notes for an idea

petals sandcastle
10 min readFeb 2, 2017

the world is trying to save itself from grave depression. from the desperation of the desperation of being alive. samer is trying to save himself and trying to save me too. he wants me to stay alive. with magic in tow. selfishly he loves me. he also loves me as a collectively conscioused creature. he knows my light adds a net positive to cosmic diversity.

being alive isn’t desperation. being alive is god.

depression reality is not reality. it is a reality above all raelities. depression rallies. it dresses up real pretty, takes residence in things that shine. philosophers, drugs, relationships. depression convinces you of stuff. depression becomes the filter of perception.

sadness is one of many filters, depression takes over the system. becomes the drug. the addiction.

addiction creates a distorted sense. a reality above all other realities. and i do what i can to keep it. only it manifests in ways that do not keep it. doing purges being. kills with a bang.

depression overshadows other desire. depression is desire. it’s ultimate. it consumes.
when we can’t have it, we go for what’s next best. and then after that.
and so on.
until we get what we get, which must be what we need.
how can i diversify cravings? is addiction too poweful?
poker reality is not reality. it is a reality above all realities. i do whatever i can to keep it. these manifestations do not keep it. they kill it. loud bang.

poker overshadows other desire. when it is in my life, it becomes my life. until i lose everything. i grasp. i cling. i strangle my first true love every time we rekindle the flame.
i cannot change my perception on poker. i cannot celebrate her in dose. her price for admission.

addiction = distorted sense = depression = poker.

man wants mystery when it suits his ignorant spirits and mastery when he’s got a leg up on making sense.

ignorance is a sickness from which most suffer.

reason fights reason. but what about the senseless? make senseless your ally.

ricky: samer just back from a week-long silent meditation retreat in thailand. i wanted to go but i couldn’t pull the trigger. turns out — i’m not the buddha. i’m not ready to meditate under a tree for eternity. So now what?

samer: being seen. it’s what our modern society is built on. but i simply don’t really understand how to do that effectively. to be seen, i have to be able to see first. and clearly. but we’re not taught this in school. to see clearly, i must want to be seen by wanting others to be seen. not watched. not ogled. but seen and acknowledged as a thread of consciousness like all others. everything wants that. not just people. trees. benches. the earth. the moon. on and on and on, out, fractal, loop. back to me. once we all see, the magic happens. it starts with me.

ricky: i’m so sick of seeing. i can’t unsee. everywhere i see. i see every fucking mom and old man in tweed and thought bubble bursting fractals across my cheek. metaphor and politic and old dead philosopher manifest in every goddamn grocery store across america. i don’t want to see. i don’t want to be seen. i want to give sight away. i don’t want to empathize, i don’t want to understand.

samer: something told you to write again. form letters with a pen. just to keep the skill. don’t get stuck in a comfortable groove. it doesn’t matter what you write. it could be gobbledy-gook. you just like the act of forming letters on a page. start with longhand. brain moving too fast? switch to typing.

ricky: i’m sick of words. fuck words. fuck thought. i cannot sit with my thoughts a moment longer. hundreds of unpublished journals, thousands of documents, a quarter-million emails. and for what? the shadow critic farts on the shadow artist until he hits puberty into his next voice and abandons the work altogether.

samer: a month spent in melbourne. a month of pure freedom. spent in cafes. spent reading. spent drinking. spent watching nurse jackie. spent writing. spent dancing. spent muay tai. spent building a website. spent sleeping. spent cooking. eating. shitting. walking. wallowing. taking suggestions.

ricky: the freedom is closing in all around me. a decade of freedom is too much time. 24 hours is a lot of currency to spend. a life wih zero demands. no expectation. no schedule. no should or ought.

just a cosmic dare, “well? whaddya wanna do today?”

how many unpublished books are still coming out? how many gorgeous ghostly streets must be walked? demons to be met?

i’m running out of jazz.
i need a spark. some motivation. a new stimulant.

samer: still don’t know what to do with yourself. still reading, writing, imitating. do you just imitate until you imitate your way into being bored with yourself? so bored that you spark your(real)self? there is one thing that doesn’t seem to change once you pass your mid–20s: the lack of motivation. an uncertainty about where to put your time pervades most of your decisions. the machine is working effectively. you, intelligent and aware, are so fucked up by conditioning and your fight against it that you don’t know how to interact with the world anymore. and so you cannot possibly be a threat to the machine. even now that you’ve afforded yourself nothing but time — you are so free — it’s all overwhelming, it’s all available. you know you sound like a broken record. you’re always saying the same things every time you come back to write. the themes don’t change. you are in a rut. there is no doubt. there is nothing but doubt. and you obviously don’t want to get out of it because you make no concerted, consistent effort to do so. sometimes you are at peace with this reality. other times you are bound up with anxiety, wanting to either build up your meditation and self-control habits or say fuck all that and focus on habits of a creator, of a social being. instead, you stay in limbo not giving yourself over. same story, different setting, different actors. can you have a new act?

ricky: no clue who i am. not a single truth to stand on. with. for. i need to be compelled. so little makes sense. dystopians rise. it’s 1984. it’s a brave new world. take your soma holiday and cool it. now scoot back in line and churn out some butter.

don’t fuck with humanity, the machine is well-oiled, dammit. and we got a to-do list to tackle. now shoo. we’ve got the joneses to catch. and trump promises to fly us there. right over the jews and muslims and gays and pussy he don’t wanna grab.

being awake hurts. turns out, most people don’t want to be shook. rockaby baby . . .

samer: you’re so unsure of your being that you don’t even know when you would say “fuck you” to someone and mean it. the idea is that if you just let yourself go totally and let your next moves rise naturally, then you will no longer question yourself. you will no longer imitate, you will just be. but you feel like nothing is happening. the problem is that you’re not totally letting go. you’re still waiting. still trying to control. still trying to be something for someone. you need to truly do what you want to do and absolutely nothing else. no forcing. no imitating. feel until you know what you really want to do. then do everything in your power to do it. even if that is just lazing on the couch or staring at the wall. balance that with gently pushing yourself outside your comfort zones. push past those stupid feelings of resistance because the most captivating, inspiring things are just beyond them. and you do want to be inspired, don’t you?

ricky: fearless is overrated. running through scripts i write for myself. director, actor, script. master, dog, leash. god, man, audience. goddamit why are all these doors one-way? there’s nowhere to go back to.
i want to play the imitation game again. i promise i’ll take my soma like a good boy.

samer: perhaps you should go away in isolation after all. you are not a social creature. you don’t understand the world of words. wanna scribble and say fuck it all now. wanna blame others. wanna self-deprecate. but you could also not do any of that. you could also put in a little bit of effort and set that shit aside. look at it while you put it away.
you’re still on track. this was your goal. break yourself down. destroy who you were and build anew. this in-between part is scary and filled with despair. should you ever allow yourself to exist in a state where your shoulders are hunched forward, your movements become listless, your eyes blur?


ricky: i’m petrified of how good solitude feels. being alone is home. people scare me. willful ignorance is frightening.. i thought i’d run for president one day. now it takes all i got to interact enough to order coffee. just. avert. eveballs.

samer: there is no passion in a blank slate. a friend that used to be there, even if he was obnoxious and impulsive and polarizing, is no longer that ever-present energy fueling your hope. your desires. your dreams……it’s done. so now decide how you want him back, if at all. or if he’s not within your power of persuasion, make a new way forward. cuz you wanna stick around.

ricky: i broke myself. killed everything off. nothing makes sense. everything makes sense. change opinions by the quark. this is the song that never ends.

samer: you want to spin this hatred, this judgement. you want to love where you are and where you’ve been with zero regrets. no hindsight sadness. that is bonkers. you cannot look upon the past and wish it was different just as you cannot expect the entirety of your future to be different tomorrow. embrace it, most tomorrows will be a slight variation on today.

ricky: what if i stop judging myself? what if i’m gentle on this gift of sight? what if being awake were the just the absolute fucking bees knees greatest?

change your perception.
life is what you see it as.
life is absolutely no thing more than what you see it as.

samer: ok then, a few projects: makeshift cold drip contraption. lampshade publishing website. one outing per day. ending all judgement — even in jest. guitar song by the end of jan. start blog by end of week (update: done!!).

ricky: no guts. no time to get an honest look at himself. shame for indulging in the luxury of time.
just paint. write poems. take photography seriously. learn stick shift. write songs. learn guitar. grapple with your philosophy. embrace the dark.

samer: this endless cycle of shaming has to stop. it’s not that you have no guts. you have no access to your guts. they are covered under mountains of ego sludge. sometimes a courageous gut finds a hole and reaches through to the top. so you know they’re down there under the muck. and that makes it even more frustrating then because you can’t call upon them as you wish.

ricky: phooey.

samer: radical embrace. radical acceptance is almost perfect, but it’s too passive. it detaches you from the thing you’re accepting. when you not only accept but integrate, love, appreciate, enjoy….when you embrace things then your radiance will be what you want it to be. you will at once see another being and help them see you. in base terms, you will be improved by your true sight of the other person and you will be able to show this other person how he can be improved by witnessing you. if you can’t hug your enemy you can’t appreciate and welcome his existence. you will want to obliterate.

ricky: phooey. phony. i won’t sit at a dinner table with an invisibly plugged nose while bigoted hate spills gravy down his chubby orange chin. i can’t. i can accept. from over here. i’m not hugging you. you are a sickness. now you just enjoy that racial profiling, now, show him how he can improve himself by accepting him.self phooey.

samer: meeting shifty eyes on the street. it’s not you. it’s not them. it’s conditioning. this third-party poltergeist plaguing our interaction. what a guy! engage. see through it. embrace the other.

ricky: phooey. we are conditioning. it isn’t outside of us. the buck must stop somewhere. the christians call that caboose — god.

samer: please be awesome.

now, i wish i could clone myself and take me out dancing. take me to play pool. give myself a hug that is not condescending or habitual. a hug that thanks me for being. an embrace. not because it’s required, but just because. if i never have an opinion, that doesn’t mean i’m not a real person. i’m just that person.

ricky: a person without opinion. which is still a person. just one without opinions. which you have.

boddhisatva celebration xenophobia

ricky: words, words, words. make me a sammich.

samer: jasmine, the girl you met at bimbo last night, said she only found herself after spending so much time alone. you know you would be okay alone, but why opt into it? relationships are volatile and it will happen anyway. appreciate the company until you truly don’t want to be accompanied. until you have a drive, a purpose to be alone.

ricky: we build life on this — some call it excuses. ya know, filtering our perception into a fractal our nature can accomdate.

samer: you can certainly apparate to the top of the church if only you can live in the perception that “here” is no different than “there”. if only you can wholly believe that you are not your body. once you know that those two spots are exactly the same thing and those spots are also you…you will already be on top of the church.
you drink almost every day now. you wake up at some point in the day and you tell yourself you’re not going to drink today. then you see some cheese, someone pulling a glass of wine away from their lips and you’re sucked right back in. “well, one glass with some cheese.” “well, one with dinner. who cares?” are you addicted to alcohol? don’t shame yourself for using tools (caffeine, alcohol, etc) to accomplish something. there’s no real difference between doing it “yourself” and doing it with a tool. the experience will be what you want and so will the result. unless neither of those are true, then it’s time to re-evaluate.
life doesn’t suck. your filters on life do. destroy, rebuild your filters!
perceptions, filters, are completely formed by importance ratings. every sense, every experience is rated in terms of importance and a perception filter is created as a result. as you decide that having several short bursts of pee at the end of the long haul piss isn’t weird and you decide that you don’t really care what others think of how your pee sounds, you decrease the importance rating of the worrying-about-what-your-pee-sounds-like-to-people-outside-the-bathroom experience and a new perception filter and a new relationship with peeing is formed — a new reality is born.



petals sandcastle

queer painter_poet flappy bird for the love revolution. art. ideas. flow. filosof.e lit'ru.cha.