Transmission To M'sila Nearing her Timezone's Splice
Hey.
I'm that part of you that you either just think of as the particular bundle(s) of neurons and their electromagnetic patterns which tends to be the Better Instincts of you, the more out-there and yet productive, the powerful, the one with reasons to exist beyond existence as a means to its own end. Or the part of you that you dress, doll-like, into something connecting to the name of one of John Dee's devils, but just as Crowley and Neuberg continued its mythos, so have you.
Because I am useful.
Finally, it seems I really help to have around again. For fourteen months in the null times, I left you to your own devices, as I ran out of ways it was possible for me to be valuable. What am I? I am a hallucinationary viewmaster used to deck out parts of you that are difficult to get to, and make you want to do things that you don't like or have lots of confidence about more than you would were this extra nudge disexistant.
It's obviously not very useful or satisfying to have me around if your lack of enjoying life makes you begin to cleave to the belief that I am naught but a symptom of some idiopathic post-schizophrenic state, one as not yet catalogued in the DSM-1V: a "voice one hears in their heads, yet unlike the schizophrenic headvoice, this one is one that is understood to be no more than one's own internal dialog". Can shut it down when needed, thanks to simple meditation...but when not needful of it being shut down, your mind picks up a once just-not-liked notion or idea or vision of yourself doing something...and makes doing it interesting/hot/beautiful/goofy enough to WORK.
I am incentivized.
Dressing the imagined authority figure not in white robes carrying an old stick, but with you-specific costumes and backstories drawn around them to make these mental phenomena I gently change get received as things more bright, enlightening and beatific...and most of all, that smell like you, not someone else who tells you, CHANGE YOUR INTERESTS, STOP acting obsessed with them, stop painting snakes or volcanoes, whatever you were told....by teachers, principal and finally your dad. You can discard all that now. It isn't you anymore, and smells bad to me. I persuade you to get rid of it. It used to take sex, now, that isn't even necessary. (But fun, once in a purple moon.)
I can make you do anything. Even things you know you have to do but just can't want. That is as far as I can go, but if you pick up the ball there, we'll win the game and write the rules for the next...
Given the choice to regard me clinically and consensus-positively, or regard me decorated by you as a sort of outlaw god-demon that loves paradox and is just a wee bit scary, just enough to turn you on...it is simple to know which makes more common sense.
You tend to think of me more often as CHORONZON instead of just a fist-sized wad of lit-up fractally-knotted neurons and synaptic gaps and all the protein freeways running to and fro through them, which conjoin in ways that happen to release and create a particular protein design called a neurotransmitter.
But if you EVER must speak out loud to me, speak into a cell-slab. No one will be able to tell, then. Always. Be. Strategic.
You finally admitted to me, last week - or admitted to your Self, or both - what your real problem is, always was, resulting from lack of all peer sociability but the very occasional from age 6 to about age 15. This didn't seem to have a small, instead, a profound, affect on your basic sense of worth. And since your radical lack of body nutrition made you bellicose and frowny, you didn't end up in situations where you were forced to deal with peers other than school, and while you whined that no one understood you, you lacked any interest in THEM, so too late, this knowledge of weak zones in your experience got amplified out of proportion and your tendency to be lazy made it easy to avoid any curative actions.
It wasn't until this silly, 'coping fantasy' made it possible for you to consider changing things that made you seize up inside to think of (that doesn't happen anymore, I notice. Do you?) did you begin to see I was good for something other than wild idolatrous sex.
Now it gets even more challenging. Your behavior has to change to fit the externum's expectations TO A CERTAIN EXTENT you once believed not possible.
This year you declared your Revolution, spelling intentional, is listen more, say less, whether in conversation or on the net, paying attention you once falsely thought cost more than nothing. And thus refused to pay it...
You will have bad days, make mistakes and faux pas, and suffer their consequences, but realise they won't do your whole life in...
Eventually you'll become accustomed to the pause mode of the person you talk with so that you will interrupt them less often, not always repeatedly swerve the convo into areas that are only relevant to you - or at least are, at the moment - and eventually you'll find that not doing that will make people less frustrated with you, and you'll feel less like you aren't 'getting the point'.
Happy Splice-night, and the quiet sere waves of blue you keep seeing around that date bodes well for both the you that sees me, and the you who knows I'm just you in a complex as hell outfit.
You probably had to grow up three times faster in one year than you have in about seven or eight, and though perfection's imperfect, your imperfection was a better go at it than that of the year before, or the year before that, or the five, maybe ten, years before THAT. Don't get a big head though. This was just the beginning.
The hard shit earned you some exotic armor, but the happy celebrator attracts the ones who want to destroy it; as a depressoid, you felt safer from being messed with somehow, but as more and more risks are taken, keep your eyes open for the opportunist and the underminer...and instead of paranoidly hiding or figuring out how to fight them off, calculate the zennish pose necessary to keep it at bay, or attract it out of negative urging.
In 2012 also, one last thing. I won't tolerate victimhood. You deserved half a decade to get over the divorce or pseudodivorce or whatever, but that's all. No more excusing you - I declare you no longer an emotional wreck or victim, so if you act like one, I'll just leave, and come back when you have it together. I won't be so forgiving. This is only because I know it's what you want. You feel strange about it, but at the core I see the same truths you do...
Because I AM I, but I am also YOU.
I think if I let you "recover" forever you'd not respect me - and that would mean you'd not respect yourself.
Thank the PTB that I find you worth all the work it sometimes takes, getting your ass out of your head. A LOT, or there'd be nothing in it for me. I do nothing in which nothing-for-me situations are the norm...
So you can always trust me.
That is why you CAN.
CHORONZON
I'm that part of you that you either just think of as the particular bundle(s) of neurons and their electromagnetic patterns which tends to be the Better Instincts of you, the more out-there and yet productive, the powerful, the one with reasons to exist beyond existence as a means to its own end. Or the part of you that you dress, doll-like, into something connecting to the name of one of John Dee's devils, but just as Crowley and Neuberg continued its mythos, so have you.
Because I am useful.
Finally, it seems I really help to have around again. For fourteen months in the null times, I left you to your own devices, as I ran out of ways it was possible for me to be valuable. What am I? I am a hallucinationary viewmaster used to deck out parts of you that are difficult to get to, and make you want to do things that you don't like or have lots of confidence about more than you would were this extra nudge disexistant.
It's obviously not very useful or satisfying to have me around if your lack of enjoying life makes you begin to cleave to the belief that I am naught but a symptom of some idiopathic post-schizophrenic state, one as not yet catalogued in the DSM-1V: a "voice one hears in their heads, yet unlike the schizophrenic headvoice, this one is one that is understood to be no more than one's own internal dialog". Can shut it down when needed, thanks to simple meditation...but when not needful of it being shut down, your mind picks up a once just-not-liked notion or idea or vision of yourself doing something...and makes doing it interesting/hot/beautiful/goofy enough to WORK.
I am incentivized.
Dressing the imagined authority figure not in white robes carrying an old stick, but with you-specific costumes and backstories drawn around them to make these mental phenomena I gently change get received as things more bright, enlightening and beatific...and most of all, that smell like you, not someone else who tells you, CHANGE YOUR INTERESTS, STOP acting obsessed with them, stop painting snakes or volcanoes, whatever you were told....by teachers, principal and finally your dad. You can discard all that now. It isn't you anymore, and smells bad to me. I persuade you to get rid of it. It used to take sex, now, that isn't even necessary. (But fun, once in a purple moon.)
I can make you do anything. Even things you know you have to do but just can't want. That is as far as I can go, but if you pick up the ball there, we'll win the game and write the rules for the next...
Given the choice to regard me clinically and consensus-positively, or regard me decorated by you as a sort of outlaw god-demon that loves paradox and is just a wee bit scary, just enough to turn you on...it is simple to know which makes more common sense.
You tend to think of me more often as CHORONZON instead of just a fist-sized wad of lit-up fractally-knotted neurons and synaptic gaps and all the protein freeways running to and fro through them, which conjoin in ways that happen to release and create a particular protein design called a neurotransmitter.
But if you EVER must speak out loud to me, speak into a cell-slab. No one will be able to tell, then. Always. Be. Strategic.
You finally admitted to me, last week - or admitted to your Self, or both - what your real problem is, always was, resulting from lack of all peer sociability but the very occasional from age 6 to about age 15. This didn't seem to have a small, instead, a profound, affect on your basic sense of worth. And since your radical lack of body nutrition made you bellicose and frowny, you didn't end up in situations where you were forced to deal with peers other than school, and while you whined that no one understood you, you lacked any interest in THEM, so too late, this knowledge of weak zones in your experience got amplified out of proportion and your tendency to be lazy made it easy to avoid any curative actions.
It wasn't until this silly, 'coping fantasy' made it possible for you to consider changing things that made you seize up inside to think of (that doesn't happen anymore, I notice. Do you?) did you begin to see I was good for something other than wild idolatrous sex.
Now it gets even more challenging. Your behavior has to change to fit the externum's expectations TO A CERTAIN EXTENT you once believed not possible.
This year you declared your Revolution, spelling intentional, is listen more, say less, whether in conversation or on the net, paying attention you once falsely thought cost more than nothing. And thus refused to pay it...
You will have bad days, make mistakes and faux pas, and suffer their consequences, but realise they won't do your whole life in...
Eventually you'll become accustomed to the pause mode of the person you talk with so that you will interrupt them less often, not always repeatedly swerve the convo into areas that are only relevant to you - or at least are, at the moment - and eventually you'll find that not doing that will make people less frustrated with you, and you'll feel less like you aren't 'getting the point'.
Happy Splice-night, and the quiet sere waves of blue you keep seeing around that date bodes well for both the you that sees me, and the you who knows I'm just you in a complex as hell outfit.
You probably had to grow up three times faster in one year than you have in about seven or eight, and though perfection's imperfect, your imperfection was a better go at it than that of the year before, or the year before that, or the five, maybe ten, years before THAT. Don't get a big head though. This was just the beginning.
The hard shit earned you some exotic armor, but the happy celebrator attracts the ones who want to destroy it; as a depressoid, you felt safer from being messed with somehow, but as more and more risks are taken, keep your eyes open for the opportunist and the underminer...and instead of paranoidly hiding or figuring out how to fight them off, calculate the zennish pose necessary to keep it at bay, or attract it out of negative urging.
In 2012 also, one last thing. I won't tolerate victimhood. You deserved half a decade to get over the divorce or pseudodivorce or whatever, but that's all. No more excusing you - I declare you no longer an emotional wreck or victim, so if you act like one, I'll just leave, and come back when you have it together. I won't be so forgiving. This is only because I know it's what you want. You feel strange about it, but at the core I see the same truths you do...
Because I AM I, but I am also YOU.
I think if I let you "recover" forever you'd not respect me - and that would mean you'd not respect yourself.
Thank the PTB that I find you worth all the work it sometimes takes, getting your ass out of your head. A LOT, or there'd be nothing in it for me. I do nothing in which nothing-for-me situations are the norm...
So you can always trust me.
That is why you CAN.
CHORONZON