Blessed Are The Meek [This piece was inspired by and created under the influence of Slugabed’s ”Earth is Gone Sorry” Feat. Lum]

There are the faces around that we all are, faces, already fading, about to be forgotten faces, blooming, withering and vanishing sea waves of faces, my face and your face to be lost sooner or later we are to lose no matter how hard we try to save it on facebook, from humiliation and utter oblivion, always already fading from the face of the Earth, every single face you ever face faces to be replaced, by other faces, as our faces have replaced the faces flowering before us, under the sun, nothing special,
Look.
Do you see?
Do you see them now?
Do you feel the love you actually feel for all of them? The faces up the streets, in the shops, in the parks and on the trams. The faces at work and the faces at home. The faces from the past, opposite, behind and next to yours, the newborn faces. Out and about. Take a look. Variations on a theme. Beneath all these faces we all share the same essence. Underneath the myriad faces there is only one sameone there.

nothing stays, on the face of it

What remains, in the end, nothing else remains but awareness, of this moment, above and in front of all the toyful joys and the soulfull sorrows of the person who is losing everybody and everything, slowly and surely, all that it—as an I—has ever attained or missed and all that it has ever grown fond of and loved, sooner or later, falls away, and then the truth meets the truth… this heart is breaking and oozing gooey pain at the thought of my parents fading, at the thought of an ex and the countless unpursued prospects blending into the impersonal mass of the female flesh I’m so mesmerized by day by day: nothing remains that I could hold on to, nothing that I can grasp, nobody, noone, nothing to fixate on, nothing that fix(at)es, nothing that grounds me, nothing to write about really, all the writing blurs into noise, another iteration of the same old, same old, everything pixelates, with me in the middle of it all, alive, a heart, ready to burst, or stop, almost, for real, and it’s beating on, for it’s only the mind that is blown away by the overwhelm called truth

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NO STRINGS

what a beautiful phrase:
no strings attached

no strings means
that you give
you don’t expect anything in return
it’s selfless

what arises through you
whatever pops up as an impulse
you just simply “express”

you are not seeking to make an “impression” that holds your self-image in place
you are not a puppet or a slave to (the micromanagement of) your self-image

no,
you entangle with others from a neutral position
in the moment
free of any judgment and stories filtering your flow

you know exactly what you want
and you go for it
regardless of the specter of rejection

you are ready to take rejection
ready to roll with the thrill of it

you don’t let your behaviour be dictated by scripts, idea(l)s, and, in general,
a narrative temporality that warps your engagement with yourself & others

there are no strings attached

yes

no strings means
that you don’t just passively slide into roles and social algorithms
living a life external to you
a placid life that’s expected of you

no strings means
you have no mercy

you align

you stand for and assert
clarity and directness

you admit & own
what you want

you are transparent about it
and take nothing personally

you don’t allow any strings shove you around like a puppet
you don’t anxiously speculate, you don’t project or calculate
instead you shove yourself
you push yourself over the edge
and have them chips fall where they shall

Emerson called it self-reliance
Cook calls it being in your prime
and we could simply call it being real

[now bracket all of this above
and divide it by the qualifier: as much as humanly possible]