A man has an appointment for his eyes. He knows he will be late. He makes himself busy. The art of delay. No taxi. No signal. Book next time. Next time is weeks away. Then a slot opens. 7am. He says yes. Why not. He arrives. A statue of Athena. Wisdom is knowing the mind is always late to life. War is arriving with open eyes. The child knew. The child has always known.
Tatami means to fold or pile up. A woman stands in the rain. Her bag is black. Her lips are red. Beelzebub sits on a traffic light watching. She unfolds a mat nine times. Each fold is a memory. Childhood. Heartbreak. Funeral. Prayer. The ninth fold is empty. Empty is not absence. Empty is space. Devi hears. The waiting is the prayer. The prayer is the fold.
A man wants to leave work. Then he doesn’t. Another man joins. Jealousy rises but who am I to judge. The boss is lonely. Both men like her. A demon sits in the corner watching. Ferries move on dark water going nowhere going everywhere. When I am drunk they cannot take my truth. The real freedom is freedom from the mind. Expand.
An old fisherman sits inside a fish tank. The fish are outside looking in. His grandson sells cigarettes made of compressed dreams. A woman reads scars instead of palms. The leaf becomes a key. The key opens the glass. We never left. We just kept dreaming we were outside. Foam rises. Foam falls. Thank you is the only prayer that works.
A father stands on a roof because he forgot where he parked the car. The car is in the kitchen. It has always been in the kitchen. His son is six and forty-seven. Time is a liar. Mother stirs milk that never stops boiling. Three wine bottles. Two men. One woman. Death files paperwork. The milk spreads on the floor and becomes everything. Drink it before you’re born.
A surreal nightmare artwork in prose. You wake inside a warm receipt, lose your name to a stamp, a dog wears your face, clocks cook secrets, and a ship-hat goddess turns applause into confetti gunshots. A sideways lift trades peace for pressure. A hidden rider and black horse crash in with ocean fire. Then a stamp declares one organism, and the story asks you to write it, now, with clear eyes.
The only freedom is freedom from the mind, but not everyone starts equal. Genes, stress, money, and access shape the brain. Some rent “higher states” through clinics, hormones, and drugs, then sell hustle as if it is pure will. Use systems that help you, but refuse control. There is no afterlife, only life, and the system continues.
Suffering begins with half information. The mind fills gaps with fear and old stories, then calls the finished lie “reality.” The loop breaks only when you sit with the pain and breathe. Absolute reality is bliss emptiness. Relative reality is layers. Peel them back and the same bliss is here. Thoughts are late echoes. Stay with breath, body, moment. Act. See.
The Binary Dust is the human story seen from outside the mind. All our progress, politics and drama are only patterns in a passing cloud. The only true freedom is freedom from the mind. The only real reform is reform from the mind.
Of course there is no self. Energy can never be created or destroyed. It can only be contained within a form for a time, so it can be channeled consciously. Ego is a construct, use it and then let it go. Thank you for this temporary ego, thank you to me. Never born, never dead, painful yet sublime. I am the only One here.
