Limitless Life: The Red Pill

  • We Write at Night.

    This is the time we write, at night. Where no one can hear the sight of light because we are in the dark midst tormented by which way to turn and what to see.

    This is when the lights go off and the dimly lit street light becomes center stage and we can see the graffiti art on locked up stores. Who says these sprayed on smiles aren’t painted for us? See the silent messages of, “fuck yeah” as we feel the emotion well up from within. The spark that follows into the never ending rainbow of this art turning into the artistic thoughts we think. It’s ours if we claim it. Copywrite or continued connected consciousness?

    Report as a spam. Because we too speak the words, “I am my biggest problem” written in the alley corners of contemplation.

    These are the thoughts we think. This is the way we roll, behind street paths with funny names and and the not so funny moment when someone looks back at us as we take a hit of the moment.

    Why haven’t we ever taken the time to just absorb the atmosphere, to sit at the corner of Ha-Carmel and Allenby to listen to the bus beeps and the inhale to second hand smoke? We stop little ones from riding into oncoming traffic, and barely have time to look up and see that the city has been built off distress and art made in twilight.

    It’s the time when we can’t make eye contact. It’s not safe. Don’t talk at midnight, walk like we’ve got somewhere to go.

    In the waking hours of 4:44am we hear it, the not so subtle gargling of its underbelly. And the fact of the matter is we’ve sharpened all our nails for this point. Because we know we aren’t just being followed by our inner shadows as a random dark stranger follows us whichever way we go.

    We march for violence against women because the one to one ratio of offense is an alarming feat, so we pick up ours and walk to a new pace but it’s not at our own speed and it isn’t even in our direction. Something says we better pay attention. We are trying to see, there’s no need to stop and no place to go.

    We wonder.

    “Is this the station for the bus or where we get off to stop?” Stand still, breathe in the overwhelmingly sweet bread, and try not to act tempted. Are we our own superwoman? Could we fly away with wonder words waging womanly wars? We have a right to be here. But that birthright is on no basis at all.

    The holy land.

    The land of holy bibles and holy battles, like wholly bloodshed.

    If we were so above the days of sexism why are we deathly terrified to trail down that dark path?

    “Grr” in anger as if we were growling like the zombie sounding man-of-the-street does at the stroke of night.

    No train of thought, just endless tracks that have no destination. We’re in Israel, don’t you see it? The motorcycle vroom-vroom on the move, but that social time has got us drifting in a rhyme. With this prophetic language we are speaking Hebrew just fine.

    Yes it’s  jewish, but not so orthodox. We don’t see things the same as them. They ask if we have a shekel or two to donate to a poor jew? But what if we are that poor few?

    What if we are the ones who need to fill our paper cups and spill out on a not-so-paper-page as we write down the way we walk in a story.

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  • Can We Ever Really Get Out of the Matrix?

    See the rain fall down like a simulation, the crackled thoughts on the page. Believing most of our best thoughts come from corner set cafes and clouded conceptions of choice. Which pill to choose the one that’s red or the one that’s blue?

    We want NEO so we have to be Trinity, the third that doesn’t equal three because she is him and he is she. Writing on empty, we have no shadow of purpose and somehow the mood slips away from our oracle and we all fall.

    Walking in the splashes of numerical light, are we the one or just another agent of the agenda? Who are we? We walk, nothing phases us, not the shoe salesman who attempts to grab our hand at the door, not cab driver who tries to couple us up, and not even the same demons that define us, that follow us halfway across the world and back again.

    Everyone in the world can just back off. Sickened by the amount of people who will just use anyone for free work without purpose. If there’s another Instagram post about how life only gets better, then why does the post only make us feel worse?

    There goes another snapchat story about what a person does every second of the day like there’s even the point of living a life someone is constantly filming. Does everything have to be on camera? Such an invasion of privacy. How do we humans even take it anymore?

    When the clock strikes 9:18am and we are late for work. “You have a problem with authority Mr.Anderson. You believe that you are special, that somehow the rules do not apply to you. Obviously you are mistaken.” (Mr.Rhineheart, The Matrix) Part of a system that we don’t comply to, we, the employee, has a problem and thus the company has a problem.

    What’s the point of profit in a world where we don’t grow food to have a meal but catch one outside a pub or a favorite noodle restaurant? “I used to eat there. Really good noodles,” (Neo, The Matrix) we will say as we uncover the truth of the reality we are actually living in. None of it matters when we discover the codes. What does it all mean?

    “That the Matrix cannot tell you who you are.” (Trinity, The Matrix) We are involved in a world of our own creation, manifesting at will what we birth to a new day. Tired. We are so VERY exhausted of the constant facade we show the “real” world. The working world, the world that everyone wants to appear to be a part of but not take a true part in. It is a machine.

    A disgusting, non-feeling, multifaceted organism that we can’t escape even if our lives depended on it, because our life does depend on it. Our minds are addicted to the matrix.

    We are slaves to it.  

    Even as the letters get typed on this virtual page, these thoughts couldn’t reach a soul without the artificial exposure of the web. We are tangled in it. Forgetting the dramatic realization that we are the spider that set the silk. Trying so desperately to seek a way out of it, but how?

    “The body cannot live without the mind.” (Morpheus, The Matrix) This mechanism of madness is a mental matter and the residual self-image of our bodies keeps us trapped in this prison of perception. Five senses not noticing we have any other ones.

    We lose sight of what’s real.

    Hearing nothing but endless beeping swoosh sounds of cars.

    Smelling the sweet breads that cover up the hints of cigarette smoke and cat piss.

    We taste nothing as we eat for sensation mindlessly, because when we touch ourselves we don’t have any feeling.

    It’s a senseless place and, “Unfortunately no one can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for yourself.” (Morpheus, The Matrix) Because, “It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes to blind you from the truth.” (Morpheus, The Matrix) That truth is we could be so much more than just slaves to it. We could be the one, we could all be the one, to live that truth.

    The first day that one wakes up and realizes that they have a choice, is the beginning of asking ourselves, “Why not stay in wonderland and see how deep the rabbit hole goes?”

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