Thursday, February 24, 2011

Psychological Warfare

I journeyed into Riven Haven Dale (New Haven) today; the nearest concrete metal shard platform breathing down one's neck at Walled In Pond near Ansonia Town proper located in a gully.  The treading of the rock and metal was brief.  Apparently sailors who land along city shores need no more than half an hour or less to make a determination as to why they find themselves on a boat amidst a blue desert and the ill-humored miserable misery makers that a large majority of women typically are around men is no reason to walk the sinuous straight twisted ways of society.

As one treads along the city streets one periodically experiences irony and hears things about themselves, that coincide with their recent thoughts patterns, that fit seamlessly into the moment.  Periodically too one will receive "um" or "uh" or a grotesque unwholesome laugh in passing, or the heels of a woman will be dreadly trampling behind one; marauding and lustful for power and dominance. 

But perhaps I am hearing their heals clicking along the walk wrongly.  That is simply the essence that I intuit and sense from the noise.  And it is consistent.  So too is passing by an Audi or BWM.  An aura is emitted that draws one's attention to it; somehow.  For what reason these sounds and objects are stigmatized I cannot fathom, and as far as I know myself, I have no inferiority issues with women or a feeling of lack of wealth as money is worthless to me.  What then is wrong with these sounds, noises, things, cars, stigma impressions? 

Keep in mind this is simply the outward world or foreground.  Underneath, insidiously creeping into one's mind is a negative leech set to break-destroy for control and drain and drain and drain.  Isolate and destroy is the tactic as hate, ill humored-ness, individualism led egos, disgust, nausea, and a grotesque American idolation of the common man causing him to have no respect for authority thus brooding hate and disgust in an equal leveling fashion; a cycle.  Their energies are cast in cynicism and they are swayed by the negative undercurrents perpetuating this debacle. This grimness, this automatic-programmed blackballing essence and social practice consuming everyone's mind ("lets all ream each other with petty exclusionism and base form of cynicism") emanating from some core some nexus - which I hypothesize is the noise of the herd and a sixth sense or quantum mechanical entanglement allowing or permitting the transference of herd noise - is fascism, negative power, depressed melancholy power.

And of course there are the complacent pleasant mellow ones with ugly smiles and unwholesome laughs who are agape when one does not wish them a good day.  The double pronged fork of the nexus is thus this.  A filthy prosaic lame complacent bandwidth from the herd that reminds one of happy little birds tweeting on a bright vernal morning, a gross narcotic akin to watching politics on the television.  And people are swayed with this foul bad air of prosaic smugness and well being and are absolutely mercenary and brutal in it's enforcement - the "soft" (grotesue) side or resting place from the hateful base form of cynicism - a tired withered break from the machine fascist state insidious isolate and destroy protocol of the mind much spoken about above by Linkin Park in the song above and also in the work of George Orwell, 1984: Big Brother; and obviously many other places.

"They don't like you", "Not f***ing funny", "They don't like that", are refrains regularly running through my mind breeding producing, inducing in me in everyone the typical American a**hole, the ill-humored, basely cynical, grim fascist mind set.  And not just these words but a silent eye watching scrutinizing making ugly and a mess of everything:

But I know just what it feels like
To have a voice in the back of my head
It's like a face that I hold inside
A face that awakes when I close my eyes
A face that laughs every time I fall
(And watches everything)
So I know that when it's time to sink or swim
That the face inside is hearing me
Right underneath my skin
It's like I'm paranoid lookin' over my back
It's like a whirlwind inside of my head
It's like I can't stop what I'm hearing within
It's like the face inside is right beneath my skin
I know I've got a face in me
Points out all my mistakes to me
You've got a face on the inside too and
Your paranoia's probably worse
I don't know what set me off first but I know what I can't stand
Everybody acts like the fact of the matter is
I can't add up to what you can but
Everybody has a face that they hold inside
The sun goes down
I feel the light betray me
~Paper-cut by Linkin Park~
"In the midst of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer."
- Albert Camus

If I had not like Camus been exposed to "invincible summer" I would have no perspective in which to approach the spectacle and ills and ailments that I have mentioned in this post and would have thought them normal and status quo.  There are nurturing hands out there and protective spiritual forces.  I simply cannot make any sort of determination as to where the nexus of this evil draining leech of a force emanates from.  I am locked and loaded for battle except there is no battle field only herd noise shadow hauntings of the mind.  Thus psychological warfare. 

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