the locust plague of unquestioning unctuousness is detrimental to all living things diving into the prurient pit
With pleasure comes pain as day follows night-Monday Tuesday-full moon new moon- Sunrise sunset.
And that is the shame of passive suicide whose sunset is forever, as a mantle of Continue reading Passive Suicide Engineered by the Pain Principle
The pleasure principle (if you want to know more follow the link) is a notion aka theory not practical which was executed by Freud borrowed by him from Fechner. It’s a grand theory of Continue reading Passive suicide engineered by the pleasure principle BODIES BY JOSIE LONG BBC4
he listens to squeals of my dog dying in his mother’s house by hanging
the signs= he cries-threats-manipulates-jealous-obsessive-
Ouranos and Gaia had twelve sons and six daughters. He locked the eldest of these–the giant Kyklopes (Cyclopes) and Hekatonkheires (Hecatoncheires)–away inside the belly of Earth. Gaia suffered immense pain and persuaded her Titan sons to rebel. Four of these positioned themselves at the corners of the world, ready to grasp their father as he descended to lie with Earth, while the fifth, Kronos (Cronus), took his place in the centre and there castrated Ouranos with an adamantine sickle. The sky-god’s blood fell upon the earth, producing the avenging Erinyes and the Gigantes (Giants).
Ouranos prophesied the fall of the Titanes and the punishments they would suffer for their crimes–a prophecy brought to fruition by Zeus who deposed the five brothers and cast them into the pit of Tartaros.
Ouranos does not appear in early Greek art but Egyptian depictions of their sky-goddess Nut demonstrate how he was imagined–as a gigantic, star-spangled man with long arms and legs, resting on all fours, with his finger-tips in the far east, his toes in the far west, and his arching body raised to form the dome of the sky. In the Roman era he was often depicted as Aion, god of eternal time, in the form of a man holding the zodiac-wheel, standing above the reclining Gaia (Earth).
The wind carried her name across the roof.
Then she yelped her name again more shrill this time like a puppy in bag heading for the river.
It pierced the air like a silent alarm. Contained and guttural, she knew the sound of that pitch; it meant save me, I’m floundering grasping at my life.
She put a shush finger to her lips, and he knew what it meant.
His startled eyes told their own story.
When she opened the door she passed her by ‘I can’t take it any more’ I can’t breath’.
She hurried her out to the back and let her sit; her stalagmite back struggled in the curve of the seat.
Her face contorted with shiny rows of furrows history jammed into the folds.
Her eyes vacant and entreating kill me, quench this fire.
It’s natural to run when the mind explodes having no particular resting place makes it worse having no one is worse again.
Run to where is the thing. Not many places to go.
Walk the dog.
Walk to the church.
Walk to no destination.
Walk to the local medical centre.
When you are crushed it is rest the body is asking for.
She resists this.
The temporal appears as solace, the spiritual is where it lies.
She tells her to go into the sitting room and says lie there.
Lie down there.
Fixing the cushions for her head to rest.
I can’t breath.
She lifted her jumper and felt her gut, a jumping palpitating heart was in there. Her hands pressed gently and she could feel her life in her organs. Each marching to the sound of the synaptic beats laced with pharma inhibitors death can be a calling when you are in this state.
That stare falling into the cosmic wilderness, a primeval rebirth waiting for the cord to be cut. The weight of life’s labyrinth pulled her under to hellfire. Destroyed.
She got a stone and placed it on her navel cold and diverting. She looked askance, her eyes wide, pupils pinpoints and she was frozen stiff with fervid anxiety.
Catatonia’s friend the paradox.
In revocation she will lose something.
But will gain something.
Mastery of reason.
It won’t happen she is too hurt, scarred, scared, confused and astrobleme on this earth wishing for a meteor collision.
The game is over.
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Ancaeus slayer of beasts had assumed his power and drove her on with his spear. Thrown forward into the annals of the undergrowth, her mind became saturated with a mist of fear.
The slap was hard and the remorse uneven his face a crumbling attrition. The regularity of this as a control was sublimated until now. She felt faint.
He told her drive to the top of the car park. The traffic was backed up. Subordinated she acceded unquestioningly.
Her eyes started to well up as she drove. Parking in the handicap spot he came toward her window. She wound it down ‘please’, he said, I’m sorry. I don’t know. I don’t know why. Look I’m really sorry, he kept saying.
It’s always the same the repentance from consumptive anger. The nearest target. Her face nice and ripe for a constraining slap.
He couldn’t have known what trigger he had pulled. Humiliated the tears fell. Please go away. Look take my details, my name. Go Away. He walked away and came back. Walked away again then attempted
another go at talking to her.
Looking in he saw her weep but it was not for it but for her life. She could not cavil with this distress and he knew it.
Pushing her way through the front door, they stood staring as she cried out accosting the air with anguish. Crying loud and gulping for air who is this person what is happening to her.
Their faces fixed and stunned and pale with angst they looked at each other with ‘what is going on ‘ in their eyes. She sat down and grabbed her chest as pain radiated across it; a deep dull pain asphyxiated her.
She felt sick. Is her heart giving in?
What do you want from me she said to no one in particular. I’m sick to death of it all. Into the car she was taken off.
There is many a slip between the cup and the lip. What’s waiting.