If you are mentally ill like me and my ‘’kind’’,  you know that there are innumerable voices in your head, often all speaking  at once.

But as human beings, we are constrained in Time. This means that one thing (in this case, a thought/feeling  ) must follow another, in sequence.

And these voices do that, they come to you in a sequential order that speeds up or slows down according to a ‘’will’’ that is beyond your conscious “will”. It is the nature of this will we must address.

Seriously!

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Schopenhauer that gloomy old German said : “my body and will are one.”

He thought he saw beyond the penumbra-of-reality ----appearance------to an enormous hungry Will to Survive.  That was his ultimate .

Nietzsche came along and corrected him: he said Schopenhauer had it right about the will, but not its true nature. Power. Not simply survival.

1.The stronger becomes master of the weaker, in so far as the latter cannot assert its degree of independence — here there is no mercy, no forbearance, even less a respect for "laws."

2.Morality is: the mediocre are worth more than the exceptions ...

I abhore Christianity with a deadly hatred.”

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He is absolutely right about number one, William Blake, a voice in my Head, says.

Number two, I ask, snickering, thinking of association with shit.

He abhors the false church, what it has wrought. You, as someone not indoctrinated in any Creed or Cult, cannot understand the insistent hands and fingers of the Mother or the Father reaching for you, beseeching you to rest.

Ok ok. He was a pastor’s son. I get it.

It is more complex than revolution against the Father.

I know !

Oh. Sorry, yo.

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It is difficult & exhausting having all these voices in one’s head, but sometimes you can ‘’change them up” if you try.

Do you have a favorite poet or writer? Lend them what they need, what their souls are clamoring for: a new voice in the hip or obscene or faux-feminist or fraught-existentialist chasing hope  like it was a a fire he heard of, once, once upon a time, a campfire, a bonfire maybe..where the light and heat met.

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Blake threw this at me before I let him go back to being dead.

“not lost!

All that has existed…permanent & not lost.

Not lost nor vanished, &

Every little act word work & wish that has existed, all remaining still…

For everything exists

And not one sigh nor smile nor tear ,

Not one can pass away.”

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I sure wish I could believe him. But why can’t i? Dead people are supposed to be full of the ultimate wisdom of heaven, or eternity, or whatever, but…they just seem like super-versions of their own selves, to me.

I suspect : the dead have a secret we living are not yet mature enough to handle?