"Ah, what a wonderful day it is.", he said walking through central park where the birds weren't afraid of getting close to humans, where the sky was characterized by light pastel colors that soothed the eye when gazed upon. The same of which reflected into this mans pasty red eyes. He was happy to see everyone occupying the park. The businessman walking his dog, the mothers watching over their kids as they play, the street dancers working for a buck. There were also the young couples that seemed to be the most interesting to look at. Or at least the most envied. There they went, careless of lifes encroachments, happier than a man with glowing eyes.
He walked past them all. The man blowing bubbles for money, the talented pianist, the man sleeping on the bench. The strings that held him to social normativity soon became chains. As if the growing darkness of the afternoon had concentrated itself into the one blind spot on his back and out of it emerged a plethora of chains.
Walking down the busy streets he felt welcomed into a world of structured isolation. So much information passed him by . . . the perky black heels of a business woman, the discrete laughter of someone a hundred yards away, or was that a car horn? He pursued himself on that street, diving into the abtraction of his surroundings. A methodical pulse comes from New York's sewers, each passing step a clap into a soundless void. So much desire and meaning for things that truly have no meaning.
I met him at the bar, he gives me a definition and an assertion, then lights a cigarette and walks away. As if his point affirmed was static in all life.
She found me down the street, and she cried anarchy. She showed me her tattoos and her submission. She shows me nothing.
And He who orders coffee one space in front of me, was well balanced! With a chip on his shoulder about something I knew too well. A man who thrives in clubs, with people. Only a few points on his license and a thing for Teena. He is accepted by his friends, and despises the fiscal snare of the college system. He gives me well thought premises that holistically avoid the eternal excuses of a fractured man. And there he will stay.
Down the street I go, and their eyes thirst for a consensus. Like beams that intersect , staring into a void as they pull in their prey. Savage and delirious, their bodies cry desperation and their intent is carved by the dirty path they carry themselves on.
Rain pours as I walk down the streets of New York. Each drop is a set of coordinated points on a grid. And like them we fall from the heavens in our little cubicle of space. Simply falling with no awareness.
Our descent only counts if it can be recounted. Vanity has usurped itself into technology, giving our lives a flashy glean of utter uselessness. A gluttonic performance of self agrandation that really just deteriorates into the image of a sovereign pest.
A generational and cultural ineptitude that desires stardom, unearned respect and a primitive form of power. But they dont know true power. The power of silence, of experience that slips between your fingers like a liquid wind.
The power to remain a singular mind amongst a collection, a collage of minds. To let go of worthless social constructs that weaken the universe within a mind. To look at all experience in the blinding light as it twists and turns, and realize all the information you seek is only yours to know.
It is the power to hear words as they are written and expose the pointlessness of so much noise that is made in the world.
To live in a naked, oily consciousness that preserves oneself.
Is that not the true doctrine of elitism?
Slicing away at uselessness, piercing nonsense that is emitted.
And my thoughts are tyrannical and egotistical.
My movements are destructive and maniacal.
I walk down the streets of New York in a crystal prism, preserving humanities most wanton beliefs.
I am a twisted demon smashing down cities of thought and emotion. Frenzied in the necessity of a spontaneous idea constructed out of pure imagination. Efficiency is the rule of thumb, quickness and exactitude are motions of the elite.
Precision rules the slow and thwarted minds.
Because all options and outcomes are already known.
The only unknown is which outcome will be selected.
Therefore your one action to become reality, the undetermined one, must be swift, unrelenting.
It must drive down all nonbelievers.
Pierce those unready for the tides of tenacity and turmoil that equivocate total domination.
In this dominion, there is nobody.
There are shadows of yourself that you meet everyday. A certain possibility of who you may become. Shadows that walk into the blinding light of reality, and are lost to it.
There is only information, confrontation, and the clash for domination.
To live in a naked, oily consciousness that preserves oneself.
Is that not the true doctrine of elitism?
Slicing away at uselessness, piercing nonsense that is emitted.
And my thoughts are tyrannical and egotistical.
My movements are destructive and maniacal.
I walk down the streets of New York in a crystal prism, preserving humanities most wanton beliefs.
I am a twisted demon smashing down cities of thought and emotion. Frenzied in the necessity of a spontaneous idea constructed out of pure imagination. Efficiency is the rule of thumb, quickness and exactitude are motions of the elite.
Precision rules the slow and thwarted minds.
Because all options and outcomes are already known.
The only unknown is which outcome will be selected.
Therefore your one action to become reality, the undetermined one, must be swift, unrelenting.
It must drive down all nonbelievers.
Pierce those unready for the tides of tenacity and turmoil that equivocate total domination.
In this dominion, there is nobody.
There are shadows of yourself that you meet everyday. A certain possibility of who you may become. Shadows that walk into the blinding light of reality, and are lost to it.
There is only information, confrontation, and the clash for domination.
