Letter to Parents:

Let's get this straight once and for all:

You need me more than I need you. You need me to take care of your pets, your house, and even yourselves. You have no friends. And you try to blame me for this and delude yourselves that I am in a similar situation. Every day my life is getting better and so far you have only rejoiced when I was miserable and tried to sabotage me when I was successful. You can't even admit that I have been successful; you know pitifully little about me and presume pitifully more. I will no longer accommodate your prejudices trying to impress you. You are awful people and if you want to change that and feel less lonely about yourselves then you can begin by cutting the bull-shit and treating me on my own terms as an adult. I am all ready doing you a huge favour and you behave like ungrateful children. Begin by showing some unconditional love, and then MAY be you'll get some in exchange. I can't promise it, because that would be conditional. And understand that I deliberately leave you out of my life because you have all ways tried to leech off of my success and worsen my failure.

This is all true because it is all I've known since I was born. You can delude yourselves that you can have your own slave that you get to get angry at who does not talk back and is molded in your image. But I am twenty-five and totally self-responsible. This stops now. Take responsibility for others' boundaries and you might learn some thing. Take responsibility for yourselves as parents. Expect nothing in return; this was YOUR decision not mine.

Do NOT text me. I will text you if I need you. Be ready for it, follow through, and then I will believe you care. I don't need any thing material for Christmas so much as I need parents who can treat me as a rational adult and behave rational towards me. It was never my responsibility to meet your arbitrary standards for acceptance, at the expense of my own potentialities. It was YOUR responsibility to accept me in whatever I chose to be. If I think you are awful parents, you are awful parents. If you raised me wrong and left me bitter, that is your doing and no way to escape that. Thankfully MOST people treat me with respect so I like most people. But I would not tolerate abuse from any one. I got home on my own yesterday. If you cared you would be happy to see me in the morning and content to see that I was happy. So quit using me. YOUR behaviour is inadequate. You never treated me as an equal, despite my being your child, so don't start talking to me now about what is or isn't fair. If it's not helping me: it's not fair.

Merry Christmas.
Dmytri.

Dream A.

12-12-2016. Monday.

 

Dream A.

 

The dream was set in a variety of locations. Its progression was practically indiscernable from the conversations of the prior night (Sunday). It was quick-witted and fast-paced, breaking new ground in a variety of familiar places. For instance, the blame game was still operating, if memory serves, yet I surely would have fled the island of its operation. Most noteworthy was that the networking game, which had all ways been held on an elaborate city-wide playground comprised of old vessels (“tiny vessels”, as per the D.C.F.C. song) remodeled to be houses, was an arena that I took successfully by storm. It was reaching a fever pitch and I was at the head of my particular team, though of course I was fundamentally a renegade. This symbol of course represents the Rancho Penasquitos drug culture, particularly the capillary of the drug trade that runs through Carmel Mountain I.A.L. Last night was the night I hung out with Mariah, Derek, and that Irish fellow.

 

Love, romance, betrayal and vengeance oversaw the proceedings in very Scorpio Romantic fashion, with all the Venutian stylings of a Libra or a Taurus.

 

I am thankful at present for my return to Dreamland, in the sense that I have decided to begin this dream record again. Remind me that any one who diverts my attention from its sanctity is bad news.

 

The dream took me to a distant isle where again I had a wife and probably children. We did our best to keep the war at bay. I wonder if C[lever] was in it in form. She certainly hung over it in spirit.

 

Our culture I.A.L. is dominated by the will to power. Yet the Unconscious offers love, compassion, and spiritual redemption. Debaters manipulate words to their credit and then berate philosophy as comparable to their own depravity. Yet mystics understand what the words are meant to refer to: the divine love that manifests in greater subtlety and variety than power ever could, for all its fiery vainglory.

 

Music was central thematically to the dream. I played a variety of instruments in increasingly more luxurious, if still fundamentally humble, venues. Behold the House of Career. What is interesting to note is that most of the intellectual abstraction I experienced (thought IS experience) was set in the Music Rehearsal Hall. (I all most pictured an actual hall when I repeated that pretentious term.) This mirrors the veritable fact that my waking life has put me in the company of those peers for whom thought is musical, expressed in either consonance or dissonance rather than “sense or nonsense”.

 

It would all ways puzzle me that people complained of either music or life when it did not “make sense” to them.

 

Were it not for the mirror, the fact would remain. I would simply have no metaphor to reflect upon.

 

Upon reflection, I am happy. Angst does not need to sadden me so much as it did at first upon sitting down to write this.

 

I am seated before the Christmas display on Avenida Rorras.

 

Dm.A.A.

Public Letter to Rafael Allen Romasanta III:

Despite its abbreviation and the fact that it's a finger pointing, your being in Oklahoma doesn't make a point nor render any thing that happened/that you did OK. That being said, I still will hold you accountable for the Secret of the Golden Flower. You were responsible for my personal belongings, as I could not pick them up from you without encouraging you by so doing to leave without proper notice to the Debate coaches, whose jobs you endangered by choosing to leave any way. You all so got Daniel Mendez into a lot of trouble then, and so it looms ironical that he is your facebook "friend" and not mine. But that is peripheral. You never lent me any of your books on Jung, despite a common interest in his work. Yet far from honoring my own possessions you dispossessed me of that volume, which falls under Jungian literature. Ergo I feel entitled to its return. Johanna offered to mail to me the book of Rilke's poetry that I'd lent to her. You can likewise purchase an other copy of the Secret of the Golden Flower, translated by Richard Wilhelm with a section by Jung, and mail it to my address. This seems in order, since you have for a long time had access to a source of money that you did not have to work for (and nor did the provider of that money), and besides as a literature major books have never been hard enough for you to come by. I've been lenient with you. Today I was reminded of an elderly Scorpio woman whom I'd met at a horse race who insisted that I should drive to your home in Temecula and show up to your door to get my belongings back. But we are past that. She all so pointed out that Scorpios come in three varieties and that plenty wind up in a dark place. This latter fact I'd known for a long time, but I am past the point of trying to save people like you or Kresten. I am simply contented to have met Scorpios of the magnanimous variety; you and Kresten are of course of the lesser breed. so be it. I got my old Casio back from him recently, and he stills owes me for three of my books which he had "lost", and plenty of other belongings. Don't think that I'll make the same mistake twice: nothing that you say can really sway me. I learned the first time, from my tragedy with Kresten. No degree of pettiness upon your part can undo the fact that I'd extricated myself from your company long before it could have done the same sort of damage as his had done. I have no regrets. I apologise for nothing. I know how to deal with you now. You all ways demand leverage. So here is mine: I am thankful that you have a reputation. I have none. You can see that. I have nothing to lose. Do good by me, within reasonable limits, and I shall not feel inclined to divulge what I know about you. I would not call this blackmailing, and I do not approve of the degenerate term "snitching". I simply answer to a power higher than yours, and all ways have: the Truth. Had I known its merit earlier I would have saved my self and plenty people that I loved a lot of pain, trouble, heartache, confusion, delusion, misunderstanding, damage, trauma, and disappointment. People are fragile and you must know that in this lifetime you shall not take advantage of their fragility. I trusted you with my heart and you only used what I confided in you against me. You never had the same trust in me, so I cannot be accused of violating it. You were only petty and controlling. But I am free of your controlling pettiness now. And distrust notwithstanding I will not hesitate for Truth to be heard if I do not gain some closure and affirmation of your desire to reform. If indecency persists, I cannot be blamed that it becomes evident to the general public. Though I pray it does not come to that. Happy Holidays. Dmytri A.A

A Tale of Agency:

A Tale of Agency:

I some times wonder about whether or not every one here knows about me and all my exploits. The awkward reactions. I am probably bringing up things they had never thought about before. Tough questions. And then my paranoiac mind fills in the details. Some one found the love note I slipped into your tip jar. It’s hardly the sort of spontaneous gesture of affection that contemporary society smiles upon, but then is “society” not a projection of my most recently conditioned cynicism?

I suppose a natural, thirsting romantic would appreciate a secret admirer more than any one else would. It would be the dream-come-true that you have all ways wanted. You have all ways pretended that your boyfriend at any given moment might live up to your expectations. But I see it in your eyes: the discontent, the haze that signifies that you are holding back from every thing that you would never tell any one, but that you are secretly dreaming of a better life, and planning a way to turn your present life into that.

Why not yield to me? I feel, distance as you’ve kept me at, and as much as convention might bar me, that I’ve known you through several lifetimes. And having expected this fortuitous meeting for the past year, far from filling me with doubts as regard the prospect of what psychologists call confirmation bias (the superstition that wanting some thing fervently would predispose one’s self to delusion when one believes one’s self to have found it), I feel more certain of this than I have ever felt certain of any thing. The fact is that, intellect intact, I feel that we can pull this off. Why? Because you have lived up to all of my expectations, save for one, and even that one I am uncertain of: that you do not fervently stalk me to the degree that I stalk you. And yet I don’t imagine such daring deviance, which fills my nerves with fire at each long, laborious walk to this coffee house, and that transmutes as though by some alchemical magick to raw nerve and confidence along the triumphant walk back, would estrange you or lie “beneath you”. As the Taoists spoke sagely: “The Way seeks the lowest level, the one that human beings abhor”. And just as surely as we slip beneath the radar of conventional consciousness, my naïve and clumsy gestures notwithstanding, so it shall be that we soar above the binding laws of convention and instituted status quo.

My final point in my neurotic self-defense is this: that had I not known that this day some day would come, I would all ways FEEL this primordial love that culture, in all its attempts to represent it and then to bastardise the representation, can never touch or besmirch, that psychology cannot reduce and that philosophy cannot deconstruct. All generic and cliché ideas come from SOME place. Human beings are NOT predisposed tragically towards disappointment; it is rather that they envy, covet, and chase what they are not yet ready for.

I love you, Clever Field of Barley on the Hill. If I did not know this day would come, I would allow you to be swept away under the raw force of socially organized power, the most brutal wilderness to lose one’s guiding star within. In that sense, that the positive part of culture has helped me to combat the negative, culture acts as a set of water-wings. I shall not dare to let them turn to weights when it comes time to truly fly. I want YOU to fly with me, Clever. I cannot imagine joy without you.

Dmytri A.A.