Satori is dead. Enlightenment comes from the glow of a 42 inch HDTV. Zazen is sat on a couch. If you are to ponder and weigh the entirety of life, if you are to see into your nature, then why not simplify? Your special transmission comes from a satellite disc. No need for knowledge of words or letters. All you have to do is point directly at whatever it is your nature wants.
Let’s wallow in a kshantic acceptance of life, its irrationalities and momentary glimpses of impersonal, intuitive insights that might waft about like psychic fart. Because c’mon, what’s the point of all this gibberish? Life is pain? They’ve got pills for that. Do I really want to see into one’s nature? Talk about pain. Hsing me a song just like the other one and waltz me around by my willy. What is the use of toiling and moiling so? Why beat your ego shell on the wall? Why twist your own nose?
Hey, why not get with the program. No mind is where it’s at, sunyata for the masses. No pain, no nature, no mind, no problems. Need a momentary sense of exaltation? Have a Prozac and wash it down with Red Bull. Turn on, tune in, and cartoon out. What else is there to do? Your wants and desires are provided for almost instantaneously. Nature is a channel on the TV anyone can look into anytime. Enlightenment is likely overrated. Once you have peaked, once you have broken the game wide open and achieved the dreams meted out, where do you go from there?
I wonder about the dumbing down of existence, of experience, of nature. Most cruel is the dumbing down of change. Hope for a new world order. Rescue from any chaffing irritation of the moment. The people have spoken, the system has rules, good over evil, rah rah rah….Only when was the last time you saw a revolution where any of the promises were carried out? How soon before the nature of the thing outweighs any promise or intention?
God is just some dude sitting there in his white beard and robes and someday he is going to get his shit in order. Individual peckerwood existence is just a well oiled hamster wheel. Good and evil, cats and dogs, all the dualistic stereotypes are so banal and washed out that they don’t mean a thing. Occasionally there is some horrific natural cataclysm that only serves to punctuate the insular quality of the mass’s opiate addled, everyday stumblebum dream. Welcome to the warm doughy amniotic embrace of the American experience. Why think or thrash or give a shit? Why make it any more complicated than it already is? Why look into the nature of things, into yourself, or any of the connections that still may exist? Go with the flow. Who is it that carries for you this lifeless corpse of yours?
Let’s wallow in a kshantic acceptance of life, its irrationalities and momentary glimpses of impersonal, intuitive insights that might waft about like psychic fart. Because c’mon, what’s the point of all this gibberish? Life is pain? They’ve got pills for that. Do I really want to see into one’s nature? Talk about pain. Hsing me a song just like the other one and waltz me around by my willy. What is the use of toiling and moiling so? Why beat your ego shell on the wall? Why twist your own nose?
Hey, why not get with the program. No mind is where it’s at, sunyata for the masses. No pain, no nature, no mind, no problems. Need a momentary sense of exaltation? Have a Prozac and wash it down with Red Bull. Turn on, tune in, and cartoon out. What else is there to do? Your wants and desires are provided for almost instantaneously. Nature is a channel on the TV anyone can look into anytime. Enlightenment is likely overrated. Once you have peaked, once you have broken the game wide open and achieved the dreams meted out, where do you go from there?
I wonder about the dumbing down of existence, of experience, of nature. Most cruel is the dumbing down of change. Hope for a new world order. Rescue from any chaffing irritation of the moment. The people have spoken, the system has rules, good over evil, rah rah rah….Only when was the last time you saw a revolution where any of the promises were carried out? How soon before the nature of the thing outweighs any promise or intention?
God is just some dude sitting there in his white beard and robes and someday he is going to get his shit in order. Individual peckerwood existence is just a well oiled hamster wheel. Good and evil, cats and dogs, all the dualistic stereotypes are so banal and washed out that they don’t mean a thing. Occasionally there is some horrific natural cataclysm that only serves to punctuate the insular quality of the mass’s opiate addled, everyday stumblebum dream. Welcome to the warm doughy amniotic embrace of the American experience. Why think or thrash or give a shit? Why make it any more complicated than it already is? Why look into the nature of things, into yourself, or any of the connections that still may exist? Go with the flow. Who is it that carries for you this lifeless corpse of yours?
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