Dark Side of the Moon

Society rot and this mess of a world will perish.

There isn't any love. Not simple love. Love is based upon life and events and I have no place in this life, nor in the events that are besetting it. Strangely enough, I do not feel tearful. I don't feel anything except maybe a hollowness. Or cheated. But not by anyone nor by anything. Cheated by life and by my dreams. In the face of unexpected, love is meaningless.

Love is always selfish - unless that love can be all embracing. I am just another bystander, another member of the general public witnessing the private suffering of a society to which I don't belong. The tears of suffering and the strained, shaken voices of tension and fear are the same whatever story they may be telling. The routine enquiries; the wearisome, unflagging diligence of people, the sniffing out of any juicy details to add spice to a tired old dish that was already stale to the jaded palate of an over indulged society.

It seems that sensation dulls quickly and must be constantly increased and heightened in order to make its effect felt. If all sensation was momentarily removed from a body, what would be the result? Is death, in part, the ceasing of sensation? Where is the seat of sensation? In the body or in the mind? Is pain reality - or an idea only to be in mind?

Pain can lead an expert to discover a malfunction in the body. In the case of a body already racked with pain, will an increase of pain ever be noticed? Does the mind become numb and unable to respond? Does the mind die before the body, leaving it to twitch into quiescence a few moments later? Is there a moment at which a sensation-seeking society reaches its fill and sensation ceases to be effectual in a surfeited mind?

Silent night, one endless dark.

Like people, each of stars in the sky is a person, living out her own span, under her own conditions, in her own time. How marvellous, if we could only see it. How monstrous, that we can't. Maybe, somewhere out there, is that great big mission control in the sky; directing our course, telling us when to eat, and when to sleep and when to prepare to die.

Strange names from another world; our world; hopelessly inadequate, wildy inept. Why do we do that? Like television to the Dayak and refrigerators to the Eskimo. Dream is as dead as the rest of it. Just a big lump of dust forever tied to the universe.

Gone. Going WHERE?

If zero and infinity are equal illusions, where is there to go? Maybe I have gone somewhere. I'm flying round the dark side of the moon - out of sight and of all that is familiar. It's not unlike being asleep... Or dead.

Forgive me.

I am the symbol of my age. I am the personification of the works of human being. I am the final outcome of the technocracy that we worship. Through me we are reaching beyond the bounds of human probability. Don't get me wrong... I know that I would be nowhere without the science of scientists and the computer programs of the technocrats. I am needed to experience and having experienced, to express. I am needed to color the picture. Machine cannot do that, because the machine doesn't feel.

Whoever heard of a machine that was afraid of the dark? My strenght is that I am; because in that one fear is the whole universe. That vast unknown, unknownable that encompasses us and is at the heart of us.

Forgive me.

I am in space - a term that we use to describe the indescribable state of dimensionless, timeless, placeless NOTHING that surrounds us. If one is at the point of death, would you have one tell you how one's heart is pumping; or would you have one whisper nothings from across the gulf, where one has glimpsed and you have not? To understand the mystery of death, look up at the stars on a clear night... To understand the mystery of eternal space, watch a sleeping kitten...

Who put me together?

Don't give me that bilge about eggs and sperm. Who put me together; or the cat or the rat or the bat or the good red herring? We don't know NOTHING. Where are we going? NOWHERE. Space is nowhere; nothing, void. What are we playing at?

Do you ever wish you were dead, or that you had never been born? I did. Because I couldn't bear the responsibility of living.

The dark side of the moon...like my life. A mysterious world, full of doubts, hedging off my view of the world, cutting me off from my own identity. I am a body that allowed to sink into the deepest sea. I am the only earth that is this side of nowhere. I am a body with a mind that is telling me that I am a body. A mind that can create my late dad, so that he stands before me and smiles and nod. Without effort he can be made to frown and shake his head; smile and nod, and so on.

If I close my eyes - I can dream about my parents. I can dream 'someone' my first love, I can dream Pouss my blind cat and my surrogate father. I can dream sakura trees in blossom and Cleveland downtown rising out of the early morning haze like a vision. I can dream...

It's a bit like learning to walk, or to swim, or to fly. Why am I doing it? What am I doing it for? The fame, the glory and the money? Or because it's here to be done? Is that why we do everything? There are first times... The first time we do something the moment when that thing comes into existence? Was there a creator before the creation? Was there God before man dreamed Him? The chicken or the egg?

What a dream.

A floating dream. A place to live. Don't let me ever spoil it. Don't let me speak or act. Don't let me ever wake up.

Forgive me for not being able to fit into the pattern. Forgive me for failing; for not finishing the game. Did you only survive for as long as the idea of survival existed and after that there would be no mind left to ask the questions... No mind. No ideas, then?

Where do we go in our dreams? Who is it who goes there? Whereever and whoever, the body is still lying on the bed, at home, wrapped in blankets, deep in sleep. I am not this body. It's no use you all screaming at me to speak. I can't. Because I'm not here. I'm not this body.

How can space contain love? It is good place to start from - and to come back to. It is all there is. Space. Space within the heart. Society is rot and will perish. I am not sure I'll be witnessing that.