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february 24, 2024:

 

the less time i spend on the inter*net, the less i miss it… i’m sorry to say.

and actually i *am* sorry to say that… because my generation helped build the inter*net, and we had high hopes for it.

i do miss what it woulda shoulda could’ve been, but i’ve seen our dreams hijacked and co-opted… i watched them gnarl and curl up as they wilted on the vine.

i’ve seen us become what we were fighting against, little by little, barely lucid enough to take notice.

i watched as stockholm syndrome spread person to person like a disease, because the truth is… in reality we were all so lonely and isolated from each other we were willing to settle for something less than the truth. something less than real. a spark of dopamine, a glimmer of hope.

a facsimile IRL.

and now we pretend we don’t see it, when virtual reality glitches out into misshapen caricatures of real life, when the narrative reads like a badly written script, when the actors lack the conviction necessary to sell us on their performative gestures.

alas.

we don’t “see” it because we don’t know what we’re up against… behind the scenes. and sometimes it’s easier to pretend, than it is to face the facts.

i know how you might mock me, and sneer… how our ignorance gives way to lusty arrogance while we desperately struggle to make passionate sense of the senseless; to give cohesion to the missing and fractured pieces. and some among us don’t care much at all. to them, empathy is becoming obsolete.

to the junkie, sooner or later it all becomes junk.

i know what they do to people like me here… because the lies and the bullying and the finger-pointing and the cruel laughter and the witch-hunting of the playground weren’t far off when the inter*net came of advent.

it was one in the same world, for a long while, and in many ways although i left highschool it feels as if the inter*net never really did graduate from those rules. that paradigm. that program. that design.

masters of deflection…

much like our industrial education, this machine was designed for industry, to sell us on false ideas and ideals. to blur the tangible and intangible and infuse our imaginations with the subtle power of suggestion.

you see: propaganda is great at marketing, and not much else.

it’s there to ensure you fall in love with the promise, but never obtain the real thing.

when (if?) you learn to see it, their hologram is flimsy and fragile at its core, but oh-so-addictive, just like a drug; or a saccharine simulacrum as it were? as it is. some call it a simulation. this beautyful world, abused and distorted into subliminal nightmare.

that cursèd liminal space between dream and nightmare that contains all of the beauty of art, limitless… yet also the unyielding and smothering hellishness of the intoxicated human mind made manifest.

can you cope with that paradox…the possibility? or will you go numb, let it choose your destiny for you?

truth be told, i think all too many of the bad actors among us would gladly usher this place to its doom, and take the mainframe with it. take you with it, into apocalypse and ruin, ecological collapse…

to them life is just a splotch of data anyways, to be erased when inconvenient. a game, like online chess, and they like to hit the reset button when they’re about to lose.

our opponents are cowards, truly… it is only the access to that button that makes them feel so brave. so powerful.

truth be told, i hate what they’ve done with the place.

but it does make it easier to walk away.

oh, i will be back. to visit. mebbe even someday when the tides ebb to reclaim what’s meant to be mine.

but until then, TTFN.

 

november 4, 2023:

hello, long time no 🌊 sea /\ saw 👁✨👁 💦… been caught up in the social media hamster wheel i s’pose.

i have just created a new newsletter for all things blosSsom, A.R.K., and libr(A)ries…  please sign up here if you want the latest news .:. (((here)))

🐀🎈 🌫🌌🌠🎇🌃🌫 🥀

✨ in other news, in a parallel UniVerse,  balloon  and  li’l Mrs. Wee G  gaze out over the parched landscape from a bird’s eye POV, resting their metaphysical heart-matter aloft gently drifting clouds beneath a ruptured wartorn stratosphere:  WWIII swiftly approaches, and the future of Earth depends upon our people waking up from polarized stupor. . .

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the Not-Sees once again threaten the free world with their same old tactical alchemy of divide-and-conquer. . .  shrouded in holy wars, misdirection, propaganda, and unyielding dogmatic belief.  our emotions are weaponized.  the veil is thinning.  but the truth, like layers of an onion, seems to bring only confused tears to our people, the more it is chopped up and peeled back as we go in search of its roots (and our own) long lost to severance. 

when all sides claim victimhood, who will emerge once and for all as executioner? 

death cults whisper, with clandestine agenda, as if in ritualistic agony mistaken for catharsis, revelry, and reckoning.  the bloodthirst of those bitten by vampyric lust. . . the unconscious hunger of zombie parasites, long since stripped of their cartoonish satyric guises, this theatre intensifies on the ground down below:  the living dead. 

ancient lore reaches prophetic climax, as its engineers and architects step out of the shadows to inherit their long awaited curséd dominion, revealing themselves, naked in their statuesque frailty, brittle, rigid, and porous, a frailty hidden by ossifying pride, beneath tired eyes. . . hidden beneath the moon’s forgiving light since ancient times.

and yet, what the ocean floor remembers, unforgiving tides have swept away.

meanwhile:  pro-life cults of the Sun are busy rushing off to war, to defend the holy land, as death tolls rise ever-higher.  red is the color, a color we all share.  their unapologetic brilliance shines bright, clad in gold and silver, and yet. . .  the truth is blinding, as it reflects and refracts the light, shadows are cast upon the mind in hindsight.  the truth?  it remains unseen, to their eyes.

this chaos has become strangely stagnant for all its proselytized apocalypsing:  the revelations of ragnarok, kaliyuga, low key the light-bearer’s secrets are hiding in plain view. . . 

as if. . . a diamond in the rough, once buried so dearly deep within the crust of the Earth, and now left uncovered in the mud by untold strife and struggle, but barely shining, a glimmer of hope scurries like a feral rat across the corner of our mind’s eye, asking faintly,  as an echo))) to Narcissus once did:

“how do we Not-See?”

quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

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* the smoke and mirrors disappear *

 

thank goodness that is not our world.  back to our regularly scheduled programming:

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i made a patreon page during the recent lunar eclipse as a forum/gallery for my art and music, and it’s✨free✨to join. i haven’t posted much yet, but there will be much to come (including both archival rarities and new work .:. lost and found things, and newly uncovered gems).

if you’ll see my most recent post on there, i tell more of the story.

https://patreon.com/blosSsom

i was originally gonna post this during my lunar return, which was yesterday, but i got m(o.O)dy. the Moon in her dominion is transitting my natal ascendant, as it is, so perhaps perhaps perhaps all is as it should be anyhow.

there are also donation/membership tiers for people who are interested, but it’s not necessary. being an “audience” member is also helpful.

just, you know, dreams of ‘making a living’ to balance out “the dreams in which i’m dying” (not the best i’ve ever had, truth be told… but Donnie Darko was set the day before i was born, in 1988, which i find very amusing). i’ve been more or less ‘broke’ for the majority of my adult life, and i don’t measure a person’s worth or currency based on their financial status.

man-made money, man made lies… but that’s another story in history.

ttfn.

x o x o