This Magic Moment

As mentioned…originally written Aug 14 2007; published here Nov 30 2007

At 12:15am on Tuesday, August 14, another moment of my existence. I lay across my makeshift bed – my two ottomans resting atop my sectional devoid of cushions, a sleeping bag with cooler fabric than the upholstery, having just 90 minutes ago downed my meal, and my body trying to suggest that it needs rest and sleep, but confused with the nicotine and caffeine running around stirring things up. Attempted to read, but the material isn’t grabbing me – I’ve found over and over that I read a few pages of detailed explanation for this or that thing and I was there before the explanation started. This results in losing my motivation to continue, because I’m not getting to anything substantive – beyond what I already know.

My current condition – the extrapolation of all things Philip – is not one to be envied by all those striving to make their mark in the world.

And I’m not drunk, and I’m not high, and I’m not yearning for any temptation or distraction. I’ve no wish to open the enticing, distracting door of fantasy and masturbation – truthfully speaking, I discovered some time ago how that particular dalliance had invaded my life, and how my mind’s need for safety, love, and “mattering” caused it to create a perception of reality where I was desired, and where the women in my life exposed their ultimate vulnerability based on the love and trust I offered them. Sounds (literally) fantastic, doesn’t it? Yeah, well, it’s the nature of the addictive personality to establish faux relationships with things when the relationships with yourself, others, society, and The Spirit are not giving you what you need to survive. So that revealed itself to me some time ago of its falseness.

OK, so that still puts us where we are – this magic moment (now 12:27, but let’s not fuss about time marching on, shall we?).

If I were a plant, I would not know I was a plant, and I wouldn’t have to wonder about what to do. I would simply do my best to survive in the physical environment that surrounds me. If I had wet dirt underneath me, I would stretch my roots to obtain water. If the sun or some other light were near, I would extract from that light some modicum of the energy I would need to live and carry out my functions of energy distribution to my cells and stemming the progress of decay as best as possible (“stemming” – get it?).

If I were any other THING in this universe that did not have an awareness of itself, then I would do my variation of the same actions. I would attempt to find the energy I needed to survive, and that is all.

Bad luck, this self-awareness deal.

Because for all the beauty and joy that my awareness gives me – knowledge of myself, a fuller knowledge of the aesthetic (knowledge previously incomplete because I didn’t know I was part of it, too) – it also tells me that I am overall a very insignificant thing, for the universe has a vastness untold, and the infinite series of conditions of mutual coexistence continue to pile into each other with each passing moment.

I am nothing.
(Thought you might enjoy my saying that about myself instead of railing about all of you.)

But I am not “nothing” – I am something. Something’s pounding on this keyboard brining all these patterns on the screen. So I must be.

Having knowledge of existence brings knowledge of the aesthetic, which brings out the truth of relational existence, and foments insignificance…

…from which comes ego, from which comes fear.

My fear? My true, unadulterated, “no point in spinning your answer for your audience” fear? That’s simple. It – my function, my purpose, my reason for being, that which I am compelled to do – is utterly pointless and will only fly smack dab in the face of everything everyone has convinced themselves of. I’m compelled to do that which no one wishes I would do.

The number of human beings on this planet that, at this moment, wish to act on The Big Joke and do something about the vanity, pride, and greed that lives in each person and the collective bend of humanity that extends it to all possible forms (consequences be damned) is very, very, very few. Minimal. Nigh on immeasurable. Most would prefer to say, “Yeah, life sucks, and we’re screwing everything up, so I’m just going to concentrate on my life and what I can do to make myself (and maybe, if you’re lucky, the people around me) happy. So I’m going to concentrate on ME because I know no one else will.”

And they’re right – no one else will.

I wish I could get a good night’s sleep. I wish I had a place where I wanted to lay down and sleep and feel safe and feel secure. Ain’t happening.

I wish I had an ego that made me want for myself, want to survive and thrive, and bend my mental faculties towards some end that will give me fulfillment and joy. Again, ain’t happening. What could I do? Most anything, if I can be immodest for a moment. What can an axe do besides chop wood?

Bret asked me what I wanted, and I said to him – and in an earlier post – that I wanted people to want to spend time with me. Incomplete. I want people to want what I want – to begin shedding all the spin and denial we all have, and speaking of The Big Questions and The Big Joke because we all see how it’s going to be the ruination of everything we know.

But no one wants that. People want to spend time with me when they wish for a distraction, when they want to NOT live their life – and when they want to concentrate on themselves and their happiness as they define it, I’m better served going away.

I’m turning into a real annoying guy. Like Koresh, but without the guns or pussy. (Hicks). I wish to rid the world of all these fevered egos that are tainting our collective subconscious and making us pay a higher psychic price than we imagine. (Also Hicks).

I do not wish to exterminate – I wish only to enlighten and evolve.

I am incredulous about the situation, about humanity, and so overwhelmed at the ridiculousness of everything that I’m even past making art about it. There’s no point in abstract expression anymore – we don’t need the Monets of the world to capture the world’s beauty, because we’re indifferent to it. We’ll take a moment top admire the flower or the tree or the insect or the animal, but we care not a tinker’s cuss about our collective abuse of the same. What’s the point in admiring the beauty of everything? It’s not like it’s going to have any IMPACT on you except drive you to more fear-driven, ego-driven “Well I’ll worry about ME” actions.

Shouldn’t the eviction notice on my door cause me concern? Shouldn’t the fact that I’m going to lose my car – again – fill me with an inner drive to take care of WHAT’S MINE and ME?

WHO’S GOING TO CARE ABOUT ME?

No one. I know that. It does not fill me with fear or woe. It’s a given. Everyone wants to worry about themselves, their own lives, their own worries, and they want me to do the same.

Everyone wants me to give a shit about myself so they don’t have to.

Everyone wants me to take care of my own shit so they can take care of their own shit.

Well, you know what? I don’t. I don’t care about my apartment, I don’t care about my car, I don’t care about the music I’ve collected, I don’t care about my furniture, all the memorabilia that reminds me of times that no longer exist. I don’t care about getting what I want. I don’t want.

I eat. I don’t eat because I want to, I eat because otherwise I will die. I will work to my survival. “Shelter is survival, Philip – you need a place to live.” Do you? “You need a car, Philip, otherwise you can’t get a job.” Do you? “You need money to live, Philip.” Do you? I’ve started giving furniture away, started getting most of my clothes out of my life. These things are unimportant to me.

What’s important to me? Talking about The Big Joke to as many people as possible, as often as possible, in as clear a manner as possible.
Very difficult to do on your own, especially when you care not for things that other people believe you ought to care about in order to exist. Their definition of “exist,” mind you, not mine.

“Philip is depressed.” OF COURSE I’m depressed. About my sorry condition? About my woe? About my happiness? No. About the juxtaposition of me only wanting to talk about and maybe doing something about the Big Joke and The Big Lie, about the depressed, ego-driven condition of humanity, and how no one really wants to do any of this besides me? Yes.

When I went on my mushroom trip a year ago, I cried. A lot. Dave will attest. I can, though my sense of empathy, absolutely FEEL the fear that rests inside so many people, the choices they make to insist on their own happiness, the delusions they create for themselves, how all these different realities (merely just perceptions) collide and collide and create conflict and MORE fear which only perpetuates everything.

Yes, please, (you can always tell when I’m about to be sarcastic – I get very polite), TELL ME how delusional I am, how I create this reality for myself for whatever my motivations are. Yes, please TELL ME that my vision for an idealized society of humans only allows me to create a standard that I myself can never live up to, and thus creating a condition of perpetual victimization, so I can draw attention to myself by how much I suffer.

Puh-freakin-LEEEZ.

This magic moment – now 1:11am – I indulge my ego by perpetuating my nicotine and caffeine habits, I indulge myself by ignoring my obligations and the manner of my survival so I can be THE BIG VICTIM. Hey, that’s what Jesus did, right? Damn! And no one’s hanging around chronicling the events of my life so when I DO sacrifice myself in martyrdom everyone will be around to see it and pause and wonder…..yeah, right.

Angie bought a framed, one-panel cartoon and gave it to me as a gift not too long ago (after we broke up). It still hangs in my apartment. The picture itself is very simple – a few stick figures standing to the left, and one stick figure standing in front of a crudely drawn bus. The cartoon reads:

Just before he got hit by a bus, Gary realized that the meaning of his life had been to make the people watching him consider the meaning of their lives…all of whom went on to do great things.

Or, put another way:

You claimed all this time that you would die for me
Why then are you so surprised when you hear your own eulogy?
He had a lot to say, he had a lot of nothing to say
He had a lot to say, he had a lot of nothing to say

Jump down, get off your fucking cross
We need the fucking space to kill the next fool martyr
(Keenan)

Martyrdom’s just victimization in an Aloha shirt.
Nah, used that one too much.
No atheists in foxholes, no nobility in suicide.

I exist in relation to others, yes do not subscribe to the same philosophies as others.

And I cannot sleep.

I am not grounded.

I am alone – physically, and spiritually.

When I am alone, I do not exist. For you exist in relation to others, and all my “others” want me around when they want me around, and at no other time.

If I am in the company of B because they wish me to be, and C comes along to be with B and not with me, then I leave. Nash’s equilibrium comes true again, for B and C “win” in getting what they want, and I have taken action that has brought more happiness into the world. It seems that I can spread happiness with my departure.

“Who brought Mr. Doom over? The guy by the dip – he’s bumming everybody out!” (Hicks)

For anyone who’s been wondering through this diatribe: Otto’s solution has already been explored and affirmed, so when I lose this place he already has a home.

Face it, all of you who read this site.

You want for you, first and foremost. You want for me, but only to the extent that you hope I can find something. Certainly not that you would help me – of course not, because then you would have to devote your energies to someone other than yourself.

How many times do I have to say this? I. DON’T. KNOW. HOW.

I don’t know how to care about myself, how to create an ego that says “I’m important, I matter.” Because it’s false – the TRUTH is that, comparatively speaking, I already know that I DON’T MATTER.

I would never have said it out loud to any of you if I didn’t know first that it applied to me.

So time and my own inaction will take care of my death. I needn’t accelerate it – I’m a patient man.

So if I don’t matter, then what DOES matter to me?
Talking about the Big Lie, the Big Joke, the one that we all know is sending us hurling into our own demise. The Joke that has all the energy fat-cats securing front-row seats at the Armageddon, the Joke that is

Television
Movies
Cellphones
Computers
i-Pods
Blackberries
NASCAR
Iraq
Airplanes
Indulgent Art
Indulgent Music

No one wants to relate to me for I do not delude myself about the human condition, I do not delude myself about my own importance, I do not delude myself with little pieces of how I define my own uniqueness.

And I will die. Big fucking deal. Happens all the time in the world.
Why give a shit about me? Millions dying all the time because of the condition we’ve gotten ourselves into, and THAT doesn’t matter to you.

The difference between the mind and the physical. Your mind has gone places your body will never get to. You greedy, arrogant humans had to keep asking questions and getting the answers not only so you cold DOMINATE (you had that a long time ago) but you could FLOURISH and pronounce your importance and your domination over and over.

And the aesthetic will win, if you keep it up. It’ll wipe humanity away in a comparative instant, and remain indifferent. And if we keep on asserting ourselves against the aesthetic, that’s precisely what will happen.

And we all know it. And no one wants to admit it, because it’s damned scary.
And that’s the only thing I want to do – talk about that. I don’t want to write a song, write a poem, paint a picture…I want to communicate these ideas clearly and simply so we can maybe do something to change our course and maybe learn to live within the aesthetic.

No one wants to have that conversation. No one wants to acknowledge all this because then they might have to care about something besides themselves, and there’s no guarantee that someone else is going to care about them, and the soluti8ons themselves run against the grain of almost everything we’ve built into this “Ain’t Humanity GREAT?” bullshit deal we’ve got going.

It’s easier to live the lie than to confront it.

So go ahead, have your fun. Indulge yourself to your heart’s content. Define yourself in all your wonder – show me by your appearance, by your statements and actions, show me with all your indulges and whimsies, HOW YOU ARE, and THAT YOU ARE. Never mind that I don’t need any of that because to me you’re already you without the need for any additional assertion.

Make your indulgent art. Hedonize your every moment and tell me how great you are by going about things that way. You don’t give a fuck about me or anyone else, so why should any reaction matter to you?

We’re fucked. All of us. Totally. Unless something drastic happens to change the collective mindset, everyone knows we’re fucked. Silly me – I want to do something to change that mindset, and I’m only going up against what, 7 billion little egos? I don’t stand a chance. Hell, there’s two egos out there already kicking the shit out of me and having a blast as they do. One big gaper delay as the body apparently has not yet finished crashing through the windshield. Big fucking deal. One tiny little word and idea guy who can’t handle being on this planet with other egos.

I wish I were a plant. Good thing – I’ll be pushing up daisies soon enough.

“Oh, it’s so sad.” No, it’s not. Not sad or depressing at all. Get another tattoo – you’ll feel better. Hell, if I didn’t feel like railing against the windmill about all this and spending all this energy in this magic moment – now 1:52am – getting all these ideas out of my head and onto the screen and eventually onto this site, then you wouldn’t even know. I’m using a man-made mechanism for detached communication because your mind wishes to go somewhere that your body cannot (an assertion of the human ego). How many of you reading have SPOKEN to me in the past month? How many of you reading have actually shared physical space with me of your own choosing, because YOU wished for it to be so?

That’s why last Monday was such a big deal. Because THAT’S what it’s all about. And THAT’S the first step in changing things.

Stop the mindfuck. Stop going places with your mind where your body cannot follow.
Turn off the television. Turn off the computer. Turn off the cellphone and talk to the people around you. Stop buying your food, your furniture, your clothes, your cars, stop indulging your whimsy.

Interact with your physical environment. Keep the mind and the body in the same place.
That includes time. Your body is in the present, but where is your mind? Feeling emotions about the past? Feeling worry about the future? There is no past, there is no future, there is only this moment. (Many people have said that, I hear Hicks).

Oh, it’s just so ridiculous.

Why am I even bothering saying all this? It’s not going to change anything. It’s not like suddenly I’m going to get you people to start actually CONSIDERING any of this and responding. Fuck, I’ve been asking for input and feedback from all you people reading this website and can count on one hand the number of people that have made comments or attempted to transfer ideas. The rest of you? Barring the likelihood that even might have READ this far, it will have absolutely no impact on you past some fleeting, mental consideration – but I’m not in front of you, so no big deal. Why not just go to the next site you WANT to see and not worry about all this? (You’ll do that anyway – don’t need me making the suggestion).)

I only want to say
If there is a way
Take this cup away from me
For I don’t want to taste its poison
Feel it burn me
I have changed
I’m not as sure as when we started
Then I was inspired
Now I’m sad and tired
Listen, surely I’ve exceeded expectations
Tried for three years
Seems like 30
(BIG MONEY for someone who knows that reference)

Ain’t no disciples in the 21st century, unless you can tell ‘em what’s in it for them.

Think I’ll have another cigarette. I’m only human, after all.
You all want me to indulge, so I’ll indulge.
I will not work for my survival – if I’m to survive and thrive, it will be up to you.

I’ll eat, though. At least until I end up in jail. Or dead. Maybe even murdered, if I piss the right people off the right way. And if I keep on trying to be this guy that talks about all this, then that likelihood rises, ‘cause no one wants to hear it.

Some purpose. So much for divinity.

And I keep on trying to think of some cute, pithy little way of closing this all down, of finally SHUTTING UP so everyone can have their fake little happiness. I don’t WANT to keep typing in this magic moment – 2:14am – I’d rather sleep. I’d rather want to sleep because there’s a big day tomorrow of helping people, talking to people, trying to move the overall condition to a better condition.

But I DON’T KNOW HOW.

I know lighting designers, sound designers, costume designers, musicians, all kinds of people. They know me, and they know my interests.

I have all different kinds of ideas for shows about all this that I could do – props, scripts, all kinds of stuff. Do you think I broached this subject with any one of them? Of course not.

Why? Because it would only work if they wanted to do that, and they don’t. The musicians I know do not want to make music with me, the “show” people don’t want to consider helping me with a show – if they did, they would make that fact known. The truth is, they’d rather care about themselves, every last one of them.

“Wait, Philip – you do, too. You only care about yourself.”

I understand why you say that. You believe it may be so because that’s what everyone else does. But you’re not listening. I don’t care about myself, and even my function (to be the guy talking about all this). Because being that guy only works if people want to listen, and no one wants to listen. Everyone wants to be listened to.

Hey, I’m human. I’d like to be listened to just like anyone. No one wants to hear what ?I have to say, no one wants to admit that they already know the things I’m saying, no one wants to be confronted with the reality that rubs against their perception every time it happens and I’m around. (“No, Philip, you’re wrong.” No, I’m not – it is reality, not my perception. If you’re telling me I’m wrong, then you’re creating a perception of reality where you can get what you want – me being wrong. Doesn’t mean it’s true, except in your reality.)

And I think about stopping typing right now, in this magic moment – 2:26am – and maybe sleeping. And I laugh at myself, for I know it won’t happen. I’ll lie down, I’ll toss and turn in this flat thing that’s not a bed, and with the prospect of facing another day where all I wish to do is talk about something that no one wants to talk about, and hoping that I’m regarded in a manner that will allow me to survive and thrive and perform my function and knowing that I am not. I will face tomorrow as best I can, until I’m dead. Then maybe you’ll finally get some peace.

Thanks for listening.

Philip