 - Last login: 2 days agoJLarmor
- JLarmor is a 25 year old guy from New York, USA.
- Likes 58 pages, 4 videos, 4 photos • 14 fans • Received 3 reviews
- Member since Oct 27, 2006
the push forward is the complete inability to be content where we are, when we are.
Impatience is life, progress and the sunset.
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6:34 PM 12/18/2006
In the heyday of christ there was enough time in the day, and enough imagination, or span of attention in the minds of the masses to convince an infantile world of moral conviction and promotion of virtue. Today however, in humanity's graying, aging state of keeping afloat, there's probably not enough one can say or do with one's life but to say and do more with one's death. The final act has never been played out to such grandiose spectacle, such a bang to inflict burden, shame, guilt to the rest of one's fellow mankind. Not since the bedtime story of christ was last read to any patient, open-eared youngling, an innocent to the unrelenting strength of humanity's dirty nature and self-defecating progress--not since the bible was digested cleanly, unfiltered from the dirty fingers of popular criticism and blindfolded governance. These acts, this kind of antiheroic, semi-suicidal approach to eternal salvation of all the men, women and children of all time, is supposed to go unsung and unquestioned, but also emphatically unrepeated, as stressed by the mandates of law and establishment.
Seems kind of anti-motivational to me.
But the idiots of Koran are not held back by the red tape of our Western society racehorse, and are actively engaged in such daily kamikaze rituals for the sake of a misled fart of a revolution in a "paradise" they continue to ruin on an hourly basis.
The dawn of civilation is not static. It does not stay in Palestine. It's been slithering around the globe for the past 2000 yrs and it will probably continue to do so until this galaxial steamship unrivets, splinters apart at the seams bulging of souls and consciousnesses, and sinks back into a primordial ooze suitable for the amniotic fluid of the next contender in the arena of evolutionary lifeforms.
Civilization is always at its forefront somewhere, a somewhere that doesn't stay put for long, but the unfortunate truth of the matter is that it has to tolerate the bite of the shackle of the ball-and-chain that is the rest of humanity. A rest of humanity ever-increasing in size, in mass, in greed, and in gluttony. A dependent parasite disguised in its hosts clothing.
Transcending all of this, in all angles in all dimensions, is space, it's undeniable presence records our every sin, success, blunder, nosepick, and climax, and duly responds with the requisite disinterest. Because there is nothing new going on here, there never is, there never was and our progress, our ongoing tapestry of monkey shit, confusion and struggle, will not be heralded by the trumpets of angels from heaven, but by the buzzing of flies and the feasting of maggots.
You can go to the beach, or to a grassy cliffside with a breathtaking panoramic to immortalize with your 3000$ digital camera, but you can't alleviate or deny the feeling of hundreds, the mathematics behind thousands turning into millions of sufferers, those deprived of your daily meal, over the course of an entire month. The diseased and the demented. You can only revel in beauty for so long before you do the same in the archeology of the Earth's crust.
You can lose yourself in the arms of a lover, engage in a passionate relationship, even start a family. It's also hard to untie your shoelaces when your standing in a block of cement. The world is now glazed with the saccharides of advertising, consumer-marketed corporate arrogance, vaccuum-packing employess and slaves into its stacked microcircuits. The intelligence of this machine behemoth is so unbridled, blissfully incomprehensible by the man-island, the smallest hof exhalation in its sleep could blow over the pyramid stacks of money saved by a man over the course of his broken life.
You will birth children into the gridlock of an obselete, shut-down system cutting out the same, stamped cookies on a conveyer belt which terminates in a forest of pavement and concrete. Children whose heads get stuffed so full of pre-packaged curriculum th
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