Philosophers in Rags :: We dive deeper, and come up muddier.

Grandfathers of the Universe,
 Behold me!  What force moves my bowels?
The ladies refer to it as "Nature" calling.

This moving of these bowels defines us.
The end of these movements is the end of this.  (period)

The intellect and all its reason, all its symbols and orders of abstraction, all dependent upon each of us being full of shiit, then emptied of shiit, then filled with shiit until we become only the traces our animal body made … traces which we never were in the first place since I am certainly not words scratched on a tree or typed on memory chips.

That "spirit" behind the words can only articulate with those alphabetic symbols only so much.  There is great paradox and contradiction everywhere you look.  That our lives can change forever in a New York Minute ought to terrify us all, but one must learn to breathe … in, out …. Some of us may not be capable of breathing easy in any but the most holed up nest: that is built into us by nature.  Like the rest of the animal kingdom, we are terrified of Man, or humankind.

I don't know.  It feels right to be afraid, especially when all the "tough guys" are suggesting one "man up."  The knuckle-draggers and arm-breakers may take delight in enforcing their "codes," but to live as though expecting one is free to think and feel how you wish to think and feel would demand one throw caution to the wind and express oneself with as much manners as possible, all the while knowing someone will take offense in the way you express yourself, or just the way you look, the color of your eyes …

Grandfathers of the Universe, You who have not questioned the impulse to procreate, those who even pride themselves on the broods left in their "legacy," You would not take offense if a specimen of a particular species were to come to the conclusion that his species was being "farmed for technical labor."  Who and what would I seek assistance to when the problem is "in-house" ?  That is, if I find myself superfluous to the species, or, not at all superfluous, but prolific in ways that do not have the economic blessings of my contemporaries, then the problems I may be having "with living" are rooted in a conflict not so much with life, but with the culture and society which I have developed within - a society which is sustained by artifice beyond the comprehension of most the denizens which depend upon it for sustenance. 

Without the conveniences of the Industrial World, powered by fossil fuels, electricity, etc, most of us would be goners.  We are quite pathetic, and we do our best not to hate ourselves for our ridiculous predicament.

If our species is a cancer of the earth, then maybe I am one such as Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., cancer with a conscience.  This may be the line of demarcation between what we call a gort and what we might refer to as "conscious, cognizant, coherent being."   The gort does not understand that we are cancer spreading and draining mysterious "elements" of the biosphere, elements the Taker Prison refers to as "natural resources."   Although consciousness does not make us any less "the core part of the problem of our own existence," at least seeing ourselves and our species for the gigantic primates-trained-to-be-insects that we are liberates us from the deep cognitive dissonance resulting from too many conflicting impressions of "reality" versus the various myths propagated by religion and science.

My dark prayer is that my heart might become hard and cold enough to behold this cosmos as it is.  Do not with-hold too much knowledge from me for fear I might tremble in awe.

I wish to see clearly, and yet, it would also be nice to jet back and forth like a crazy squirrel or goofy dog once in a while.

My bucket list is for me to experience myself as ape, and to throw "metaphorical poop" at those who aim to control the masses.  It's an awful predicament everyone is in, really.  The entire global community is on a shaky ride, nothing like the ivory towers and super suites lifestyle.

This I know, and am glad to know it.   You are indifferent to my personal dilemmas, and yet I babble on as if the moon and stars can dissolve me into dreamland and transform me into a cloud.

The most effective prison is he one where one does not even know they are in a prison. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6oMwy2SyplE