Notes from the Whorl...

Partial Letter to a sister...

"...After all, 'Shock' is so much less electrifying without the breathy 'Awe' released at it's conclusion.

Black is so much deeper when pasted onto a white wall...

Pain becomes tolerable and even ignored perhaps if it is persists beyond our memory solice.

Love is nothing without remembering when you were not loved.

Ugly faces would melt into one another so that you could not tell anyone apart. Add a single, symmetrical soul into the crowd and watch the drab gray plates upon which most of our senses are nailed too heave and contort into their monstrous true forms.

Watch them as they hate that which forces them into their own, unique semblance. They will hate themselves more than the light that finally exposed them but will not fully realize thier self loathing until after they have killed all illumination (and most likely turned upon and greedily murdered many of their own numbers as the momentum of their rage grinds against some opposing friction).

And then there will be nothing to remind them of their own, unique ugliness but a history. And all histories are the worst possible type of lie. They will return to their homogenous, gray ocean and jiggle fearfully and as quietly as they can.

The historic truths they write for the success of their future survival are all lies - they enjoy feeding poison to their own young and even celebrate their dishonor and deceit with monuments and mementos made as permanent and at the greatest expenses possible.

They kill their babies as they slide from the womb and call it art. Their still-born generations will pour out and tumble ceaslessy forward; an endless (and equally pointless) row of neatly packed dominos.

Ever forward to only God knows where. And God could care less.

They race and tumble between the self-aggrandizing and genocidal monuments of their murderous ancestors. They bump and fall blindly and struggle against some force they imagine they might employ. They each protest for a tiny millisecond as they tumble. Without fail they see their own graves hungrily approach. They glance for a fraction of that tiny millisecond to one side or another looking for something to save them. Something to catch them. They see thousands of artifacts around them which scream offers of salvation. Things perfectly carved for them, for which they might gain purchase. The see thousands of lies stacked neatly or chaotically according that year's fashionable deception mandated (lies are always the most fashionable, immaculate and groomed with the greatest attention.

Lies get more pussy than truths. Pussy, and this is a very observable truth, much prefers to eat lies. It will always eat a lie over the truth. Lies made to order, offer an incomparable burst of flavor and go down much easier.

Lies tend to have a rather nasty after taste...and sometimes cause sickness, nausea, irritability, fear, panic, terror, remorse, regret, jealousy. anger, rage, murder, self-loathing or low self esteem, suicide, fratricide, all types of cides in fact; especially to those you love the most (or those that happened to be tumbling to their deaths the closes to you as you were murdered sliding into this fate

....but, not understanding love (for it has already choked on a lie and been 'cided') you smelled the fear of those closest too you, related to it, joyfully (although only for the tiniest of nanoseconds) were comforted by the fact that you were not alone. You were comforted by everyone else's stark-raving terror because it was not your own. You even imagined that yours was less and you were therefore different and stronger than they. That you revel in other's pain and suffering because it makes yours less is the first lie you make.

And you call this lie "love". This pain and death is what allows you the fleeting illusion of life. You are the white paper on their black souls and simultaneously you provide the black-terror-backdrop which allows the mindless fucking domino being murdered just behind you to rejoice in your suffering and love you as a brother. You are safe from that knowledge most likely.

If you were to realize that all these beautiful monuments and ideologues and reasons and logics and truths and histories and distractions which create everything you perceive to give you purpose in that tiny fraction of a millisecond you happen to notice them as you are falling to your death were all false and will never catch you, or save you or even create the illusion that you are safe. If you realized in that fraction of second where your 'soul' was elevated accidentally from contemptuous and vile for loving the suffering of your loved ones to merely selfish and egotistical because you are too busy trying to save your own ass. If you realized for that piece of the closest thing to a 'life' that you will ever know. If you realized that in this last second is your only chance because you will spend the rest of the descent staring into that dark earth that has no contrasting backdrop to give it meaning. You will be there in a few seconds and perhaps you will find nothing at all (which shouldn't be too different from what you have now?).

After that one second of chance you have to notice life through all the lies which reach out save you, so close they suffocate you and choke you but always crumble out of your way (Some even give you a nice shove to speed up your fall). But. If in that second as you are reaching out with no arms and trying to catch yourself with no legs, and scream with no mouth, or cry with no eyes, or hear the calming and reassuring screams of those you love with no ears. If you somehow manage to swim through that thick, burning, swirling panic crushing your being as you realize you are surely going to die alone. If you somehow see, hear, smell, touch, taste, feel, without your eyes, ears, nose etc...

If you swallow down the panic and you come to the realization that your entire world is entirely conceived to deceive you. That nothing outside of you exists truly as it presents itself or entirely unreal all together. If you realize that whatever is there is most certainly not thinking or caring about you.

Only then are you close to life. You are still falling just as rapidly to your death. You may then stand out. You may then be that single, simple and truthful symmetry that exists among all the other screaming, thrashing frightened masses. You will stand out and they will see you, and see themselves in your contrast. Your beauty will make them despise you. Will make them forget to revel in the pain of their loved ones and forget to wallow in the premonition of their selfish deaths.

They will forever mistake love for proximity and enjoyment of others' pain. But they will never miss their chance to hate. You don't suffer through the lies as they do. They cannot rest in their biggest comfort as long as you exist.

So you have found life now. You can see their eternal distraction and pointlessness. You may even pity them and be moved to help them. Don't bother.

They will kill you faster and with more relish. Don't reach out to these tumbling, jiggling miserable fools. Live your fleeting life and enjoy the wonderment of a world empty of things which need explanation or understanding. You are that rare, tumbling and shimmering thing bobbing in the vast black pool of vile and despair. You are the only thing to remind us that there really is nothing out there. Without an occasional glimpse of you as you float to the surface, we would see only an imperceptible blackness and we might mistake nothing for nothing.

The subtle genius beauty would be lost utterly and drowned finally within this sickening, ever-twisting violent insanity we call our normal state of affairs.

Love ya! See you soon,



Alex