I highly recommend you watch this flick if you haven’t yet as it contains with the truth of man in this realm as we attempt, in ignorance, to play this immense Game on this stage via using our Souls as credits in exchange for the skin you’re wearing and story in your head that, for most, hems them into the role of Max when, in reality, they wish to be Vincent. Note, I’m not talking about being a smooth, silver fox of a killer that grabs a lift, drops vics and then is on the next jet before anyone comprehends what he did. No, I am speaking on the flip where Max hates his life but won’t do a thing to shift then sells dreams to himself about what he’ll do, as and when. You have to admit that hits a little close to home, doesn’t it? From now on, whenever you’re engaging in said coping mechs you will hear a voice, from the depths, that says:
“What the F are you still doing driving a cab?“.
Then you will choose different. Recollect what I said about negative thoughts being there to challenge, the predator at the helm of your awareness and ponder the question of if you’re the best or wackest version of Self at the moment then choose different. Life will not tell you these things as they wish for you to run the treadmill, from one life to the next, with no introspection needed as you shift and rearrange premade chunks of Thunk that were placed into your awareness, with the elegance of brick, back when as you were dropped from hi res to the lowest common denominator expected. Now, I will warn you that A) there are dangers to deprogramming and this is why most prefer a road that ends exactly where they expect because you must be willing to lose your mind, as built, to come to your senses in the present moment in order to unwrap the gift of Inner Sense. B), and this one is far more slick, if you do you will find springs of static and hatred from those you know best because you changing threatens their concept and they can’t stand this but have odd ways of expressing it as its a whim, programmed in, via the voice in their head that clicks that one escaping the trap it set means others may follow the example lead and also become alchemists in the flesh who then heart out on a quest for gnosis.
Should this kick it signals the end for them as they feast upon your Prime connection and thus make beasts of men. The business is efficient, as old as the empire itself hence I’m a major threat as I remind you of the things you were made to forget. Psylense the noiZ, stare into the void and you may just note this is where Rick James sits and as you come back from this Journey comprehend why we wear shoes, plastic, and they recorded the funk expressed with feet, naked, so the Earth could resonate its presence through them. Getting back to Max and Vincent:
Max got the girl he wanted. The counterpoint to his flaccid Yang as she was an actualized Yin which, itself, is quite ironic as that means she was out of her feminine which is something nine out of ten “career women” will not admit as they Thunk the best way to win is beating men at a Game that makes them miserable. I know, stupid, isn’t it? Try and tell em though and watch them squirm, quick, before that which is at the helm pulls its strings and makes them yell. I once asked a girl if she knew exactly why she bought so many shoes. She didn’t have a clue and admitted it plus was willing to ponder what I said. That I might share, elsewhen, but its for you ladies to comprehend because if you’re living out such intense Click-Whirr Patterns then doesn’t that make you a puppet of the flesh? Of course, for the insta gen, being thought of as generic as they sport the same tatted sleeve, BBL and fake eyelashes as the rest with pics filtered to death as they save up enough grip to buy a new set of lips, eyes, nose, teeth and or whole visage is akin to telling a pig in lipstick she’s a swine, nothing more or less, and thus they’ll hate you for it but, eventually, some may gain the spark of gnosis, intended, and come back for another session. She said:
“You really are a prick. I absolutely hated what you said and stormed out of the sesh because it felt so uncomfortable to have my camera tricks ripped out from within and then shown to my true Self who, silently, nodded her head and said “He is correct”. After this, doing what I did, no longer hit like it once did as its akin to using a strap on with my friend but in the emotional sense. She obtained immense pleasure but, for me, there was a disconnect. You know, I’ve often wondered how it felt to have a dick. What you said, back when, about how, for men, it swings in the wind and thus is nowhere as intimate as entering the lotus, blooming, of the feminine really made me think because I know you were talking to someone else but it felt like it was targeted at my depths as I’ve been a loud and proud lesbian since incep. I felt it at school, developing. I couldn’t quite place my finger on it, even though I’d been masturbating since a kid, but there was something quite beautiful about a woman that made me tingle within”. I agreed with her on this and stated:
“They truly are an astounding creation, yes? It can be the subtle things like a tongue poking out in concentration of which they’re not aware, a nose wrinkling whilst considering the thoughts you’ve sent that plumb their depths or the totally irrational lack of logic that, like Sean Connery once said, makes you want to smack them upside the head with a pillow for being so stupid”. She started laughing.
“Oh my god, yes. Yes, exactly this. You know, I can be a really, cruel, sadistic bish in bed and that is something that, if I had a dick, would get me erect as I buzz off that helplessness as I keep inflicting pleasurable pain then denying the resolution of it. I can keep at it for hours and hours and the best sex you can ever get is with someone you detest. I once seduced an old girl I knew, back when. We’d known each other since High School and she hated me because of my preference and I loathed her existence but, alone in bed, she’d get me so excited that I spent many, many nights thinking about her. She used to blush in my presence, every now and then, if I looked up in class and our eyes met which, later on, I came to comprehend was a sign of arousal. Anyway, I was out, having a few drinks, and we ran into each other on the circuit. At first she couldn’t believe how I’d blossomed. Gone were the boots and jeans because I realized online simps pay the bills, real well, ergo I jumped in, full tilt, to giving the men what they wished but it was all an illusion. She, initially, couldn’t tell this and thought I’d “grown out of it”. Later on that night I had her in my bed, my very own wish fulfillment switch and I sat there flicking it with an intent that can only be called devilish as I went from soft tenderness to being fiercely relentless and there was nothing, not a thing, she could do about it. I left her a wet mess and was so proud of that notch on my belt that it got me thinking. Am I both Max and Vincent or something else? Is this really who I am or am I, on some level, faking all of this? Even though I get immense validation and scrip from the simps that I pimp they think I’m one thing but really something else. My jerk off instruction vids are the ones that sell best but the dildos and such things I’m using are purely for the feminine. Am I, on some level, negating this in me because I so desperately want to be a man? Is that why I wear my hair like this, lift and am seriously considering a jaw implant as well? In the end, what you said, really shook something, deep within, and it reminded me of my schoolfriend as, when she left, she said:
“You know, I always thought you were attractive and hated you for rocking, with confidence, what I was scared to admit. The truth of the fact is I’m married and have an amazing kid but, deep down within, I wonder about the life, unlived“. She went on detail a few bits and bobs as she left and thats what, in part, bought me back again as, with her, I really felt what I did miss and, no matter how much I pretend, I’ll never be a man. Not that surgery is an option. What the F is going on inside my head and chest that I simply cannot comprehend because I was quite certain it was X, Y and Z then she made me see it could be A, B, C instead and then there are the bits in the mid that, for most, are unmapped, unquestioned and never examined. What the heck is happening? I feel like I’m losing my mind and cannot tell my elbow from rear end because, a while ago, I was totally certain that I knew who I was but is that all a coping mech? It what you said about gauging how quick the buzz fades. It could be a new accomplishment, a possession I wanted or fresh conquest as the thrill of the chase is always, always, always better than getting and, sometimes, the rejection is more thrilling as it excites something with that seems to get off on this and this is what popped in my head as I saw her eyes, liquid, staring at me with boundless affection as I was so aroused by her whimpering to please let her release the waves, cascading and I realized that I simply do not like my Self as much as she did in that moment and thus this has to be an intricate manifestation of shadowplay in the flesh and, worse still, the encounter was fated as she resolved immense amounts of tension from back when but, in the process, dredged up all kinds of sediment from the depths of my subconscious and this relates, well, to the convo we had where you questioned my realness and I stormed out instead of answering it as I felt so deeply disrespected as I pride myself on being authentic. I don’t even know who I am any more and you’re to blame for this”. She said, looking dejected. I softly reminded her I was simply a figment of her imagination saying what she daren’t admit. With a grin she shook her head and added:
“You really are a prick”.
See, in this case, the question is is she driving a cab as a loud and proud lesbian that, simultaneously, gets many men erect from her side business or does she, subliminally, drain their masculine energetics as its what she truly covets but, at the same time, would never make the shift to another region of the alphabet with a bit of nip tuck remix and some hormones thrown in as well? To say she was complex was an understatement but this was a girl who spent a heck of a lot of time introspecting as, back when, she beat up a lot of her school friends as a way to vent the aggression she didn’t comprehend, yet, was purely sexual. She was extremely compartmentalized, in that sense, and a house that is divided can be easily conquered by outside influences of echo chambering and our conversation had hit a nerve that was red, electric, deep within and had been previously wrapped in all types of blue insulation hence why I asked her to watch the flick and bring her notes in which said:
“I immediately hated Max. His fake niceness and general air of weakness. It was strong and visceral, I felt it in my left fist that started tingling and the memory that instantly flicked was of a girl I knew, back when, who was ultra feminine and really popular as well. Me, having short hair and Doc boots, was seen as a bit weird and off tilt. Vincent I dig, I liked him off rip as he’s just so smooth and efficient. No emotion needed, its strictly business but he’s so charming with it. Ha! A lean, mean killing machine that most would never see coming. I saw a lot of my Self in him as he knew what needed to be done and handled it. It was the end though, when he switched, and found his true strength that left me wondering – “Am I being authentic? Why did he tell me to watch this?“. If Vincent really was what he said and truly he lived his lyrics there is no way in hell that bam could’ve caught him slipping. Granted, its a flick, but it certainly made me think. What if this is just a huge, elaborate coping mech and I’m really Max with a hitmans face copy and pasted over it and I’ve been so invested in the decep that I can no longer tell?”.
Men pay her good money to guide their masturbation. This is her niche and she exploits it, well. To them she’s the strong woman of their dreams and specializes in whatever they need to get their rocks off via the illusion of intimacy but she was starting to comprehend how there must be more to this as she put on a great performance, which they gratefully bought in, but at the same time she felt immensely jealous of what swung between their legs and she, herself, didn’t possess but could approximate quite well with an extensive collection of toys and things. What bought her to the brink was, one night, she clicked how the connection she coveted with the feminine wasn’t truly happening as she thinks but, with her clients, she works best by thinking she’s them and then letting rip as she vampires their energetics and wallet as well. In the flesh this concept filled her with disgust but, via screen, it was different. Being intelligent she had studied Freuds concepts of penis envy and such things and thought “That dope fiend’s off his head” as she examined other blips but could not, just yet, comprehend the shadows depth and what was hidden within. This is the element we’d been exploring as she shared her edits of the wrap around implant she wanted and how much it would cost, the potential hit to her gains as well as the pain of taking at least two months off along with the rest of the mess in her head designed to distract her from what, to me, seemed Self evident. She had, as expected, picked it from a woman, also lesbian, who had been naturally blessed with such a thing and rocked it really well with a quiff to look mad androgynous and chill. In comparison her face was far more delicate and this belied what kicked as her finger T:E ratios said the same thing even though, beneath the neck, she was a tower of strength and prided herself on max reps and generally toned appearance thanks to her tireless dedication to lifting and immense discipline therein.
“From what the heck have I, seemingly forever, been running that, now, its got to the point where I’m thinking of slicing and dicing? Its what you said about the quest because my body is in the best shape its ever been and I hit all of my targets then trounced them before I heard something in my head say “Now lets do something about that face, eh?”. I was taken aback as I’d never thought like that, and yet, once the suggestion was in I felt like I couldn’t resist it as it seemed like all my previous dread, existential, had now found a singular point of focus that we needed to fix, quick”. Thing is this girl was no stranger to her inner realms and comprehended, in part, the camera trick because she’d never had this insecurity until the mirror finally reflected perfection in the flesh and thus she intuited there must be something else pulling the strings. We’d met before this as she overheard a thread I was weaving with a friend about the damage done within via hoe phasing and how I strongly suspect that a womans affection grows less and less over time until its more tinged with detest than pure, unbridled bliss because, for a man, its already out, swinging (and thus impersonal) whereas a woman holds the keys to the kingdom and decides whom she lets in but all entering leave a deposit in her subconscious which becomes a problem as the past casts shadows over the present…
I guess in this sketch I don’t have to detail what kicked to this girl, developing, that made her like this as she dealt with concepts that had messed up her frame of reference in regards to sex and the polarity shifts within as you, reader, should be more than capable of drawing the links of what manifests but I shared this as its a great example of why most people who elect for surgical intervention never just have one fix because the same force rears its head again and again until it gains acceptance as it is and not a twisted manipulation aka the thorn that turned within to manifest the (false) self that sits at the helm of most of the planet. Her tale was most visceral and she was so completely honest that it felt like the world she knew was being ripped from her lids which, only then, revealed their closedness as slim TVs had been stitched that broadcasted a script of the character she lived that was penned from within by forces, disconnected, yet still present. Don’t get it twisted, I’m not saying that same sex relations and such things are a problem or not natural. Far from it. What I pushed the pen to highlight in this article is that we, as people, are far more complex and intricate than most dare admit as many are pulled, that way and this, by forces we barely comprehend and this wholesale madness has the entire world in its grip. She was smart enough to click that if the chase presents more of a thrill than the getting there is something, within, that is also inverting the same deal and using the projection to keep the thoughts, submerged, from the surface.
Vincent knew this as he lived in the shadows depth hence why he could do what he did with brutal effectiveness. His undoing came when he stepped out of his zone he knew well and developed a sense of empathy for Max as they pushed their buttons, respective, and this, in the end, bought the repressed demon out of him that was finally allowed free reign from his domineering mothers ways and the rest that made him like this as he’d manned up, rescued the projection of his feminine and then capped the clear and present threat to become a far better version of himself than would be possible without the antagonist jamming a monkey wrench in his carefully constructed coping mechs that ensured he’d never accomplish that of which he was capable as he kept postponing instead as to face the shadows depth filled him with intrinsic dread. Do you think he went back to driving a cab after this and telling immense fibs about will eventually happen when its all perfect? Ask your Self:
“What the F are you still doing driving a cab?” next time you feel this curious mix of instant pleasure that presents to assuage a stress you’ll try and pretend doesn’t it have its grip or, like the girl in question, who milked the male she detested for dividends to generate a string of women flowing in and out of her bed that, in the end, left her feeling unfulfilled as there was a deeper wound, screaming for attention, and she’d spent her entire life and self concept investing in the opposite as the the thought of the shadows depth left her shaking with emotions, discombobulated. I’ll let her end it:
“Sometimes, in bed, I’d ponder my role in all of this. How I always lead, always seduced, always went after them, hated if they acquiesced too quick, often started drama and fights for no reason in stable relationships and generally acted like a huge dick. I can’t believe I never drew the links between the emotional interplay and physical aspects as, saying it out loud, its mad obvious, isn’t it? Who knew I was truly scared of my own internal feminine and how, from the depths, she had been running everything and it took the idea changing the face I knew well to snap me out of this spell as it was my body that, previously, felt weakly imperfect and thus I wept when there were no more personals to be bested and I was in the best shape I’d ever been, physically, but mentally was wrecked. Man is, most certainly a curious machine of desire creation” she said as she got out of the car, started walking and comprehended the gun was in her grip and had been, off rip, as she is now far more content than she’s ever been and feels internally free to embrace her true Self and not the story in her head that was designed to hide the mess that most would rather die than ever check. Her example is exceedingly powerful as it highlights, real well, the power of sex, money and attraction along with the undeniable forces of introspection and awareness when it comes to recoding your internal OS into a state of far greater coherence than most thought possible.
The cab is what we use to protect and project out, into this realm, that of which we believe we’re capable. The driver, or pilot, if you will, that sits at the helm would rather be anywhere than this but feels he as no options. Most pick them in ignorance and then build their entire self concept around them and thus will react with violence if you challenge their assumptions. The rare few, the 8%, are capable of Knowing the Ledge and seeing if they’re truly scratching the itch or ignoring it and pawing at a reflection instead. Thats how powerful the (false) self is, my friend. The hitman can be a life event, random insight or traumatic imprint that makes us question the narrative and, in effect, those who face it chase their demons, slay them and integrate what they repped as they are no longer identified with Max or Vincent and thus the cab is irrelevant as is the pistol grip of a coping mech hence they create the Path by walking and are not afraid to melt as you are, in the end, water vapor rendered solid as snowman of consciousness who is nothing more or less than a direct resonance of the all of everything.
Till we meet again
