The Root of Racism

Racism starts with psychological self-identification with a particular division and thinking/acting in reference to that self-identified/accepted division within, through me, to me, for me.

Race as my face
A race for and against this face as my mask, a mask covering my real face
My real face that I hide behind this chase for a race, making it my grace to embrace or disgrace
Not realizing such embrace/disgrace only sets me ablaze and mace my very own being, the very essence of life

The acceptance that “I am” pink, “you” are green, so I am going to lift up all the green people because green is being put down by “my/we” pink people, may look nice to the immediate eye, however is the very root of racism and thus can never be completely dissolved within the individual and thus from the society.
And so is the reason why the individual and the society continue to be segregated and those that are a product of such society only knows to control, enforce, manipulate and enslave based on these psychological divisions within themselves and within each individual
For psychologically divided individuals are only bound to the divisions within and are never free. I may have “freedom to choose” between predefined choices presented/inherited but not freedom.

A different way is to examine and realize this justified, subjugated, self imposed and inherited self identification on an individual level. Such self-realization will automatically bring about change within the individual and thus human society as whole.
And such individual, rather than fighting for “Rights” among the divisions, to join in the psychological & divisional destruction of life, will stand up to take self-responsibility for every action and in every thought, in everyday life.

Fight not for a right, for a fight’s plight is always born out of spite
Fight not for a share in privilege, for any for/against privilege is a carnage
Fight not for this lineage of carnage, for carnage is of the savage that ravages within

A Real Revolution is that which begins psychologically within
A Real Revolution brings about self-examination and self-realization
A Real Revolution with self-realization brings a different actualization
For a Real Revolution within, is the real evolution within

An evolution whose root and shoot is that of self responsibility and self discipline
Self-responsibility that is not of control or of duty and of responsible freedom
Self-responsible freedom whose fruit and the seed within such fruit is the very solution
A self-responsible solution independent of resolution.

Body As My Bait

Body as my bait
Shady as my state
Shoddy as my trait
Body pleasures as my habit and my habit as my entertainment
Entertainment as my entrainment
Entrainment as my comfortable entrapment
Entrapment as my only state of sustenance, my only state of consumption
I swing from one ding to another fling, unknown that the ding and the fling are of the same ping
A ping for a cling, a little bit of bling to cling on to

Reasons for the cling or hunting under the mask of connection are many, but the reason behind the reason, within my mind is one and the same – living through the acceptance/rejection (they are one and the same) of the my/other’s entertainment

Entertainment is Emotional Consumption, a self-manipulation, more atrocious than physical consumption and is the creator of today’s traditional religion of human consumerism
Nearly all of waking life is spent on either some form of entertainment (spiritual, religious, societal or mindless repetition of the most popular thing out there) or in the fear of survival and security.
It is a sad state that grown humans are still playing with balls, watching others play with balls year after year, never understanding the nature of a ball and running, round and round like a hamster in the wheel numbed to habit and fear of boredom.

When I am unable to be Alone (neither emotionally dependent on the other or on my-self), I know nothing of life and only come across a “lonely life” that pushes me for the appeasement and entertainment of the other that much further into the lonely hole
And the other who comes for my entertainment is also in the same lonely boat.
And when two/more lonely boats who cant ride their own boat come together to ride together in the false pretense of the illusory comfort of togetherness, I am only trying to escape from my lonely boredom and will never realize or come across life.

When I am deep down in the “Stink of Entertainment”, even “self-manipulating myself and begging” for likes feels all warm and fuzzy and fun, all the while subconsciously dying and left in a state of mechanical puppetry, performing reward based tasks resulting in a conflicted and depressed psyche, thus expressed in the body.
For the Road of many, is a web of plenty where I am the fly in the spider web that consumes my life through the illusory spider of many.

Take for example – No matter who squeezes an apple, an apple always gives apple juice because it does not depend on the audience, leech on the audience, feed on the audience like a parasite.
Now what if the apple manipulates itself to giving pineapple juice when squeezed by pineapple people and grape juice when squeezed by grape people. It sure will neither be apple juice nor the pineapple/grape juice.
And such is the nature of “self-manipulation” of my own mind. I neither will be the real me nor will I get to know the other really. I may have plenty of friends who give pleasure or followers and still be empty and lonely inside, no matter how much and how many I gather around through my manipulation, dance of balance garbage and authentically connecting and getting along tactics.
Same way, a mind that is not dependent on the other for emotional or physical reward or be stubborn, expresses itself in freedom (in thought and everyday life actions), no matter who it interacts with, in complete honesty without wanting to be honest. For when I am honest with my self, there will be a realization in action that is self evident.
Like words are an extension of the mind, my everyday actions are an extension of my actual thoughts within

Life is not an entertainment nor entertainment is life and I am not a circus animal framed/farmed for entertainment or my life is a reality TV show
Life is not to be knifed to cut short my own life in the illusion of attainment or entertainment of the other.
Life is not in the head-banging music or in the manipulative lyrics behind the music written by rotten minds and played through by their begotten grinds for begotten heads
Life is not in the likes or the spike I get from the likes of popularity
Life is not in the hello, how are you, lets have a good time for couple of days
Life is not in the mechanical manners or in the predefined pretentious politeness
Life is not to be seen through a camera or on a phone screen, it is to be witnessed with my own eyes, realized and felt in every single nerve and every single hair strand on my body and within the very fundamental thought

Maybe, when I actually realize this as my everyday life,
I become empty to allow real life to flow into my life, to fill my life with life.
For life is like water, always filling the empty, to empty
So I be life and live life.

Scars

The scars that are left
The tears that are swept
The fears that are wept
For some, those are the treasures, for others those are the measures
And for the tether, those are the pleasures

Sensation of senses as my sensational sorrows
Sorrows that borrow and burrow within the senses of my existence
I wander to only launder
Enabled to plunder, disabled to squander the scars of the past
I look for the stars to char the fears of my scars

In the name of moving on, in the name of towing on
I hide behind the mask of this human cask
Hardened by the tricks of my trained mind
Burdened by he checks of my hurt heart
I hold on to this thread of life in fear and tear

Fear as my dear, so very dear fear, I fear
To fear I surrender, I meander to this commander, to whom I owe my plunder

Surrender and remember the splendor of surrender
Remember this lender of convenience of obedience
Obedience as my expedience, as my trance, my stance, my dance, a dance of compliance, an alliance

Alliance as compliance, as my only reliance
I obey and join the tethers that obey and repay
Repay is the only way to prey for another replay
For these pay for the cages of this system

Break the cages of custom, shake the barges of traditions that I accustom and speak the truth in between the teeth I have shut tight
Human has no religion, religion has human, I not be a legion to religion, for it is only a prison built by prisoners for prisoners, a misnomer

I wake up, not for a country nor under its coventry and to cleanup the hungry
I wake up, not for a flag, a slave tag nor for the bloodied rag it stands for or for the muddy blood it smears on the new blood, arises fear, pretends for and only attends to the great divide within
I wake up, not to accept or reject a color/colorless and to the color I dyed my eye with generations of dead, regenerating the undead
I wake up, not to a culture, for every culture is a vulture that feeds on the caricature of this self imposed torture

I live not for the body, for it is only gaudy and shoddy
I let not the pain, bide me, pleasure, abide me, guide me, for both are the dreads of the same thread

Stand up not to change another and to look at my tether to the other
Support not this tether to another, for it only creates an unpleasant weather
Fear not to change the weather and I be the storm within the storm that breaks up the norm called thunderstorm

For the rain that falls is not in vain, it is the very vein that carries beyond the charismatic mundane
It is the very rein of this new reign, sows the seed of self renewing grain, again and again

One Life

Trees filled with birds and the breeze filled with buzzing bee hoards
And the sun shining with its rays of light raining
Where the whistling of the leaves join the fluttering of the feathery birds
Where the noises are lost in the voices of life, a chorus of a free life

We raise each other in this nectar of life
To drink and to be drunk in this connector of love for life
Is the free life
A free life not given by me to my own tether nor that is from the other or through the other

Nourish each other, feed each other, grow together
Let us feast together and never on each other
For each life is to be nourished and each life’s strife perished in the nature and nurture of nourishment

Share each others minds, each others longing to create a life for all of us together
For a mindful heart and a heartful mind always flutters in the joy of another
For such a mind knows that the mind is not of the heart and the heart not the knot of the mind

Seek the wings that are shut, speak the minds that are caged, enraged for all these centuries
For freeing one self, my self, I free my perception of the other
Maybe then the other becomes a feather on the wings that allows me to fly, fly free from the other and yet together
Maybe then I may realize the other is my perception within the me I claim as mine

Maybe then,
Aimless I wander
Shameless I surrender
Frameless I ponder
Dreamless I meander
For in this grandless endeavor, I may come across the intentions attention for intention of this together

Together, let us not gather to hide behind each other or barter one another
And to stand alone
Alone not to add to another and to the truth that the other is the idea, a perception within me
A me that is independent, undivided by the voice of another, the noise of the tether for one another is a different me
For such a me, may uncover that there is no other, no tether nor the nether

Maybe that day I may recover to uncover and discover that the rays of the sun, the ways of the shun and the race for the loved ones are None
And my life is from the everyone that arises from the none
For I am that one from the none and no one.

Lost in my Flavors

Different flavors for different Starver’s
Starver’s starved and carved to be hungry
Hunger as the norm, fighting to steal, deal and wheel under different flags, different colored rags to rent different bags
Fighting as my excitement and excitement within the fight as the knight of my flight
Never questioning the internal fight, internal freight
I am just a dead weight on life

Labels as my walls, walls I have enslaved myself within
I only make pals with those that have more walls filled with even more nails
Pain as my food, my nourishment
Transaction as my traction to that which I respond, to that which I am bound
I seek out those that are hurt to justify my own hurts, my own rotten belief’s

Used and abused, joined arm in arm, justified by each others hurt
I make no mistake in hurting another further, using another to abuse further
For only hurt can hurt, only used can use, only abused can abuse

Life through lenses of substitutions, distractions
Unable, unaware of the nature of the depositions of distractions and substitutions
I make these my replenishment’s, my very institution filled with restitution’s
Begotten restitution’s as my life line and Rewards as my stewards
I am just a sheep to create more sheep for those that wants to reap, forever shackled to this weep and deep asleep
Known only through the rewards, excited in the awards, I tear apart life to the mundane, seeking the opposite of mundane, unknown that Excitement created through the mind of mundane is the very fodder for even more mundane, I chain, stain, drain the very vein of my life rain

Looking for positive in the negative, feeding the very negative
Negative as my scape, I build a cape through this scape with a mask of the positive
Living through the appearances and dissapearences
I play hide and seek never understanding the nature of my hiding and or seeking
Propelled by those that agree with me, those that lift my rotten self
I join those that feed more rotten garbage into the very essence of my life

Choices as my voices, never understanding the nature of choices nor the nature of those that are offering the choices
How am I to come across that which I don’t know that I don’t know
For I am numbed by my beliefs, gunned by the stress reliefs and dumbed by this internal grief.

My’s I life

My, defining the I
I, confining within the My of the I

My, as a memory, living through the memories story
Repeating, reiterating and rejuvenating through this memory
Memory as my dictator, I am just an actor, a rag doll, a puppet in the hands of this memory

Reliving through this My, my very existence has become dependent on this My
Existence as my persistence, my abstinence from everything else
Confining, confiding and enslaved to my memories, I have become the very definition of memory

Clinging to the past, the characters of the past, I have become the very character of the past’s mast (my race, my religion, my country, my culture, my this and my that)
Past’s comfort as my predefined path, I shadow my present with my past
The idea of hate, the idea of love as my dove stringed to the memory of the past, I have caged, aged and staged a different version of the same past

Each idea as the extension of my past, a detention through the past, I am just a pretension of the past in the present
Game and my name, I have no shame to play the blame game
Looking for the same old fame, I invite the players to build up the layers for another game

Wearing the glasses of the game, not understanding the nature of my own imprisonment in the name of the game, I seek out those who wants to play, who wants to lay and who wants to quay my play
Caught in the tides of this play, the only way feel loved, feel nourished is by the game

Gamer’s, scammers and shamer’s looking for another gamer, another scammer and another shamer to justify my way of existence through the validation of another’s existence, feeding, needing, clinging on and creating more of the same to seek comfort, to not have to look at me nor change me, to sleep through life enslaving myself and every other life form I come across

Focused on my dreams, dreams as a result of my past and habituated mechanistic ideas that are inherited, I forget the one who is sleeping and keep dreaming within this sleep of mine

This I call LIFE.
And when there are no escape routes, I see comfort in another idea, in another new scape, that this is all hallucination, just an illusion, just another justification to avoid, to actually look at myself

Life is not in the lie of Life or in the inherited image of life
Life may be in the fullest expression of myself, so I can look at myself, become aware of the self I call myself
Like Truth, life is not predefined and that which is lived upto is just another lie

Life is not in the rules, not in the procedures and certainly not in the bait of the habituated mind defined by the My and the I of the MY
Life is in Communion with life
For, Life is its own life.

Game Of The Self

Games as my memes and every day frames
Frames as my relations to sail on the ship of relation-ships
Every relationship as a transactional play of my betray
I have become a stray, a prey of the very games I play
Living in the Play, playing the same game for the same shame, for the same meme of that same shame with just a different fame
For I know of no other way to delay

Unable to create, disabled to show my hurts
I live in the hurts, to hurt more so I may justify my hurts
Hurt as my concert, I create a life full of dirt
only to blame the other of my fret and in debt of the very threat within my own regret

With regrets I play and in upset I pray
not knowing that the more I play, the more I obey
the more I obey, the more I sway
the more I sway, the more I prey
prey and be preyed on and never that is a pray

Enslaved to my old habits, looking through the prism of this habituated Babbitt
I fill my cup to its brim
Standing on this rim, I long for new habits forgetting that I still am seeking for the comfort of this Babbitt’s habit
Unable to understand the nature of my filled cup, I long for a new label to make my table with the same old fable

Unable to empty my cup, I live in comparison, a division
A division with such precision, its only vision and revision is the decision of division
One division for another, one relationship for another
each division and each relationship as a tether to swing, to cling, to bring and up-bring and ring the swinging from one to the other to the tether to another to the nether

Afraid of emptying the cup, I hold on to the very last drop, the very last crop, even when it is rotten and begotten by the rotten
Fooling myself with the concepts and living in the imaginary hallucinatory ideologies of the view of my glass being half empty or half full
Debating, baiting, rebating, rating and placating in this habituated imaginations of mine can only reiterate my past and never really examine what is

I wonder of the day, a day that I am alive
For each play is a reiteration of the life that was and never of the life that is alive, LIVE
To be Alive maybe is to die to that was alive, so the memory of alive is no longer in that which I live and it is in the Life that is Live
For in the live is the life that thrives, revives and arrives in the live jive

Belief

Belief as the boundary of my mind
Boundary as the temporary relief forming my minds bind
Divided in this misbelief, provided by the disbelief
Broken, shaken and forsaken by the strife of this confided grief
I invite the plight of my fright, I plunder in the light of my blunder

Unable to be aware, disabled to care for my own self that I call my-self
I join with those that object, interject and project my own mind
Hand in hand, mind within mind, in each others bind, I bend the realty to make my actuality
An actuality that forms the very lens of constructive destruction of my own minds grind

This destruction as my norm , my very form and the storm, I look for a reform only to renew the storm of this destructive norm
Unable to inquire, I enquire every mire that I can hire, adhere and admire this wire
Living in the hallucination of the other, calling for the causation’s of the nether, leaving the very observations of ones tether to the other, I bathe in this relative relatable relative

Forming customs, cultures and the vultures that feed on my accustomed cultural customs
I hide behind faith, abide by the scape of this wraith for a momentary escape
Momentary escape as my new cape, I live for the pride of this abide making it my abode

Divided in the name of religion, I create legions of regions and provisions of these divisions within my very hidden garrisons
A garrison guarded, regarded, carded and beaded as needed
Traditons as my renditions, I am an abomination to my realizations

Stoned to the known comfort, I take the pain to the boned miscomfort
I breed greed for this misunderstood comfort to form the plead for another lead of this postponed feed

Maybe a movement will arise in the moment I claim and proclaim as mine
to show me that the mine is a meme of the shrine I worship as my flagship in relationship to every dictatorship within

Maybe, I will realize and actualize the conformity to the misinformity instilled and distilled within me to be still and make everything nill
Maybe, I nourish the life in front of me, around me, abound in me and within me
Maybe then, I may see the actuality of my belief, my minds mis-belief and the very nature of the own boundaried reality of my own mind

For, Life is not be staged, not to be caged nor appraised, Life is to be praised
Life is not a strife not a rife, Life is found in the wildlife
Life is not be tarnished or diminished, life is to be nourished, cherished and flourished

So I let go of the past, every tradition, every custom, every belief and every division within myself
I stand naked in this moment and in the movement of the moment, to face, to embrace and to grace the very perception of life within

Me & the Other

When I was born, I was crying and the other were in joy of my crying
When I leave, the other cries for stealing their joy, their memories, their idea of me and never me

For the me I call me, is a relative me that is framed and formed from the fabric of the other
To know the me, to know the I that is other than given by the other, maybe I need to look at the tether of the other
A tether that is non relative to the other and that which does not reside in the other, and has its roots with the me I call as me, the image of the me within me

And maybe when I stand alone, I may come across this tether of the idea of the other and the nature of my perception of the relationship of the other
To get to know this tether of the other is to know the nature of the nether
For the feather and the nether within is relative to the other and the other in the I that is neither in the I nor in the other

To bow to another, to row with another may extend the hand of comfort, lend the land of the concert and justification of the act of non-rectification
And I may never come across the nature of the I that is lost in any of the other

So sound the horn of the Human, Be the lumen that is born in every numen, realize and actualize the Hu within the Human
For to be the Hu, is to be the new in every morning dew
In the new is the true and in the true is the new

New is not a relative new to that of the old
For the old is a memory with its prangs and gangs that gets drunk in the name of the new
Break this gunk, shake this skunk and make one self debunk
To know the nature of the new
For such new, has no knew or new to show the old or the bold or to uphold the so told
Like water this is the very matter that is behind all of the later

To face this new is to travel within, to ungravel the in, and to brace this akin is to make the fuel for my actualization of the realization of that which is burning
Burning within, from which I am running and yet akin from running
For standing has strength while all else are running from this aking

For the kingdoms and the doldrums, the rags and the riches, the drags and brags are all in the with in
So wake up, Stand up with in the up that has no ship of relationship, that which is neither the up of the down or the down of the up and is always around and abound

Love In Action

Love is an idea when in actual action has a different notion, a different motion, a different station to board a different interaction
Ideas are many, actions are so few and very new to the very few that knew, knows of no new

An idea is not of the new when its from the memory, when it has its roots within the penetentray of the memory
Tried and Trekked, wired and wrecked, dried and ducked, walked and talked are all of the memory
Memory is of the old, is of the comfort and of the uncomfort directing me, carving my ideas and the resulting ideals of the I, I call I
To live in the memory is that of self shackled prison in which the prisoner and the guard are the same
The one that lost the key to my shackles and the one that has the key to my shackles is one and the same
Same shame, just a different name and a different game and still of the ideal of the same tame of the shame

To arise from memory is to take shelter in the Sensory, a sensory dungeon
A dungeon that never be the pigeon that flies, that is free of that which weighs me down, forbids me from my very own melt down
Always showing me hope, scarring me of the my nope, my very probe in to the nature of hope and wraps me with a robe of illusory armory in the protection of stationary
For Hope is the temporary temporal twist in this motion to bring forth the notion of the past and relive in the reiteration of the retreat of the past

Past as my mast
Pasts mast as my cast, I see the vast through this cast and the caste of the cast
Contrast as my justification, my juxtaposition to recast the past to outlast the precast, I recast the past in aghast
To understand this nature of the pasts contrast is to avast, is to move with the motion

And when I move with the motion with no notion of the motion, I may come across that is which is neither of the motion nor of the notion
For the motion has no commotion nor devotion and still includes all of the emotion

This Motion has no definition of Love, no definition of this or that. NO idea of love, No comfort of the idea of Love
For it is the action, in every momentary movement of the moment that redefines, vines and shines that which is
And that which is has in it the awareness of all that was and is and never was

Such a mind is neither blurred nor scared or scarred
And is in the state of self inquiry to myself that which i call my self and all of the perceptions of that self
For the inquiry when turns on itself, a different state arises from such inquiry
To experience this, the clearance of this experience in everyday action, in every perception of my every thoughts action has a very different essence to the very incidence of essence