what do you do?

dear friends,

I have moved out.

I am a madman traveling alone in a van writing to heal myself and others, integrating all that is within me and transfiguring it into a written book. I am a writer with a Tale II Tell. A wanderer following his longing.

Vermillion, this orangey red, symbolizes my spirit of becoming. I have this calling I cannot shake. This soulful voice, it calls me. Katharsis.

… … …

Do not deny this dread or it will continue to haunt you, my friend.

Embrace the depth of your Soul.

I am of the lowly, lonely, longing for the beyond. The plight of man. We desire to transcend, to escape the labyrithmic struggle of dread that drones into the crevice of joy.

You search for meaning in poems and words, outspoken, you are a slave to your own words. A poet at heart, heartbroken.

These words cannot free you.

These words cannot conceive the inconceivable.

These words are just words.

"You are nothing" these words mean nothing.

Yet, in disarray, this sequence of words transcend the page and mold your Soul. Modal Soul. They grip it, choke it, bend it to its will the moment you bleed ink onto the page.

These words hold meaning. They mean a great deal to me. In moments of red, vermillion red, I want to wipe all these words away when I read back these letters, these entries of mine.

How can I stitch these fragments together?

These stitching of words cannot hold one single meaning. The ambiguity cannot be avoided. This color of life and eternity.

I embrace the fluidity, the uncertainty of the windy path 真人.

your friend(ly),

jakester

90 days until September 27, 2025

Who's talking?

[A jester I am :P](genuine pretender)

I am genuine in my words and intention. My answer truly depends on who I am talking to and the body language observed.

Is money involved?

Depending on who you are, what you do, where we are, why we are talking, how much time we have — my answer varies. Intentionally, I take these into consideration every time we joust with words!

Quite the decision tree.

To prevent me from losing you in this jestful rabbit hole of "what do you do?" I will limit the decisions down to three potential nodes.

i. I buy houses [money]

ii. I [ghost] write [substance]

iii. ???

I take these considerations to escape the boundless ambiguity of the words I blurt. These causal questions of conversation fire starters, I don't mind. I enjoy exploring beyond these questions in these performative small talking prompts. I am aware of the formality and I don't want to accidentally burn others with my passion.

The moment I spot disinterest in another's eyes or tone is the moment I ask myself three "fun" questions. I am recursive in nature and playful in my approach. The sequence of words is often repeated.

i. How do I capture all that I do into as little words as possible to get through this conversation? [pass the time, spare them of the fire]

ii. How do I direct the flow of conversation into deep water without pushing them beyond their limit? [go deeper, aflame we go]

iii. How do I stir this conversation into a new pathway, not conceived before? [intentional randomness]

There are conversations where you can already see the end, a predetermined recipe, based on past patterns and sequences.

Then, there are conversations where you have no earthly idea of where its going, a spiraly whirlwind, an unbounded search, unknowing of how long it will take or what you will find.

You ask, what do I do?

I tell you I am a wanderer, a wizard, and a knight. I am what I say I am because I say I am. Ad infinitum. I am aware that I am aware that I am aware…

What stops you from endlessly looping?

Spike and Jake sit there pondering life's strange questions in a stinky van on the side of the road of a beer garden!

S: what are you on about Jake?

J: do you know?

S: know what?

J: Recursive Function Theory. We date it back in the history of ancient and medieval mathematics such as Fibonacci in the 1200s. I love that Italian man, Leonardo of Pisa.

S: why does it matter?

J: it appears everywhere in nature. In pinecones, in sunflowers, in the spiral of seashells. This golden ratio, this Fibonacci spiral! There must be intention to this Universe!

S: than how are you a recursive function?

J: I am what I say I am because I say I am.

S: that's circular logic.

J: it's a loop. I am a strange loop. I am a magnificent spiral of awareness and an expression of nature that looks to God, the one infinite substance!

S: you sound like a fanatic. It all seems completely random and nonsensical. Are you messing with me. Where is this conversation going?

J: I am a jester, let's play with this Infinite Jest!

J: we don't know the origin of life, we can only theorize what started this whole humorous cosmic existence. I am left with this idea that God is causa sui — the cause of itself. Self recursion of self reference. There seems to be no beginning nor end. A möbius strip of time.

S: you are starting to lose me Jake. This is all great but I just don't get where you are going. How does this relate to where we are today or to this conversation? How can you prove this?

J: I cannot promise this will make sense or on if I am able to prove anything. In fact, it's very nonsensical and nonlinear, this process of unlearning. This "God-awareness" is inconceivable to our human mind. This intentional randomness cannot be defined.

S: I'm a space monkey tho.

J: me too :P

A darkness comes over the pair in a rash gust of wind. They start the van attempting to escape the storm. However, it was too late and suddenly it was 3am in Kansas and all around were brown dust particles consumed them. Each gust of wind visible to the naked eye. The van moved side to side and was casted up by the vortex of brown!

I wander into the vermillion red desert, the endless loop of sand, radiant and cruelly beautiful. The Shepherd and Snake, they walk with me. They wander ahead, yet leave no footprints behind. There is life within this sand.

What is this lucid suffering?

I sat on the dunes, these star and crescent dunes, letting them wander afar. A quick moment passes, gusting sand in my eyes. I rub them. When my hand reaches down, the Shepherd and Snake grow tiny in the distance, still noticeable for my naked eyes.

I sat there bewildered but that was only the beginning. The Snake shot to the palm of the Shepherd, transfiguring into an old oak staff, twisted. In the distance was a trail of smoke and a burning fire. Thick, white smoke. They departed from me, the Way of the Cross.

The whispers blend with the sand. The soul is shedding its old ways in this exodus. These trials of doubt are necessary for becoming. This purification trial of fire. This is a sacred, desolate land where the self is burned clean. The reddening of integration, the rubedo phase.

I walk on after them.

You stare out to the Shepherd. He slams the staff down towards the vermillion sand. The staff transforms into a dragon. The Shepherd hops on.

…

I wander in my own abyssal night alone.

I am a wanderer. I wander into my own words, diving into the darkness, this dark forest. I seek Katharsis.

There is power in letting go and unlearning. This is the act of dropping the weight, the burdened illusions possessed within.

Funny, because I am not pretending.

I am genuine in my pretense. This mask is mine and I shape it. I am earnest in my expression. This may be an act, but I do not lie intentionally. This shadow is real.

In this divine darkness, how does one find themselves?

Here, you long for the Sun. But, you must not repress this darkness within. It cannot be denied or it will fester inside. This sprouting garden of the soul needs its darkness to grow. The shade acts as a protection against the Sun.

This overwhelm is great in the release, in this acceptance of darkness and of letting go. At the event horizon, you must be able to differentiate these voices that reach out. You must differentiate the different parts of the soul into their rightful characters, separating them from one another, and disidentifying with them.

There are parts of you that are not you.

…

My body shakes upon opening my eyes. The cold begins to linger. I closed my eyes moments before. Tired and disoriented. With these eyes, its easy to despair. Desolate, you need give yourself rest. Dream.

The path may be lonely, but that does not mean you have to do it alone. We are alone together.

Do not interrupt your own growth.