radio nowhere speaking: offcast has begotten

“Whoever is unconventional is free. As good as necessity
and time are conventional phenomena” – automatic writing

.....['ai] bet you probably live as good as memorable kind of a great trivial round. Sensation. Nutrition. Mastication. Desertion. Procreation. This is ours and your blind-worm cycle. We’ve made a curiously bloody world for love in desire. Salut! Shall nothing change except through your accusing diet? Having eaten of some dead selves savored with every fill; you’re now raven to glutton of the mind's motion? You, who believe your procreation is ultimate are the sweepings of creation manifest, returning again to early simplicity to hunger, to become, and realize you are not yet; muddled time and ego. I saw you denying reality with tinsel ethics, living by slaughter, praying to greater and greater idiots: idolizing that all things may be possible to those who are impossible. Is there only body and soul; nothing beyond entity? Nada. And your inmost wishes? Your “heaven”? Your unfledged desires are blatant, making some vital belief that ego is eternal. [‘ai] wish I felt like hate. Well, I do disrelish the piteous commandments, provoking and emboldening your bark, your teeth rapacious grinding. This world out of which we came, this world that you are, will give itself to nothing but your vices. The vanity, the uselessness of artificial pleasures is at the very heart of things. But - and here is the catch – you could have never attained to the full rigor of this fact if you’ve only known it as it goes, as to be true from the very plastic beginning; with plastic people into imaginary (…) headway. So many acting just-a-shadows, playing on the life of someone other's story; jesters. It makes you kill. Stupidity.

.....Have you ever known what you want on principle? Or what you ask? Have you ever distinguished virtue from maniacal muttering? The so-called sin from folly? Desiring a teacher, amongst the swarm who is worthly to hear and learn from? Here’s your mistake in masterplanning; that all things become of desire. You do not even look like men, but the strange spawn of some forgotten ridicule, lost among the illusions beget of duality, for futire entity to ride your bestial self. Into your sleep lusts, freeble sickly morale, more contemptible than the beast you feed for food. Despite the procreation, you’re good murderers only; empty coterie who hunger to righteousness. Your society is veneered barbarity of precocious primitives. Could you ever explain where is your success other than through hatred? There’s no understanding in your world – this bloody transition by butchery. Of necessity you live, and love your neighbour by devouring. Again a swines from the herd; repulsive objects lead by charity. Living the most contemptible and generating everything courageous, into your desire to create a world, are you so vain of your excuse to expect other than the worst of your imagining? Whosoever is around is neither much of me nor of himself enough. No es perfecta.

.....A man cannot change his way of life by changing his clothes nor by speaking with a different voice. To change basically, permanently and meaningfully he must reach down into himself and pluck himself out by the roots. A man cannot lose his fear by telling himself that he is not afraid and believing it. He must know his fear; see it, feel it, and accept it. Then, if he does that which he is afraid to do, says that which he is afraid to say, thinks that which he is afraid to think, sees that which he is afraid to see and knows that which he is afraid to know, he has no fear, for by making known what was unknown or only half known, he discovers his basic invulnerability. To every outrageous stupidity, we’re meant to get together. And far beyond the tortuous blackness of the lie, is the dazzling brightness of the truth, the vast open spaces of the soul; where all is clarity; where the logic of the creation is manifested in the perfect harmony of function and will, purpose and emotion, vision and reality; where there are no blank walls or tiny crevices, no dead end passages or paths that circle on themselves, no gaps too narrow to pass through, no partings of the ways, impossible choices, confusions. Nor are there the terrors of mysterious sounds, deceptive, echoing, seeming to come from above then from below, distant then close at hand, ahead, behind, then all about us. No lurking sound or footsteps in the dark, no hideous visions that appear, then disappear, no doors that are, then are not, or lead to nothing, no sudden precipices and no fantasies of twisted images. For here, in perfect knowledge of what is, is life, the spark of consciousness that exists at the core of every being and is limitless, yet is confined ideally within the limits of what is no more nor less than its complete reality, its natural state. The degradation which most people experience on the line is the sum of assorted indignities which can be denominated as discipline.

.....You must know to begin with that every thing that shows a face to the world also has one that's hidden. In every development, just or false, real or imaginary collective or individual, it is always the first step, the first act that’s the most terrifying or difficult. That step once taken, the rest follows naturally as a necessary consequence. This first act of madness, so natural from the physiological point of view and consequently necessary in the history of humanity, has not been accomplished at a single stroke. But, once established, it has surely became omnipotent, as each insane notion necessarily becomes when it takes possession of man's brain. Take a “madman”, whatever the object of his madness - you will find that obscure and fixed idea which obsesses him seems to him the most natural thing in the world, and that, on the contrary, the real things which contradict this idea seem to him ridiculous and odious follies. What you must know secondly, then, is that no kick is worth being sought if it is not in itself the seeking of kicks itself. Well, convetousness is a collective insanity, the more powerful because it is traditional folly, and because its origin is lost in the most remote antiquity. As collective insanity it has penetrated to the very depths of the public and private existence of the peoples; it is incarnate in society; it has become, so to speak, the collective soul and thought. It would be easier to make one fear a hand, than better show some veneration to the man that owns it. Been there, seen that, right?

.....Seasons change my friend. Fear; like a cancer grows, and envelopes the being. It swells to indescribable proportions, till nothing else is visible and all is terrifying, all is a horrible nightmare, and there is no chink of light through which even a ray of true hope might pass. Fear has the upper hand, rules all and carries the day. Man is the servant of fear whom he worships with greater reverence than any godlike creature. Fear has his way with him to the ultimate extreme. Fear can destroy him quicker and more agonizingly than anything else. Fear is his master and encompasses the living. And often fear crashes into the consciousness of a being. The being feels and knows it, running again even further into ignorance or lie. And the being shuts its eyes and shuts its mind and hides its stricken head till fear passes once more into the back of its mind and continues his work in a sphere where he can operate without disturbance, and drive the being slowly but inexorably, and quite unconsciously towards its extinction. Where there’s already dubious comfort through anguish, what is there left to fear? Where are you runnin'? Point taken? Blame somebody, doh, but me ne frego.

And so. I just don’t wanna be anything other than what is said that I’m trying to be, maybe. As good as I don’t know why you do everyday mistakes and cry on them. Got a guess assumption? But, teeth and claws have never been that much contentedly sufficient accessories to appetite. Is this world's worst reality more vicious than human behavior? War is over if you make it happen. And compassion is contageous. Or that should be, at least • vlad

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radio nowhere is unintentional inclusion out of bruce springsteen’s detached project