Mentally Subsumed

What people often miss about brainwashing is how, for the most part, the “brainwashed” one is feeling alright. Cherry pinched, even.

And who wouldn’t? Depending on your disposition. When I sit at the pew, to lotus, I feel the fibres of ancestors and wise men suggesting the same: leave it to the higher powers, or someone who has the mental capacity to order the world by its proper and changeless origins. Let’s see the sorcerers rip the firmament and weave it to a cradle, to a doomsday cabin capsule as hearth and brimstone. Keeping one bundled, snuggled against our descent. A new womb.

It is only the one who walks the perimeter of the village that can figure a different structure. And that requires feeling the uncomfortably familiar forest and jungle and void. Who wants to deal with that?

So if I ever could meet any guru and talk about the boss, well, maybe the boss has a lot of honest claims about why we’re torching heaven. I mean, it seems a pretty convincing premise, if you think about reigning in Hell and everything…

He will take the history of every man and furnish the answers. Twilight’s Council, in its sepia ruin, will blossom glint verbena as we tap into forgotten arts. It’s all written in you, if you think about.

One may struggle surrendering to the world, but what a comfortable alternative: sanctuary as you are, today, nothing else demanded, no dispositions need abandonment, just a small addition. The small addition of being mentally subsumed. For someone else’s ends, but they’re your ends too. You could be convinced. And with enough maneuvering you’ll know you’re protected.

How many wish for an embrace! Or someone to blame. But they’re steering the ship, and we’ll forget those complicit.

We’re just hanging out, honestly. I’ll decorate the void with the best font to love, definitely.