Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Nausea
Airports make everyone lonely. Even with family, special (really?)other, and friends, somehow you must travel and no one else takes that. So when alone, it is easiest, to be alone. It is Weltschmerz implemented, or Sartre's Nausea, and that beer glass you can't look at. It sitting down for so long, needing to shave, needing to shower, needing to read, needing to sleep, and whatever else... Have a coffee and cigarette and shiver out there. Or come inside and lay your tired head on marble floor (hide your bowl and camera). Every twenty minutes suffering, the true one within, wakes you up. That is when you realize you are alone, no matter what. So here either you fear or you rejoice in the freedom. Make a choice or run from (then your freudian ego made the choice - you become on of the masses and still lonely). I decided to hope for the first choice. Then I decided to love, first that power who put me here, then me, because I was put here. Then that person next to me asleep and who is afraid. After that I decided to watch the sun rise, not with my eyes, but with my solitude. That is what happened to the loneliness, it rose from the depths of the night within, where it was clawed down by sunken hollow ships' anchors. It rose to the surface of within to where I could grasp it. I saw this corpse of existence, washed moss green and faded coral blue- and I really didn't know, nothing with my mind could explain. But I knew with passion and faith - and it become a bright phoenix, all by itself without anyone or anything but the wilderness of the mysteries to roam in.
Friday, December 14, 2007
shaking your ass class
A teacher asked me if I liked to move my body... because I was surprised by the question I replied hesitantly yes, that matter of fact I do like to.
"Then take my class!"
"Then take my class!"
reading just doesn't cut it
sometimes I call you just to hear your voice, words aren't enough, but I need them alive with your breath.
Marmaduke and God's strangling tentacles of time.
The Devil’s Hand
It is hard to be a rational man with no trouble in his heart. All this scientific certainty and all these politics feel like a façade of idealism painting over the pain of the beaten wife, aborted babies, men killing each other for the hope of a dozen virgins and a heaven or some country’s dream for freedom. You have to make a choice. Either you’re with us, or you’re with reality.
It is the history of life that makes me think any idealism is a dream, yet it is this precise flow of time that never leaves us without hope. It drives us, walking on a line of past looking at the feet of our now, and to want to implore the future is open for anything, while we make inquiries of the past, are forgetting our feet that carry us and really try to determine our future with these dreams.
We observe, probe, extrapulate the past. We mark, memorize and mesmerize our young by the failure of our race. We emancipate ourselves from any responsibility of it. We laugh, scold, and make a nervous tick motion of the head to the left, when we are uncomfortable at how relevant those problems from the past are to us now. We love, revel, and learn in the now. We read, write, and think here. We appropriate, confess, materialize in the present. We smell, taste, hear, see and feel now.
But the future – there we dream hope and dread. We simply anticipate and cannot do any other way.
It is somehow all black and void. Like a big something, really no something of nothing or of another else.
The difficulty is we let ourselves be completed guided by this force we take for granted, like sleepwalking children being led by the devil’s hand. This time thing is beautiful in our dreams and it is like Augustine said, only because the reality of time is beyond the reality of our sleep.
These million’s of representations have made it a form of worship, the sun dial, the grandfather clock chiming with the church tower’s, the pocket watch and the gentleman’s Rollex, the satellites in the sky and the light mirrors in the physic labs. It’s all to sleep with more precise dreams, and obviously it comes crashing down when the system crashes. Wall street wails like the devil lost his war when Jesus died, people are in darkness and lose all their money, but the poor in Africa know no difference.
Time is a devil we can’t live without, as long as we make it one.
Time consciousness cracks like breaking knees, twigs in the face of the reality of the ambiguous. A house of joker cards tumbling in silent horror, and the devil looks from behind and asked why did you build it anyway?
It is hard to be a rational man with no trouble in his heart. All this scientific certainty and all these politics feel like a façade of idealism painting over the pain of the beaten wife, aborted babies, men killing each other for the hope of a dozen virgins and a heaven or some country’s dream for freedom. You have to make a choice. Either you’re with us, or you’re with reality.
It is the history of life that makes me think any idealism is a dream, yet it is this precise flow of time that never leaves us without hope. It drives us, walking on a line of past looking at the feet of our now, and to want to implore the future is open for anything, while we make inquiries of the past, are forgetting our feet that carry us and really try to determine our future with these dreams.
We observe, probe, extrapulate the past. We mark, memorize and mesmerize our young by the failure of our race. We emancipate ourselves from any responsibility of it. We laugh, scold, and make a nervous tick motion of the head to the left, when we are uncomfortable at how relevant those problems from the past are to us now. We love, revel, and learn in the now. We read, write, and think here. We appropriate, confess, materialize in the present. We smell, taste, hear, see and feel now.
But the future – there we dream hope and dread. We simply anticipate and cannot do any other way.
It is somehow all black and void. Like a big something, really no something of nothing or of another else.
The difficulty is we let ourselves be completed guided by this force we take for granted, like sleepwalking children being led by the devil’s hand. This time thing is beautiful in our dreams and it is like Augustine said, only because the reality of time is beyond the reality of our sleep.
These million’s of representations have made it a form of worship, the sun dial, the grandfather clock chiming with the church tower’s, the pocket watch and the gentleman’s Rollex, the satellites in the sky and the light mirrors in the physic labs. It’s all to sleep with more precise dreams, and obviously it comes crashing down when the system crashes. Wall street wails like the devil lost his war when Jesus died, people are in darkness and lose all their money, but the poor in Africa know no difference.
Time is a devil we can’t live without, as long as we make it one.
Time consciousness cracks like breaking knees, twigs in the face of the reality of the ambiguous. A house of joker cards tumbling in silent horror, and the devil looks from behind and asked why did you build it anyway?
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Momentous Insight
After writing about mysticism, internal reflection of God and Time, and cutting my hand, and another RA emergency duty, I couldn't help but realize that peanut butter is probably what makes me fart all the time.
Who cried?
I am so tired that I started crying. I mean my eyes were crying, because they were tired.
I think they are lonely too, because the eyelids shriveled up into oblivion.
I think they are lonely too, because the eyelids shriveled up into oblivion.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
A true Mystery of life and the worst drawing
Why is it irresistable to pick a scab?
I hope to draw better in the future.
I hope to draw better in the future.
Yesterday
yesterday I felt tired. Today i feel tired as well. Tomorrow hopefully I wont be as tired. Does only tiredness exist?
Sliding scale of tiredness:
Sliding scale of tiredness:
Poop
When a baby poops and cries because it is uncomfortably festering in his diapers, it is reflecting the reality of the world he lives in. Things are stinky and you have to deal with them.
Monday, December 10, 2007
When I shouldn't
This is just not fiction
Words could not be more dry
With a well of ideas at their fingertips
And I could not be any later
And nightier slightier to sleep
So I have got to fight her
Writing these word of fiction.
Words could not be more dry
With a well of ideas at their fingertips
And I could not be any later
And nightier slightier to sleep
So I have got to fight her
Writing these word of fiction.
Eat Meat
It's hard to be a vegetarian when you can't find chicken and garlic flavored vegetable broth for your lentil soup :-(
Bad Temptation
It's a really bad Idea to be reading and taking notes in your bed. I woke up not finding my pen and my book and papers were crumpled.
When waking up from a nap
I thought how cool it was that my computer clock said 15.55. I like having my clock on european mode, and I realized that is because otherwise it could never read 22.22. because in american mode you can only get to 11.11. Maybe someday it will say 33.33. I really hope Jesus lets that happen before we all die.
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