the Artistry of Living Feral :

I drove my mechanical masterpiece to the limit – all the time,
until they shut Speed down with military Weapons,
a freedom crushed by firearmed bureaucrats . . . firing radar and Lasers.

And the Limit I drove to, was set to 95% of the limits of adhesion,
and at about the same standard for roadcraft and assessing circumstance.
A fine margin for error, but sufficient unto the task.

Everywhere I went, I drove to the Limit,
drove to perfection of technique,
in the best-driving car I could afford . . .
(an exquisite Citroen DS, Manual gear selection, with clutch pedal).

From the sixties, I flew the limits of artfulness, until 1990,
when it seemed I could not afford a destruction of license.

But I kept on driving hydro-pneumatic-suspension Citroëns, ever after,
engrossed by the sensuality of its flight-like supple precision,
a perfectionist’s delight, even without the intensity
of driving with Death as one’s sobering companion.

I really like intensity. It turns me On.
Life is for-real when you are pitting your prowess against a deadly consequence.

And it is in Quest of the for-real
that I have lived the Toltec Warrior’s Path.
Far more than only for-real . . . is to be discovered there.

Low flying {as I call it} obliges-entices the spirit-mind to participate,
to protect its physical investment {embodiment}.

Or, should I say . . . it worked for mySelf,
building a habit, a skill of mergence with the spirit mind,
in a world now Lost in spaceTime, forbidden by double-tongue politicians.

I want the luscious state of heightened awareness more than Anything else.
Thus am i . . . ever alert to a clue that crystalises the self
into a more-solid Experience

Alert to opportunities for intenSity.
Domiciled, meanwhile, at a posh address in Intent-City.

When driving at speeds capable of crushing a car
the Attention is {must be} rivetted solid to the Task.

As in any Extreme sport, Lapses are potential death,
so the consciousness is disciplined to impeccability . . .
while self-deceivers regarding their skill . . . are weeded out by Trees.

not driving in Competitiveness and Sociability, like Alexander Roy’s career
of cross-country feral racing, to beat the CannonBall record times.

Instead, driving the ephemeral Artfulness of a superbly-precise,
fluidly-smooth long-travel suspension, sleek aerodynamics
of gracefully devouring warped and tatty roads at 80mph,
in the sweet spot Dynamic of a dancer’s flawless poise.

We who love Life take great care to avoid fatal stupidities
. . . {Too-much-to-Lose is a motive as relentless as gravity}.

Which is a long way from a TV teenager with heavy foot and too much to prove,
and an even Longer Way again, from the prevailing Cowardice towards death {which I despise}
Never could trust a Coward, yet I’m surrounded by the meek and obedient.

Step within 6feet of someone in a supermarket, and what do they say ?
“Oh Sorry” as if They’ve made a social Blunder . . .
. . . {or, iS it that i am Reflexively imagined to be HairTrigger unStable ?}.

Whereas I would say Hullo, as if encountering a potential conversation.
Is that Freudian Projection ? Or What ?
Everybody is afraid of everybody.
{except the fearless Cruxx, universally dismissed as crazed}

And it is dead Wrong, this unChallenged fear. This wrongness is Certain.

Anyway, the state of mind when low-flying is a dear favourite of mine.
Every run was a romantic Race, making love to the untamed Road,
exercising peerlessly-smooth Flight through every curved manouevre.

Flamboyantly displaying Prowess, proud as a Rutting peacocK
Not displaying for my Dismayed passengers,
nor for the conformists Startled along my way . . .
i and my Self are driving for the Nagual, for the Dark Sea of Awareness . . .
. . . {the sometimes pro-active observer of our lives}
offering a materialised virtuosity of perception, assessment and discipline to my Beloved benefactor, Life.

Driving professionally founded a tenacious Strength of Concentration
which proved invaluable later, when confrontations with parasites became frequent,
when my ground of Endeavour shifted to the 2nd Attention,
into the workings of the aetheric realm.

Only Legal Method that produces such a full Engagement with my spirit body
is by pushing my amateurish skills at downhill skiing.

Dear, how I love downhill skiing, flitting across a contoured white landscape.
It definitely lightens the mood, when crashes are inconsequential {laughter}.
yet Always obsessed with Engagement . . .

Driving like a fighter pilot induces Engagement.
As it did, every time I fired-up that sophisticated Citroen engine,
idling until its oil was fully at work, before beginning the Song of Speed.

I was considered mad, even though I had not scarred a car.
Everybody believes that nobody can drive more skillfully than themselves - except a few professionals.
No regrets. It is a wonderful ephemeral Art, bringing me Alive every time.

As Crowley once noted :
[quote]“Art is great in Proportion to its ability to Exalt the soul”[/quote]

And the Safety Nazis shut it down. Because they Could.

Far too Many people are unreasonably afraid of death and pain . . .
so the Safety Nazis get what they want {timid obedience},
even whilst humans are in plague proportions upon Earth.

The sanctimonious killing off of Engagement . . . doorway to individual impeccability.
The cowarding of ManKind, and the Shrinking of Liberty.

An unHuman anti-Evolutionary Purpose.
Which nobody consulted me on.
Which I never agreed to.
Imposing fake agreements, retrospective variations to my social contract.
Malignant variations, which I am not morally obliged to accept, to submit.

My terms of legality were agreed at time of birth, and I abide by them.
Not to be shredded 15 years later, when some crooked politician
invents a new scheme for fleecing, insulting and enslaving their electorate.

Government is losing its credibility,
for honestly Husbanding their domain of response-ability.

The tracks of plunder are not hard to find these days,
with Chomsky and his Seedlings publishing their investigations.
Telling us How we are artificially Poor and manipulated into Consent
by a captive corporate media.

Where does our ignorance begin. ?
Perhaps with the scarcity of investigative reporting . . . ?
glibly justified as cost-management ?

But the petty {or Strategic ?} degrading of journalistic standards
has sent a few of the braver ex-journalists into Feral investigations.

These journalists know they were Shafted by Management,
and keen they are to Square the account,
even if the Work is done on their own Time.

Some real smarties amongst them, too
{i admire intelligence that is well-applied to Any subject}

Truthfully laying open schemes of the corporate Secret World,
for those that still Care.
For those who Dare to be unPersuaded by the official fairy story.

And though journalism is not my Vocation,
somehow I am finding my voice on the subject of my own Feral investigation.

Speaking it here, to my fellow-loonies, where anyOne might chance upon iT . . .
. . . How to break out of the illusory prison of your ordinary thoughts.
{Breaking Out of prison beats the heck out of spectatoring . . . like watching reality TV games}.

Mankind is Much Madder than Necessary,
because we are afflicted by a noxious Parasite.

Afflicted by a Forbidden knowledge . . . a Life_verSus_Death Challenge
for each individual to resolve . . . or submit to.

iF the conformist but Knew what is at Stake, how differently would they Live out their precious Time.

And here amongst the loonies, the try-anything Despairados, the Nothing-to-Losers
is where people come, looking for workable answers to their misery . . .
. . . so Here is where to make my Findings known,
to publish my harvest of knowledge about Life,
about the intense alternatives of Living Feral
for those who still care about becoming Sane and free of Fear,
for you, dear Reader, you potential innocent, a potential innovator.