Scribblings of a Madman

Burning it all down

Author’s note: This ~3,700-word piece of experimental writing poured out of me today and was definitely a purge. It’s quite raw and was cathartic to write. The first ~1/3 or so is available for all to read; the remaining 2/3 are only available for paying subscribers. Thank you so much for supporting my work.

Sometimes I just need to burn it all down. 

Give it all back to the fires of mystery.

All identities, maps, models.

All concepts, even cherished ones like “God,” “Jesus Christ,” etc.

Identifications feel heavy.

Rules feel heavy. 

Sometimes I wish I would never make any declarative statements.

Statements like, “I MUST ROOT MY LIFE IN GOD!!!!”

Or, “The never-ending practice of my life is to give my life over to God and turn my entire life into a prayer.”

Or, “I must leave it all on the court in life. I must not hold anything back.”

Or, “I am now a devotee of this or that Goddess or guru.”

These statements feel true when I write them.

But days or weeks later, I start to feel boxed-in by them.

I’m too fluid, I’m too slippery, I’m too indefinable, I’m too all-none-dimensional.

I don’t fit in a box. 

No matter how noble-sounding it is.

I’m part prophet, part immature teenager.

I’m the guy smoking a spliff in the forest who gets hit by the sudden realization that “Bong rips for Jesus” actually sounds like a pretty inspiring life direction.

I seem to continue to try to kill off my inner teenager, but he doesn’t want to die. 

I can write so many lofty proclamations and then wake up the next week and be like, “BUT WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK IS THE POINT OF LIFE OR ANYTHING IF WE DO NOT FUCKING ENJOY OURSELVES MOTHERFUCKER GODDAMN.”

I swear I’m a different person every day.

This can make it kinda difficult to function.

I can formulate all these seemingly-well-laid plans and commitments and hype myself up about ‘stepping into my King’ and such…

And then one week later it all feels like a cage.

And I just wanna burn it down and smoke a doobie and drink a beer and go dance or laugh my ass off with some random chucklefucks. 

I don’t know, man.

I do not fucking know.

This is a purge right now.

This is a purge, what I am writing right now.

*BLAARRRGGGHHHHHHHWHWAAAAAAA.*

Vomiting noise.

Screen goes black.

Cut to next scene.

II.

Sometimes I just want to go take a big ol’ dump on the doorstep of the White House.

Just heave a big ol’ steamer on the front stoop, ring the doorbell, and run away sniggering like a child.

I’m a fuckin’ weirdo, man. I’m fucked in the head. 

“Words are powerful. Don’t say that. Be careful what spells you’re casting, young man.” 

I don’t care, bro.

In this moment I don’t care.

The part of me that is typing these words—whichever part that is—a part that needed to speak and ventilate—does not give a flying fuck.

“Fuck it all,” he says.

“Burn it all down.”

Shiva the Destroyer.

Enragedly utilizing a samurai sword to destroy the cage of Infinite Creation.

III.

Our true nature is a Freedom beyond all reckoning.

A gargantuan supernova of total non-limitation.

Freedom erupting forth omni-directionally with the force of a trillion volcanoes. 

The magnitude of this Freedom is staggering.

Its power could snap our entire universe like a twig.

Toss our entire cosmos in the trash bin without a second thought.

I’ve met that force.

“I” wasn’t really there anymore, “I” just *was* that force.

It tore “me” to shreds.

Ripped me to blissful smithereens.

The word “power” can’t begin to scratch what that Power was.

Infinities upon infinities of Power, Intelligence, Freedom, and a Love So Fierce It Vaporizes All.

I’m talking about something *so utterly alien* to *anything* remotely ‘known’ by human beings.

Supreme Infinity.

Words *don’t come fucking close*.

FREEDOM.

An Energy Event Of HYPER-ABSOLUTE MAGNITUDE.

The FREEST ENERGY IMAGINABLE.

Totally unimpeded.

Smoothly and seamlessly self-orchestrating *limitlessly intelligent* activity.

Utterly unshackled God-energy expanding in all directions without limitation.

Weaving hyper-dimensional, trans-geometric, meta-spatial hieroglyphs that somehow contain more profundity and significance than a trillion Earths.

IV.

WHY AM I CURSED TO TRY TO PUT THIS SHIT INTO WORDS, MAN, DAMN. 

FUCK.

THE WORDS DISGUST ME. 

THEY’RE SO FOUL. 

THEY DO SUCH A DISSERVICE.

Like, words, don’t get me wrong, I love y’all, but damn, y’all just be so damn LINEAR AND UNI-DIMENSIONAL.

FUCK.

Could rip my hair out with it.

Splatter myself into a zillion rainbow shit-stains.

Ejaculate myself into the abyss—a wobbling, self-rippling puddle of worthless adamantium goo.

I gave the world my heart and soul and nobody cares.

I took a scalpel and cut out my own organs and imprinted them on the page, and no one cares.

I live-streamed myself tearing my own face off a thousand times to find out what was underneath it, and no one cares.

I suck.

I’m nobody.

I lost.

Not worth it.

Don’t pay attention.

Failure.

Nothing to see here.

V.

Utterly unshackled God-energy.

And yet here we are on Earth squabbling about theological dogmas and telling motherfuckers they’ll be locked out of heaven and burn in hell for eternity if they don’t accept Jesus Christ as their lord and savior.

LIKE WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT, MAN.

WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT.

I’d rather burn in hell for eternity than chill in heaven with a God who would set things up that way—chillin’ up there in paradise knowing that countless brothers and sisters are burning in a pit of hellfire. 

FUCK THAT.

GTFO.

What a fucking sick, twisted, pus-oozing boil on the carcass of Western civilization.

What a fucking grim psychospiritual rift. 

What a blistering wound—this Christian dogma.

Dog-shit-ma, more like it.

FUCK.

And it still has its hooks in me.

After all these years.

It still gets to me sometimes.

I still wonder about it and worry about it.

Wonder if my daughter needs to ‘accept Jesus’ to be on the ‘safe side.’ 

NO.

FUCKING NO.

I REJECT THIS FOUL DOGMA.

I BREATHE DRAGON FIRE UPON IT NOW.

I BURN IT THE FUCK DOWN.

BE GONE.

*BE* *FUCKING* *GONE*.

(Writing this while listening to ‘Crying Over Pros for No Reason’ by edIT. Classic album. Love this fucking album. Flow state inducer.) 

All dogs go to heaven.

All beings go to heaven.

All hells are temporary purifications.

Heaven is our destiny.

I have met the Christ and he is Love.

All will return home.

And all are truly home now.

Am I saying these things because I truly know them, or am I semi-desperately trying to convince myself that I know? 

Bit of both, maybe? 

I don’t fucking know.

Fake guru.

False prophet.

Dirty diaper.

“Fuck me naked and hide my clothes.”

Experimental writing.

Gritty.

Grimy.

I like it.

Strikes a delightful and scintillating contrast against the backdrop of PERMA-‘ON-BRAND’ PHOTOSHOPPED FAKENESS that constitutes most of the web in 2024.

The internet feels like one giant advertisement made of smoldering dookie-butter.

It sucks. It’s wack. It’s constipated. 

SHOW US WHAT THE FUCK IS REALLY GOING ON WITH YOU.

YOU’RE FAKE.

I SEE THROUGH YOU.

I’m fake too, if it’s any consolation.

World of imposters.

In the words of…

Mac Miller: “I’m not real. I think I never was.” 

Kurt Vonnegut: “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.” 

William Shakespeare: “All the world’s a stage.” 

VI.

So, what?

Where does that leave us? 

Where do we go from here? 

What do I actually believe? 

Who am I?

What is true?