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.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)