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Look at us! Look at what we've become! We're fucking beautiful, man! Gorgeous!
Look at how fucking beautiful we are!
The earth is pulsating. The world, life, the universe... Pulsating. Vibrations. Every living thing has a pulse, the earth included. Everything just pulses with existence waiting to realise its potential.
You can look at the ground. Hold out your head, hold out your hand. SPread your hands so your fingers are displayed out proudly, thumbs sticking out, above the ground. You can see the pulse, you can feel the vibes. Pulsating. That's what we're doing, that's what we are. Pulsating. It's like when you're moving quickly, you're running, and you take a jump, and you land. Knees bent, one foot in front of the other... arms to your sides. It's like that, or it's like the feeling that looking at that split second in time gives you, or at least gives me.
Seeing a split second in time is beautiful. Life in slow motion looks extremely dramatic and important. Life in fast motion seems shallow and pedantic. Life in normal motion seems routine and boring.
Slow everything out, everything down. Suddenly it's a struggle, a struggle to accomplish a task set out long ago, at least it seems while reviewing the footage. Of course, we're all the editors of life, and of course there is no actual footage, merely moments. Luckily, I exist in a day and age where slowing such a thing down is possible and a common part of our vocabulary, so I can at least desipher this.
Slowed down, we're struggling dramatically. On a macro scale, on the big scheme of things, it's all so important, huh?
It's when we speed it right up that we run into problems. Life sped up looks silly. Nothing's important. We're just sitting stagnently while we rot, occasionally doing the same things. Never ready, always preparing. Life in the ultra scale, the ultra is mesmerising.
Fast forwarded, a video of your life wouldn't look important. This is not necessarily bad.
When you have one of those holographic CDs that have the little blob-shaped patterns on it, and you shift it just slightly. That little effect is the net, the fibers covering the pulse. The trains that speed down subway tracks. The men performing live on the wheels of plastic and steel. The cars wrecking, driving, sometimes stopping just for a breif pause to think... THAT's the pulse, that's the holographic blob shaped pattern that's invisible to the naked eye.
Most things are invisible to the naked eye. That is, of course, because just like all things when they're in their natural, newly-born state, they are naked. If you open your eyes, not the ones that see the damned shapes or the silly geometries we've deemed important, but I mean really open your fuckin' EYE, that's when you see the rest of the existance. That's when you've got your fingers, ring and index and middle, on the pulse of the wrist of life. All living things must have a pulse, after all, and all living things have naked eyes.
Some people learn to open their eye, their eyes, singular, plural, both can work well, though I suspect I have two of them open, at a young age. Some of us never do. Sad, really. Poor dears.
But then you see it. The creativity, the drive, the motivation. Not the damn green cloth, but the eye that's open. The creator, the all-seeing thing. Us. We, the people, not of any one item or entity or collective, but the human fucking race. Look at us, man. Look at what we've become. We could be so fucking beautiful, man! We could be the talk of the block if we'd just fucking do it!
There aren't any motivations out there but what we're motivated to be doing! There isn't anything to see with the naked eye except for face value, and face value has lost its value as soon as you realise that everyone else can see it too! Not to say that face value isn't interesting, because it is. But look beyond that. Look for the pulse, the rythm, the drive. Find the drive. The face value is all that's there, all that exists. But who cares about that? This shit is better than real life. Once you get it, it is amazing.
So "get it". Nobody "gets it". Sometimes somebody does, and they're keepers. The ones with the open eye(s).
Everything's got a net. Not everybody has a chance, though. Most don't just have closed eyes, but welded ones. A wise man once told me in a book that "some people on this earth don't have half a fucking chance. Most people never will." He's right. Most people never will get to feel the pressure, feel the vibe, feel the ohm, the shade, the powers. Most don't get those three fingers on the pulse, and that's alright with and for them.
See that split second in time, though? For a breif fleeting moment, it was beautiful. Most things are, at brief moments. The second before a car crash, there are no ripples in time and space and all is well. Beauty at its finest. The calm before the ripples in the pond of time. So serene. A hammer hits a primer, the explosion happens, and the bullet hasn't quite left its barrel yet. The triggerman and the victim's head alike are all in perfect harmony for one breif fleeting millisecond, and that's some potential right there.
The camera can't quite snap something so complicated. Time being time, the great destroyer, corruptor. They say he's a man, father time, but he's as big of a bitch as any old hag I've ever met.
But then someday you find yourself among three thousand likeminded people, lost in the moment, and it hits you that it's beautiful. The harmony. The pulsation. The rythm and the beat and the vibrations. The weight of the sound and the boom of the bass. Overlooking, up high near the edge. Afraid, but not so much. That's when it all clicks and makes sense. You just look up and go "oh, I see what the fuss is about here."
You realise that the collective is only a collective because of the individuals. You realise you don't care about the individuals. You realise that that same damned pulse is all over the place, vibrating you. Sound has weight, sound has pressure. Walls of it. The lights flicker.
That's when it occurs to you that there's a good reason your favorite word is Alive. Why the word "revolver" looks elegant to you. Why the length of your hair is more important to you than the amount of money you have is. Why there are things worth grabbing and keeping. Why "Unhinged" has a powerful connotation, why the artist's intent is important, why it is worth fussing for thirty about the screen's resolution, why the style is important (fuck the story, you've told the same one five times), why the vision's always the first to go when the ground goes and the heights stay, and especially the importance of a good drive at night now and then.
There is no greater god than man. There is no greater creator than drive. Worlds are yours for the crafting. Craft them well, my son.
For the earth is pulsating. Listen carefully, and you can hear the boom of the bass.Write the text of your article here!