Grieving  S(he) becoming They. Going into the Ocean/Tree.

IN THE FANTASEA There is a difference between vanishing and disappearing. Disappearing you can reappear. To vanish implies that you may never have been there in the first place.

Disappearing and reappearing is from another place. When you reappear, you may have brought something else with you from the ethers. Another layer, another dimension of yourself. There is something other worldly here. In the WILD.

Disappearing into my trees, and like lightning they came and split me in two. There was no fire just a piercing spark of cold dark-bright electricity. Flashing silhouettes of this ecosystem of  life. It’s ghost is like what people try to recreate in the basement of a rave. 

I look down at my palm and my life-line splits in two. There’s a significant portion where each line runs parallel burrowed in my fleshy-palm. These bianaries are facing each other-having a conversation- holding some kind of space for so many other things. It then is STRUCK and breaks off like a branch of lightning. 
 
A tree- in a way has become my phantom body whispering to me- guiding me.

SAYING At some point in the cosmos we were both and ALL. We were everything and everything was us. On the star flower, we were monoecious trees sitting on the bank watching the Gynandromorphic lobsters swirling around each other. We could impregnate ourselves in the wind.  There was no such thing as the all powerful. It was one system. It was one living body. We are one living body.  

I’m in the club and these Jim Morrison lyrics are playing in the club bathroom;  breaking on through to the other side - sung by synthetic voice. “HE” turned  into a crystalized stone of hyper-sexuality and total abandon. DRUGZ. And it created VANISH MODE. 

Drugz held me in that space with Jim, I was carried- possesed. Waisting away is alurring for a small period of time, like Lana Del Rey languidly singing on repeat for her drug addict BF towards all-eternity. ON A LOOP.

My song was on the other side of sobriety with the whales in the bottom of the ocean waking me up from my disillusionments. The oldest memories on Earth. The pain of realizations and growth feels like an exorcism from the Empire. Empirical DRUGZ work until they don’t. 

My life was a holding pattern of STATIC I could never stand on. Like sleeping with the TV on. It’s a simulation of being held. The smoking supressed the grief. I carried the weight until the final black out – a near death experience. The white light is real in the mind and in the spirit. 

The car FLIPPED for the last time and S(he) only became death and ritual. There was something else.  I woke up to THEM in a white room with the watercolor paper. The bird chimes in the window sparkled and cut the light in two’s and 3’s and 4’s and so on at infinitem.  I grabbed onto some kind of branch and I vanished from the complete consuming abyss. One day at a time. Into the treez.

Now my psyche is a sober FANTASEA, in which I fade away and dissapear. I grow in and out of and break into this Gen-X Boomertown, a sci-fi western video game of boredom, colonized bodies, and ecocide. I think Gen Alpha will all have to become eco terrorists. Fighting the Oligarchy of plastic baubles and home grown meat in the technofeudilist prison of “men” pointing at things. Suing the corrupt government. Gluing themselves to trees - chaining themselves to elephants.  Trying to breathe. Maybe the next species needs all this plastic? For now Progress always feel like someone elese’s suffering. There must be a better way then to  STAY ON TOP OF YOUR GAME. Is it Gods Money? counting all the Dead MONEY. 

So, I dissapear  inside my Banyan trees- a neverending space of life and spirit. Here we make it rain over this entire Universe, dancing to a meaningless feeling of the most imporatant thing in the world. Tiny pieces of green paper evaporating into the sun.