Where I'm Going

"I don't know where I'm going", one of the many themes of my life throughout it. It has been plaguing my conscience since I was given the gift of memory... or, depending how you see it, the curse of remembrance. It is this lack of knowledge that has, ironically, made me who I am: lonely, confused, and detoured.

Little by little I've been finding peace in that confusion: the fact of not having control on everything has evolved from being torture to a feeling of liberation; loneliness has finally uncovered itself as something that my subconscious yearns for, so I shouldn't escape from it; the sun has its virtues, and the moon isn't perfect.

I tend to write these posts as a way of freeing from me my demons and my angels, to communicate to the world what I'm feeling, and, thus, let go. However, as I read through my life, there hasn't been the change that I was trying to accomplish: I still don't know where I'm going. I find myself wanting my past, probably because I know how it ends. I keep seeing in others those entities that have followed me here, and they don't let me grasp on the current situation of uncertainty. I keep recognising patterns that are probably not there, and I cry and follow them as if I'm back then. There have been a couple of times in which nobody could deny the familiarity between the two instances (past and present), and it has been those couple of times that have been (and are) difficult.

However (oh, how I'm loving that word right now), a thought has come to me, for which I'm ever so eternally grateful for. That is the next step, that is the next peaceful confusion that I need to conquer and, from what I'm recollecting, I am (we are) doing slow-but-steady progress on:

No se a dónde voy, pero sé con quién voy.

I don't know where I'm going, but I know who I'm going with.

Alejandro Jodorowsky

Thank you... thank you so much, my love.

Crosses

I haven't written or recorded in a long time, so I've decided to do both:

The song has greatly impacted me since I knew of the existence of José González. I first heard it when he was touring with Zero 7, where they played their version of the song. It sounded like that kind of sound that could mean different things to different people, each, in essence, hearing a different song.

It's interesting how people do that. One person says one thing, and the other understands another. Not because of stupidity or ignorance, but because it's our nature. We carry baggage that gets in the way. Our sub-conscience is very powerful and sometimes can distort things to a point of creating misunderstandings. I've tried leaving some of my baggage to rest with some success, but I think that such baggage can identify a great deal who we are. It's in that decision of what we carry and what we leave in the road that truly defines us.

Coincidentally, what I hear from the song is exactly that: crossroads, decisions, and the baggage that goes with it. This recording shows how I listened to it... this is my version.

Diary Entry of Pilates

...DATE UNKNOWN...

My spies came to me with the news of gross behaviour of an individual inside Palestine, preaching words of cannibalism and vampirism. I've heard some of these stories before, from fairy tales of the old Druids up in the Celtic territories.

The reports informed me that he had illegally gathered twelve slaves, "disciples" he called them, showing them examples of his mind-numbing powers. He apparently also worked well with hypnosis, as many peasants had said of him doing miraculous things. My men described these "miracles" as only foolery and illusion; I thank the Roman Gods, as they protect us well. Still, he seemed strong and potentially dangerous, so we had him followed and seized. One of his slaves was freed off his power by one of our most powerful priests; it was at a high cost, though, as our priest went into a comma for forty days from the effort. When freed, the slave pointed us to him. Interestingly, his mind went numb again shortly after and crawled back to his owner in remorse, as if he wanted to be enslaved again. My scouts found the slave's body under a tree afterwards... poor fool, one even comes to pity such blind obedience... we did pay him a fair amount for his deed.

When the man was brought in front of me, I asked him for his name. He said that it wasn't relevant, as he was just one of many that would come. He told me that his denominated "angels" would fall from the sky and grant my kin immortality by only drinking their blood, which rang congruent with the Druids' tales. These stories also describe horrid nightmares, and constant pains and suffering endured by these "angels", also known as vampires. Immortal, yes, but in a repeating cycle of hunger and hunt that no man should confuse as a divine reward; it is a condemning punishment. Death should be the only true reward for any Roman.

His stare dug inside my head, and his smile left no room for doubt of the truth of not only his words but of the thoughts that I just described. His teeth, salivating over the sight of my naked throat, sent chills through my spine. I knew this being should not be let loose, but, under Roman Law, the only judge for this was the will of the Jewish people, a favour from the emperor to their kind. Before the hearing, we tortured the being to try and weaken its power over the crowd. I also sent several incitators into the crowd to cheer for the petty thieve I put at the beast's side as the alternative. Who knew that the love of the family of this thieve would win over so many of the hearts of the crowd and momentarily overcome the being's numbing power? Who knew that mankind's ability to love by means of empathy would be its true saviour?

After the thieve was proclaimed as free, we set our eyes to the beast. We made it bleed to see if it secreted any clues, but our alchemists found an enigma with no resolution: its blood was human, but didn't carry any life. I ordered a handful of guards to angry the beast, to taunt him into attack and see how strong its power was against the protection of our Gods. The being didn't react however, his stance expressed weakness and relinquish; pity, I would've enjoyed to see a test of our Gods' powers.

We let it carry its cross over the hill, like any Jew, while many of its followers wallowed. Some helped, but the rest just watched. I don't understand the usefulness of such power: the only thing you can do with it is force people to praise and follow you, but not to protect you, that is left to their own will. This makes me believe that it is possible that this vampire wasn't fully matured and hadn't developed that part of his ability yet. If this is true, it was a fatal judgement on the timing of when to come to our plane; a simple, idiotic mistake. Mankind is truly lucky.

Some of my spies have reported some peasants describing a resurrection, which may appear to be worrisome, but precautions were taken. The guards watching over the cross of this being took the necessary steps, described in the Druids' tales, to kill a vampire: through a punctured heart. This "resurrection" story must be an invention of the peasants, trying to deviate some attention off from the beast onto them... it wouldn't be the first time.

I've been also informed that some followers "converted" to a new religion, having this being as their prophet with the name of Christ, or the Appointed One; appointed by who, I wonder. Others report that some "disciples" are starting to preach of a new, unifying god that has befallen over us, and that the recent earthquake is evidence of his anger towards the Roman empire.

I am not worried, in fact, I'm even amused by the whole thing. Our astronomers knew of such an earthquake, and laugh at the coincidence. I suspect that this following is just some residue of the being's power, and that this "Christianity" is just a fad that will die on its own in the coming years.

Similar and Details

My thoughts began to wonder today of the similarity between you and me. I always thought that we were different: I was special, and that you are as well... but, then, everybody is and, thus, isn't.

So that thought came on to me today (well, frankly, for the last few days)... similar. Interesting, as that word is probably one of the most similarly used word throughout the world (it means the same thing in many languages). But as I turn around to you, I can only see differences: skin color, height, character, points of view, etc. We are different.

You see, that's the beauty of this word: it doesn't mean "equal", it's more like "not the same, but close enough". And that's exactly what we are, the rest are details; but it is on those details that wars are fought, genocide after genocide is justified, and blind-hatred is harvested. "God is in the details", they say. Coincidentally, I know of others that say "The devil is in the details". Minor detail, I suppose.

So they are important (ask the wife of a 20-year-old marriage that didn't get a Valentine's Day present if they are or not). Doesn't that tell you of the mass obsessive-compulsive disorder that we as a global community suffer? Those details are all minor, no two words about it: everything you see in others as different is minor, irrelevant, unimportant... at least they should be. The human body as a concept is so similar all over humanity that it is the sole reason we are considered as one species. If we go over to the thoughts section of the body, at the end of the day every human out there desires the same thing, just have different, conflicting ways to get there. Minor detail, I suppose.

Mayonnaise? Ketchup? Mass on Sunday? Prayer on Friday? It's been over 5,000 years, and we still haven't agreed on any of these? For the looks of it, it seems that we don't even want to. What is there to gain if we do come to an agreement? Peace? Guess that it isn't as much fun as seeing people getting tortured to "save" the other side.

"We're right, they're wrong. Stick with that story until you die."

What about "we're both wrong"? Because, I'm pretty sure none of us is right. We're human, we're bred to be wrong.

"I'm entitled to my opinion", yeah and it's wrong. There's always going to be something that you haven't considered, a detail you've overlooked; there lies the problem with everybody. For some reason, we've always assumed the other side knows the details that we know, and when they violate those details, an Inquisition of the Spanish kind takes place. It isn't their fault they don't know our details; in the most part, it's ours: we haven't been communicating them enough, or haven't got the vision of others needing to know them because we always think that our side is the 'normal', universal one. And, when the dust clears, the suspects are questioned/purified and the rest are exiled. The details are known, yes, but it's either too late (with nobody else there to applaud you) or too lame (killing any good argument you may have had).

So, we're both wrong.
Well, it's obvious how you're wrong: you're missing my A and B... How am I wrong?
... I'm missing your X and Y? You're kidding! Really? Hmm. Minor detail, I suppose.

The False Prophet

He sat there with a grin in his face, "You see? That's why I'm here." He didn't budge, he just wrinkled his eyebrow in disbelief. "Fine. Don't believe me. Wait another four days, and you'll see what I mean." Finally giving up, he lowered his eyes to his coffee, "Okay, say I believe you. What are you proposing? Revolution? How can that make sense? You're trying to avoid a disaster, not start it." "You're not listening. Revolution as in change. If we start now, we could make it so that the end of your existence would never come", adding more cream to an almost empty glass. "Start what? I'm trying to listen, but you're just stating vague assumptions and doubtful facts, no specific action." "Vague assumptions? What is vague about complete and utter non-existence?" "That's not the point. You want to revolt people to avoid conflict. Don't you see the hypocrisy there?" "Ah, hypocritical am I? You sitting here waiting for death to happen, and then you judge me, the only sensible voice here trying to avoid it." "But what am I suppose to do to avoid it?!" "Speak up. Tell people what they are and what they need to be doing." "I'd be asking people to stand up to overthrow a divine leader." "In a way, yes, but not by hostile measures. And it would be to put a new, fairer divine plan in place and change the outcome of our repeating end. This is about universal justice: the memory of you will not be, and will continue to not be unless you do something about it." He pondered a bit, looked up and sighed acceptance.

The bar was as you'd expect a bar would be at five o'clock in the afternoon. He stood up and looked around to find a pair of eyes that would connect with his. A couple in the corner were already glaring at him with scarring judgement. He looked back with appreciative understanding, "This is the life you'll live in the next four days, but then: Puff! You want to change it? You'd be interested in doing so. If not, you, me, and the spiky haired freak at your side will cease to exist." The spiky haired freak rose up with anger on his forehead and a fist in his hand, "Excuse me, sir, but I don't think I heard you correctly. Did you just threaten me?" He stood his ground, without fear (to his surprise), "The threat is already here, my friend. Your trajectory in life is already in a downward spiral to an abyss. You're not doing what you're supposed to: change course!" His mind went blank.

He woke up in what seemed to be a hospital bed, and an earthquake of a head. A lady that seemed like a nurse came in, "My! Look who has woken up? You got one hell of a beating, sir. Have some aspirin, you're probably in dear need of it." She hands him a glass of water, barely touching his hand. "You've been the talk of the ICU; they're calling you the fortune teller." "What date is it?", he coughed. "You've been out for four days. Good timing, I'd say. I overheard the doctor say that, when you finally came to, you'll be asked to stay in the hospital a bit more time. Psychiatric care: doctors are not fond of all that talking-to-yourself thing. I guess it doesn't matter much now." "I wasn't... that was..." he looked closely at her. "Who are you?" "That doesn't matter, sir. Right now is your time of glory. Look out the window and see your prophecy come true. Wonderful, isn't it?"

He painfully turned his head to see a black shadow fall from the sky. He looked at the clock in front of him, ticking away. "There's time" he said. He started to wrestle out of the bed's sheets. "You might think that, but why spoil it? Isn't it beautiful? Just look at the magnificent treachery literally falling over this world! Man strives to be God pursuing His perfection. Ha! That emptiness there, my good sir, that is perfection." He looked again, and watched the shadow eating the horizon up in such a way that he began to forget what a horizon is; his eyes swelled with awe. "What are you doing? Stand! Go and start the revolution!" he exclaimed. "I can't... she's right: it's beautiful, it all makes sense now." She smiled and climbed up his bed to lay at his side, caressing his hair. "Look at it. Nothingness. Is this what you were trying to avoid? But, why? It's... it's... what is."

Silence came upon them both and their memories sucked into oblivion, never to be thought of again. Silence became inexistent, and any concept of noise and its absence was erased. Then the act of erasing was inexplicable. An explanation became inexistent. And to exist was not to exist.

A light appeared for nobody to see. "Time. There's always time," he said. "And you're not the only one that can hear me."

Genesis 0, aka Revelations 23