Lots of people say what doesnt kill you makes you stronger. Sorta... but not really. Life it self makes you stronger. Every moment you survive.... the anguish that you pass through and the despair you triumph over makes you stronger. The irony is that it leaves you so drained...
Only to fight your next battle... so why do we keep fighting? Always... it seems like no matter what mess we get our selves in to and tend to get our selves out of, there's another one looming on the horizon. Why do I keep fighting? I guess giving in would just be too easy. Because you can keep giving in... time after time... or you can kick ass at whatever the hell is pissing you off... and the thing is, it's not as glamorous as people make it out to be. It's unpredictable, uncensored and devastating at times. But it's real and I know it is because it hurts too much to be anything else... and in those rare moments I realize how fighting makes reality so beautiful, I find peace. ya digg?
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
The Game
It's a game. You never asked to play... but you're playing. Losers will surrender. Winners wont ask questions. Are you in this to win?
Red Man in My Dream
The world has given way to chaos and there's a notion that people are running, seeking refuge of some sort from something I can't see or understand. I'm with a family and we're running on the rooftops of Mexico City finding shelter every now and then in an attic. There's a general fear among everyone though. Something moves and everyone looks at once with raised eyebrows and slightly opened mouths. Warm wind blows hard and we huddle close with the little ones in the middle. Sirens are always sounding and sometimes shots are fired. People run past us and only a few notice. The winds stop and the sirens die after a some time. images of turned over cars and trashcans on fire come across vaguely.
I could see a single man in the distance running towards my direction. He picked up pace and slowed down as his energy drained. When he got close enough, we all hid tightly and breathed incredibly slowler so as not to give our selves away. He walked past us and for the first time, only I was able to see him. This man is Red. Dark red and I can't remember what color his hair was. He held a pipe and wandered in our area for a few minutes until we heard the sirens start up again. The winds picked up slightly and he tried desperately to find shelter. I turned my head back in so I wouldn't be spotted.
We tried to listen but the winds and the sirens overwhelmed the sound of his footsteps. I could feel the thumps of his step getting closer and closer. I clenched my fists, closed my eyes and lifted my head. I couldn't control my breathing pace and I could smell the little beads of sweat that gathered above my lips. Silence broke when a pipe was poked into our hiding area. Screaming kids broke the silence and the red man started swinging with all his might against the tin roof we were under. he took one final heavy hit against the tin and tore a hole in it, rendering his pipe stuck. I pulled it out from underneath and met the red man outside. He picked up a slender peice of wood and could barely hold it in his shaky hands. I couldn't believe I was about to kill a red man. I wasn't scared but I felt sorrow. Not mine; his. I felt the helpless gaze in his eyes fall on me and plead for understanding. It paralyzed me. It paralyzed him too. We stood with our weapons in our hands about to end our selves for a long minute in silence. Only sirens echoed in the background. I felt I was part of the the red man or maybe he was part of me.
An old man emerged from our hiding place with a gun pointed at the red man. I didn't realize this until the red mans eyes suddenly jerked to something behind me. I looked back and jumped between the gun and the red man and spoke something for the first time. I can't remember what I said but it wasn't important. His eyes changed again. This time I saw everything inside him fall. I saw him want to die and I saw him live for the first time.
I could see a single man in the distance running towards my direction. He picked up pace and slowed down as his energy drained. When he got close enough, we all hid tightly and breathed incredibly slowler so as not to give our selves away. He walked past us and for the first time, only I was able to see him. This man is Red. Dark red and I can't remember what color his hair was. He held a pipe and wandered in our area for a few minutes until we heard the sirens start up again. The winds picked up slightly and he tried desperately to find shelter. I turned my head back in so I wouldn't be spotted.
We tried to listen but the winds and the sirens overwhelmed the sound of his footsteps. I could feel the thumps of his step getting closer and closer. I clenched my fists, closed my eyes and lifted my head. I couldn't control my breathing pace and I could smell the little beads of sweat that gathered above my lips. Silence broke when a pipe was poked into our hiding area. Screaming kids broke the silence and the red man started swinging with all his might against the tin roof we were under. he took one final heavy hit against the tin and tore a hole in it, rendering his pipe stuck. I pulled it out from underneath and met the red man outside. He picked up a slender peice of wood and could barely hold it in his shaky hands. I couldn't believe I was about to kill a red man. I wasn't scared but I felt sorrow. Not mine; his. I felt the helpless gaze in his eyes fall on me and plead for understanding. It paralyzed me. It paralyzed him too. We stood with our weapons in our hands about to end our selves for a long minute in silence. Only sirens echoed in the background. I felt I was part of the the red man or maybe he was part of me.
An old man emerged from our hiding place with a gun pointed at the red man. I didn't realize this until the red mans eyes suddenly jerked to something behind me. I looked back and jumped between the gun and the red man and spoke something for the first time. I can't remember what I said but it wasn't important. His eyes changed again. This time I saw everything inside him fall. I saw him want to die and I saw him live for the first time.
http://www.mythsdreamssymb
Demons/Devil
Devil
Basic Meaning - A fear of those repressed contents of the unconscious that are, when acknowledged the very forces that could bestow a harmonoius and balanced life.
(1) The Satan of Jewish - Christian - Islamic tradition was originally a horned fertility god, a personification of the fertilizing power of Nature {the tradition of God is separate fron Nature}. In pschological terms, a fertilizing agent is something within the psyche that can inaugurate a new phase in the individual's development.
(2) The evil connotations of the devil figure may reflect the dreamer's fear of those repressed contents of the unconscious that are, in fact, the very forces that - if mobilized and utilized - could bestow a new and fuller life. What we repress is invaribly something that had great value for us but on some occasion in the past gave rise to guilt-feelings or a fear of punishment. It is our fears that invest the unconscious with the fearsome characteristics of a dark underworld inhabited by evil monsters. In reality, the unconscious contains all the energy and wisdom we need for healing and wholeness.
It might be said that our fundamental human task is the conversion of the devil within ourselves, that is, converting negatively charged {dissident, destructive} psychic forces into positively charged {life-enhancing and unifying} powers. But you won't convert the devil with brute force, only with love. The negatively charged psychic forces are the ones you neglect and despise or fear. They become positively charged when you acknowledge them and integrate them into your conscious life.
If we do not recognize the 'devil' within ourselves, we shall project him onto others and thereby give more scope for hatred and destruction {the real devil!} in the world.
{3} In certain contexts - if, for example, he has horns or is sexually involved with naked women - the devil may be a sexual symbol. If sexuality is repressed in such a guise in a woman's dream, it is possibly because she has a fear of sexual relations. In a man's dream the indication might be that he has a guilt-ridden attitude towards his own sexuality {which Freud might trace back to anxiety arising out of the normal male infant's erotic feelings for his mother}.
Demons
Demons in dreams probably represent parts of your unconscious mind that have been repressed and neglected and are now threatening to disrupt or mutilate the psyche. They should be approached lovingly, given attention and integrated into your conscious life. This will bring about their 'conversion': They will cease to threaten and will contribute their vital energies to the enhancement of the self.
Self-knowledge - knowing what we are carrying around with us in our unconscious - is the only sure defence against what in ancient times was called demonic possession, which in psychological terms means the conscious ego being taken over by unconscious forces {obsessive fear or anger, or whatever}.
Reference: Eric Ackroyd
war on day
I dream of you still and my rest is never well
I dream of you still; heaven, devils and hell
I dream of you still and I run away
I dream of the night caught by day
and I go back to sleep,
and this time I know,
and still I fight because
Just let me dance five more minutes in the graces of the night.
Delay the sun and capture his light.
I know what he wants and it's not so bad,
but I need a few more minutes of something sad.
My dreams have become your own and I've lived with you for what seems like forever,
but the only time I see you now is at night and in bad weather.
But I won't come home because I know you're there and I know you wait, and thats not fair.
and I do come home and I want you to stay.
and when I awake; you've gone away
and I wage war on the day to let me dance five more minutes in graces of the night
I dream of you still; heaven, devils and hell
I dream of you still and I run away
I dream of the night caught by day
and I go back to sleep,
and this time I know,
and still I fight because
Just let me dance five more minutes in the graces of the night.
Delay the sun and capture his light.
I know what he wants and it's not so bad,
but I need a few more minutes of something sad.
My dreams have become your own and I've lived with you for what seems like forever,
but the only time I see you now is at night and in bad weather.
But I won't come home because I know you're there and I know you wait, and thats not fair.
and I do come home and I want you to stay.
and when I awake; you've gone away
and I wage war on the day to let me dance five more minutes in graces of the night
apology for fuck
I'm sorry
I'm sorry I ran away
and in this apology
my ends have been inclined
and I'm sorry for that too
but if this truly is my nature
then I live to fill my self for you.
The truth is my nature is elusive and broken.
It's fragmented and shattered
and in some way it makes me whole.
The lie is my nature and the irony is that it's true.
I know I cannot give you anything that is truly not of me
and my self seems to relish in its diathesis.
My insides may be putrid
but they live in bliss
but my shell knows better
because it knows you.
I feel mortal and damned
to live for my self against my self
for a few moments of clarity
In it's very essence
this is what some call life
a fuck;
a dichotomy of misery and beauty.
I fight a battle with in,
and from with out I fight a war
and I'm sorry my words are twisted
but thus is my nature.
I live to be alive
and not for the war,
but the real perversion
is the distraction
by the nature of those
who wish for the extraction
of mine
nevertheless, I apologize
I apologize for my self and not for you
and in that I hope you accept this transaction
simply because
it's true
I'm sorry I ran away
and in this apology
my ends have been inclined
and I'm sorry for that too
but if this truly is my nature
then I live to fill my self for you.
The truth is my nature is elusive and broken.
It's fragmented and shattered
and in some way it makes me whole.
The lie is my nature and the irony is that it's true.
I know I cannot give you anything that is truly not of me
and my self seems to relish in its diathesis.
My insides may be putrid
but they live in bliss
but my shell knows better
because it knows you.
I feel mortal and damned
to live for my self against my self
for a few moments of clarity
In it's very essence
this is what some call life
a fuck;
a dichotomy of misery and beauty.
I fight a battle with in,
and from with out I fight a war
and I'm sorry my words are twisted
but thus is my nature.
I live to be alive
and not for the war,
but the real perversion
is the distraction
by the nature of those
who wish for the extraction
of mine
nevertheless, I apologize
I apologize for my self and not for you
and in that I hope you accept this transaction
simply because
it's true
Not intended for individual resale
to you, I give the contents of my rancid heart;
Not intended for individual resale
for no real buyer would be inclined to buy a stolen heart
For as refurbished as the contents as my sour heart may be,
There are no returns, exchanges or written guarantee.
(I don't think I'm done with this.)
Not intended for individual resale
for no real buyer would be inclined to buy a stolen heart
For as refurbished as the contents as my sour heart may be,
There are no returns, exchanges or written guarantee.
(I don't think I'm done with this.)
I wish you could just get this but I can't explain it
False is the construct which so many choose to call this world but in all reality it is not the world! It does not play along with our games and intentions. It is manipulated and forsaken. It is abused and trifled. It is enslaved and we are it's masters only to serve time. What point is our existence if only to cease? Give me the stars because they belonged to me and when I die they will still belong.
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