RUDIMENTS, pt. 174
Making Cars
One thing that used to
bug me, from early on,
and I could never explain
it, had to do with some
sort of sensation I'd get
in trying to think past things.
This is all difficult to explain,
and I'm only using words so
that makes it even harder.
There's an unmarked
cellular-thought limit past
which the human cannot think.
Just like one cannot 'see' in
the dark - meaning 'see'
enough to distinguish or read
- so there's a place beyond
which the 'Human' has no
presence, and no means to
even go. So when people used
to say 'you're living in the
completeness of your being,
your world,' I knew they were
just saying junk and not realizing
the import of it at all. As
an example, it's impossible
to configure what it's like
'outside' of space and time.
We cannot get 'beyond' the
end of things. Our minds
and selves cannot comprehend
what such a 'Nothingness' is
or would be. Imagining a world
just after our world stops cannot
be done. There's no form for
that sort of 'Silence' and no 'word'
to incite any meaning for it. And
in this life everything HAS to fit
a form of itself - that's how we
operate and how our minds grasp.
We have trouble with what physicists
now call 'Dark Matter' because it
has no form, even though we
'realize' it being there - it's the
rest of space and time that is not
atoms and molecular. It's the space,
as it were, between the spaces.
Like the end of time for us - just
something yet incoherent to our
sensibilities. Like sensing for one's
life after one is dead. Incongruous
magnification. One precludes the
other yet they all exist together :
life, death, time, space, being.
Non-being? You can't 'picture'
your death or your non-being
because you are not there to
experience it, or because it is
not there for you to experience?
These become rigorous dead-ends,
almost tortuous dead-ends. Too
much to saddle the mind with.
YET, I was imbued with this.
My foolish self was amidst a
million ringing sensations at
all times. I could never figure
out the fastidiousness of what
adults were doing or telling me
to be doing. Like when someone
said to 'consider' what I wanted
to be, for the rest of my days,
career, job, vocational training,
all that, it was unfathomable to
me how they could accept the
idea of any 'continuity' that would
carry me that far. Form and the
slowness of time necessary to
make that form hold. That wasn't
for me; it was all about frequency.
Music, for instance, was on a
very low frequency, and the
sounds dragged. The same
with colors. I knew that -
where I was - there existed
colors that we had not yet even
seen or been exposed to. No
names for them, and they weren't
our colors. But, if and when the
so-called extra-terrestrials or
alien beings or space-men or
whatever everyone was always
getting rattled about, whenever
'they' arrived, the main thing
right off would be the colors
they posses. We'd see and know
them by seeing and knowing
or experiencing 'visually' their
colors, for the first time. It was
another level of frequency and
time. I knew that. Once I'd been
conked by that train, whatever
had happened to me and wherever
it had put me for that long, dark
period of time I was 'out' it was no
place such as this in any way. I
was no longer earthbound.
Evidently people will gladly go
to a movie with this stuff in it,
and pay their money and enjoy
themselves, or they'll see it on
some lame-brain science of
Nova show and claim to
understand; YET when it's
real and right before their eyes,
they deny it. I could tell them
what was real. I knocked, as
that stranger, and yet you
did not answer.
-
There's nothing better, in a
way, than getting away from
all that - it's the stuff of
nightmares and dreams.
Traveling light, with a balloon
- even that becomes tedious
after a while. In the seminary
I just tried taking that deep
breath that I needed. It was a
respite. Four or five good years
had elapsed since the train
wreck, and everything that
was composing itself for me,
all that was coming in, was
screwing me up. I had to get
way, even if it meant professing
something else so as to get there.
I was one of those underlings
who believed in nothing and
had no underpinnings about
it. I simply believed nothing
was real. Reasons and definitions
were all figments imagining.
Time was toppling, over and
over, onto itself. I needed to
pull back. That was my own
of religion, as it were : Pull Back.
I was its first adherent.
-
I would never say it was duplicity,
but it wore thin after a while : all
that covering up one thing while
professing another. That's no way
to live. It might have been OK
for interior life-scape stuff, but it
just didn't cut it in real-world
situations. Not because of me,
but because of others. The best
example I ever lived through of
this was the experience at
Whitehall Induction Center in
NYC, and then when they sent
me to Newark - those three
shrink-guys, supposed head-doctors
for the military (boy there's a
problem waiting to happen) they
had absolutely no vantage point
from which to review the case
I was presenting, enameled and
hardened as they were in their
own rational boxes of thought
and process. I ended up feeling
bad for them, let alone bad for
myself. I'd escaped a slingshot
wound to the heart by out-gunning
three fugitives from intelligent
thought, who were, no less,
working for the government
and taking their money, which
was 'people's money' and using
it against them. Just like, say, a
seat-belt, organized, pullover
check, where the cops use
tax-dollars against the people
who give the taxes. Senseless
as it is, the government's thrown
huge sums back to the local
municipalities to run and staff
organized seat-belt pullovers. For
a rule/law that at any other time
is consistently overlooked. Talk
about a hole in the space-time
continuum, that's about the
extent of the usefulness people
put to anything in this life. And
it's all a lie and a bad imagining
anyway. I'm trying to tell them
about the space between space?
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