skonen_blades

Remote control carcass
Enjoy the flowers while you can
The sun on your life-support skin
Revel in your pre-zombie senses
Frankenstein’s monster running out of batteries
Temporary miracle
Your own planned obsolescence working hard within
The zippers being undone
Threads ripping
One long battle of attrition being lost
A leaking of heat
Diminishing returns on the fuel-to-cost ratio
A constant triage party
Happening without your consent
Throughout the damaged ladder of your body

But your gelatinous fragile cameras
Behold so much
The puzzle pieces you assemble in your meat crown
Add up to so much more than what you see

Outside
You plod damaged towards the end
But inside
You leap to conclusions
Pirouette into space
Think around corners
And dodge bullets

We’re pilots tied to our seats
Welded into our planes
Puppeteers gone full method
There are only three escape hatches
And one of them’s permanent

But this prison has a glorious window
Where anything can be outside
And travel is always possible
Escape can be recreational
Imagination making sanity possible
By letting us be
(what if)
(yes and)
not here, not here

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Sentience comes with insanity
A belief in the invisible
Reality not only can be forged
It must be
It has to be
For the sake of our mental and emotional well being
Any and all safety is a lie
The finite comes for us all
And comfort
Respite from the incessant knowledge
Of our weak biology
Our infinite, galactic unimportance
Is necessary
Refuge is necessary
We hoard invisible money
Believe in invisible gods
Chase invisible emotions
Pursue invisible safety
Protect invisible borders
And call it certainty
Even science can warp under it
Perception is 9/10ths of the law
We entertain ourselves
We love each other
We build and hoard
And laugh and believe
To keep the horrifying truth at bay
We’re all crazy
Not that it’s a competition
Calmness and clarity become fleeting goals
Good times become needed
And distracting ourselves from the void is most of what we are
The amoeba, the fox, the bear
Almost every form of life on earth
Is free from the burden of consciousness
And it’s a debate as to whether or not
They’re better off
All I know is that we spread and heat the planet
We multiply and pollute
We’re ending our own tenure
Getting ourselves fired in a spectacular way
There’s always hope
But it’s hard to help ourselves
When we’re blind to our own problem
We can’t end our consciousness
Without ending ourselves
Hope lies in adaptation
And being ahead of the curve
So fingers crossed
My fellow insane monkeys
Fingers crossed

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Orson Welles once became a fortune teller
(In disguise back when not every person knew his face)
To try and discredit them
To debunk them

He set up shop and would say things to customers like,
“Your life changed when you were around fifteen.”
“You have scars on your knees but you’re not sure where they came from.”
“You like rules but you don’t like being told what to do.”
(Everyone’s life changed when they were around fifteen)
(Active kids skin their knees all the time and forget)
(No one likes to be told what to do)

But once he’d amazed them with his cold reading skills
They’d crack wide open

He would use leading statements
And go off the resulting body cues
To give nebulous guidance
Practical advice and comfort
That only sounded specific
Proving to himself that so-called psychics
Were con artists preying on the desperate
Or counsellors in wolf’s clothing
He didn’t take anyone’s money
He did it for a full day as a lark to prove a point

Until near the end of the day

A woman walked in and sat down
And before she said anything
Orson said,
“Oh, no. Your husband passed away last week.”
And she started crying
Because yes, he had

After comforting her, he packed up shop
And stopped doing fortunes
Scared, intrigued, confused, and wary
He didn’t know how he’d known about her widowhood
She wasn’t dressed in black and she wasn’t that old
He only knew that on some level
He’d become very good at reading cues
To the point that his mind was adding stuff up
On a level that wasn’t conscious
A mental underworld doing Sherlock math
A savant starting to form
And giving answers

He knew that if he continued,
He’d start to believe that he had become psychic and powerful
That he’d succumb to the wrong certainty
Believing in his own myth

I think about this situation often
How practice can make perfect
In a way that scares you
That opens you too much
That shows a result you need to run from
Shaken by your own mind
And left exposed
By the plain existence of magic by another name

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And everything uncovered here
Just leads to more to learn
Each voyage of discovery
Reveals another turn
The more a person knows, they know
That they know less and less
That knowledge gained illuminates
Our need to reassess
It only goes to show us how
There’s much too far to go
That just a single lifetime is
Too short to really know
Everything there is to fathom
There’s no totality
That’s possible to comprehend.
With time it’s plain to see
Amassing knowledge leads us to
One humbling truth to get:
We shine a light on what we know
And see we’re not there yet.
It can feel humiliating
And make the smart feel dense
And make the dense feel denser still
Because it’s so immense
What we don’t know will always be
So dwarfed by what we do
“Impossible to know it all”
Is what the wisest knew
There’s joy in this infinity
This endless quest for truth
This dig for all eternity
That ages every sleuth
Solace lies in knowing that the
Quest will never finish
That all that you accomplish will
In time end up diminished
The yearning has to be a fire
That always wants to burn
‘cause everything uncovered here
Just leads to more to learn.

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The Dunning-Kruger study says that there are people who
Cognitively lack the needed self-awareness to
Recognize their lack of competent abilities
Who can’t objectively evaluate their faculties

Illusory superiority results in them
And misperception bias is what fast becomes the stem
From which they bulb and bloom into conceited, selfish flowers
Unearned confidence that gives them super smugness powers

Mistakenly their ego’s wrong and so misrepresents
Miscalibrating estimations of intelligence
In both themselves and everyone around them where they are
They think that they’re smartest and they think that they’re the star

Overcompensating for an insecurity
In NOT what Dunning-Kruger is. That’s just humanity.
No, Dunning-Kruger people really feel that they’re the best
When each objective metric says they’re not and fails the test

We all know people like that and who knows if we’re ones, too?
I like to think I’m not one but I’d hate to misconstrue
My own small estimation of my own intelligence
Probably not. My ego is the kind that self-torments

It makes me think that maybe there’s an opposite effect
Of brilliant people who have no idea that they’re perfect
They can’t compare their own brain to another one out there
So they can never really know what’s going on up there

They see the stuff that others don’t but never recognize
That they seem supernaturally intelligent and wise
Not impostor syndrome or too humble or too slow
But something in their cognizance just doesn’t let them know

I’ve met folks like this as well who seem to be unclear
That they’re the smartest person in the room or hemisphere
It’s obvious to some but since they never really show it
Not everyone who ever interacts with them will know it

They’ll never brag about the plethora of words they say
They’ll never spout conceited bluster in a gross display
They’ll never filibuster on and on about their brains
You’ll never hear them brag about their monetary gains

No, there’s a crew of people out there quietly astute
Adept, quick-witted, bright, effective, brilliant, sharp and shrewd
That honestly have no idea that they’re a step above
They’re interesting to me because they do remind me of

The problems in the world that we face with those that rise
To powerful positions in a web of noxious lies
Ambition’s tied to confidence and Dunning-Kruger seems
To be the central cornerstone of most of those regimes

There’s those that rule with altruistic wisdom, strength and fairness
Such instances of this occurring happen with a rareness
A touch of Dunning-Kruger helps the doltish to succeed
When all they need is volume, swagger, stamina and greed

So keep an eye and ear out for the ones that might be hid
The ones that keep their lights under a bushel or a lid
Who calmly solve a myriad of problems every day
But never think to put their stunning talents on display

tasg

To be "me too" or not "too me"
or even try to measure

The two mes tombing me too soon
To make me buried treasure

To fight with me; to be two mes
That barely get along

Is me dueting dual duels
In quite discordant song

But when two mes both sing on key?
But when we harmonize?

When both of me, when ‘us’ agree?
When we both synchronize?

Inside us both/us two/us one
A true equality

It’s me to me and I to I
A sing-ularity

Hand in hand and arm in arm
A selfie smiling true

A friend indeed. A self high-five.
Before fights start anew

In and out of sync we ride
To be, me too, too me

But that’s existence’s weird price
But that’s humanity

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I think to think of thoughts these days as sounds that wind-chimes make
My mind a tiny cabin in the mountains by a lake
The wind chimes on the porch are blown by passing gusts of time
That bring events that jangle brains and make the wind-chimes chime
The winds blow strong or weak or smooth or sometimes very still
But guaranteed the chimes will always make some sounds until
The thoughts can get too loud or shrill or angry with their sound
Incessant as my life’s events all bang the chimes around
But if I want. But if I can. But if I need to do it.
I can step away from them and merely listen to it.
I am not the sounds the wind-chimes of my brain create
It’s just an apparatus making sounds I sometimes hate
But listening is passive and divisive with this ear
Because the sound is over there and I am over here
I don’t have to be affected by the constant sound
It can just be jangly noises that I am around
I can make them background noises. Hear them rise and fall.
Pause until the wind-chimes hardly make a sound at all.
It’s good to hear time passing and to listen to the chimes
To notice what is good and bad and single out the times
That are worth keeping stored in memory banks as lessons learned
The rest can just move with wind as all the chimes are turned
It’s oddly meditative to see thoughts as separate things
Created by a construct pushed by time to make some rings
Brains are meat, I know, but I think brains should know their places
As merely CPUs behind our bony, meaty faces
You are so much more than just your thoughts on any days
So much more expansive in a myriad of ways
So try to take a step aside and listen to your mind
Your brain’s an organ, sure, but hey. It doesn’t have to grind.
Try to let the thoughts all tinkle by on winds of time.
To see them passively as merely products of a chime.

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The time that’s spent
Less turbulent
Is time that’s good for you

More calmness lies
In peaceful eyes
Relaxing through and through

Don’t rush, just walk
Don’t shout, just talk
And soon you’ll feel sublime

Leave early so
You always know
You’ll always be on time

Avoid the loud
The pressing crowd
And learn to love the still

Just go away
And day by day
You’ll get your tranquil fill

Decisions quick
Can make you sick
But those with slowness made

Can last a while,
Bring a smile
When later on they’re weighed

Your present now
Is always how
Your life will always be

So make it smooth
And make it soothe
Because that is the key

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I
There are three layers
The first layer is rushing
Like rapids over rocks
This layer is closest to the surface
Churning, changing, exploring and receding
The second layer is moving placidly
A slow, powerful river
This layer is deeper
Harder to course correct, slower to shift
And the last layer, the core
The core barely moves
Like the deepest, calm lake
The core is still
Unfathomable
The largest and the most unreachable
Barely conscious
Maybe the true self
I don’t know if it’s what’s left over
The distilled reality after experiences
Filter through the first two layers
Or if it’s the untouched rawness
That was there at the start
and will always barely be affected
By anything outside
Perhaps it’s both

II
I still feel her hands
The warm peace of her energy
Branching into me and staying
Fading like an afterimage
Inside

III
A lot of tension is kept in my forehead
A lot of tension is kept in my lower back
A lot of sex is kept caged in my heart
Just when I think I’m totally relaxed
I go a little deeper
And then when I am at my most relaxed
I go a little deeper
Making me feel like I am incapable of total relaxation
Like the most relaxed I’ve been is just scratching the surface
A lot of my life has been built around
Living with exhaustion
Living with regret
Living with tension
It’s a lot to unlearn

IV
I need to be kinder to myself
Not lazier
Not weaker
Not a liar
But kinder
Criticism is no longer a fuel for me
Carrying more weight is no longer inspiring
The fire is no longer a crucible I enjoy

V
I am not falling apart.
I am completing.
The clash and shedding
The falling away of certain scales
The gaining of some new limits
The loss of some old inhibitions
It’s not a descent or a climb
Or a molting with an end date
It’s just the ongoing rate of change
That only hurts when resisted
It feels like dilution
It feels like spreading
But I am not disappearing
I am only revealing
And ridding myself
Of what I no longer need
Smaller and lighter
Isn’t less

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Blanket statements
Keep people warm
Because it's cold out there
And the cold makes it hard to think rationally
Generalizations are like insulation to our mind
Cozy, if you will

People use myths to justify their actions.

People love to hear about the accidental discovery
The misfit genius
The lazy savant
The child who saw through the illusion
The crackpot who turned out to be right all along.
The grandfather who smoked every day into his 90s
The belief that people will love you for your "quirkiness"
The old man who fooled everyone
The robber who got away with it all because of his foolproof plan
The seemingly useless becoming suddenly pivotal
The fringe inventor who proved everyone wrong

But more dangerously
The belief that “all x are bad”
“x” being any ethnic group, tax bracket, age, religion, sexual preference.
Just to name a few.
The list is quite endless
A way to elevate the ego
Even when all else is lost
“Well at least I’m not x”
the ego will say
until the grave

It’s a weird vein of self-reveal
Giving people license to be themselves
When maybe who they are
Isn't great
Giving people license to not improve
But on the other hand,
letting people off the hook
Letting people take a break from hating themselves

So I can see a place on the lighter end of the spectrum of possible damage
where this level of self-delusion provides positives.
For a while

But

We need to look at our blankets
Examine them and toss them aside
They can be toxic
Gifts from bad people
Given to us to keep us weak
Given to us to keep us controlled
Given to us to kill us

We need to stand uncovered in the cold light of day
Clear, uncovered, and awake

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Brad was so sick and tired of being stupid. He couldn’t wait for the new download.

He looked around his drab room. His parents weren’t well off but they worked their asses off to give him a good home. Unfortunately that meant they were almost never home. It was ironic they worked their asses off to keep a roof over their head as a family but were never there to enjoy it. They wanted to keep their family from living on the streets but their family seldom spent time together.

His retro posters of 2021 revivals hits patched the fake-wood walls. Reboots of reboots of sequels of commercial successes from way back. New Jaws. New Titanic. New Breakfast Club. It was the same with music. Sequel rock was popular now. Rolling Stones II, Led Zeppelin II, Def Leppard This Time It’s Personal or just DFTiP on the posters. Everything a remix, everything a sellout. Even 2Tube and Finstagram were getting in on the fashion.

His mind had the upgrades that were installed in all babies at birth. Autism had been capped and stamped back down. All people had the ability to take in the fire hose of information being shot at them right now. Fortunes changed in milliseconds. Fame was instant with the stars usually only finding out about their fame a few hours after it had already happened and after they could capitalize on it. Everyone had an agent on standby from birth out of necessity.

But the upgraded brain needed upgrades. The fast forward human life needed mitigation and filters and they needed constant adjusting.

Currently Brad was at Brain 86.2. The leap to 90 promised insight and thought caliber of a demigod. When everyone’s a demigod, no one’s a demigod. So the philosophers warned but they were all dead so who cares that they thought?

Brad put the jack into his skull and hit download.

He’d be asleep all night while it installed like half of the continent.

His brain had everything it needed, or so he thought.

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Half of my life is conversations I was too afraid to have
Conversations I rehearse even though the moment to have them has long passed
Once in a while I get it right
I say what needs to be said
When it needs to be said

But sometimes
When I'm alone
I tell
The walls
That I love them
In clear ways that can't be misinterpreted
or
I am articulately angry at
Deserving people
Mute people
Shocked into silence by my eloquence and given insight by my clarity
A fantasy world
Of triumphs
Of clear communication
Of victories leading to victories
That make my real wins
My here-in-the-flesh successes
Fade
These conversations ghosts are powerful and sway reality
Much more than they should
And I can't decide if they are wise
Or stupid
Fuel for my engine
Or sugar in my gas tank

Tags

Its name was a mental picture of a sunset on a specific day with cultural meaning to it plus personal memories of its family and the memory of three smells, almost like three tones of music, which we had no true parallel for. Pepper, lemon, and hot stone would be close but insultingly far off.

Without telepathy, we could not communicate.

The problem with human minds was the lack of a broadcaster organ like the aliens had. Using some organ graft technology on a stem scaffolding and a bucketload of immunosuppressants, Stevenson cloned one and joined some of those strange tube structures onto a lab mouse.

The alien’s reaction was to turn hot pink and to dance its feet yellow feet around like a horse on ice. It immediately hit the mice with a hot bank of information about its purpose here and the poor little mouse’s head exploded.

Obviously a success. Obviously human trials were the next step.

The problem with this level of the experiment was the human subject. We couldn’t use a death row inmate because who knows what his brain would broadcast to the alien? The same went for the mental hospitals we sometimes used. We couldn’t risk the best minds in our studio because of the work that would be lost if a head exploded.

We had to settle on reaching out discreetly in our local circles to a human that was loving, tender, fun, and into undergoing surgery to talk to aliens.

We found Alan. Alan smoked a lot of weed and had blue glasses. He sold high-grade marijuana to some of the scientists. It was slightly embarrassing when three of us realized we had the same dealer. He drove to the lab in twenty minutes and signed every form and waiver we put in front of him.

It took four days but the graft was a success. The tubular accordions hanging off of either side of Alan’s newly-shaved head pulsed and slackened wetly like lungs from a child with four probing flowers tasting the air like each ear was wearing a uterus.

The alien turned mint green this time and shuddered something that was either orgasm or shock. It knelt on the floor gasping through its sunflower heads and the smell of something between strawberries and rain wafted through the lab.

It composed itself and stood back up, straight backed this time, like a centaur dancer standing at military attention.

“Hello,” said Alan, turning towards us. “Thank you. This volunteer human knows my name now and can be my spokesperson. I know of your world intimately from him and I want to know more. If you can provide us with more spokespeople and minds to communicate with, we will give you the secrets of star travel and alchemy you need to heal this planet or leave it. Please provide as many as you can.”

Alan sagged. When he raised his head back up, his eyes were focused and clear and his own again.

“I have to make some calls.” He said. “I know about a hundred people that can be here in less than two hours.”
We gave him our phones.

That’s how the hippies took us to the stars.

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I looked into the eyes of my husband. At least, I was pretty sure it was my husband. Ever since The Crash, I haven’t been able to tell.

Our implants and knowledge banks were all erased on that one day. Theories were still being talked about.

Some think a solar wind or some sort of EMP just randomly wiping through space was the culprit. Some think enemy action was responsible and they were scared. Myself, I didn’t really know. If it was enemy action, we were easy pickings and if there were invaders, they hadn’t started invading yet. My bet was on some naturally occurring galactic disruption pulse sweeping through our solar system, a pulse that would’ve been much less dangerous to a pre-net world.

But here on Earth it was a catastrophe. Everyone’s headbox had been erased.

All the ‘soft in my brain has gone blank. It was two pounds of tech in my skull just taking up space, just the same as everyone else now. It had my phone book, my addresses, my schedules, my tutorials, my contacts and e-profiles, and perhaps most importantly, my facial recognition programs.

Including all of my important memories. The ones I wanted to remember most of all. The best ones. All gone. I have only vague, foggy, mists in my head now when I try to glance the past.

Pre-Crash, whenever I met someone, a sparrow-cloud of data spooled across my vision to let me know who they were and what their connection was with me. Everything about them flew up against the windscreen of my eyes and let me know all the relevant details. Previous conversations, secrets we had, times we shared in the past, references to in-jokes, ongoing issues, financial records, and a thousand other points of interest jigging around real time, undulating and updating as we spoke.

As a race, we were the best conversationalists we’d ever been.

More importantly, the elderly and mentally infirm now no longer had to pause to remember forgotten pasts or struggle awkwardly in social situations. Grandmothers could recognize their granddaughters. It was a golden age. It was a time of miracles.

My regular ability to recognize people had atrophied, however. It had for all of us. I know that now.

Ever since The Crash, I couldn’t tell strangers from close friends. I looked at people’s faces and I felt nothing. I knew nothing. I couldn’t tell if I recognized them. Some looked more familiar than others but I had no reference point.

If I did feel like I knew them, I didn’t know from where or what we used to joke about or discuss on a regular basis.

I still knew how to do my job. I was lucky that way. Every day, I see my co-workers and I wonder if we all used to have good times together. I know my name. I barely know how to drive even though I don’t know how to get anywhere without the map implants. I’m lucky I lived close to where I work. But I don’t know my birthday. I don’t know anyone’s birthdays.

On the streets and in the bars, we all stare at each other awkwardly. The few who try to talk to each other usually regret it.

The man in front of me looks really familiar. We have matching rings on our fingers and we both have keys to the same house and that’s pretty much all we’re going by. I’m going to try to kiss him but I’ve forgotten how.

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I believe that you are not your gender. You are not your race. You are not your occupation. You are not the country you were born in. You are not the language you speak. You are not even your name.

I believe that you are also more than the electrical impulses that give you your thoughts and move your limbs. You are more than a being that can interact with this world physically. You are more than the animals, for better or for worse.

Who are you? Who are we? WHAT are we? When you try to answer this, you see the need for a purpose.

Maybe we’re just here to quest. We are here not just to struggle, but to strive toward. The fact that what we strive towards is unknowable is the reason we strive. The search is the end. The constant movement is the destination. It’s a contradiction that fits.

Art, science, and religion are all trying to explain the same thing.

All questions lead to more questions. That is as much a function of the universe as it is a function of our own perspective. We have not found out how large the universe is and we have not found its smallest particle. The ladder is endless up and down and the road is endless in all directions as far as we’re concerned. Both ends of the telescope do nothing but expand our base of queries.

Imagination bridges gaps. Stories gives us answers. Myths teach us and give us reasons. A person with answers seems powerful because answers calm us. Without satisfactory answers, we turn faster and faster. We become smarter and try to dampen the curiousity with more knowledge. We turn to art to abstract the pull of wanting to know. We memorize religious books and tell ourselves that strength lies in belief, damming up the need for facts, facts, more facts.

The yawning abyss is exactly this.

What calms the journey is direction. Your journey may take you to the stars, to the intricacies of language, to atoms, to your own inner workings, to the physical and metaphysical. It may take you to places on maps either real or imagined. The quest for peace has so many paths.

This holy grail of balance is what comes in and out of focus for us. What gets us out of bed in the morning is not only our awareness of time passing, our bodies decaying. It is the question. As innate as eye colour. It is bred into us and seemingly, only us.

It is why our life form is insane. It is our greatest strength and our greatest flaw. With no curiousity, we would be at peace. This is why we are damned. This is why we are holy.

They say that getting there is half the fun. Since getting there is all we do, then that is why we feel we are missing out on half of something.

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There is a reason in video games
Why lives look like hearts and they don’t look like brains
Love is what gives us all life while we’re here
Brains are fantastic but I think it’s clear
That brains, while quite useful, are computery
They just sort of think. They don’t feel much, you see.
But hearts now, they’re passionate, foolish, and strong
They don’t know their right from their left or their wrong
When playing a video game, at the start
YOU get some lives and they’re shaped like a heart
If YOU lose too many too quickly, you die
Your body collapses and then there you lie
But the NEXT time you play when you get to the part
That once was too hard and would take your poor heart
You know how to dodge, or jump, or defend
And if you keep playing, you get to the end
At least of that level. Cause there’s always more.
But the more that you play and the higher you score
The more hearts you get and the longer you love
Hearts fit a life like a hand fits a glove
‘Cause they’re what’s inside and they just keep on giving
Without your heart then you can’t go on living
A literal truth but a metaphor, too.
If you allow yourself (when you feel blue)
To IGnore your heart and pretend it’s not there
THAT all that you have in your chest is just air
Then one, you’re a liar and two, you can’t do it
The heart won’t be smothered. I’ve effing been through it.
Love can’t be beaten and can’t be contained.
It takes too much effort and makes a life strained.
Love that’s denied is a blight on the soul
Because you can’t turn your heart into a hole
No quarter asked for and no quarter given
You say you’re alive but I don’t think that’s livin’
If you fight your heart, when you win then you lose
No matter the person and no matter whose
Heart takes a beating, it always beats back
Hearts always fight when they feel an attack
Or else they leap or they duck or they run
The only thing hearts like to play for is fun
Your brain’s the controller. Your hands have the skills
So dive down those valleys and run up those hills
Press all the buttons and move left and right
Practice your loving all day and all night
Loving and games are unique in this way.
You only get better the more that you PLAY.
I’ve got some quarters rolled up in a tube
In my pocket and yes, I am happy to see you
Let’s have a two-player, co-op, turn-based
Side-scrolling platformer medium-paced
RPG flash game with magic gold rings
Your BRAIN knows the words but it’s YOUR heart that sings
So remember this moral this Valentine’s day
To be better at love then play, player, play.
And remember when playing to lead with your heart
Up down left right B A start

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The majority of earth voted against winter this year.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t happen that often. There are still countries on Earth for whom snow is a novelty and there are those who like the seasons to change.

But this year, no winter. The vote pinged us, time zone by time zone, around the planet. We mentally filled out the ballot box in the corner of our vision and sent it back to the main computer.

It’s hard to remember a time where computers were external and even the implants had to be installed physically. Now with the biosoft rewriting the DNA, we’re ‘born soft’, as they used to say. Worldwide, we’re all linked together in our minds.

The weather satellites were a necessary revolution after the planet nearly cooked from our fuel consumption. We crowdsource everything now. There’s still an economy but local power centers and governments don’t differ from each other that wildly anymore. Earth is a country now, not a kaleidoscope of fractured cultures.

Our translators make it possible for us all to speak to each other which we do often. We debate but we rarely war. The collective IQ of the planet has risen to a nice, high average and we’ve realized the profit in peace.

We’re more like a collection of around five thousand cities connected like Christmas lights sprinkled around the globe.

We stabilized the population and we’re all born with a baseline gradient of information that trickles in. We have the wisdom of generations at our fingertips and it cannot be removed or taken away.

That was the failsafe of the architects who instilled the change in us. It was a turbulent time of near-extinction as we understand it. Wholesale slaughter had not yet begun but we were dying by the thousands. Mostly preventable disasters were occurring more and more frequently because of greed, divisiveness, and secretive governments.

A unity was needed. And those Helsinki seven delivered.

Now we are all knowledge-rich and connected through maturity. It’s truly a new age.

It’s called the Anthropocene.

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My brain has negative thought patterns.
This makes me really sad.
My brain has negative thought patterns.
This makes really angry.
My brain has negative thought patterns.
So I don’t tell anybody.

EDIT: When I wrote this, I thought it was really witty. It's not a confession.

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Dang my poet mind.

I saw a bus with a malfunctioning sign once that said it was the “Sorry. Not in service. Express.” And I was like , “I know exactly what that means.”

I read somewhere that computer monitors use more power on standby than they do when they’re being used and I was like “I completely understand.”

I saw a sign once that said “Prepare to stop” and I’ve been doing that ever since.

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So you get it twisted. You think that the people that refuse you know something that you don't. You think that the people that say yes to you are blind to the truth. You start to think that the ones who turn you down are smart and the ones who want you are stupid. It sets up an awful echo chamber in your mind. A hall of second-guessing mirrors with no right answer and a deep, dark spiral into self-hatred disguised as fact.

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skonen_blades

June 2023

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Entries tagged with brain

2022 - 13/30 - Yes And

2022 - 06/30 - Fingers Crossed

2021 - 21/30 - Magic By Another Name

8/30 - Knowledge

The opposite of dunning kruger

Too me

chimes

Calm

Yoga thoughts

26-30 Blankets

Upgraded

L'esprit d'escaliers

The Hippies Took Us To The Stars

Who Are You?

Thoughts on Existence

Video Game Hearts

Anthropocene

Negative thought patterns

Poet Mind

Spiral