a study of consciousness


I am a self insofar as I remember my past. I am a perspective. Would I been born without the hippocampus, or should my memory vanish in a quick flash of nothingness; I’d become holy boundless present: unaging infinity. To exist boundlessly as an immeasurable universe without tribulation in its acts, because in such scenario nothing is feared – the future would not have been invented. A vast field of vibrant being; the most outlandish, yet, innocuous dreams would take place every moment – a placid sleep within the robes of existence.

 

Nihilistic Poetry

matters of why

Why

I once had a rock
whose dream bordered on nuclei
mountain under incisive noise;
the mechanism of logic
all tender and imprecise –
the causal tornado of action
reward and dissatisfaction –

the rock
broke
in two

there was no more
rock inside the rock

there was emptiness
free unbounded liberty
vast heroic essence
uninterrupted by the nuisance
of knowledge

rolling rocks crumbs
down the precipice
of reality

free at last.

Poems

elevación (negra)

Black Death Poetry

recordarás la tierra
como una decadencia
la pesadilla donde no existe color
solo movimiento alocado

saliendo la negra muerte
de una puerta negra
a un mundo negro
cadáver entre las sombras
negras

siendo humano
el conocimiento se agota
pero la navaja arrimándose
corta hueso y carne

en el estúpido final
no entenderás nada
el paciente dolor
infinitamente
ubicuo

como gota negra
cayendo, extinguiéndose
a mar negro
morirás.

 

Poesia Moderna

initimations

Eternity poem 

How it happened exactly I will never know. Suddenly everything became worthless, everything human per se, that is. This veneer of generic pleasures and conventional raisons d’être became illusory, life taken at face value, submission to the established order; well, I was done with all that long ago. The magic began when my intuition fumbled upon a veritable prospect of infinity. How many different orders of life are possible, how many universes made of other realities must exist simultaneously, in such way, I began to break the biased assumption that this is the only world there is. What an experiment this life here is, to emerge from a field of interconnected activity, full of evolutionary processes. Humans begin to appear unreal and yet beautiful in their playing out the habits of their biology and history, their customs in this unique, relative mode of being we know as ‘life on earth’. From the way we speak, sleep, drink, dress – a rare collection of revocable attributes, a lonely arrangement in the infinite spectrum of eternity. I caught a glimpse only. Glimpses of just one dream unfolding in a god’s sleep; a god that never dies. That god has had an infinite number of dreams in the past and shall have an infinite number of dreams in the future, no two alike. In this ephemeral presence how can I regard anything as immutable, or ultimately, even as real? The very foundations of this world, with its geometry and physical laws, its life forms and civilizations, its space and time, are nothing more than an evanescent chapter in the phantasmagorically boundless ground of being.

So here I stand as raw nothingness, the happiest nothingness to ever breathe the cold air under a yellow winter sun, amidst the foundationless relativity of this dreamlike existence.

The rest I will never know.


 

Nihilistic Poetry