.  I am a juggalo, not a gangbanger.  I’m not active.  I respectfully claim the title of Juggalette, I represent the underground, and I flaunt it.  If it gives me gang trouble, hell, trouble in any shape, way, or form, I will meet it, because that is part of my mandate.  But I don’t go looking for trouble.  Well… that’s a lie, but anyway-  I don’t go looking to rob some fucking banks, I don’t hate certain groups of people, I don’t have turf, I don’t get in other people’s business; in fact, I try to avoid authority as much as possible.  But if called upon, I will destroy and am capable of it.  I am a juggalo.  I have enough baggage being a juggalo so that I don’t need any more of that shit.  I want to do something with my life, and I try not to let my beliefs get in the way of that.  But if they do, they do.  And believe me, that is not the way a gangbanger talks.  So.  Questions?  Moving on.

There’s so much in this life to learn that people take advantage of.  Actually, there’s so much that people take advantage of, period.  I hope, through my dance, and maybe even writing this freakin diary to the invisible world out there, I can change this.  They say anything is possible, but changing human nature?  I guess even if I touch one person.  Two, maybe.  Then, perhaps I can even change my life.  Become stronger.  We learn from teaching others our gifts, and helping them grow.  Together, people are stronger.  If anyone is reading this, I hope you understand.  I’m not sure I do.  But as I said when I started writing this, I knew someone would tell me what to write.  I don’t have all of the answers, because I didn’t start this with any questions, but maybe you did.  And that’s why I’m writing all of this crazy crap down.  Who knows? 

I hope everyone finds what they’re looking for, because a lot of times that can be a life or death event.  I have a little comment on that, though, as well:  If you have questions, don’t look outward into other people because you are bound to only find the reflection of the questions you ask, distorted through realms of opinion and empty space.  If you have questions, look into yourself.  The answers you seek are closest to your heart- they reside with the dead. 

Fui quod eris, fui quod es.

Inmate-