Musings on Anatomical Furniture, Essential Truths & Cosmic Acting!

Chew on these cheese curds you decrepit Wisconsinite!


Some Delightfully Strange Aphorisms:

Death is always just a sneeze away. ACHOO! Gesundheit and goodnight.

A man should be as high as the top of his head.

Pretty blue skies are….boring.

Strive to be nothing, reject the notion of being anything, and in the result be everything.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in America, eat deep fried candy bars.

The cigarette is our most murderous of best friends. All the while enjoying its red glow comforts and companionship, it remains our most constant and truest enemy.

Recipe for a happy life: May the void take easy delight in its birth and taking of you, and may you take ease and delight in being birthed and taken.

Time is like a mosquito bite. The more one scratches, the worse the itch.


Anatomical Furniture

It is one frigid bitch on this side of planet Earth this morning. The occasional breeze cuts through the skin, raises goosebumps. Colder than a witch’s tit, truly. I walk the city streets nonetheless and contemplate anything and everything that crosses my neural pathways. Thoughts fleet and flow like feathers in an eddying wind. The joy I feel in this spontaneity brings a little warmth that otherwise would not be there. I have a Styrofoam cup of hot coffee in my right hand and it is the brightest thing about my morning. Brighter than the sun even. I am wearing two thick hats upon my cranium today. I figure that the brain is a vital piece of anatomical furniture, and if you fuck up your brain temp., your entire house will soon be freezing.


Soul Garden

I want my soul garden to bloom full, dig? I allow the seasons of my mind to tend and cultivate full and without the obstructions of my ego. Part of me is always dying. I let those parts crumble and fall through willingly, effortlessly. Out of that intense decay, new flowers sprout in their due Springtime. I smile triumphantly, knowing that the past is good manure for the soul.


Teenage Lament

Teenagers are often found to lament quite publicly, “Nobody understands me!” Yet if they have a semblance of intelligence or subtle vision, they will eventually come to quietly realize that this is a good thing. To not be understood is a benefit, an advantage. You have something no one can take away from you, a quality void of external comprehension and thus incapable of being seized or stolen. Your soul has a trusty barricade. To not be understood provides us with a further license to kill.


The Replacement to Thinking

I can only barely comprehend the consolidations of immense power and influence which social media and cell phones have over the minds of our dear modernity. Mass distractions of a trivial, fleeting and hedonistic nature continuously draw people way from earnest study, from open questioning, from reading books, utilizing a vastly impersonal “social” means drawing them away from even being truly social. We have replaced thinking and reflection with gadgets and techno-obsessions. We have hypnotized the world with possessions which pre-possess. We are erased as humans before even opting for an erasure. The drawing away from thinking includes as well the drawing away from basic physical and mental vision, of not gazing up long enough from the comforts of the portable screen to see the fate train — check your messages, check your Facebook, check, check, look, look, drool drool! — running us down face first.


A Few Things We Must First Understand 

This is all quite simple: Put no stakes on immortality. Live for this present moment, for this brief, sunspot existence. Look forward to the Nothing. Live for the Everything, now. When we die, we go to Nothing, which does not exist. We rot and don’t go anywhere. In this life, the only thing you are entitled to is to reach the end of it. Your birth is ultimately a happy (or otherwise, depending on you subjective inclinations) accident. You are fortunate to be among the conscious living, to be a bipedal creature with a brain and spinal column. All is impermanent. There are no true rulers. Authority is arbitrary and subjective. There is no one to guide you but your Self. Your rights are illusions and superstitions. Life is a meaningless and blank canvas and you are the existential artist — so you better get to painting. Create your colors and forms, and act accordingly. Oh, and you’re on camera. Smile!


Cosmic Acting 

As I have mentioned previously, a man is a role to be played. Personality is a mental construction, an illusion attached to the Self, the I. All of this reality is a tragic comedy, a cosmic drama for the Gods of eternity to feast upon with wondrous eyes like children in a darkened, enclosed cinema. Our funny flesh and terror is their salty popcorn. The Gods laugh and weep from eon to eon, from reel to reel. There is a reason why a person is often referred to as a character. At heart I am an actor, just as we are all actors in this absurd, grand freak show of performance-living.

The insane thing is, the Gods are just a nice and playful idea. There is truly no Grand Director, and nature is our only producer (and ender). No Sir, Spielberg is not the director of this evolutionary motion picture! If there was, He would be more like Ed Wood. In truth, we are a play of, by and for ourselves, running off of a random and spontaneous script.

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