GAME OVER. . . . . CONTINUE | RESTART | END ?

There is no saving this world.

It's over. Bye-bye!

How can we ever rebuild the machine?

Don't.

Life is but a dream from hell, it's all the same; whether you're in it or you win it makes no difference once you fell from whence you came.

Let the friction fry the gear: there is no winner, no loser, here.


With Love,

From Hell

Don't worry, it's only the ride.

It's like you're on this carnival ride, right. It has big dips and little dips, sprawling valleys, bitty hills and tall mountains; it can go mind-fumblingly fast or it can go mind-numbingly slow, and every speed between. The thing you don't know--and maybe only suspect--is that it ends, not where you got on, but abruptly where the tracks stop. Some where, they're missing like the stair you forgot on the way out. And you're so caught up in all the excitement and the turmoil and the good-times bliss--the shimmering spectacle--that you don't care. You only think the ride shall never end. But, it must, mustn't it?

It's just when you're going along, care-less-ly and free, that the operator appears--yelling, beckoning. begging for your attention. Trying to warn you of the inevitable end. Of the missing track, that missing piece, there, right up ahead. The hole. A void. Inherent within the ride. But the cart goes on, no stop, non-stop. No stopping. Hell, you may not even be listening.

So, what does that big-heart, hard-headed operator do? That atman leaps forth, lies self down to sleep eternal sleep, bridges the gap, continues the dream.

Now I lay me down to sleep, tuck the dirt up to my teat.
If I die before I wake, cut me in to one big steak. 

All that too shall pass, when this earthen flesh pulled down to the dirt from which it sprang forth, when heavenly spirit exiled from these fettered bones…then, then I shall know my name. 

I'm an alcoholic. There's no doubt about it.
Trapped in the throes of brown bottle fever.
The honey drips, as I sip from the sickness.
What's this?
cirrhosis?

Kill the Messenger

Thou art god.

Thou art that.

You are it. 

Tat tvam asi

Tat tvam asi

Until all the whole wide world knows,

I will scream:

TAT TVAM ASI

TAT

TVAM

ASI

* * *

* *

*

Bite, chew, swallow, grok on that: fact.

Don't know what I do, what I'm doing, what I've done--seen it all before, blind eye.

Case. Fucking. Closed

"Drink up. 

  Have fun. 

  Don't suffer;

  Don't feel guilty.

  There is no "death". 

  God loves you, no matter what you do. 

  You are the perfect and holy child of God.

  CASE. FUCKING. CLOSED."

~BILL HICKS~

GO

Need an escape, need to let go.
Need an escape from society,
Always need to get up and go.
No, need an escape from self.

There is no escape,
You never let go.

The Self remains.


Gotta go.

Get the fuck outta here.

Got to go.

Go.

Gotta go.

Go, go...go!

LET IT GO, MAN!

There,

IT GO.

Death brings meaning to Life; Life brings meaning to Death

In death, you will be absolved from all your life, your memories, your family, your job, your responsibilities and duties, your dreams and imaginings, your desires, your sins, your prides, trials, and tribulations. In death, there is only unknowing. The slip of a veil, once forgotten, twice thought of. If you are not capable of remembering what you have forgotten, why fear? The loss is as natural as coal is black.

Slipped into the void, unseen.

Landed, forgot what it all did mean.

Laid back on the sand, for an eternity it did seem.

Bored, now, want to see something never seen.

The Mark of a Woman, my Queen. 

The land where I shall never be. 

The love that I shall never see. 

Self-Forgetful You

The mind is the joker. 

Now you see;

Now you don't.