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Cancer. Medical greed. A Space trip, seeking for the void, and for what's left of life |
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# . Please be kind to the following piece, what contines are brief blog entries, notebook scribbles, and lone bits I tied together to attempt to shape it into one coherent story. Some self-stick notes from when I was coming back from the stroke, and I was learning to wite again. It's autobiographical in nature but, told with in boundaries that hint at existentialism. Fantastical at moments, peppered with psicodelia, acceptance of the surreal into reality, self-contemplation, a blatant spill of consciousness. Yes, I do have admiration for "Jack Kerouac". Mostly, this is a thank you whom to read a few lines! SKÖL!! Hrafnar Árgeir   Psychonaut: latitude 0° “Psychonaut” combines Greek roots “psycho” (mind) and “naut” (sailor), meaning “sailor of the mind.” German author Ernst Jünger first used it in 1970 to describe journeys into the subconscious. TAKE:IX. Prologue A human footprint, pressed into the sand, a grinding breeze, warm while barraging the skin; the roughness keeps the eyes in a squint. Breath desperately clawing at more air, while each exhale ended in a wheeze; exhaustion, with guttural grunts had led me to a halt. Sand, pristine snow-like even! As far as my eyes could see. From that endless sand a turbulent sea sprawled out into the emptiness as the land did. The utter silence, of your ever stalking shadow at toe. The pounding of the heart against the chest asures I'm still alive. Dryness, bone dry. " No life! There's nothing alive here!" An intrusive voice in my head kept blurting out. I watched my white boot produce a white wave of hot sand that crashed back into nothing. I freed myself from my spacesuit, the cumbersome, ripped, dingey and worn-down part of me sat there in the sand. Sloped over to the left, tired maybe, beaten by a pointless voyage and most definitely not part of me anymore... An ethereal silver thread trailing from us all is a tether of sorts keeping us tied to an earth-based life. It would seem to be more evident but, to the average human this truth is lost. A human is born and immediately relations were made constantly over and over throughout the being's life. The other side of existing might be the tendency to go out in the world not knowing, convinced of desires we hold culminates in things, careers, lots of money, poverty or what supposedly makes us all who we strive to be while culture encloses it all. See, the ocean so infinite from my position as a human, standing there in yellowed, sweat-stained space-underwear, as for me in this body, so damn finite. People either vanish into their own wants and interests. Others die, tumble down holes of addiction, as well as we also lose our usefulness for others, greed helps other relationships fall into the light. The truth, animals, we're creatures that have each their own precious object, we all have lined ourselves to point towards. Most humans during my run on this rock, when broken by illness, overbearing pain, when they're stripped down to their undies, no dignity in the terror of cold white hospital tiles, hold an essence of selfishness. All those driven businesspeople that never have time, the boquetes of "close" friends who retire from your life into parenthood. Encountering a cold force field in your mothers' eyes, out of reach tangled in her own desires, in how she understood the thread of this reality, all her pain, disappointments, indifferent to a son's words of how she was committing a slow suicide, no reasons to stop. I drove away, unwillingly she died soon after. In the end I never felt a connection to another human, always perceiving each ugliness of self-serving intent. One more reason to just drop it all and let myself be launched into deep space. Far, far out of touch with human nature, I would be able to disconnect from what few relationships I had left. Let the mask drop as I take a good look at society naked and burning. The absence of true meaning will forever stick me in my side, nothing really mattered. Of the few sparks of light that were able to get through, it was always anarchy. In the sense of humans are perfectly capable of taking care them selves. The only concept where I was offered freedom. Liberation from cultural bogs, empty concepts, money mongering trances and so forth. Fitting into a rat race of some kind was never an option, I would wither and die. To become in tune with the ever toiling on masses has never been compatible with what feels to be like my spirit. I was just astonished with the azure skies how they appeared endless over me to quickly become cast over by dark clouds, and in an instant as it all it was taken away. I felt the void for the first time, a soul ripping croon out of the gut, crept over me from afar, a long agonizing bellowing, a realization of sorts, that my life has all been a crying waste. I've become a revenant, quiet, shy as breeze while gaining momentum to be invisible in the storm, in search of some forgotten corner to call home, maybe enjoy a bone or two and lick my wounds, consoled all the madness is so for far away. After so many swaying and spinning ballets with Mr. Death, I simply endure. So many thoughts come and go; some dare to simply intrude, others seem they´ve never let go. My broken brain, aphasia, the damage done; three tumors due to a cancer, which blew my right kidney to hell, to finally settle by corrupting my lymph nodes. Yes, it's a lottery from here on out, the cancer will eventually appear anywhere. I'm no longer feel alive and at the same time I still tread on, swallowed by whirlwinds of gray. I am he who finds a way to return, even though everyone thought me lost. I welcome you and appreciate you taking time to know about someone falling apart, in efforts of putting myself together, stranded in a third world reality, a psychonaut, left behind, to float away into the great big nothing. I launch into space, far, far away from humans, see they wanted to profit off my death, drawing it into a long hole to go down just to suffer, or go progressively stupid. Bankrupting my family as they watch me die a piece at a time to finally have people say "Oh, how sad, but at least he is not suffering anymore! Poor thing!" My bout with brain cancer, refusing any kind of chemo, just by the power of a plant, and a simple process anyone can do. Disappointed me even deeper. Anarchy in action I knew it was. My wife, a slowly thawing type of creature, were you suddenly find yourself in a sexless relationship, and barraged by demands. Then become someone she used to know; you convert into text messages from another country, wired money from western. A few trips to many different beaches, a dog perhaps, just another ghost who happened to be during a hazy 15-year spell of her hectic existance... |
| Chapter # 1. Lost SET - 182 | 7.71k | ||
| An Introduction | 19.13k |
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