consciousness
-
(It was February of ’93 when I caught White Zombie at Saratoga Winners, long before anyone knew their name. The mosh pit cracked open, and somehow there I was—penny loafers and all—throwing myself into it like I belonged there. I broke my toe that night, but it felt worth it. Then came “More Human Than…
-
(Headphones on-Meeting of the Higher Selves-Patrick Bernard-and to think 30 minutes ago we were at the gym listening to Welcome to the circus-FFDP-The Irony in life is epic) You don’t really understand the weight of being human until you’ve already crossed the threshold.Not the one people talk about — not awakening, not enlightenment, not surrender…
-
Where the moment chooses you back. There’s a point in every awakening where the world stops pretending to be solid. You feel it before you understand it.A strange lightness in your mind.A flicker in the corner of your vision.The sense that something is off-script, out-of-frame, and slightly out of sync with the version of reality…
-
You are not supposed to exist.Not in this configuration of breath and bone, this precise intersection of probability and choice. Every cell in your body carries the quiet echo of events that had to unfold in perfect sequence—wars fought, hands held, stars igniting, names whispered, decisions made under moons that no longer exist. All of…
-
You stopped calling it healing.You began calling it remembering. Because you realized healing implied there was once a wound that defined you, but remembering reminded you that you were never truly broken—only divided by perspective. Now, when you wake, the air bends around you. Not as a servant, not as a mirror, but as an…
-
Some souls never leave the classroom.They stay seated long after the lights go out, long after the world has moved on to easier subjects.They can’t stop studying the equation of pain — trying to solve for why. They tell themselves they’re growing, but what they’re really doing is translating the same lesson into a thousand…
-
What is spoken into being eventually develops a voice of its own. There comes a moment in every creator’s life when the world stops behaving like clay and starts behaving like a witness. In the beginning, every word feels like command. Every vision, a quiet suggestion to the fabric of existence. You speak, and reality…
-
Plenty of people will hate you in this lifetime—let them. It’s fewer names to remember, fewer voices echoing in the hollow halls of your mind. To be hated means you’ve disturbed the dreamers. You’ve become a light too bright for those content in the dark. Hatred, after all, is just a sign that you’ve stepped…
-
There are no more nights for wishes.No more upturned faces whispering to falling stars.The heavens don’t trade in longing anymore—they only echo what already is. We walk the trembling linebetween here and there,between the heartbeat of matterand the breath that keeps pretending it’s alive.The walls hum in color now,breathing, shifting,wearing masks of meaningfor those who…
-
It’s the dream inside the dream again—the most persistent one. The one that waits at the edge of sleep like a familiar ghost, holding open the curtain to the next act. Every night, it picks up where we left off, as if time itself decided to take a cigarette break and forgot to clock back…
