Come to live,realize

come to your senses

raise your odds, give voice to your chances

raise your inner defenses

greet the newborn night,

absorb the hot Moonlight, feel the changes

The night is oddly young

freedom can be so easily bought

Majestical Sparks are flying

wet screams are proudly dying

red blood is laid fresh

The devil sleeps in his lavish nest

the black roster has forgotten his white pulsating crest

Do you wish to be the best…

Is all this a giant test?

Why can we be like the rest?

is a hungry bird never satisfied in her newborn-built nest?

The world looks like something new

God how I wish this madness, was true

buried down below

preying eyes are moving desperately slow

fresh mountain air becomes my sacred glow

the armed thoughts are wishing to know

sleepless dream

buried where eyes can see

devoted scream

given to children of the crumbling tree

shadow and mirrors

our fire put in the middle of ones and zeros

you have been cheated, my great godlike heroes

You and me

Horizon looks, finally clean

out there live ungracious things that have to be seen

heartbreak will be washed as new sin

crushing silence is his unpaid, reluctant twin

will our trouble self repeat?

Can we again dream

Can life exist outside the kingdom of lonely screams?

Can we reach…

is there anything new left to preach?

Those things that can be taught

sometimes knowledge can be bought

lonely heart and her deterministic thought

Smoke is raising

another me is slowly paraphrasing

red sparks are again mercilessly blazing

another life, another memory is selflessly chasing

changing embarrassing dualistic things

inside and outside inverted blazing hot flings

what healthy innocence brings

when white Cosmos finally sings

The devil sleeps in his lavish nest

the black roster has forgotten his white crest

Do you wish to be the best…

Is all this a giant test?

Why can we be like the rest?

Simulated, Stimulated, Reformulated, Manipulated and Rated

This was again real pain in the ass to translate from Croatian to English, I hope all this “mambo jumbo” makes sense.

Same, different, simulated, simultaneous, rational, irrational, generative, degenerative, liberating, repressive…

A group of words, seemingly not so important, which with every second of their existence affect their immediate and wider environment and constantly flow from one state of actualization to another, and third, etc., etc., etc. They create, cumulatively, an ultimate energetic carrier, a storm made of countless possible permutations.

Until they get some firm form, meaningful shape, and some function that makes sense, an extension that will actively utilize our access to the form we call, our reality or further dilute it, filter it to the point of unrecognizability.

Alchemically transform that small input, that weak, fragile word into something completely new, rational, or irrational, or hand it over to optional oblivion, so that the thought process can start its inevitable cycle again. The word materializes into something real, palpable in the white beam of light, which we call, simply the visible field.

People often forget that today’s words are, in reality, a form of symbols, symbols, written symbols… they always look for irrefutable proof in some dusty, ancient closet, longing for a new ancient symbol, which will give the occult being an even greater potential existence and greater cultural justification. Rarely do people get into the essence, the core of the words with which they operate and balance their daily routine, using them as a necessary life tool to survive another, comfortably easy or extremely tiring day.

This almost manic search is always placed in history, rarely do modern linguists dive into the present in daylight.

Rarely, those same hunters who tirelessly chase after strange representations, painted on all kinds of cave rocks, those linguistic argonauts, trapped in mostly damp libraries, emerge to see where language is, as an inevitable form that affects the daily condition of modern man.

Evidence, evidence, evidence… Theatrics…

Often these same proofs come to us from obedient grammar soldiers who will seldom risk their careers, they are repeatedly bleak representations of amoral, gutless amoebas, pale ghosts, masochistic slaves of their, own sick ambition, spreading their disease to those whose lives they should enrich with their existence and work.

Those obedient soldiers should provide them with a higher form of understanding through their work but, too many times these soulless investigators and followers of modern words have nothing to offer but petty-bourgeois contempt.

Inevitably, when the core is discarded, which is the truth, everything becomes a hopeless simulation that feeds on bad habits and breathes in the lie projected by also simulated individuals, subjects alienated from their, own truths and original essence of existence.

The Matrix is ​​not needed as a robust computer program for us to reach the point of unholy manifestation; it is created daily on micro and macro levels and is supported by almost linear human frequent interaction. If something is not deemed as real, or truthful, it deepens the gap between the established, provable reality and realms of randomized phantasy, in this situation self-augmenting inertia deepens the journey into the mire of phantom simulated fantasy.

Humans are stimulated by electrical tools and directed like cattle towards a predetermined time of their existence. Convinced subjects believe that this is the only way to self-realization, and accordingly, everything is better, it seems truer if this same persistent anomaly can be confirmed by other like-minded, silent followers of the same idea, cowardly like-minded, they will merge with the amalgam of highly camouflaged and simulated thoughts.

Stimulus, stimulation, word

If something is neutral, in order for that inert body to come out of its own neutrality, something must give a charge to that subject and move that neutrality in some direction. This can happen on an organic level of manifestation or a synthetic one. The organic form has greater freedom of manifestation, while the synthetic one is directed to the path where that neutral object is predetermined and directed, according to the established, programmed parameters of the desired outcome that commands this manifestation.

The element of Stimulation and the motor skills of a given word form fertile ground for any formation of manifested regressive or degressive stimulus.

Stimulation… warmth, cold, pain, discomfort…

The word…the right word can multiply all of the above and cause a controlled or uncontrolled synthetic sequence of our once neutral existence, pushing us stealthily towards a simulated form of existence.

In this position, with the passage of time, the original form of our unmanufactured existence is lost…and it almost infantilely turns into something that resembles a Frankensteinian reality, aided by the constant false imputations of our own truncated thoughts and subversive environment that has long since been deprived of its primary originality.

The only thing it offers, is simulated existence in predetermined Malthusian deviations, on the blank outskirts of tercial parameters.

How many degrees of retroactive analog-digital simulation have we gone through in just one life?

How many times has just one tiny word influenced our entire being, giving us the opportunity, the excuse for a right or wrong decision?

A decision that later multiplies into a multitude of probabilities defining our, own existence, often leading us into the soft bosom of stolen existence, alienated from the “spiritual antilogic” and handed over to the simulated, almost fiscal oligarchic logic that becomes our silent malicious companion until the end of our existence on this, as they say, green world.

Does the simulation emanate from the creation machine or is the essence, the primary operating code of that same creation, to manipulate human thought so that almost every second these same subjects justify the falsity of their situation and appeal to all other participants in this deterministic story, so they can never stray from certain guidelines that prevail in the center of named creation?

In this way, the creation machine uses less of its, own energy, and controlled human interaction provides and fuels that same, creation machine, never breaching energetic comfort levels, extending its unnatural, synthetic life beyond the given period of its programmed existence.

A wrong spoken or written word, the emergence of wrong ideas can “kill” the world you know…

An almost acute problem torments people who regularly fear the journey into the jaws of the unknown, the solemn demystification of the mystical enigma in its original form.

It is not the unknown or “deceitful” hand of deliberately denigrated mysticism that kills and drains the soul’s juices, but the lethargy of comfort, a false, too well beaten existence.

The lightness of periodic, pseudo-animated animation, trapped in a constant loop, full of dreary substitute words, hidden in a herd of stolen thoughts in an alienated existential paradise, full of submerged ideas, is the primary cause of unfulfilled human destinies.

A ship(vessel) without a destination (destiny) is lost, always at the mercy of the stormy sea, and so it is with the human soul-SOS.

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