On the bleeding edge of truth
It’s been a while. Stay a while.
Let me tell you about the daggers hanging, handles spinning; blades heavy, and ready to fall.
I knew they were there. I could hear them calling me.
“Don’t look up,” I thought.
Daggers in the ceiling.
False ideals; misguided chases.
Sharp truths, of every kind.
…Don’t look up.
But it was too late.
Having looked it in the eyes, it’d already found me.
Blood spilled, and I didn’t know what to think. Or was thinking too much.
I just had to let it sit with me; to nurse the wound. Even in doubt. The darkest I’ve experienced in some time.
The thought that this may be the end was playing on repeat.
A dagger falls and cuts you sharply.
Blood manifests contrast on white tile.
…You looked up.
Your eyes widen. Was the dagger real?
It must be, the floor is stained red.
This dagger of truth — perhaps it was sharpened by the idea that I’d dodged it.
But can anything be dodged?
Maybe once you’ve illuminated its poltergeist, removing its motive.
Do they twirl for you, too?
Have you ever caught a glimmer?
How do you react?
Is the feeling inevitable, or do you believe you can protect yourself?
It’s easy to say that you don’t want to protect yourself . . . but who’s talking?
A dagger cutting through flesh is an honest movement. There is evidence of the action.
There are many daggers hanging from your ceiling, just waiting for you to look up.
What do you normally look at?
Does the human respect the uncharted seas he sails in?
What happens when splitting the mind; using it to examine itself, exacerbates the problem?
What if it’s a necessary paradox?
People love the chase. We want to get somewhere.
And it’s clear as day when you turn on the light.
But it’s not so simple.
What if you can’t have It without it, and then doing away with it?
And would you even want to do away with it entirely, if you could?
But you can’t “do” any of this, so I suppose it’s irrelevant.
What for? No reason. Please, don’t do anything. You only make it that much more difficult.
Perhaps this is the most freeing realization of all.
All you need to do is see and surrender.
The war to manipulate and control is a war the ego will never win.
Massive casualties is the only possible outcome.
Such a thing will make it even more delusional and erratic.
And it will use this war to convince you of its necessity.
What kind of general decorates his enemy with medals, mid-conflict?
But this tendency to seek and chase is abused by the world, and it’s embedded in the fabric that seems to hold everything together.
Have we forgot what we were chasing?
Is it even working?
If it was, wouldn’t you do it far less often?
Everyone is stupid. And so they say one-liners to make themselves feel smart. And then they have the nerve to wonder why everything is falling apart.
Even now this sick confusion continues to flip me.
The construct will ask, “But what will you do without me? You’ll be nothing without me, for I am you.”
And I will say, “How can a thought be me? Am I not the one sitting here, writing this? Why not look there?”
Whom are the daggers dangerous to, my friend?
Who says, “Don’t Look Up”?
Cold, clammy hands. Scent of death. Everything becomes novel. The ceiling is better than nothing. There is no color.
Where do your loyalties lie?
Who do you really see when you look in the mirror?
The mind of modern man is a sea of madness, infinitely worsened by artificial wave makers in every corner.
You didn’t think this would be easy, did you?
If there’s a place to be, it’s on the bleeding edge. Twirling daggers of truth, afraid to fall asleep on them.
But then, sometimes it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Perhaps seeing this, is the most difficult thing about it.
Perhaps this sorry state of humanity is reflected in the compulsion to trust and rely on our egos more than reality.
But how could you rely on such a thing?
How could you rely on that which does not exist?
Don’t look up. Don’t look down. Just continue to drown. In the humidity of your stupidity. You’ll see through, when your time is due.
And then, you’ll watch it all fade away.
What happens when you get cold, sweaty palms?
You look up.
And smile at the inevitable.