“Failed treatments to date: Beta blockers, calcium channel blockers, adrenalin injections, high dose ibuprofen, steroids, Trager Mentastics, violent exercise, cafergot suppositories, caffeine, acupuncture, marijuana, Percodan, Midrine, Tenormin, Sansert, homeopathics. No results. No results…” ~ Maximillian Cohen, Pi

That is the thing about fixations… they are all failed attempts of the self trying to escape finitism. I mean that life is trapt in a manifestation of the localized body. The esoteric interpretation of this is that the discovery is you don’t have to go anyway to find what you are seeking. It is in your mind and the map is there. I understand why people do drugs and they lose their inhibitions, ambitions, and seek erasure. The self cancelling structure is the mind in the mind, the self over to the self, and the logos is the logos. These people who lose touch with reality are seeking the “real” reality. They reject the reality that was forced upon them with submission of sanity. They seek insanity in a rational meaning. The propagation of vibrations is in the forms of waves and frequencies. These types of individuals are changing the medium, e.g., their mind, to be able to perceive what is otherwise always there latent. They don’t resist change but openly accept it with inequivalent resilience.
From deoxy.org “It seems like I am making up words, but words that are there and will be. Contritely, words written under erasure are just that… self cancelling structures with lethal connotations. Quite simply, the lethal text is a text that, when read, renders the reader incapable of reading. It destroys the reader’s mind. It induces a crippling insanity. Only those who have read a lethal text know what it says…but they are in no position to share their knowledge.
What does the lethal text say? By definition, no one can know and remain capable of telling it. But perhaps it is a logical paradox. The human mind has a kind of protective shield against paradoxes: it gets confused and gives up, instead of attempting to resolve them. They can stop “running the program” set up by a paradox. But the lethal text somehow penetrates this shield, presenting a paradox the mind cannot stop trying to resolve.
Which is why the lethal text is (probably) not possible: the mind is not a computer. The mind can deflect paradox by ceasing to think about it.
Derrida has probably come closer than anyone else to articulating a lethal text. His texts use language to describe language’s limitations. A paradox! But Derrida cannot truly complete the paradox; he can only point to it in a metaphorical way. For example, he borrows Heidegger’s technique of writing under erasure. But his texts can at best destroy themselves, whereas the lethal text destroys the reader.
Are readers’ minds truly destroyed? Or are they elevated to a higher plane, like the escapees of Plato’s cave, so that man’s insanity is heaven’s sense?
Lethal texts appear in a number of science-fiction novels. In Piers Anthony’s Macroscope (1968), an alien message is picked up which destroys the mind of anyone intelligent enough to understand it. In Neal Stephenson’s more recent Snow Crash (1994), the lethal text is transmitted via a computer virus, and is most threatening to hackers, whose neural pathways are most vulnerable to it. Pat Cadigan’s Synners (1991) uses almost exactly the same plot device. It is also present in Arthur C. Clarke’s short story The Ultimate Melody (1956) and The Mysterious Card. It appears in a somewhat different form in the Star Trek episode Is There No Truth in Beauty? (1968).
The lethal text appears, of course, in the Sirens’ song of the Odyssey. It also plays a role in 2001: A Space Odyssey. In the Bible, God’s face is treated as if it was a lethal text (Exodus19:21 & 33:20.)”
I am not sure where my mind is at. I am going to be completely honest… I am falling apart mentally. An enormous amount of information is hitting my central nervous system and over stimulating it. It is causing hallucinations, panic attacks, post traumatic stress, delusions (both visual and audible), aggressive behavior (only mental mind you), palpations, shortness of breathe, and euphoria. Thus, if you are in route to truth through such channels then I gladly accept you. Someone once said if you seek happiness go to church, if you seek truth than search. The famous man of Nietzsche said that upon leaving the Faith and searching for a more logical and rational answer to his questions. The questions that we all sentient beings asked only to be masked by barrages of aversions and deliberate diversions in pursuit of sanity. Maybe it is better we don’t know the answers because they would not feed our desire only fuel the suffering. At any rate, I agree with H.P. Lovecraft’s view of the situation: “The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.”
A lot can be explained by dreams. For instance, I had a dream where I was playing with my son and he noticed blood seeping intravenously from my bottom. The dream turned to a black/red morbid Elysium. It can be said I have been sitting my entire life asleep letting my decision of non-decision be the dictating force of a life… a life not worth pursuing. It would be madness to think of myself as a tool of production for the hands of others outside my will.
“And both that morning equally lay,
In Leaves no step had trodden black,
Oh, I kept the first for another day,
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubt if I should ever come back.”

1
To dream a dreamers dream…
Somehow I was or became a scared first grader. I’m not entirely sure why I was scared but it had something to do with not enough credits. I either did not have enough credits to be in the first grade or pass on to the second. There was a game we all were playing… my peers and I. The setting of the game was brilliant light in the midst of night. Not knowing or not wanting to know the obvious truth—the man behind the curtain i.e., the facilitators of the game and the rules to it. But we were so novice it didn’t matter we played our hearts out. But I caught on to this game then a dominant dark figure lurked in the shadows.
I could feel him crawl all over my soul as I tried to elude—if one could elude such a thing as inevitability. The small sounds of madness, as I know, not I another—Tim Bird (a shallow figure with no backbone or tolerance to pain) ran from the playing field to the dark side of the building. I had been there before but not really. Only in my dreams some would say. The fact of the matter is I knew I was him and I commanded to take over. As I or Tim Bird (whichever you like) rounded the big, dark school building only to find a small light with an entrance. “Hurry, be quick,” I said.
Tim would not listen for he feared the lurking figure’s presence and the figure could sense such a thing. I made or we made it to the light and the scene fades to black. We are both in the mind now. The locality of where the body resides is no longer relevant once entered into the light with the small entrance. But it is interesting to note we both are localized to one mind. Whose mind, I can not be sure—only know that I’m there—if I know that at all. Doubt, it would seem in the surest sense of the word. Presumably, it is Tim’s mind. And like a bird he “longs to fly away.” I intervene as he is pushing me deep into his unconscious. As I am riding that wavelength coming over the transparent massive arch, I call to him. But it is not my name—it is a name that would imply he were mad. I can not recall but the point is not, what name, the point is he heard me.
I kept riding that mechanized roller coaster down to the darkness below. I knew of the darkness and desired so… I was being pushed to transparency in the wonders of the back of a mind and could only crack a small, gratifying smile. “He heard me,” I thought. And all at once the train stops and the scene ends.
2
“The human species is the only species that has the ability to interfere with their own growth.” –Fritz Pearls
I think, that time has assailed upon the poor souls feet ever since those words were capture, coined, and penned. The holistic view of things is mad; however, the evolution of the natural order of things is hitherto upon us that its time to make a choice—progress to a future, enlightened and deviate the technological advances appropriately as to be replenishing indefinitely and in cohesion with nature, comparatively as we are not living now. Coercion to shrink back out of fear and live impulsively, blind and scrupulous and let our destruction, not be in our hands because we would foul that up too, but be inevitable.
It is that intertwined twister thought in the back of mind that propensities incessantly, indefinitely. What if these are my last words in this medium or understandable form? This is of course under the notion or assumption that even in death I die. I really don’t know what to make of the world or this form. But my words I choose wisely for if they are fleeting then I must articulate the inward reflection of the outside world more carefully. I have to get it right—I have to even if that is the only purpose of pouring my heart out onto this manuscript.
Again assuming I, in fact, have full control over my own faculties. But everything at a price or value, hence, cost. Tears mean very little if not accompanied with action. Given they are tears from suffering though most of them are. What if it is all a life? Ponder this—every notion, assumption, inclination, reaction, revelation, stimulation, thoughts, words, memories, perceptions—imagine the unimaginable that nothing is and everything was… given all around your portrayal of life that ends. This concept temporarily suspends bonds and bounds for the short burst of intoxicated thoughts. All in the name of healing an infection we call being a human or conscious being aware of its own consciousness and demise.
How is one ‘suppose’ to react to such insane constructs of elysian realms? I shall not go into the social or societal norms we are all undauntedly controlled by. Even if we were free of all reprimands, human beings still would not be able to direct their own steps. And that’s what we call the human experience by a novice trying to experience, experience. Imagine? It sounds indifferent but without utterance. It’s the burning language found from the decoded mechanism we call language. But the delivery system seems more so the message than the actual message.
I thought I knew what I wanted in life but upon introspection I don’t even know what a “want” really is, thus nullifying all associated concepts with it, therefore, negating all “a priori” or prior essence. What I lack in knowledge I gain in ignorance. And maybe we are not meant to stray far from our island.
3
How long can I maintain this way, knowing that the insane concept of conformity is sanity? I am in agreeance with authour Celia Green and her interesting book “The Human Evasion.” It is interesting to note that her book sheds light of logic as the main backdrop and sometimes sane assumptions or certain assumptions, presumably sane ones, are based on insane or no pretense at all. My thoughts are borrowed from Aldous Huxley. He uttered two words about the human condition while tripping on mescaline he said, “What pretentions!” He meant that the human condition has virtually no understanding of or in itself of the self.
Everyday and everyway neurons are firing rapidly into the dormant areas of my brain that have been latent since the days of my quadriplegic mutaism—Can I be the only one? As if I need support for my “abnormality” of accepting myself unconditionally.
4
Quick now quietism, I shall encompass. The vision of the scope at which I presumably gravitate wants to scream and cry out bawling in what would otherwise be considered hysteria. I don’t know what is going on and the fingers are on their own fleeting across the surface in their way to obscurity just behind the controller. Am I dreaming? Am I still sleeping? Assuming that at a point in my existence or being I was once awake. I feel the underlying of chaos brewing under the skin—quiet now, be steady—and eruption could give away my location and ‘they’ would send out sentinels to get me. Fear it seems—to submit my daunting and very much alive psyche. Conformity based out of fear that ‘they’ will lock me away in a box much like the one my mind is imprisoned in. Emancipation is the object, but how to do it discreetly and undetected is the question. For a population to be highly educated, physically healthy, and free-minded would be upsetting to the established ‘order.’ But how long can I maintain? How long can this ‘act’ be personified?
Is it possible only in my imagination? I grant the notion that something of the sort is possible. What is happening to me? What do I tremble? What am I really afraid of? The immensity of the propensity of change at which my soul gravitates. The hurrying of the slow one at which the dormant will become obvious…And all of a sudden, as if blindly, out of nowhere it comes and consumes me. The walls of movement began trembling or to just—tremble. What is happening? I thought. As I was seeing everything in slow motion frame by frame in a sequence pattern that created the illusion of motion. Again, “What is happening to me?” I thought dismally lying and with indignation. “Was it an anxiety attack? Or too much coffee?”
But the only real sense of reality was my vision and that was deceiving as well. Hallucinations filled my vision to the brink of screaming. Trapt this way in a sort of state of blind madness but quietly suffering to himself in his cube. What about sound? Everything again was latent and audibly echoing. The hearing bore false witness to the realization I was having. But the smell surely was there—hand trembling as I type this—it too fired misperceptions because I could smell the burnt ashes of the cigarette burning in the hand of another island across the way. “Impossible!” I thought. I visited this realm before but only glimpses. None of the glimpses were revering and revealing as the one I am penning at this very moment. The authour wishes to convey a message (if possible in this medium) to the readers. In the pit of my stomach it settles, in the veins of the body it flows, and pounds inadvertently in my chest. Fear! Fear in the strangest ordinates and fear that I may be transcending into a plain of existence that has only been lucid in dreams, but seemingly in waking life. Wait science can explain this as merely a DUR or drug interaction, hence chemical imbalance of the brain, however, I find no comfort in this at all… all the same its happening whether I desire it or not. Thoughts flashing in the mind that everything that has happened is in preparation for this moment. But why here? Why now? Around all these people? How long can I maintain? Be still, quiet now. It too will come to pass.
“Now in the dark world where I dwell; ugly things, surprising things, and sometimes little wondrous things spill out of me constantly and I can count on nothing.”—PKD
Is it possible to dwell in two worlds and reign self-assumingly in both? Or must a choice be made to the acquisition of one over the other? The dominant/ submissive relationship. It seems like all my study and contemplation all pinnacled and the change occurred and was very noticeable. So the choice was made in my case. As much as I want to say it was by my own volition I can not for certain. It is ubiquous to uncertainty so certainly that there is know way definite assertion or denial can be made just aversion into the realm of dismissal. Recognizing as such, I can only say the choice has been made with or without my consent but it is now my responsibility to understand the ambiguous choice made on a plain that certain control can not be maintained. As if some third person objectivity has arisen to get life to the notion. Thus I write:
“I was once suffocating so I went outside to get air. For the first time the exchange of my breath to the outside world was recognized by both percipients—I was received and I had arrived to a new, different psychological thought pattern. The brain changed—the body changed—the spirit/soul embraced—the forces outside of me embraced. Do not shrink back out of fear, Timothy. I told myself. It came to pass and the trembling in my hands ceased and palpations slowed. I chose to walk through that door in my mind and did not find the sane person come back to reality.”
As a child of this reality, I unconsciously try to reaffirm it so. But why? Why in the sense of reaffirming of societal and cultural normality? This has only caused me much suffering as stated already. I feel like the enlightened one in Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave.” I know the allusion of the presumed reality. What Pretentions?!? By a world full of madness and despair. It is obvious to see why so many abuse prescription drugs, alcohol, and illegitimate illegal drugs. Something is terribly wrong here, but still fascinating to note how light shines through. However, irrelevantly (at least to the established ‘reality’) light shines from an insignificant star in an otherwise small galaxy and dismissal of such a thing in the galactic multi-unversed scheme of things to a planet that is virtually non-existent by comparison.