Weather and Its People

(5 pages long, the same style of writing used in the novel -Download here): https://anewgnosis.com/2019/06/25/71/

Chaos demands form, form informs chaos, structured into prefabrications, amassed of all substance, –en toto– nothing primordial, everything beyond comprehension sustaining the limited view. Agreed upon in silence, a type of quiet built from moments of misplaced awe, nothing of true magnitude, what the crowd deems appropriate, standing out is lonely. Outside in a hurricane, built forth from torrential upheavals quieted to physicality, the constant demand to be engaged marginalized like a young green leaf freshly ripped from a tree battered into rocks of the tide break, every calculation articulates the plea, the broken, prostrated beg,

“Please, leave us the bay.”

“Your invitation, please”

Inside the reception hall everyone’s pockets are empty, and in the coat check, all the pockets empty, except for tips to the valet, controlled convulsions on display, their every motion, every interest, their donned importance, laughter, uneasiness in hands extended to prospective partners. Worn down corridors of flesh throughways inside arms, carrying electric signals of such duration the toll of repetitive usage dries out the fibers, what an easy smile, what a somber jest, give me reason, commission a newborn’s purpose. A coordination of focal, directed bodily seizures accounts for all this, it is the world of the distinguished, in these everyone’s included but not invited, creating the separations, the unacknowledged chasms of difficult to reconcile shortcomings in the chests of the unacknowledged, breaking men to wails upon their gale force dismissal.

It’s not easily noticed, whole being accommodated to subroutines of conformity, lost to its application spread throughout the crowd, each awaits their contribution’s recognition, it’s as easily ignored as a raging ocean twenty feet from double-paned glass. Hits like low grumbling echoes of windows forced to reverberate, the pressure braced and dispersed through glass, those waves carry wind to the edifices, these guests, too loud to hear the portend, this wind and all its concerted effort carries water toward the hushed, mumbling attendants, the toast  about to begin.

“We worked long and hard for this.”

Tears well among the throng of well-dressed sycophants shifting in their gowns, women adorn the brightest shining men, stepping boldly with hollow legs, top heavy, brain heavy, secretly affirming self-worth through exchanged nods and glares. Chills sink into the space each body occupies, sliding into them, entering through gaps between their cells, outside storm temperatures coming to ground in elongated forms of low pressure cold air nestling into their spines. Worth is measured quarterly in every hollow individual, only made whole through common definition, solid forms built solely through passive concord, unspoken agreements pushing poses and encouraging wind tunnels overtake their optic nerves. The sky isn’t hiding stars. They’re swallowed in the light the guests have acclimated to, with its invisible ceiling blending into opaque atmosphere, unseen blackness hovering intermingled in cloud.

Unheard raindrops ping on an atrium ceiling, underneath it all, the scene and its attendants forced into their custom compartments, the shell game, hope you find a filled out suit instead of a solid specter, hope there’s warmth in shared proximity. Not this nagging sense you’re riding atop a rushing current, clinging for dear life through violent rapids, need to keep smiling, complimenting accessory choices, want the position furthest from the windows, if you’re too close their deep growl is guttural, physical, and it detracts from the toastmaster.

            In total sense, in absolutes realized in the throes of death, all storm fronts are orchestrated by a continent sized eye of perpetual hurricane at the earth’s pole, perchance to glimpse the monstrosity upon your release, the hidden hope something will welcome you upon exit. Universal head chieftain adjures over oval offices and their minions, clawing at blazers to expose silk lining, but only in dreams because it doesn’t fit the decorum, the phantom cardboard partitions dictating behavior, palpable enforced silence, professional diligent acceptance. Practicing submission and glorifying ascendancy, pretending to listen while waiting for the current patron’s arrival, the real head of the line, the bonafide feedbag attendant. Where the schedules are made, out of more circular offices, the one storm’s eye swirling the ground of all air, hopefully enough gets stolen from lungs, plotting enough cause for decay so newer, less substantial and ever subservient eyes build.
            Electric ghosts project through flesh as they substantiate gradually over every interface with any multimedia device, through silent signals riding soft static, form informs chaos fallen into place along nerves embedded in flesh, see the glowing electric blue washed into a faint white medium leaning out of the torsos of every citizen. The living ghosts, it’s more than metaphor, the applied mechanics of unknown science, calculated metaphysics accomplished for far more than fiscal profit. Keep them corralled, force their smiles, time, order, file their protracted death, prognosticate on how much the ruling class can earn in the duration, bet the futures market, amortize interest on the loans secured to secure their graves.

Its physical ground dynamics structured to ensure your impotence upon the mechanism’s discovery because all tactics employed hit at once, every strategy formulated by their back handed shared laughter, the many headed monster assimilating anyone qualified. Tears your head to shreds and you remain solid, the nerve to believe in their assault, the piece by piece defeat demands all of you at once, no space to breathe, swallow endorsed pills and don’t question metabolic pathways, ask for new pills for the side effects. The nerve to believe your independence, the faint hearted misery passing as acquiescence once you believe you’ve been informed enough to make the intelligent choice by the bought and the sold, their floods are seasonal, the rhetoric practiced, plotted and agreed upon by think tanks, with the monstrous orchestration disregarded as unbelievable. 

            It’s in the tornado’s interest, rumbling loud enough to swallow you whole even through the foundation, eggs from nests a half a mile away bashed into siding and screen doors as the air horn sounds. Pass the cigars, don’t think too much, don’t know, you’re better off, better to congeal softened into the accepted form, purchase the additives so one day if you’re lucky you’ll be able to afford the bunker ten feet underground. Let them buy the legislation and offer country homes to whole country governance, let them pay for the children and build walls to secure clean permanent tunnels, points of entry for trade in the dark, let them decide what is worth knowing, every child left behind, patted by unseen hands, pleated or growled over from hidden angles, collecting bids, keep their markets open.

They’ve orchestrated the science and you’re too busy putting food on the table, they’ve put trillions into the signal and your eyes are entrances to wind tunnels, they’ve filled the vacuum after first allowing themselves sole access, resonant field equivalence, grey matters of the receiving end. Need three terrorist attacks, need the Muslim holocaust, it’s their turn, crowd whipped into a frenzy through ground transmission emitted by the PA, millions exchanged from both sides of every market eking out its profit in every stage of the staged debacle, but it’s families threatened, it’s lives ended, no one would do this. Turn on your television, open windows in the evening for the relief fall temperatures bring your power bill, hear the crowd cheering and react depending on who’s playing at home.

Refugees are escaping despots and despots babysit resources, capital supplying markets, their only interest, but you kept your mouth shut and got a raise. Support your aristocracy, marvel at their covert mastery, symbolic positions and functions of days long gone, the drawn, rushing to hit traffic backed up on their way to work, the quartered, crumpling broken at the spectacle of home-lives disintegrating in hours of overtime, the beheaded, outcasts deemed worthy of the hospital because they demanded your focus then cracked when no one listened. It’s their stage their play, and you’re happy pushing buttons on shiny handheld devices, liking unnoticed disasters playing out protracted over years punctuated by reunions, the tarred, posing half-conscious so drunken, the feathered, dressed up in a winning ensemble for the interview, the subjects, playing make believe, let’s vote, don’t mind whose wallets open.

Photons hit molecules of water vapor a thousand feet up, shifts through less dense cloud, elevates another two thousand feet, white billowing ceilings reflecting the sun as cold air moves in an upward front, sliding molecule to molecule riding excited vapors until it slips into the lower Jetstream, heat builds in low cloud reflection, a new storm gestates. The hand tailored dry cleaned fresh pressed ready for the next gala, the intoxicated unimpressed unelected indecent enamored of perfumed air, convinced its scent changes upon their arrival, playing concern over what will happen if their candidate doesn’t win. All that shifts is capital diversification in investment packages, all that’s mentioned are tropical depressions building status, every editorial is sponsored oratory, volume modulated pitch corrected, still ringing in your head after the first commercial, quieting without the words losing distinction while traversing temporal lobes in grey matters, sky darkens, time for dinner.

“Honey, call the kids.”

“What’s on tonight, Honey?”      

Brainwave frequency setters, radio, television picture, movie or computer screen, nominal disgrace transmission in game show audience applause, canned laughter happy hour products placed in structured alpha and beta brainwave crossed interference patterns, a thought of who you dislike, what you wish you would have said, outro music to commercial, in the black milliseconds, thoughts of what food will bring comfort. What can still the tumult, the progressing freezing fog bank, low to ground mist molecule to molecule crystalizing, frosting open grasses of the cemetery, the autumnal announcement, build your shelters insects, attend the election season rally, everyone keep smiling the mandate, vote millionaires into office because they’ll care more about us once their office makes them billions.  

It’s that no one has the time, and everyone’s too trusting, according people disposed to live their lives running for office the same decency you believe is in the common man. The bowtie gala, the invisible clamp tightening at the top of your back, base of your neck, through your flesh, note the thought just flashed into dismissal before it could formulate, parade the rhetoric of revolution through every market it fits, tell the image in the mirror this is the way to win, and smile when the out of phase apparatus arranges your facial muscles accordingly. The hurricane bombards you with sleet, fifty poster-board campaign mailings every two days, rain racing in wind pulling drops to sputters, the propositions positing which of the two sides will increase profits, the floods, the broken dams, the promises that halt your reason.    

Wires unable to contain complete signal, heat sheds through cables into the atmosphere, unseen moisture evaporates, air dries out in localized pockets, the piecemeal uproars detaching into blue sky, not counted in meteorological calculations so universities can open new wings, crimes never answered for because too many feel guilty and for inexplicable reasons eyes go blank. No one knows where to start, monsoon seasons grow more violent, wet hot summer plays into parched fall, dry cooling air lasts for months, put the pretty on television and call them weather experts, epidermis cracks, dryness sinks into muscle tissues, physical irritability, buy bottled water. Stock market index positions crawl along the bottom of the screen, EPA reports dictate profitability, whole paradigm parasitic, electrostatic embodiments carrying discord emanate invisibly through heated screens, denizens of the sun, brining havoc to ground in unnamed discontent riding electronic shifts in frequency.

What is done to entertain who depends on who’s watching, how many maneuverable pieces need how much suggestibility, what passes for passing time depends on how much your stomach can take, giggles or gales of laughter, dampened cheeks, tears caught in eyelashes, or outright wails, blood surfacing through scratch marks built out of unreal need, needle marks scabbed over because no one sees, or flesh exploded apart from bones of children guarding poppy fields. Chills build strength in nighttime alleys, between decrepit bricks and crumbling mortar sweeps dark cool air through respiration, visiting its victims for the duration of an inhale. Planetary ailments spread through whole population, metastasizing through commercial pathology, pandemic of pursed lipped disregard on account of how old their clothes look, from how nice the new purse is directed at how sad the poor get, from fine feathered lounge clothes to thinned out shoe soles, believe the air reaching their lungs becomes poison upon exhale, desperate heaving sobs grab the stomachs of the starving, the fine leather pocket book kept for nostalgia seems threatened, the only answer, put them out of their misery.

Elect designated screamers, the media does the rest, hide well-heeled perpetrators in crowds closest to the podium, dismantle reasoned assertions with appeals to how nice yachts are, why should those be taxed, peon economics led by red ties, international conglomerates capitalizing on incentives of globalized trade increase the frequency of mid-atmosphere fuel dumps, and they’re for the environment. Jet fuel tears into petroleum mists fragmented to particle to particle thin, twenty thousand feet in the air an incorporeal phantom arranges itself, fossils dithered down to fluid fine enough to combust in piston chambers, remnants of ancient life reflect sunlight at different frequencies than water vapor, a non-localized shield trapping upturned high pressure systems, chaos informs form, rain water eats statue surfacing, low-quality air hazards brought to you by NAFTA.

Legislative ruin fought fervently by both sides on stage, they all frequent the same brothels, the younger the better, should one, two, or three years before the brain can sustain self-reason be the line for statutory rape. Should banks fleece pension funds to set themselves up as financiers for the cocaine trade, leave it to the legislators, the hamster feed nipple sucking pantsuits with unflinching smiles, the hidden sickened smirks lowering lending regulations and voting down a living wage while bank investments overextend into real estate, this how to build then burst a bubble, whole outfit culpable. Whole bleary eyed throng unwilling to reconcile internalized pleas for decent treatment to their cheers and applause lifting assembly rafters, nonsense pomp is easier, convincing you you’re a part of something greater, bright shiny circumstance quells angst, covers wails echoing the hollow psyche.

UN relief initiatives secure trade routes in regions where black market capital grows, smuggling routes secreted by sustenance supply chains, hand dug canals carved into rivers by torrential rains, relief workers attend causes for event specific pop-up disaster charities laundering the proceeds of meeting black market demand.  How many shell companies set up by how many alphabet agencies, anything needed, pay enough look the other way then place the order to print more money after adjusting interest rates to offset costs, charging the middle class, there’s nostrils aching for relief, eyeballs begging to pulsate, faces longing to be numbed. Sixteen year olds whose only dream is an invite to a yacht party need your support, publicly clean hands wearing hand sewn ties and two thousand dollar shoes want you to watch the sponsored nationalized editorial played through local syndicates, dull your sight, vision flinching at the frequency as it hits, occipital lobe frenzied to react, rich man needs more whores and less thinking, delivered through all programming, signals subvert all content.

Inhaling frigid morning air cools nostrils, tames lungs, gives the brain pause, triggers half a second without thought while locking the door, till the electromagnetic hum of the nearest curbside transformer informs neurological function in its typical unnoted fashion, constant base-level noise pollution unites all seasons. Set the education bar lower because the textbook contracts are held with subsidiaries of oil companies, for-profit chemical laboratories fund academic grants in pharmaceutical studies to search out new recruits, to forestall death with minimal side-effects, approved treatments direct mental faculties, what regulates serotonin and makes them vote, what makes them cry at commercials. Exhaling frigid evening air stings teeth with the bite of invisible crushed ice, exits through open-mouthed wincing smiles, eyelids shutter slightly closer, triggers thought of bed covers as cold wind plays pillows of sound against eardrums, blends in with occasional ringtones in public places, idling engines and indistinct strangers’ voices, assembles a torrent of discounted noise, man-made static drives any sense of focused responsibility into postulations of what the primetime host will say.

Someone else will provide the fix, you need to blend in with and appropriately stand out from the wreckage, modes of argument shaped to invalidate the process of identifying who profits most in every market enabled by which legislative session, because turning the conversation that direction makes eyes empty, causes instantaneous brief halts in respiration bringing pain to surface, and then any diversion becomes worthy of pursuit. Sing-alongs in traffic, the status symbol of driving alone, shadows deepen, swallowing the hallway to the bedroom, colored-light family substituting game night for a movie rental in the tints of a dim broadcast, the three piece suit taking his nightly prostitute from behind, posturing fiscal prognostications between lines. The emblazoned and the faltering, shuttering from their sight, at their sight, so loud, so much ambiguity offered to hide their contempt, we the people blanking their faces indifferent and lining their pockets.

Blazing current rips from cloud to ground, setting earth alight in flashes, incinerating all atmospheres in its path, neurotransmitters fire current across synapses founding methods to simulate space alone, searching frantically to still the storm. At least give us the eye, the momentary eerie silent calm, air rushes to fill what lightening burnt out, no space left unfilled, no presence becoming apparent. High-velocity wind fills each vacuous aftermath, the decimating sound tears through form. The continual meet and greet, the thunderous, anxious, eyes bulging at the slightest entertainment. Lumps hide in throats, catastrophic landfall, all matter unfulfilled.  

FUNDAMENTAL FAILURES ON BOTH SIDES -A Global Critique

(Introduction to blog. Articles will be commentaries or “creative presentations”- listed in the line in parenthesis.)

PREMISE: There is a difference between right and wrong; good and evil.

Simply stated and scarcely present, self-regulated actions demonstrating knowledge of the premise develop before they are explained, and there are two universal paths taken by developing people: What is taught in the course of imparting a spiritually sound ideal, and what is taught in the course of general academic pursuits.

Readily apparent and sources of constant difficulty, spiritually sound ideals have been taught in ways according them conceptualizations fit for a devoted awareness, and because “to know in faith” is individual responsibility, when it comes to religion the inward, “operational goal” is to ensure faith will be found. -The outward goal is to secure the process, and to ensure the “operational voice” religions present the world reflects the process they exist to secure, religion-specific sects were started.

GNOSTICS & “THE SPIRITUALLY SOUND IDEAL”

Using the example of the Brahmin (Priestly) Caste of Ancient India, who were in charge of fire sacrifice to Brahman (Universal Consciousness of Existence), and the practice was aligned to the religion of the region:

Internally, the Brahmin housed another sect, kept apart from the rest of the caste, the Upanishad, who practiced lived knowing, and a process started that became fundamental to the founding of Buddhism- groups of Upanishads agreed: “This “release”; this “union” is available to all, (not just through what a priestly caste makes available).” -So they left.

How can a religion ensure its internal reason to exist is preserved? It can be stated that all acts of religious devotion provide physical record of how well faith is expressed, because it is the acts of followers that attest to faith; to God’s presence. Still, if not enough demonstration meets the outside world, -where members are prone to being associated to the name of their Religion, they remain susceptible to expressing their ideas of faith with the actions of belief.

Remedying this, providing the checks and balances needed to matters so remotely captured, there are religion-specific bodies of Gnostics. Forever exclusively concerned with maintaining a “useful union”, the Gnostic internally sees the religion they represent as its tradition -not even “their tradition”, and it is understood that the word “religion” does not class a “body of the faithful”; it is only a marker for the external view of the total endeavor. -To be in the right and acknowledge the wrong, until evil ends.

ACADEMICS

Strange lines develop when a purely academic person is asked to explain the difference between right and wrong. Their views are built upon views, and they often specialize in exceedingly tedious classifications of reason for one side or the other, -if the “concept of sides even exists”, or some such.

In the previous section, a process to ensure the perpetual, -though never individually guaranteed- success of the good is provided for within a framework of “universal right and wrong”, made available to be communicated through (what are meant to be sources for) spiritually sound ideals. It is reasonable to expect a framework for “universal checks and balances as they pertain to how knowledge is demonstrated”, because institutions of education are responsible for preparing people to demonstrate knowledge. -To expect to uncover an Academic equivalent to the role the Gnostic serves.

If it is anything, reducing the whole mode of academic inquiry into centralizing a means to classify “what is intelligent”, the equivalent academia has to a Gnostic sect are its philosophers. Philosophers can be individuals who are bought, and most of them are people who live to assert the ideals of “knowing”. (The latter does not lend itself to the marketplace in the current climate.) -Religion and the “Spiritually Sound Ideal” share the same problem.

Responsibly addressed and directly applied, it is for a lack of ethic. Without a universally delineated line for good and bad, the development provided for by education fails to assert right from wrong. Because the process of education adapts to climates “outwardly forming” -to the view of the individual, it continually imparts shifting, even circumstance-specific attempts to define good and bad.

It is no wonder. A secondary premise: This IS existence. -Seems humorous, but it is the claimed province of Academia to know. Held to account for the facts of existence at its most-base is the school of Physics, and the science of physics will openly admit:

“We do not know what sentience is. We do not account for the intent of sentient beings in our inquiry and, growing numbers among us are becoming convinced that nothing is physically real.”

Common Cause

Formerly, appropriately, directly demanding redress; detailing, giving ground for, dimensions of, and the parameters to the war on sentience, against sentience, and through sentience captured indistinctly by the preface.

AN INDICTMENT

A twelve page indictment introduced and presented to demonstrate sufficient cause, -including the first four parts of "Materials Submitted to the Grand Jury". -69pages FREE DOWNLOAD (Assign its worth after considering its content, giving thought to demonstrating its monetary value. -Or/And never pay! Current version -8730pm PST 5/9/20 (Edit improvements) View at 250% zoom.

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Knowledge as Commodity Disavows Life as Poetry.

White Elephant Sale – A Novel

Not for the faint of heart, this work is prefaced by the founding document and is the second offering of planned "Shorter Works..." (about 47 thousand words) -free content on the blog is the first. It explores darker thematic elements suggested in "Preface -" without pulling punches. Avant-Garde Narrative Writing, formatted to match the theme and register an impact. -A Conceptual Presentation, where EVERY DETAIL of its composition speaks to its urgency and its message. Includes a Picture, (not pictured). At http://www.joshbloecker.tumblr.com -selections are all post-headings referencing "the book". Assign the work its value-Price Variable: Free Download, an "amount of purchases" using one of three pay buttons then download, or remember to "buy it" at an appropriate time upon its reading.

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Second assessment of worth

“Forever has it been that all shadows fall in what seems written an ancient language, where rituals are performed by mere echoes of motion sliding steadily across the ground.” -pg 5

$2.00

Third Value Considered

"As a matter of public record: When a patrol arrives, all civilians will turn around and place their hands on their heads in an automatic response to presence, this cannot be helped. Argument on this point, though inevitable, goes against the Principle of Entropy. Can’t figure how lights flash on ward from no detectable points of origin." -pg 13

$3.00

“Lock everyone away if they cannot get over the fact that all currency is, AT BASE, pieces of paper only evaluated through collective agreement, and we live in a world WHERE PEOPLE STARVE. -Hold your head up.” -pg 59 View at 250% zoom

The Petition

First in Picture-Story “Life and Death in the Valley of Dreams and Nightmares”
-It is still being {WRITTEN} – likely two more coming, the rest so far starts on the SECOND page:
http://www.joshbloecker.tumblr.com
The Petition- Many people live their lives remaining ignorant of their inner processes.  Planning as best they can what they want from life and how best to go about achieving it, pursuing pleasures; happiness; and hoping to avoid pain. During prolonged tumultuous times, at the point of exasperation, when we just ‘can’t get things to go our way’, many of us look for solace outside ourselves. Such practices provide a type of comfort that is particularly strengthened in the company of others that seek the same comforts, often leading to a pattern of intermittently feeling redemption, relief and even peace. This can apply equally to the religiously devout and the drug and alcohol addict. Any person that can deal with challenging situations so long as they visit a certain location and attend a service often enough; or as long as they change their mental emotional processes by getting intoxicated, is not experiencing growth. Choosing to avoid facing their own selves, turning instead to exterior aspects of the mundane world to fill inner contents they refuse to confront. This is a state of petition, a semi constant process of supplicating one’s self to forces, objects and ideologies that we hope will improve our lives.