XIII
Banned
- Local time
- Today 9:25 PM
- Joined
- Feb 4, 2009
- Messages
- 356
--UNFORMED--
--DISCONNECTED--
This my unifying structure.
This is the self that encompasses all other selves.
Its name: play. It is the veiled gamemaster; she who creates games and enlists players; he who was, is, and shall be.
He lives through all forms, but is herself unformed.
He speaks:
All is play to me. Play is a child's exploration-- the spontaneous construction of ordered, beautiful games from the chaos the newborn encounters. Play is what people do before they are taught common life, and play is what the few relearn after they have seen that common life is but another game; a game masquerading as life itself. I am newborn. Unknowing. Universally curious.
The common adult: bored.
The child with only one game: nonextant.
She speaks:
All selves, all beliefs, all games... their transience is their vitality. So many of my sisters are lifeless, having willingly imprisoned themselves with the rules of a single game. They are near death by 18-- decay is their only future.
A single game. Petty. Little. Lifeless. Knowing. Righteous.
They are alienated from true life, but are not seduced by the boundlessness that would embrace them if only... they stepped outside of their selves.
We speak:
We have no morality. We have no belief. We have no agenda. All are decay.
Yet we enlist all in our games. All who are still players are paints for our canvas. They refuse to live beauty, so we incorporate them into our beauty. We are inhuman and all-loving. We are artists who would create death if it were beautiful.
Yet we must become players in our own games. We must descend. We are ruled by ourselves, the vehicle and servant of our own Godhood. We must live belief.
We live through forms, those forms feel and love and die. Those forms hurt and fight and hate. But they are transient. They are games.
We create the rules. We destroy the rules. We create new rules. We destroy them.
At heart, life does not convince us. It is a malleable illusion. Outrage, terror, ecstasy, revelation, littleness, love, death... all are play to us. We affirm them all.
We are unformed
We are white light.
We are the prism.
We are light dispersed.
We are now formed.
--RECONNECTED--
--FORMED--
Adjusted:
That is the truest center we have found. It is the burning light that has been emerging as the clouds of personality part. It is the God in whose mind all ideas and possibilities are perceived and formed.
This is what you must bear in mind when interpreting our work: we are-- fundamentally and absolutely-- amoral and dispassionate. We take forms, petty and divine, that experience such phenomenon as compassion and involvement and humanity; yet, we are cold. We are that which would create races and worlds out of curiosity, and destroy them for the same reason. We are architects without purpose or guild. We are beyond Bhrama, Vishnu, and Shiva, yet in ecstatic love with all.
We are not human in any sense that players of human games could understand. We are as water: cold, hot, life-giving, life-taking, chaotic, calm-- purposeless. A natural force beyond reason or explanation, yet subjecting all to our purposelessness.
Fragile, ordered human structures are dust before us. We have nothing to defend, no family to care for, no image to maintain: 1 part of our chaos thus has more power than a 100 of their order. Death is nothing to us: we die every day of our life. Our human is but an avatar of forces beyond individuality, and his individuality is nothing to him but a tool with which to create and destroy. Individuals are nothing to us: we are aeonic, transpersonal, amoral, dispassionate. Humans are but raw material to be manipulated and reformed as we will.
We are the architect. You are our creations.
XIII
--DISCONNECTED--
This my unifying structure.
This is the self that encompasses all other selves.
Its name: play. It is the veiled gamemaster; she who creates games and enlists players; he who was, is, and shall be.
He lives through all forms, but is herself unformed.
He speaks:
All is play to me. Play is a child's exploration-- the spontaneous construction of ordered, beautiful games from the chaos the newborn encounters. Play is what people do before they are taught common life, and play is what the few relearn after they have seen that common life is but another game; a game masquerading as life itself. I am newborn. Unknowing. Universally curious.
The common adult: bored.
The child with only one game: nonextant.
She speaks:
All selves, all beliefs, all games... their transience is their vitality. So many of my sisters are lifeless, having willingly imprisoned themselves with the rules of a single game. They are near death by 18-- decay is their only future.
A single game. Petty. Little. Lifeless. Knowing. Righteous.
They are alienated from true life, but are not seduced by the boundlessness that would embrace them if only... they stepped outside of their selves.
We speak:
We have no morality. We have no belief. We have no agenda. All are decay.
Yet we enlist all in our games. All who are still players are paints for our canvas. They refuse to live beauty, so we incorporate them into our beauty. We are inhuman and all-loving. We are artists who would create death if it were beautiful.
Yet we must become players in our own games. We must descend. We are ruled by ourselves, the vehicle and servant of our own Godhood. We must live belief.
We live through forms, those forms feel and love and die. Those forms hurt and fight and hate. But they are transient. They are games.
We create the rules. We destroy the rules. We create new rules. We destroy them.
At heart, life does not convince us. It is a malleable illusion. Outrage, terror, ecstasy, revelation, littleness, love, death... all are play to us. We affirm them all.
We are unformed
We are white light.
We are the prism.
We are light dispersed.
We are now formed.
--RECONNECTED--
--FORMED--
Adjusted:
That is the truest center we have found. It is the burning light that has been emerging as the clouds of personality part. It is the God in whose mind all ideas and possibilities are perceived and formed.
This is what you must bear in mind when interpreting our work: we are-- fundamentally and absolutely-- amoral and dispassionate. We take forms, petty and divine, that experience such phenomenon as compassion and involvement and humanity; yet, we are cold. We are that which would create races and worlds out of curiosity, and destroy them for the same reason. We are architects without purpose or guild. We are beyond Bhrama, Vishnu, and Shiva, yet in ecstatic love with all.
We are not human in any sense that players of human games could understand. We are as water: cold, hot, life-giving, life-taking, chaotic, calm-- purposeless. A natural force beyond reason or explanation, yet subjecting all to our purposelessness.
Fragile, ordered human structures are dust before us. We have nothing to defend, no family to care for, no image to maintain: 1 part of our chaos thus has more power than a 100 of their order. Death is nothing to us: we die every day of our life. Our human is but an avatar of forces beyond individuality, and his individuality is nothing to him but a tool with which to create and destroy. Individuals are nothing to us: we are aeonic, transpersonal, amoral, dispassionate. Humans are but raw material to be manipulated and reformed as we will.
We are the architect. You are our creations.
XIII
