The Importance of being a Good C*nt

Ok, Ok, I might, for posterity’s sake, change the title of this to;

“The importance of being; what the hell does earnest have to do with it anyway”

or even

“The importance of being a fucking good cunt”

for the grandmas,

“The importance of pumpkin pie”

It got me thinking, this whole “being” and “doing” thing of life, like it always does, this time about not caring about what other people think of you.

I think I should point out now, that there might be two trains of thought, or even, people; some people will have a thought in their head about you, no matter what you’ve done, said, or thought about them or to them. And the other, will think about you in the sense of how you have treated them, or done for or to them, their family, and friends.

I might also explain a little bit about how I see this lovely, holofractalic universe we exist within.

As beings that convert energy, from sunlight, moonlight, food and water, to power our bodies, we may also exist, as the cells within our own bodies do, to power larger bodies than our own, that, as the cells in our body, we have no real picture or idea of. Working tirelessly, unknowingly, just being. That does beg another can of worms though; does your liver know who you are? Surely, and he hates you.

But!

In saying that, we are efficient energy emitters and transmitters (if only we could say the same about our consumption). We can enter a room and feel “the vibe”, if you can’t you aren’t paying attention. We can look someone in the eyes with emotion displayed, we can “give” someone our love and energy, and sometimes, they can feel it. What are we powering, if anything, outside ourselves when we transmit this frequencies.

We also exist in a rather exciting and precarious place in time and space.

We can “see” time, if we have a good enough memory. People say it is “non-linear”, meaning, it doesn’t actually go in a straight line. Though, I’ve never really gotten a straight answer about what “they” say “time” is. The closest I’ve gotten is a cartoon of a clear plastic twisted loop with drawings on it, telling some kind of story, thanks youtube, you dirty spying secret selling schmuck. So, I guess, that time is a good friend of truth, so many facets, so wide and varied, but in essence, connected, and “one”. So hard to fuckin pin down. No one gets any answers from time. Just memories.

Before I get off track, which I am apt at doing, If you can imagine; Your being, your life, your memories, alive, in this non-linear time loop, swirling around, never really gone, for they carry an energetic imprint that follows you around, on your little looping plastic cartoon. WE ARE DNA FLYING THROUGH SPACE. Is time the chain that spins us into motion? Are our energetic memories, ours and others, flying behind us, propelling us forward? Fantastic fantasy perhaps.

But I kind of see it like that. Our own, and others energetic s stick to us, for good or bad. When we filter back through time in our lives, as happens with age, we see them. We feel them, they become us.

Thus enters the Idiom of “Being a fuckin good Cunt”.

Pardon, really, for the sacred profanity, but it’s the only way. You know this.

I won’t go into the exploration of the word and its roots in the flourish and creation of life, lucky you.

The way people think about you, affects you. like the vibe in a room. The more sensitive souls of this planet have been forever tormented by their perceptions. Some are able to shift to the sidelines of the energetic influx and thus avoid its pummelling. The thing is, they will remember that, it will leave the room with them, and there will always be that shit covered thread between you both, if you see each other again, you have the opportunity to wipe the thread, or sling it with some more “shitty vibes”. Thus compounding the energetic resonance, what is on the receiving end? Are we affecting something else, unknowingly? Given the idea that everything is connected, and powering something larger, we could well be.

Can we make it beautiful though, even if it is ugly? Can we allow the thread to interweave? Should we? Whilst I’m not advocating that everyone start actually caring what other people think of you, or that you pretend to like someone when you don’t, I do think there is something that can be transformed through our altercations with others. You see so much of a person when they are challenged, or pushed, the people that sling you with shit show you so much, about yourself, about them, about the world around us. The thing is, you need to be able to wash yourself clean. It is easy enough to get out the stains from others, but your own, well. They always seem to take longer.

I write upon the assumption that others are the same as me, though it may not be so. I find it nearly impossible to forget the shitty shitty shit that I have done. And sometimes it’s the most menial thing. Totally irrelevant to the other person involved, and totally monumental to me. So, in that sense, I have learned to be wary. With the things I say to others, with things that I do. And I still havent perfected it. Washing the shit off.

Yeah yeah, i know I know, fucking hippy drivel. But. I actually think there is something quantum here, that we are missing, as with time. Our calendar system of quantification is flawed. What has this done. Time governs how things eventuate. If we are time incarnate, what are we affecting with this holographic trail of shitty emotional detritus? You sly devil you, you quantum mechanic (I’m talking to you)…

If we can picture ourselves, in the here and now, with our backlog of experiences attached to the ladder of our dna chain behind us, in this image, time and dna can merge into one if you like. >> o.O Are WE time? << Time is Dna is us is time rinse repeat.

every interaction with another person acts as a gateway to that person, and we share the energetics we gave to each other. they might take on a colour or form, they might just stay as an emotional energetic attachment. But they are always there when the thought of that person arises. Always riding behind us. The way you treat people carries a resonance. This resonance, like all frequencies, can travel with us. We take each action with us into the future. Can we start learning from our actions and inter-actions? Can we implement a good cunt rule? The golden cunt rule?

Because it just so happens, that what people think of you, and what you think of them, creates a very interesting vortex of existence, and being the energy creators we are, who knows what exists in those pockets. If in every pocket, you could find a good cunt, every person with an operational allegorical imagination would be happy.

In closing.Even simpler; Don’t be an arsehole. That shit stinks.

Since I mentioned it, the idea that the incorrect calculation of time might be affecting our reality, has been digging around in my mind. We all know the gregorian calendar is a mock up, hastily thought out sham. In fact, there could be another loop there, in which our separation from the moon calendar might be akin to our separation of the good connotations of the word cunt, but again, I digress. If our ways of quantifying time are flawed, what impact, if any, does that have on the way we live, on how we live, on how we age, on how we interact? The implications…

RAHM

Sorry nanna, This blog isn’t actually about pumpkin pie at all….

ABIGAIL

Abigail
She sighed as she sat down
The weight of her body had been pulling her down closer to the ground with each season that passed and sighed like she
she was not as young as when she first met you
Her hat was slightly wrinkled from two days of travels and her boots had lost the sheen of the polish applied before she closed the door to her little cottage for the last time
She was waiting for you
I could tell
Because I was waiting for you too
I have been waiting my whole life for you death,
to come and wrap your withered unforgiving hands around my heart and breath.
And so why had we two strangers come to the same train station at the same time with the same thing in mind
That I cannot answer, for many synchronicities happen every day all over the world and by knowing the reasons, we often lose the mystery of the moment and the reasons found behind our interactions viewed in hindsight fade from view.

The wind stirred through her silver iridescent hair
I could tell she was like me straight away
And for a while I was convinced that she WAS me
But I let that thought fade into the wind like the tendrils of her hair because it didn’t matter
and in truth we are one and the same
I could see her trying to hide her tears
brushing them hastily and exasperantly  from her face and onto her dress, glancing down and all around at once to see if anyone noticed them falling.
I looked away out of respect for her to grieve her life in the slim pickings of privacy offered by the train station.
The train station itself was a relic tucked away north of a big city, with it’s original buildings painted in the flat heritage colours preferred by the stiff and narrow minded care takers.
The office was closed, the shutters down, almost giving the impression that the building was just sleeping and soon would awaken to dispense tickets gaily to the work a day commuters expected with the next turn of the earth around the sun. Neither of us had purchased a ticket.
How it was that I knew she was here to do the same thing i had in mind, eluded me, I pushed the thoughts out of my mind and enjoyed the mystery of knowing. She was to do the same thing I wished to do in 7 minutes time. I knew. And I didn’t care how I knew. Sometimes you just know things.
perhaps we were born under the same misguided star, perhaps the same hour of ascension, the dead of the night five to midnight, when the death of the night is at its peak.
Perhaps the whole of the world felt the way we did and we were the only ones brave enough to act and end it.
Only hindsight can say. Sagely in it’s old man voice, “what will be, will be”, hacking up his lung and spitting it into the ash tray in front of him as a symbolic gesture of acceptance of fate.
I guess you’ll have to think about that one.
All of a sudden an announcement came through over the speakers
“An express train will pass this station in approximately two minutes”
That was our cue.
perhaps we have both been coerced by the same mischievous spirits. I do not care, they have sold me to the cause. the time is now, and never, at the same time.
We both approached the platforms edge.
Her violet eyes searching mine in surprise to see me standing beside her
I speak through my eyes to reassure her, that all is well and I reach out my hand.
As soon as she touched it, her name spoke through her veins and into mine
Abigail
The winds of memory flowed through me
She was me
I was she
and in this moment we be three. Ourselves, and our creationship, relationship.
Convoluted on its rocky sea of you and me,
The sails were lowered, the life boats at ready
The captain by the bell ready to call evacuate
The train turned the corner, and let out its whistle of approach
she reached her hand into mine and squeezed.
I felt her whole life rising through her eyes
Those violet suns flecked with yellow gold
fringed with the blackest of black lashes, despite her old age
like luminous ponds viewed after midnight,
The lashes becoming the swaying grass under the breeze silhouetted by the moon.
I lost myself into her eyes, and started to remember who we were.