I hold “this” in my hand and I “feel” it to be what it is. Should I hand “this” to you, you too would “feel” it. What is it that we feel? We may note the objective nature of that which the object is comprised of or the hard or soft nature that we “feel,” however, what do we “feel” about that which we cannot hold or tell of in true form? True from being a form only relative to us when association is found and formed to bring us to a point where the “feeling” is intangible. It is a place we cannot point to nor transfer “this feeling” as there is no locale nor tangibility. Expression of such may be relayed to others via dialogue/correspondence, but the exact nature of “this feeling” is limited to self. ~ Arachne ~ December 26, 2010 @ 8:47 p.m. EST.
Inspired by Ludwig Wittgenstein
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Love/Hate~ (not posted)
Love/Hate is only divided by a fine line. A line so thin that the passion of each is strong enough to cause one to kill. In my personal opinion, hate can’t be maintained at a high level as it will consume the hater or will cause the hater to consume the one they hate via murder (premeditation).
Those that consider themselves a hater of a specific race cannot experience the pure type of hate that exists next to love. Actually, a racist could hate their brother, father, mother, sister, wife, or husband much more easily than a complete stranger. Perhaps a racists takes out his/her hostilities on strangers because they really want to kick the shit out of or kill someone they know (redirected anger).
Regardless of whom it is that we love, we know them or believe that we do. We are also close to them in some form and are thus familiar enough to cause the most damage. It comes as no coincidence after a murder those closest to the victim are subject to scrutiny. Sure it could be a premeditated event, but it could also be a crime of passion done in the heat of the moment: rage (crime of passion/manslaughter).
Usually, murder victims are killed by someone they know. Oh, this is not to say that murder does not occur to individuals that know each other not. It does happen. Look at serial killers for instance. They have no familiarity with their victims and because there is no connection save for the modus operandi, the murderer keeps on ticking until he/she makes a mistake. The same cannot be said about those who know each other as their business is known by someone. The taste of hate is not pleasant and I am glad that it is brief for me at least. ~ Maggie ~ December 14, 2010 @ 10:36 p.m. EST
Those that consider themselves a hater of a specific race cannot experience the pure type of hate that exists next to love. Actually, a racist could hate their brother, father, mother, sister, wife, or husband much more easily than a complete stranger. Perhaps a racists takes out his/her hostilities on strangers because they really want to kick the shit out of or kill someone they know (redirected anger).
Regardless of whom it is that we love, we know them or believe that we do. We are also close to them in some form and are thus familiar enough to cause the most damage. It comes as no coincidence after a murder those closest to the victim are subject to scrutiny. Sure it could be a premeditated event, but it could also be a crime of passion done in the heat of the moment: rage (crime of passion/manslaughter).
Usually, murder victims are killed by someone they know. Oh, this is not to say that murder does not occur to individuals that know each other not. It does happen. Look at serial killers for instance. They have no familiarity with their victims and because there is no connection save for the modus operandi, the murderer keeps on ticking until he/she makes a mistake. The same cannot be said about those who know each other as their business is known by someone. The taste of hate is not pleasant and I am glad that it is brief for me at least. ~ Maggie ~ December 14, 2010 @ 10:36 p.m. EST
Monday, December 13, 2010
The Marking~
I marked the building with Pentad on each column. Pentad might be thought of as a pentacle which it could be, but at the same time, in simple form, it is five (5). Imagine how a die looks when thrown to reveal 5. Marked like dice were they. Double were these to bring about Decad which equates to ten (10), but in simple form is Monad or ONE (1). Should one decide to look at Decad’s placeholder Uroborus (which is 0 (zero)), we see no beginning and no end. Could the same be said about Monad which is virtual in it point having neither volume, area, nor length? With each marking came my spoken words of intent. Burned were these marks whose ashes took time to fall away. Yet they held fast until I could revisit them for remarking my intent. Remarkable!
The remarking of intent:
Remarking can also be used in a two fold manner if looking at the prefix of “re” which means “again” in Latin. It would mean that I have marked it again. However, it also means “a comment” or “the act of noticing” which stems from the French remarquer “note again.” As for note itself, that too bears its form from the Latin word “nota” which means “a mark” and “notare” which means “to mark.” This does sound Uroborus in nature does it not? In this instance of Uroborus, my meaning is that of ad infinitum or circular in nature.
No longer do I leave my mark in such a fashion as I believe that I have obtained that which I had made my mark for. Might I add that the art of obtaining does not necessarily mean the art of possessing. For all intents and purposes, the meaning would be "established" that which I sought to "establish." ~ Arachne ~ December 13, 2010 @ 5:54 p.m. EST
Post Script: As each Pentad was separated by space, they held their own despite their duplication.
The remarking of intent:
Remarking can also be used in a two fold manner if looking at the prefix of “re” which means “again” in Latin. It would mean that I have marked it again. However, it also means “a comment” or “the act of noticing” which stems from the French remarquer “note again.” As for note itself, that too bears its form from the Latin word “nota” which means “a mark” and “notare” which means “to mark.” This does sound Uroborus in nature does it not? In this instance of Uroborus, my meaning is that of ad infinitum or circular in nature.
No longer do I leave my mark in such a fashion as I believe that I have obtained that which I had made my mark for. Might I add that the art of obtaining does not necessarily mean the art of possessing. For all intents and purposes, the meaning would be "established" that which I sought to "establish." ~ Arachne ~ December 13, 2010 @ 5:54 p.m. EST
Post Script: As each Pentad was separated by space, they held their own despite their duplication.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Spoken not are these~
Spoken not are these to any fine tune which makes for flutter. Lost am I at times: I am lost now. Sparks. Metal from a tailpipe hangs down and screeches along the blacktop showing and throwing sparks here and there, but they come not my way. Alas, this is viewed from a distance and nothing more. Perhaps the high strung feeling comes about via my feeling like a penny pulled by numerous hands. Have I become so thin and overstretched that I am as tense as an E string on an old guitar?
My mind does call out and seeks to venture both far and near yet these walls are locked down, blocked, and sometimes blood soaked. - Maggie ~ November 30, 2010 in the p.m.
My mind does call out and seeks to venture both far and near yet these walls are locked down, blocked, and sometimes blood soaked. - Maggie ~ November 30, 2010 in the p.m.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
My God: The All Powerful Flying Spaghetti Monster~
He is all powerful. He is so powerful that he can create a rock that he cannot lift. Imagine him performing such a paradoxical thing! He is infinite in age because he was here before any of us knew what time was as time did not exist...well, not until we were born. Only then did we realize that there was a time before us and that there will be time after us. He is my world and I am his. How do I know it is a he? I was told by him as he spoke to me in spirit also, I read it somewhere. Sometimes he tells me to kill those that do not believe in him, but then I think how morally wrong that would be so I do defy him there. He has threatened me with eternal damnation, but I say "what the fuck!" I will rot like a dog. I do love him though. You know what I mean don't you? ~ Maggie ~ 11/28/10 @ 7:43
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Barrier~
A) A free flowing dialogue wound up and spewing forth meets with: You speak too fast
I slow down, but am met with either an answer that comes from B, C, or D.
B) A thought provoking dialogue full of possibilities meets with: I am tired or do we have to talk about that?.
C) A general rely of goings on is met with: What did you say?
D) I reiterate and am met with: Goodie, congratulations, yay, I am so happy for you, that’s amazing, you did?, and the like.
How might the door to dialogue be open? When I studied psychological counseling, we would do dry runs with one student acting as the psychologist and the other as the patient. The role of the patient could be played two ways: the patient would either be willing to talk or not. The role of the psychologist was to get the person to say something...anything. When met with a barrier in regard to why they are in counseling, we were instructed to ask about the weather based on what the individual was wearing or carrying (i.e., umbrella) or other common dialogue that could open the way for discussion. The proverbial door could be opened if the individual were able to discuss the weather. We were also taught not to ask questioned that would elicit a yes or no answer as that is not a dialogue. We were to seek depth.
Psychologist: How is the weather?
Patient: It is too windy!
Psychologist: How windy is it?
Patient: It is so windy that my skirt blew up and showed my ass in a public place!
Psychologist: How did you feel about that?
This does not get to the core of the reason the person is in therapy, but it is a start to evoke a discussion.
With the barriers I am up against, maybe it is best if I just shut the fuck up and leave the floor open to the other. If the other puts nothing on the floor, there is nothing to discuss. Conversation (if you want to call it that), terminated. ~ Maggie ~ 11/8/10 @ 8:10 p.m. EST
I slow down, but am met with either an answer that comes from B, C, or D.
B) A thought provoking dialogue full of possibilities meets with: I am tired or do we have to talk about that?.
C) A general rely of goings on is met with: What did you say?
D) I reiterate and am met with: Goodie, congratulations, yay, I am so happy for you, that’s amazing, you did?, and the like.
How might the door to dialogue be open? When I studied psychological counseling, we would do dry runs with one student acting as the psychologist and the other as the patient. The role of the patient could be played two ways: the patient would either be willing to talk or not. The role of the psychologist was to get the person to say something...anything. When met with a barrier in regard to why they are in counseling, we were instructed to ask about the weather based on what the individual was wearing or carrying (i.e., umbrella) or other common dialogue that could open the way for discussion. The proverbial door could be opened if the individual were able to discuss the weather. We were also taught not to ask questioned that would elicit a yes or no answer as that is not a dialogue. We were to seek depth.
Psychologist: How is the weather?
Patient: It is too windy!
Psychologist: How windy is it?
Patient: It is so windy that my skirt blew up and showed my ass in a public place!
Psychologist: How did you feel about that?
This does not get to the core of the reason the person is in therapy, but it is a start to evoke a discussion.
With the barriers I am up against, maybe it is best if I just shut the fuck up and leave the floor open to the other. If the other puts nothing on the floor, there is nothing to discuss. Conversation (if you want to call it that), terminated. ~ Maggie ~ 11/8/10 @ 8:10 p.m. EST
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
My Champion~
Although thou hast found me in the hall, I had sat in my chamber for a time contemplating thy arrival. It was my wish to meet thee at the gates adorned not in some gown of color, but more so in these my vestments of metal. Nay. I seek not to war with thee. What my idea represents is the war that has waged within due to my waiting. What courage it took for me to stay chaste for thee and only thee. Aye! Temptation poked its head in every door, slid out of every nook and cranny, and did speak in whispers while passing my ear yet I held fast.
Prepare thee now for the battle or arts Sir. Term not my phrase in derogatory fashion as we have battled before without so much as a blister. I beg to request thy championship of dialogue. Come now and stimulate me with all that you are. May your whispers and words tickle me with delight not so in the way of the sexual, but more so in the intellectual. Do come stimulate me with conversations that light and delight me with your fire: the fire that shalt not stop in the confines of the hall, but burst forward also to burn in our bed. Aye to burn! Here are the blisters! The blisters we make in the burrow of our bed or that which is made upon the carpets are happy adornments to our knees and feet. What makes thee of that which we speak when colors find not the palate to be respectively drawn? Respectively speaking, to create what illustrations which cannot be wall hung, however, hang so lovingly in our passing of time. Illusions and delusions some might say. Am I left to care? I think not. Yet thinking I do. I rest not so on the mundane aspects of that which surrounds us, but more so for which the possibilities are endless. Do start kind Sir as my breastplate lays heavy upon my chest. ~ Maggie ~ November 11, 2010 @ 5:58 p.m. EST
Prepare thee now for the battle or arts Sir. Term not my phrase in derogatory fashion as we have battled before without so much as a blister. I beg to request thy championship of dialogue. Come now and stimulate me with all that you are. May your whispers and words tickle me with delight not so in the way of the sexual, but more so in the intellectual. Do come stimulate me with conversations that light and delight me with your fire: the fire that shalt not stop in the confines of the hall, but burst forward also to burn in our bed. Aye to burn! Here are the blisters! The blisters we make in the burrow of our bed or that which is made upon the carpets are happy adornments to our knees and feet. What makes thee of that which we speak when colors find not the palate to be respectively drawn? Respectively speaking, to create what illustrations which cannot be wall hung, however, hang so lovingly in our passing of time. Illusions and delusions some might say. Am I left to care? I think not. Yet thinking I do. I rest not so on the mundane aspects of that which surrounds us, but more so for which the possibilities are endless. Do start kind Sir as my breastplate lays heavy upon my chest. ~ Maggie ~ November 11, 2010 @ 5:58 p.m. EST
Friday, November 5, 2010
Igniting the Fire~
I am looking for the fire, but first I must find the spark. The spark is that all electric thing that comes into mind upon the sharing of an idea or a dialogue that promotes something other than the mundane. Mind over matter. My matter is not something I mind, but my mind is something that I have taken a liking to. Lately, it seems that my mind has gotten fat and lazy. In its fat and lazy state it is open for predators for it is too slow to twist and assault that which tip toes behind it. It is also deaf and would not hear the quiet steps either. Aye. The mundane. Too mundane are the shifts of my mind that creation lies in some back alley waiting to die.
In the recognition of such, it is not too late to do what is necessary to remedy the situation. I realize that my mind requires the kind of diet that shall lean itself out to the point of sharpness. The point that is oh so virtual making anything possible. It is a diet away from the mundane.
There. In the other room lies a painting. A painting that yesterday saw me push to present color to the outline. Just mere color and that is all. Today, I made note upon listening to a lecture while painting. I noticed that I require something more than just feeble yap from some background movie noise. I require something that is mind entertaining. How entertaining might it be to know the value of a dream or that when dreaming the body goes into paralysis. That is something to think of. With this, my laying of color was better suited, yet it is still a far cry from that which I know I am capable of.
As for my writing. That too has suffered greatly. When I used to dream during the day, things were vibrant and stories were told to me by my mind who not only provided lines of dialogue, but also color. A simple gaze upon a flower, star, moon, animal, or bug could would bring me places that provided a lovely hatch into another realm. Where or when it was that I became rooted is unknown, but I believe I know its cause and that is half the battle. ~ Maggie ~ November 5, 2010 @ 8:48 p.m.
In the recognition of such, it is not too late to do what is necessary to remedy the situation. I realize that my mind requires the kind of diet that shall lean itself out to the point of sharpness. The point that is oh so virtual making anything possible. It is a diet away from the mundane.
There. In the other room lies a painting. A painting that yesterday saw me push to present color to the outline. Just mere color and that is all. Today, I made note upon listening to a lecture while painting. I noticed that I require something more than just feeble yap from some background movie noise. I require something that is mind entertaining. How entertaining might it be to know the value of a dream or that when dreaming the body goes into paralysis. That is something to think of. With this, my laying of color was better suited, yet it is still a far cry from that which I know I am capable of.
As for my writing. That too has suffered greatly. When I used to dream during the day, things were vibrant and stories were told to me by my mind who not only provided lines of dialogue, but also color. A simple gaze upon a flower, star, moon, animal, or bug could would bring me places that provided a lovely hatch into another realm. Where or when it was that I became rooted is unknown, but I believe I know its cause and that is half the battle. ~ Maggie ~ November 5, 2010 @ 8:48 p.m.
Monday, October 25, 2010
The Object Is Subjective ~
As conceited as it may seem, I am my own universe/god. Regardless of how much I may empathize with another through some process of introspective association, that is as far as I can go. Never can I feel the love, hate, pain, pleasure, joy, nor sorrow of another. All in all, my emotions and senses will never be theirs or will their emotions and senses be mine. Separate, yet akin we share abilities that are limited to ourselves. My universe/god self bumps into other universes/ god selves whom, in rubbing with, leave a residue which in turn may cause change in self (theirs or mine) for better or worse, but then again, what is better or worse? That too is subjective thus open to perspective and interpretation. The object, for lack of a better word, is the subjective I/eye which is limited unto itself. With this, I part and ponder. ~ Arachne ~ October 25, 2010 @ 11:01 a.m.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Inspiration from YOU!
It seem that when I write to you and look at what comes out, I like it. For some reason you help me to flow. Does that make sense? You must have this energy something or other that you pass through the electronic gates of whatever thing we use to communicate on at the moment. Hey, communication of any type has its benefits. I know I still owe you that phone call, but today was hairy. Perhaps tomorrow will find me. In the meantime, let my correspondence to you serve as a dedication of sorts for that which you bring out of me. P.S.: I do suck as a friend regardless of what you say Mr. Inspiration.
To Ryan With Love~
Yeah. A great friend who still owes you a phone call. Not cool at all. If I called now, you would hear gurgling sounds which might sound like speech from some alien being due to my taking of "the dream killer" pills. The function junction has a detour that brings me to abandoned buildings, empty benches, and waterless beaches. I can't even tell if the air is crisp or is it my imagination. Am I even sitting here as my eyes feel the weight of closure without closure of other kinds which are kinder than I. It is kind of like that just before I fall into the coma like state called sleep. But at this moment...this brief moment I can still type that which my mouth can't form to speech. Garbled are these mine.
What is there to do? Wake, love, be hairy, wild, look into surreal horizons, shake the flakes of corn from the box, flip the top without stopping, shovel the grass and mow the snow, throw darts through halos of fallen angels, tip a cow as much as you would tip a waiter (the cow must be sleeping, but the waiter should be awake...use degrees for cows and coin for waiters), have unsplit pea soup, make coffee using whole beans, ride a bull, talk bull, bull shit, don't spit, swallow, ride a bus, bus a ride, bust a bride, take no bribes, sit and think, shit and stink, look to the west for all the best, look to the east for the beast, look to the south and think of BRAZIL, look to the north if you want to chill, hey watch out don't take that pill, take a dog for a walk, if you want to, talk the talk, balk, bark, and bite the night, and when you think you have done it right, turn around and you will see that there is more to do my sweet ho-mie! ~ Arachne ~October 6, 2010 at 12:21 AM EST
To Ryan With Love~
Yeah. A great friend who still owes you a phone call. Not cool at all. If I called now, you would hear gurgling sounds which might sound like speech from some alien being due to my taking of "the dream killer" pills. The function junction has a detour that brings me to abandoned buildings, empty benches, and waterless beaches. I can't even tell if the air is crisp or is it my imagination. Am I even sitting here as my eyes feel the weight of closure without closure of other kinds which are kinder than I. It is kind of like that just before I fall into the coma like state called sleep. But at this moment...this brief moment I can still type that which my mouth can't form to speech. Garbled are these mine.
What is there to do? Wake, love, be hairy, wild, look into surreal horizons, shake the flakes of corn from the box, flip the top without stopping, shovel the grass and mow the snow, throw darts through halos of fallen angels, tip a cow as much as you would tip a waiter (the cow must be sleeping, but the waiter should be awake...use degrees for cows and coin for waiters), have unsplit pea soup, make coffee using whole beans, ride a bull, talk bull, bull shit, don't spit, swallow, ride a bus, bus a ride, bust a bride, take no bribes, sit and think, shit and stink, look to the west for all the best, look to the east for the beast, look to the south and think of BRAZIL, look to the north if you want to chill, hey watch out don't take that pill, take a dog for a walk, if you want to, talk the talk, balk, bark, and bite the night, and when you think you have done it right, turn around and you will see that there is more to do my sweet ho-mie! ~ Arachne ~October 6, 2010 at 12:21 AM EST
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
I Have A Voice
I have a voice which speaks loudly and boldly even when no one is around. Who needs an audience. I have a voice that minces words with itself and argues points when disagreement is had. Some of my best arguments are with myself. I have a voice that is tranquil and calm like liquid silver and is just as reflective when reflectively speaking. I have a voice that is harsh and hard and rolls out of my mouth like a boulder laden landslide. It can sound like a battle cry. I have a voice that makes silly sounds which bring laughter from my grandson. I think I like the last one best. ~ Arachne ~ 10 5 10 @ 10:30
My man is rather small and smells of fresh baby powder
Baby blue smelling of powder and feeling all wiggly. Coos and giggles, sparking eyes, gentle curls, and eyelashes as long as his legs.
Hey baby! Who you looking at? I see you staring at me, but you are also looking at the world in wonderment. You who are so soft and sweet and full of giggles and dimples. Hey baby! What are you thinking? Are you wondering who is the crazy lady who is acting all weird around you? No problem. Let’s go look at the pendulum again. See it swing to and fro. You like it don’t you? Hey baby! Let’s go for a walk and I will talk to you. You see to like to walk with me and you do enjoy the stories, however, I love to listen to yours as well. Hey baby!
Trying hard as I might to write that which presses on my mind does me no good. How I wish to lay down the feelings that I feel when holding my grandson. He is too beautiful for words.
My man is rather small and smells of fresh baby powder
Baby blue smelling of powder and feeling all wiggly. Coos and giggles, sparking eyes, gentle curls, and eyelashes as long as his legs.
Hey baby! Who you looking at? I see you staring at me, but you are also looking at the world in wonderment. You who are so soft and sweet and full of giggles and dimples. Hey baby! What are you thinking? Are you wondering who is the crazy lady who is acting all weird around you? No problem. Let’s go look at the pendulum again. See it swing to and fro. You like it don’t you? Hey baby! Let’s go for a walk and I will talk to you. You see to like to walk with me and you do enjoy the stories, however, I love to listen to yours as well. Hey baby!
Trying hard as I might to write that which presses on my mind does me no good. How I wish to lay down the feelings that I feel when holding my grandson. He is too beautiful for words.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Unnamed~
Green gray are these mine which sees not quite finely
Perhaps not in tune with light or perhaps more so
What sights one sees when the shutters are drawn
Define more precisely in dark quarters
There imagery works its magic
And time, when not observed, allows for the disappearing of walls
Creating windows with a better view
Opening arenas for music and art
Which leaves my cup overflowing
Its excess not captured ~ Maggie ~ August 5, 2010 @ 9:35 p.m. EST
Merry am I in the chores that I do
For I hum out music when I am with you
The chore is made merry knowing that you are there
Even when not beside me and I am unaware
Heightened are my senses, and sing I do dare
With all I can muster and without any care
Up to the door you silently you creep
With the alarm of the floor boards
I let out a shriek
The dishes go flying
My song’s at an end
It matters not as I will sing it again ~ Maggie ~ August 5, 2010 @ 9:52 p.m. EST
Perhaps not in tune with light or perhaps more so
What sights one sees when the shutters are drawn
Define more precisely in dark quarters
There imagery works its magic
And time, when not observed, allows for the disappearing of walls
Creating windows with a better view
Opening arenas for music and art
Which leaves my cup overflowing
Its excess not captured ~ Maggie ~ August 5, 2010 @ 9:35 p.m. EST
Merry am I in the chores that I do
For I hum out music when I am with you
The chore is made merry knowing that you are there
Even when not beside me and I am unaware
Heightened are my senses, and sing I do dare
With all I can muster and without any care
Up to the door you silently you creep
With the alarm of the floor boards
I let out a shriek
The dishes go flying
My song’s at an end
It matters not as I will sing it again ~ Maggie ~ August 5, 2010 @ 9:52 p.m. EST
Monday, August 2, 2010
Lost~
I am there in whatever fashion I may be at the time holding him tightly. My arms eventually give way to tears of departure. The going to is always easier than the leaving from. This is where the problem lies. Tears swell and exit creating warped vision as my mind races to come up with quick fixes. How does one fix that which is not truly broken? What remedy can aid the heart that hurts not so from malady? None I say! None. How then dear one shall we fix this? Hum. We three watchers may tellest thee, but thou must pay heed and know thy deeds. ~ Maggie ~ August 2, 2010 @ 11:32 p.m. EST
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Journal Note of June 2010
I suppose I could crack based on pressure, but I am holding up. Not all the finest as I am letting things get to me. It is easy to say fuck it and just push it all away, but I view that as a chickens way out. What is the worst that can happen? I can crack altogether and fall apart at the seams. It seems that cracking is not an option as it would not help self nor others. Be strong I say! Yes. I will try. No. I will do it. To me, I don’t have a choice but to hold up. - Arachne ~ June 28, 2010 @ a time unknown.
Yesterday is but a ghost looking back at me. The words above are just a mere reminder of a feeling that has been whisked away with the wind brought upon by the dawn of a new day. Today the sun has shown brighter and I feel stronger. I am holding my own and that is the way it should be. That is the way it is. Hey, we come in this life alone and we go out alone. The rubbing that we do with others is strictly residual in every regard. Let me not forget that. Gnaw not thou foul maggots as my body is not morte. ~ Arachne ~ June 29, 2010 @ 11:39 p.m. EST
Yesterday is but a ghost looking back at me. The words above are just a mere reminder of a feeling that has been whisked away with the wind brought upon by the dawn of a new day. Today the sun has shown brighter and I feel stronger. I am holding my own and that is the way it should be. That is the way it is. Hey, we come in this life alone and we go out alone. The rubbing that we do with others is strictly residual in every regard. Let me not forget that. Gnaw not thou foul maggots as my body is not morte. ~ Arachne ~ June 29, 2010 @ 11:39 p.m. EST
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Dark Thoughts~
Dark thoughts sometimes fill my head with blood and gore, but these are just images that flash for a moment in time. Some images are based on what I have seen in real life while others are just imagined. I have seen many images not in real life, but taken of real life within the confines of that which no longer exists. The place was called Gore Gallery. Might I say that death depicts that we are just meat. That is why the bleeding dead do not disturb me, but the bleeding living do. If you want, you can check out http://www.rotten.com as it is in the same vein as Gore Gallery, but it is not as good. ~ Arachne ~ June 22, 2010 @ 11:35 p.m. EST
Suicide~
Tonight I was sitting here thinking about all the times I tried committing suicide only to realize that it was a lesson for me somewhere in my noise. How can you know you what you really are until you have gone down such a dark passageway on numerous occasions? There was this one time were I woke up in the cardiac unit because my heart had flipped out from an overdose. Having been unconscious for two days, I didn’t know too much when I came round except that I was connected to machines and was issued 24 hour nurse guards as I was a risk. There were two nurses who watched over me, but it was one that told me how to get out of the hospital. Tell them what they want to hear, she said. I did and I was able to leave once my heart was going good. Four days is all that I was there. Another time, I was handcuffed to a hospital bed by a cop. In a messed up state, I asked him to please uncuff me and get me something to eat. He did both. They had already made me drink that nasty charcoal stuff which is enough to make you vomit. Some of these events stand out and others blur into the background, but I know I did it again and again. I am not sure what stopped me from doing it. Perhaps something inside woke up and said FUCK IT! Go back to being yourself! Well, here I sit and I am okay with me. If I dropped dead tomorrow, I have no regrets. ~ Arachne ~ June 11, 2010 @ 9:15 EST
NOTE: If I were talking to my brother, I would wish him a happy birthday
NOTE: If I were talking to my brother, I would wish him a happy birthday
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Thou Hast Stayed Awhile~
Weary traveler, I thank thee for thy time
Time as we know is precious
In this we have supped together
Having our cups filled
And our plates engorged
Thou hast stayed awhile
Speaking of thy mind
Simple words rattled off in simplistic form serve not thee well
Nay. Tis the form without utterance that speaks
True form that swells my breast
Giving greater glory to deeds done
Aye. Thou hast done this to my delight
Pray thee stay more so now than before
The fire of the night shall call us
Beckoning to be heard
Hear it we shall and relish in the hour
That granted our fine and lovely meet ~ Arachne ~ 6/8/10 @ 5:20 p.m. EST
Time as we know is precious
In this we have supped together
Having our cups filled
And our plates engorged
Thou hast stayed awhile
Speaking of thy mind
Simple words rattled off in simplistic form serve not thee well
Nay. Tis the form without utterance that speaks
True form that swells my breast
Giving greater glory to deeds done
Aye. Thou hast done this to my delight
Pray thee stay more so now than before
The fire of the night shall call us
Beckoning to be heard
Hear it we shall and relish in the hour
That granted our fine and lovely meet ~ Arachne ~ 6/8/10 @ 5:20 p.m. EST
Monday, June 7, 2010
A Turn On~
Did you ever hear something that set off a chain of mental events? Imagine if you will someone stating something which they would like to do for a turn on and that something turns you on. Now also imagine that you will not be privy to that which is being done by the individual who is turned on by the prospect. However, the prospect of them being turned on makes for fire within the imagination.
Spoken statement of turn on
Turned on by statement alone and its possibilities
I would feel nothing, but the idea of not feeling or knowing is a turn on
Mind over matter and the imagination
Switched into high gear
Spoken statement of might not be turned on
Turned off to original turn on to a degree
Why? Again, it is the idea alone
It is the factor of the other being turned on by the prospect of reality
If the prospect is no longer a turn on to the other, it kills the design but not the idea
What turns an individual on to begin with? Is a turn on strictly physical? Is touch even required? I so wish that I could elaborate on this, but I know not how. Using fantasy, the turn on could be internalized and cut from the source who created the original arousal. Then again, it was the prospect of it being real that played so heavy on me. Yes that was a driving force. So, how do I resurrect that which may not be? Perhaps I could place myself in another’s shoes and play it so that I would do what may have been done by the other. In looking at it this way, I am doing to me what I want to have done by another without having ever said what I want. Regardless of being able to think up possible scenarios, the idea that it will not be presents a downer of sorts. Could it be that so long as the idea is on the table for manifestation the turn on will be stronger? Does this make sense? ~ Arachne ~ June 7, 2010 at 10:32 p.m. EST
Spoken statement of turn on
Turned on by statement alone and its possibilities
I would feel nothing, but the idea of not feeling or knowing is a turn on
Mind over matter and the imagination
Switched into high gear
Spoken statement of might not be turned on
Turned off to original turn on to a degree
Why? Again, it is the idea alone
It is the factor of the other being turned on by the prospect of reality
If the prospect is no longer a turn on to the other, it kills the design but not the idea
What turns an individual on to begin with? Is a turn on strictly physical? Is touch even required? I so wish that I could elaborate on this, but I know not how. Using fantasy, the turn on could be internalized and cut from the source who created the original arousal. Then again, it was the prospect of it being real that played so heavy on me. Yes that was a driving force. So, how do I resurrect that which may not be? Perhaps I could place myself in another’s shoes and play it so that I would do what may have been done by the other. In looking at it this way, I am doing to me what I want to have done by another without having ever said what I want. Regardless of being able to think up possible scenarios, the idea that it will not be presents a downer of sorts. Could it be that so long as the idea is on the table for manifestation the turn on will be stronger? Does this make sense? ~ Arachne ~ June 7, 2010 at 10:32 p.m. EST
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Was ist Aufklarung?
ENLIGHTENMENT IS man’s release form his self-incurred tutelage. Tutelage is man’s inability to make use of his understanding without direction from another. Self-incurred is this tutelage when its cause lies not in lack of reason but in lack of resolution and courage to use it without direction from another. Sapere aude! “Have courage to use your own reason!”–that is the motto of enlightenment.
Laziness and cowardice are the reasons why so great a portion of mankind, after nature has long since discharged them from external direction (naturaliter maiorennes), nevertheless remains under lifelong tutelage, and why it is so easy for others to set themselves up as their guardians. It is so easy not to be of age. If I have a book which understand for me, a pastor who has a conscience for me, a physician who decides my diet, and so forth, I need not trouble myself, I need not think, if I can only pay–others will readily undertake the irksome work for me.
That the step to competence is held to be very dangerous by the far greater portion of mankind (and by the entire fair sex)–quite apart from its being arduous–is seen by those guardians who have so kindly assumed superintendence over them. After the guardians have first made their domestic cattle dumb and have made sure that these placid creatures will not dare take a single step without the harness of the cart to which they are tethered, the guardians then show them the danger which threatens if they try to go alone. Actually, however, this danger is not so great, for by falling a few times they would finally learn to walk alone. But an example of this failure makes them timid and ordinarily frightens them away from further trials.
For any single individual to work himself out of the life under tutelage with has become almost his nature is very difficult. He has come to be fond of this state, and he is for the present really incapable of making use of his reason, for no one has ever let him try it out. Statutes and formulas, those mechanical tools of the rational employment or rather misemployment of his natural gifts, are the fetters of an everlasting tutelage. Whoever throws them off makes only an uncertain leap over the narrowest ditch because he is not accustomed to that kind of free motion. Therefore, there are few who have succeeded by their own exercise of mind both in freeing themselves from incompetence and in achieving a steady pace.
But that the public should enlighten itself is more possible indeed, if only freedom is granted, enlightenment is almost sure to follow. Fore there will always be some independent thinkers, even among established guardians of the great masses, who, after throwing off the yoke of tutelage from their own shoulders, will disseminate the spirit of the rational appreciation of both their own worth and every man’s vocation for thinking for himself. But be it noted that the public, which has first been brought under this yoke bound when it is incited to do so by some of the guardians who are themselves capable of some enlightenment–so harmful is it to implant prejudices, for they later take vengeance on their cultivators or on their decedents. Thus the public can only slowly attain enlightenment. Perhaps a fall of personal despotism or of avaricious or tyrannical oppression may be accomplished by revolution, but never a true reform in ways of thinking. Rather, new prejudices will serve as well as old ones to harness the great unthinking mass.
For this enlightenment, however, nothing is required by freedom, and indeed the most harmless among all the things to which this term can be properly applied. It is the freedom to make public one’s use of reason at every point. But I hear on all sides, “Do not argue!” The officer says: “Do not argue but drill!” The tax collector: “Do not argue but pay!” The cleric: “Do not argue but believe!” Only one prince in the world says, “Argue as much as you will and about what you will, but obey!” Everywhere there is restriction on freedom. ~ Immanuel Kant
The above is after the introduction by John Rajchman from the book THE POLITICS OF TRUTH by Michel Foucault.
...do you know up to what point you can know? Reason as much as you want, but do you really know up to what point you can reason without it becoming dangerous? ~ Michel Foucault
Enjoy and please do think. ~ Maggie ~ May 26, 2010 @ 8:36 PM
Laziness and cowardice are the reasons why so great a portion of mankind, after nature has long since discharged them from external direction (naturaliter maiorennes), nevertheless remains under lifelong tutelage, and why it is so easy for others to set themselves up as their guardians. It is so easy not to be of age. If I have a book which understand for me, a pastor who has a conscience for me, a physician who decides my diet, and so forth, I need not trouble myself, I need not think, if I can only pay–others will readily undertake the irksome work for me.
That the step to competence is held to be very dangerous by the far greater portion of mankind (and by the entire fair sex)–quite apart from its being arduous–is seen by those guardians who have so kindly assumed superintendence over them. After the guardians have first made their domestic cattle dumb and have made sure that these placid creatures will not dare take a single step without the harness of the cart to which they are tethered, the guardians then show them the danger which threatens if they try to go alone. Actually, however, this danger is not so great, for by falling a few times they would finally learn to walk alone. But an example of this failure makes them timid and ordinarily frightens them away from further trials.
For any single individual to work himself out of the life under tutelage with has become almost his nature is very difficult. He has come to be fond of this state, and he is for the present really incapable of making use of his reason, for no one has ever let him try it out. Statutes and formulas, those mechanical tools of the rational employment or rather misemployment of his natural gifts, are the fetters of an everlasting tutelage. Whoever throws them off makes only an uncertain leap over the narrowest ditch because he is not accustomed to that kind of free motion. Therefore, there are few who have succeeded by their own exercise of mind both in freeing themselves from incompetence and in achieving a steady pace.
But that the public should enlighten itself is more possible indeed, if only freedom is granted, enlightenment is almost sure to follow. Fore there will always be some independent thinkers, even among established guardians of the great masses, who, after throwing off the yoke of tutelage from their own shoulders, will disseminate the spirit of the rational appreciation of both their own worth and every man’s vocation for thinking for himself. But be it noted that the public, which has first been brought under this yoke bound when it is incited to do so by some of the guardians who are themselves capable of some enlightenment–so harmful is it to implant prejudices, for they later take vengeance on their cultivators or on their decedents. Thus the public can only slowly attain enlightenment. Perhaps a fall of personal despotism or of avaricious or tyrannical oppression may be accomplished by revolution, but never a true reform in ways of thinking. Rather, new prejudices will serve as well as old ones to harness the great unthinking mass.
For this enlightenment, however, nothing is required by freedom, and indeed the most harmless among all the things to which this term can be properly applied. It is the freedom to make public one’s use of reason at every point. But I hear on all sides, “Do not argue!” The officer says: “Do not argue but drill!” The tax collector: “Do not argue but pay!” The cleric: “Do not argue but believe!” Only one prince in the world says, “Argue as much as you will and about what you will, but obey!” Everywhere there is restriction on freedom. ~ Immanuel Kant
The above is after the introduction by John Rajchman from the book THE POLITICS OF TRUTH by Michel Foucault.
...do you know up to what point you can know? Reason as much as you want, but do you really know up to what point you can reason without it becoming dangerous? ~ Michel Foucault
Enjoy and please do think. ~ Maggie ~ May 26, 2010 @ 8:36 PM
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Fun Fun At The U.S. Consulate~
My daughter and I went to the Consulate today to get her Canadian butt Americanized. Although the instructions specifically stated that anyone residing in the United States must go to a local passport office, based on our special circumstances, we gave it a try despite that fact. Luckily, we had enough information to have the woman (whose time with us had been exceeded by about two hours) present to the Consulate the information we had AND the information she was able to dig up. You see, you are supposed to have the information for BOTH American parents for the time period that she was born. We did not have it in full and therefore, the processor wanted us to come back with “no information found” papers regarding her father’s death.
Personally, I think she just wanted to get rid of us as she stated “I am only supposed to spend 15 minutes with you.” Mind you, the woman had to call Social Security as she needed proof about Andrew as my word was not good enough. After speaking with SSA for a tad, she handed me the phone and let me speak to them in regard to what I could remember about my daughter’s father’s information. Having known his date of birth (I was off by one day as HE didn’t know if he was born on the 27th or 28th so neither did I.), mother’s name, father’s name, brother’s name, and the fact that he was born on Long Island, we were able to establish the sucker’s full SSN and his date of death. So I was one digit off on his first three SSN numbers. Apparently, he died on March 1, 1999. I also had to fill out a birth abroad paper or something like that which also had special circumstances written as I could not provide ANY dates in the columns that they provided. All in all, it worked in our favor. My daughter has been APPROVED for her passport and it was put on RUSH by them.
An unknown tad of information was told to us by SSA. Andrew’s brother Christopher was not biologically related to Andrew’s father. Hum. Having met the old man, that could account for Christopher being so dark and Andrew being so light. Ah, you learn something everyday! ~ Maggie ~ May 19, 2010 @ 4:06 p.m. EST
Addendum: When leaving the Consulate, one of the guards asked why I have handcuffs and I responded that I am kinky. The two other guards understood, but he didn’t so I suggested that he ask his buddies. They kind of laughed at him. I did find out that he is from Italy and worked in the U.S. Consulate over there. He stated that accounted for his ignorance. Actually he said: I am new to this country. HA HA HA!!!!
Personally, I think she just wanted to get rid of us as she stated “I am only supposed to spend 15 minutes with you.” Mind you, the woman had to call Social Security as she needed proof about Andrew as my word was not good enough. After speaking with SSA for a tad, she handed me the phone and let me speak to them in regard to what I could remember about my daughter’s father’s information. Having known his date of birth (I was off by one day as HE didn’t know if he was born on the 27th or 28th so neither did I.), mother’s name, father’s name, brother’s name, and the fact that he was born on Long Island, we were able to establish the sucker’s full SSN and his date of death. So I was one digit off on his first three SSN numbers. Apparently, he died on March 1, 1999. I also had to fill out a birth abroad paper or something like that which also had special circumstances written as I could not provide ANY dates in the columns that they provided. All in all, it worked in our favor. My daughter has been APPROVED for her passport and it was put on RUSH by them.
An unknown tad of information was told to us by SSA. Andrew’s brother Christopher was not biologically related to Andrew’s father. Hum. Having met the old man, that could account for Christopher being so dark and Andrew being so light. Ah, you learn something everyday! ~ Maggie ~ May 19, 2010 @ 4:06 p.m. EST
Addendum: When leaving the Consulate, one of the guards asked why I have handcuffs and I responded that I am kinky. The two other guards understood, but he didn’t so I suggested that he ask his buddies. They kind of laughed at him. I did find out that he is from Italy and worked in the U.S. Consulate over there. He stated that accounted for his ignorance. Actually he said: I am new to this country. HA HA HA!!!!
Monday, May 17, 2010
A Wish~
My love had told me that “if wishes were fishes, the world would be an ocean.” However, if one does not wish and pursue their wish they will not get it. Some wishes are beyond reason such as a wish to become an astronaut at this stage of life, but simple wishes are not out of the question. I do not wish for luxury or material gain, but I do wish for change. Change requires doing and going forward toward a goal. Obstacles must be looked at as they will slow down processes, but will not stop them unless they are wished to be stopped. In the grand scope of things, what I wish for is NOT impossible. There is a maximum time line in mind, but through circumstance(s) the time line could either be longer or shorter. It all depends on the variables.
Although I have previously stated that I am a selfish person, I shall reiterate: I am selfish. Anything I do I do so because it pleases me. If no pleasure is derived even from pain, well then, it serves me no justice. Selfish could be looked at in a negative fashion, but it is not. If someone derived joy from doing something FOR YOU, they are being selfish as they are really doing for themselves. Is this so bad? Me thinks not, however, if anyone would like to argue the point, please do so. Selfish is destructive when you self serve and harm others in the process. You gain nothing at that point as what has served you now will bite you in the ass later.
There is a part of me that has another wish (yet again) to return to school. A second bachelor’s degree is not out of the question, but a master’s degree in psychology is higher on the strata and would be much easier to obtain AND I could hang my shingle. My absurd wish is for my Ph.D. in history, but I would have to do two years toward my second bachelors to even start the process. Here lies a problem in time economics. Starting with 100 percent of time resources, I am already at capacity. Should I choose to return to academia I would have to give up certain things to free percentage points which would pull me away from my first goal. There is also another issue here that I must consider: I have to watch where I fly. Radar sucks as do time economic cost factors. Oh well! Focus and the first wish and perhaps the second wish will come to be at a later point in time. ~ Maggie ~ May 17, 2010 @ 3:36 p.m. EST
Although I have previously stated that I am a selfish person, I shall reiterate: I am selfish. Anything I do I do so because it pleases me. If no pleasure is derived even from pain, well then, it serves me no justice. Selfish could be looked at in a negative fashion, but it is not. If someone derived joy from doing something FOR YOU, they are being selfish as they are really doing for themselves. Is this so bad? Me thinks not, however, if anyone would like to argue the point, please do so. Selfish is destructive when you self serve and harm others in the process. You gain nothing at that point as what has served you now will bite you in the ass later.
There is a part of me that has another wish (yet again) to return to school. A second bachelor’s degree is not out of the question, but a master’s degree in psychology is higher on the strata and would be much easier to obtain AND I could hang my shingle. My absurd wish is for my Ph.D. in history, but I would have to do two years toward my second bachelors to even start the process. Here lies a problem in time economics. Starting with 100 percent of time resources, I am already at capacity. Should I choose to return to academia I would have to give up certain things to free percentage points which would pull me away from my first goal. There is also another issue here that I must consider: I have to watch where I fly. Radar sucks as do time economic cost factors. Oh well! Focus and the first wish and perhaps the second wish will come to be at a later point in time. ~ Maggie ~ May 17, 2010 @ 3:36 p.m. EST
Friday, May 14, 2010
In The Beginning~
In the beginning, I was alone floating in a sea of possibilities. Perhaps there was a connection to all that is back then, but I do not remember observing it nor do I remember any sense of it. That is not to say that there was none. Perhaps in my not yet coming to being I had not been aware.
In the end, I will be alone once again floating in a sea of possibilities. Will I remember there was a connection to all that is? I have observed and I have sensed, but will these memories come with me? Perhaps in no longer being one does not require being aware. ~ Maggie ~ May 14, 2010 @ 7:53 p.m. EST
In the end, I will be alone once again floating in a sea of possibilities. Will I remember there was a connection to all that is? I have observed and I have sensed, but will these memories come with me? Perhaps in no longer being one does not require being aware. ~ Maggie ~ May 14, 2010 @ 7:53 p.m. EST
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Required Contrast~
How noticeable is a lit candle during the day? Imagine the sun in shining brightly through newly cleansed windows. Such light illuminates said room and makes dim that which would otherwise shine brightly in the dark. Can it then be said:
Tis best to burn during the night
Knowing you will see the light
That only shines oh so slight
When sky fires are burning bright
Camouflage allows for blending in and thus not being noticed. Some species have evolved as such to either eat or not be eaten. Camouflage can also be used by humans (in clothing form) to blend into their environment thus making them less noticeable to a possible predator/prey.
Some humans do not require a camouflage collection in order not to be seen as they blend into the population at large and prefer not to stand out and be counted. I suppose that is a good thing. Actually, it is a good thing. How else might a candle burn bright during the day?
Some bright candles would know that the best place to hide is in plain sight in full light. Imagine knocking the candle to the floor as you exit the room only to find your home on fire shortly afterwards? The tiny unseen flame can develop into a raging fire whose billows of smoke can be seen for miles. ~ Maggie ~ May 4, 2010 @ 1:13 a.m. EST
Addendum: A stationary observer watches the turtle and the hare.
Tis best to burn during the night
Knowing you will see the light
That only shines oh so slight
When sky fires are burning bright
Camouflage allows for blending in and thus not being noticed. Some species have evolved as such to either eat or not be eaten. Camouflage can also be used by humans (in clothing form) to blend into their environment thus making them less noticeable to a possible predator/prey.
Some humans do not require a camouflage collection in order not to be seen as they blend into the population at large and prefer not to stand out and be counted. I suppose that is a good thing. Actually, it is a good thing. How else might a candle burn bright during the day?
Some bright candles would know that the best place to hide is in plain sight in full light. Imagine knocking the candle to the floor as you exit the room only to find your home on fire shortly afterwards? The tiny unseen flame can develop into a raging fire whose billows of smoke can be seen for miles. ~ Maggie ~ May 4, 2010 @ 1:13 a.m. EST
Addendum: A stationary observer watches the turtle and the hare.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Laughing at it all...
Laughing like a jollied lunatic, I think upon my past and relish the flavor of it all. The darkness of the blanket which covered wounds eventually scabbed into metal. Ill of thought and motion set a pace for a fast life partially of destruction and partially of construction. For sure one can only build on new ground upon the breaking of the old. Focus with blood gleaming toward goals. Let the hurdles fall where they may and I shall be on track. I do so love being me. ~ Maggie ~ April 27, 2010 @ 10:14 p.m. EST
Sunday, April 25, 2010
The Final Judgment - The Solution
Let them believe what they will - that you are incapable - that you are a fool - that you don’t know
They will get caught up in the own beliefs and thus become unsuspecting as they are secure in their evaluation
All at once, the trap of knowledge is sprung and they cannot move
It is as though their legs take root to the ground they are immobile...in terror
Let the blade of the guillotine fall
Off with their heads
The basket lies before them, but do their eyes see their final descent?
Let their blood flow down the steps to my feet so that I may walk through it and lead a path through the end of their life
Let their blood be spilled until the rivers overflow and become thick brown and putrid
Take their lifeless bodies and bury them apart from their source of reason
Open their craniums and tear off all remaining flesh as I t shall be given unto the dogs...to be devoured
Fill it ever so slowly with the sweetness of mother’s milk
Then drink to their folly ~ Maggie
They will get caught up in the own beliefs and thus become unsuspecting as they are secure in their evaluation
All at once, the trap of knowledge is sprung and they cannot move
It is as though their legs take root to the ground they are immobile...in terror
Let the blade of the guillotine fall
Off with their heads
The basket lies before them, but do their eyes see their final descent?
Let their blood flow down the steps to my feet so that I may walk through it and lead a path through the end of their life
Let their blood be spilled until the rivers overflow and become thick brown and putrid
Take their lifeless bodies and bury them apart from their source of reason
Open their craniums and tear off all remaining flesh as I t shall be given unto the dogs...to be devoured
Fill it ever so slowly with the sweetness of mother’s milk
Then drink to their folly ~ Maggie
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
The Dude~
Okay, so it is going on two years now and I can say that I still love “the dude” like I did from the beginning. Actually, I love him more now. Without trying, he makes my socks curl. Get your mind out of the gutter as I am talking nice here. Curling my socks means lighting my fires. However, if you have gutter mind, my socks curl there as well. Are you happy now? Anyway...
It was love at first sight and I frightened myself to the point of faint. Can you imagine a magnetic pull that great? Imagine his being zapping me where I live and knocking me off my clock having just learned his name. Romantic huh? What can I say. That is what happens when I get ignited. Hell, I am still ignited although I don’t pass out anymore.
Love can feel like comfortable shoes, however, it is cool when the shoes pinch at times. You know...that sweet reminder to let you know that they are in fact on your feet. Pinch me baby, but not on the underside of my arm: I bruise easy. I know when I love someone as I want to choke them at times and will tell them so to their face. He has been told and therefore he is truly loved. Love is a cool clean and beautiful edge with glistening sharpness. What I speak of is the spark and that spark is the stuff that makes for a lasting relationship on my end anyway. I know as I felt this edge only one time before this, but that man endangered my life and I did not trust him as far as I could throw him (I actually threw him down a flight of stairs.). One of the greatest things I love about “the dude” is that he is honest and I trust him wholeheartedly with my life. However, he has many other qualities that no one can come close to shaking a stick at.
From my perspective, the only way I would say goodbye to “the dude” I love is if he endangered my life in some form, but he is not like that. As for a reason he would say goodbye to me, I am not in his head, therefore, I cannot say.
As much as I fight WITH my mother and daughter, I would fight FOR them IF they were in the right OR IF they were outnumbered and in the wrong. The same holds true with him. If anyone, and I do mean anyone, were to try to harm him, I would do battle with them using whatever means I have at my disposal. Hey, that is just the way I am.
Whatever I am, he is my better half and we are kids in the game of life. As old as we are, we look like two kids roughhousing and tossing each other about (sometimes to the point of blood), but we are laughing all the way. You wanna know something? We have never had a real verbal or physical fight since we have known each other. I feel good about that! I love “the dude.” ~ Maggie ~ April 21, 2010 @ 8:52 p.m. EST
Okay, so what is written above is not of a romantic nature, but what is below IS of a romantic nature. This piece was written about him and to him not too long after we met. He so inspired/inspires me: STAY AWHILE~ 8/8/2008
It was love at first sight and I frightened myself to the point of faint. Can you imagine a magnetic pull that great? Imagine his being zapping me where I live and knocking me off my clock having just learned his name. Romantic huh? What can I say. That is what happens when I get ignited. Hell, I am still ignited although I don’t pass out anymore.
Love can feel like comfortable shoes, however, it is cool when the shoes pinch at times. You know...that sweet reminder to let you know that they are in fact on your feet. Pinch me baby, but not on the underside of my arm: I bruise easy. I know when I love someone as I want to choke them at times and will tell them so to their face. He has been told and therefore he is truly loved. Love is a cool clean and beautiful edge with glistening sharpness. What I speak of is the spark and that spark is the stuff that makes for a lasting relationship on my end anyway. I know as I felt this edge only one time before this, but that man endangered my life and I did not trust him as far as I could throw him (I actually threw him down a flight of stairs.). One of the greatest things I love about “the dude” is that he is honest and I trust him wholeheartedly with my life. However, he has many other qualities that no one can come close to shaking a stick at.
From my perspective, the only way I would say goodbye to “the dude” I love is if he endangered my life in some form, but he is not like that. As for a reason he would say goodbye to me, I am not in his head, therefore, I cannot say.
As much as I fight WITH my mother and daughter, I would fight FOR them IF they were in the right OR IF they were outnumbered and in the wrong. The same holds true with him. If anyone, and I do mean anyone, were to try to harm him, I would do battle with them using whatever means I have at my disposal. Hey, that is just the way I am.
Whatever I am, he is my better half and we are kids in the game of life. As old as we are, we look like two kids roughhousing and tossing each other about (sometimes to the point of blood), but we are laughing all the way. You wanna know something? We have never had a real verbal or physical fight since we have known each other. I feel good about that! I love “the dude.” ~ Maggie ~ April 21, 2010 @ 8:52 p.m. EST
Okay, so what is written above is not of a romantic nature, but what is below IS of a romantic nature. This piece was written about him and to him not too long after we met. He so inspired/inspires me: STAY AWHILE~ 8/8/2008
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Memory~
I cannot keep it from my dreams nor keep it from stealing suddenly into my mind when control is relaxed. Stealing like some vicious foot padded animal from a dark alley where it hides to strike a savage wound again and again. Opening the old scar tissue with another dreadful gash. Injuries to the body are fatal or they heal. Not so these scars on the soul. They too can be fatal, but they do not kill. They too can heal, but the scar tissue is weak and can be opened at the slightest touch (of memory). Opened as painfully each time...these gory wounds which do not bleed, these violent blows which do not bring unconsciousness, these lethal strokes which send a poisoned spear deep into the heart and fester without death... (Penned in the 80's)
A memory struck me the other night and I relayed this to my mother after she choose to bash me with all she had for everything I had ever done in my life. She said living with me was like living in a “house of horrors.” Hum. Oh sure I pled guilty and I did plea for her to move on to the next subject at hand. Hey, when pleading guilty, what more could be shot at you? NOTHING! Anyway, I say to her to bust her nut: Ma, do you remember when I took that Winchester bullet and lit it to my head in your presence so that I could blow my brains out in front of you? AND why do you think I would want to do that? Duh? She stated that she did not remember the event, but if she thought about it, it may come back to her. Oh brother! Gag me with a spoon will ya? I know that if my daughter were to have done that in front of me, I would have remembered her doing so. Selective memory? Perhaps. Anyway, it does seem odd that she cannot plea guilty to her own failures at being a mother. I admit I don’t know how to be a mother and I most likely never will. To this, I am not afraid to state the truth. What is a mother anyway?
Q: What would cause a 13 year-old to want to do that in front of her mother? I asked mother to look at the past and check out how I became what I was (in evil state) and what I am (not far from evil state (Might I mention that evil is subjective.)). She only sees all my wrongs which I give full admission to. I AM guilty, but life goes on. I know what I have done, however, what caused me to do what I had done? I know the answer as should she. However, she is not ready nor will she ever be ready to see how she played a part in my making of self. Frankly, it does hurt to revisit my childhood, but there is a greater part of me that is ever grateful for having had it just the way it was. Alas, I will never be Cleopatra: Queen of Denial! ~ Maggie ~ April 20, 2010 @ 5:44 p.m. EST
A memory struck me the other night and I relayed this to my mother after she choose to bash me with all she had for everything I had ever done in my life. She said living with me was like living in a “house of horrors.” Hum. Oh sure I pled guilty and I did plea for her to move on to the next subject at hand. Hey, when pleading guilty, what more could be shot at you? NOTHING! Anyway, I say to her to bust her nut: Ma, do you remember when I took that Winchester bullet and lit it to my head in your presence so that I could blow my brains out in front of you? AND why do you think I would want to do that? Duh? She stated that she did not remember the event, but if she thought about it, it may come back to her. Oh brother! Gag me with a spoon will ya? I know that if my daughter were to have done that in front of me, I would have remembered her doing so. Selective memory? Perhaps. Anyway, it does seem odd that she cannot plea guilty to her own failures at being a mother. I admit I don’t know how to be a mother and I most likely never will. To this, I am not afraid to state the truth. What is a mother anyway?
Q: What would cause a 13 year-old to want to do that in front of her mother? I asked mother to look at the past and check out how I became what I was (in evil state) and what I am (not far from evil state (Might I mention that evil is subjective.)). She only sees all my wrongs which I give full admission to. I AM guilty, but life goes on. I know what I have done, however, what caused me to do what I had done? I know the answer as should she. However, she is not ready nor will she ever be ready to see how she played a part in my making of self. Frankly, it does hurt to revisit my childhood, but there is a greater part of me that is ever grateful for having had it just the way it was. Alas, I will never be Cleopatra: Queen of Denial! ~ Maggie ~ April 20, 2010 @ 5:44 p.m. EST
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Sharing Mind~
Did you ever just wish your mind could escape the encapsulation of the skull to reveal all the wonders that have filled it within the course of your life? It sure would make for an interesting table piece. You know...push a button to see through the eyes of the one who saw and feel what they felt at the moment of seeing/feeling. Imagine using their senses to gain their experience. Okay, so I have thought about this before in the form of mind transfer or a forum of minds where sharing could occur or the selling of a memory. How interesting is that? However, as memory serves me, I so would love to document it all just for the fuck of it. I find that my life was and is colorful. Again, this is only my perspective. What is really messed up is that I can go back from whence I came, but I cannot take anyone with me in the same form that I go. All I can do is tell of it and, for sure, some of it is unbelievable. Let me use two recent unbelievable accounts: my vehicle was parked and hit by the Amish who would have done a hit and run had I not told them stay as I was calling the cops and THEY WOULD PAY for the damages. Me thinks they paid up because I said that I wouldn’t leave their premises unless they paid up. Those good ol’ churchmen (who requested that I bring a man along) looked rather miffed when I stated that they would have to deal with my music and my sexuality while being on their lawn as I was going to stay until they paid up. Sure nuf did I get my money from those folks. Now, can you image getting rear-ended by a guy whose custom license plate says "Megalodon," meanwhile he is a little piss ant with a baby seat in his SUV. He sported a cream color suit, cream color turtle neck, and the rosary hung around his neck, but he spoke so gangsta that he was laughable. Anyway, he too was not allowed to leave before I let him go. I did inspect the car bumper with my handy dandy flashlight, but found no damage. What I did find was a screw. I then went to the front of his vehicle and found that he had a rack on the front and it was probably his screw. Screw him as I sent his screw flying down the street. What a wanker. This happened near Times Square and not one cop stopped. Oh well. See what I am saying? This is nothing compared to the crazy situations that I have been in. Man, I so would love to share it all from the beginning. That would be a hoot. ~ Maggie ~ April 2010 @ 8:21 p.m. EST
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Marriage????
Perhaps my brain or mode of thinking is off beat because I am thinking it would not be so bad to get married again. Yeah, it does sound off the wall and bizarre, however, there was something to being married that I can’t quite put my finger on. What the fuck was it? I think I should mention that my marriage was shitty to the max, yet I endured it for 2 years and 2 weeks before I kicked his ass out and filed for divorce. What kept me in the marriage as long as I was in it was that I thought that I had made my bed and thus must lie in it. Never a harsh word to him did I utter despite the fact that he was a total useless ass. Getting rid of him was real simple and I did not and have not missed him for one nanosecond from the time I threw him out. Well then, what was the perk? It surely was not sex as he was as useless as tits on a bull. So, what could it have been? I am sitting here scratching my head and ass wondering what selfish area within myself did it address? For the life of me, I can’t think of what it was. Maybe it was just the sharing aspect. Then again, what the fuck did we share? There were all those fake “I love you” statements that we both made yet I wonder if that had a part? Nah. I can’t say for sure what it was, but lunacy must be setting in as I think I would take a go at it again. Yup. I think I lost my marbles. Someone please shoot me! ~ Maggie ~ March 31, 2010 @ 2:36 p.m. EST
Addendum: It could be that MAX is playing a sick April Fools joke on me. Meh.
Addendum: It could be that MAX is playing a sick April Fools joke on me. Meh.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Individuality~
Why do I spout rounds of current events, history, philosophy, evolution, or even stories of sometimes long forgotten circumstances, and then bounce into rounds of tell me this and tell me that? It is just an effort to create an interaction, a dialogue, or a debate. There are times when I seek depth and know it lies within, but my axe, pick, and shovel meet bedrock. Depth is there and at times I reach it, but I am like a blind person whose outstretched arms reach into the dark so as not to bash my face. To be seen and not heard is more of a role for a mannequin. A “doll” sort of woman of silent and brainless nature never to speak or question. Oh, but speak only when spoken to in simple form do answer. This is not my character for sure nor will this ever be my character. Perhaps what I speak of is of oil and water nature. Coexistence is fine as there are no combustible substances within the tube. The grandness of the separateness leaves the two substances to be themselves never to merge into one. When merged into one, one could lose themselves in the process. There are two sayings that have me baffled: “Birds of a feather flock together” and “opposites attract.” Which is correct? ~ Maggie ~ March 30, 2010 @ 8:01 p.m. EST
Thursday, March 25, 2010
A Friendly Argument~
Looking at the networked society as a whole and the evolutionary scale in regard to information, how would one find a greater fitness for survival in an urban jungle? Using key words “choosing what information is valuable to them,” hypothetically speaking, what if the majority of those that are networked derive their information from getting into others’ lives such as celebrities or politicians instead of living their own life? What if the computer were used strictly to see what is the latest fad/fashion or the best electric toy gizmo? What can be derived from that information? Would, or could, this equate to a mental devolution? Could idiocracy occur? Has it occurred to a degree?
I agree with your stance on trust, but I must note that two people can see the same thing objectively, yet differ subjectively. That is where a truth can change. Also, when conducting research, is it not possible to find conflicting data? When the sources have two sides, who is to say who is right? Does this again revert back to intuition and one’s subjectivity?
A hypothetical scenario again: I am a selfish person who has a child/children and a parent/parents. A circumstance arises which brings a catastrophe to me, my child/children, and parent/parents. We are all trapped under debris from an earthquake and not a soul is around for miles. My oldest child gets free and tries to rescue me, but I say “help your siblings.” Upon my own freedom, do I seek to rescue my parent/parents or my child/children first? I would rescue my child/children first. Is there anything spiritual about that or is it a logical choice?
Now I notice you mention good and evil and I must question those words. IF abortion is viewed as EVIL by some, does that make it so? Winning a war by killing civilians seems rather evil to me, but governments do that on a constant basis. Also, war does not necessarily equate to a military invasion. War could mean trade competition. This seems peaceful enough, but look at how it affects the lives of those who suffer slave wages and who cannot afford to eat or seek medical treatment. This type of war is not limited to the north American continent.
Winning and success: Simply put, I rather be a goose.
Spirituality: What type of spirituality defines winning and success in terms of “rewards for compassion in the afterlife?” Why does anyone or anything have to “suffer to prove [their] devotion to God?” Personally, I get my reward to a good deed done immediately as I feel good about doing it. I don’t have to wait, but I guess that is because I am my own god. I can’t speak for others, but I can speak for self. Therefore, I must say that to suffer to prove anything to anyone is jackass retarded MOREOVER, when the thing that one is trying to prove it to has NO VALID PROOF of existence.
The organisms that choose to sacrifice themselves do so for the betterment of their group. As chances are, the group is part of their family/community. Just think, if you were in a fire, wouldn’t you bang on the doors that you see closed so that those inside would not die of smoke inhalation or would you run and leave everyone to die? If you didn’t bang on the doors and, it were known (these are key words), should you be in a fire again and YOU are behind the closed door, you may not get your door banged on. There is logic running here. Do you not find this argument valid? If not, please argue it. I see selfish working where perhaps you do not.
Whoops...back to the organism who is willing to sacrifice self. In yelling out an alarm for the group to run, the organism becomes a target. This does not mean that the target will die, but it can. However, what if the alarm were not put out and the whole group were to be killed? How would that play on the lone survivor? Has it in fact survived in the gene pool? Might I add, this scenario of hypothetical content is located in the land of Nod. The organism is now extinct for saving its own ass. ~ March 25, 2010 @ 9:29 p.m.
I agree with your stance on trust, but I must note that two people can see the same thing objectively, yet differ subjectively. That is where a truth can change. Also, when conducting research, is it not possible to find conflicting data? When the sources have two sides, who is to say who is right? Does this again revert back to intuition and one’s subjectivity?
A hypothetical scenario again: I am a selfish person who has a child/children and a parent/parents. A circumstance arises which brings a catastrophe to me, my child/children, and parent/parents. We are all trapped under debris from an earthquake and not a soul is around for miles. My oldest child gets free and tries to rescue me, but I say “help your siblings.” Upon my own freedom, do I seek to rescue my parent/parents or my child/children first? I would rescue my child/children first. Is there anything spiritual about that or is it a logical choice?
Now I notice you mention good and evil and I must question those words. IF abortion is viewed as EVIL by some, does that make it so? Winning a war by killing civilians seems rather evil to me, but governments do that on a constant basis. Also, war does not necessarily equate to a military invasion. War could mean trade competition. This seems peaceful enough, but look at how it affects the lives of those who suffer slave wages and who cannot afford to eat or seek medical treatment. This type of war is not limited to the north American continent.
Winning and success: Simply put, I rather be a goose.
Spirituality: What type of spirituality defines winning and success in terms of “rewards for compassion in the afterlife?” Why does anyone or anything have to “suffer to prove [their] devotion to God?” Personally, I get my reward to a good deed done immediately as I feel good about doing it. I don’t have to wait, but I guess that is because I am my own god. I can’t speak for others, but I can speak for self. Therefore, I must say that to suffer to prove anything to anyone is jackass retarded MOREOVER, when the thing that one is trying to prove it to has NO VALID PROOF of existence.
The organisms that choose to sacrifice themselves do so for the betterment of their group. As chances are, the group is part of their family/community. Just think, if you were in a fire, wouldn’t you bang on the doors that you see closed so that those inside would not die of smoke inhalation or would you run and leave everyone to die? If you didn’t bang on the doors and, it were known (these are key words), should you be in a fire again and YOU are behind the closed door, you may not get your door banged on. There is logic running here. Do you not find this argument valid? If not, please argue it. I see selfish working where perhaps you do not.
Whoops...back to the organism who is willing to sacrifice self. In yelling out an alarm for the group to run, the organism becomes a target. This does not mean that the target will die, but it can. However, what if the alarm were not put out and the whole group were to be killed? How would that play on the lone survivor? Has it in fact survived in the gene pool? Might I add, this scenario of hypothetical content is located in the land of Nod. The organism is now extinct for saving its own ass. ~ March 25, 2010 @ 9:29 p.m.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Dynamistic
At a loss for words. Knocked off my spunk in a moment or moments of "I don't give a fuck." Everything and nothing matter. Nothing and everything gnaw away at my gray to spin yarns or tales in an explosive fashion, yet such cannot escape me. Perhaps the visions are too dynamic for mere words. Possibilities!
The concoctions that I arrive at are not here and thus lay elsewhere for now. However, part of me sees the dominoes and their form respectively. Repeatedly forming functions at junctions that I see in abstract design. Linear is simplex of complex spins. It is like playing cards in the dark while knowing what my hand is and what will be picked up after discarding despite the fact I cannot see it anatomically. A chain interlocked seemingly straight until huddled to the ground and viewed through a smudge lens so as not to note precisely where each link essentially ties in. Might it be projection of forthcoming supposed reality? Perhaps. Thus far I find it grand even if I cannot verbalize or form to writ said issues. They still exist. That is my truth if truths are told. In effect, I am bringing about the cause. Yes "I do give a fuck" or I would not be. For all things a purpose and a purpose for all things. Yes. Do I touch you? My "sentence structure" is incomplete. ~ Maggie ~ March 23, 2010 @ 6:23 p.m. EST
The concoctions that I arrive at are not here and thus lay elsewhere for now. However, part of me sees the dominoes and their form respectively. Repeatedly forming functions at junctions that I see in abstract design. Linear is simplex of complex spins. It is like playing cards in the dark while knowing what my hand is and what will be picked up after discarding despite the fact I cannot see it anatomically. A chain interlocked seemingly straight until huddled to the ground and viewed through a smudge lens so as not to note precisely where each link essentially ties in. Might it be projection of forthcoming supposed reality? Perhaps. Thus far I find it grand even if I cannot verbalize or form to writ said issues. They still exist. That is my truth if truths are told. In effect, I am bringing about the cause. Yes "I do give a fuck" or I would not be. For all things a purpose and a purpose for all things. Yes. Do I touch you? My "sentence structure" is incomplete. ~ Maggie ~ March 23, 2010 @ 6:23 p.m. EST
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Criminals :-)
This went out to my daughter...
Okay, so I thought I was beat in the charge department, however, upon closer inspection, I too pled down from a D felony to a misdemeanor. Why do I say it was a felony? Well if one is pleading DOWN to a misdemeanor, then the assault was NOT a misdemeanor to begin with. It was a felony. This left me with two misdemeanor counts. To this I had to pay almost $1,000 to Victim Services. You are lucky to have gotten off with $120 fine and a mere misdemeanor instead of a felony charge and grande bucks to pay. Therefore, I am one up on you. However, the bravado that I heard in regard to the charge reduction, makes my event seem blah. Also too, I never was arrested and for that I am thankful. I can’t say that I would want to spend any time in jail although your time sounds rather thrilling. Be glad they did not take your butt to Rikers. Then again, would you like to have to go to Manhattan Criminal Court over and over and over again just to plea down? I don't think so. If memory serves me right, this endeavor took a few months to knock out. You got yours knocked out overnight.
The only thing I can think of in regard to your knowledge of “cool” is when I wanted to pop you and told you how it would go down if you called the police on me. If you remembered from there, you are going good. That is the only place in my mind that brings remembrance about playing it out.
You are catching up with me kiddo in all departments like clockwork. Now stay out of trouble. ~ Maggie ~ March 11, 2010 @ 7:35 p.m. EST
Okay, so I thought I was beat in the charge department, however, upon closer inspection, I too pled down from a D felony to a misdemeanor. Why do I say it was a felony? Well if one is pleading DOWN to a misdemeanor, then the assault was NOT a misdemeanor to begin with. It was a felony. This left me with two misdemeanor counts. To this I had to pay almost $1,000 to Victim Services. You are lucky to have gotten off with $120 fine and a mere misdemeanor instead of a felony charge and grande bucks to pay. Therefore, I am one up on you. However, the bravado that I heard in regard to the charge reduction, makes my event seem blah. Also too, I never was arrested and for that I am thankful. I can’t say that I would want to spend any time in jail although your time sounds rather thrilling. Be glad they did not take your butt to Rikers. Then again, would you like to have to go to Manhattan Criminal Court over and over and over again just to plea down? I don't think so. If memory serves me right, this endeavor took a few months to knock out. You got yours knocked out overnight.
The only thing I can think of in regard to your knowledge of “cool” is when I wanted to pop you and told you how it would go down if you called the police on me. If you remembered from there, you are going good. That is the only place in my mind that brings remembrance about playing it out.
You are catching up with me kiddo in all departments like clockwork. Now stay out of trouble. ~ Maggie ~ March 11, 2010 @ 7:35 p.m. EST
God, reality, belief, objective, subjective, and truth~
God, reality, belief, objective, subjective, truth...I can only speak of self in regard to being my own god and creator of my own world/universe. With all the abstracts the mind holds, where could reality be held save for what we perceive within our mind? Would that not be our belief? Our own senses create our reality and are both objective and subjective. You and I can see a white door or smell something burning, however, I may see hues of blue or pink within the white door or perhaps I will see images of people or objects that you do not. Is it true what I see? Hell yes. Can I show you? Maybe. The burning of something can be agreed on as well, however, I may smell just wood and you may smell meat. You may even be able to hone the meat down to beef, but will I have the same message? Maybe. Maybe not. Would we both hold truths? Yes. All is a matter of perception open to the individual to make of it what he/she will. Even if looking at our own selves within the realms of the micro, we are full of holes. Where lies solidity? Here, there, and everywhere...are we not? Reality: The one true thing that I can believe in and is my reality is me. To borrow from Descartes: Cogito ergo sum. No certainty lies on anything else or anyone else as this may all be a dream that we have created. We, the gods, have created ourselves and from ourselves have created bogus gods in our own image. If one were to set out to prove that I do not exist, they would only satisfy their own mind as one will never be able to convince me otherwise. I will always believe in myself. That is my truth, my god, my objectivity, and my subjectivity. According to the constructs of this world, we are energy. IF this is true, then by the first law of thermodynamics, we were neither created nor can we be destroyed. ~ Maggie ~ March 11, 2010 @ some point in the p.m.
This was a response to “The Enigma of the Absolute” as posted elsewhere by a friend.
This was a response to “The Enigma of the Absolute” as posted elsewhere by a friend.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Hubris In A Bottle
I come across many an interesting individuals in due course, but this bugger gave me an idea. The idea sprang from a question I posed of him in regard to Al Pacino's face. We ended up talking about the "red paperclip" and "dehydrated H2O" and its sale. Not for anything, Barnum said that there was a sucker born every minute. With that in mind, yet giving power to mind, what if one were to bottle hubris to give those without gonads the ability to have gonads. The method is simple: provide a bottle, filled or not, with the supposed hubris, however, the individual who makes the purchase must believe the product WILL work in order for it TO work. It is rather like believing in god, only you believe in yourself instead. As mentioned in the video, the placebo can come in various forms. Let me know your thoughts. Maybe I will give you a penny. Then again, maybe I won't. YES THIS HAPPENED IN REAL LIFE. ~ Maggie ~ March 8, 2010 @ a time unknown. Meh.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-h6Y64YPOFA
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-h6Y64YPOFA
An Inspired Dialogue
I CAN'T SAY TO WHOM I WRITE NOR CAN I SHOW MY NOR HIS COMPLETE WORDS, YET I THOUGHT THIS WOULD BE FAIR TO SHARE. IF MY INSPIRATION SHOULD READ THIS, NOTE THAT YOU HAVE CREATED THOUGHT WORTH SHARING. I THANK YOU YET AGAIN FOR ALL THAT YOU ARE.
I hope you find love and are loved in return. Isn't that one of the most wonderful things in life? Maybe some don't find value of the right kind in such. Too honed to ownership it seems.
In being our own gods, do we require others to worship us? That is like putting the cart before the horse. We need only worship ourselves and perhaps worship another. To say for sure what is in another's heart or mind would not do us justice as we are not there. We are here. We are in our own world and they are in theirs. Do I make sense? All have the capacity to worship someone or many, but who will they worship first? I can't answer that with certainty as I know not another's priority. Perhaps it depends on the value and the time the value is called. Again, do I make sense? Wouldn't we just be assuming how others feel about us no matter who the other is? Can we ever be totally certain about THEM? We CAN be certain how we feel about self and others and there is stops. It stops back at self. Tis pied again. With another/others, we are left with assumption(s). If this causes ill ease, then it is suggested that value revert back to self. What world do we know better than our own? Yes. That is what I mean to say.
You say: "within us is the connection to all the celestial power that plays with the universe, the divine and majestic manifestations that drove the storytellers and the wise to put hands on spheres of influence and eyes of the eternal on humanity. yet, not all inspire awe and wonder, not everyone can relate to what is not manufactured and placed in front of them. if we are our own gods who will worship us and place faith ahead of disaster and ruin or even beauty or life? what will drive us to perfection beyond a calculated measure of deification?"
SELF. WE are left to that task. I am open to debate.
Schoppenhauer had me look at will and representation: truth! Truth to any man, in higher regards, is a matter of what he perceives. Can perception be changed? Aye. Yet it is for the viewer to modify. Again, do I make sense? I can't let go of self.
Once again I shall borrow from *Shakespeare and **Thales: "To thine own self be true" and **"Know thyself." Are we not within the sphere to be true and to know? When standing in your shoes or in your skin, who is with you?
With this I leave you to ponder my friend. Luck in love!
~ Maggie ~ March 8, 2010 before 3:00 a.m., but after 2:30 a.m. EST
I hope you find love and are loved in return. Isn't that one of the most wonderful things in life? Maybe some don't find value of the right kind in such. Too honed to ownership it seems.
In being our own gods, do we require others to worship us? That is like putting the cart before the horse. We need only worship ourselves and perhaps worship another. To say for sure what is in another's heart or mind would not do us justice as we are not there. We are here. We are in our own world and they are in theirs. Do I make sense? All have the capacity to worship someone or many, but who will they worship first? I can't answer that with certainty as I know not another's priority. Perhaps it depends on the value and the time the value is called. Again, do I make sense? Wouldn't we just be assuming how others feel about us no matter who the other is? Can we ever be totally certain about THEM? We CAN be certain how we feel about self and others and there is stops. It stops back at self. Tis pied again. With another/others, we are left with assumption(s). If this causes ill ease, then it is suggested that value revert back to self. What world do we know better than our own? Yes. That is what I mean to say.
You say: "within us is the connection to all the celestial power that plays with the universe, the divine and majestic manifestations that drove the storytellers and the wise to put hands on spheres of influence and eyes of the eternal on humanity. yet, not all inspire awe and wonder, not everyone can relate to what is not manufactured and placed in front of them. if we are our own gods who will worship us and place faith ahead of disaster and ruin or even beauty or life? what will drive us to perfection beyond a calculated measure of deification?"
SELF. WE are left to that task. I am open to debate.
Schoppenhauer had me look at will and representation: truth! Truth to any man, in higher regards, is a matter of what he perceives. Can perception be changed? Aye. Yet it is for the viewer to modify. Again, do I make sense? I can't let go of self.
Once again I shall borrow from *Shakespeare and **Thales: "To thine own self be true" and **"Know thyself." Are we not within the sphere to be true and to know? When standing in your shoes or in your skin, who is with you?
With this I leave you to ponder my friend. Luck in love!
~ Maggie ~ March 8, 2010 before 3:00 a.m., but after 2:30 a.m. EST
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Obstacles and a Cartoon
At times I wish to be cradled like a child, however, these times are rare. More often than not, I cradle myself. Tis best. I personally find it difficult to ask for assistance unless I can pay for it or it comes from a source that I can willingly accept. Yes. It is my independent nature. Too strong at times can cause its own stressors. Abilities that I know I have and yet I am unable to perform them, for now at least, disturb me. To the Max. Ah yes. This one thing that can also cause my downfall. The push too hard can cause breakage. Despite this fact, I can figure out a way around it at best or die trying. Obstacles are meant for jumping are they not?
Speaking of dying...just the other day I imagined myself in a cartoon scenario where I fall dead to the floor. It is a rather graceful fall and I look nothing like the toon at all. She has the whitest of skin, almost sickly in color and she has no face. Her arm is the last thing I see to fall, yet there is an artistic gesture to it. There is softness. Her hand is open, palm up, and her index digit points to an unknown region. Wooden are the floorboards characterized by grain and knots yet they too are soft. Actually, the whole scene is pastel. The chair from which she fell is obscure from vision and yet it lies somewhere in the background. As her naked spirit exits her body, she looks down at it in dismay. Markedly so, her fists beat at the body while her silent scream speaks: LET ME IN. Hum. It is rather humorous when seen within the mind as the spirit wonders HOW DO I GET BACK INTO THE MATRIX. It was pondered that I would take over another body. One of my choosing and thus use it as a weapon. A weapon you say? Certainly! A weapon is not merely an object used for “inflicting bodily harm or physical damage.” It is also a “means of gaining an advantage or defending oneself.” ~ Maggie ~ March 2, 2010 @ 11:19 p.m. EST
Speaking of dying...just the other day I imagined myself in a cartoon scenario where I fall dead to the floor. It is a rather graceful fall and I look nothing like the toon at all. She has the whitest of skin, almost sickly in color and she has no face. Her arm is the last thing I see to fall, yet there is an artistic gesture to it. There is softness. Her hand is open, palm up, and her index digit points to an unknown region. Wooden are the floorboards characterized by grain and knots yet they too are soft. Actually, the whole scene is pastel. The chair from which she fell is obscure from vision and yet it lies somewhere in the background. As her naked spirit exits her body, she looks down at it in dismay. Markedly so, her fists beat at the body while her silent scream speaks: LET ME IN. Hum. It is rather humorous when seen within the mind as the spirit wonders HOW DO I GET BACK INTO THE MATRIX. It was pondered that I would take over another body. One of my choosing and thus use it as a weapon. A weapon you say? Certainly! A weapon is not merely an object used for “inflicting bodily harm or physical damage.” It is also a “means of gaining an advantage or defending oneself.” ~ Maggie ~ March 2, 2010 @ 11:19 p.m. EST
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Herstory~
Why the hell do folks take the patriarch path down the la la trail? Meh! Anyway, blah blah blah... Herstory NOT history. Yeah. I can go for that. In tearing the house apart yesterday, I came upon some shit from a guy I dumped. Yeah I loved him, but he was not quite above board with me. That does not sit well in any shape or form. I don't like games. Okay, so he said that I gave him a nervous breakdown and he almost ate his gun, but the hospitalization did him well and he seemed okay...except for his mama problems and me.
To get someone's goat in the sex department and they go nuts with it is not my problem. Seriously. You would think that being a federal agent, he would have more above board yes? NO.
I don't know what it is with some catholics of Sicilian origin and their mama, but damn, get over it and let go of the skirt. That is what caused the break of Anthony and I. He was a US Immigration Agent working out of Kennedy Airport and I was a database coordinator working for AIA. Well this nimrod was afraid that his mama would not be able to handle my single motherhood, my dyed platinum blond hair, nor my tatts. Thus he kept me from her, but she knew about me as she cooked for me. Hell, she lived downstairs as his parents owned the house.
He was dumped as I did not find him honest. He knew I was pissed when he came to my apartment and I blew smoke in his face. He was not a smoker and I was being totally rude. After he left, I called him and told him I want my shit back and that I did not want to see him anymore. I offered to give him back what he gave me, but he wanted me to keep it.
Every poem and letter that this man ever wrote to me was torn to shreds. He sometimes wrote me two snail mail letters per day despite the fact that he lived only a few blocks from me. When he found out what I did to all that he wrote, he cried. He did return all that I ever wrote him which he so nicely stapled to cardboard for preservation. I house what "I" wrote in the wooden box he had bought my that bears the inscription "Maggie's Soul." As for the $300 + porcelain angel that he bought me, I sold it and gave the black silk Victoria's Secret robe to a friend. The only possession that I have from him now is the last of his bullshit pictures, a US Immigration Inspector patch, and that box.
In a letter dated "forever," he wrote:
Forever
My Love,
I can’t live without you. I will always love you and would be honored and blessed to have you as my love into eternity. Will you marry me....
Love,
Anthony
After I broke it off with him...
Oct. 95
Maggie
Wishing you all the best in life. I know I can’t change the way you think or feel about me. But God knows I was always on your side and showed a real concern about you. You were right about the Angel, Nicky was also in my mind when I acquired it. Keep it, the gift was given with sincere intentions.
Take care.
Peace,
Anthony
As you can see, I returned the envelope to him, but he delivered it back to me. Hell, he even had Lourdes water in there. Oh my!! As you will note the return stated: You give me nothing to believe in! You do not exist in my world.
~ Maggie ~ February 25, 2010 @ 8:01 p.m. EST
To get someone's goat in the sex department and they go nuts with it is not my problem. Seriously. You would think that being a federal agent, he would have more above board yes? NO.
I don't know what it is with some catholics of Sicilian origin and their mama, but damn, get over it and let go of the skirt. That is what caused the break of Anthony and I. He was a US Immigration Agent working out of Kennedy Airport and I was a database coordinator working for AIA. Well this nimrod was afraid that his mama would not be able to handle my single motherhood, my dyed platinum blond hair, nor my tatts. Thus he kept me from her, but she knew about me as she cooked for me. Hell, she lived downstairs as his parents owned the house.
He was dumped as I did not find him honest. He knew I was pissed when he came to my apartment and I blew smoke in his face. He was not a smoker and I was being totally rude. After he left, I called him and told him I want my shit back and that I did not want to see him anymore. I offered to give him back what he gave me, but he wanted me to keep it.
Every poem and letter that this man ever wrote to me was torn to shreds. He sometimes wrote me two snail mail letters per day despite the fact that he lived only a few blocks from me. When he found out what I did to all that he wrote, he cried. He did return all that I ever wrote him which he so nicely stapled to cardboard for preservation. I house what "I" wrote in the wooden box he had bought my that bears the inscription "Maggie's Soul." As for the $300 + porcelain angel that he bought me, I sold it and gave the black silk Victoria's Secret robe to a friend. The only possession that I have from him now is the last of his bullshit pictures, a US Immigration Inspector patch, and that box.
In a letter dated "forever," he wrote:
Forever
My Love,
I can’t live without you. I will always love you and would be honored and blessed to have you as my love into eternity. Will you marry me....
Love,
Anthony
After I broke it off with him...
Oct. 95
Maggie
Wishing you all the best in life. I know I can’t change the way you think or feel about me. But God knows I was always on your side and showed a real concern about you. You were right about the Angel, Nicky was also in my mind when I acquired it. Keep it, the gift was given with sincere intentions.
Take care.
Peace,
Anthony
As you can see, I returned the envelope to him, but he delivered it back to me. Hell, he even had Lourdes water in there. Oh my!! As you will note the return stated: You give me nothing to believe in! You do not exist in my world.
~ Maggie ~ February 25, 2010 @ 8:01 p.m. EST
Ill Terms~
Who are you? What do you mean to yourself? Whom do you want to be? Did I not call you priceless? Despite what I call you, you must see yourself as such. By no means am I a form of validation nor can I ever be. What tags/labels that you or anyone affixes to themselves, even in jest, when done continuously, can eventually become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I do not wish to see the prophecy fulfilled as it stands. Speak of this no more as we do not see the same the same vision. I see a work by Rembrandt, but I am not blind as that is my perspective and thus it is so. I will it as such.
Believe in your core as I believe in you. Believe in your value as I believe in your value. Think highly of yourself as I think highly of you. Tis not a crime to exhibit forms hubris, however, it should be a crime not to. The wings that you fly with are your own creation and they will take you where you wish to be providing you really wish to be there. That is the trick. Tis magick!
To this I say the greatest belief is the belief in one’s self. We are our own god. Surely I do not err in my formulation. Yet, if I were to find that my statement is unfound and untrue, I would cease to exist by my own hand.
Upon the passing of a glass gaze into the reflected work. Take the time to examine what you see and then look past it. Look into all that can’t be seen with the anatomical. That is where you will find yourself. If there are wounds, lick them and be healed. If there are errors, correct them. If you know that something can be done, do it. Motion does not allow for stagnation.
The earth that molded man was created by his own hand. ~ Maggie ~ February 25, 2010 @ 7:27 p.m. EST
Believe in your core as I believe in you. Believe in your value as I believe in your value. Think highly of yourself as I think highly of you. Tis not a crime to exhibit forms hubris, however, it should be a crime not to. The wings that you fly with are your own creation and they will take you where you wish to be providing you really wish to be there. That is the trick. Tis magick!
To this I say the greatest belief is the belief in one’s self. We are our own god. Surely I do not err in my formulation. Yet, if I were to find that my statement is unfound and untrue, I would cease to exist by my own hand.
Upon the passing of a glass gaze into the reflected work. Take the time to examine what you see and then look past it. Look into all that can’t be seen with the anatomical. That is where you will find yourself. If there are wounds, lick them and be healed. If there are errors, correct them. If you know that something can be done, do it. Motion does not allow for stagnation.
The earth that molded man was created by his own hand. ~ Maggie ~ February 25, 2010 @ 7:27 p.m. EST
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Looking for a Dead Man~
Where does one start looking when the dead was living dead? You know how it is–life under the table–no bills–no address–no job and I can’t find that fucker's SSN. I know it starts with 080 AND I can remember the type of THING I put the number on, but I will be god damned if I know where it is. Ah hell, god won’t damn me as I am my own god. However, I am kicking my own butt in not placing that sucker in a more secure place.
Numbers: I do know where he was housed in prison (Fishkill for approximately 4 years) and if someone would take the time to find the paperwork, his inmate number is noted on the envelopes as well as his relationship to her within the contents of the envelope (I think.). Note: He married Melissa (I may have her last name somewhere) while he was locked up at Fishkill and she died several years later of cancer at age 27 or 28 in Long Island while he was on parole. Look for Melissa A******** and her death in approximately 1989 to 1990. Additionally, both Melissa and Drew were held at Hawthorn School for Emotionally Disturbed Children also on the Island. Anyway, going backwards is not an easy task when looking for this bugger as he did not leave very much. Hell, even Potter’s Field has no record of him. Hum. Birth: Hauppauge, Long Island 1962 in October on the 28th or 27th. More likely the 27th, but he wasn’t even sure. However, his dad was named Andrew Augustine A******** and his mother’s name was Virginia A********. His mom died when he was 4 years-old. Go backwards and find her death certificate. Estimated death: 1966. His brother was Chris A******** and Chris was also housed in some jail in Long Island back in the 1980's for breaking and entering. I know he was in jail there as he used to call me collect while I lived with your father. Check Nassau County.
The old man used to live in Long Island and owned his own home and his own trucking company. Forget about looking for his dead ass, as I wouldn't know where to begin as he came from Greece.
Kevin T***** (sp?) was a guy who was some sort of a counselor to Drew and later was a friend. He too lives on the Island and is more than likely alive. It also would not hurt to contact your brother to see if he could ask his mom what info she has if any.
At this point, I still think it would be best to track him by his inmate number as I just tore the house apart looking for that freaking Social Security Number! ~ Maggie (mom) ~ February 23, 2010 @ 9:04 p.m. EST
Numbers: I do know where he was housed in prison (Fishkill for approximately 4 years) and if someone would take the time to find the paperwork, his inmate number is noted on the envelopes as well as his relationship to her within the contents of the envelope (I think.). Note: He married Melissa (I may have her last name somewhere) while he was locked up at Fishkill and she died several years later of cancer at age 27 or 28 in Long Island while he was on parole. Look for Melissa A******** and her death in approximately 1989 to 1990. Additionally, both Melissa and Drew were held at Hawthorn School for Emotionally Disturbed Children also on the Island. Anyway, going backwards is not an easy task when looking for this bugger as he did not leave very much. Hell, even Potter’s Field has no record of him. Hum. Birth: Hauppauge, Long Island 1962 in October on the 28th or 27th. More likely the 27th, but he wasn’t even sure. However, his dad was named Andrew Augustine A******** and his mother’s name was Virginia A********. His mom died when he was 4 years-old. Go backwards and find her death certificate. Estimated death: 1966. His brother was Chris A******** and Chris was also housed in some jail in Long Island back in the 1980's for breaking and entering. I know he was in jail there as he used to call me collect while I lived with your father. Check Nassau County.
The old man used to live in Long Island and owned his own home and his own trucking company. Forget about looking for his dead ass, as I wouldn't know where to begin as he came from Greece.
Kevin T***** (sp?) was a guy who was some sort of a counselor to Drew and later was a friend. He too lives on the Island and is more than likely alive. It also would not hurt to contact your brother to see if he could ask his mom what info she has if any.
At this point, I still think it would be best to track him by his inmate number as I just tore the house apart looking for that freaking Social Security Number! ~ Maggie (mom) ~ February 23, 2010 @ 9:04 p.m. EST
Mixed Words~
Living like a live wire on fire hair electric–fanning and flaming–not taming to harness–unfolded mannequin parts falling off in acceleration–fleeting moments spent in a dime store–kicked cans of spam squared does not roll like the others–foaming mouth spews giblets and form a gobbler–gobble gobble goes the turkey–are you not thankful? Yes! Yes!
Red screams across the screen running in splatter–gun shot to the head–self inflicted–licked it! No more problems stemming from the neural network–back to space. Hum square one. Forum forum–the world I create–not hate nor living like that which is–tossed from this region–nevermore said Edgar–to whom was he talking?
Raven black–under floorboards–dead and beating–that damned eye–he saw me in my form–the formless that I was–the spill of contents that had yet to be defined. Surreal brush in surreal hand–brush hair that falls on media in color not mixed–texture rich if not of lumps–hay–HEY! Hay is for horses–the head that bleeds off paint strokes on the toss illuminate boards–broad strokes come from mass–thin strands lean in streaking–move over color more defined by its minute make-up–eyeliner tucked away under tears which add to the picture–drops leave black–blackened–the canvas is now empty. Living like a live wire on fire hair electric... ~ Maggie ~ February 23, 2010 @ 5:45 p.m. EST
Red screams across the screen running in splatter–gun shot to the head–self inflicted–licked it! No more problems stemming from the neural network–back to space. Hum square one. Forum forum–the world I create–not hate nor living like that which is–tossed from this region–nevermore said Edgar–to whom was he talking?
Raven black–under floorboards–dead and beating–that damned eye–he saw me in my form–the formless that I was–the spill of contents that had yet to be defined. Surreal brush in surreal hand–brush hair that falls on media in color not mixed–texture rich if not of lumps–hay–HEY! Hay is for horses–the head that bleeds off paint strokes on the toss illuminate boards–broad strokes come from mass–thin strands lean in streaking–move over color more defined by its minute make-up–eyeliner tucked away under tears which add to the picture–drops leave black–blackened–the canvas is now empty. Living like a live wire on fire hair electric... ~ Maggie ~ February 23, 2010 @ 5:45 p.m. EST
Monday, February 22, 2010
Endurance...
Okay, so two double shifts are rather difficult when back to back, but then to travel by night after such is a tad difficult.
Having had four hours sleep and doing my final double, I got home and packed my car, headed to the bank, and then took off despite the fact I was about to fall on my face due to exhaustion. Some background here is required. It is winter folks and the first mountain range is what I view as a dead zone. It is especially dead when traveling at state trooper donut time as not a soul is on the road. What makes it difficult during the winter season is black ice and almost zero visibility when snow is coming head on and what lies in front of you does not appear to be a road. Hold that in mind as well as my exhaustion.
I make it to the border, which by my driving is ½ hour from my house, and there is not a soul there. I don’t know whether the officers were board off their rocker or whether I was a target. I guess it could be a combo of both. Anyway, despite my truthful answers and despite the fact that they searched my car, I was taken to an interrogation room for questioning and a search of my person. Many questions were asked of me for which I replied in truth. I did have a question for the one of the officers and that was WHY WAS I PULLED OVER. He stated that the computers are smarter than them. This opened a door for conversation and my own line of questions for which he agreed. Despite the 1 hour delay and despite the fact that three goons had gone through all the belongings in my car, I proceeded to make my trip even though I was flipping at this point.
Flipping you say? YES. Totally delirious. Despite this fact too, I drove to Manhattan and made it in a timely fashion. Endurance came at knowing that I was overspent and could have fallen asleep at the drop of a hat behind the wheel. What kept me awake was my brain and me talking to myself recalling the past, and projecting the future.
The dead zone area of my trip allowed me to pass 7 other vehicles that were on the road at the same time as I. I counted them in order to verify the deadness of the area. Of the 7 vehicles, only three were cars and I only started to view cars near Albany. Everyone tells me that what I do is dangerous and I know this. However, how can one live without experiencing the thrill of danger? How does one know how to survive if they don’t push themselves? To this, I give myself credit in that I do push. To this I give credit that I will live to see another day. Hell, I survived the nor’ easter of 2007. Twas April for sure and also the week of Friday the 13th. Stevie Boy and Gail are my proof as is my daughter. I LIVED!
There is more to this story, but I am seriously spent. Just so you know, I am like a dog when set to do something. I won't stop until completion. In regard to not completing projects such as art or literature, I don't require either to survive. ~ Maggie ~ February 22, 2010 @ 7:21 p.m. EST
Having had four hours sleep and doing my final double, I got home and packed my car, headed to the bank, and then took off despite the fact I was about to fall on my face due to exhaustion. Some background here is required. It is winter folks and the first mountain range is what I view as a dead zone. It is especially dead when traveling at state trooper donut time as not a soul is on the road. What makes it difficult during the winter season is black ice and almost zero visibility when snow is coming head on and what lies in front of you does not appear to be a road. Hold that in mind as well as my exhaustion.
I make it to the border, which by my driving is ½ hour from my house, and there is not a soul there. I don’t know whether the officers were board off their rocker or whether I was a target. I guess it could be a combo of both. Anyway, despite my truthful answers and despite the fact that they searched my car, I was taken to an interrogation room for questioning and a search of my person. Many questions were asked of me for which I replied in truth. I did have a question for the one of the officers and that was WHY WAS I PULLED OVER. He stated that the computers are smarter than them. This opened a door for conversation and my own line of questions for which he agreed. Despite the 1 hour delay and despite the fact that three goons had gone through all the belongings in my car, I proceeded to make my trip even though I was flipping at this point.
Flipping you say? YES. Totally delirious. Despite this fact too, I drove to Manhattan and made it in a timely fashion. Endurance came at knowing that I was overspent and could have fallen asleep at the drop of a hat behind the wheel. What kept me awake was my brain and me talking to myself recalling the past, and projecting the future.
The dead zone area of my trip allowed me to pass 7 other vehicles that were on the road at the same time as I. I counted them in order to verify the deadness of the area. Of the 7 vehicles, only three were cars and I only started to view cars near Albany. Everyone tells me that what I do is dangerous and I know this. However, how can one live without experiencing the thrill of danger? How does one know how to survive if they don’t push themselves? To this, I give myself credit in that I do push. To this I give credit that I will live to see another day. Hell, I survived the nor’ easter of 2007. Twas April for sure and also the week of Friday the 13th. Stevie Boy and Gail are my proof as is my daughter. I LIVED!
There is more to this story, but I am seriously spent. Just so you know, I am like a dog when set to do something. I won't stop until completion. In regard to not completing projects such as art or literature, I don't require either to survive. ~ Maggie ~ February 22, 2010 @ 7:21 p.m. EST
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
My art first try...
 |
| The Demon Dragon is a mechanical dragon. His bullet aims toward the pregnant woman who is without arms. Armless is she as she will never hold that which she carries. In addition, all her pods are behind her. The sun /son of Death lingers above the dragon in the right hand corner. |
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
Imagine...
Let’s pretend one can do as one wishes in ALL regards. Okay. Now that the groundwork for that has been laid, I require a scenario and props.
I see large stones of a foundation which are damp thus forming an ooze of sorts. Call them crying stones if you will. The stones lead down a passageway deeper within the domain I enter. Torches light the way here and there, but I hold my own torch to maintain clarity and stability in my stride. The chamber that I seek is a lengthy walk, but at least it will grant me the time undisturbed that I will require.
Upon reaching my destination, I see that my manservant has laid out the implements which will bring me joy. Off in the corner, I see the iron maiden whose blades are still crusted with what which was the iron of the life force. Pity and snicker. The rack seems sturdy as does the cage. My blades are displayed in order of size and sharpness. Oh, I do like even those that are not sharp as they hold their own value. As my servant tends to the fire so that the molten steel remains molten for my usage, I eye the nails. Ah yes. Further too, I see my pliers, hammer, needles, acid, rope, and chains. Hum. The ways of torture are mine and I shan’t divulge where my sadistic nature would take me, but I would take my time. Even upon being strangled, one can regain consciousness only to have to experience the strangle yet again.
“You boy! Fetch ‘it’ for me and be quick about it. Wait. Come shine my boot first.”
If you have seen HOSTEL, imagine if there were no bidding and no contract. Imagine, if you could, what DeSade had written. Then imagine yourself. Which or whose shoes would you care to be in? I have chosen mine. Time: If I were to watch the clock while performing, would that which I study feel time in the same way or would time seem endless? I am sure you know the answer to that. ~ Maggie (a/k/a Max) ~ February 8, 2010 @ 7:34
Middle Ages Torture
The Medieval period of the Middle Ages was violent and blood thirsty. In barbarous times the cruel and pitiless feeling which induced legislators to increase the horrors of tortures, also contributed to the aggravation of the fate of prisoners. Torture chambers were included in many castles. Law or custom did not prescribe any fixed rules for the treatment of hapless prisoners who faced torture. Different types of torture were used depending on the victim's crime and social status. Torture was seen as a totally legitimate means for justice to extract confessions, or obtain the names of accomplices or other information about the crime. Torture was a legitimate way to obtain testimonies and confessions from suspects for use in legal inquiries and trials during the Middle Ages. Facts and information about various forms of tortures and executions can be accessed from the following links:
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/the-rack-torture.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/scavengers-daughter.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/brank.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/ducking-stool.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/torture-by-dislocation.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/iron-balls-torture.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/water-torture.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/the-boot-torture.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/brodequins.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/thumbscrews.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/pillory.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/burned-at-the-stake.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/branding-and-burning-tortures.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/execution-by-quartering.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/execution-by-the-wheel.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/execution-by-hanging.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/hung-drawn-and-quartered.htm
Definition of Torture
The definition of torture is the the deliberate, systematic, cruel and wanton infliction of physical or mental suffering by one or more torturers in an attempt to force another person to yield information or to make a confession or for any other reason. Devices or tools were used to inflict unbearable agony on a victim.
Objectives of Torture
The objectives of torture were to intimidate, deter, revenge or punish. Or as a tool or a method for the extraction of information or confessions.
Methods of Middle Ages Torture
There were many methods of torture which were practiced during the Medieval era of the Middle Ages:
Ripping out teeth / nails
Beating
Blinding
Boiling
Bone breaking
Branding and Burning
Castration
Choking
Cutting
Disfigurement
Dislocation
Drowning
Flagellation, whipping and beating
Flaying
Roasting
Genital mutilation
Limb/finger removal
Starvation
Tongue removal
There was even a torture which used tickling as a method to inflict suffering. Other tortures included the compression of the limbs by special instruments, or by ropes, injection of water, vinegar, or oil, into the body of the accused, application of hot pitch, and starvation, were the processes used in tortures.
Instruments or devices of Middle Ages Torture
The instruments or devices used in Medieval torture of the Middle Ages included some of the following terrible tools or machines:
Boot or Spanish boot
Branding Irons
Brank
The Collar
Drunkards Cloak
Ducking stools
Foot press
Foot screw
The Gossip's Bridle or the Brank
Heretic's fork
The Maiden
Pillory
Rack
Scavenger's daughter
Scold's bridle
Stocks
Thumbscrew
The Wheel
Middle Ages Torture and Execution
A skilled torturer would use methods, devices and instruments to prolong life as long as possible whilst inflicting agonizing pain. However, the customs of the Medieval period dictated that many prisoners were tortured before they were executed in order to obtain additional information about their crime or their accomplices. There were many forms of torture and execution. The execution method itself was part of the torture endured by prisoners. These final methods of torture and execution included the following methods:
Torture and execution by Fire
The Sword or the Axe
Mechanical force
Quartering
The Wheel
The Fork
The Gibbet
Spiking
Dismembering
Middle Ages Torture Chambers and Dungeons
The torture chambers were located in the lower parts of castles. The entrances to many torture chambers were accessed through winding passages which served to muffle the agonizing cries of torture victims from the normal inhabitants of the castle. internal government of prisons. Torture chambers and dungeons were often very small some measured only eleven feet long by seven feet wide in which from ten to twenty prisoners were often incarcerated at the same time.
Middle Ages Torture was condemned in 866
The barbarous custom of punishment by torture was on several occasions condemned by the Church. As early as 866, we find, from Pope Nicholas V's letter to the Bulgarians, that their custom of torturing the accused was considered contrary to divine as well as to human law: "For," says he, "a confession should be voluntary, and not forced. By means of the torture, an innocent man may suffer to the utmost without making any avowal; and, in such a case, what a crime for the judge! Or the person may be subdued by pain, and may acknowledge himself guilty, although he be not so, which throws an equally great sin upon the judge." Despite this, and other please, the practice of torturing victims continued. Medieval Torture was a freely accepted form of punishment in the Middle Ages and was only abolished in England in 1640.
Middle Ages Torture
Each section of this Middle Ages website addresses all topics and provides interesting facts and information about these great monuments to bygone times. The Sitemap provides full details of all of the information and facts provided about the fascinating subject of Middle Ages!
Middle Ages Torture
Middle Ages Torture
Medieval Methods of Torture
Middle Ages Torture Chambers
Torture devices during the Middle Ages
Facts, Information and history of torture
Torture Implements
Medieval Torture Devices And Methods
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/middle-ages-torture.htm
I see large stones of a foundation which are damp thus forming an ooze of sorts. Call them crying stones if you will. The stones lead down a passageway deeper within the domain I enter. Torches light the way here and there, but I hold my own torch to maintain clarity and stability in my stride. The chamber that I seek is a lengthy walk, but at least it will grant me the time undisturbed that I will require.
Upon reaching my destination, I see that my manservant has laid out the implements which will bring me joy. Off in the corner, I see the iron maiden whose blades are still crusted with what which was the iron of the life force. Pity and snicker. The rack seems sturdy as does the cage. My blades are displayed in order of size and sharpness. Oh, I do like even those that are not sharp as they hold their own value. As my servant tends to the fire so that the molten steel remains molten for my usage, I eye the nails. Ah yes. Further too, I see my pliers, hammer, needles, acid, rope, and chains. Hum. The ways of torture are mine and I shan’t divulge where my sadistic nature would take me, but I would take my time. Even upon being strangled, one can regain consciousness only to have to experience the strangle yet again.
“You boy! Fetch ‘it’ for me and be quick about it. Wait. Come shine my boot first.”
If you have seen HOSTEL, imagine if there were no bidding and no contract. Imagine, if you could, what DeSade had written. Then imagine yourself. Which or whose shoes would you care to be in? I have chosen mine. Time: If I were to watch the clock while performing, would that which I study feel time in the same way or would time seem endless? I am sure you know the answer to that. ~ Maggie (a/k/a Max) ~ February 8, 2010 @ 7:34
Middle Ages Torture
The Medieval period of the Middle Ages was violent and blood thirsty. In barbarous times the cruel and pitiless feeling which induced legislators to increase the horrors of tortures, also contributed to the aggravation of the fate of prisoners. Torture chambers were included in many castles. Law or custom did not prescribe any fixed rules for the treatment of hapless prisoners who faced torture. Different types of torture were used depending on the victim's crime and social status. Torture was seen as a totally legitimate means for justice to extract confessions, or obtain the names of accomplices or other information about the crime. Torture was a legitimate way to obtain testimonies and confessions from suspects for use in legal inquiries and trials during the Middle Ages. Facts and information about various forms of tortures and executions can be accessed from the following links:
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/the-rack-torture.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/scavengers-daughter.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/brank.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/ducking-stool.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/torture-by-dislocation.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/iron-balls-torture.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/water-torture.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/the-boot-torture.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/brodequins.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/thumbscrews.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/pillory.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/burned-at-the-stake.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/branding-and-burning-tortures.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/execution-by-quartering.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/execution-by-the-wheel.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/execution-by-hanging.htm
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/hung-drawn-and-quartered.htm
Definition of Torture
The definition of torture is the the deliberate, systematic, cruel and wanton infliction of physical or mental suffering by one or more torturers in an attempt to force another person to yield information or to make a confession or for any other reason. Devices or tools were used to inflict unbearable agony on a victim.
Objectives of Torture
The objectives of torture were to intimidate, deter, revenge or punish. Or as a tool or a method for the extraction of information or confessions.
Methods of Middle Ages Torture
There were many methods of torture which were practiced during the Medieval era of the Middle Ages:
Ripping out teeth / nails
Beating
Blinding
Boiling
Bone breaking
Branding and Burning
Castration
Choking
Cutting
Disfigurement
Dislocation
Drowning
Flagellation, whipping and beating
Flaying
Roasting
Genital mutilation
Limb/finger removal
Starvation
Tongue removal
There was even a torture which used tickling as a method to inflict suffering. Other tortures included the compression of the limbs by special instruments, or by ropes, injection of water, vinegar, or oil, into the body of the accused, application of hot pitch, and starvation, were the processes used in tortures.
Instruments or devices of Middle Ages Torture
The instruments or devices used in Medieval torture of the Middle Ages included some of the following terrible tools or machines:
Boot or Spanish boot
Branding Irons
Brank
The Collar
Drunkards Cloak
Ducking stools
Foot press
Foot screw
The Gossip's Bridle or the Brank
Heretic's fork
The Maiden
Pillory
Rack
Scavenger's daughter
Scold's bridle
Stocks
Thumbscrew
The Wheel
Middle Ages Torture and Execution
A skilled torturer would use methods, devices and instruments to prolong life as long as possible whilst inflicting agonizing pain. However, the customs of the Medieval period dictated that many prisoners were tortured before they were executed in order to obtain additional information about their crime or their accomplices. There were many forms of torture and execution. The execution method itself was part of the torture endured by prisoners. These final methods of torture and execution included the following methods:
Torture and execution by Fire
The Sword or the Axe
Mechanical force
Quartering
The Wheel
The Fork
The Gibbet
Spiking
Dismembering
Middle Ages Torture Chambers and Dungeons
The torture chambers were located in the lower parts of castles. The entrances to many torture chambers were accessed through winding passages which served to muffle the agonizing cries of torture victims from the normal inhabitants of the castle. internal government of prisons. Torture chambers and dungeons were often very small some measured only eleven feet long by seven feet wide in which from ten to twenty prisoners were often incarcerated at the same time.
Middle Ages Torture was condemned in 866
The barbarous custom of punishment by torture was on several occasions condemned by the Church. As early as 866, we find, from Pope Nicholas V's letter to the Bulgarians, that their custom of torturing the accused was considered contrary to divine as well as to human law: "For," says he, "a confession should be voluntary, and not forced. By means of the torture, an innocent man may suffer to the utmost without making any avowal; and, in such a case, what a crime for the judge! Or the person may be subdued by pain, and may acknowledge himself guilty, although he be not so, which throws an equally great sin upon the judge." Despite this, and other please, the practice of torturing victims continued. Medieval Torture was a freely accepted form of punishment in the Middle Ages and was only abolished in England in 1640.
Middle Ages Torture
Each section of this Middle Ages website addresses all topics and provides interesting facts and information about these great monuments to bygone times. The Sitemap provides full details of all of the information and facts provided about the fascinating subject of Middle Ages!
Middle Ages Torture
Middle Ages Torture
Medieval Methods of Torture
Middle Ages Torture Chambers
Torture devices during the Middle Ages
Facts, Information and history of torture
Torture Implements
Medieval Torture Devices And Methods
http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/middle-ages-torture.htm
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Imagine If No One Wanted You?
I guess one would have to be pretty fucking skank huh? Well, in looking at what I had looked at (fucking scary images), I am wondering. I see fat, ugly, and desperate. Oh no! Grunt.
First off, I am not fat. Although I am not the weight I want to be, if you consider my size, you would realize the fat aspect of self is all in my head. Let some heffer try on my pants and see if she can get her fat calf into them. Get it? Heffer and calf? COW. LMAO
If I were desperate, I would be without opportunity or I would jump all over every opportunity I have ever had. This is not the case. My problem is that I am not only picky, I have to have the spark to connect. Hell, just plain old sex is TOO FUCKING EASY. That is for DESPERADOS who can’t get more than a ONE NIGHT STAND or are someone’s FUCK FRIEND. Meh. I feel sorry for those fuckers. Isn’t that a matter of LOW SELF-ESTEEM? Hell yeah!
I must admit that I view self as ugly. However, that is my issue. Note that I care not for my superficial nature as I lie within and thus don't give a rat's ass what people think to the better or worse of my opinion.
What happens when you are not picky and take from the bottom of the barrel?
Like a rooster call: ANY COCK’L DO! Right women? He can be as dumb as wood with a massive two inches of steel, but so long as he has a dick and provides you a tad of attention, all is cool. Perhaps he flatters you and buys you stuff. His substance does not matter. Not when you are desperate. Hell, you just want to make sure that all your friends see that you captured ONE. No bother if he has one foot in the grave and another on a banana peel or wears a big “L” on his forehead. You don’t even mind that he double bags you.
A pussy does not have a face. Right men? If she is ugly, get lots of lube as she is probably as dry as a duck’s ass because no one else will have her but you. Double bag that shit. No. Not your penis: her head. Yup. Paper bags. Use two in case the first one breaks. Does her substance matter? Fuck no. It is all a trip. She is better than the hole in your mattress or your hand. Bah!
Does taking from the bottom boost one’s ego? Does that make one a bottom feeder? I would say yeah. If thought upon, if one is feeling low, what better way to serve one’s ego than to have an individual around who is lower on the strata. How low can you go? Belly of a snake anyone?
By now it should be apparent that I can be as mean as hell. This I know.
Hum. I must ponder this issue and watch the horizon. ~ Maggie ~ February 2, 2010 @ 7:45 p.m. EST
First off, I am not fat. Although I am not the weight I want to be, if you consider my size, you would realize the fat aspect of self is all in my head. Let some heffer try on my pants and see if she can get her fat calf into them. Get it? Heffer and calf? COW. LMAO
If I were desperate, I would be without opportunity or I would jump all over every opportunity I have ever had. This is not the case. My problem is that I am not only picky, I have to have the spark to connect. Hell, just plain old sex is TOO FUCKING EASY. That is for DESPERADOS who can’t get more than a ONE NIGHT STAND or are someone’s FUCK FRIEND. Meh. I feel sorry for those fuckers. Isn’t that a matter of LOW SELF-ESTEEM? Hell yeah!
I must admit that I view self as ugly. However, that is my issue. Note that I care not for my superficial nature as I lie within and thus don't give a rat's ass what people think to the better or worse of my opinion.
What happens when you are not picky and take from the bottom of the barrel?
Like a rooster call: ANY COCK’L DO! Right women? He can be as dumb as wood with a massive two inches of steel, but so long as he has a dick and provides you a tad of attention, all is cool. Perhaps he flatters you and buys you stuff. His substance does not matter. Not when you are desperate. Hell, you just want to make sure that all your friends see that you captured ONE. No bother if he has one foot in the grave and another on a banana peel or wears a big “L” on his forehead. You don’t even mind that he double bags you.
A pussy does not have a face. Right men? If she is ugly, get lots of lube as she is probably as dry as a duck’s ass because no one else will have her but you. Double bag that shit. No. Not your penis: her head. Yup. Paper bags. Use two in case the first one breaks. Does her substance matter? Fuck no. It is all a trip. She is better than the hole in your mattress or your hand. Bah!
Does taking from the bottom boost one’s ego? Does that make one a bottom feeder? I would say yeah. If thought upon, if one is feeling low, what better way to serve one’s ego than to have an individual around who is lower on the strata. How low can you go? Belly of a snake anyone?
By now it should be apparent that I can be as mean as hell. This I know.
Hum. I must ponder this issue and watch the horizon. ~ Maggie ~ February 2, 2010 @ 7:45 p.m. EST
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