The Rending of the Veil

It’s not romantic.

Heading headlong into the teeth of this anticivilization at a time of apparent increasing rending of the veil.

It’s not like a mission, or a “calling” but all too often the feeling that one’s own mysticism and hope emerges to crush what is…

What is, is, after all.

So many peers, mentors and studies have packed away. They have “prepared”.

It’s the starkness of “alone” that draws the romance.

Again, we are stalwarts, we are the first immortals.

We do in fact have one another, we are not alone, physics won’t allow it, despite the delusion of “the collective” and the projection of “the one.”

There is the Universe in each cell; there is a sun alive in each snowflake at midnight.

Television, the local newspapers, lofting lazy, slow, turgid turd zeppelins at the twinkie addicted cabbage patch faces overwhelmed by the illusion of depth, awestruck by the spectacle.

Simultaneously, vast numbers divorce themselves from belief. They don’t necessarily know what’s real, but for certain they know what is -not-

Pulling, peeling, wrestling their barnacle selves from the ship, the battlestar, like small children discovering themselves again; rediscovering lost recesses long since thrashed, beaten and bruised by Public School; conformity, ostracization; Church; Television; Drugs.

The Pineal hood winked shut, blinks for the first time since vaccination; Fluoridation. Calcification reverses, it’s the veil, it rends, the divide widens, it’s not personal, certainly not political, hence the new Police State.

what the pineal glad really looks like.

what is

Waking up is never good for those who rule the sleep.

You took a nap after your energy drink, your bag of chips and cheesewiz, of course you did… the long slow infestation of cancer needs a moment. Not even that coca-cola can help you now.

We do love you, be clear about that, just because we do not wait for you to love yourselves before we make our moves does not mean you are not loved. We call to you, you hear it, you don’t know what it is. You fell open, it landed there, you threw it out the moving window with your MacDonald’s garbage.

Another may come along, you never know… I suppose.

Karma falls like a Light Brigade as long stretches of decompression integrate with post-deconstruction.

Deconstruct the language; subtract the inane politics and conjecture.

Nuggets of decompression filter their way down through the compost-peat culture…

Form the first sentence of your -LIFE-

I faced the hill and made my claim, my declaration; my command.

-So here is the point: Be a net Gain-

Anticivilization defines wealth as the accumulation of currency with the least possible effort.

“Something for nothing!” is the call of the Oprah rich, from behind the screen; the bubble, pin pop-ready; the screen, the appliance, applied to the smooth brain couch grooves.

“Because I didn’t ask to be born!” is the response from the other end of the plug, from the couch, from the waiting room, from the living room. The smell of French fries waft universally.

Creates nothing; vacuous realms; nothing real.

Real value is the creation and production of the most possible, using the least possible resource.

Exponential returns.

The chair caners; the recyclers; the small farmers; the hunters; the gatherers; the fishermen; the weavers; the wheelwrights. Much using little, not little using much. Not stimulation over edification. Real capital instead; value instead; Honesty instead.

“You have to create something”

These five words can save your life.

“I have to create something”

The truth that rings your heart like the bell.

“I have to create something”

Here is your Mantra, winking hoods.

“I have to create something”

No money down

Eyes, ears, wits; experience accumulated for that sky of cold suns at night, for the soft place, for a cache of hot and clean.

A summer for a firepit, all the chamomile and nettle with morning dew for a dry sump.

And the hill to boot; to shoe; to ski; to gather; for sweets, for medicine for the alter, sans altar.

The deepest honed arrow can’t provide this. Create something.

They call: “Something for nothing!”

Our response: “Something FROM nothing!”

Hands; eyes; mete; analyze, diagnose prescribe and implement; detail; finish.

It is value exchange; it is not a sentence, a deal, a plea; a desperation.

We don’t walk away from this.

We gather wind.

Weave the cloak

Manifest the mist

And again, the gem, the gorgeous gem Superior where I buried my face

In the roots

Into the banks

Where I left my salt

Where I recognized home

Who she is

Where I am

My future of breath

To hold this magic

Volitional Living Consciousness

Never for granted

Only ever grateful

Grandfather plucked from his place, like a feather.

Grandson lands… and leaves, softly, for the Net Gain.

Net Gain: That’s the point. Leave more than you took, you have that magic you neo-cortex. Rise to meet the beasts.

We sing across the divide, like waning whales across a sea. We call, we sing, we spin and dive and splash, it is in slow motion.

It’s there, on their sonar.

It sounds vaguely familiar; they do not recognize the song, barely the voice.

Their heart fell out, they picked it up, embalmed it with religion; with hope; sold it.

They hear us sing, they can’t place the sound, it’s on the tips of their tongues.

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