Do they keep adjusting the train’s horn pitch or it it because I’m the only one who will notice? #randomMarsthoughts
The club, is the club, and a game, is a game. Everything doesn’t have an attached meaning. Non-attachment is freedom to break the traditional patterns. In a sense, to let the dead bury themselves. This is one fallacy of being chosen, that elevates the ego to imaginary heights. Reality, is reality.
Face your demons, kill your ancestral past, and finish your painting. Picassos, and Michelangelos. Life’s not constantly communicating, but flowing. Break the pattern.
Can’t one put out a solo project every once in a while? The unconscious can hide unseen intentions unknown even to the individual. There’s a painting of a running boy, somewhere, but a hand, cutoff by artist, grasping his leg. Just a hand, about fist to elbow length. Is it a human thing to consciously let everything be sabotaged, even, and especially unconsciously? Does it lengthen the span, or something? The cycle has to be broken every once in a while. Otherwise, it’s a rehash.
One way to beat the dead, is to use yourself as a mirror. Edit the past to fit your mould, but stick to truth, to break tradition, and other’s opinions.
There is a fixed number of human beings on earth at any given time. Birth, and death, a recycling. Like a cyclic curse. Is there more to the illusion? The dead cling onto the living in a way, to get to a never arriving future. Can the connection ever be fully cut off? How can one describe it? Development is thus an illusion, as the future won’t reveal itself to the realm of the deceased. Clinging onto life with zen ways, and connecting time as an one event, to escape some sort of karmic afterlife. Hmm…