The Sentient Meat Crafting illusory Identities


Birds are singing for me right outside my window. I hear it obviously, but I feel it with my tummy also. That, and such a tranquil warmth, it must be due to the onset of the morning. I read once there is a single word in Swedish that denotes ‘’getting up early in the morning to listen to the birds chirping’’. In such moments even the lightness of being is bearable. Just letting you know that saddened for me, you mustn’t be. And so good and very long it must..


A hippie doesn’t love nature, he is preoccupied by the nature ‘fetish’.
Nature is wild and unpredictable.
Painted walls are our friends.


"There may be centres in the brain that are especially active in the organisation and perception of free will. One appears to be located within or at least close to the anterior cingulate sulcus, on the inside of a fold of the cerebral cortex. Patients who have sustained damage to the region lose initiative and concern for their own welfare. From one moment to the next they focus on nothing in particular, yet remain capable of reasoned responses when pressed."

A shortcut to nirvana?


Postmodernism (constructionalism) rests on the premise, that there is no 'real' reality, no one 'truth', in so forth negating itself.

Postmodernism expressed more explicitly still in deconstruction. Each author's meaning is unique to himself, goes the underlying premise. The text is therefore open to fresh analysis and commentary issuing from the equally solipsistic world in the head of the reviewer. The reviewer is in turn subject to deconstruction, as well as the re- viewer of the reviewer, and so on in infinite regress. As expressed in "There is nothing outside the text" by Jacques Derrida. At least, that is what I think he meant. If the radical postmodernist premise is correct, we can never be sure what he meant.


I’ve murdered a bug. A winged one.
I kill for fun. Fun and glory.


Suicide as the means for change strikes me as a lazy endeavour. Irrational at best. And I can conceive of suicide as a rational end whereas in a moment of epic clarity - concerning the void of meaning in the position a human creature finds itself - one can transgress his programming of being without any negativity, so often associated with suicide. It would simply make sense.

It’s quite clear that if one intends to push a particular ideology the furthest, suicide is simply lazy. In a human’s life-span, fleeting as it may be, given that our ideological crusader is driven, he could conceivably push the ‘issues’ further by staying alive.


My body is a fartland. A fart factory.
I make nice and honest farts.
Farts thick with strength of hardy inner labor, for ALL to enjoy.


Verksiu ant tilto tris naktis be paklodes.
Vakar sutemo anksciau po tiltu.
Ir susitepe paklode - 0 emociju.


Fire not only does not walk with you..
Fire goes through excruciating manoeuvres to avoid ever taking your sloppy path 2nds.