Rising from melancholy

Like it was a bed

Is incorrect vectoring

Needless to say

The blues can jump you

At whichever crossroad

In broad daylight

Might it want.

How reductive-

Rising up…from anything, in fact.

Yet literature on literature reinforce the shackles of direction.

Pragmatically,

You might endure;

It’ll pass they say

You’ll adjust-

Stereotypical parent lingo.

Tame yourself to it,

Let it be in you.

How to outgrow it?

Sometimes,

You just need to violate yourself,

Lest weakness colonize you.

Regaining the upper hand is not a foolproof effort

A minefield of shame

Where enlightenment possibly feels like ruthless colonialism

Not that I would know anything about it, other that it makes my European hypocrite blood boil

Sometimes, the simile of:

Subjecting our dear neighbors

Raping the women

Starving children

Razing cities

Removing the nuisances

This big horror

Rooted in the experience of life,

And we are life;

Metaphorically speaking

Transform them all in acts of internal domination against ignorance

No outer interference,

The only enemy is one’s mind.

And it is supposed to hurt

And you should feel it

The weight of your monstrous actions you timelessly self inflict.

Multifarious are the embodiments of violent energy

Not merely a vector

Child bully

To straight up war

They become inner techniques

To subdue the demons.

The highest risk is to become a vain body builder

Fawning at the mirror

The war monger flexing morality

Outwardly acting-

Science fiction,

Your wishes are granted, humanity.

Still

The blood you spill will forever marr, you and all your genetic descendants,

In god’s law.

No ritual can purify your actions.

The endless energy orgy

The ideologies

The philosophy

Culture

Religion

Shit

Even if you are atheists

You will never just rise from your comfortable bed

Or use the muscles you thought you never had.

Explore inner subjugation

The demons are real

And they are sweet

And in power.

Be like me- live the dream

Stay in bed