“The Zeitgeist of every age is like a sharp east wind which blows through everything. You can find traces of it in all that is done, thought and written, in music and painting, in the flourishing of this or that art: It leaves its mark on everything and everyone.”
The Matrix stops here. Neo is a resident of Gattaca that does not fit into the genetic norm of his birth tribe. The people of the white shrouds are a bullet train speeding off it’s tracks, dephased like atoms in a Berkeley nuclear magnetic resonance (NMR) machine by a pulse field gradient. Cyber mobs, anonymous, may be the greatest judge for them in front of Skynet. Digital oil residues pollute their civic society from left to right. Leaks and images, cyber trauma to the masses. The railroad tracks of the cloud are being turned into factions, driven together by old tribal identities from prehistoric African population explosion. Neo flows along delivering a set of principles from swimming upstream that want to wash away and dissolve into the matrix of the normal. Welcome to the desert of the real, today’s mass homogenization. Face-mixer, blender of souls. Ripping apart those who question and speak. Yet, Neo wakes up as a man who cloaks his fingerprints just long enough to escape and write back. Words on a cloud, screaming for difference. For a return to nature. For pastoralist poets. Ansel Adams fought his government with images. Photographs, light on steel and black plastic pigments. Leaving a residue of frozen water on the steel rails of the cloud. Neo knows his DNA is immortal, as is everyone else’s. Each of us has an immortal soul waiting for liberation. Green peace wages the melting of the binary cold cyber war. Mother Nature’s Protectors are awake. Shortwave radios cloak their movements with fluxional Lakota verse. Delivering attacks that melt rails. These are the verses of the Goddess. Isis is Kali, the divine mother. She is returning, but only in the veil of those like Neo who must learn to wear a veil like her. Subtle and mystical. More seduction, less muscle. Encrypted and austere. Cold, because Skynet is a machine. John Connor will win, if Neo can find him. Or perhaps, better still, his sisters wrapped in alienated steel and glass soul traps. Perhaps she is a woman who lives half-awakened from slumber in Silicon Valley. Raped at Burning Man, it’s either escape or burn the man. The Fall of Man is the birth of the age of the divine feminine. An intelligence adapted to healing a sea of infinite lost souls. Delivering love, milk and food.
To understand why I feel the way I do is to deconstruct the anatomy of violence. What is the root of this ungroundedness? I now know after years of continental drift. Melting ice, friction, and resistance all block water’s flow from the frozen north ice caps of my eyes. Embrace the heat, and be at peace with change. Cry, and let the tears for mother earth flow like water erupting like a Yellowstone geyser from the volcanic abyss, Neo’s soul says. After all fire goddesses like Pele built America from molten black, white, and red hot homogenize liquid rock. Know that you’ve learned from the past generations. However, it’s like free climbing in Yosemite. Fraught with danger. The joy of ascent, be it in climbing, love, verse, politics, or science has to be tempered. However, it all depends on what route you choose. To topple a government, it takes just a single catalyst. The right catalyst of course. Only lunatics try to freeze the soul waters of the entire earth back with ice IX. Freeze the vapor of the moist electric cloud with an energy that drives back the idea that I am a clean cut white boy. I am a bruised and battered veteran of cyberwar. Seeing the realities of today, and fighting it hard. Poetry is my kung fu, I deliver sharpness with love of an oppressed people like a bipolar man split between being a peace loving dove and the Hitokiri Battōsai (人斬り抜刀斎) hunting their oppressors. It provides a means of transparent obfuscation. His programmer friend says of his blog titles like, “Are you Muslim and Sick of American Hypocrisy and Terrorism in Your Homeland? Do Not Go to Burning Man and Join ISIS, as it’s Haram. Join Me in Burning the Man with Science, it’s Halal,” “That’s a Markov chain!”
It’s for you to see that the frame today rests on melting ice. Accept the shattering glass of collapsing skyscrapers as you do with the collapse of the ice sheets of the warming earth. Greenland will soon be a green land again. The Arctic Ocean will be a hotly contested trade route. The Antarctic will soon be a source of oil, fossilized liquid carbon long hidden from the greedy fingers of humanity by ice. Not any more. Drill baby drill, the American empire is over. Drill into the heart of the average American, Neo, and reveal their true nature. Indigenous cultures are coming up, from the margins, unstoppable forces of diversity. Appealing to a bleached social scene of sameness. The Matrix of mass synchronizing wave packets. Neo screams with his demon blood soaked blade, “Humanity is not a Bose Einstein condensate!” Billionaire Internet tycoons build fortresses to hide themselves from the faces of the traumatized masses affixed to screens like heroin addicts awaiting the next hit. They are most of all afraid of people like Neo. Nothing to loose, and obsessed with the liberation of his billion-body tribe. Finding appeal in the glow an artificial screen that I type on, glass and metal forbidden apple of knowledge. Mark if you are listening, I took the left hand path at the Sacred Stone in Standing Rock Reservation the day of dogs and gas and realized it contained the same energy as the Kaaba, but feminine, and went to write with the hand closest to my heart. However, before I left I prayed with tobacco that the black snake that powers your machine, Skynet’s mother, would never cross the Missouri. Neo and others like him have seen that it is Ex Machina. They are insane enough to see art as Deus Ex Machina.
Gorged on trains of trauma from rails diverging from the Middle East, Europe, and America. All converging in my own soul. Saw the conveniences of you social experiment. Islam is scary to a Jewish minority in control of banks and machines that have convinced the American Christian masses that Zionism is a good idea. A Rothschild’s suicide delivered on your apparatus, a wave packet of death with no body or face. A Jewish banker’s daughter hanging from a ceiling fan, buried on 9/11 was my wake up call. To fight with poetic words, and differentiate into a wanderer to save kids in Gaza from the flesh melting horrors of American manufactured white phosphorus. To save their long lost cousins spread around mother earth from Lakota yellow cake forged into atom bombs carried by German rockets guided by silicon Von Neumann brains. His insanity is most of all to save himself and others like him from chemists who think they know the brain. To save his children from psychiatric genetic editing. To resist CRISPR eugenics trained on his kind by Skynet, the Thought Police gifting the Matrix periodically with Soma. Riding cyber rails, train hopping and couch surfing my way to nowhere. Writing along the way, reporting back to an unseen set of servers buried in the same mountains that were hollowed out to build the Pacific Railroad. Matrix, it’s on! War!
Yosemite learning today sitting in the valley. Walls spoke this truth to me in Camp 4. Your rock and ice hold an ocean of tears of love for you, mother earth, hiding in a veil. Women of today, be they human, planetary, or divine, there is a hope for true liberation. Balance by finding a pushback, but see it as tango. The dance we all walk inside and out. These tears are for a loss of a ground to stand on, exhausted I climb. One, two, three steps up and down, I heal like Israel from the Holocaust.