Illusion of seperate events

There are some forces of nature that have their own natural swinging rhythm section, a 20s style big band of Life dealing with beats so big that you couldn't break them down with any mortal meter. No 12 over 8 will not suffice when we are talking about God here. Mill to the grindstone right at the root of it all. If God could be boring enough to keep a face for a second, I wonder who'd he be? Yet he chose to look like us, the sick and twisted fuck; if god and I are the same then he must have a love for bondage like I do.

I'm getting besides myself. The point of the matter is that when you are dealing with the Grand Poobah, I don't think your petty little emergency means his urgency. For them, there is no difference between the time your basement starts flooding with excrement at 3am in the morning, and between the time you wake up to your house smelling like shit, toy train collection ruined, and between the time you hire the greasy plumber from the sloppy side of town to fi your shit because you are broke and still chasing your dreams. Its all one happening, all one continuous strand of brilliance, cruelly and ruefully stamping its own unique brand of intelligence unto what one would consider your life.

There are no separate events in nature. The gazelle doesn't have use for living in the past; she can't judge her best brined for fucking her husband, it was just another happening produced by the random number generator, nothing less, nothing more. If our little gazelle friend here, let's call her Zoe for now, if petite and fragile Zoe was depressed out in nature, then she'd be one of the first ones to get devoured by a lioness trying to get their bitchy little boyfriends off of their backs by feeding them.

so you see, there is no need for separate events in nature, because animals know that for any time and for any reason whatsoever their lives could be in mortal peril for no reason of their own. They know that the key to survival is a sharp mind, an open and light-hearted heart, and a short memory. 

Animals don't have sticky icky brains like we do. They don't hold on to things longer than they should, in order to "extract meaning", or "get even", or "cope". They just keep trotting along. If the mother to a baby alligator was suddenly swallowed whole by a brutal lump of flesh, also known as a hippopotamus, being instantly killed by the two goofy buck-eyed timmy turner teeth pulverizing her spine with a sonic boom of a !CRUNCH, and then swimming off leisurly with its newly acquired meal, then yes, the baby alligator's chance of survival would diminish sharply. But could that alligator not survive, no, but he damn sure ain't surviving if he is acting like a little Eren Jaeger, laudily mourning over his mother's death. Then that little hippo would turn around, see the clan of gators, and say "You know what. As the murderer of their mother, it is my utmost obligation, no fuck that duty, actually fuck that too, its a conviction sworn upon my heart, to put you all out of your misery. Shit the hyenas might get you tomorrow, and you don't get to eat defenseless creatures everso often. Oh how I love defenseless creatures. Finding out where they hide, scooping them up and watching them squirm over and squander the last vestiges of their life, crushing their heads with my teeth, blood and guts squirting out like a life sized gusher, the candy not the girl you moron, and inhaling their nutritients with a vigor reserved for one who has a check at the bank to cash.

Some accept their death, and they always tastes better than the those that don't."

NO, that baby alligator has got to get a move on because, unlike us humans who use our past and future as a way to protect ourselves from the present moment, their is nothing protecting that baby alligator fro being eaten. He has to get a move on, or else he'll die. Their is no cushion of events that he can separate from his life as not being a part of his life. He can't say oh yeah my mother dying happened., and because of that i'll die too. Him living is a part of his mother's death, for she sacrificed herself to keep the hungry hungry hippo at bay. His life is the backside to the same coin of his mother's death, and vise versa.

So next time something incredible happens in your life, just remember that it was meant to be there, that it was the result of uncalculatable steps that you took, and that it is a continuous strand of all of the energy you have exchanged over the years. You being born is no different from your first sexual encounter, which is no different from you entering the Kentucky derby and getting last place, which is no different from you getting fired, which is no different from you moving to new york with 1200 cash, a dream, and pure gonzo journalism in your wings.

It is all culminating into you becoming who you are meant to be. Don't make any step seem bigger than what it really is, because it is all equal in the NOW, it is all happening in the NOW, it stems from the NOW, and it will never exist again, unless you bring it up inside of your NOW!

No step is worse than the others. no step is better than the last. all of them are fucking shitty, our hands are fucked the moment that we are born, but its not about the cards, its about the ornery mongaloid holding them.

Thank you all for giving me the space to be.

I forgive everyone and everything, including myself

I am sorry to me, for being so hard on you

I love you, and I am learning to accept you for who you are, and your extremely difficult truth that you stand to bear witness of.

The only place to be, is between me and me.

GOODNIGHT HOUSTON