Capricious, Rapacious and Crazy

I went to a hypnotist so that I would uncover the hidden aspects of what had transpired after the INSIGHT incident and it was she, the hypnotist that uncovered something remarkable, something which I had laid to rest in an inaccessible mental chamber something that I had locked away so that only in the presence of light, and with the security of another I would dare unlock it. I revealed everything to this hypnotist and then she retold it to me and so now I tell thee. It happened that after much of the stabbing was done and most had fled in panic while others displayed their incapacity to escape, I walked over to INSIGHT. INSIGHT was then engulfed in a mist of pressurized gasses that were spitting compression into depressurization. The INSIGHT thing was really falling apart and breathing contaminated air to death, I was just looking at the pipes and the skin and looking when I stumbled into something that felt like a man and it was a man it was THE MAN and he was there half of his body was reaching towards the world and the other half was trapped inside of her, of the thing, of and it was the part that was inside of her that was winning in the sense that it was keeping him inside of her and the half that was out was almost motionless, just hanging, limp, but not dead.

I reached behind his perspiring hairless head, I raised it enough so that his neck would adhere to some principle of alignment and I let it rest on my palm, his eyes opened ever so slowly and I said “Tell me the truth!” He responded in a feeble voice “She is so kind to me.” I brusquely pulled his hair hoping that he would be inspired by my strength and said to him, “Listen your whole life is been a waste if you do not say something significant you will be forced to repeat it, the punishment for not doing what you have to do in life is to live it again and again so what is the truth? Tell me and you wont have to go back inside of her.” His crystal clear blue eyes, did not displayed depth but they hid it and so I had reason to pursue his intensity. He remained silent and was seeming to derive some satisfaction from the part of his body that was still gripped by INSIGHT. I repeated myself and he said, “The truth is all around you, you are the truth, destiny is the truth and your will is destiny...”

As his head rested on my palm sweat profusely covered his face and body, he was cold, I peered again into his deep blue eyes, eyes tell everything and I asked him to tell me the great truth of INSIGHT. I wasn’t going to call him an ambulance I wasn’t going to try to rescue him I just wanted him to tell me the great truth of INSIGHT and it seemed that he was resigned to being merely a conduit to something instead of being worth saving. He did not beg me to save him, he did not ask for a cigarette, he did not ask me to kill him to put him out of his misery, he was perhaps avoiding redundancy.

I asked him yet again, in a calm voice but stressing urgency, tell me the truth of INSIGHT. He said: “ I’ve seen many things.” I repeated myself shaking him a bit perhaps that would cause the truth to fall out. He said, with his beautiful crystal clear blue eyes suddenly penetrating into a thousand crevices at once, “INSIGHT is wonderful to me, she tells me things, many things.” I said, “Listen you are almost dead, you been a nameless naked nothing for too long, justify some of this madness by giving me a clear answer. He did not seem shocked nor bother by my arrogance he begun as if it was an ongoing monologue: “The world is subjective and the driving force of life is to create an objective world, a world that is not dependent on the other subjective. The creation of society and its bodies of Justice, of Religion and of Science and Philosophy is the attempt by life to create an objective, selflessness, that will then be able to assert without prejudice our want, and to give us love without the absolutely selfish physiological and psychological trappings of subjectives. The intent is to create a world that wants us but does not need us, for the discovery of the self, leads to the search of the other, the other that is not the self, but that might care for the self, it is the search for acceptance from things that are not familiar, that have no blood connection, it is to seek kindness from indifference, to be wanted by what does not need us, and to be needed by that, that does not need us is to find kindness not of this world, to secure altruism. Artificial blood will keep us alive and it does not have to be real blood, and that is nice. And so the goal of life is to create an objective in a subjective universe, that is a world that exist without us in it, but that chooses to have us in it anyway, it is in the end destruction of the self. The objective world gets larger we get smaller, our insignificance leads to it’s significance, we comply by seeking its approval, and that only reduces us for the energy that produces subjectivity is also the energy that produces the objective, same opposites, the more of one the less of the other. Life is the product of extreme critical subjectivity, life in its attempt to create objectivity, is really reducing itself to being a wound lickerer. For a world that does not need us is not of this world, objectivity is inhuman and yet the only thing that brings real satisfaction to life is recognition from objective forces. Still that which recognizes us, and acknowledges us is not objective, it is dear to us, like us, and related to us, anything else is not us and it wont like us. Creating a world that wants us that cares for us and does not need us only leads to the creation of a world that does not need us, and a world that does not need us will not have us.”

Pausing to breath to many times, he told me many more things, some beginning in mid sentence, some as if he had already told me something he had not, most without ending, all incomprehensible but for one: …slurring his words He, With No Name spoke: “…it is not suffering that produces art, it is not suffering that is conducive to the aesthetic, beauty here is the ultimate escape from pain. But it is not so because the pain propels us to escape into beauty it is because the artist while escaping catches a glimpse of a dimension alien to agony, and the artist pursues and turns towards it with all his soul and intensity, bringing to us in his art a portion of what he sees. It is only a glimpse, but we are able to perceive the pleasing sensations of an being without pain. You have always suspected that all of the great literature, that all of the great art was produced by the agony that life had caused the sensitive artist, but agony does not produce art, life as we know it is incapable of producing art, it is only the gifted artist that are able to give us a glimpse at a world that they see, so it is not that they create art, for they being the children of our world can not produce art, but what the artist does, is see art, and maybe it is because they are able to escape suffering enough to feel and breath the alien beauty that they dance with angels, they flirt with colors, they sing with mermaids where the aesthetic landscape never ends, horror dead. And so these artist are not producers of art but only seers for we, when it comes to beauty, are locked in a reality cage, and art my friend, real art, is again alien to pain. I know to hear this causes you great distress for now you know beauty which has not truth in it can not inhabit a subjective carnal personal universe and you have lived accompanied by an invisible aesthetic friend which was never there…” He, With No Name continued mumbling nonsense, at some point I ceased to listen, I went into my mental corner, I crouched, cold shivers rushed through my spinal cord, my heart became swollen, heavy, pressing against my chess, my arteries begun to cramp, the warmth of my spirit left me, the friends that shared my mental conversations disappeared, I felt purely physical.

He with No Name kept on and on as if also in some hypnotic trance. INSIGHT seemed to be contracting and thus the lower half of his body continued to strain and yet like a man that he was he seemed to be enjoying these contractions of hers. I said, “You talk too much,” He With No Name, in agony asked me, “Are you well?” I took out this huge revolver pulled the trigger with so much force that it broke, and placed a bullet through his face. This would have put any dog to sleep but a vibrant energy came over him and I was coerced to continue my listening. And this only served to extenuate my mental condition through tunnels of impenetrable width.

He, The Man With No Name, in act of defiance and vengeance, got closer to me. So close that I could feel the humidity of his spit, the warmth of his breath, his feeble hand rasping me, his moist bloody lips at kissing distance from my ear, and as if he were restraining an inevitable laugh of victory under his convulsions, he whispered: “She tells me that you say individuality is dead while you adamantly swear that there is no objectivity. If there is no objectivity then are you saying everything is an individual?” But his question was not a question but an insulting statement, and he could hold his incessant cynical laughter no more. I, yelling to overcome his laughter said: “Why are you speaking to me you have not been taught our language? Why do you have hair when you are bold? Why are you alive when I have mortally wounded you ripping everything in your brain? Why? Answer me!” His eyes grew more delirious and intense, almost shining lasers, he responded: “Your shooting me was an action, actions are what takes place to convince the mind that something is so, if I am dead you and I must believe that, I don’t, yet. Action is what convinces the mind that something is so, more important it is what convinces us that something is so, if we were to believe that something was so without carrying out the action it would indeed be so. Anything can be accomplished without actions, but it is more difficult to believe in something that is not physically done. Action is a mundane way of convincing the universe that something is so, but it is easier and therefor widely practiced.”

To describe this guy with the word lucid would a been mild, he was capricious, rapacious, crazy, and more to his detriment severely offensive. I repeated the huge revolver treatment, with a huge barrel and told him, “ You talk too much.” then I put more bullets through his skull, put more bullets through his skull!” INSIGHT begun to release him immediately as if he had only been good to her while alive, as if he was now useless, she begun to release him, the rest of his body fell out and he bursts a few bubbles of blood that colored his pale face well, yet darkened the reflection of his deep blue eyes. To me he looked as if he was closer to rest, as if now he would not have to live another life or have another mother.

Ever becoming less capable of dwelling on the melancholic I repeatedly and savagely shoved his bleeding head against the ground and this action served to convince him that he was dead. I thought of just thinking his head bashing against the ground but I opted to act knowing it would make for a more obvious death. Of course his death did deprived me of any pleasure.

Then suddenly I was unable to speak my tongue twisted itself, inflamed and painful very painful sores developed all around it, the pain was monstrous, it was dynamic which is to say it came on getting worse and worst was infinite. Then an infection caused by the sores or the sores themselves made their way into my ears, the cartilage in them begun to inflame, irritation narrowed the passage through my ear canal meticulously soundproofing the inner ear. Mute, deaf unable to participate, I had no choice but to write and to allow all to interpret my work to read into it, misconstrue it as they for sure would. This was the passion of destiny at work, I was to feel and not to tell, I was to hear and not to be heard, I was to protest and not protest.

INSIGHT must a sensed THE MAN’S death for she seemed to release him, the contracting stopped, and his body kind of got out from her as if the only escape from her was death. I saved him and not because I was in any way jealous. The revelation is simple we are mortals to live forever we can not be ourselves, the awareness of this condition moves us to search for love an impossibility who’s existence is manifested in a passionate embrace, that is, two people passionately licking each others wounds and feeling less lonely because of it.