XII SOMETHING ABOUT ARTISTS
#note
Artists… we are required to be open - there is no
question of it for us so a result is that we cannot be
part of the normal society we live along-side - like an artifact
that could float out of the sea and then be adopted… and
given a purpose, used or just casually thrown back. into the
sea. or broken.
The Artist Heart has a flame of passion to connect with all
the world
my heart is a slut for every detail of love lost in time
it’s wrinkles empathize with every cut made by those who
forgot their act in their absent mind they became a void and
reflected the illusion of death the helpless position of
someone pretending to live and continuing on like a tourist
that looks and smiles at all the things the other automatons
photograph
what is it to have an experience? to set a real boundary?
how is it that enough could really be enough?
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XIII A Return
It's a sad day
my return to Canada
A country of empty hope...
Promises that come with hidden costs...
How many have been mislead?
Multicultural bleach
Impersonal politeness
Cordial disgust
Spineless bodies propped up on a skeleton of idealism
They want to tell me who I am?
Interpret my experiences for me?
Discredit me
My toxicity, domination
My supremacy, corruption
My lack of struggle...
on the basis of race, gender, sexual identity....
the androids of justice...
What good do they do?
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XIV INVITATIONS WHAT is it I was working on… my limiting behaviors… beliefs… habits I’m here not knowing exactly how to ask for attention… and maybe I should learn to value the silence. There is no reality in a metal and plastic tube Only fake wind and more packaging. We are being delivered to another reality Some people there are waiting for us. Isn’t that how we got here in the first place? My whole life I feel like I showed up to the wrong party Like the invitation was for the house next door But I can’t tell - isn’t it that you wanted me to come? I thought that I was invited but then they ask… Aren’t you happy to be here?
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XIV El Chapo From Cancun I jumped out on the small dock to land Isla Las Mujeres. The beach was full of families and tourists… Not quite the Island of Women I was thinking the title alluded to. It was Wednesday an I was supposed to be working on problems solving some algorithms for a tech consultancy that was sending me checks at the time. I chose to take this day-trip instead. From my week rental I walked to a nearby port and signed up. I was vaguely considering connecting to some wifi during my trip to create a minimum viable perception that I was working. The water was blue and the waves were barely ripples. I was told if I put the rubbery goggles on I can snorkle to see fish, turtles, and maybe even dolphins, whales, sharks. The sun was already beaming sweat droplets onto my forehead and chest. Soon I was gonna have a watercolor design imposed on my tropical print shirt. I didn’t do any research this time. I never do research about a place. It’s like stalking someone before you ask them out on a date. Or in modern times a few taps to see their social profiles. I never cared what a place wanted to be or what curators of the local attractions wanted me to know about it. I’d rather go in not knowing. This time I was observing a man preparing cocos frios with a few eager travelers lined up infront of him. One guy asking “son bien frios mi rey?”, I thought he was teasing. “Si bien frios”, the old timer laughed. I didn’t know asking how cold a coco or a beer is rarely begets an honest answer. The Mexicans though are not being dishonest - they are being encouraging! It’s a kind of positivity they inject into every move. Like a mantra or prayer. “I pray this coco is cold enough that you enjoy! And have yourself a blessed day
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pendejo” It’s the same mantra that comes out when you ask a local for directions to a restaurant they can’t afford. “I have heard of it” might be the internal dialogue of your local Oxxo guy. And then he’ll give you more or less random directions with a tone of undaunted positivity. 41 42 XV in the beginning…
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There is a spark ✨ A glimpse into another e x p e r i e n c e you are enough you have enough you are invited and welcome don’t even worry You Belong Here Please bring all of you. Leave the rest, alone. Because here we are together
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Sketch of an instagram beach chick XVI LULLABY Ha! I can catch death lurking Following me through some scarcely lit streets In dark waves crashing But not into me I’m ready to die To face the abyss Meet a god Or replay my list Whatever you prepare Some ceremony To say farewell TODO replace image
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Make my peace Join the conscious eternity Or burn away for all these sins Well show your face Why do you think you need to surprise me? I’m not waiting I’m just ready Is there anything else i need to see? I’ve already been as big as i’ll be Well i’m not in a rush either I don’t need to go early Some might even pretend to miss me Or tell some story They knew me and something They never ask How my shadow follows Death looking around a corner Waiting to for the moment To dance with me At least this time when we meet I hope you don’t just disappear Stay with me at least a bit To get a rhythm and feel the beat Eternal truth shines Transparently Rest easy my friend
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XVII Cosmic Abandonment Well, some experiences are beyond words. Some concepts cannot be said… it is what it is. I had one of these transformational moments last week. This is just an attempt to scratch the surface of that experience. Join me on this journey, and let each word make ripples in your mind… I’m always fighting something…. for something… inside… outside… Conspiracies… freedom… relationships… love… health… sex… competition… friendship… traveling through.. passing by I’m a Man. I’m a fighter. What you confront becomes your reality. What you face becomes your world. Look into a bucket… and puke your guts out… Puke out the poison that clouds your heart… Give up the chains that weigh on your mind. And if you find a breath to take and then turn to look up… Be it that the shine of stars finds your gaze… The bright full moon electrifying your mind… Or the early morning Sun melting your illusions… Illusion. Of being on your own. Alone. Lost. Remember me… remember you… Only you can create suffering in this Life. Only you can create pain.
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Remember that I am you, and you Are me Only you can create love in this World Only you can be the creative spirit Remember the sweetness of our time together That you breathed space into existence So that we could find each other again and again Remember the harmony of our connection That you beat the drum of Time, a perfect illusion To show that our vibration permeates through every moment I’ve been watching, waiting, hoping That your dance of creativity lasts forever That no corner of darkness exists without your presence Well I set off in your example… Dancing Love, breathing Life, moving through Time And I found a place, where our lost children live… They are broken… they are sick… they are crying for touch. They are Hurt… they are ugly… they are out of Luck. They descended away… believing themselves slaves of circumstance They wear the chains of separation… proudly on their souls. They are thorny… horny… and reactive… They almost killed me… every chance they could get they tried to bleed me I found them at Home… I found them there… Where I last saw you… I saw them there. Well they need our Love… they want our light… They sing and cry out… to know our names… To call us to fight. Let’s fight one time… to find our core… Let’s love one time… just one time more.
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XVIII
These days…
Everyone wanted to know how to work better, harder,
faster, stronger when I was growing up. Work a week in
4 hours was a mega bestseller.
Efficiency experts were on the rise everywhere.
Do more, live more, sell more, spend more…
I was working in tech then… Agile methodologies were in
their full dick swing glory. Evangelizers, coaches and
consultants were onboarded to iterate everyone up to speed.
My impressionable friends were programmed into the
motivation epidemic before the influenza plandemic
Tribes of influencers pillaged the digital landscape. Invading
the feeds of the unsuspecting with organic growth and
algorithmically calculated ads.
Leaders in thought-spaces made their bones in webinars
and TedX sharing events promoted endlessly through social
networks. Eventually herding communities they could tax to
share their tricks.
Entrepreneur was a common title back then. Gary was still
trying to make it work while a lot of my friends were raising
Seed rounds with angel investors to build the most motivated
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bro culture startups that would disrupt the incumbent and rape their fleeting customers. Disruption was a winning trend. Incentivizing owners to become renters. Property became a burden. And eventually everyone became part of the sharing economy. It wasn’t clear where the ship was heading… Does every old man become bitter? or is it only when society is crumbling? Well I met a bitter old man that saw it coming. His name was Jaak. Jaak spent his time growing tomatoes and Poblano peppers while blasting old-time rock n roll. He checked into his PC to check on research of corruption, manipulation, and manufactured consent. Everyone else
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Sketch of Jaak called those things conspiracies collectively. I thought of them as grand conspiracies when I met Jaak. Some were laughable to me… Auszwitz denial, implantable microchips, mind-altering 5G antenas, gain of function research, and so on… Other things seemed more plausible… economic manipulations, supply chain interferences, groups dedicated to globalization and progressive ideologies… I didn’t consider globalization to be a threat at all. Jaak also warned about mandated experimnetal injections and class-based travel and economies. I remember assuring him there was no chance that would go mainstream. He always said he hoped I was right. Well Jaak was extraordinarily free. A man you could only kill. You couldn’t corrupt him with luxuries, money or threats. I had a sense that he risked being put in a cage only to be beaten with a stick… I imagine that’s what they want to do to people like him. Well Jaak was 68 when the plandemic was released unto the dormant public. Jaak had been trying to wake them up for decades. Now it was his old dismissive friends that were blowing up his phone at all hours of the night to ask for guidance. How did he know and prepare? I saw it all unfold with a consistent sense of incredulous amusement. I only started getting anxious and depressed later… When my group-chat of digital nomads collectively labeled me a danger and threat for promoting the idea of personal freedom, I got booted and avoided in real life too. Of course there were others that welcomed me. Well since all that I’ve been radicalized. I’ve become radically free. Radically honest. Radically independent. That’s to say… I’ve been in the sidelines before, a passive bystander in the observation of decaying social norms. Now I’m activated. Like charcoal.
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I’m an artist, devoloping my craft with care. Not to become a sensation or turn a profit. Not to become an influencer. My humble aim seems, in it’s intierety, unnatainable: To live and breathe in a way, and to use words in a way, in which, another might find it to point to a compassionate Way of Living. I am a teacher as well in this sense. A teacher in the method of my teachers. The teachers of the subtle way of questioning the world. The community of teachers turning over the settled stones of normality and discerning the insects and worms that are found sheltered beneath. I’m a scientist in the dark caves of hell. The caverns that contain the demons and traumas in my heart. I dig and unearth the stories that have been burried under scar tissue and reactive defensive mechanisms. Well the work of freedom is not easy. There’s no demand for it in the market so the average salary can’t buy you a slice of banana. Freedom is not accepted by manipulative friends or needy parents. It’s not promoted in dogmatic churches or support groups for the fiercely self-interested. Freedom exists as an opportunity to those who retire themselves voluntarily. To stop the voluntary compliance and contribution. Some retreat. Some Surrender. Some call it meditation. Surely, more would try it at least out of curiousity… but there’s a catch. A fear that you might get stuck in freedom. You might get bored to infinity. Or that you’d be lost never to return. I think the way back is clear to see. But the truth is I am stuck in Freedom. It’s just that it’s voluntary. I don’t know why I would go back? To slavery that is…
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You could kill me. Or put me in a cage or beat me with a stick. But you can never corrupt me into compliance… into quiet abidance of your made up rules. Like I said I’m still learning. I owe a great debt of gratitude to Jaak and my teachers. The ones that pointed the way through their actions and words. The ones that quietly retired to the space of freedom. Care. Power. Love.
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About the Author Adrian Cheoreanu - I’m still writing this book. Hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for getting this far <3 Let me know you got here by Sending me a message with the phrase: Bees can levitate above the trees
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