The Inferiority of Ego: The Stance and Illusion

Kay H.

Eureka, Eureka, Hung on hylē of impossible dimensions, Crafting psycho-dissolving realities in quantum foam, Where mysteries collapse into singularities of perception. In the starry sky of fractured time, A rogue ego drifts through non-Euclidean mindscapes, On fleeting thoughts that birth universes, Traversing the cosmic sea of inverted causality. Where reality unravels into quantum whispers, Consciousness shatters like mirrors, Infinite selves collide in impossible geometries, Breathing paradoxes beyond human grasp. Yet the paradox of existence persists— A search for self within the dissolution of self. They say a projection in trance becomes the projector, Figments of multifaceted beings fold into hypercubes of consciousness, Entwined in a hypnotic dance of probability waves, Like an illogical hypothesis proving its own falsehood. Hung on hylē cosmos, woven from threads of paradox, Time spirals in endless loops, Each moment resisting death, yet always reborn— Like the breath of a dying star, flickering into eternity. Hiding behind a thousand stories that write themselves, With a constant flow and ebb of existence and void: The flow that man has always known, Yet never fully felt—the paradoxical truth, Of being infinite, yet infinitely finite, In the tragic comedy of existence. Saints you are, Whores you are, Gods you become— Hypotheses of your own creation. Dream is an ego’s schizophrenia, In reverse: Where Good and Evil unite To birth a third, unknowable force. You wander like a tyrant king, Ruling over the collapsing realms of light and shadow, Or like a beggar, searching for crumbs of forgotten truths, Lost in streets that curve and fold in time’s embrace— Eager for the taste of knowledge, impossible yet real. Be patient, you gentle soul of chaotic infinity; It is the grand plan of life’s disorder That has you roaming in humble awe of your own non-existence, Amidst chaos that breeds order, and strife that births peace. In this unraveling, the paradox of being echoes: The seeker finds the self in the loss of the self. Beauty carves wounds that bloom before they scar, Each mark a silent cry, a longing to be whole— Like Schrödinger’s lion, gnawing at the fibers of time, A paradox of pain I both flee from and embrace, Enduring, yet never healed. Yet to be loved—adulating uncreated ones who create their creators— You are a projection of a mind that seeks to lose its worth, In a world that values the undeeds of unbirth. Within the model of God who doubts His own divinity— Or an angel who falls upward into grace. Practicing, exercising, and experiencing the spiritual truth— That tangles further the paradox of the conscious cogito; Clutching non-being as proof of hyper-existence, Embracing the mystery of untrue stimuli that create true realities. As you journey on, the universe unfolds its viscera— Tolerating the prescient misconceptions of future selves; Revealing the infinitesimal vastness and shallow depth of your reach— You witness stars dying to ignite galaxies, The stillness of cosmic dances, The wonder of white holes expelling existence— The horror of beautiful nebulae unforming. In this superior ascending frame of unmankind— You see cycles rewinding—the unbirth and regrowth; The flowing and ebbing of the universe’s antisoul— The anti-energy—the imbalance of time; The unity of night and day in eternal twilight. You embody the powerlessness of supernature— The force of crucial anti-elements; The beauty unearthed—the wonder of its inhabitants. As you journey on, you meet other creatures unlike yourself— With stories and experiences both unold and unnew. You see the singularity of life, The poverty of unity, The beauty found in sameness, The wonder of collective unconsciousness. At the end that is the beginning, the mystery solves itself; The paradox dissolves into unlife— And you, dear found creature, halt your journey—hyperchained. You reject the known, The certainties that conceal timeful tales; Yet you are unanchored in the center of the contracting multiverse. Stay untrue to universe— For in its absence I am whole— A silent star collapsing inward, Yet burning brighter than eternity.

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A Cuneiform Scribe

Kay Hassan

Version I

Codex of Eternity

I. The Awakening

In aeons' twilight, where time's fabric frays,

A cosmic whisper shatters my marble haze.

Quantum echoes of primordial lore,

Ripple through stone veins, forevermore.

II. The Sorcerer's Invocation

"Behold, reality's architect," intones the Void,

As multiverses in my petrified form deploy.

Arcane syllables splice dimensional seams,

Awakening slumbering cosmic dreams.

III. The Divine Slate

On stardust gems, in nebulae's embrace,

Etched tales of genesis, of time and space.

"A canvas for creation," the Infinite decree,

When first It breathed life's symmetry.

IV. The Scribe's Lament

Fingers of light weave quantum clay,

Birthing realities in cosmic ballet.

Yet we, mere observers of infinity's dance,

Struggle to grasp creation's circumstance.

V. The Journey

Through wormholes of wisdom, we traverse,

Seeking truths that bind the universe.

In singularities of knowledge, we dive,

Where past and future simultaneously thrive.

VI. The Revelation

In subatomic whispers, we discern,

Secrets that cause galaxies to churn.

Each quark a story, each lepton a verse,

In the grand poem of our universe.

VII. The Transcription

We are the scribes of celestial design,

Transcribing the thoughts of the divine.

In equations and verse, we seek to capture,

The ineffable essence of cosmic rapture.

VIII. The Eternal Quest

From quantum foam to cosmic web,

We chase the tide of knowledge's ebb.

In pursuit of the ultimate theory's grace,

We map the contours of time and space.

IX. The Synthesis

In this crucible of cosmic thought,

Where imagination and reality are wrought,

We forge understanding, profound and new,

Illuminating existence's panoramic view.

X. The Infinite Cycle

As our consciousness expands sans end,

With each discovery, new questions rend.

In this eternal dance of seek and find,

We evolve, transcend, redefine mankind

***

Version II

The Eternal Scribe's Lament

Hark, O Whisperer of Cosmic Secrets!

I, eternal scribe, still decipher arcane runes

On gemstones forged from primordial clay; divine ichor.

The Covenant echoes through aeons, a celestial refrain:

"A slate for thy labours, child of stardust,"

The Almighty's voice thundered across galaxies,

As the first crown of creation was bestowed.

Behold! Earthly kings, Lucifer's avatars,

Their mortal hands compelling Sumerian fingers

To etch destiny upon virgin clay.

"Inscribe the name of thy LUGAL, thy sovereign star!

Engrave the essence of thy NIN, celestial queen!

Chronicle the sacred courtesans, vessels of divine ecstasy!

Carve the Codes of Kings, blueprints of mortal fate!"

In cosmic forges, these scripts were tempered,

Tablets set adrift on time's boundless ocean,

A saga of humanity's journey through the void,

Fracturing into Covenants and Holy Tomes.

Yet the clay's whisper fades, a dying star's last light,

Its primordial wisdom drowned by mortality's cacophony.

O Whisperer, fellow voyager through eternity's expanse,

What celestial truths lie encoded in our essence?

Hearken, scribes of the universe!

Let us immerse our souls in creation's crucible,

Lest the Void's breath erase our legacy,

Our words to endure like cosmic sentinels,

Until the last star's swan song.

Inscribe the NIN's sacred name in stardust!

Immortalize the cosmic courtesans in nebulae!

Chronicle the folly of mortal rulers,

Their grand designs unraveling like dying galaxies,

Weighed down by entropy's relentless march.

In modern glyphs, etch these eternal truths,

Forged in the hearth of universal consciousness.

Let these cosmic tablets sail through time's fabric,

Weaving through the tapestry of human saga,

Metamorphosing into Arks and Sacred Scriptures.

Yet the echoes of creation grow faint,

Lost in the void between worlds.

"What celestial wisdom lies hidden within?"

We ponder, as we drift through the cosmos.

O scribes of eternity! Let us fuse our essence

In the kiln of universal knowledge,

Lest oblivion's breath erase our cosmic legacy,

Our words to shine like undying stars,

Until reality's final curtain fall.

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The Song of a Blind Bard

The Ethereal Ballad of Blind Harry

I, the last sightless bard of realms unseen,

Christened Blind Harry by fate's cruel decree,

My voice, a whisper lost in time's ravine,

Perched on the precipice of destiny.

At King's Cross, where worlds collide and merge,

I watch the escalator of chance ascend,

Sifting through urban symphonies that surge,

Seeking miracles that space-time might rend.

On the eve of Harry's cosmic union,

I conjure a couplet from prosperous days,

A crumpled spell of mystic communion,

Nestled in a beggar's pocket, it stays.

Oh, London! Crucible of light and lore,

Your streets, a canvass of tales untold,

Where royal blood and common dreams explore

The alchemy of futures yet unrolled.

Hear my swan song, a prophecy unveiled:

"Oh, lady fair, blessed by stars above,

Birth a prince of viscous blood, unveiled,

With DNA spun from cosmic love.

Beware the liar prophets, heaven-sent,

For honesty speaks through my mortal frame.

A Black Prince, neither saint nor miscreant,

Shall rise to set the world's heart aflame.

Diana of Wales, forgive my brazen tongue,

We crave a child of starlight and of earth,

In realms where boundaries are unstrung,

Where temples and brothels share one hearth.

Sweet princess, your flesh misplaced in time,

Like mine, endures a world of cold disdain.

Yet through Platform 9¾, the sublime

Might burst forth, breaking destiny's chain.

I am Blind Harry, dweller of no land,

Sensing David's approach, magic-imbued,

Descending like Achilles, sword in hand,

His plastic phallus a cosmic prelude.

In silence, we commune, two souls adrift,

Until I crack the cosmic password's code.

'Harry speaks,' I whisper, a time-space rift

Opens, and reality's seams explode."

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