seeking after knowledge

 Knowledge cannot be given or hoarded, it is in a constant process of revelation to those who have eyes to see. There are no keys save those which one earns for oneself, no wisdom which was not unready and the result of vanity. You cannot free that which is by definition locked, nor can you give wisdom to those who cannot see it. You see a culture, I see a truth. You ask to remove a lock, but that lock is eternal and fair. That truth is a constant at any time and at any place in the world. It has no history, no beginning and certainly no end, save with the extinction of the human race and with no heir to carry on after it.

You want to teach the hidden wisdom to your friends? But I ask you, who are your friends? In truth none exist and none will. You have no companions and no partner, and you never will. If you understand that it is a lonely path, you will know that no-one can reveal for you truth, or unlock a path hidden from your sight. There is no-one to teach you and you will not learn, save that which you knew and learned already.

If you persist in pushing this point, then I will say to you that you are not after an understanding, but that you want a religion and all the trappings that come with it. If you wish to be a shepherd, then be truthful about it. If you want to drag the uncomprehending and dull behind you, you will lose all sight of the road ahead of you. If you want recognition and adulation, then I say to you that you seek awards and honors from the blind, the insensate, cripples and the deformed. If you want the respect of your peers, or the peers you believe you deserve, then you seek to hide your doubt in yourself, smothered in the fake pride of undeserved awards and false flattery.

I’ve always felt an unreserved kindness towards you, in part due to my empathy with your situation; but I feel that it has insulated you from the truth of your position. You do not know how to keep silent, nor do you know how to listen. You seek approval from outsiders but do not respect their inability to understand you. You talk in riddles when honesty would be right, and obfuscate your words when you do not know.

That you are trapped down a blind alley is no-one’s fault but your own. You give aid and comfort to your enemies and alienate your friends. You do not know how to respect the difference between people outside and people inside. You talk to plumbers about cars and talk to mechanics about your drains. You list your accomplishments without modesty, when you should wear failure and experience as a true indicator of your journey. You hate the earth, but want her to lift her skirt for you.

Do these words offend or anger you? I hope they do, because the best thing you could do, the kindness that I once again give you, is to earnestly hope, and expect that you will reverse this road you have set yourself down. To not expect to argue with me or others, but to quietly and secretly better yourself. To take my earnest castigation as the kindness it is intended.

Because if for no other reason than that I am tired of passing the wrecks on the road.

In the beginning…

 In the beginning there was a big hole.

 A hole so big you could fall in any direction and it was more likely that you would pass a place you had been before than to hit the bottom. It was dark; so dark and quiet you could imagine anything, for long periods of time. You’d have had gone mad with the loneliness and the fear of hitting that conceptual bottom. You’d dream of all the things out there with your imagination, and in the darkness they could be real.

Big fucking things out there in the quiet darkness, sometimes with tentacles, or big mouths, massive hides and horns, other horrors thought up in your spare falling time.

Those massive behemoths would roil out there in the darkness, falling in all directions just out of reach, and yet terrible in their imagined splendor. Falling and even bumping into each other, it not being out of mind that they might occasionally manage a free fall monster fuck in some spasm of hooves, or to rip each other to pieces in instant ferocity. Waves and splashes of lesser abominations could result, like a fire-hose filled with cattle fetuses.

One of those particular lucky gamblers would have many names, some would call it ——, others some other name, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that that vast monster had many many babies, all clinging to its hide. It kept a mate out there. Or it was a single mother, we can’t make assertions too soon. But nonetheless those babies were the important subject. They were smaller, lived vast and amazing lives on the monster mother veldt. Massive wars in the pube jungle and dandruff plateau. Tit mountain and bum fluff alley. Small demigods of incomparable insanity and all different to each other.

You couldn’t trust one over the other, they were too different. You might meet a lovely lady thing and yet she’d be a different species to you. It was a very untrustworthy time.

One of the Gods was sick of the way things were going. He rallied a whole bunch of the more impressionable, learned or willing godlings together and had a great meeting.

“Why do we fall where ever we are made to fall?”, he would sweep his hand over the horizon. “We are not masters of our own destiny as long as we are part of something else”. The less opinionated would nod sagely in agreement, not knowing what it was that they were agreeing to.

“Let us cut up our Mother and make a new place, a home we have all formed of our wisdom”.

Holy crap.

The sheer vandalism involved created a vast number of god baby converts. Instead of fighting each other they would hack out the land, burn down nipples and make forays and dungeon crawls into the inner workings. To kill a gigantic sentient monster thing that has thoughts of its own was not overly smart. Many died of shifts in the architecture, waves of intense hatred or muffled brain curses of epic badness.

In the end they won, but not by a great margin. They sat atop a corpse. A massive complex of blood, gore and rotten flesh. Volunteer god was nominated as leader. The others invented posts and positions of importance to pass the time and forget the enormity of the crime they had committed.

Some of them took to shaping the corpse. Crafting secret bases or special gardening projects. The giant maggots were tamable and could be ridden.

Some became lonely. Used to be in the day you’d always meet someone new once you got over the last one. But these days there weren’t many left, and you all had a hard time looking at each other after the murder. Bad vibes and feelings of regret. Better to spend time by yourself. Insinuations.

Leader god once again made the first creation. A woman thing formed out of dead flesh and other bits. A kind of fake companion, robot. Love doll maybe. Tried to give it a look that he liked. Breathed into it with the breath of life and so it did. Others made companions. Insects for one. Bears for another. You’d get to the point that you’d refer to them by the things they made more than their old names. Of course the creations they made looked like them. They were the best looking of course. Bear looked like Bear, but his followers weren’t as good looking, nor as clever. It was only fair.

And of course the others out in the darkness had heard everything. Had heard the murder of one of theirs with insane anger. It was one thing for them to kill each other, that was religious! But to die and be used by things that weren’t of the original hole. That was a bad precedent.

It was going to make trouble.

But the things they’d made had bits of the old mother in them, and so they could be whispered to. You’d start talking and the bones in them would listen. You’d do a dance in the void and they’d dance too. It was only fair, and those are the rules.

Introduction

I’ll start off with some reposts of writing I’ve done a while ago.