If you won’t kill this “Honest Book of Truth”
Then I will.

Coming to the end of the game the master of Go sits silently. His opponent sits across form him waiting for the masters next move. The challenger is upright, his body positioned in anticipation of the placement of the next stone. His face is taught and stoic contrasting the old master’s face which has begun to show its age. They both stare at the board, locked in a battle within their own minds rarely expressed with each move loaded with the weight of the lengthy consideration that has come before. It has been 2 hours since the challenger last moved yet he has remained still; concentrated on the board as the master considers his next move. It has reached a critical point in the game, one mistake would undoubtedly lose the game for either party. The master’s shoulders slouch, he appears to be sinking into the ground, consumed by his move, the game and his old age. The master now appears to sink a little lower and would to an unknowing observer appear to have fallen asleep. Then suddenly the master lets out grunt and begins to shift. As sound fills the room it seems to fill the master as well, his shoulders come back and his back straightens and he reaches a papery hand toward his bowl of circular white stones. The master chooses one and holds it between the top of his pointer and middle finger as he has done since he first learned as a child. The stone arcs towards the board, the master’s move coming to fruition. TACK. The stone cracks on the board and echoes violently. The challenger’s eyes do not blink as the sound passes by his face but become more intense trying to look through the thin hand to the move below. The sound is startling being produced by so old a hand but as the papery hand is removed the true strength of the master is revealed.

Ok, let’s recap some just three recent news stories, shall we?

Putin blasts U.S. for ‘very dangerous’ foreign policies, undermining global stability

U.S. accuses Iran over Iraqi roadside bombs

Bush is building a $592 million new embassy PALACE in Baghdad

Hm. I don’t think I even have to spell it out.
This shit makes me want to commit serious acts of vandalism.

I wonder what in the world could possibly piss off the middle east more than a giant fuck you castle with a US flag on it in the middle of Baghdad?

Probably nothing.

Prepare for eschaton.

P.S. !!! one more - Chilean Military Admits: UFOs EXIST!

fucking INSANE.

“Various medical authorities swarm in and out of here predicting I have between two days and two months to live. I think they are guessing. I remain cheerful and unimpressed. I look forward without dogmatic optimism but without dread. I love you all and I deeply implore you to keep the lasagna flying.

Please pardon my levity, I don’t see how to take death seriously. It seems absurd.”

You will be missed

There is a voice in my head, very familiar, that will wait for the right moment and then say the one thing that could make me feel possibly worse than I already do. It is the voice that reminds me about all the guys my girlfriend has hooked up with before me and how uncomfortable I am with that, it is the voice that brings up how upset I am about my living situation, and it is the voice that looks for ways to give me that completely and sickeningly satisfying rush of negative emotion. It makes me want to wallow in sadness, anger, and frustration. That wallowing is so familiar, so comfortable to me, that unless I recognize it and halt the process, it will be more immediately satisfying than trying to feel good in any way.

This voice is the voice of dirt, disgust, and blackness. It comes out of mounds of cigarette butts and empty bottles and cans, shit, piss, and vomit, interpersonal conflict, misogyny, violence, delusion, and all sickness and darkness. It is like a black hole that I’m constantly being sucked into, a little at a time, and sometimes I pull myself away from it and feel better, but that shit is a vacuum and unless I keep fighting it, I’ll eventually get sucked in all the way.

This is my hell. Sometimes. And other times it is a distant and bleak reality, a possibility that has been explored and somewhat understood, and I choose not to be enveloped.

My question is, What is that? Where does it come from? Why is it there? What is it about existence, or my existence, that necessarily includes a self destructive, negative tract or aspect?

I guess I already know the answer. But then I think that the answer will come to me after further contemplation. And finally I think, this is just part of life. Awareness of one’s emotional zero point and all that it consists of, the worst thing imaginable. In that for me this thing is imaginable, I imagine it, and am therefore conscious of it. BUT WHERE THE FUCK DOES IT COME FROM?