Nothing is the Sum of Everything

Conscience is dead; religion is indeed the opium of the masses. What significance do we think we can accomplish simply by traveling from one place or state of mind to the next via the passages of time? If time is irrelevant, age, experience, progression of thought, and evolution would not matter noting that time variances are its measurements. In fact, the only reason why comparison isn't fair is that the surmountability and intensity of one's experience cannot possibly equate that of another's regardless of the time[s] one may have lived in. Furthermore, the invention of time has led to the degradation of humanity and the logical mind. We worry because of having either too much or too little time. What is the future anyway? Time past is the future trapped in the present; the only future we have is the next second we're allowed to live. And, what is the measure for the certainty of existence? Philosophy? Laws of physics? If our existence is numbered, we would puff into dust once these so-called governing laws of existence change in another frame of space and time. This is to say that the condition we understand to be "definite measures" or "absolute determinants" of our existence, as well as our confidence in such understanding, is as malleable as theories that are deemed "good" simply by the virtue of falsifiability. Shouldn't a good theory be one that is absolute - one that needs not further additions and/or subtractions - over time? Since when did we place our assurance of our existing on elements that are never constant? If these so-called governing laws of [our] existence are malleable and considered "good" simply by that virtue, we are as good as dead now! Why do we need to "wait and see" whether there's "something out there" that could possibly fit the condition for our existence when those in ours are already as malleable and uncertain as the endless possibilities of "what's out there"? Besides, since time is irrelevant, would it really matter whether what's out there can or cannot fit our condition of existing? No! It isn't as if the nature of who we are is going to be any different from what it is now even if it mattered, is it? Time is irreversible and inescapable; freedom within is irrelevant of time. Time limits; without it there is everything else but nothing that prevents. Nothing is the sum of everything - the essence of creativity.

The Theory of Nowhere

Times in time framed in frames, in due which the unleashed and withdrawn; reborn and unmade. The coming and going of faces that do not differ much despite progression; one of curiosity, impetuousness, eagerness, and stubbornness. Victories and failures; defined and broken. Change is propelled by the need of catalysts time demands; that is, as time remains as a mere human invention; which is to say, everything is purely a matter of relevance and perception. There's only so much one can do to make the best and the worst of everything. The rest would be a matter of consequence. Much has been written, but none will ultimately have any paramount significance to the cycle of systems. I wouldn't call it nostalgia or memory; it's a meaningless rant of the things and persons that we may and could have been and achieved based on "If only". I wander in solitude, detaching myself from this place that bears little resemblance to the image I once thought to be one of timeless elemental creations and immortalizations of my being despite my physical absence and decay. Romanticism is to die for. Had I a will, time would cease; I would demortalize existence itself. In the end, I will not be missed. I'm just missed. I'm not bound by the rules of existence of any kind, for I am not who I am. If change is relevance, then constancy is obsolete; that is, nothing. I am void in as much as I am space - a room the size of will itself. Everyone wanders aimlessly yet knowingly yet helplessly, and still their neurotic need and desire for control and power drives them to shape information to fit personal "political" agendas by means of postmodernic arguments as a whimsical philosophy. Indeed, the personal is political; there's no such thing as "politically correct". As we are from dust to dust, so does our understanding of all that's seemingly perceived. The edge of life is equivalent to the edge of death. All for none, and none for all.

Walk of a Drunkard's Memory

It's a blur. Perhaps a lovely cold mist covers whatever that's left of the surface of the iceberg. I stroll on the water below me as if it were land, wondering whether sobriety was hidden under the ice rather than above the waters. They got it all wrong. Our current state of mind is illusory; the "unconscious" is where our minds should be most sober, isn't it? The world's an effing lie. Everyone wears masks like changing their underwear. Piss on it and even the mask winces. People are most pathetically diseased, really. You wear a mask to hide what seems real. If the surface of that which is underneath that pathetic piece of lousily painted wood is thoroughly fake since what's real is conveniently labelled "unconscious" - that it is "submerged" - why not just be who you really are instead of what you think you are? As if history hasn't enough theories on the concept of self! Unless, of course, that is more horrendous than which is already visible. Then again, who are we trying to fool? The beast that we so-called are in so-called waking is no nobler than that which is so-called within. So, there's nothing to think! Only reason why we think is because we're so obsessed about what's under the ice! But guess what? The answer is staring straight at us. Hah! The water is the mirror that dissects your insides and seals your outside in it by reflecting nothing; 'cause we are nothing anyway. We are painfully pathetic, you know? We pay people to inflict pain on us and to dissect us however they wished just to find out the original blue print of who we are, forgetting that there are mirrors even on the steel of a scalpel reflecting whatever it is our current state reveals. Maybe our eyes should be one-way mirrors; its reflective side facing within us so as to blind us from the lies of this world - which is as good as dead - revealing the truth of who we really are. Indeed, Freud's just an effing pervert. Everything else that followed, as well as even that which precedes, is perversion. Well, that's at least what I thought I remembered saying, doctor...

Intentions and Perceptions

O God, as I look into the starry night
I see the wonders of Your divine power and might
My heart cries deep into the night
Who but You know and understand my plight?

She comes strong and sure
Nothing could stop her
With simplicity she trust
Thinking all are like her
Intention is her name
Crystal clear is her other name

He slides into the scene
Like a multi faceted prism
He sees and yet he does not
All fraught with emotion and thought
He sees himself so right
Without discretion, he lashes out
Oh! Folly where can you hide?

Oh… Perception, you are the reason
Many lose their way in the plight
Cast your certainty away
Let light come in freedom and have its way
Shining once again through your prism
Make way, make way Perception
That we can ease the heightened tension

O God manifest Your power and might
Bring correction swiftly to my side
And put wrong Perception to flight
Most Holy One You alone understand
And can intervene in my plight.

Tan Bee Bee