Through A Naked Forest

It was never a part of my plan to someday commit a crime, when I was but a boy I wanted to be the honorable citizen. I had every intention of being rich by the product of hard work. The warrior in me would fight on the side of justice, I would kill as a cop or murder as an officer in the patriotic army of my proud heritage. After all, freedom and the pursuit of happiness seemed to be the social path. As a child all my evil energies had taken the side of justice and fought under her shield.

As age made me a bigger man it too made me less satisfied, life in a just society was not just to all, some had to carry a greater weight on their shoulders which made it more Impossible for them to exist in happiness. Many, far to many were the times when one figured the major obstacles had been blasted off the path, only to find with great grief that the blasting had shattered the peaks and caused massive rock slides which formed huge boulders of resistance in the hitherto cleared path. These obstacles discouraged one greatly but the patriotic and positive propaganda always gave one faith. But faith too had its limits because one expected a reward, not a heavenly reward which forced one to wait a life time but a terrestrial one, which one expected in a reasonable number of months or years.

When time passed and aged one instead of getting better life suffered a miscarriage, and sometimes during this miscarriage the mother died and faith gave way to reality. It was at this critical point when my thoughts first wondered into the antisocial world of the criminal. At first, afraid to jump into cold waters the thoughts only lasted a few seconds and were discarded as nonsense. I began by asking myself does crime pay? But I would quickly address other issues which made the answer banish. Of course the thoughts persisted and it then became a game to fantasize of robbing a bank. I would examine the character of the criminal in great detail, attempting to reach the attitude he portrays as he attempts the crime. There were the areas of his thoughts which he had to hide under his subconscious; all together he had to eliminate all communication with his victim, don’t look into his eyes, yet in his consciousness remain aware of vital mechanistic actions which many times had to ignore the mind in order to accomplish their criminal function.

But the thing which preoccupied my mind most was not the criminal act itself but rather the escape. Yes, I knew I could commit the crime but the question was: Could I escape? Like a criminal I had first to accomplish something vital to the art of escaping. I had to be able to hear the alarm going off and at the same time not hear it at all. I had to be able to see the police criminals rushing with their guns and rifles to catch the fox, and at the same time I had to be able to ignore them thus becoming oblivious to their existence. The conscientious wall which I had to overcome was made of shining armor a thousand feet high and a million wide. How could one overcome it? Built through existence in the cohesive structure of society it was the equivalent of a thousand armies all protecting civil justice.

These thousand armies were large and powerful, yet ironically tiny, indeed perhaps invisible and none existent. Their habitat the mind, and there they stood guard silent but prepared to overpower any immoral thought. As soon as I imagined a crime they would violently pound my heart, caused me to have hallucinations and raised fear all over my body. Before I could commit my crime, before I could murder the victim I had come here to kill, I had to first murder this conscious which haunted and cursed my evil nature.

Morality had a normal sense of justice and I was abnormal, when I acted improperly I didn't particularly want to feel bad, but as I tried to fight the bad feeling it only haunted me worse. Using devices propped by invisible conspirators who would carry themselves with the dignity only a gentleman and a curse could have, they walked remorse and kept it awake making me a whore who would pay for her customers. I cried death to morality for every guilt trip she had laid upon me, for all the fears she had nurtured, and for the lies which might have made my life better but for her preventing me from telling them. For those moments when she would not let me call in sick even if I was; for the creep made me feel bad for lesser things than that. Every time I am late she nags me like a wife and whenever I get extra change she always makes me give it back. And when I lie to a friend she makes me blush and loose the stare. If its money I can't pay she grabs me by the neck and takes me to all the places my creditors might be so I can be ashamed. Sometimes she hunts me at night asking me if I prayed enough; if I wrote to father or spoke to mother, and if the response is no, she tells me they will die before I tell them I love them one last time. I am fed up today I call her to a draw, she hides...

The coward I will poison her with crime! I will become the worst criminal,
she will abhor me and leave me alone. slowly she will be conquered, perhaps
she will even become used to crime, like a creature of habit a criminal. I wanted freedom from the bite of consciousness. I Want to smash the jaws of consciousness with my fist and find extreme joy in watching the teeth fall away ever so painfully. I had long ago concluded that my fears were evil, evil because they caused me to deny myself. Wise man from the past had convinced me that the only crime a man can commit, that is, the only real evil that can exist, is when one does not do what one's heart desires. Indeed the only true crime has to be deprivation and worst, the only evil! For evil is born of repression which harbors hostility and unleashes violently the unhealthy buildup of frustrations.

But morality had been conditioned into my system and I had to reverse the process and condition it out of my system. Of course morality made it clear early into the brainwashing that it would fight and that scars would be left behind. The scars were wounds that never healed. I could not die because they were not serious yet I wanted death to escape the pain because they refused to heal. The pain was constantly returning not staying because it feared its victim would get used to it and forget it, perhaps the same way as ghetto life eventually becomes acceptable. My wounds knew, perhaps to well, how adaptable a being is, so the pain would change in magnitudes sometimes unbearable others one could sleep it off. It was ever present not because it was always there but because I, the patient, waited, fearing with horror that it would return.

What caused these wounds that bled every time they healed? Crimes. Yes, the
crimes I committed; petty crimes perhaps crimes which would go unnoticed or perhaps suspected but never able to be proved real. The only one who knew of them was I, just like at the Golden park in the center of town. Children were always at play there, screams of pleasure found harbors in the eardrums of the aged who passed the time sitting on the benches or sleeping on the trimmed grass, the swings squeaked their endless rhythm kindly to help the children who kept silent. And the dogs chased the fleeting birds who cleaned the ground of its crumbs.

There was a water fountain who had met almost everyone; and at the center of
The park stood the likeness of a hero ingrained in marble eternalizing the dead whose eyes could not rest, thus forced to witness the lovers kissing and the winos getting old. At night the stars gave light to the grass and to the rapes, muggings and murders. The standing statue had to bare it all in the safest park in town. There had never been a crime here, or a witness to a crime, except for the standing statue which was busy being cold. At this park the killers never let their victims suffer nor could they scream in fear, much less run and panic. Here at the park the criminals always buried their victims, burying their crimes; there was no crime at the park. The morning came and went with the day, the night serenely rested its weight on the park, the wind would rush the leaves from the shade of the mother tree as the moonless night lowered the curtain for another crime, in the only peaceful park in town.

My victims too could not feel my crimes, we would occasionally stare at each other, them failing to see a criminal, I Struggling with my conscious not to lose the stares. Sometimes my victims would be talking and my new found immorality urged me to laugh at their faces but I controlled this urge with the greatest of difficulties only to walk away with a victorious smirk on my face. My conscious would often cause me to have rashes and I had to scratch my own wounds until they bled and caused me more pain. But my criminal actions became more frequent and my conscious, I could take for walks on Golden park. I called it an endangered morality, I had wasted a large part of the army but I had the scattered victims to cope with. They, individually could do nothing except torment me, but fortunately I was a creature of habit and torment became a part of my life.

A period of planning serious crimes arrived upon my path but much to the misery of the crimes they would never be executed. It was unnecessary to commit social injustice because I felt I had committed previous crimes as a tool to reach amorality and once there the tool became obsolete, none the less there was still one more crime I had to commit. I still had to kill me a person. I knew I was here to take a life I had yet to find the victim. I had two reasons for murdering someone, for one it was the crime of crimes, to rob a jewelry store, a bank or someone's house was a petty crime, but the first crime had to be the last, and the climax would help me somersault over moralities steel wall. Indeed up to now all I had done was climb the wall, the acquisition of human life would change my life. The second reason was the barriers imposed by society against such a crime. I wondered if I could survive the crime, if I could go through the act in hand to hand combat, finally to survive the psychological problems which would develop. Again to escape thinking of my victim's family, of their blood in my hands, of the scream as it cut itself free to escape death, and worse to imagine and see death at such proximity instead of on the news.

All these thoughts burned and infested my mind and if I had a soul, she, all souls are feminine, was already burning in inferno! One night as I slept on a queen size bed with blankets half dressing my naked body, the night winds rushed into the apartment through an open dining room window only to find themselves trapped and quickly forced through the bedroom, into and through the bathroom window. On their mad escape they moved the doors and curtains making eerie noises as I dreamt a nightmare. Apparently my morality had decided to wage a battle in my sleep reaching for anything that would maintain it in existence. I saw myself running from a security guard, from one of those rent a cop agencies who had found me doing a wrong. Fear was helpful and quickly rushed the necessary chemicals into action, and I breathed heavily to provide more oxygen hoping that my internal regulators would send it to where it was needed most. My stupid virtue had been quite foolish, because this ridiculous rent a cop was in his forties and quite heavy on the belly, being quite healthy myself, I quickly made the distance between us greater through a naked forest.

I was feeling quite at ease when morality grabbed a hold of my imagination and out of the blue gave the stupid cop a gun and two mean hunting dogs. The gun made a lot of noise and the nasty dogs quickly began to smell my natural odor. Their ferocious barks moved with anger through my ear canals and immediately made me panic. I struggled, losing distance, when finally my flight mechanism took my imagination by force and put a naked tree, in the naked forest. I climbed up the tree in time to see the dogs rush up to its trunk jumping up against the bark, salivating and barking, either imploring the tree to throw me at their mercy, or suffer the force of their nails! Tears rushed away from my eyes, and I woke up begging the stupid rent a cop to pull the dogs away. Awake my heart was pounding but had stayed in place because it was surrounded by my flesh.

I knew that my conscious was trying to sabotage my efforts to obliterate her and while I could understand her position, I could not permit her a victory. In the darkness of my room, intruded by a street lamp which forced its light through the curtain. I calmed myself back to sleep only to find my persistent morality waiting for my arrival. Again abusing my imagination, she placed me among criminals, I tried to communicate with them but they did not accept me, my own kind would not trust me. Unable to break their ranks I wondered the alleys when suddenly a get away car nearly got away with my life! It rushed past me attempting to escape sirens which were traveling at the speed of sound. I decided to follow him, I do not know how I kept up with his car but no doubt morality had given me the speed. The man inside looked rather normal more like a family man who worked as a tax collector, perhaps a crook, but for sure not a criminal. When his car ran out of gas, as it was supposed to, he got out and begun to run. Sweat was ruining his shirt and covering his neck to make it glitter for the cops. His tie was loose, and he looked like and overdue high risk, heart victim. I ran along side of him listening to his heavy breathing when bad luck made all the buildings disappear, the ground became a smooth brilliant steel and flat from end to end. There was no place to hide, no obstacles to distract the eye. Just a clear plane, oh, you could hear the police coming from all directions to get him, but you could not see them. Finally courage escaped from the tired legs and the man collapsed, I tried to help him up, I said come on run, you must run, hide, but there was no place to hide. He became a pawn on a chess board laying on his side with sweat rushing to be his bed. His quivering voice spoke as if dubbed by my morality: “Oh it is no use once you commit a crime you are “marked” for life, there are eyes everywhere always watching; sure at first one thinks I can get away, no one will ever know, but one becomes weak and makes mistakes, eventually one ends up behind bars and comes out looking like a criminal. And if you are never caught you've never committed a crime and you won't feel comfortable until you do.”

I woke up leaving the poor bastard feeling sorry as the inevitable byproduct of my morality. I was not that easy to conquer; on a bright sunny day in front of a million witnessing eyes my morality had to be walked to the gallows and I would pull the handle that would make her swing with the rope, snapping her neck! But to do this I had to first find my victim and kill, where from my morality and I would face our final battle. Of course you just don't go out and kill someone and then turn around and slaughter what little morality is left, because morality is always more powerful and fierce after any given crime. But morality was not my only enemy, my mind with its tremendous thinking ability would not tolerate murder, thus I had to first reduce my ability to think, I had to induce a precarious existence between insanity and normality so that my lack of meditation would allow action to take place. The action of murder!

You see any type of action requires the loss of sanity, at the point the individual acts he forgets his entire thinking process and losing his sanity reacts. This is the law of action the point at which the individual becomes insane is also the point of action. So action is really insanity, it is a level where thoughts are eliminated so that any physical act can be committed. Perhaps this is best illustrated by a boxer in order to allow such brutal abuse, specially to his head the brain must shut itself off. No thinking organ can allow anyone to place it in a boxing ring. Indeed action is absurd; consider a person who makes the bed every morning, a bed which is going to be disturbed again in sixteen hours. that is ridiculous, it is the equivalent of telling yourself I am not coming back alive! In combat a soldier becomes an animal, a pawn who forfeits his ability to reason in order to commit mass murders. A thinking man can not act because thinking always develops a cross examination process which always adds alternatives to any given action, thus making a decision is actually settling for less than what can be accomplished. The individual becomes insane so as to be able to act! It's now probably quite obvious that action actually retards the progressive evolution of the mind; in fact action and creation only prevent the mind from reaching beyond the primitive stages of creation and action. This of course implies that and all knowing indeed omnipotent mind is one that never took action thus going beyond thought.

To turn my mind off became a priority because it had me convinced that murder was completely unnecessary. Being more intelligent than my mind I reasoned with him into letting me commit a murder. I explained that the only reason I wanted to
kill was to destroy morality, my mind was quite aware of morality and hated her with passion, and this even though a mind is incapable of hate. I mentioned that a life would be an expensive but fair price to pay to induce the final struggle against the forces of morality. My mind, like all others was an anarchist and being chained by the torments of morality it could only sympathize with my concept. Imagine those chains blasted away from our wrists, we could be free again, to see and do evil or good without knowing the difference, all I ask of you my dear mind is that during the atrocity you look the other way. Silence yourself accomplice of mine and it will be I who will be the murderer. My mind spoke with the mask of wisdom; “All I ask is that whomever you kill be a righteous man, so that his or her death will actually be a liberation.” Considered done!

Having made the deal I turned my energies to the insurmountable obstacle of morality. You see morality is completely independent of the mind, it has a life of its own and the most ignorant of peoples have the strongest foundations of morality. The less a person thinks, the more morality they have to guide their life! Needless to say I could not reason with morality for there is nothing reasonable about her, her reckless autonomy makes her intangible, much less could I try to kill her before killing my victim. No, all I could do was to attempt to commit the crime while it was off guard. My morality considered itself righteous and god himself could not have convinced it otherwise. I quieted my criminal aspirations awaiting my victim behind the cover of my smile and seducing morality by going to church, agreeing and speaking for her cause. As time aged me, it made me more indifferent to morality, my lies became my truths, my actions were cold and far to often executed without regard for others.

On a Saturday afternoon, I bought a knife which was to be the killer weapon. I took a hold of its blade and pictured myself holding my victim by the neck as I rushed the tool to severe the aorta, my eyes reflecting the ichor squirting from its helpless home. One night I broiled some tender beef, letting the meat cook on the outside but remain juicy inside, (it was at times like these that I contemplated the taste of flesh like mine, and dreamed of opening the first restaurant to serve such treats.) Well I decided to use the murder weapon to cut my meat, a criminal ritual, and as I cut the meat I had to keep in mind the proximity of the knife to my flesh and face, for the same knife I now cut my meat with could turn and cut my life.

The moment turned to be quite revealing suddenly I felt my mind brutally awake and sitting next to my conscience. They had formed an alliance while I slept, perhaps even married each other and they were now executing a coup de grace. They held each others hands and requested that I take my own life. My mind ever the eloquent speaker as well as backstabber; something it had learned from me, spoke: “Your conscience and I have come to conclude that you have no right to continue your absurd existence, you have constantly challenged things which are endemic functions of existence. You are a danger to yourself, neither morality nor myself can allow you to continue creating independent entities of current ethical structures. You are sabotaging principles that make society work. Principles that true or not make it possible to connect a disconnected existence. It is time you stop being a criminal, you have found your victim and the vote is two to one.” My mind and morality had formed the conspiracy and now I was their hired executioner and probably the only man capable of it.

Indeed I was a very special case ,I was victim and assassin; I had to commit suicide! I had to kill myself! At this point my seconds turned into eternity, they took place every instant, I wished that my torture be changed to hours or days even centuries but no they knew too well seconds were an eternity. This insane conspiracy had to be aborted, I took the knife and attempted to injure morality, my pain made it clear to my anger that I was killing myself but revenge was more important than life. Those two traitors lived because of me and evil as they were, I had to kill them. I buried the blade deep into my intestines, turning the blade, tearing the tubing which contained my life. I relied on my mind who knew his death was coming and began as we had agreed to look the other way.

When death became an unavoidable sight due to heavy hemorrhage, I began to beg for life, and dying I prayed to my mind to wake up and stop me! But my mind had condemned me when it said the victim had to be righteousness. It had indeed condemned me to death! The paralyzed imprint of morality and my mind harvested by death, stared at me with wisdom and my own world began to collapse. A quivering foundation of false origin and I had to despair because there was no faith. Life would crush me with my hand as her weapon, no longer selling me one of her many disciplined lies. Suffrage was inevitably a byproduct of my own ignorance which led a struggle to destroy morality, a battle into the soul of my soul of the spirit within the spirit of subconscious’s.

But here there were no foot soldiers to die for my errors, no captains to lead a retreat! It was my body that caught the bullets as they tumbled through the air, and when ground was lost it was I that was taken prisoner; and when the savages tortured me, yes, they tortured me, I cried for my sins and burned to learn that I might not repeat them once again! When the fog of turbulence cleared the air, you could see my dead remains laying against the uneven ground, my wounded body recovering in a bed whose white sheets could not put the burns to sleep. I too celebrated the victory while feeling the agony of defeat. There was a great tragedy in being responsible for the war, and a greater tragedy in being one's own victim; yet I could not struggle against the furor which fathered my sense of being lost, so while I pulled the trigger, I had the courage to fight for peace!

The dreamer boy appeared to fly from dream theme to dream theme but I was to dizzy to hear any more. Adriana, looked into my eyes, she did not seem to agree with the implications of the moral dreams within dreams, of dreams exposed to us. She said: “I guess because they are siblings they want and appear to be different and say opposite things and yet their pain and thoughts are felt no less and no different.”

I said nothing, I looked at the dreamer boy and felt his moral pain with such intensity that I decided to risk my life to save him. I went by his side, sat near the pillow, Adriana was a bit uneasy with my stance, she hesitated to take action but trepidation reigned in her soul. The dreamers rapid eye movement was in full stream when in one swift beat I took out a sharp emerald green dart and with it, I swiftly poked out his third eye. Not a drop of intensity in my veins, we heard a woman scream, I left the emerald green dart in what was left of his forehead or third eye. I turned my head to see Adriana frozen with consternation, and she said nothing, seconds passed, I left the dreamer boy’s side and I walked over to Adriana; and as my body reached her proximity, convulsions and repulsion begun to crawl over her, and these did flash themselves with decadence. Never had my eyes seen her in such severe distress, never had I shocked her so. Seconds more, walking side by side with each other and with silence, we passed through more immense silvery hallways. Glimmers dimmed here and there as we walked, I some how knew that there were irrevocable consequences to my actions, and that these would be suffered by the aliens, but the cost of mingling with other civilizations had to be known to them. Had to be paid by them!

That night Adriana and I spent the night in the asylum, on a very cold concrete floor, I slept next to her, but very far from her soul, within me every side of me was feeling everything, everything dark, specially her distance, the nightmares after my eyes fell victim to sleep, woke up.