This is Destruction/This is Creation

This is destruction.

This world is working it's way to destroy me. I don't know where, when, how, or why, but I do know for sure, I will be devoured by this universe. To be shat out; what a beautiful creation.


How rare it is to have someone that just gets you so well; they have infiltrated you to your core. All they have to do is push one pillar over. One crudely constructed pillar. You collapse. This is creation by destruction. Count it down. Anxiety turns to excitement. It's not self-destruction if it's beckoned, is it?

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This crap is where our truth lies. What we decide to not carry with us says more about us than what you we carry. I let it all go. I carry nothing but this mantra now. "It's shit." I can't believe how long one can carry on like this. Things are so easy. Nobody gives... well, shit. It's so easy to float through life. Just waiting for the big flush. I can't wait, it's so exciting. Wait, don't carry that. Drop it. "It's shit" I whisper.

I remember a time when people would walk up and ask me to help them with something. The looks you get when you stare them dead in the eye and say, "It's shit." They tend to walk away so I don't have to. You watch them transform. Here I go, transforming and saving everyone one "It's shit" at a time.

Fielding phone call after endless phone call from co-workers, clients, bosses, etc. Spreading my mantra across the land. I'm surprised I wasn't fired sooner. I drop that just as quickly. "It's shit." I repeat to myself as I gather up my things.

While placing all my useless desk toys in a one-size-too-small office box I realize I don't need this shit anymore. I threw it all into the one-size-too-small waste basket.

I thought for a moment, Jessie has some smokes he keeps in the break room. Bingo. Matches. Bonus. I clumsily light a cigarette. Clumsily only because I don't smoke, yet. The match goes into the basket and I feel like a Vietnam War Shit-Burner as I choke down my first puff. Vietnam Shit-Burners were voluntold to dispose of fecal waste by burning it. This act required a precise mixture of gasoline, diesel and semi-liquid "waste." I am the master of the mixture.

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I'm freeing everyone. I finally saved the office. I think it's time to liberate my apartment complex.


Nobody locks the doors in this little yuppie prissy neighborhood. I could walk in, and kick it with the bros next door. But that's not very liberating, is it?


I wait until they go to work. Or to the bar. Or to the gym. Wherever meat-heads go. Once they're gone the revolution begins.


Everything they have ever cared about. The TV, the signed team jersey, the other signed team jersey, the football, the posters of half-naked women, the posters of naked women, all of it.


I'm not worried about the fire reaching my apartment. I'm ready for it all to go away. No more hindrances. I am the master of the mixture.

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Everyone is outside. Crying. Oh no, my apartment. Somebody screams, "All my shit!"

He doesn't even realize how much he just disrespected his own things he valued so highly. All. My. Shit.

Some people cry when they're baptized. Others scream. This guy screams, "All my shit."

All of this commotion I see it. THE ONE TRUTH. I don't know what happened but I felt I could drop anything. I could let it all go. "It's shit." I repeat over and over to myself. It's shit. It's shit. It's
shitIt'sshitIt'sshitIt'sshitIt'sshitIt'sshit.

Nothing works. It's got it's hold and I know it. THE ONE TRUTH started it's work that day.

I tried to push it back. Make it into shit. Digest it. Oh it's just this. Oh, it's just that. But no. It's THE ONE TRUTH. It's like being constipated on a spiritual level. Why can't you just digest! Can I die from constipation? Maybe, I may have read that somewhere. I think it festers and you slowly become a bacteria farm and IT digests YOU. How fitting. Now, I am shit.

I didn't sleep well that night.

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That night, THE ONE TRUTH had really worked me over. Digesting me from inside out. I can feel the change. The one pillar. 

The one shaky poorly made pillar I had hot-glued in place had finally begun to sway. I'm digesting being digested. Maybe I'll feed a flower that will feed the butterfly that will feed the wasp as she lays her eggs inside of her that will feed some bats. I think bats eat wasps. I don't know. I'll feed the universe.

I don’t know if this is comforting or not. We just get recycled.

THE ONE TRUTH, we are all food for the universe. I am the mixture.

Practice of Looking

The magnifying glass that has been my practice. I realize how much I am missing. That space is freedom.

Making Friends.

How many friends do you want?

That's an interesting question to me. If anyone asked me, I probably would say as many as people that like me. I cannot say I am above putting my self-worth on that alone. If people like me, I must have value. I am sure that this can resonate with you.

All these emotions well up, depression that "no one" likes me, anger at my ego for wanting all this validation. All of these things seem so superficial and silly, but they still have their hooks in me. My thoughts drift to, "How can I take this and make it beneficial?"

My depression sits on the axis of a concrete self and thinking I NEED people to validate me. Maybe people don't want to be around someone who is always looking to suck the love out of them. Well, some people dig that, but that's neither here nor there. You have to give love to get love. Who is going to give first?

I realized last night, that I am my own worst enemy. I hate myself more than anyone does. How tragic and scary is that? I am constantly with the enemy. At least I know my enemy. I feel I can really reach this enemy, I mean, we have a lot in common. We sit together. We talk together. Argue together. Feel the exact same feelings. Play music together. Make love together. I am slowly making friends with myself. Picking myself up off of the ground and realizing I am self and I am other. I am self and I am enemy self and I am nothing. All at the same time. I want to make this enemy my best friend and I feel I can get close to this mark.

We have emotions constantly all day. Instead of letting them drag you around with their hooks inside of you. Feeling bad for feeling good. Feeling good for feeling bad. All of these things are products of what is rooted in ignorance. Not seeing it for what it is. Once you see it for what it is, maybe we can turn it around for the benefit of all beings. I cannot wait until I see. Until then, this depression will be with me and I will put my arm around it. Not let it put it's arms around me and I will let the enemy know it's loved and it's role is known. 

Let's get a tea together and play some tunes.

Many bows,

M. Bicanovsky.