(outdated) Manifesto

July 13, 2010 at 4:06am

There are no goals, and nothing can be achieved. Our solace for
this sadness is thought itself-the highest form of artistic creation.
Material reality is a singular web of vibrating energy. What we
perceive as distinct entities and seperate objects are simply
waveforms altered by interaction with conscious thought,
resulting in the illusion of detail in a world created by a discarded
shadow.
Though beautiful, meaningful, or horrible to the beholder, the
reality surrounding us is no more than a hazy reflection of the
indiscernible- a shadow of the initial wound, or a pond ripples gyre
at its final point of termination.
Together we create the detail of all that is seen, our combined
beliefs making the barely formed appear defined and palatable.
Using denial as foundation, fear as mortar, and
complacency as brick, we construct an intricate illusion
located at the crossroads of the Real and the True. Once
part of truth, reality was banished from itself, becoming an ever
expanding contradiction unable to return to that which concieved
it. So between these dualities we built this false world, safely
hidden from both truths fantasy and realities nightmare by our
blissful delusions.
Though Sleep may at times open doorways, it is only Death that
may truly allow passage from this dream to another. Some have
found solace in the belief that the next dream might be an
improvement- a newer version equipped with a better disguise so

not even visionaries could ever see thru its pale shroud. If
constructed by a revolted consciousness more learned than our
own, the next dream could be a safer falseness.

Most would find it better to live within a lie forever, than to one
day suddenly wake in a world distorted during sleep, tortured by a
bland simplicity which somehow feels familiar, in fact, even more
familiar than the world just left behind.

Most would agree it is better to never experience the sensation

of "returning" to one's rightful place, trapped in a claylike world
that seems to have been molded by the malicious and careless
hands of blind idiot children.
I personally have lost interest in new dreams, improved or
otherwise. Instead i choose to hope that someday another will
follow the signs I've so carefully left behind. While the infinite
museum of our subconscious has only ever allowed entrance to
those who arrive in solitude, perhaps there is still another way.
High amongst the towers I have found a room long forgotten.
Containing windows showing a view always in flux, it feels ready
for new creation. Perhaps here we will meet, and on a dark night
whilst the moon looks away in fear it will all begin again. Til then i
will wait in this place where no one sleeps, the walls of this
forgotten room stretching off into forever behind my back. My
eyes never leave the eastern wall, as I wait for the massive doors
to open with a noisy shudder that will echo eternity. I envision it
always now, the day when two will be together in this sacred
place. I am patient despite the uncertainty, as time does not
move here in this world which is somehow not a dream, but
neither real nor true. I am alone as i now know I always have
been, as everyone is always alone, but i often imagine I feel this

great museum waiting with me, as if it too is dreaming of the day

its creator and curator's infinite solitude will finally come to an
end.