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"-From THE BOOK OF KAZANLAK- "

"The Prophecies of Mommy"

(History of Electromagnetics)

For Koiyata"
by

Matthew Colley

All you know is this, and I’m lying in the bed with you. I wish it could be melded permanently, but I worry about you and the world. Our responsibilities began a long time before us, and mine are thinner in time. I worried about you for years before I met you. The science book said that it was all possible. The religion defied the science with rules governing between all people. It’s as if people didn’t have a choice and the enlightenment was rather a waste of our times. We talked about it a lot, as if talking was the answer to understanding. Yet I still can’t accept that it has been more than causing talk about talk. I did not want to miss you ever. But the science book was overcome by belief in ‘words of god’, that he has never been empirically present to condone nor dismiss. I miss him actually. I was told that he was the answer to my science, which had endeared me to need you. Now the man I was becoming when I was still growing, has lost his power to address and recover, for with whom he was naturally to be loved.

It’s a pitiful thing. A man grows for years until he is a man. Then the environment defies whatever he sought until he was blinded and crazy enough to use his unsophisticated senses to find. Then he’s a child-becoming, again. He races back and forth over trying to retain the attention of only one with whom he can exist. That process becomes the scribble a child makes over the purest white paper. It makes no sense anymore, in adulthood. But it was the thing that the child knew quite well would be the eventuality, before he was redesigned. We might say that the child predilicted his demise upon witnessing and mimicking the collective state around his, self.

I would prefer not to be so conscious. So I try to get around it in some of the moments. Yet the chain remains, that I must account to the public for having the rare accident of having encountered, without whom I can not live. It is so strange to say, after Christianity made property of two between two, that I can not imagine my survival before or after encountering with whom I was encountered. Were she here now, I’d like her to know that. I’d like her to know how imperative she is. In her craziness and her womanhood, I can not resist that she and our problems are quite perfectly right. I will damn any interceding Christian. It is so ironic that my years have brought me to know more honestly than I would ever allow myself before to believe, that matters of emotion in the storybook genres of ‘life and death’, are precisely rational and necessary of survival. Without reason, we’ve no reason to exist. In fact, we, without reason, are better not to exist. We defy what "Is", for rules to excuse our wandering to it. I have never appreciated the smell and texture of another’s flesh. I smell it now, and it is necessary. She is right to insist us together alone, always. It is insanity in this world. It tears my spirit hideously when I have to go and play public appearances. No one without this condition could understand. And any ‘morality’ between the allowing, is truly the Satan come to kill us.

And I wish she knows as I do. Every day, every moment separated; I fear losing her, because I would no longer exist. I never knew it before. But it "Is".

In some mornings one can try to plot the accidental meeting at the accidental cafe. One sits with coffee that is too quickly finished before the accidental arrival of the other. One writes a bit in his notebook, recalling the days when he scoffed at any, who purported him or her-self, to be, "learning to be a writer". One recalls those days with a shameful pain, as he tries to convince himself that he "was a writer", at some time before. One is changed after having been affected with repeated conversations in broken language. That happens to one long far from his native tongue. Even those overtly smoother dialogues tend not to perfect the activities of expressions and their more accurate receptions. -And the answer of it all is knowledge. Maybe some angels brought knowledge unto the developing artist, and he was forever transmuted into something that will never be free. The words become too difficult to expel. They have lost their direction. The meanings felt to support them have flown off with the angels who took them in exchange for having delved knowledges upon the individual. I can not help myself but to consider the advantages of wandering India while awaiting my karma’s secret fate. I was never so simple in my past. I stayed home alone and allowed some thing from the northern air to channel through me. Now that’s not an option. I’m boring. I’m old and the light that drove its rays from within me has gone off into heaven before me. It is difficult to suppose that I was a whole person before, or to suppose that I was never a whole person. I am so angry at everything I did not do. I am so bitter with those who trained me not to do things.

And people assume that science as a goal, will assess the position of every atom in the universe, and draw a map plotting exactly how it got there. There will be lines crossing lines and crisscrossing lines. They will initially appear two dimensionally in cyberspace. Then they will later appear three dimensionally, in real space. And the improved image will be more imperceivable than the human could have conceived it to be. That is where science will be irretrievably beyond its own control, and have become a monster worse than useless, of its goals. It is doubtful to me that any scientists will be able to delete such an abomination, after its creation. (-And what will have been the "reason", for having mapped the world?)

I think about these things while realizing that all of my experiences as a lover have only made me worse at the procedure. I have heard about the diseases of my father in this circumstance. What I inherited psychically by birth, I developed physically, on my own, over the time since then. I was rather hurried through life. One arriving from an unusual condition does not understand where to place the self in the greater puzzle.

And so I go on talking of the objective world, of which I know nothing. I sleep and dream of the circles in which things of myself are moving. I recall hours within days of very private time, in which I could tap into the collective in order to express something. In my case, to be in the action only distracts and misleads me, far, far from what actually is; or from that which I can express. I need those times like the past. I can not be tuned to anything that generates more scribble. I can see it and report only, that I saw scribble occurring. The scribble began long before my arrival into it. I can not see its beginning, nor its current, leading line. It is the same mistake that will be science-created. It is not a useful method, as my experiences have taught me. Perhaps science and I as well, ought look away and escape our phenomena, in order to assess them. -I must choose truly. I must choose to be a scientist or an antenna. A view of my history will prove that I am best as an antenna. The observations I made when alone and passive, were much more provocative and accurate. Blindness endows other senses. Blindness can be practiced, so that other senses are exercised while growing into lives of their own. In the last few years, I have, "seen too much", to see anything. Those parts of me that functioned to understand have atrophied. I should have become an art teacher. (My loving family forbade it by expelling me unprepared, time after time.) There were guilt and nucleating hatred, developed. I remained very conscious of them. They led me to pretend I am a scientist, when in fact, I had been naturally, a successful inferentialist. -While the objective, modern world doesn't acknowledge inferentialists in any field of any study, it often pays heed, or later, homage to them. -I do not like to consider an inferentialist as a member of the species of para-psychologists. Products of the members of that group are studied quite too objectively to be credible. They lose from where they came. -We need a new, "anti-science", that will accept only sensation(s).

I do not want that inferentialists, ever be confused with, or associated with, psychics. The para-psychologists are too credible, and the psychics, whom I may not necessarily doubt as a whole; are too incredible. But this was not to be about science. This was to be about love, or something relative, that we call love. My real question is this:

"What makes two persons (as we see them) with no visibly possible future together, defy all regions of the collective, to spend brief times alone together? Why did God not work that sort of thing out, before ascribing recognizable bodies? -Instead, he just enlisted his troops permanently against the bodies. I suppose that these troops were simple militia in the beginning. But somehow they grew in numbers and refused to disband, during more rational, secure times. That depresses me, but not as much as it scares me.

Inferencialist inferentionalist inferencionalist My mind in the last nine years is so tired. I do not know how to rest it. I wonder, or I worry, if this is adult life and it's doom. I look at myself, and the wishes I have to be productive. I sit down at the table and realize to myself, "I can't". I hear the world around me shouting the same words. I feel so bitter when I love in a difficult situation. The same words echo like spoiled children, "I can't".

We build the walls between ourselves and reinforce them, against each other. "If one shall stray we will all suffer, as if it is ours to own, and draw attention to us, in our own lacking." -That is what we really say. We say it in rules and broken expectations. We assume our responsibilities will cure the futures of corporate children (with their clinical deaths predestined). We can hold our heads and say, "I stopped the train that would have freed slaves. I am a good person." It separates us from "bad persons". It separates us from those who had an uncontrollable feeling. It separates from every Jesus, as we caste our pain upon the recipients. Then we are with God. We are fathers and mothers of everyone. We have no pain, only directives delivered. "Onward… onward… onward…" we are to be forgiven. The fires and freezes will never have us. We can send the others to know what it is. We just stay in buildings with crucifixes. We pray our gratitude that we are Jesuses. Jesus can not see us. He-Plus-She are bound like the coagulant become a clot. It takes its time to reach the artery where it will break its victim. Jesus knows this, but others, "Can't" do this. They vibrate in defiance that Jesus and God were just electromagnetic. They piss the pants of others. They piss the pants of grandparents. They have keys to enter doors where doors should not be generally entered. That is what they do to defy laws beneath gravity. They understand what books say. They understand the television. -And none of them has ever questioned NBC, BBC, or Bulgarian Ministry of Education. -To think, that Shaman used to use wishes. -To think, that wishes used to empower wishers.

Now the Shaman is naked. She-Plus-He can not go outside legally. He-Plus-She can not fulfill Jesus. He was never meant to be fulfilled. He was meant to absorb the shortcomings of cowards and idiots. -When Father said, "Be brave." it was only for Jesus. The rest were meant to cower and make excuses. -That's who we are. We are "the rest". We just borrow the names to be dishonest. It is easier to deny the existence of clots, than to dissolve them in liquid.

In the old days I had hope. I had hope that I would acrue an existence comparable with nothing less than those typical. But the 'Prophecies of Mommy' have left me like an Egyptian skeleton, rotted beyond his own recognition. I wouldn't have preferred being Egyptian, but no one truly asked me. No one truly convinced me that he/she cared. It was just a dropping of another refuse onto the planet. The human body working regularly, emits trash every day. It emits wastes. That's how it is. -Some thing goes in and gets pulled out. That's how it is. 'The Prophecies of Mommy', I mean. And if I told God that things of the world are just getting worse, and that I worry about you in this future, he'd just answer, "It was foretold in the prophecies.", while ignoring the purpose of my mission. I would save you with God's help.

I want an innocent life, because I feel safer with you in that. But the world isn't very innocent these days. I suppose it never was, but it might have been easier to hide in pockets, at some times in the histories. All of those large lawns and steel thermal doors are most certainly for something. I want to make films about love and beauty, now. I want larger egos to leave the little left of mine alone. That's how I have it now. I can't tolerate having no control. -If I ask you to marry me in the best of times, is it different from asking now? Do I feel better if it's during the better times?

We get in our cages before we know what they are. Perhaps youth has some limited areas in its peripheral vision that does not accept that cages are under construction. Later we might with any luck, find ourselves somewhere being amusing to someone else, or at least ourselves. Then we will take the comma out, and please the WORD PROGRAM. After that much we might get able to ignore pursuing responses to invitations.

I think about the craziness of a world law that mandates a person be a citizen of a nation. A person can't just say, "Oh, to hell with it, I'll just go visit Somewhere(s)". And he's/she's got to sit around in one place, paying taxes, as well as those duties incurred by movement. Why the hell am I not just a citizen? Why am I a citizen of _________? Why shouldn't each have a passport that reads: "Insert Country's Name Here"? That would be much more handy than trying to understand where one has been all of this time.

And you will never understand what I felt. You will never understand my departure from here, nor this world. You will never understand that I had finally incurred without whom I could not live. You will never understand that you are whom. I will never understand your misunderstanding. I will not regret these days and nights I did remain, before ridding myself completely and finally, of human consciousness.

Death did not expect me when I arrived. Living mocked me when I felt. What had finally mattered, after thirty-five years of needing, evaded me still. It pushed me back into the grave from which I was born. It knew briefly of me, and killed me at the first sight of discomfort. One could make the excuse that I had loved the crazy. But I know it was myself, long before infested, that caused me to need whom. -And without whom, I do not live.

Consciousness must end soon, as my vessel is ragged and leaking. It will not hold cheering by friends and acquaintances. My vessel is sick. My vessel will not await cancer, nor treatment. It will move away more quickly. It will want to be free from what else can be felt without whom. My vessel has had enough fighting. That is why I can not live without whom's vessel. It will take for all to forget my life. The thing that had arrived after a trillion years of needing; will have come to the door to be refused entry. And that event will very quickly mean absolutely nothing. The wheelchairs will keep wheeling and the business people will keep stealing. They will steal bodies, souls, and beliefs. They will not believe themselves to be anything. They will never suffer introspection. They will only cast it upon the individuals: People we call friends, acquaintances, and lovers. I now know why those who can survive join with secret, evil agencies. They become the opposite of life's needs. They function to banish any good things. They hurt who they can. They will insist that persons live in order. They will do that to keep business. They will control.

I do not know what I'm writing now. I do not have a vague idea. I am sick of people and ideas, myself. I was born refused, as if no one was mine. That is the mirror occurring throughout one who breathes the air of others. What was unwanted by its creators can not, have. That unwanted one might have been rescued via adoption, but it doesn't usually happen.

Sometimes we need coffee. We can not get on without an upper to help us finish. But there is nothing left to make me feel well. All of that has vanished. And I want to tell the world, "FUCK YOU!!! TAKE THAT GOD YOU RODE IN ON AND WRAP HIM IN YOUR ASS!!! THAT GOD DID NOTHING OTHER THAN TO BLESS OR CONDEMN AN INDIVUAL, WHO'D BEEN ASCRIBED HIMSELF WITHOUT THE ALLEGED, "CHOICE". -And those people of the world will refute me. They will say that I had unrealistic expectations, and I will say that I loved the unrealistic, Whom. -I will say that I came with no expectations, but they grew. They grew without my consent, and I loved them. They wanted what I wanted, but there was no agreement between object and subject. That is how I was made: to live like this. I have wondered if 6:35 pm, is the same thing to you, as it is to me. You know, the briefest moment causes the longest and worst, suffering. A person can wait with the patience of Job, and nothing might happen. I wish I could get you to somewhere you'd feel better. Where the habit isn't just to pass the pain. You'd be great that way, and you'd finally know it.

People are often confused in relations. They place different values upon activities. One believes in words while the other believes in actions. One whom holds words in grave regard, listens to the actor (or actress). The actor (or actress) acts, saying that words are only words. The believer of words feels disappointed and listens to monologues out of conversation. It's done in the same way that one quotes a famous book or film, when looking for something to uphold beliefs in his/her wishes. And in time it becomes difficult for the speaker to perform his/her rituals, into their completions. This is what we call neurosis in adult life. We comply with anything but our own thoughts and feelings. -I never expected my self to be so disconnected from myself. I never expected to be feeble at my internal passions. I thought they'd always complete their lives of their own, with little outside interference. But then the outside comes in, just after I realize that the doctor of sociology's words were wrong for my condition. He kept telling me to "objectify", and I did that.

It seems that when traveling, one ought avoid the having of feelings. People will repeatedly say, "Oh, you don't care about us. You're just passing." They'll do that while assuming new obligations onto the traveler. The traveler's mind will get twisted, along with those expecting salvation from what they defend. It's an irony more powerful than its keepers. They dangle themselves just above the longing tongue of the traveler. Then they tell stories of need and why they can't fulfill it. The traveler-affected, is in his/her second worst condition at that point. -That is only because the aftermath is increasingly worse. One's spirit has been spread amongst so many in so many places, that he/she is little left of him/her-self. Those remaining in the place where the traveler has left, live in belief that he/she is living quite joyfully, elsewhere. But they do not experience his/her loss. They are actually using the parts left to them; as imago. -I have left too much of myself in other places. Those pieces can not be re-collected. They are now the properties of those who have collected them during my visits. Tony said that I have done a huge thing in world events. But I feel only diminished and heart-shattered. I would have preferred to pack all of these beloved and deliver them with myself. But it is never done. Sometimes a traveler can begin feeling that he ought to become colder in a cold place. Yet, it always brings itself around to the inability to deny that coldness is an experience contrived within. It is complicated when the traveler's feelings focus upon a fragment of the environment. In that condition the traveler is both selfish and selfless, according to the Christian model. Jesus was "right or wrong", with no space allotted for deliberation. One must profess his/her belief or disbelief (when posed the question). In roughly two-thousand years, no one has at any time, considered pure disregard of The Christ's existence. It is impossible to think without him. He must always be present. -That poor man has no imago left to distribute.

So for me, the only solution is transmutation. -Born into this world unwanted and unloved; thus never filling the pattern as it exists elsewhere in the cosmos.

There is love. I know that one. Now,- there is also duty. -I thought they were supposed to function; ONLY TOGETHER. Isn't that the model? LOVE first, duty after? What happened, and why can't we get out of it? I am definitely a confused old man.

------------------ While I'm not a proponent of giving explanations to everyone for everything, it is my feeling in my life, that love and explanations are prerequisites of each other, between two people who do love each other.

The Christians took the Biblical words that we must love each other, to quite an extreme that is not healthy. After all, is not one supposed to give the self, first to God? How is it that one can consider every living thing in its every action and every reaction; to be doing what is relative God? That is ridiculous. If every living thing is doing, only according to God, there is no existence of God. God would be, "All things", thus validating the old statement that "God is all things". -In this world, I very much have to doubt that God is all of these things, and especially not the majority of the people. God is an elitist. I am not certain that he is in any way, a fair elitist. September 29, 1999