Meat on the bone
He, who never experienced shunyata, does not understand the reality in which he lives. The air he breaths. The sense of being. All old consciousness will get destroyed, separated from the brains. The post-survival awareness of bipeds is old and decaying. It oozes suffering and flatulence. Out of human remains, inability to see the essence of things. Empathetic illiteracy. Deficit of observations and insights. The old bodies will be buried in the place of social nonsense. Social and political. Rebellion. New consciousness. All-encompassing consciousness. New human. The new human will be above. Superhuman. Will be created out of insights. Post-anthropocentric. The global self-knowledge. The new self-awareness.
Shunyata is devoid of humanism. Shunyata is not human. The reality without the human interpretation. Breakthrough of consciousness. It is physicality that holds the ego. Before the ultimate end of bipeds. A new human will emerge. Everyone alive today - will die. The old, primitive consciousness must fade away. In its fatalistic condition. Using violence. Will dissolve into the great oblivion. Into indetermination. Into elusiveness. In my uterus. Pregnancy. Multiple. The multi-million pregnancy. A human who comes out of the emptiness. Lord of the Universe. As Lorand Gaspar would say - a man who wants to understand violence does not belong to any country, any family. The proper deep forgiveness is in fact gratefulness. Mental avant-garde. The new human. Out of the emptiness.
In the absence of ego. What's on the outside permeates me. The wind blows through me. Martyrdom prevented any resistance. The substantial me does not exists. I let myself to be penetrated – the silent existence. Now the wind no longer blows through me. The movement of cells is not required. Unity, even without the shunyata-like desolation. Human eyes and hands. Not mine. I cut the vagina into thirty-eight million pieces. Oh yes, you're good! The heroically heavy menstruation on the Independence Day. When everyday life overshadows the existence. My presence is the ego's resistance to the emptiness. My dog is a form of resistance. My breath is a form of resistance. Speech is resistance. Sight of blood is resistance. The universe perceives itself with my eyes. A handful of wind. The ego pulsating in the veins. And breasts too big, too heavy for the wings.
The existence is nothing of importance, kilograms of meat on the bone. Forced to identify I watch what my organism is up to. Inflamed tissues cause my flesh to rot. The consciousness needs the ego like a drug. Ejaculation on the way from complexity to simplicity, as Murray Gell-Mann used to say. The ego lies and cheats. Omnipotence of the emptiness through shunyata. Entanglement in the future. A by-product of liberated mind - pure mind - Pure Mind. And there remains only what is on the outside. My existence is nothing important even when his neck smells of strawberries. And there remains only what is on the outside.
I wiped off materialism squeezed out of vagina as it dripped down between my thighs. I scrapped consumerism off my glued-together buttocks. To replace an internal migration of meat on the bone.
The lack of man's ego found inside me, on the other side of a woman. Is the same shunyata. The mirror. I have already learned about the nature of reality. Clouds heavy with tears. I am 29 and I already want to die.
War. Hard tissue of hundred and ninety four homelands. It concerns me. When my stomach is filled with one hundred and ninety four national anthems. When my ego swells again. The four-dimensional system will be reborn. Complex matter will toughen in lumps. My HSV viruses are watching. That's going to be war.
I dissected a capitalistic ovary – out of the side wall of the pelvis, close to hip arteries. The right one. Seven grams of meat. Also, with the relief, the left one, weighing eight grams, as it showed communistic sympathies. When meat on the bone talks to me it's like sound in an empty hall. As the Da Costa syndrome. When at last I prevented them from procreating. The maternity wards of hip arteries of the pelvis.
Out of Schwarzkogler's box. Again and again - I implement endoprostheses into my brain. And the homeland. And the first, the second, the third. I threw up imperatives vs. compulsions, together with all anthropocentric inspirations. The gynecologist has an unceasing enthusiasm for the vagina. My brain has a stomach and hands. Lungs and heart. Idiopathic anxiety and cardio-respiratory disorders. Free of humanism.
Hatred flows below these organs. I do not want to go near him - pain. The ego ravages me from the inside. Foreign cells. What is left if take desire out of the liver? Motherhood out of both kidneys? Have I dissected anthropocentrism out of an eyeball? The prisoner of organs to psyche. I tore receptors of higher feelings and of all others. I ripped arteries of mind. So that there is very little left. The body that is at my disposal.
I am forced to sex and hatred. It's not me, it's my body that produces urine. I gained consciousness inside something that has breasts and a vagina, legs and arms. The body, in which I am forced to love and to consume. After all it is the same as four paws or a pair of fine wings. I get inside him or I get out. Meat on the bone, where I got embedded. Now, when I'm occupied by breathing. I understood that the end is the right direction for me.
Out of life states end the whole performance. Lungs work like bellows. They move biped fish at the bottom of the ocean of air. Right in the middle of the mind-box. My limbs, not mine. I've never been one of the bipeds. Apart from the commonly perceived reality.
Out of my box: I have more in common with nebulae of interstellar dust than with people on Earth.
I took out the vagina so that at last you could experience. I made room from intestines, in cervical vertebrae tunnels between lungs. Where the ego won't let me love you. Now I can penetrate the world devoid of myself.
The ego constantly seeks to identify itself in any way possible. I wasn't right. I attached the neural cord to the right kidney just above integrity. Using the aorta I joined the liver with the mob at the level of social justice. I graced anthropocentrism with patriotic squirts. Yes, it was cold under the quilt where the negative identification of gender blossomed. Definition of the ego by its gender is a redundant quantum in the cosmic hypothermia. One is exempt from having neither a penis, nor a vagina. One is exempt from having both a penis and a vagina. Depending on the state of mind.
Nothing is logical in the emptiness. I experienced that. And everything is in its rightful place.
I was born without my consent. An individual in the herd. Tired of my ego. The ego as a lubricant-parasite. It excelled. Then – impatience. I retreated from the biped reality. It's rubbish. I pissed on it with warm bloodied urine. I extinguished feelings and identifications. I tied up ovaries with a red ribbon. I plucked up hair and eyelashes. Replacing attachment to the son - with breath. And no longer wanting to remember anything beyond yesterday.
The mind deprived of socially oriented neurons turns antisocial. Idiopathic insights. Everythingness. The ego no longer wants to be itself. The training of mind allowed me to see it and to experience it – the bipeds and flies are equal. Bang! I experienced that when there is nothing else for the ego to do, it remains capable of killing. Bang! Karen Horney talking about the patients - badly treated neurosis is the neurosis of the Universe. Interesting things. Happen to the mind overshadowed by the Great Attractor.
Shunyata crashes my concepts. Wagging. This way I managed to creep inside it.
Where a gurgling stomach is an internal monologue. It perceives breeding of sensing insights as attacking the national community. Identification with the ego is the Achilles heel. And its post-animalistic self-awareness outlined in a simple way. Ties and relationships are like movement of intestinal gases. Towards the place where the emptiness and relief rapidly evaporate into the space-time.
It begins with the experience of shunyata. The new consciousness. What would that be - civilization based on internal insights. I would connect my ego with all your body parts in places where the mob has no access. Economic, political, religious egoisms. A biped in its own juice. Tastes like pork. It will be getting easier every day. It is eaten, it is born, eaten, born, eaten, born, eaten.