Neo: "I thought it wasn't real?"
Morpheus: "Your mind makes it real..."

A road less travelled

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference
~ Robert Frost

Nietzsche

socially Nietzsche was a misfit. Being a social misfit myself I still find Love within me. Love is in-between what maslow describes as basic needs for food water and shelter, and higher order needs for knowledge and self actualization. I think Love complements the process of self actualization, a key, a source coalescing with the experience of sexuality. Nietzsche's philosophy has no love. It doesn't need love.

"Of all that is written I love only what a man has written with his blood. Write with blood, and you will experience that blood is spirit...True, we love life, not because we are used to living but because we are used to loving. There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness...I would believe only in a god who could dance... "

~Nietzsche

Vestibular pagoda

 
It is very intense being inside a tent with someone. Especially so as tents are designed for minimum weight and hence they are not very spacious, especially when you are trying to change your underwear at dusk using your headlamp (or maglite in the mouth trick) and find yourself in the weirdest and apparently the most unflattering positions. Although, what perturbs others evidently sources to invigorate me, as well as being ensconsed by wilderness; which endows me with excitement, profundity and serene delight and rapture.

The intensity of being next to a naked body in a tent is one of immesurable immensities, there are so many simple joys or profound thoughts going through ones head that at one moment it feels like your mind will explode, just wanting to sqeeze this love and vent the exquisite hunger and madness perfectness intenseness.  The next moment in a cloud of ardor your enveloped, feeling surreptitiously alive and, the passion the blood, energetically yet soflty erotic and  turned on, ardently aware of the hot bodies' attention on you, how raw it feels, and the pounding hearts against each other. The transgressive dynamic turns taboo into 666, kohlbergs sixth, lucifers sickth Gods smiling open eye.
The next serene moment you might feel peacefully relaxed and you can hear your breathing and your heart beat in your temple that is resting on your bulky sleeping bag cover stuffed with remanants of clothes; a makeshift pillow/ 

Somewhere in this tent, wherever it is, wherever it is mounted, amongst beauty; beauty is being transcribed, transcending the beautiful, two bodies cling to one another in the midst of a world of chaos, and shrouded only when escape into this wilderness prevails. Only when escape to a place where their minds can rest is achieved. It is what runs deep through their very veins and bodies, this particular sense of belonging.
  The inner newsreel stops violently spinning and reassorting itself, and the mind can clean itself out, bathe in relaxation, lounge and loll and find equilibrium. This is how the untouched territory and wild jungles and native ecosystems are very special to me. Powers are worked on me that I cannot control.

I was born to know you
To give you your name
Freedom.
(from Poèsie et Vérité, 1942
Paul Eluard )
 
 

shapeless

think of a square
then flick the edges taut
so to make the shape-less
shaped and fraught
with shapelessness.
a petty romboid
or a naughty hair
of shapeless being.
we know not why
or when or how
or even or just.
but things just fall
or flail into
dis
array

The longest night

The heat was still bursting thermometers. The flies were still moving in spasmodic stops and starts. The leaves fluttered as the wind drove through. Even though the sun had gone, it was still day. Even through the winter storms the cold was kept at bay. The sun had rolled out of the sky and the moon had popped up, but light had still not left.

I could feel pain somewhere, as if a searing knife had lodged itself between my ribs. Pain flooded its way up and the birds flew away. A giant black flock of screeching flew up into the night.
The heat was waning away. Or maybe the heat was still there but the feeler weakening.
As the pain changed from a knife edge to a dull hammering, I tried to sleep but I could not embrace the night as I had every night before. The day had been too long... or had the night been too short... sleep just would not come.

Blogs

So, online Blogs/Live journals, why have they become such a craze? People want to contribute, show people THEIR minds. Show people what goes through their heads when they walk outside, when they come home late, when they are pissed off at the population or the government. Social progression? Popular culture? Exposition of the depths of the mind. You can figure if each is a facade or not. What does it matter who or what I am anyway right? Who wants to know what I do or what music I like? Unless of course you ask why.

See, that's where it gets interesting, as always in life, the 'why' is what is interesting.

Which is what purpose adheres to. Reason. Do I or others feel the compulsion to compose for purpose perhaps?

Something to think on. I still maintain what I wrote in the first post.

This is a way of transcending boundaries, in many ways.

Is perfection possible?

Anthony Giddens; In 'The Transformation of Intimacy' he discusses the expert knowledge available to individuals to enable them to experience the pure relationships of mutual self actualization.

He also points to the fact that such expert systems exist in an environment where they may contribute to the break up of relationships that do not meet these high standards by suggesting that perfection is possible.

In hindsight, Giddens is ultimately positive about the benefits that can accrue to the individual asa result of accepting the challenges offered by risk.

"...there is no full development of the individual... there is this kind of arrested, prolonged adolescence... and it's created through institutions... institutions are a demonic force in human life because they give permission for us to cease developing and to put our loyalty behind some weird creed that has been worked out."
- Atomjack.

I dont belong in the city

Something odd struck me today while crossing the street around the tired retro beige of sydney uni. everything indicated that crossing was the pièce du jour... crossing was surely the prevailing urge. green man taunting me with his smug strut, cars stopped, tuned clicker of the traffic's click-click thrashing out its nuh-nuh beat. then the cars started moving. the green man disappeared. i was still engaged in my crossing-the-road gait. something was missing... unfinished, incomplete... completely and utterly bizarre. the red man hadn't popped up. Something felt wrong about having to learn this response that is so totally unnatural to me.

I stared at it and it blankly stared back. the cars moved about me... and i somehow shuffled off, against my urges... crossing the road is a point and click system. the traffic lights point and we click to their droning beat. green man walks us across the road, red man then appears upbraiding us with his stance of disapprobation. he rushes us off and we are crossed. it was a shock... i was lost on the sweep of asphalt sea without the little red man to stare down upon me... responding to his coloured stimulus.

I really don't belong in a city.