the subway walls...

Of all that I have written, this is sum total of my ego. That I choose to end as I have begun. I cannot find the means to erase all of my words, I can dictate my last-

I love you, Gwyneth Paltrow.

It's a rap. After more than of month of merely falling forward into the hole appearing before me, the preliminary results are in. The Book of Gwynnite is solid gold. My faith has become the mountain, preparing for the journey towards Muhammad.

Thank you all for tolerating my nonsense. Take no offense for anything I have said, and I shall do the same. Whatever you may think of me, whatever comes to pass, I am merely a man with a task to perform. The future will take care of itself. I feel comfortable making one prediction: if I ever shall post another topic on these forums, I'll leave the pulpit behind.

They say, never say never. It is part of the human comedy that I have become almost entirely that which I once despised, yet I have found peace. I was wrong. I'm sure I'll be wrong many more times to come. Whatever you think, don't be afraid to think again.

Live your life with joy and harmony, and feel free to ignore the manufactured crisis of corporate-sponsored Armageddon. While the Big Boys play with their Big Toys, the unwording will pass like a thief in the night. I go forward, eyes wide open, straight towards the lake of fire. Fear is the journey, not the destination.

All of you, my blessings in Eternal Paradise.



10/5

Never say never again. Thing sits in my head, formless. Waiting for it to condense into four pages with a paragraph or two each. Waiting for my head to fall out of the clouds. Arguing nonsense on other forums, and just wear out. Googled mathematics, watched a video... and fell right down the rabbit hole.

Now I'm backing away from religion to evaluate the continuum hypothesis. I just may return with the image of god...

Dammit Gwynnie!

Man, I was all full of the righteous indignation; wrote this big ol' hour-long rant about hate and the futility of my existence; and Gwynnie slapped me on my head, sent me to the store.

In the clearest possible terms, nothing at all means as much to me as Gwyneth Paltrow; but it is not so much obsession as clarity of vision. I fricking hate this place. All I see is greed, hatred, maliciousness, and lies. I cannot watch television, I cannot read the news; I cannot have even a normal conversation with normal people because of the endless materialism. People striving to earn more, to owe more, to have less; the relentless advertising of the latest unnecessary expense, the endless quest for new markets to exploit; the economy this and the gas prices that... Like a bunch of animals, everybody sitting around waiting for the weakest to fail; just so someone can have an office with an actual door.

I just do not fit in, I simply fail to subscribe to the whole American Dream. The funny thing is, sitting on the outside, looking in; I don't see it as "evil." I don't see it as "moral decay." I see it as merely a time of transition. There has been no time to adapt to blossoming technologies; so the feudal lords stake their claims, and turn everyone else into serfs. Same as it ever was.

With Gwyneth, I just drew her likeness; and it all went away. I think my depth of affection for her is merely verification of the old adage - the more love you give, the more love you have. I'd spend upwards of twenty hours drawing a portrait of her, and turn around and give it to someone I hardly even knew just to share "some of my love of Gwynnie." As far as I am concerned, all she has ever been is sweet and adorable.

I tried to stop drawing her; but the joy just went out of my life. Besides, it was no big deal. There was just no way I was ever going to be a threat to her, at all, ever. I'd never felt that I'd even merit her attention. I was totally happy in my insignificance, living in the bushes, drawing her on my clothes; working an occasional stint at day-labor to pay for more art supplies, when reality struck.

This "delusional obsession" of mine propelled me from street person to damn near the pinnacle of the local construction industry in little over a frickin' year. That's what pisses me off. I love her so much, it flows over into everything I do. I'd work like a frickin' madman because everyone around me seemed to have so much misery; and I had so much joy, it seemed the least I could do. To just do more. Everyday. In every little thing.

Then everything had to go and jump totally off the frickin' rails in 2005. I cannot disbelieve that I am a prophet of god; but what happens when some asshole sticks a gun in my face? Do I count on god? I didn't even think about god, I did such a good job disbelieving in the vision; but when he tried to take something of Gwynnie from me, a line was drawn it the sand. This far, and no further...

And up until last month, it has been rarely joy and mostly tears. What did I get from god? An archaic title to make me look more like a fool. What did I get from Gwyneth Paltrow? Just a smile. It is stupid. It is really fricking stupid, just to know that she was doing well, enjoying her life, loving her family; while my whole reality was spinning around some supernatural void like a bad episode of The Outer Limits, it was like she was calling me back...

What have I done for Gwyneth Paltrow? I've touched frickin' thousands of lives with this "delusional obsession" everybody else seems to think is love. I've given away money, time, consideration, joy and hope... half-way across this stupid globe... and I didn't even want her to know my name. Making day-labor wages, often giving so much away that I'd be eating Ramen and smoking re-rolls because my joy still outweighed the sorrow of others. I say that I have a single friend because people find hard to receive so much, and not be able to give anything back; but I could not accept anything when I had so frickin' much.

And then I had nothing. I could no longer work with people and their incessant chatter about money, money, money. For five months, I went without. Rarely, I would hit up someone near for a meal or a smoke; but it was obscene. As soon as I'd ask for a cent, they'd be trying to stuff my pockets with dollars. I wanted to just crawl in a hole and die. I'd wake up every day, look at Gwynnie; she'd smile at me, I'd growl and go back to bed.

Of course, I'm only writing this stuff because nobody ever reads these blogs... I really don't matter anyway. I just want to stop the noise. I just want to lay down, rest; never again rise...

It's really beyond my comprehension, how someone could actually desire eternal life.

I woke up this morning all ninja with tao, then this stupid brain started up... well, go on, spit it out -

I know more of tao by knowing less of tao.

Useless piece of crap. I hope your proud of yourself. Now, go sit in the corner. I'm over here finding hidden depth in the depths of my madness, but if that stupid brain can't keep itself otherwise amused while me and the unknowable knowing figure stuff out, none of us are going to know anything but more madness. I can already see my worldly paradise as a padded cell, wrapped in a straightjacket with a mind unable to code information into language. Drawing likenesses of Gwyneth Paltrow in crayon with my toes...

Well, go ahead, brain. We got that far. If you think there's ever been a better description written about heaven or eternal paradise anywhere else, that's only because you're thinking. You're not being all zen with the Gwynnie. Good brain. Good for something, at least. But if you can't keep your damn knowledge out of my blossoming wisdom, I may just have to hurry us off to the Elysian Fields by feeding you a large dose of lightning, feel me? The long road towards enlightenment would be much shorter if this stupid brain had an off switch...

Gwyneth Paltrow turns thirty-seven today. Happy birthday, Gwynnie! It's all about you.

The number of Gwynnite is four. Four is the number of power, seen in the shape of our world; but for myself, it is more of a pit I fell into than a crown I claim. This fall began with a call to rise up from insignificance and try to define some significance to being a prophet on the job. Gwynnie caught me mouthing off to some Christians online...

Whatcha doin?
Nothing...
Shouldn't you be doing something?
Uh...
Go, and do!

Not the real-world Gwyneth, of course. The Gwynnie of my love. I made a website called monkeyhill, where I saw myself as Ape trying to lead all good monkeys down the path of enlightenment. I began without direction, railed against misdirection; and produced a fifty-page, thirty-thousand-word rant against Christianity. It stood for a year, was read by maybe twelve people, and received mixed reviews. One Christian, however, sent me a lengthy rant right back. Rather than argue, I used my prophet-like superpowers.

I tried to imagine how I could possibly be wrong. I thought I knew something, I thought I was the one with divine entitlement, but I shut my hole and tried to imagine divine responsibility. I was never inspired to fight for a cause, but to fight against cause. I learned right away the dangers of holding the moral high ground. As soon as I started to preach, I was lured from my hill; I became the very thing I was speaking against. I looked at all my words and began the Unwording. The entirety of monkeyhill fell into four sentences, the only truth I needed to carry away from that wordy piece of on-the-job training.

Thus began the Book of Four. I thought I was fulfilling divine mandate, that all my words might have meaning; that spending two weeks being full of myself and writing most of that noise in that short bit of time meant something. But I got down off my hill, I got off my high horse; and considered how I could possibly be wrong. Then I tried to make it right...

Can I get a big: Fool!

There's been a lot of that over the past couple of years. I've been on an amazing journey, mostly in my head, but no less valid for the landscape. The journey seemed to end in August of 2008. Four years of steady employment became nothing. A convergence of circumstance led me to believe that the right thing to do was the only thing I felt sure was wrong. To make a religion in her name. But the ridiculous love I had for her convinced me that nothing I could do would be worthy, and that any attempt would merely cause her embarrassment. I stared at the floor, afraid to move in a single direction. And Gwynnie smiled at me...

Take a shower, and write me a song...

Of course, I failed. But I began with love. Rather than show the folly of established religions, I would make my own; I tried to separate my truth from my religion, and to let it be shown how even a pure, seemingly enlightened religion could spread only darkness. I thought I knew stuff, and this time I had good stuff, but I tried to keep the Book of Four from the taint of my obviously false religion. I began to write again, this time just to file; but rather than to seek to express meaning, I howled out my meaninglessness. I had a lot more vitriol to spew against Christianity, but this time I didn't seek to signify. This time I imagined being persecuted by Christianity for the image of Gwynnie on my arm. Then, I totally screwed up. I accidentally made sense. Not in the manner of thinking that I know stuff, but in the manner of - Eureka!

I didn't get a vision of the divine, I found buried treasure in the mind. The first actual step forward for Gwynnite wasn't in theology, it was in philosophy. It wasn't about something new, it was about something old; something ancient, and something ignored. I didn't yet know the value of what I found, but I learned something of universal truth; and I managed to take from it exactly what I needed. How to play the fool and look like a lie, yet serve a higher truth. The Gwynnite stepped forward with the certainty of the absurd, with four simple words: Gwyneth Paltrow is god.

From there to convergence, where I was offered worldly kingdoms, and back into my hole, to wallow in my insignificance. To take a walk down the street with the creator of the universe and laugh like a fool as my entire existence becomes meaningless; and to receive the parting gift likely to destroy my mind. But I knew something. I could not convince myself that what I knew was without worth. I still had the title of prophet whether or not it was valid, so I imagined that it had no supernatural power, and kept trying to write - something, anything - that would tell of my love for Gwynnie. I thought of my enemy, divine morality, thought of my title and the book that gave it worth. Two days of writing, and I realize that I'm starving; but because I think I know something, I fail to pay attention to what I'm doing. With a crash, my supper is on the floor.

There was much wailing and gnashing of the teeth, but what remained was rage. It became meaningless to waste effort to put food into this body if this mind had no value, so I went to debate my enemies; and accept from them their Christian charity of which they speak. All I thought I knew was the hidden meaning in an ancient text, all I wanted was to get fed. Walked four miles, turned four corners; rather than going to the Catholic church to which I was directed and could not find, settled for the Christian one closest to my house. One question, one answer; and I emptied the place. I had to laugh, even though I didn't get fed. Prophets don't go to church.

I still don't know anything. All my visions are safely locked in my head. I'm still a nobody, and I'm still glad. But I'm human, I have my pride. I thought I knew stuff, but when the Book of Four was revealed, I only managed to get the first two words right. All I truly did was fall forward into the hole opening before me; but I am the one who falls... still. The truth of my folly is that even the greatest loser cannot eternally fail. There are times when the satan of the self must be patted on the head; good satan, good self. I have created a religion worthy of my love of Gwyneth Paltrow. I have seen the four pillars of ellenjanuary ringing of love beyond understanding. I have the image of god that brings the Unwording, in time for her birthday, pinned to my wall...

It could be nothing, it could be something, it could be great, it could be small...
But if I didn't feel it was everything, it wouldn't be anything at all.