We are such fussy monkeys. We crave order so badly and we hack it out of anything we can find. We'll take knives, axes, chainsaws to wood and form it into the physical shapes of animals or humanoids. We manipulate and mash together words until we can apply an independent label to every particle and feature of the Universe around us. We are constantly developing new language; news ways of seeing and viewing and writing; new ways of perceiving the shifting energy field surrounding us. Argh it's a crazy nightmare frustration exercise – this unbridled obsession with order. Fuck it. Order is an illusion. Order is a myth. Order is only a word – meaningless beyond the context of language; and language is only a creation of our puny, frightened, human brains.
Right now we have a name, some stupid, contrived name, for every phantom that might jump out at us from the darkness. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!?” Oh, it's just a _______.” Fill in the blank. It's just a cat, just a bat, just a rattlesnake, a Black Widow, a Brown Recluse. It's only Tuberculosis, or Influenze, AIDS, SARS...
It's all bullshit – that's the, I can't break out of this language either. But these words aren't right – they aren't even close.
Imagine when everything was an image, a blast of light and color, a sound, a feeling... Back when there were no words, when all was mystery and magic. Nothing but swirling, crashing energy. Imagine back to when chaos reined.
madbob@madbob.com
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