"Never trust a thought you get while sitting." -Nietzsche
Get up and pace. Look around and ask one thing- Why?
There is no truth. <-- And yet look at that fatass smirking generalization!! Caught up in this sticky, odorless circle of triangles and reocurring squares, we ask:
What are you left with after you:
Fuck those loosely clad mannequins with worried smiles and myspace santas with whitened bronzed purple eyes staring into the abyss of nameless digital cameras, wholesome clean cut IG skater hollister sweet vanilla sephora juicy sweatpants milky pen highlighted gelled promanade mammath vacation exclamations of summer camp tousled with a million "likes," defenses, ashamed chuckles, loud, smooth, piercing monotones, pronouncing back like "Baach" (it's a fucking part of the body, not a dead classical composer), perpetual Dudish chuckling, when activities become auctivities, auctions to save the fucking human english dialect from drowning in fake sand at lizard exhibits, buuulikke..no..I liked it, I mean I loved it, seriously, don't make fun of me, that camp (Cooomp) was rellay, rellay fun!- weeliike got to do things, and be captains (Cawptons), fuck scene kids with tats and perfectly tousled hair, sauntering, goddamn sauntering (a form of indie floating, but with more smirks and reckless abandonment), pseudo-aura of being high, dudeiwas goooona do thaa..buuliikee//then I didn't..hahaa it was epicc//** ~~@@! Whoohoo!! fuck college kids who come back and walk in like ASB lazy boyz with no sandles to mess with the teachers they once feared, fuck people who laugh at the accepted formula of dane cook humor, or create hypothetical humorous traps for themselves to fall into and then comment on ("the fact that you just said that makes me really, really scared." "I know, I'm starting to get scared myself." Cue forceful self-conscious laughter), fuck skinny cokehead girls with arms the size of my forefinger cuz it's cool to fuck the world (but not that way), fuck certain sorority girls who pride on kugel and their smirky boy counterparts who try to be jon stewart but fail miserably, fuck jittery scattery asian chicks with jansport backpacks grasping onto that 6th cup of tea as organic chemistry and electrical engineering textbooks sadle up to fuck them in the ass and they like it, fuck nagging, and seriously fuck people who text and then don't pick up their phones, or people who pretend not to receive texts to avoid plans, fuck suburban living crouching away from the world so sad with no other option but to buy that gym membership, fuck text messaged love, drawn out for hours while driving, fuck texting in general, fuck unnecessary exclamation points and people who drink them like water, fuck wood ranch and BJs and other mass produced valley big kid hangouts where hostesses prance around like dogs at a show, fuck hilary clinton she's a hybrid, fuck people who can't look you in the eye you goddamn doll, fuck that girl who can "either be" an architect or a lawyer- for what?- make laws or design the buildings that house the people who make the laws?, it's all connected, fuck corporate lobbying firms who buy oil from fake countries in Kazakstan and finance our bulging economy behind curtains, fuck raised pimped out white trucks and the people who drive them, fuck 2 am meaningless hookups with users (actually KILL them), fuck blonde agricultural pseudo hippies who raise their hands in class to question everything, fuck actresses who don't know who their character is or what the movie was or why they're sitting on the fake couch of an old guy as millions of tivo'd nacho fatass whores tune in to snicker and judge her every hesitation, fuck glazed over lurkers who stare at you, fuck emo people who mumble and hate the world (this isn't emo hating, this is liberating rantaging), fuck the mindless mannequins workers at urban outfitters who think they're edgy but look like everyone else, fuck state standards, fuck being cold, hot, fuck being sleepy, fuck possessions, and fuck the entire Material World?
I'll tell you what. Once you're human you can't go back to being an animal. Right David Lynch's Elephant Man? Right. Once you start fucking, you can't go back to being a mindless, grazing, innocent glossy eyes prick who barrels through freeways in circles. Once you start questioning, there's no turning back- the ominous WHY? For what? Why not? How? Now? Yes? No? Maybe? Why? You see, there are so many steps, steps, steps one can take, but these steps- are they not steps backward when one HAS asked, has started to fuck the world, but keeps on doin' the same thing, stayin' on the same path, with that cute little hiding "Why" packaged tightly in his/her pocket? Damn. The fuckers don't wanna settle for a WHY through organized religion, theories about the afterlife, rhetoric on personal growth and pop psychology paths to self-betterment and the development of "real" relationships. What is real anyway, if not the emotions we create? "I think, therefore I am."- Descartes. Well at least he was an observant little fucker. Greatest thinker of all time, right. Again- "I'm like a man rushing about, longing to find his way and knowing that every step is leading him into deeper confusions, yet he cannot help rushing about."- Leo Tolstoy.
See, there have been many fuckers in the world, most of whom living comfortably in the back indexes of our history books or on History Channel specials. But what about the rest? The millions of ants living underground have no way of showing their disillusionment with the system, for most lack the balls to nail their '91 Theses' to the Catholic Church (thank you Martin Luther), or starve themselves till their bones pop out like daggers, pointing at the fat and powerful rulers just chillin' on their thrones with their guns, or spears, what have you. So what comes next?
Fuckers unite man and find this internal dharma. Living in the dharma means we are constantly bouncing. This is our practice. In this state, you experience birth and death directly, pleasure and pain, happiness and great sorrow. Every single moment is birth and death, bounce, birth and death, bounce, constantly working, constantly fucking. But what we need to to now is start to UN-FUCK the world. Why? Because once you've already dominated and slashed everything to pieces, you've got to build up from somewhere, right? So, our UN-FUCKING shall no be accomplished by un-doing all that has been asked, but re-charting and re-fucking everything else........the PANOON way.
Human beings reflect constantly. So there is always suffering. You cannot get rid of human consciousness permanently, but you can alter it and paint over it and fancy it up with drugs and hallucinatory momentary escapes into parallel universes. But too much of something might ultimately prevent the process of UN-FUCKING all that we have already done, no? yes? That's how I like it. Either. But reflections deepens and enhances our lives. Why? Dharma/Panoon/Rhetoric/Multivalent Nameless Arguments or states of mind- they're all the same- they create reflection and reflection creates suffering and pain. BUT!! They also create opportunities to investigate the root of your life. Daily quests for the dharma are Panooshing (Progressive Action Now- Online, On-Stage, Hyperactive, Intergallactic Networking..Globally). Or any other name. Labels are illusory. Make up your own.
So then maybe our lives are like bottles, waiting to be filled up with these momentary, daily, hourly elixirs of Pan.
I wish I wasn't Blank. I wish it wasn't Blank now. I wish I wish I wish I wish things weren't the way they are now. I hear this everyday, sometimes in my head, but mostly around me. I can be happy when. I can't wait for dinner so I can excavate. I can't wait to go out and get drunk. I can't wait to do this and this and this so I can feel Blank. Don't get me wrong, sometimes these pursuits greatly add to the big quest--
But what if the answer lies right here?
Is this any better? Writing to an anonymous Internet world about the contradictions of life?
And furthermore man, why is it that the mind always demands it should be occupied?? Do you understand? My mind says, "I must be occupied with something- with worry, with memory, with a passion, or with how not to be passionate, or how to get rid of something, etc." If it will not be occupied, says the Mind, it will do mischief...it will drift away. It says, if the mind is not occupied, then, what is the purpose of life?-- So then it invents a purpose and clings to it, thus becoming occupied.
Is this a purpose? Are you clinging now baby? Don't! Resist that magical shit, but dig it too.
We know movement-- we all want "more! more! more!" But maybe we need to be empty first in order to receive and not gather. Stop comparing, condemning, demanding, hoping, planning...and...just...BE. At once in a state of Panoon or whatever the fuck pops into you with open arms. And these states appear and you love them and cling to them too, but you canot force them because they are ethereal, fleeting, and so sweet- the very opposite of everything Material and Concrete and Sensible. The trick is, once empty, you fill up Pandora's Box with delicious panoon bread (wtf, riiiiiiiight?) and undergo a daily cleansing of Pan's Enemy, helping you to return to an ultimate and perpetual state of empty readiness- you're clear, you're here, and you're poised for anything that comes your way. You can now proceed to un-fuck everything you've learned by Panooooooooshing yourself out of ASB underwear, out of sweaty, cheap child labor gym outfits, out of voting booths (but if you must stay, just get out of Romney's, Gulianni's, McCains, etc etc), out of pointless mathematical equations, and our of this Mr. Roger's Wizard of Oz Landscape of pilgrimmages and slaughtering chicken days and rambling fake ass liberals with no knowledge behind their non-prescription, and thusly, pointless spectacles.
Sounds like a cult, eh? Fuck it. I hate panoon. That's the point. I fucking hate everything I'm writing right now.
The ultimate goal though, if you try this shit, is dharma- it is Enlightenment- it is (the act of) Pan Rising (bread levitating). Impossible. But this state cannot be reached by circuitous angry rat race Apprentice Who Wants to be the Next Psychic cool Hippie Ass Chick Missionaire who sits in the corner with no knowledge of Pan, but knows that somehow the shit that's goin' down is "so" not Society, so maybe she should sit in. And you welcome her for trying. Always be open. We try to participate in the ongoing act of panoooshing and re-panooshing in order to create for ourselves because we are individuals, right? We are in America, right? We should just be a Society of Individuals, fuck these borders and states and groups. Use this as a springboard to find your own path. You have to talk to yourself, knock on your soul, say hello to him (or her), ask him WHAT IS UP (!) and what the fuck you wanna do today man?!, then go out the door and be led to other Panoon Practitioners so that you may participate in the collective transendental state of Group Pan Happenings, the most reachable category of Panoon, but still real. This whole Panoon deal is not real. There is no definition and if you try to write one down as I am doing now, it is not real and I am OK. Everything I am doing is fine and illusory, but you must be OK with the fact that you can and will contradict yourself and you should not be scared.
Should anyone know? Can anyone know? That's the beauty. No. You can create, play, destroy- sorta what like thousands of Christians and Jews and Protestants and Presidents do every day, but it's the damn pundits and disciples who have tacked on labels and mass produced brochures to sell as modern day versions of Indulgences from the Church of Martin Luther (not King), with the AUDACITY to claim ONE TRUTH from ONE path-- Life never will be one path with one clear end. And that's so goddamn scary for some. They want a definitive point, and origin, and scientific proof of the brain's psychological activity when experiencing Panoon to somehow prove that it exists. But can you go up into the sky, the air, the trees,--LOVE?-- and try to extract a Petri dish of Panoon cells to study under a microscope?? Fuck no you can't. But I admire those who have tried to chart the essence of this unnamable QUEST, sorta like that I'm doin' now, and I smile because I know it can never be articulated, only FELT. But we stillr ead the bibles of our predeccesors, philosophers, psychologists, and literary artists with awe, enjoyment, and reckless glorious abandonment because they help us get closer, son.
Shit, but the progression into Panoon is somewhat sequential, though I'm sure (not sure), that there are other entrances into this pool of wonder. As we have stated (and I hate typing rules so feel free to ignore or embellish or believe everything), you must simply get up and ask yourself: WHY? WHY HERE? WHY NOW? WHY NOT? WHY NOT BEFORE, AFTER, IN BETWEEN, OR ALL OVER? And you won't know. But once you reach rock bottom through incessant, annoying, ugly, unearthed, sober, drunk, high, maniac, insane, sane, painful, tearful, beauteous, dirty, real questioning, you learn to live with incessant, annoying, ugly, unearthed, sober, drunk, high, maniac, insane, sane, painful, tearful, beauteous, dirty, real questioning every minute of the day so that one moment you wake up and open your eyes and look around at this fucking weird ass Panoon Land that cannot and will not stop smiling!! You become sad, sad for yourself, happy for yourself, but sad for the others who live just across the state line and don't see the jewels of the earth, even though they'd probably throw up or go into convulsions if they adopted the momentary capacity to somewhat dig (literally) into Pan's moist earth. The daily activities in this land again (haha, ingrained little filler word to show the reader that yes, you are AWARE you are repeating yourself but must do so in order to stress a point-ew, not a true Panoonie sentence)- will ultimately help the Fucked status of the world slowly but surely become UN-FUCKED. But it shall take a while. All things come in time though, right? Fuck you cliche, starin' at me with a grin, you know you're in a land of contradiction when every word you type becomes an animal.
Anyway, the thing about Panooshing is that it takes partners, so I'm on a worldwide journey to seek out others who "get it." Sounds like damn Greenpeace International.
To put it generally, everything is particular.
And at this point, I have to leave. What calls me? Nothing. Nothingness. The knowledge that any more words will wrinkle up Pan's smooth, rough exterior.
Constantly evolving, this mass sits and stands with open arms.
(Do you now notice that every attempt to find clarity just serves up another hot plate of seemingly comforting knitted blankets of generalizations?)
"Always, no, sometimes, I think it's me. But, you know, I know when it's a dream. I think, er, no, I mean, er, yes, but it's all wrong. That is, I think I disagree." Strawberry Fields Forever..
Man, shit, from dust we come and to dust we shall return.
