My discovery lies in a sort of indifference to the world -at least my previous notions of it
Nothing really matters
Nothing matters at all
The needle returns to the start of the song and we all sing along like before
My heart is breaking.So? The world it seems is paved with broken hearts-paths we tread daily upon with little regard for the crunching sound beneath the souls of our shoes. I suffer-but know nothing of suffering and knowing nothing frees me the very idea of it. Suffering -pain -joy -happiness are ultimately the same thing-deceptions-further little illusions in the greater one- life
I’m in love! I’m mad ! limbless ! poor ! rich! miserable! ecstatic!
Wading now in the collective morning spit of taxi drivers
black lungs, cigarette stumps
collected at my feet
Tripping on the sidewalk of the world
a filthy deli street
and words, words, words
weigh my shoulders down
make my back ache
prize open my grit stung eyes
make my spirit wake
Tibetan ways to live and die
Kipling and his Colonial spy
Rushdie and his Midnight chums
Kerouac and dem Dharma bums
All you can do- as I understand it- is DO! with good intentions and curiosity and the knowledge that it all amounts to nothing in the end and that very thought ultimately makes the whole process a lot less painful but admittedly I battle to surrender to these philosophies myself because that would be to sacrifice all previous forms of Neilness- self importance, aspiration ,ego (my guardians along the paths to success!)
But I know now I’m not missed or loved or needed and the world has not stopped for me nor waits for me and that in truth I’m as alone and bald -as the day I was born. Where I escaped my mothers womb, crawled out my sacred belly tomb only to discover that I was….born into nothing
create into nothing
and will die into nothing
And so making mistakes and cursing gods for making me feel like a leper -for making me feel lost and isolated and strange and for not making me a film star or famous or extraordinary or great or a saint- is the bullshit , I deep down , always presumed it to be (though often distorted by my theatricality) .Cause it doesn’t matter! It’s all the same.We all return to the same plain dust, irrespective of what we’ve done or become. The wars that we fought- lost or won! and whatever’s been said before-matters fuck all, cause our tongues sleep too along with their secrets, our senses no longer open to their (sense)-itive and often (sense) -less ways and those that took offense or heart or joy at our words will someday die too and take with them all that unnecessary baggage . Having carried their burdens all their living days may be heard to utter (as dirt fills their nostrils)’Oh what a sweet waste of my precious emptiness!”
So I will not be ‘harbor’ like - and let other people anchor their shit (Or my own) in these waters anymore. Empty of expectation, fear and worry dependence or need, desire to have or be things. Easier said then done I suppose. Surely this endangers my creative pursuits? My purpose? This new found emptiness of mine?
I would not stop creating at the fear of it been, the pointless human indulgence it so often is but now begin to create, free from the limits and hopes of it making me immortal or respected or praised .Surely that means that my creativity will find a whole new purity. The simple and noble need to reflect and find a voice. Words to reveal the awesome inner workings of the great human wheel and words to celebrate the brave revolutionaries that have escaped its relentless cycle.
But then these are all just words, words , words and India turns some to madness. I’ve been on trains for three days flat. Running on no sleep and to much circular contemplation ,so humor me.