Prior Gibberish is now available as an ebook:

AH? HA!

There’s also a paperback version.


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Adding “foulness to foulness” ...


Who or what is your primary oppressor? Is it someone or something outside or inside your mind?

My secondary oppressor is outside. My primary oppressor is inside. But I’m empty inside and out.

This strange fact is established simply by announcing it. Then, objections from outside and doubts from inside swarm — too late!

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Discussing with a friend how ill-equipped or unequipped we are to know the essence...

​He said, “That is our only virtue.”

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Watch the forming as it tries to happen.

​The dream-formation accretes and erodes in one movement, with the watcher.

Like the “flame of attention,” it burns.

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The impasse is embodied not transcended.

​As it, I walk around freely, breaking things.

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Inward-turning mind is married to moods.

It’s hard to exploit the nirvana of samsara without moods.

For better or worse.

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I would like to describe a shift. It went like this: the acid of malformed, illformed, unformed thoughts splattered a cherished wholeness behind my eyes, burned holes in that plastic doll-head. It occurred in a flash, in the time it would take to view a trailer for a trailer for an unholy horror flick — a preview of a preview in a crypt. Then (shift) fronting my eyes: sky.

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When you fetishize stasis, the electric bots (that comprise the bots that comprise you) become agitated.

You might achieve stasis, but only after all those bots have exploded. Not enjoyable.

Moral: Stasis is pain, then death. Better to unleash your antics.

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Breaking the spell: little gnome with pain-hammer is mother-bird wielding song.

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Ouroboros, your blind compulsion to keep the unkeepable … Now with one eye open.

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​“Simply stay in yourself. You will find it nowhere else.” (Longchenpa)

When you learn through experience that you can and will return to completeness, you stop clinging to the fear of being crazed into pieces.

It will happen. So what.

​*

Completeness is basic, like the torso.

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All forces that would focus me would frame me.

I’m being framed by forces that can’t touch me.

They model steps and moves; I follow from a divide.

I frame myself as I mimic.

As angst, I look to sources for help, calling 4-1-1, 9-1-1 in a panic.

They always answer and give me what they want me to want: a frame, a box, a swaddling.

But these helpers are unconscious and that’s a shock.

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The first and last mistake is attachment to the fear that error and attachment are possible.

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As a matter of convenience, your own heart is the gate. Would you be so kind as to open it?

Knowing it’s shut is the key.

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“We’ve traced the call. It’s coming from inside the house.”

​The good news is, the external menace is dead.

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When I depart heaven I return to hell because it’s the entrance to heaven.

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I’m trying to get cured of the poison. But this trying-to-get-cured does one thing: poisons.

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Conceptual grasping is an attempt to depart the Buddha’s wisdom.

It fails.

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The pain of separation is “separation” itself.

​When the pain is relinquished so is separation.

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The unconscious attempt to form an exoskeleton is ongoing.

Accretions of greed and self-protection are busy constructing that very self.

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Head-voice isn’t primary, it’s echo:

“I’m in charge…I’m in charge” it says, claiming a claim it inherits.

It is caused to claim that it is cause.

A rock kicked off a cliff: “I’m flying!”

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Because the Dharma does not exist, seeking it and finding it are tedious and time-consuming errors.

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The only necessary doing is a non-doing: simply noticing the energy wasted trying to gain or keep a place in this world is an action that burns no calories.

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Busted: the Buddha, standing on my sternum in heavy boots, was caught welding the bars of my (rib) cage shut.

​(...Turns out the Buddha was just holding the light that illuminated the weight of my own weary work!)

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One hundred percent selfish, this selfish gene: me.

Not ninety-nine percent, but total, to the root. To the particle. To the wave. To the string.

Every thought, every insight, every intuition: same.

Plus one.

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We are people of great depth. Pity.

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Bodymind has no core, but feargreed (the Survivor) works to form a scab around that cypher like it’s a wound.

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You want to abolish your doubt. You want to achieve a permanent state of knowing. But doubt is fertilized by abolishment efforts.

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No Dharma-continuation, no Dharma-portability.

​My bed of nails is portable.

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The doomed woodpecker, fatally attracted to steel.

The snake, gobbling its own tail.

​The mind, trying to profit.

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When you stop asking “why?” you win.

Wise between whys.

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All this time my conditioning has been in sync with my predispositions. My nurturing closely tracked my nature in the unconscious judo of person-rearing. My nascent neuroses were used as pressure-points by my blameless, conditioned conditioners.

​So I’ve abandoned this burning junker to the field. Why fix it?

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Fear-greed accretes layers of revulsion and desire in a layer-cake of grave dirt and magic mushrooms. Aerated by pristine goneness.

​*

Where find the breakthrough?

​In the broken-through.

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What’s next for me/mine?

What’s next is rude awakening.

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I went from blind rage to blind drunk to unconscious. But all my thought-tangents are like that.

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Primal fear highlights the primal outflow that voids fear.

​Entwined like hemp snakes.

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The problem-person lives within the unimpeded no-problem state.

This state is not the person’s; it is not privately owned.

The person holds title to the artificial boundary between itself and the no-problem state.

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Chronic, subtle attachment/resistance has a metallic taste.

...Becomes rebar-orthodontia (not subtle) when the gray-matter sets.

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It’s like trying to tell someone to “look outward” when their eyes are already doing that.

Vision spools forward at warp speed, the thought-net in its wake.

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Gut tells head: commentary is frivolous.

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Blindness as refusal to see: just see the refusal.

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“Is never was.” But that’s a concept.

“Concepts don’t exist” is another one.

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No, the personality is not helped. It is helped by not being helped. That which helps would not be truly helpful to the personality if it helped.

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Death is a disturbing concept to everyone but its subjects. It’s unreal and significant to the living, real and irrelevant to the dead.

To those who are alive, absence is an idea; to everyone else, it’s everything.

(As objective subjects we can’t be found. We are just like everyone else.)

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The lungs, the ribcage, the heart, and the gut are oppressed by thought, not helped.

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Still looking for answers? Two ways to quit that grind:

1. Let the ordained and sanctified handle it.

2. Treat all held beliefs like porcupines.

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See attaching (accepting and rejecting) happen.

​See seen attaching up-anchor.

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This mind rejects what it “has” in a tantrum of awareness.

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I wake up. It’s what I do.

“To what do you wake up? Not-two?”

No not that but to the two.
I’m two’d into a two-ing view,
Blindly splitting me and you,
Deucing aces through and through,
Conquered by divides.

“Et tu?”

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