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The Symbiosis of Life & Death - Prologue

Posted 14 October 2019, 7.45 am by Green Mamba

CAN YOU SEE THE MAN IN THE MOON?



In this world of pain and suffering, one thing still prevails above all else.

Looking up at the soft glow of the full moon balancing on the edge of a fading cloud, the girl turns to her lover and whispers, "Tell me, can you see The Man in the Moon?"

The Man in the Moon stares down at them and then turns away from the window to cast another log onto the fire.

"Tell me Semjaza," he asks as the embers flare up in the fire. "What is the purpose of it all? Why do these human beings cling so desperately to this thing called life?"

Semjaza places the tray with tea gently on the table. They've had this conversation before, a hundred times over and he always plays his part without failure or enthusiasm, in a typically disconnected servant manner

Without the slightest variation in his tone of voice, he replies, "I honestly do not know master. Please do tell?"

"It's all about love, my servant friend," The Man in the Moon continues. "They stare up at the moon and look for me in its shiny surface, but whether they see me or not is completely irrelevant. All they care about at that moment in time is the warmth of each other's bodies, the sound of each other's voices and the beating of each other's hearts. Regardless of how far humanity has come, regardless of how much they think they have achieved, there is but one thing that governs their lives. One insatiable desire and that is to find a soul mate, a companion with whom they could travel down the path of life, multiply and die."

Semjaza had finished pouring the tea and hands it to his master. As his master carefully takes the cup from his hand, he looks at him absentmindedly.

"Then tell me, master," he asks as if this is the first time. "Why is it that they complicate things so much?"

The Man in the Moon's face lights up as if that is the exact question that he has been waiting for all along.

"Ah, therein lies the riddle," he says smiling.

The Man in the Moon moves back over to the window, takes a careful sip of his tea while he stares down at The World a moment longer before he continues.

"Yes, my servant friend." He replies in answer his own question. "Therein also lies their downfall. This complication of things. This entangling of their lives. They weave fancy webs, but the more they try to perfect it, the more confusing it becomes. So much so that they have become entangled in their own webs while the flies just buzz all around them, out of reach and leaving them hungry for more. Tell me, Semjaza, why does the spider weave a web?"

Semjaza was already tired of this game but continues to entertain his master nonetheless. Besides, it is not his place to argue so he utters his next line in perfect monotone, "In order to catch flies, master."

The Man in the Moon finishes his tea, turns away from the window and hands his servant the cup.

He nods slowly, "That's right my servant friend. "To catch flies. It has nothing to do with beauty or boredom or creative energy. It is not a diversion to steer it away from the pointlessness of its existence, but rather a tool to assist it in its survival. As long as it continues to perform this function without failure, then there is no need for the spider to try and improve on its own design."

Semjaza lets out a long sigh as he takes the empty cup, places it carefully on the tray and then for the first time, there is a hint of emotion in his voice.

"Just like me," he mumbles as he walks away.

The Man in the Moon looks up and follows his servant with his eyes as he leaves the room. "He's been a good servant," he thinks. "All these years he's never complained, never once failed in his duty, without instruction or fear of prosecution and yet the sadness in his voice is unmistakable."

He calls after his servant friend, "Semjaza! Come here for a moment, please?"

Without question or hesitation, Semjaza puts down the tray and rushes back, waiting with his hands respectfully behind his back, ready to do whatever his master requires. For the first time in his afterlife, Semjaza is unable to read the expression on his master's face. His master looks uneasy, disturbed almost and that frightens him a little.

After a long pause, The Man in the Moon asks with true empathy in his voice, "Are you happy, Semjaza?"

The magnitude of the question takes a while to settle in. Semjaza rolls it around in his head while The Man in the Moon looks at him expectantly. After carefully evaluating all the possible answers, Semjaza calmly replies with what he believes to be the right answer.

"You have been very good to me master and in gratitude, I do my best to serve you well" he answers. "In that, I am perfectly content."

The Man in the Moon shakes his head, places his hand on his servant-friend's shoulder and looks deep into his eyes.

"Yes, but are you happy?" he asks again with more intensity.

Only now does Semjaza realize the full magnitude of the question. Only now does he understand that his master is not asking him to confirm something that he already had his own answer to. For the first time since Semjaza became his servant, he is asking him a question that he can't answer for himself. Semjaza looks at his master, the smooth silver surface of his eyes impenetrable as it reflects only your own obscured face back at you. For a moment Semjaza dwells on the possible consequences of what he is about to say, but then he says it anyway.

"No master, I am not" he replies as he lowers his head in shame for waiting this long to tell the truth. "I have been your servant for a very long time now and every day you stand at that window and you judge everyone and everything you see. You talk about love, about the purpose of life and all of humanities failures, but in all the time that I have known you, not once did you bother to go down there to spend even a single day in The World with them. I have. I spent an entire lifetime there. Laughing and crying while fighting to survive the onslaughts of both humanity and nature. Finding joy in overcoming all its hardships. Not only that, but I have loved. I have slept in the comfort of my mother's arms and I have bathed in the sweat of my lover. I have raised children. Watched them grow and made every effort to prepare them for the worst and the best that The World has to offer. No, The World may be broken and yes, maybe the human race failed, but I wouldn't think twice about trading the last two thousand years of my afterlife for a single day back there."

The Man in the Moon pulls his hand away and turns his back on his servant. For a moment, Semjaza thinks that this is it. His master is about to banish him to The Abyss for speaking out against him, but when he replies it becomes obvious that he is crying.

"Why, Semjaza? he sobs. "Why have you never told me this before?"

Semjaza lays a hand on his master's shoulder to try and comfort him. "Because it is not my place to be ungrateful for the honor of being chosen to be your servant."

With tear-filled eyes, The Man in the Moon turns around to face his servant. "Then why now?" he asks. "Why tell me all this now, after all this time?"

Semjaza lifts his head to face his master when he replies, "The End of The World is upon us. All the signs are there. I can see it reflected in your eyes and I don't know if there will be anybody left to tell you this after I am gone. Besides, if there is even a small chance for you to experience life as I have, then it is my duty as your friend to tell you this before it is too late."

Semjaza turns around and leaves his master standing by the window as he walks towards the kitchen. Just before he leaves the room he turns around and in his typical servant manner asks, "More tea, master?"

The Man in the Moon continues to stare out the window at The World down below, wondering what it would be like to walk amongst these human beings and experience this thing called life.

"Yes please and pour yourself a cup while you're at it?" he asks politely.

The boy looks up at the silver glowing disk in the sky, stares at it for a moment and smiles at his lover.

"No, I honestly have to say that I don't," he replies.

She smiles back at him and rests her head on his shoulder.

"Neither do I," she says. "Neither do I."

THE SYMBIOSIS OF LIFE AND DEATH

Posted 24 September 2019, 9.51 pm by Green Mamba

My name is Rudi. Some 15 years ago I wrote The Symbiosis of Life and Death. It was a crude and ugly thing held together with sticky tape, paperclips, some few pieces of string and post-it note or two. It is a fictional tale that was inspired by my own personal journey at the time through some of the many philosophical and religious discussions, opinions, comments, poems and arguments that I had here at AKpCEP and a few other forum sites back then. A few radical life-changing events later, some of the things that I believed and had written at the time became obsolete, so after putting it off for far too long I finally decided to fix and finish the journey that I had started. This is the third rewrite in less than 6 months and probably as close to an end result as it will get. Over the next months (or years) depending on the relativity of time and space in Alexanderverse I will humbly share it with you chapter by chapter. Please feel free to comment, compliment or criticize it as you see fit. Hopefully, my mind and my abuse of the English language is not too raw for anybody to digest.


FOREWORD

THE BEAST
AN ALLEGORICAL ATTEMPT
(Adapted from an essay by Benjamin Wright)

He looked out the window. Itís out there, waiting for him. He could sense it, calling out his name every day, watching and waiting. He tried to limit his ventures into The World outside the window as much as possible, to work and back again, but even that didnít work. The Beast could smell the blood and every day it would drink a little more, sap a little more light from his soul.

It feeds on everyone. No one is free from its grip and no one can hold onto their sanity under the influence of its delusions. Its voice is everywhere. Even when they sleep it works on them, telling them what to want, where to find it and when they need it. Desires are its strength and lies are its greatest weapon.

Over the past few years, his life had acquired a certain monotony but still, he could not get a decent nightís sleep. Shortly after closing his eyes, he would wake up drenched in sweat, struggling to hold back the screams of terror by biting on his fist. Itís an ongoing battle against The Darkness that much he knew.

Every night he would lie in bed and stare at his wife, watching her expressions and listen to the unintelligible muttering as she tossed from side to side. ďMaggots,Ē he thought, ďmaggots crawling in The Darkness and burrowing into her mind. The sordid whispers mingling with her thoughts, growing, feeding off her desires while slowly turning her into just another smiling puppet.

Others as well. His friends and family. Even his son. He has a big poster on his wall designed to make them mad, ďWANKING IS MY DRUGĒ and it did too. Not him as much as his wife. Theyíre all the same. So very much alike, like everybody else. The voices are everywhere. The insinuations, in the music, the papers, the news, everywhere. There is no escape. Signs attacking you and the billboards screaming at you every hour. The rest of the time is filled with background noise, pop culture and syntactical insinuations, pathetically shallow storylines all mingling into one another.

Itís all the same, only the tone of voice would change. All designed to entertain. Distraction is what itís all about, distraction from reality, from yourself until all that remains is the illusion. Like a magician who operates the attention of a crowd to produce the most amazing visions and The Beast is the master magician.
He locked himself in his room, ignoring his family and friends. It saddened him, but he reminded himself time and time again that every war had its casualties and The Beast had already killed all of them years ago. He tried to open their eyes, to make them see. Talked to them calmly, sternly and then shouted, but they were deaf to the truth. Safe in the illusion so they let him be for a while, hoping that he would come to his senses.

Two days went by during which he threw everything in his room out the window. Magazines, pamphlets, television, radio, phone, even all the unpaid bills that had piled up in the past few months. He tried to isolate himself from every possible influence, every alien thought, every inflicted desire and every social responsibility, hoping to free his mind from the shackles of The Beast. This is it. He would keep The Beast at bay at all cost. All that remained was himself, naked with a pencil and a blank piece of paper to draw on. He would simply draw inconsequential doodles to try to smother out the voices and prevent the infected desires from creeping in.

Two more days went by before his wife and son walked into his room to see what he was up to. While she pleaded with him, cried, shouted and then just stood there weeping, he continued to doodle on the piece of paper, oblivious to her presence. Finally, in a barely audible whisper, she announced that she was calling the authorities. For the first time in three days, he lifted his eyes from the piece of paper and looked at his weeping wife, the phone in her hand, thinking that she wouldnít dare, but she did.

She was busy calling agents of The Beast, inviting The Darkness into his home and he could feel the anger boiling from within. He tried to hold it back, tried with all his might to shove it into the farthest corner of his mind, but still it boiled and boiled until he could hold it back no more. He still had the pencil in his hand, clutching it like a child would clutch the last remaining crayon. In one frantic swipe, he punctured his wifeís throat while his son watched in horror. She tumbled to the ground trying to stop the blood from pouring out with a stunned look of disbelief painted on her face. His son stood frozen, paralyzed with fear. He punched the pencil into his sonís chest seventeen times before the anger and frustration finally subsided.

In the deathly silence that followed, he looked out the window. The city was burning. He could see the flames. The Darkness is everywhere, watching, waiting for him and no matter where he went he couldnít hide. It was only a matter of time. He could run, try to get away, but he couldnít hide. The Beast could smell the blood.

Dreams for the dying

Posted 7 August 2019, 10.12 pm by Alexander

Once, when I was a child, I dreamt my own death.

I think I must have been 10 or 11, and in the dream I was sitting on my best friend's parent's bed. I felt myself falling and everything went black before I hit the ground. I knew I was dead and paradoxically I was aware it was the end and there was nothing after it.

This stayed with me for quite a while and I think about it quite a bit. It's certainly not the strangest dream I've ever had - that award goes to the recurring nightly dream about the little people that lived in my bathroom, but that's another blog post.

Dreams, science will tell you, are the brain defragging its hard drive after a hard day thinking. But of course, we know different don't we?

In fact, dreams are liminal escapes into the true reality of being, unfettered by material reality, corporeality, physics (quantum or otherwise - who cares if it's a wave or a particle when it's got your first grade English teacher's face) or that pesky logic bullshit we're tied to.

Dreams are real. More real than your office job or what people think about your new haircut. Truly, the only place you're free from other people and - critically - yourself.

They say you dream more often than you remember doing so. I wonder how many other times I've died in the real world.

Love solution temple reunited My ex who left me for my best friend came back begging me, it was like

Posted 14 July 2019, 12.46 pm by NataHolly

You were right, it is not totally magic! Love solution temple spell casting are really powerful.. its hours after Love spell castes the spell for me.. My ex who left me for my best friend came back begging me, it was like a dream...After 14 months of trying to get him back and thinking he would realize his mistakes. the spell you cast worked so fast we had a make-up sex, Now I am 2 weeks pregnant, I will buy you another spell to help me get a promotion at my job. for your help visit [redacted].

Nata Holly.

I Am a Genius

Posted 26 February 2019, 7.54 am by Alexander

Itís time I came to terms with something youíve probably known for a while. I am a genius.

Every single idea Iíve ever had has been brilliant, revolutionary and genre defining. If you disagree then youíre probably not smart enough to understand.

Everything Iíve ever produced has been of the utmost objective quality, there can be no denying this. Any negative reviews Iíve had have been in error. Any ambivalence towards my creative output is due to a lack of imagination in the viewer.

If Iíve ever said anything to offend you, then you were probably just being too sensitive and I was likely being ironic anyway. You need to lighten up.

Where a decision Iíve made seemed questionable, you have to understand that Iím amazing at seeing the bigger picture, and you are not. Donít worry, it will all become clear in the end.

And if you disagree with any of the above, then youíre just a hater and Iím going to ignore you.

Why I Stopped Watching the News

Posted 3 February 2019, 4.38 pm by Alexander

Of all the changes Iíve made to my lifestyle in recent years as part of my endless quest for happiness, none have been more effective than this: I stopped watching, reading and taking an interest in the news.

There are a number of reasons for this, and each speaks to a different benefit from cutting it out of my life:

Firstly, there is rarely any good news. A vast majority of news is bad. I am worried enough about everything as it is, thanks. Good things happen every second all over the world, but the news wonít tell you about them, because:

Secondly, itís profoundly manipulative. The ĎMainstream Mediaí is specifically incentivised to keep the populace of the world angry and in fear. Angry at itself, in fear of itself. Be that terrorists, people of a different class, religion, or social strata. Conflict brings a (completely human and understandable) need for more information in an attempt to feel safer. Who provides the information? The media. Clicks are clicked, newspapers are bought, businesses stay in business.

Thirdly, itís disempowering. While I have empathy for the victims of Ugandan genocide and wish with all my heart I could do something to stop it, itís pure hubris to think me tutting and shaking my head makes any difference whatsoever. The news gives you the impression that being informed is the same as being empowered, when in fact the opposite is true. The global news cycle distracts you from the problems outside your door, the ones you can actually affect Ė but whatís the point in picking up litter in your street while dogs are being eaten in Korea?

Fourthly, itís divisive and insulating at the same time. The news perpetuates the concept of us being ďMr Potato HeadsĒ created from a curated selection of prescribed narratives. We choose these narratives from a thin strip of beliefs weíre already comfortable with. I used to avoid right-wing media and only get my information from liberal and left-leaning sources, because this was more palatable to me. But what wasnít I being told? There is no such thing as an unbiased news source, and if youíre just choosing one bias over another, you might as well make up your own reality.

Am I saying ignorance is bliss? Certainly not. But in the same way itís my responsibility to police what food I eat and be aware of the consequences of those decisions, so it is with my intake of information. For my own sanity, and to ensure my own personal impact on the world is one of focus and net benefit, I must be my own mental gatekeeper.

Try it yourself Ė ignore the news for a few weeks and see if youíre more content, see if you get more done, and see if the world goes to hell in a handcart because you donít know what Donald Trump tweeted yesterday.

Why I Stopped Meditating

Posted 16 January 2019, 7.54 am by Alexander

On my never ending quest to not be a miserable headcase, Iíve tried many things. Due to my Ďcan-doí attitude and general stubbornness, when I try something I go all out for the taste.

So, I took up mindfulness meditation.

I got an app (Calm), and goddamnit I meditated the shit out of it. Every single morning I would sit for 10 minutes, breathe deeply, try to let thoughts come and go.

Rewind two years Ė I tried meditation with an app called Headspace, which was also very good but perhaps I wasnít in the right frame of mind because sitting there concentrating on my breathing just gave me panic attacks.

But now? Hoo boy, I had this thing nailed.

711 meditation sessions.
A total of 124 hours and 30 minutes sat meditating.
Longest unbroken streak? 358 days.

But at the end of it, was I any Calmer? Was I any happier? Was I any less distracted, anxious and fearful of real life? Was the skinny dog tethered in the rain that lives in my head howling any quieter? No.

Why did I stop meditating? Because I got it wrong. I took meditating as something you have to do as part of your daily routine, part of your checklist of ĎIím doing the right thingsí, the natural anticipation being that checking these boxes results in an outcome youíre intending. Life, largely, doesnít work that way.

In making meditation a required daily activity, I robbed it of its meaning. I emailed Calm support and their very prompt and kind response was along the lines of ďwhy not try not being a dickhead and boasting about your meditation stats like itís fantasy football, and just use meditation as a tool when you need it?Ē.

So I stopped meditating every morning, and I donít feel any the worse for it, in fact I likely feel slightly better because I donít feel like Iím failing to get the benefits of meditation.

And Iíve saved £30/year in app subscriptions.

Why wouldn't you even try?

Posted 5 January 2019, 4.51 pm by Alexander

When I was a kid, at primary school, we used to play Rounders quite a bit during our PE lesson. For those of you not aware, Rounders is a bit like baseball but shitter.

In my class there were a group of girls who used to be made to play the game, who obviously did not want to.

They would stand there when it was their time to bat, holding the stumpy wooden stick limply by their side, then when the ball was thrown (underarm, of course - we weren't barbarians) instead of swinging the bat, they would take a listless half-step forward, drop the bat and saunter to first base. It may not surprise you to learn that not one of them ever came close to hitting the ball, even by accident.

I remember very clearly, even at that young age, being both mystified and annoyed by this behaviour. I couldn't understand how you could stand in front of a slow moving ball, with a bat in your hand, and not even swing at it.

Why wouldn't you even try? No matter how little you want to win, why wouldn't you move your arm?

Now, I'm not trying to shame these particular individuals, because I'm sure they had their reasons - or maybe they didn't need a reason and maybe it's none of my damn business and the fact this has stayed with me this long says a lot more about me than them.

But in life ever since, I've met people who won't swing the bat.

These are not people who get things done.

I guess that's the funny thing about your own personal value system, anything outside of it is incomprehensible sometimes. Now, for all I know, these girls could have grown up to be heads of industry, and if so I wonder what happened to make them realise the value of trying, even when you don't see an immediate benefit.

All I know is, when it was my turn, I swung that bat as hard as I could.

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They were done for an exhibition a couple of years ago . They asked for something to so with the summer. They are mixed media and oil paint on metal advertising boards - for ice cream.


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Props to Green Mamba for bringing the weirdness

Hmph

80s candy bars were pretty good

only because i traded it for a candy bar in the 80's.

lol we all know you don't have a soul ghoti

my soul for some carbs...

But of course!

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