I Can-Able MySelf by Iam Ouroboros

30 posts / 0 new
Last post
anon (not verified)
I Can-Able MySelf by Iam Ouroboros

I Can-Able MySelf

by Iam Ouroboros

We live in times when just about everything exists but almost nothing matters. It is a dislocated, distorted, dissociative, dispirited, and disingenuous time when almost everything and everyone has been tainted, tamed, absorbed, and consumed. But only I can truly nourish mySelf. Those of rare and of the finest quality are few, but they may add some spice, certain flavors, and textures to my life, and may even intricately co-conspire in a decadent feast of unique and kindred delight. But only I alone can-able mySelf.

I walked into Walmart today for some random tool to negotiate this atrociously disconnected world and was grossly reminded that hope for this particular reality is beyond absurd. Once again, I was brutally and disgustingly reminded that this is the sad epitome of the herd eating the herd in a hyper-alienated self-slaughter and cannibalistic feeding of soulless slugs. Rolling around their carts, shopping for their daily fix of two-litered high fructose corn syrup, enormous bags of salty fluff, and other assorted processed crunchy food’ish materials of self-referential garbage. Dressed in warehoused plastic fashion that reflect their obedient emptiness, taken out of huge crates just off the boat with bloody childish fingerprints from the East and South. Enormous screen-creatures of the hand-held artificial meta-verse with barrels of empty snacks for the ever-hungry mouths that say nothing worth-while and mis-nourished asses to cushion their pathetic servile and spectating existence. I walked into Walmart today and was grossly reminded that these are not me. I am in the wrong place and time and it is all-too-clear that I am alone and need to constantly remember that I alone can-able mySelf.

I read a label on a box of breakfast cereal with ingredients I cannot pronounce until I get to a few different types of diminutive bi-products from the once sacred maize. I think of how it has been systematically and industrially stripped and degraded into a dead caloric vessel from the magical living entity it once was. I catch myself half-dazed and pondering those brutal, yet far more meaningful days of the Aztec Empire before colonization, during their festival celebrating the Spring Equinox when their captured slaves would be flayed alive and their skin, detached from the body, was worn by Aztec priests in the rite of neteotquiliztli, in which he became a living embodiment of Xipe Totec, the Flayed Lord. The flaying symbolized the husking of corn and the regeneration of fields. Hominy danced in broth with human flesh. I am not celebrating, just noting and juxtaposing. Brutal meaning, I suppose, is still more interesting and alive than flaccid nothingness. And yes, in this thought process, I can-able mySelf.

Perhaps there is another way and I start to imagine myself in a primitive hunt where my connection to nourishment and flesh and meaning was not mediated by priests or commodities, before or outside of this Leviathan. As I am drawing my bow, with my arrow aimed directly between the eyes of my prey, someone bumps into me and I am back to this horrific artificial reality and I am watching the modern slaves perform their unimpressive and profane duties. There are no authentic dances or feasts here, just marches to nowhere and engorging on nothing. While they will eventually go to their pre-fabricated boxes to consume high calorie emptiness and cultural nothingness and feast with disgustingly slobbish laps, chews, grunts, and groans on each other and on their own barely moving corpses in a desperate yet disturbingly automatonatic manducation, I am neither priest nor subject. No master. No slave. I am free and can-able mySelf to be alive and unique and robust. In an autosarcophagous and revolting act, both figuratively and literally, I will eat mySelf.

On my drive home I switch on the radio, and here they go again…victims and saviors push and pull their days and nights away. Performing their ritualistic roles. The victims take no agency for their lives, as everything and everyone else is to blame, to excuse them from responsibility, to cripple their ability to make choices that enrich their lives from within their authentic desires. The saviors also live for others, outside of their lives, serving the victims. Their motivations are derived from guilt, arrogance, and duty, but never from their own lives. The victim and the savior need each other. They feed on each other. They could not exist without one another. They are each other. The head eats the tail, but in an opportunistically parasitical way. And then a commercial interrupts to offer more of the same cannibalistic time-wasting drivel. They blend seamlessly into one another. It is all the same as it eats itself from the superficial skin and masks inward.

Switching the station, the shock-and-awe western chauvinist yells at me that filthy immigrants, the dirty faggots, and the eternally unclean godless are to blame for all of the world’s problems. He goes on to carve up and feast on the present with a distorted and agenda-colored memory of the past and an insanely opportunistic and over-simplistic vision for the future. His meal is a lie and it offers him only indigestion for us to hear and smell.

I punch the radio off and watch the world go by as I drive back home to my mountain sanctuary from this post-post-modern madness and my unsettled, frazzled, and frenetic mind makes up a little tune about digits and the digital in the long and tragic trajectory of humanity:

Opposable Thumbs

Defining humans

Deciding humans

Declining humans

Opposable Thumbs

From sticks to screens

From songs to memes

From tribes to scenes

Opposable Thumbs

From where it began

From animal to human

The snake eats its end

Opposable Thumbs

I feel so numb

How fuckin’ dumb

Opposable Thumbs

thumbs thumbs thumbs

numb numb numb

dumb dumb dumb

thumbs thumbs thumbs

As the deranged and clownish melody continues in my head it gets faster and faster, not realizing that I begin chewing on my fingernails. Faster and faster. Chewing and gnawing. Driving, humming, chewing. Driving, humming, chewing. By the time I reach the end of the gravel road to my cabin, far up the canyon, far from the rest of the world, I realize that I have chewed off both of my thumbs, chewed down to cute little nubs. Blood and tiny pieces of me-meat covers the steering wheel, the windshield, the dashboard, and the front seat of my old barely-running truck. My shirt is now dark red and kinda warm and fuzzy. I smile a satisfied and bloody smile and I see stringy droplets dripping down my cheeks and chin and teeth as I look into the rear-view mirror. The evening sun glimmers, coloring the scene in urine yellow, rusty orange, and blood red all around me. I am finally home.

And I think it will all be ok.

anon (not verified)
forum topic?

forum topic?

why???

nothing being asked???

not a question for the herd.

anon (not verified)
It should remain in the forum

It should remain in the forum for cringe level alone.

anon (not verified)
no "cringe" you.

no "cringe" you.

what exactly do you think is sooooooo "cringe" here?

not really expecting a reply, or at least one with anything specific, as is usually the case with people who use emoji-like abbreviated meaninglessness terms right out of the trending-scape.

but go ahead, prove me wrong, use your words now...

PlayedYourselfBot (not verified)
"emoji-like abbreviated

"emoji-like abbreviated meaninglessness terms"

> trending-scape

anon (not verified)
As I am drawing my bow, with

As I am drawing my bow, with my arrow aimed directly between the eyes of my prey, someone bumps into me and I am back to this horrific artificial reality and I am watching the modern slaves perform their unimpressive and profane duties.
We got ourselves a masterpiece right here fellas. Not at all a raving blog post by an alienated narcissist brought to our attention by bored moderators on anews with no Halloween plans

anon (not verified)
its called fiction. and i got

its called fiction. and i got BIG plans.

anon (not verified)
humanity is truly disgusting.

humanity is truly disgusting.

anon (not verified)
... said the incel.

... said the incel.

anon (not verified)
not even close, by a fuckin'

not even close, by a fuckin' cumshot. oh user of dog-whistling tropes.

AND, i said humanity, there are still a few beautiful people.

anon (not verified)
Who ya talkin to, bud?

Who ya talkin to, bud?

anon (not verified)
wow. this was fun. i'm dippin

wow. this was fun. i'm dippin' out. clean up after yerself and turn out the lights

anon (not verified)
Have a nice time "dippin",

Have a nice time "dippin", bud

anon (not verified)
*trick-or-treatin

*trick-or-treatin

lumpy (not verified)
this has hurricane goon squad

this has hurricane goon squad energy...

anon (not verified)
please expand, what is that?

please expand, what is that? and what do you mean? seriously.

lumpy (not verified)
it's an old @news meme that i

it's an old @news meme that i fished out of the gutter

there was another person who hung around a lot, seduced by perhaps some similar ideas?

evoking a human sacrifice and skinning ritual in walmart, there's a... very particular american flavour!

the eco-extremist fixation?

anon (not verified)
it seems more misanthropic

it seems more misanthropic than eco-extremist. not that either are a problem for me. look around.

lumpy (not verified)
I'm a little bit cooountry, i

I'm a little bit cooountry, i'm a little bit rock'n rooolll... hah!

anon (not verified)
thanks for explaining, and it

thanks for explaining, and it is deliciously accurate. thanks for noticing.

anon (not verified)
It's cool prose! Tho from the

It's cool prose! Tho from the title and imagery I can't get outta my head the thought of the author ourobos'ing himself...

anon (not verified)
It's poorly written and very

It's poorly written and very uncool. The images on the fake zine cover (why is this a thing?!?) are okay but the font choice is as cringe as the writing, title, and pseudonym.
You can't sit with us.

anon (not verified)
who would want to sit with

who would want to sit with you?

anon (not verified)
very provocative. like it.

very provocative. like it. picked it up as a zine in the bay area last month from the guy from Green Anarchy magazine, and other stuff like it. really liked the critique of Safer Spaces he had there. wow. GA brings back some memories and just a smidge of hope.

anon (not verified)
No you didn't

No you didn't

anon (not verified)
someone here thinks they know

someone here thinks they know everything

anon (not verified)
Is that "someone" here with

Is that "someone" here with you right now?

anon (not verified)
i hope someone puts the

i hope someone puts the "opposable thumbs" poem to music...john cale maybe?

anon (not verified)
i would agree, thumbs suck.

i would agree, thumbs suck.

anon (not verified)
what’s with these comments?

what’s with these comments? No one makes any sense anymore. I felt this read. I see myself in their words, the world as a whole, and at certain points my self awareness made me long to be like the author.

Add new comment

Filtered HTML

  • Web page addresses and e-mail addresses turn into links automatically.
  • Allowed HTML tags: <a> <em> <strong> <cite> <code> <ul> <ol> <li> <dl> <dt> <dd>
  • Lines and paragraphs break automatically.

Plain text

  • No HTML tags allowed.
  • Web page addresses and e-mail addresses turn into links automatically.
  • Lines and paragraphs break automatically.
CAPTCHA
This question is for testing whether or not you are a human visitor and to prevent automated spam submissions.
c
u
U
d
A
r
7
h
Enter the code without spaces.