The hour is early, but the time feels late
Perhaps of life I have satiate
Sleep time comes for all that grows
Three months span beneath the snows
But of the life that will expand
See the branches much like your hand
Bud indeed by February or March
From the snows wet not parch
Although it seems that much has gone
Lo and behold, all will go on! ~ Arachne ~ November 28, 2008 @ 6:30 p.m.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Working with Words
Enchantment chanting away to drums lodged in ears
The strike upon the anvil creates a melody
The melody resonates within the being
That can shake the very fibers to decay
Sound, round, intricate touches each hair
Tissue...
As sound enters the canal
Channeled through
Limits the size of the vessel
Each vessel exploding in sockets
Leaving redness in its wake
Wake to optics shot of blood
Pump to aorta
Trickled from the ventricle
Hollow...hollow is the tree upon where the owl retires
“Who goes there?” he cries in lateral form
Dorsal to ventral
Cranial to caudal
Aye. This is visceral ~ Arachne ~ November 27, 2008 11:11 p.m. EST
The strike upon the anvil creates a melody
The melody resonates within the being
That can shake the very fibers to decay
Sound, round, intricate touches each hair
Tissue...
As sound enters the canal
Channeled through
Limits the size of the vessel
Each vessel exploding in sockets
Leaving redness in its wake
Wake to optics shot of blood
Pump to aorta
Trickled from the ventricle
Hollow...hollow is the tree upon where the owl retires
“Who goes there?” he cries in lateral form
Dorsal to ventral
Cranial to caudal
Aye. This is visceral ~ Arachne ~ November 27, 2008 11:11 p.m. EST
REASONS TO BE THANKFUL...
I am thankful for a shitty abused childhood.
I am thankful for being an abusive parent.
I am thankful for being belittled and berated by my mother.
I am thankful for being beat to the point of welts to go back to my abuser.
I am thankful for all my years of alcohol and drug abuse (21 years).
I am thankful for abusive relationships.
I am thankful for getting a record in Manhattan Criminal Court.
I am thankful for trying to take my own life on numerous occasions.
I am thankful that a gun and knives were pulled on me.
I am thankful for being a latchkey kid.
I am thankful for being chased with a hammer.
I am thankful for being investigated for fraud.
I am thankful for being raped.
I am thankful for being robbed.
I am thankful for the school of hard knocks.
I am thankful for learning how to steal food in 2nd grade.
I am thankful for having to furnish my first apartment with garbage.
I am thankful for having someone break my finger.
I am thankful for my old junkie friends.
I am thankful for my old pusher friends.
I am thankful for having rats, mice, water bugs, and cockroaches.
YES I AM THANKFUL FOR ALL THE SHIT THAT MADE ME WHO I AM TODAY! YOU CAN’T BEAT THAT WITH A STICK. Oh yeah. I am real thankful. I swear that I am really thankful because had I not come through this course, I may not be me as me now stands in more ways than one.
Happy Thanksgiving y’all! ~ Arachne ~ November 27, 2008 @ 4:07 a.m. EST
I am thankful for being an abusive parent.
I am thankful for being belittled and berated by my mother.
I am thankful for being beat to the point of welts to go back to my abuser.
I am thankful for all my years of alcohol and drug abuse (21 years).
I am thankful for abusive relationships.
I am thankful for getting a record in Manhattan Criminal Court.
I am thankful for trying to take my own life on numerous occasions.
I am thankful that a gun and knives were pulled on me.
I am thankful for being a latchkey kid.
I am thankful for being chased with a hammer.
I am thankful for being investigated for fraud.
I am thankful for being raped.
I am thankful for being robbed.
I am thankful for the school of hard knocks.
I am thankful for learning how to steal food in 2nd grade.
I am thankful for having to furnish my first apartment with garbage.
I am thankful for having someone break my finger.
I am thankful for my old junkie friends.
I am thankful for my old pusher friends.
I am thankful for having rats, mice, water bugs, and cockroaches.
YES I AM THANKFUL FOR ALL THE SHIT THAT MADE ME WHO I AM TODAY! YOU CAN’T BEAT THAT WITH A STICK. Oh yeah. I am real thankful. I swear that I am really thankful because had I not come through this course, I may not be me as me now stands in more ways than one.
Happy Thanksgiving y’all! ~ Arachne ~ November 27, 2008 @ 4:07 a.m. EST
Monday, November 24, 2008
What is a lover?
TO THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE ANSWERED, I THANK YOU AND I DO UNDERSTAND WHAT IT MEANS. I had an assumption about its meaning that you guys clarified. Thanks. BTW, some of the questions were geared based on my assumption.
If you can please answer the following questions either here in or in my e-mail, it would be so greatly appreciated. What I need help in is finding the value of a "lover" of a person who is a polyamourist (has more than one "lover"at a time). Even if you are not polyamourous, I would still like your input. As you may have guessed, I don't understand what a "lover" is nor do I understand the significance of insignificant others when no love is involved..
What interests you in the women you have sex with?
Is the interest just sex or does it bear more merit?
If it bears more merit, what might that merit be?
What makes you interested in a "lover?"
How long does each supposed "lover" relationship last?
Do you love each "lover?" To what degree is the love?
Does each "lover" love you? To what degree is the love?
What makes one "lover" different from the next?
What causes termination of the supposed "lover" relationship?
What is the significance of "lover" or an insignificant other?
For the sake of definition, a "lover" is a sexual OR romantic relationship. Which does it most often fall under and why?
Other than sexual gratification, does having "lovers" leave you emotionally empty and unloved or does it leave you loved and fulfilled?
Is a "lover" a transient position?
Would you KNOW if you loved someone after 5 months?
YOUR COOPERATION IS GREATLY APPRECIATED. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO BE A FRIEND NOR A MALE TO ANSWER. THANK YOU. ~ Arachne ~ November 24, 2008 @ 10:21 p.m. EST
If you can please answer the following questions either here in or in my e-mail, it would be so greatly appreciated. What I need help in is finding the value of a "lover" of a person who is a polyamourist (has more than one "lover"at a time). Even if you are not polyamourous, I would still like your input. As you may have guessed, I don't understand what a "lover" is nor do I understand the significance of insignificant others when no love is involved..
What interests you in the women you have sex with?
Is the interest just sex or does it bear more merit?
If it bears more merit, what might that merit be?
What makes you interested in a "lover?"
How long does each supposed "lover" relationship last?
Do you love each "lover?" To what degree is the love?
Does each "lover" love you? To what degree is the love?
What makes one "lover" different from the next?
What causes termination of the supposed "lover" relationship?
What is the significance of "lover" or an insignificant other?
For the sake of definition, a "lover" is a sexual OR romantic relationship. Which does it most often fall under and why?
Other than sexual gratification, does having "lovers" leave you emotionally empty and unloved or does it leave you loved and fulfilled?
Is a "lover" a transient position?
Would you KNOW if you loved someone after 5 months?
YOUR COOPERATION IS GREATLY APPRECIATED. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO BE A FRIEND NOR A MALE TO ANSWER. THANK YOU. ~ Arachne ~ November 24, 2008 @ 10:21 p.m. EST
A Little Row Boat Adrift...
This is the story of a little row boat.
A man once rowed me along the quiet waters to various and numerous ports and adventures. Thus we traveled from there to here. When we arrived at this port, he placed himself on the dock, but he failed to secure my rope. Slowly, my loosely bound roped slipped free from the dock. With my rope clinging only to water, I started to slip away. Although he could still see me by the dock he did not care to notice I had become free and was slipping away with the motion of the sea. Perhaps he shall notice when I am gone, but will he swim out to find me?. ~ Arachne ~ November 24, 2008 @ 7:59 p.m. EST
A man once rowed me along the quiet waters to various and numerous ports and adventures. Thus we traveled from there to here. When we arrived at this port, he placed himself on the dock, but he failed to secure my rope. Slowly, my loosely bound roped slipped free from the dock. With my rope clinging only to water, I started to slip away. Although he could still see me by the dock he did not care to notice I had become free and was slipping away with the motion of the sea. Perhaps he shall notice when I am gone, but will he swim out to find me?. ~ Arachne ~ November 24, 2008 @ 7:59 p.m. EST
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Recognition of Cognition
Is oft that we examine our own thoughts and recognize the true value or lack thereof that which we think? What if what we think bears no merit? Would it be safe to stick with that thought even if that thought only affected you as you had not brought the thought to another’s ears or eyes? Using logic, if a pondering brings forth no fruit at present, the seed should not be discarded as it may be of value at another point in time. Then again, can one really discard a thought? One can forget that one thought about it, however, it is stored safely in the CPU upon your shoulders.
A thought bears an unseen link or association if you will. Granted most of us can recognize an association such as a smell that will transport us to another time and place when that scent was significant to us. The same occurs with music or a story or another other type of stimulus where an association is had. It is an unusual type of transport into our past that allows us to relive an experience in full color and texture even if we had not thought about the event for decades.
A professor once told me in order to remember something better, wear a favorite shirt, pants, sweater, or scent that has a value of its own. An associative value that is. One that bears meaning to you. What you would like to memorize in the present can be chunked even while associating. Unchunking will occur when one goes into main association.
So what of that thought that bears no merit? Hum. Could it be called upon? Sure! At the point in time when that thought/idea needs to be resurrected, from the murky depths it will rise like cream upon milk. Your mind may have to use its reverse cycle of recollection i.e., remembering all other things associated to that which you are trying to remember in order to bring it into full focus, but there it will be unless you incur brain damage.
Bah. So much for thought! ~ Arachne ~ November 22, 2008 @ 8:37 p.m. EST
A thought bears an unseen link or association if you will. Granted most of us can recognize an association such as a smell that will transport us to another time and place when that scent was significant to us. The same occurs with music or a story or another other type of stimulus where an association is had. It is an unusual type of transport into our past that allows us to relive an experience in full color and texture even if we had not thought about the event for decades.
A professor once told me in order to remember something better, wear a favorite shirt, pants, sweater, or scent that has a value of its own. An associative value that is. One that bears meaning to you. What you would like to memorize in the present can be chunked even while associating. Unchunking will occur when one goes into main association.
So what of that thought that bears no merit? Hum. Could it be called upon? Sure! At the point in time when that thought/idea needs to be resurrected, from the murky depths it will rise like cream upon milk. Your mind may have to use its reverse cycle of recollection i.e., remembering all other things associated to that which you are trying to remember in order to bring it into full focus, but there it will be unless you incur brain damage.
Bah. So much for thought! ~ Arachne ~ November 22, 2008 @ 8:37 p.m. EST
Thursday, November 20, 2008
OPERANT BEHAVIOR
Not for lack of something better to do, but I thought you folks might find this area of my current read interesting. Therefore I have typed it out for your perusal. If there are any typos, oh well.
SCIENCE AND HUMAN BEHAVIOR by B.F. SKINNER
CHAPTER V
OPERANT BEHAVIOR
WHAT EVENTS ARE REINFORCING
Page 72
In dealing with your fellow men in everyday life and in the clinic and laboratory, we may need to know just how reinforcing a specific event is. We often begin by noting the extent to which our own behavior is reinforced by the same event. This practice frequently miscarries; yet it is still commonly believed that reinforcers can be identified apart from their effects upon a particular organism. As the term is used here, however, the only defining characteristic of a reinforcing stimulus is that it reinforces.
The only way to tell whether or not a given event is reinforcing (page 73) to a given organism under given conditions it is to make a direct test. We observe the frequency of a selected response, then make an event contingent upon it and observe any changes in frequency. If there is a change, we classify the event as reinforcing to the organism under the existing conditions. There is nothing circular about classifying events in terms of their effects, the criterion is both empirical and objective. It would be circular, however, if we then went on to assert that a given event strengthens and operant because it is reinforcing. We achieve a certain success in guessing at reinforcing powers only because we have in a sense made a crude survey; we have gauged the reinforcing effect of a stimulus upon ourselves and assume the same effect upon others. We are successful only when we resemble the organism under study and when we have correctly surveyed our own behavior.
Events which are found to be reinforcing are of two sorts. Some reinforcements consist of presenting stimuli, of adding something–for example, food, water, or sexual contact–to the situation. These we call positive reinforcers. Others consist of removing something–for example, a loud noise, a very bright light, extreme cold or heat, or electric shock—from the situation. These we call negative reinforcers. In both cases the effect of reinforcement is the same–the probability of response is increased. We cannot avoid this distinction by arguing that what is reinforcing in the negative case is the absence of the bright light, loud noise, and so on; for it is absence after presence which is effective, and this is only another way of saying that the stimulus is removed. The difference between the two cases will be clearer when we consider the presentation of a negative reinforcer or the removal of a positive. These are the consequences which we call punishment (Chapter XII).
A survey of the events which reinforce a given individual is often required in the practical application of operant conditioning. In every field in which human behavior figures prominently–education–government, the family, the clinic, industry, art, literature, and so on–we are constantly changing probabilities of response by arranging reinforcing consequences. The industrialist who wants employees to work consistently and without absenteeism must make certain that (Page 74) their behavior is suitably reinforced–not only with wages but with suitable working conditions. The girl who wants another date must be sure that her friend’s behavior in inviting her and in keeping the appointment is suitably reinforced. To teach a child to read or sing or play a game effectively, we must work out a program of educational reinforcement in which appropriate responses “pay off” frequently. If the patient is to return for further counsel, the psychotherapist must make sure that the behavior of coming to him is in some measure reinforced.
We evaluate the strength of reinforcing events when we attempt to discover what someone is “getting out of life.” What consequences are responsible for his present repertoire and for the relative frequencies of the response in it? His responses to various topics of conversation tell us something, but his everyday behavior is a better guide. We infer important reinforcers from nothing more unusual than his “interest” in a writer who deals with certain subjects, in stores or museums which exhibit certain objects, in friends who participate in certain kinds of behavior, in restaurants which serve certain kinds of food, and so on. The “interest” refers to the probability which results, at least in part, from the consequences of the behavior of “taking an interest.” We may be more nearly sure of the importance of a reinforcer if we watch the behavior come and go as the reinforcer is alternately supplied and withheld, for the change in probability is then less likely to be due to an incidental change of some other sort. The behavior of associating with a particular friend varies as the friend varies in supplying reinforcement. If we observe this covariation, we may then be fairly sure of “what this friendship means” or “what our subject sees in his friend.”
This technique of evaluation may be improved for use in clinical and laboratory investigation. A direct inventory may be made by allowing a subject to look at an assortment of pictures and recording the time he spends on each. The behavior of looking at a picture is reinforced by what is seen in it. Looking at one picture may be more strongly reinforced than looking at another, and the times will vary accordingly. The information may be valuable if it is necessary for any reason to reinforce or extinguish our subject’s behavior.
(Page 75) Literature, art, and entertainment, are contrived reinforcers. Whether the public buys books, tickets to performances, and works of art depends upon whether those books, plays, concerts, or pictures are reinforcing. Frequently the artist confines himself to an exploration of what is reinforcing himself. When he does so his work “reflects his own individuality,” and it is then an accident (or a measure of universality) if his book or play or piece of music or picture is reinforcing to others. Insofar as commercial success is important, he may make a direct study of the behavior of others. (The interpretation of the activity of the writer and artist as an exploration of the reinforcing powers of certain media will be discussed in Chapter XVI.)
We cannot dispense with this survey simply by asking a man what reinforces him. His reply may be of some value, but it is by no means necessarily reliable. A reinforcing connection need not be obvious to the individual reinforced. It is often only in retrospect that one’s tendencies to behave in particular ways are seen to be the result of certain consequences, and, as we shall see in Chapter XVIII, the relation may never be seen at all even though it is obvious to others.
There are, of course, extensive differences between individual in the events which prove to be reinforcing. The differences between species are so great as scarcely to arouse interest; obviously what is reinforcing a horse need not be reinforcing to a dog or man. Among the members of a species, the extensive differences are less likely to be due to hereditary endowment, and to that extent may be traced to circumstances in the history of the individual. The fact that organisms evidently inherit the capacity to be reinforced by certain kinds of events does not help us in predicting the reinforcing effect of an untried stimulus. Nor does the relation between the reinforcing event and deprivation or any other condition of the organism endow the reinforcing event with any particular physical property. It is especially unlikely that events which have acquired their power to reinforce will be marked in a special way. Yet such events are an important species of reinforcer.
That is enough for now. At present I am up to page 95 which deals with differential reinforcement. Skinner is a most interesting read. My first view of his work was in the early 80's. The book was called “About Behaviorism.” Ciao all. ~ Maggie ~ November 22, 2008 @ 5:49 p.m. EST
The reawakening of dreams...
Within my dreams I am startled awake by words uttered by me. I do remember saying “no” in one particular dream. I do remember the back of a truck–a silver truck–18 wheeler type and although it looked like a regular type of truck, within the back was something dark. For lack of better words, I shall use the words evil or void. There is one thing sad about dreaming such things for me as they come to pass. I cannot say with certainty what is meant by what I remember for this specific dream. However, for the dream of last evening which I will not state, I am not sure what to make of it. Perhaps it is a pulling away in a silent manner or perhaps it is just the way things will be. I know not, but I will remember what I can and look for it when it comes to pass. Dreams should not find me with xanax. I should not be dreaming, but I am. It is best to dream in the day when clarity can be had and not in the night were uncertainty lays and slips of memory occur. ~ Maggie ~ November 20, 2008 @ 10:27 p.m. EST
SCIENCE AND HUMAN BEHAVIOR by B.F. SKINNER
CHAPTER V
OPERANT BEHAVIOR
WHAT EVENTS ARE REINFORCING
Page 72
In dealing with your fellow men in everyday life and in the clinic and laboratory, we may need to know just how reinforcing a specific event is. We often begin by noting the extent to which our own behavior is reinforced by the same event. This practice frequently miscarries; yet it is still commonly believed that reinforcers can be identified apart from their effects upon a particular organism. As the term is used here, however, the only defining characteristic of a reinforcing stimulus is that it reinforces.
The only way to tell whether or not a given event is reinforcing (page 73) to a given organism under given conditions it is to make a direct test. We observe the frequency of a selected response, then make an event contingent upon it and observe any changes in frequency. If there is a change, we classify the event as reinforcing to the organism under the existing conditions. There is nothing circular about classifying events in terms of their effects, the criterion is both empirical and objective. It would be circular, however, if we then went on to assert that a given event strengthens and operant because it is reinforcing. We achieve a certain success in guessing at reinforcing powers only because we have in a sense made a crude survey; we have gauged the reinforcing effect of a stimulus upon ourselves and assume the same effect upon others. We are successful only when we resemble the organism under study and when we have correctly surveyed our own behavior.
Events which are found to be reinforcing are of two sorts. Some reinforcements consist of presenting stimuli, of adding something–for example, food, water, or sexual contact–to the situation. These we call positive reinforcers. Others consist of removing something–for example, a loud noise, a very bright light, extreme cold or heat, or electric shock—from the situation. These we call negative reinforcers. In both cases the effect of reinforcement is the same–the probability of response is increased. We cannot avoid this distinction by arguing that what is reinforcing in the negative case is the absence of the bright light, loud noise, and so on; for it is absence after presence which is effective, and this is only another way of saying that the stimulus is removed. The difference between the two cases will be clearer when we consider the presentation of a negative reinforcer or the removal of a positive. These are the consequences which we call punishment (Chapter XII).
A survey of the events which reinforce a given individual is often required in the practical application of operant conditioning. In every field in which human behavior figures prominently–education–government, the family, the clinic, industry, art, literature, and so on–we are constantly changing probabilities of response by arranging reinforcing consequences. The industrialist who wants employees to work consistently and without absenteeism must make certain that (Page 74) their behavior is suitably reinforced–not only with wages but with suitable working conditions. The girl who wants another date must be sure that her friend’s behavior in inviting her and in keeping the appointment is suitably reinforced. To teach a child to read or sing or play a game effectively, we must work out a program of educational reinforcement in which appropriate responses “pay off” frequently. If the patient is to return for further counsel, the psychotherapist must make sure that the behavior of coming to him is in some measure reinforced.
We evaluate the strength of reinforcing events when we attempt to discover what someone is “getting out of life.” What consequences are responsible for his present repertoire and for the relative frequencies of the response in it? His responses to various topics of conversation tell us something, but his everyday behavior is a better guide. We infer important reinforcers from nothing more unusual than his “interest” in a writer who deals with certain subjects, in stores or museums which exhibit certain objects, in friends who participate in certain kinds of behavior, in restaurants which serve certain kinds of food, and so on. The “interest” refers to the probability which results, at least in part, from the consequences of the behavior of “taking an interest.” We may be more nearly sure of the importance of a reinforcer if we watch the behavior come and go as the reinforcer is alternately supplied and withheld, for the change in probability is then less likely to be due to an incidental change of some other sort. The behavior of associating with a particular friend varies as the friend varies in supplying reinforcement. If we observe this covariation, we may then be fairly sure of “what this friendship means” or “what our subject sees in his friend.”
This technique of evaluation may be improved for use in clinical and laboratory investigation. A direct inventory may be made by allowing a subject to look at an assortment of pictures and recording the time he spends on each. The behavior of looking at a picture is reinforced by what is seen in it. Looking at one picture may be more strongly reinforced than looking at another, and the times will vary accordingly. The information may be valuable if it is necessary for any reason to reinforce or extinguish our subject’s behavior.
(Page 75) Literature, art, and entertainment, are contrived reinforcers. Whether the public buys books, tickets to performances, and works of art depends upon whether those books, plays, concerts, or pictures are reinforcing. Frequently the artist confines himself to an exploration of what is reinforcing himself. When he does so his work “reflects his own individuality,” and it is then an accident (or a measure of universality) if his book or play or piece of music or picture is reinforcing to others. Insofar as commercial success is important, he may make a direct study of the behavior of others. (The interpretation of the activity of the writer and artist as an exploration of the reinforcing powers of certain media will be discussed in Chapter XVI.)
We cannot dispense with this survey simply by asking a man what reinforces him. His reply may be of some value, but it is by no means necessarily reliable. A reinforcing connection need not be obvious to the individual reinforced. It is often only in retrospect that one’s tendencies to behave in particular ways are seen to be the result of certain consequences, and, as we shall see in Chapter XVIII, the relation may never be seen at all even though it is obvious to others.
There are, of course, extensive differences between individual in the events which prove to be reinforcing. The differences between species are so great as scarcely to arouse interest; obviously what is reinforcing a horse need not be reinforcing to a dog or man. Among the members of a species, the extensive differences are less likely to be due to hereditary endowment, and to that extent may be traced to circumstances in the history of the individual. The fact that organisms evidently inherit the capacity to be reinforced by certain kinds of events does not help us in predicting the reinforcing effect of an untried stimulus. Nor does the relation between the reinforcing event and deprivation or any other condition of the organism endow the reinforcing event with any particular physical property. It is especially unlikely that events which have acquired their power to reinforce will be marked in a special way. Yet such events are an important species of reinforcer.
That is enough for now. At present I am up to page 95 which deals with differential reinforcement. Skinner is a most interesting read. My first view of his work was in the early 80's. The book was called “About Behaviorism.” Ciao all. ~ Maggie ~ November 22, 2008 @ 5:49 p.m. EST
The reawakening of dreams...
Within my dreams I am startled awake by words uttered by me. I do remember saying “no” in one particular dream. I do remember the back of a truck–a silver truck–18 wheeler type and although it looked like a regular type of truck, within the back was something dark. For lack of better words, I shall use the words evil or void. There is one thing sad about dreaming such things for me as they come to pass. I cannot say with certainty what is meant by what I remember for this specific dream. However, for the dream of last evening which I will not state, I am not sure what to make of it. Perhaps it is a pulling away in a silent manner or perhaps it is just the way things will be. I know not, but I will remember what I can and look for it when it comes to pass. Dreams should not find me with xanax. I should not be dreaming, but I am. It is best to dream in the day when clarity can be had and not in the night were uncertainty lays and slips of memory occur. ~ Maggie ~ November 20, 2008 @ 10:27 p.m. EST
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
The Beauty of a Nickle
To some a nickle is nothing or at best five cents, however, one can find a greater value in an object simply in the way it was thoughtfully given. Yes! A wonderful and simple surprise that I find value in. How wonderfully the giving was executed without my knowledge. Perhaps my child within is easily entertained, but if a child’s heart finds love and beauty in a gesture, so be it. I am thrilled with a wonderful and beautiful gesture to the point of viewing it as a treasure. To me this nickle is unlike all others, yet if mixed with all others, there would be no difference. Hence it has been placed in an antique treasure box of glass and blue velvet to be treasured as I treasure the person who gave it to me. ~ Maggie ~ November 19, 2008 @ 4:56 p.m. EST
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Sassy Jazzy Blues
Give Me The Blues
Give me some rhythm and rhyme
Springtime in bloom
In light of the Moon
Moonlight in Vermont
Billie sings and I listen
Beating with a jazzy stream
Sweet and sassy
Moves swift and classy
Sensationally sensational
Swing brother swing!
Move me...oh yeah
Beat people
Bebop treetop
Never letting it drop
Wowza wowza and wee ha!
This lady does not sing the blues
But oh, oh does she listen!
Voice of liquid chocolate satin sheen
Bring me there
I’m not square
I’m in Summertime ~ Maggie ~ November 13, 2008 @ 4:33 p.m. EST
Give me some rhythm and rhyme
Springtime in bloom
In light of the Moon
Moonlight in Vermont
Billie sings and I listen
Beating with a jazzy stream
Sweet and sassy
Moves swift and classy
Sensationally sensational
Swing brother swing!
Move me...oh yeah
Beat people
Bebop treetop
Never letting it drop
Wowza wowza and wee ha!
This lady does not sing the blues
But oh, oh does she listen!
Voice of liquid chocolate satin sheen
Bring me there
I’m not square
I’m in Summertime ~ Maggie ~ November 13, 2008 @ 4:33 p.m. EST
TO ALL ARTISTS - The Best of Compliments~
In light of words drawn
Written or spoken
Lines connected create patterns
Designed from heart
Carved from stone or wood
Colored forms wrapped and engaged
Form illustrations
Each form bears a story
Tis not a willful act that one provokes another to doing
Nay! Tis the act of doing because one can
Inspiration ignites soul to fire
Rapid to salute majestically
More so then 21 gun for the dead
Ad Infinitum for the living!
Progression and succession
Like a symphony conducted
Honed to the instruments
Making love to vibrations
Live wires entangled not strangled
Free living, breathing, being
Play a symphony for me
Crash the symbols in defiance
Pluck not violin, bow and bow
Bow to a grand performance!
Thy bow in hand held close to thy instrument
The form is creation!
Excellent concerto! Bravo...bravo...bravissimo! ~ Maggie ~ November 13, 2008 @1:52 a.m. EST
Written or spoken
Lines connected create patterns
Designed from heart
Carved from stone or wood
Colored forms wrapped and engaged
Form illustrations
Each form bears a story
Tis not a willful act that one provokes another to doing
Nay! Tis the act of doing because one can
Inspiration ignites soul to fire
Rapid to salute majestically
More so then 21 gun for the dead
Ad Infinitum for the living!
Progression and succession
Like a symphony conducted
Honed to the instruments
Making love to vibrations
Live wires entangled not strangled
Free living, breathing, being
Play a symphony for me
Crash the symbols in defiance
Pluck not violin, bow and bow
Bow to a grand performance!
Thy bow in hand held close to thy instrument
The form is creation!
Excellent concerto! Bravo...bravo...bravissimo! ~ Maggie ~ November 13, 2008 @1:52 a.m. EST
A Comment...
This was a comment that was left for a dear friend on November 13, 2008 @ 1:35 a.m. EST, but I found it worthy of a post. Much of what I write to him is poetic in nature as he inspires me and has done so for years. Thank you ever so much Demitri!
Words alone cannot depict that which I hold to in dark shadows of soul. The dark I know to be out there looming on the horizon. Nay, it does not decay with the rising of sun nor fullness of moon. It eats at me and I allow it. When there is nothing left to gnaw, I will be left empty only to be filled again once more. Tis the cycle of life. Spring to winter only to spring back with greater vigor for the next volley. When shall the ball drop? The ball shall drop when I am out of riger. *Riger mortis that is. Wee ha to life and the living of it with full heart.
I am lighting to your words, but thou hast not seen of face to know thee my expression. Perhaps I express fleeting to words defined by mind held not in vain as vanity besieges me not. Tis thou dost know!
To heart my dear and wonderful friend. To word...
ADDENDUM (not part of my comment): The ball drops from Times Square at midnight. A deceased person will go into rigor mortis, however, they also come out of it.
*Rigor mortis begins to manifest after about 3 hours (10,800 seconds or 9 which is part of 3 or tri) after death, and lasts about 72 hours (259,200 seconds or 9 if you can see it. Simply put 7 + 2 = 9. There are no double digits. Zero is just a place holder. After 9 we go into repeat.). It then disappears as proteolytic enzymes from lysosomes break down the crossbridges; that is the myosin heads detach from the actin filaments. This is known as resolution of rigor.
Words alone cannot depict that which I hold to in dark shadows of soul. The dark I know to be out there looming on the horizon. Nay, it does not decay with the rising of sun nor fullness of moon. It eats at me and I allow it. When there is nothing left to gnaw, I will be left empty only to be filled again once more. Tis the cycle of life. Spring to winter only to spring back with greater vigor for the next volley. When shall the ball drop? The ball shall drop when I am out of riger. *Riger mortis that is. Wee ha to life and the living of it with full heart.
I am lighting to your words, but thou hast not seen of face to know thee my expression. Perhaps I express fleeting to words defined by mind held not in vain as vanity besieges me not. Tis thou dost know!
To heart my dear and wonderful friend. To word...
ADDENDUM (not part of my comment): The ball drops from Times Square at midnight. A deceased person will go into rigor mortis, however, they also come out of it.
*Rigor mortis begins to manifest after about 3 hours (10,800 seconds or 9 which is part of 3 or tri) after death, and lasts about 72 hours (259,200 seconds or 9 if you can see it. Simply put 7 + 2 = 9. There are no double digits. Zero is just a place holder. After 9 we go into repeat.). It then disappears as proteolytic enzymes from lysosomes break down the crossbridges; that is the myosin heads detach from the actin filaments. This is known as resolution of rigor.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
I Named It Not~
I named it not, but through a volley of words a name was given by another. A name that I had to clarify and verify. Indeed I know what it is. However, what is the value? Would not comrade, friend, brother, or pal bear more value or more substance? Me believes yes as those do not contain within the definition of their name OR.
When dealing with OR, I am looking at one thing or another as the word is not both. This is not just a matter of perspective, it is a matter of definition regardless of my perspective. I see the name as named different–perhaps more vulgar or crude–one devoid of emotion–senseless and superficial. Where lies depth and feeling? It lies on the other side of the OR–the side that is not being utilized by the other. Back to prediction of percentage: 98.99%.
Absorb I did and so wanted it named and claimed, but I could not do it. I would not do so as to cause error, but throw words I did! With clarification made and program run, decision is now left to work its magick.
To settle on the definition is not in me, but friendship is. Within friendship lies an everlasting bond of real love.
Of all things, there are two sides. Love can go unloved. Friendship can go un-befriended.
However, if substance of either course is maintained within ONE, it become whole and held in heart. It is here that superficiality is diminished for depth. ~ Maggie ~ Penned sometime in 2008 prior to 3:00 p.m. EST
When dealing with OR, I am looking at one thing or another as the word is not both. This is not just a matter of perspective, it is a matter of definition regardless of my perspective. I see the name as named different–perhaps more vulgar or crude–one devoid of emotion–senseless and superficial. Where lies depth and feeling? It lies on the other side of the OR–the side that is not being utilized by the other. Back to prediction of percentage: 98.99%.
Absorb I did and so wanted it named and claimed, but I could not do it. I would not do so as to cause error, but throw words I did! With clarification made and program run, decision is now left to work its magick.
To settle on the definition is not in me, but friendship is. Within friendship lies an everlasting bond of real love.
Of all things, there are two sides. Love can go unloved. Friendship can go un-befriended.
However, if substance of either course is maintained within ONE, it become whole and held in heart. It is here that superficiality is diminished for depth. ~ Maggie ~ Penned sometime in 2008 prior to 3:00 p.m. EST
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Self Value/Self Worth~
Perhaps others do not hold themselves in high regard and reflect such by misinterpreting others. This is done simply because they only see their own value and apply the same value to others. I can only assume that their shallow beings do find others of the same value. I draw this conclusion based on the words used by them to me. What I see is a pattern which goes rewarded until they come into contact with one of my kind who knows the value of the self in a non-superficial form. What do their void lives mean to them? Why do they try to fill their hollow spaces with anti-matter? Does not realization come upon noting the unfulfilled nature of their endeavor? I wonder if it is even recognized as void, shapeless, unfulfilled? Who will be blamed for such? Surely not the judge of misinterpretation. Alas, the blame will be shifted away from the self as the idea of being the creator of a void is too much to bear for irresponsible shoulders. ~ Maggie ~ Penned prior to 3:00 p.m. EST on November 11, 2008
Words~
At times words touch my heart in the most spectacular way. The words do not have to be spoken or written by someone I know in person. Words can come from someone who I have never met in the present, someone who is from the far past, or someone in the present whom I will never meet in the future. All writers leave their words as a reminder of their literary creation(s). Words read or heard bear only as much value as one gives to them. Should Shakespeare be viewed differently than Hawking? Each speak via written word–one long gone and the other through artificial means. However, both have left for the reader their personality. A creator cannot bring life to that which one does not feel. One may wonder who can one feel for physics. It is simple. There is PASSION! You can see and feel passion in the work that one loves. You will find that no matter what the subject matter is, the writer has thrown self into their work.
Can the words of Shakespeare elicit the same responses out of me? Of course! Both fill me with wonderment and curiosity, both lead me to search out something greater, and both lead me to discover SELF.
I do look forward to reading “Being and Time” by Heidegger as I look forward to reading his spin. Yes! I will find something in his work even though he is branded a Nazi. He is still a philosopher and worthy of a look. The subject matter especially from his head would be most interesting.
What is time and where is our being? I believe that our being is spread out like the universe–forever expanding and that time only exists when observed. Ah! The connecting of dots. Merely a child’s way of seeing a picture in clarity by following the numbered dots to create the sum of all parts. ~ Maggie ~ Penned prior to 3:00 p.m. EST on November 11, 2008
Can the words of Shakespeare elicit the same responses out of me? Of course! Both fill me with wonderment and curiosity, both lead me to search out something greater, and both lead me to discover SELF.
I do look forward to reading “Being and Time” by Heidegger as I look forward to reading his spin. Yes! I will find something in his work even though he is branded a Nazi. He is still a philosopher and worthy of a look. The subject matter especially from his head would be most interesting.
What is time and where is our being? I believe that our being is spread out like the universe–forever expanding and that time only exists when observed. Ah! The connecting of dots. Merely a child’s way of seeing a picture in clarity by following the numbered dots to create the sum of all parts. ~ Maggie ~ Penned prior to 3:00 p.m. EST on November 11, 2008
Mixing Reality With Fiction~
The number that appeared on the telephone display seemed familiar so she answered the phone. Pleasantries were exchanged in formal fashion yet an air of the familiar was upon them both.
Perhaps it was the tone of her voice that gave away the difference of her nature. She was more relaxed than he had ever known her to be. “You do not seem as violent” he stated. “You know the sub controls everything” she returned. “Yes I do” he replied.
Her back to him, she glanced out into the distance listening to his words of hurt and understanding them so clearly. She understood his professed love for a woman who did not love him as he loved her and how the financial freedom he gained in fact did not bring him happiness. Had she not told him this in the past? Yes she had. His acknowledgment came through a whimpering voice which made it all the more clear. “Give it away” she stated heartily. Turning as if to acknowledge a wounded child after losing a battle for a toy she stated “Darling, it is a matter of free will. If you love as you state you do, then accept things as they are. If you love and can let go, that would work as well for if loved in return, she will return to you.”
Having the same sentiments within her own heart, the words acted like a mirror–a mirror that reflected past events and events yet to come. “A New Year brings new things” she said openly to herself, but yet also to him.
“Do you think we should give it until after New Year’s to make resolutions?” he said in a solemn voice. “You may do as you wish. As for me, I will see where my road leads me.” Within she knew she had thought about a farewell to the supposed relationship, but she had also thought about not saying farewell at all. “Free will” she whispered to herself thereby acknowledging her own responsibility to the matter.
“How can you put up with that? You deserve more than that!” he stated with emphasis. “Look,” she stated sharply “he has been honest with me from the start. How could I in good conscience discard him for who he is? If that is his way and it does not interfere with what is why should I not be accepting?”
True to herself she did speak. Not once had she though negatively about him or any of his qualities. “The situation you are in is that you love and are not loved in return. Correct?” He nodded his head in agreement. “Well then” she continued, “you stay and tolerate–why?”
“I just want to be loved.”
“Don’t we all? However, we cannot demand love. Well actually we can, but it won’t be had.”
“Why is it so hard to be loved?”
“It is not that it is hard to be loved. Heck, look back on your own life as I have looked back on mine and see those who loved you, but whom you did not love in return. Then think if you had the balls to tell them in plain English. Frankly, I think most are afraid to state their feelings one way or the other. You know me. Hell, I told you right off the bat that I did not love you.” ~ Maggie ~ Penned prior to 3:00 p.m. EST sometime in 2008
Perhaps it was the tone of her voice that gave away the difference of her nature. She was more relaxed than he had ever known her to be. “You do not seem as violent” he stated. “You know the sub controls everything” she returned. “Yes I do” he replied.
Her back to him, she glanced out into the distance listening to his words of hurt and understanding them so clearly. She understood his professed love for a woman who did not love him as he loved her and how the financial freedom he gained in fact did not bring him happiness. Had she not told him this in the past? Yes she had. His acknowledgment came through a whimpering voice which made it all the more clear. “Give it away” she stated heartily. Turning as if to acknowledge a wounded child after losing a battle for a toy she stated “Darling, it is a matter of free will. If you love as you state you do, then accept things as they are. If you love and can let go, that would work as well for if loved in return, she will return to you.”
Having the same sentiments within her own heart, the words acted like a mirror–a mirror that reflected past events and events yet to come. “A New Year brings new things” she said openly to herself, but yet also to him.
“Do you think we should give it until after New Year’s to make resolutions?” he said in a solemn voice. “You may do as you wish. As for me, I will see where my road leads me.” Within she knew she had thought about a farewell to the supposed relationship, but she had also thought about not saying farewell at all. “Free will” she whispered to herself thereby acknowledging her own responsibility to the matter.
“How can you put up with that? You deserve more than that!” he stated with emphasis. “Look,” she stated sharply “he has been honest with me from the start. How could I in good conscience discard him for who he is? If that is his way and it does not interfere with what is why should I not be accepting?”
True to herself she did speak. Not once had she though negatively about him or any of his qualities. “The situation you are in is that you love and are not loved in return. Correct?” He nodded his head in agreement. “Well then” she continued, “you stay and tolerate–why?”
“I just want to be loved.”
“Don’t we all? However, we cannot demand love. Well actually we can, but it won’t be had.”
“Why is it so hard to be loved?”
“It is not that it is hard to be loved. Heck, look back on your own life as I have looked back on mine and see those who loved you, but whom you did not love in return. Then think if you had the balls to tell them in plain English. Frankly, I think most are afraid to state their feelings one way or the other. You know me. Hell, I told you right off the bat that I did not love you.” ~ Maggie ~ Penned prior to 3:00 p.m. EST sometime in 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
From the pages of Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand
Please forgive any typos of this writ as I actually typed this from the book and did not cheat in doing a cut and paste so please note that I did this with love. When reading this, if you do read this, gather from it what you will as all is a matter of perspective. There are some of you who may see several views depending on where you stand intellectually. Enjoy! ~ Maggie
Page 670
The door of the structure was a straight, smooth sheet of stainless steel, softly lustrous and bluish in the sun. Above it, cut in the granite, as the only feature of the building's rectangular austerity, there stood and inscription:
I SWEAR BY MY LIFE AND MY LOVE OF IT THAT I WILL NEVER (page 671) LIVE FOR THE SAKE OF ANOTHER MAN NOR ASK ANOTHER MAN TO LIVE FOR ME.
Page 677
We are on strike...
...Every other kind and class have stopped, when they so wished, and have presented demands to the world, claiming to be indispensable–except the men who have carried the world on their shoulders, have kept it alive, have endured torture as sole payment, but have never walked out on the human race. Well, their turn has come. Let the world discover who they are, what they do and what happens when they refuse to function. This is the strike of the men of the mind, Miss Taggart. This is the mind on strike...
..."Through all the ages," he said, "the mind has been regarded as evil, and every form of insult: from heretic to materialist to exploiter–every form of iniquity: from exile to disfranchisement to expropriation–every form of torture: from sneers to rack to firing squad–have been brought down upon those who assumed the responsibility of looking at the world through the eyes of a living consciousness and performing the crucial act of rational connection.
Page 678
Yet only to the extent to which–in chains, in dungeons, in hidden corners, in the cells of philosophers, in the shops of trader–some men continued to think, only to that extent was humanity able to survive. Through all the centuries of the worship of the mindless, whatever stagnation humanity chose to endure, whatever brutality to practice–it was only by the grace of the men who perceived that wheat must have water in order to grow, that stones laid in a curve will form an arch, that two and two makes four, that love is not served by torture and life is not fed by destruction–only by the grace of those men did the rest of them learn to experience moments when they caught the spark of being human, and only the sum of such moments permitted them to continue to exist. It was the men of the mind who taught them to bake their bread, to heal their wounds, to forge their weapons and to build the jails into which they threw him. He was the man of extravagant energy–and reckless generosity–who knew that stagnation is not man's fate, that impotence is not his nature, that the ingenuity of his mind is his noblest and most joyous power–and in service to that love of existence he was alone to feel, he went on working, working at any price, working for his despoilers, for his jailers, for his torturers, pay with his life for the privilege of saving theirs. This was his glory and his guilt–that he let them teach him to feel guilty of his glory, to accept the part of the sacrificial animal and, in punishment for the sin of intelligence, to perish on the altars of the brutes. The tragic joke of human history is that on any of the altars men erected, it was always man who they immolated and the animal whom they enshrined. It was always the animal's attributes, not man's, that humanity worshiped: the idol of instinct and the idol of force–the mystics and the kings–the mystics, who longed for an irresponsible consciousness and ruled by means of the claim that their dark emotions were superior to reason, that knowledge came in blind, causeless fits, blindly to be followed, not doubted–and the kings, who ruled by means of claws and muscles, with conquest as their method and looting as their aim, with a club or a gun as sole sanction of their power. The defenders of man's souls were concerned with his feelings, and the defenders of man's body were concerned with his stomach–but both were united against hi mind. Yet no one, not the lowest of humans, is ever able fully to renounce his brain. No one has ever believed in the irrational; what they do believe in is the unjust. Whenever a man denounces the mind, it is because his goal is of a nature the mind would not permit him to confess. When he preaches contradictions, he does so in the knowledge that someone will accept the burden of the impossible, someone will make it work for him at the price of his own suffering of life; destruction is the price of any contradiction. It is the victims who made injustice possible. It is the men of reason who made it possible for the rule of the brute to work. The despoiling of reason has been the motive of every anti-reason creed on earth. The despoiling of ability has been the purpose of every creed that preached self-sacrifice. The despoilers have always know it. We haven't. The time has come for us to see what we are now asked to worship, what has once been dressed as God or king is (page 679) naked, twisted, mindless figure of the human Incompetent. This is the new ideal, the goal to aim at, the purpose to live for, and all men are to be rewarded according to how close they approach it. This is the age of the common man, they tell us– a title which any man may claim to the extent of such distinction as he has managed not to achieve. He will rise to a rank of nobility by means of the effort he has failed to make, he will be honored for such virtue as he has not displayed, and he will be paid for the goods which he did not produce. But we–we, who must atone for the guilt of ability–we will work to support him as he orders, with his pleasure as our only reward. Since we have the most to contribute, we will have the least to say. Since we have the better capacity to think, we will not be permitted a thought of our own. Since we have the judgement to act, we will not be permitted an action of our choice. We will work under directives and controls, issued by those who are incapable of working. They will dispose of our energy, because they have none to offer, and of our product, because they can't produce. Do you say that this is impossible, that it cannot be make to work? They know it, but it is you who don't–and thye are counting on you not to know it. They are counting on you to go on, to work to the limit of the inhuman and to feed them while you last--and when you collapse, there will be another victim starting out and feeding them, while struggling to survive–and the span of each succeeding victim will shorter, and while you'll die to leave them a railroad, your last descendant-in-spirit will die to leave them a loaf of bread. This does not worry the looters of the moment. Their plan–like all the plans of all the royal looters of the past–is only that the loot shall last their lifetime. It has always lasted before, because in one generation they could not run out of victims. But this time–it will not last. The victims are on strike. We are on strike against martyrdom–and against the moral code that demands it. We are on strike against those who believe that one man must exist for the sake of another. We are on strike against the morality of cannibals, be ti practiced in body or spirit. We will not deal with men on any terms but our–and our terms are a moral code which holds that man is an end in himself and not the means to any end of others. We do not seek to force our code upon them. They are free to believe what they please. But, for once, they will have to believe it and to exist–without our help. And, once and for all, they will learn the meaning of their creed. That creed has lasted for centuries solely by the sanction of the victims–by means of the victims' acceptance of punishment for breaking a code impossible to practice. But that code was intended to be broken. It is a code that thrives not on those who observe it, but on those who don't, a morality kept in existence not by virtue of its saints, but by the grace of its sinners. We have decided not to be sinners any longer. We have ceased breaking that moral code. We shall blast it out of existence forever by the one method that it can't withstand: by obeying it. We are obeying it. We are complying. In dealing with our fellow men, we are observing their code of values to the letter and sparing them all the evils they denounce. The mind is evil? We have withdrawn the works of our (page 680) minds from society, and not a single idea of ours is to be known or used by men. Ability is a selfish evil that leaves no chance to those who are less able? We have withdrawn from the competition and left all chances open to incompetents. The pursuit of wealth is greed, the root of all evil? We do not seek to make fortunes any longer. It is evil to earn more than on's bare sustenance? We take nothing but the lowliest jobs and we produce, by the effort of our muscles, no more than we consume for our immediate needs–with not a penny nor an inventive thought left over to harm the world. It is evil to succeed, since success is made by the strong at the expense of the weak? We have ceased burdening the weak with our ambition and have left them free to prosper without us. It is evil to be an employer? There is no form of enjoyment that we seek from their world, and–this was hardest for us to attain–what we now feel for their world is that emotion which they preach as an idea: Indifference–the blank–the zero–the mark of death....We are giving men everything they've professed to want and to seek as virtue for centuries. Now let them see whether they want it."
Page 681
"...Let him–and those who entrust him their children's minds–have exactly that which they demand: a world of intellectuals without intellect and of thinkers who proclaim that they cannot think. I am conceding it. I am complying. And when they see the absolute reality of their non-absolute world, I will not be there and it will not be I who will pay the price of their contradictions."
Currently reading Page 709 of the 50th Anniversary Edition. ~ Arachne ~ November 10, 2008 @ 10:43 p.m. EST
Page 670
The door of the structure was a straight, smooth sheet of stainless steel, softly lustrous and bluish in the sun. Above it, cut in the granite, as the only feature of the building's rectangular austerity, there stood and inscription:
I SWEAR BY MY LIFE AND MY LOVE OF IT THAT I WILL NEVER (page 671) LIVE FOR THE SAKE OF ANOTHER MAN NOR ASK ANOTHER MAN TO LIVE FOR ME.
Page 677
We are on strike...
...Every other kind and class have stopped, when they so wished, and have presented demands to the world, claiming to be indispensable–except the men who have carried the world on their shoulders, have kept it alive, have endured torture as sole payment, but have never walked out on the human race. Well, their turn has come. Let the world discover who they are, what they do and what happens when they refuse to function. This is the strike of the men of the mind, Miss Taggart. This is the mind on strike...
..."Through all the ages," he said, "the mind has been regarded as evil, and every form of insult: from heretic to materialist to exploiter–every form of iniquity: from exile to disfranchisement to expropriation–every form of torture: from sneers to rack to firing squad–have been brought down upon those who assumed the responsibility of looking at the world through the eyes of a living consciousness and performing the crucial act of rational connection.
Page 678
Yet only to the extent to which–in chains, in dungeons, in hidden corners, in the cells of philosophers, in the shops of trader–some men continued to think, only to that extent was humanity able to survive. Through all the centuries of the worship of the mindless, whatever stagnation humanity chose to endure, whatever brutality to practice–it was only by the grace of the men who perceived that wheat must have water in order to grow, that stones laid in a curve will form an arch, that two and two makes four, that love is not served by torture and life is not fed by destruction–only by the grace of those men did the rest of them learn to experience moments when they caught the spark of being human, and only the sum of such moments permitted them to continue to exist. It was the men of the mind who taught them to bake their bread, to heal their wounds, to forge their weapons and to build the jails into which they threw him. He was the man of extravagant energy–and reckless generosity–who knew that stagnation is not man's fate, that impotence is not his nature, that the ingenuity of his mind is his noblest and most joyous power–and in service to that love of existence he was alone to feel, he went on working, working at any price, working for his despoilers, for his jailers, for his torturers, pay with his life for the privilege of saving theirs. This was his glory and his guilt–that he let them teach him to feel guilty of his glory, to accept the part of the sacrificial animal and, in punishment for the sin of intelligence, to perish on the altars of the brutes. The tragic joke of human history is that on any of the altars men erected, it was always man who they immolated and the animal whom they enshrined. It was always the animal's attributes, not man's, that humanity worshiped: the idol of instinct and the idol of force–the mystics and the kings–the mystics, who longed for an irresponsible consciousness and ruled by means of the claim that their dark emotions were superior to reason, that knowledge came in blind, causeless fits, blindly to be followed, not doubted–and the kings, who ruled by means of claws and muscles, with conquest as their method and looting as their aim, with a club or a gun as sole sanction of their power. The defenders of man's souls were concerned with his feelings, and the defenders of man's body were concerned with his stomach–but both were united against hi mind. Yet no one, not the lowest of humans, is ever able fully to renounce his brain. No one has ever believed in the irrational; what they do believe in is the unjust. Whenever a man denounces the mind, it is because his goal is of a nature the mind would not permit him to confess. When he preaches contradictions, he does so in the knowledge that someone will accept the burden of the impossible, someone will make it work for him at the price of his own suffering of life; destruction is the price of any contradiction. It is the victims who made injustice possible. It is the men of reason who made it possible for the rule of the brute to work. The despoiling of reason has been the motive of every anti-reason creed on earth. The despoiling of ability has been the purpose of every creed that preached self-sacrifice. The despoilers have always know it. We haven't. The time has come for us to see what we are now asked to worship, what has once been dressed as God or king is (page 679) naked, twisted, mindless figure of the human Incompetent. This is the new ideal, the goal to aim at, the purpose to live for, and all men are to be rewarded according to how close they approach it. This is the age of the common man, they tell us– a title which any man may claim to the extent of such distinction as he has managed not to achieve. He will rise to a rank of nobility by means of the effort he has failed to make, he will be honored for such virtue as he has not displayed, and he will be paid for the goods which he did not produce. But we–we, who must atone for the guilt of ability–we will work to support him as he orders, with his pleasure as our only reward. Since we have the most to contribute, we will have the least to say. Since we have the better capacity to think, we will not be permitted a thought of our own. Since we have the judgement to act, we will not be permitted an action of our choice. We will work under directives and controls, issued by those who are incapable of working. They will dispose of our energy, because they have none to offer, and of our product, because they can't produce. Do you say that this is impossible, that it cannot be make to work? They know it, but it is you who don't–and thye are counting on you not to know it. They are counting on you to go on, to work to the limit of the inhuman and to feed them while you last--and when you collapse, there will be another victim starting out and feeding them, while struggling to survive–and the span of each succeeding victim will shorter, and while you'll die to leave them a railroad, your last descendant-in-spirit will die to leave them a loaf of bread. This does not worry the looters of the moment. Their plan–like all the plans of all the royal looters of the past–is only that the loot shall last their lifetime. It has always lasted before, because in one generation they could not run out of victims. But this time–it will not last. The victims are on strike. We are on strike against martyrdom–and against the moral code that demands it. We are on strike against those who believe that one man must exist for the sake of another. We are on strike against the morality of cannibals, be ti practiced in body or spirit. We will not deal with men on any terms but our–and our terms are a moral code which holds that man is an end in himself and not the means to any end of others. We do not seek to force our code upon them. They are free to believe what they please. But, for once, they will have to believe it and to exist–without our help. And, once and for all, they will learn the meaning of their creed. That creed has lasted for centuries solely by the sanction of the victims–by means of the victims' acceptance of punishment for breaking a code impossible to practice. But that code was intended to be broken. It is a code that thrives not on those who observe it, but on those who don't, a morality kept in existence not by virtue of its saints, but by the grace of its sinners. We have decided not to be sinners any longer. We have ceased breaking that moral code. We shall blast it out of existence forever by the one method that it can't withstand: by obeying it. We are obeying it. We are complying. In dealing with our fellow men, we are observing their code of values to the letter and sparing them all the evils they denounce. The mind is evil? We have withdrawn the works of our (page 680) minds from society, and not a single idea of ours is to be known or used by men. Ability is a selfish evil that leaves no chance to those who are less able? We have withdrawn from the competition and left all chances open to incompetents. The pursuit of wealth is greed, the root of all evil? We do not seek to make fortunes any longer. It is evil to earn more than on's bare sustenance? We take nothing but the lowliest jobs and we produce, by the effort of our muscles, no more than we consume for our immediate needs–with not a penny nor an inventive thought left over to harm the world. It is evil to succeed, since success is made by the strong at the expense of the weak? We have ceased burdening the weak with our ambition and have left them free to prosper without us. It is evil to be an employer? There is no form of enjoyment that we seek from their world, and–this was hardest for us to attain–what we now feel for their world is that emotion which they preach as an idea: Indifference–the blank–the zero–the mark of death....We are giving men everything they've professed to want and to seek as virtue for centuries. Now let them see whether they want it."
Page 681
"...Let him–and those who entrust him their children's minds–have exactly that which they demand: a world of intellectuals without intellect and of thinkers who proclaim that they cannot think. I am conceding it. I am complying. And when they see the absolute reality of their non-absolute world, I will not be there and it will not be I who will pay the price of their contradictions."
Currently reading Page 709 of the 50th Anniversary Edition. ~ Arachne ~ November 10, 2008 @ 10:43 p.m. EST
Although not presently reading Kafka~
Today’s thoughts brought me to Kafka’s Hunger Artist. My vision of him in his straw laden cage there to prove something. The something was his art. As you may have guessed, as an attraction he starved himself for profit.
Although there was something to be viewed of his person and reading how many days he had gone without sustenance, after awhile he mattered not to others as to how long he would last. People tired of the show. Perhaps to test his own endurance, he held steadfast to his art until the point came to which the cage was barren save for the straw. He was forgotten about and replaced by a panther. Had his bones been so small that recognition was not had?
Then again where is the recognition in The Metamorphosis? Kafka dreams up a tranquil man who lives an ordinary life until he starts to morph into a bug. Will his family recognize him for who he is or will they kill him?
An interesting note is that neither The Hunger Artist nor the Metamorphosis left their containers (cage/room), yet within, they were altered. One to nothingness and another from needed and useful to a monster. Granted one chose the alteration, however, the other did not. Can it be said that both scenarios can in fact happen even if not to the same degree nor the same exact reel?
My real is reel to reel and is running in my head.
Come friends! Let’s drink a cask. Amontillado shall not seal you behind the wall. Perhaps it is a spin of Iago that needles your mind. Will Mercutio frolic and die at the hand of another only to be followed by Romeo from the hand of self? Margery, did you not see your place in history? Why did you write so ignorantly whilst so much was happening in your time? Fainne I cried for you when you could not! Then again, perhaps Arthur would have been a happy goose.
Literature and history...all finely written awaiting the reader to bring it all to life. The grand feel of being the character but for an instance. ~ Arachne sometime in 2008.
Although there was something to be viewed of his person and reading how many days he had gone without sustenance, after awhile he mattered not to others as to how long he would last. People tired of the show. Perhaps to test his own endurance, he held steadfast to his art until the point came to which the cage was barren save for the straw. He was forgotten about and replaced by a panther. Had his bones been so small that recognition was not had?
Then again where is the recognition in The Metamorphosis? Kafka dreams up a tranquil man who lives an ordinary life until he starts to morph into a bug. Will his family recognize him for who he is or will they kill him?
An interesting note is that neither The Hunger Artist nor the Metamorphosis left their containers (cage/room), yet within, they were altered. One to nothingness and another from needed and useful to a monster. Granted one chose the alteration, however, the other did not. Can it be said that both scenarios can in fact happen even if not to the same degree nor the same exact reel?
My real is reel to reel and is running in my head.
Come friends! Let’s drink a cask. Amontillado shall not seal you behind the wall. Perhaps it is a spin of Iago that needles your mind. Will Mercutio frolic and die at the hand of another only to be followed by Romeo from the hand of self? Margery, did you not see your place in history? Why did you write so ignorantly whilst so much was happening in your time? Fainne I cried for you when you could not! Then again, perhaps Arthur would have been a happy goose.
Literature and history...all finely written awaiting the reader to bring it all to life. The grand feel of being the character but for an instance. ~ Arachne sometime in 2008.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Idiocracy
Although I watched a comedy tonight, there was a great deal of despair in doing so. Imagine a decline in intelligence that is so great that only sex and money are thought of? Is that lunacy or what? Imagine an average dumb ass Joe and a run of the mill hooker of 2005 being the smartest people alive in 2505? Meh! Even dumb ass Joe realizes that the world should not have come to this. At one point in the movie he tells the hooker that if she makes it back to 2005, she is to advise the people to read and go to school.
The people of 2505 were so dumb, they used a type of Gatoraid on plants which killed them all thus they lived in a dust bowl garbage heap. Believe it or not, water was only used in toilets.
Me thinks about life in the now and how people allow themselves to be dummied down to superficiality and stupidity and I want to cry. It is sad that one could literally watch this movie and see it as a REAL possible future for mankind. A planet of dummied down idiots with not a brain amongst the lot because of a skewed value system.
Where lies value? Where lies reality? ~ Maggie ~ Sunday, November 9, 2008
Now watching: MAN FROM EARTH (2007) It makes you think. Yes it is an intellectual movie and it would not go over well with a idiocratic individual. :-) Learn to learn in the present.
The people of 2505 were so dumb, they used a type of Gatoraid on plants which killed them all thus they lived in a dust bowl garbage heap. Believe it or not, water was only used in toilets.
Me thinks about life in the now and how people allow themselves to be dummied down to superficiality and stupidity and I want to cry. It is sad that one could literally watch this movie and see it as a REAL possible future for mankind. A planet of dummied down idiots with not a brain amongst the lot because of a skewed value system.
Where lies value? Where lies reality? ~ Maggie ~ Sunday, November 9, 2008
Now watching: MAN FROM EARTH (2007) It makes you think. Yes it is an intellectual movie and it would not go over well with a idiocratic individual. :-) Learn to learn in the present.
An unfinished story without good form
Jellin and Poster (as in imposter) live in Myneara of Bargone
Darbo and Clink live in Cantheara of Looma
Jellin had been sitting by the water’s edge awaiting the arrival of Poster. Looking into the water, she could see her reflection. To herself, she seemed large yet her oak leaf boat-float could carry not only her, but her friends Poster, Darbo, and Clink as well. “Hello reflection of self!” as she announced herself to the water. Her reflection nodded to the greeting and smiled back at her before putting a finger to its lips and pointing past her. Jellin knew that Poster was creeping up behind her to give her a fright, but she wanted to scare him instead. Still gazing into the pool, she saw him approach and just as he was about to pounce on her, she moved and into the water he fell. “Gotcha!” she giggled as she watched him pull himself out of the water. Poster was her good friend and had been for centuries. His manners were a bit off at times, but she accepted him nonetheless.
After wringing himself out, Poster asked “How did you know I was coming?” She replied, “Well, for one I was expecting you. Secondly, I saw you come up from behind me. He nodded at her words with a raised brow. “Besides, I know you all too well so I let you have some of your own medicine.” As friends do, they sat there and giggled together in the warm sun until Poster had dried up a bit. Jellin asked, “Do you think we will be late for lunch?” “I don’t know” replied Poster. “You know that Darbo and Clink are late with everything so I would guess that our timing will be early if not perfect.”
Darbo and Clink had been working in the garden gathering doolings and grags for their luncheon when suddenly Clink shouts “Darbo, check the sun!” Upon looking, Darbo quickly rushed into the tree and started to set the table. “Clink, bring those dooling and grags...hip hop lest we be late.” Clink knew they would be late. In his 7 cent, he could not remember a time when they were on time. Rushing into the tree with his arms filled, he crashed straight into Darbo and both pots and harvest fly into the air and scatter about before them. “This is always the way” stated Darbo. “Yes indeed!” replied Clink as they gathered themselves and their strew.
Myneara of Bargone is not a great distance away from Cantheara of Looma, perhaps and eighth of a ray drift if just going with the flow. Having boarded Jellin’s leaf boat-float, Poster offers his hand and Jellin jumps aboard. “Do you think I should speed us along?” he says as he reaches for a stick. “No silly. As it is we will be right on time or early despite our delay.” “You know that I will be 5 x 2 cent soon don’t ya now?” said Poster. “Yes. Yes. However, I will view you as one again.” “Why so?” “If we were counting as the giants do, you would be one thousand years old.” “Oh, let us not count that way. Yes I will be one again. Good go Jellin.” “Why thank you Poster.” ~ Maggie ~ Sometime in 2008
Darbo and Clink live in Cantheara of Looma
Jellin had been sitting by the water’s edge awaiting the arrival of Poster. Looking into the water, she could see her reflection. To herself, she seemed large yet her oak leaf boat-float could carry not only her, but her friends Poster, Darbo, and Clink as well. “Hello reflection of self!” as she announced herself to the water. Her reflection nodded to the greeting and smiled back at her before putting a finger to its lips and pointing past her. Jellin knew that Poster was creeping up behind her to give her a fright, but she wanted to scare him instead. Still gazing into the pool, she saw him approach and just as he was about to pounce on her, she moved and into the water he fell. “Gotcha!” she giggled as she watched him pull himself out of the water. Poster was her good friend and had been for centuries. His manners were a bit off at times, but she accepted him nonetheless.
After wringing himself out, Poster asked “How did you know I was coming?” She replied, “Well, for one I was expecting you. Secondly, I saw you come up from behind me. He nodded at her words with a raised brow. “Besides, I know you all too well so I let you have some of your own medicine.” As friends do, they sat there and giggled together in the warm sun until Poster had dried up a bit. Jellin asked, “Do you think we will be late for lunch?” “I don’t know” replied Poster. “You know that Darbo and Clink are late with everything so I would guess that our timing will be early if not perfect.”
Darbo and Clink had been working in the garden gathering doolings and grags for their luncheon when suddenly Clink shouts “Darbo, check the sun!” Upon looking, Darbo quickly rushed into the tree and started to set the table. “Clink, bring those dooling and grags...hip hop lest we be late.” Clink knew they would be late. In his 7 cent, he could not remember a time when they were on time. Rushing into the tree with his arms filled, he crashed straight into Darbo and both pots and harvest fly into the air and scatter about before them. “This is always the way” stated Darbo. “Yes indeed!” replied Clink as they gathered themselves and their strew.
Myneara of Bargone is not a great distance away from Cantheara of Looma, perhaps and eighth of a ray drift if just going with the flow. Having boarded Jellin’s leaf boat-float, Poster offers his hand and Jellin jumps aboard. “Do you think I should speed us along?” he says as he reaches for a stick. “No silly. As it is we will be right on time or early despite our delay.” “You know that I will be 5 x 2 cent soon don’t ya now?” said Poster. “Yes. Yes. However, I will view you as one again.” “Why so?” “If we were counting as the giants do, you would be one thousand years old.” “Oh, let us not count that way. Yes I will be one again. Good go Jellin.” “Why thank you Poster.” ~ Maggie ~ Sometime in 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
A Letter that I never sent~
My Dearest ****~
Words contain a great deal of power. Embedded are these were yours. Tis of the three that thou hast stated that saddens me so. The drug induced fog blunted the words so that the sharp content did not hit just then. But lo today those words screamed in mine ears so loudly I thought I would go deaf.
Had I not pursued you, I would have been the EXACT words you uttered.
With all my love~
Arachne
When you called and we spoke the other day, you stated that a potato or potatoes are “one week flings.” Today those words came and bit me in the ass. Had my love for you not pursued you, I too would have been a “one week fling.” It is of my nature of explore values as it had been almost a year ago. Perhaps my value has gone up by some degree or I have become a one year fling. Now you know why I questioned the value of “lover” and its definition.
Pappy and Peaches words came back to bite me. Peter Pappy said I was “sport fucked” and Peter Peaches said something to the effect of me being your “fling.” My male friend’s words hurt me, but they told what they saw from a man’s perspective. Odd that you should call your S***wood lovers (potatoes) “flings.” Where lies the value of fruitless sex? Is any love gained or is it just immediate pleasure and a feeding of ego? Again I question what is a lover? What am I to you?
DISCUSSIONS WITH PAPPY
Thank goodness I never stabbed the sucker as good friends are hard to come by. A good friend will sure as shit open your eyes to truth and he is a good friend. Oh yeah it is set in stone and rubber stamped that we will only be friends for life. My knife makes sure of that.
Yesterday he was being the man with the hatpin busting my bubble, but I realized today that he was right. When he called me earlier today, I told him that he was right. His sorry ass could not believe that I took his words to heart, but hell, right is right. His words rang in my ear: SPORT et cetera! I kind of thought so and I should have known better. I am going to bend his damned hatpin! Why did I have to listen to him?
Granted he is sorry he busted my bubble and he did try to patch what he said yesterday, but fuggheadaboudit as the words were already spilled and I had somewhat drawn the same conclusion. All in all he deserves a good slap on the back of the head and a hug.
I wonder if he said that shit on purpose yesterday knowing it would get to me at some point. Nah. He was too "REALLY?" today. Well now that he has me all bummed out, he is going to come see me tomorrow. Whoot whoot. Is he looking for the face of doom and gloom?
I shall curse him again by stating his book will not be finished until his death occurs and thus he will not reap the benefits of it all. He hates when I say that! One good round deserves another. What are friends for? ~ Arachne ~ August 9, 2008 @ 7:03 p.m. EST
LOVER: Word & Logic By Definition Program
I am rusty in my application of basic programming.
DEFINITION: or >conjunction 1 used to link alternatives
Program:
100 IF 200 is separated by "or" then 400 is not the same as 500 by definition.
200 DATA “lover = a person having a sexual or romantic relationship with another.”
300 IF 400 and 500 differ GOTO 900
.
400 DATA “sexual: relating to the instincts and activities connected with physical attraction or intimate physical contact between individuals.”
500 DATA “romantic: inclined towards or suggestive of love or romance.”
600 DATA “relationship: an emotional and sexual association between two people.”
700 DATA “emotional: 1 relating to the emotions. 2 arousing or showing emotion. 3 easily affected by or readily displaying emotion.”
750 DATA “mate = the sexual partner of an animal.”
760 DATA “animal = 1 a living organism which feeds on organic matter, has specialized sense organs and nervous system, and is able to move about and to respond rapidly to stimuli. 2 a mammal, as opposed to a bird, reptile, fish, or insect.
800 DATA “partner: either of two people doing something as a couple or pair.”
900 DATA “fling: 1 a short period of enjoyment or wild behavior. 2 a short sexual relationship.”
901 Y = YES
902 N = NO
910 LINE INPUT “enter Y or N”
920 IF “Y” GOTO
930 IF “N” GOTO
940
950
960 ~ Maggie 9/11/08
NEVER POSTED
Stirring the pot of cutout nouns, verbs, adverbs, adjectives, et al, I am left to ponder riddles of the what to do if in fact I should do anything. A name had been given by another which bears no merit in my eyes, yet the subject matter does. What is in a name? Value! Me likes not the name as it is viewed as invalid on this side of the coin. It is as if dead. Where lies the individuality of the label? There is none. Tis just another vegetable. Once eaten or rotted, it will be discarded as waste through a bowel movement or will be used as fertilizer for soil. Back to the matter...
What is the matter? Decisions. Decisions. Decisions! Even not choosing to decide is a decision by default. However, why lay claim to the words? Nay! Let it be on another even if the time comes for sock puppets to place the words to form agreement. Be they words in question form to yes or no. Will it come to that? IF I choose to let it all slide–leave things as they are, will the end still be the same? What do I see for the future? I see three possibilities...
#3 - Leaving things as they are will eventually result in #1 as a drift will occur
#2 - Two people coming together and making a go of it which leaves many possibilities open
#1 - Dissolution
What value do I see in him? I see freedom, understanding, acceptance, pleasure, adventure, kindness, honesty to a degree, but not quite full, playfulness, affection, sharing, caring, art, learning, teaching, and the gaining of new experiences.
On the down side or perhaps it has yet to be discovered is his value of me. I cannot quite quantify or even qualify it nor does he speak of it in good form. However, if I had to guess, I would say it does in fact exist, but the level is marked the same as the other insignificant others. There is no special nature.
To create in solid form that what I wish would give it life. However, I shall not make the creation, but will question it to self as I have and laid the foundation of the possibility within self as to the commencement of the act. Alas, all I can do is view my first writ with merit of the invitation. I am a planner and a doer. Shall we go ahead?
Ah hell! To bother with the physical in all its shallow nature. Held in prison form. Free–like wind upon water rippling waves, wondering leaves–leaves hair flying back–back to see all things at one time from a standpoint of an observer of a macrocosm. ~ Arachne ~ November 4, 2008
Words contain a great deal of power. Embedded are these were yours. Tis of the three that thou hast stated that saddens me so. The drug induced fog blunted the words so that the sharp content did not hit just then. But lo today those words screamed in mine ears so loudly I thought I would go deaf.
Had I not pursued you, I would have been the EXACT words you uttered.
With all my love~
Arachne
When you called and we spoke the other day, you stated that a potato or potatoes are “one week flings.” Today those words came and bit me in the ass. Had my love for you not pursued you, I too would have been a “one week fling.” It is of my nature of explore values as it had been almost a year ago. Perhaps my value has gone up by some degree or I have become a one year fling. Now you know why I questioned the value of “lover” and its definition.
Pappy and Peaches words came back to bite me. Peter Pappy said I was “sport fucked” and Peter Peaches said something to the effect of me being your “fling.” My male friend’s words hurt me, but they told what they saw from a man’s perspective. Odd that you should call your S***wood lovers (potatoes) “flings.” Where lies the value of fruitless sex? Is any love gained or is it just immediate pleasure and a feeding of ego? Again I question what is a lover? What am I to you?
DISCUSSIONS WITH PAPPY
Thank goodness I never stabbed the sucker as good friends are hard to come by. A good friend will sure as shit open your eyes to truth and he is a good friend. Oh yeah it is set in stone and rubber stamped that we will only be friends for life. My knife makes sure of that.
Yesterday he was being the man with the hatpin busting my bubble, but I realized today that he was right. When he called me earlier today, I told him that he was right. His sorry ass could not believe that I took his words to heart, but hell, right is right. His words rang in my ear: SPORT et cetera! I kind of thought so and I should have known better. I am going to bend his damned hatpin! Why did I have to listen to him?
Granted he is sorry he busted my bubble and he did try to patch what he said yesterday, but fuggheadaboudit as the words were already spilled and I had somewhat drawn the same conclusion. All in all he deserves a good slap on the back of the head and a hug.
I wonder if he said that shit on purpose yesterday knowing it would get to me at some point. Nah. He was too "REALLY?" today. Well now that he has me all bummed out, he is going to come see me tomorrow. Whoot whoot. Is he looking for the face of doom and gloom?
I shall curse him again by stating his book will not be finished until his death occurs and thus he will not reap the benefits of it all. He hates when I say that! One good round deserves another. What are friends for? ~ Arachne ~ August 9, 2008 @ 7:03 p.m. EST
LOVER: Word & Logic By Definition Program
I am rusty in my application of basic programming.
DEFINITION: or >conjunction 1 used to link alternatives
Program:
100 IF 200 is separated by "or" then 400 is not the same as 500 by definition.
200 DATA “lover = a person having a sexual or romantic relationship with another.”
300 IF 400 and 500 differ GOTO 900
.
400 DATA “sexual: relating to the instincts and activities connected with physical attraction or intimate physical contact between individuals.”
500 DATA “romantic: inclined towards or suggestive of love or romance.”
600 DATA “relationship: an emotional and sexual association between two people.”
700 DATA “emotional: 1 relating to the emotions. 2 arousing or showing emotion. 3 easily affected by or readily displaying emotion.”
750 DATA “mate = the sexual partner of an animal.”
760 DATA “animal = 1 a living organism which feeds on organic matter, has specialized sense organs and nervous system, and is able to move about and to respond rapidly to stimuli. 2 a mammal, as opposed to a bird, reptile, fish, or insect.
800 DATA “partner: either of two people doing something as a couple or pair.”
900 DATA “fling: 1 a short period of enjoyment or wild behavior. 2 a short sexual relationship.”
901 Y = YES
902 N = NO
910 LINE INPUT “enter Y or N”
920 IF “Y” GOTO
930 IF “N” GOTO
940
950
960 ~ Maggie 9/11/08
NEVER POSTED
Stirring the pot of cutout nouns, verbs, adverbs, adjectives, et al, I am left to ponder riddles of the what to do if in fact I should do anything. A name had been given by another which bears no merit in my eyes, yet the subject matter does. What is in a name? Value! Me likes not the name as it is viewed as invalid on this side of the coin. It is as if dead. Where lies the individuality of the label? There is none. Tis just another vegetable. Once eaten or rotted, it will be discarded as waste through a bowel movement or will be used as fertilizer for soil. Back to the matter...
What is the matter? Decisions. Decisions. Decisions! Even not choosing to decide is a decision by default. However, why lay claim to the words? Nay! Let it be on another even if the time comes for sock puppets to place the words to form agreement. Be they words in question form to yes or no. Will it come to that? IF I choose to let it all slide–leave things as they are, will the end still be the same? What do I see for the future? I see three possibilities...
#3 - Leaving things as they are will eventually result in #1 as a drift will occur
#2 - Two people coming together and making a go of it which leaves many possibilities open
#1 - Dissolution
What value do I see in him? I see freedom, understanding, acceptance, pleasure, adventure, kindness, honesty to a degree, but not quite full, playfulness, affection, sharing, caring, art, learning, teaching, and the gaining of new experiences.
On the down side or perhaps it has yet to be discovered is his value of me. I cannot quite quantify or even qualify it nor does he speak of it in good form. However, if I had to guess, I would say it does in fact exist, but the level is marked the same as the other insignificant others. There is no special nature.
To create in solid form that what I wish would give it life. However, I shall not make the creation, but will question it to self as I have and laid the foundation of the possibility within self as to the commencement of the act. Alas, all I can do is view my first writ with merit of the invitation. I am a planner and a doer. Shall we go ahead?
Ah hell! To bother with the physical in all its shallow nature. Held in prison form. Free–like wind upon water rippling waves, wondering leaves–leaves hair flying back–back to see all things at one time from a standpoint of an observer of a macrocosm. ~ Arachne ~ November 4, 2008
Note from the dead~
Although the writing is dark, today was SUNSHINE beautiful and brilliant! A better day could not be had. If I were to die at this moment, I would die smiling!
NOTE: The woman who created the note in my idea was a woman wrongly accused of witchcraft. Upon hearing her sentence, she chooses to create a paranoia within the judge so that in madness he would kill himself to hunt her down as she now bewitched him. She knew her body would be left unburied as an example to others. It is with this in mind that she draws his attention to her rotting maggot eaten void of eyes corpse. In his power and piety, he had not taken any notice to her corpse before reading the letter. However, as if a voice came from the grave for him to look, he looked and saw what only he could see...a vision of her watching him. You see, he created what was in his accusation and judgement, and she in turn created that which she was accused of being. Of course the story could be elaborated upon using more graphics, but I am lazy. It plays out rather nicely in my head.
COURTROOM:
Defendant: Thou hast found me guilty of a crime that I have not committed and thou hast sentenced me to death. Tis my final request to have but a parchment, a quill, and some ink to leave my last words behind me.
Delivered to the judge five days later...
No sentence rendered shall cease my life. A punishment thou say to tear the breath from my lungs or spill the blood from mine body? Fool! You unleash the captive in the capsule, but yet for thy good deed, thy conscious upon mine corpse whose life thou believes thou hast taken bears heavy on thee as thou lives. The power and happiness that thou thinks thou holds are but vapors quickly escaping the pot and melding with all that is. Thy brain squirms like the maggots that feed upon my rotting corpse which thou hast chosen to leave in the square as an example. Aye! A reminder eats away at thee. Am I over thy shoulder this moment as thou reads my words? Look to the square and see my void sockets stare into thee! I promise to be watching thy every move and cursing thy wretched life. Thou wilt twist uneasy in thy grand bed as in thy dreams thou sees my empty sockets burning holes in thy soul.
Ah, but this is not me–nay! Tis but a seed planted deep in thy mind to twist thee to form. My how it grows and eats at thee like a cancer. Tis thine own thoughts! Thine own creation. I only write of it, but thou wilt give it life. To this I promise. Thou wilt think of me as thou knots thy noose. Thou shalt scurry to find an object to stand upon and to hang thy rope upon, Dost thou think that thou shalt have thy revenge on me now? Pray you now thou can find my guilt upon these words where innocence laid before thee in the prior. ~ Maggie ~ Penned 11/04/08 prior to 3:00 p.m. EST
NOTE: The woman who created the note in my idea was a woman wrongly accused of witchcraft. Upon hearing her sentence, she chooses to create a paranoia within the judge so that in madness he would kill himself to hunt her down as she now bewitched him. She knew her body would be left unburied as an example to others. It is with this in mind that she draws his attention to her rotting maggot eaten void of eyes corpse. In his power and piety, he had not taken any notice to her corpse before reading the letter. However, as if a voice came from the grave for him to look, he looked and saw what only he could see...a vision of her watching him. You see, he created what was in his accusation and judgement, and she in turn created that which she was accused of being. Of course the story could be elaborated upon using more graphics, but I am lazy. It plays out rather nicely in my head.
COURTROOM:
Defendant: Thou hast found me guilty of a crime that I have not committed and thou hast sentenced me to death. Tis my final request to have but a parchment, a quill, and some ink to leave my last words behind me.
Delivered to the judge five days later...
No sentence rendered shall cease my life. A punishment thou say to tear the breath from my lungs or spill the blood from mine body? Fool! You unleash the captive in the capsule, but yet for thy good deed, thy conscious upon mine corpse whose life thou believes thou hast taken bears heavy on thee as thou lives. The power and happiness that thou thinks thou holds are but vapors quickly escaping the pot and melding with all that is. Thy brain squirms like the maggots that feed upon my rotting corpse which thou hast chosen to leave in the square as an example. Aye! A reminder eats away at thee. Am I over thy shoulder this moment as thou reads my words? Look to the square and see my void sockets stare into thee! I promise to be watching thy every move and cursing thy wretched life. Thou wilt twist uneasy in thy grand bed as in thy dreams thou sees my empty sockets burning holes in thy soul.
Ah, but this is not me–nay! Tis but a seed planted deep in thy mind to twist thee to form. My how it grows and eats at thee like a cancer. Tis thine own thoughts! Thine own creation. I only write of it, but thou wilt give it life. To this I promise. Thou wilt think of me as thou knots thy noose. Thou shalt scurry to find an object to stand upon and to hang thy rope upon, Dost thou think that thou shalt have thy revenge on me now? Pray you now thou can find my guilt upon these words where innocence laid before thee in the prior. ~ Maggie ~ Penned 11/04/08 prior to 3:00 p.m. EST
Happiness Values
I do note things in a need versus want scenario and in doing so, it came upon me that I already have all that I need in life. There are wants, but they are non-material and cannot be bought. However, I do value them above all else. It is nice to know my wants do not have price tags nor material value. Then again it is also nice to know that I do not need these non-material forms to be whole or to maintain my life. It surely was odd to contemplate values today with such clarity. Perhaps it was the rays of the sun shining through the clouds, the lady bugs dancing about, or the look Charlie gave me when he noted that I was deep in thought. “You are a deep lady” he stated. “Are you happy?” I asked. “Charlie, where lies value?” “In heath” he replied. ~ Maggie ~ Penned prior to 3:00 p.m. EST November 4, 2008
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Any takers for the furtherance of this writ? SUBJECT: Anarchy
HIM: well in a lawless society i would be free to stalk you, break into your house and find out everything about you, wait inside your house after eating eveything in it, doing a bowl of crack and contemplate how i was going to beat your brains out with a cool assault tool i made using anarchist cookbook. after i beat your IQ down a few notches i would move on to the next shmuck that i fancied. after i rob you of everything you own and sell it on e-bay. still attracted to anarchy? hope not.
ME: Yea to anarchy...
YES I AM STILL INTERESTED IN ANARCHY. Do you honestly believe that the majority of people have the values that you give yourself in the anarchy scenario? To believe in such a flight of fantasy as what you portray is lunacy! In the ideal anarchy, you would not have had the opportunity to break into my house as my neighbors would be watching out for me and I for them. As for you stalking me, buddy I would be on you like white on rice. I pay attention to shit like that and pretty soon you would notice that I am stalking you. How would that make you feel?
Anarchy does not equate to chaos. If you have heard of game theory and the tit for tat and two tit for tat strategy, you would understand how it works. The two for one is better as it gives the benefit of the doubt as a first offense may be an error. However, once doubt has been removed...you are nailed by at least one person. If the process is a repeat process, you will then alienate yourself to all those around you. Would you like that? (FYI: http://www.abc.net.au/science/slab/tittat/story.htm)
Feel free to respond. I dare you. No. I double dare you. BTW, do use merit when responding as I will look to poke holes in your words. You have my word on that.
~ Maggie
*NOVEMBER 3rd, 2008 ~ He has not responded as of yet. Buck, buck, buck akkk.
ME: Yea to anarchy...
YES I AM STILL INTERESTED IN ANARCHY. Do you honestly believe that the majority of people have the values that you give yourself in the anarchy scenario? To believe in such a flight of fantasy as what you portray is lunacy! In the ideal anarchy, you would not have had the opportunity to break into my house as my neighbors would be watching out for me and I for them. As for you stalking me, buddy I would be on you like white on rice. I pay attention to shit like that and pretty soon you would notice that I am stalking you. How would that make you feel?
Anarchy does not equate to chaos. If you have heard of game theory and the tit for tat and two tit for tat strategy, you would understand how it works. The two for one is better as it gives the benefit of the doubt as a first offense may be an error. However, once doubt has been removed...you are nailed by at least one person. If the process is a repeat process, you will then alienate yourself to all those around you. Would you like that? (FYI: http://www.abc.net.au/science/slab/tittat/story.htm)
Feel free to respond. I dare you. No. I double dare you. BTW, do use merit when responding as I will look to poke holes in your words. You have my word on that.
~ Maggie
*NOVEMBER 3rd, 2008 ~ He has not responded as of yet. Buck, buck, buck akkk.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
True Hearts Lie In Tears...
Ah, the joy of friendship and the warmth that it brings. A true and fine heart of love in pure form. It is simply essence. Simply beautiful. The words strike a melody orchestrated in fine tune with human vibrations. Did you feel my heart? I have been a bad friend forgive me! The words written of in regard to not seeing or speaking with a friend does not diminish the friendship are mine and was sent back to me in excellent form. Friendship does warm the heart over all things as it is TRUE and unpretentious. What do we seek from one another? The sharing of color...the time when we blend yellow and red to form orange or red and blue to form purple? We then paint our world. What is our world from a philosophic standpoint? We, as creators, should know. Define and redefine over time...escape back into self...REALIZATION!
To cry out of emotion because of words spoken or written in honest and true form are best. Does that make romantic hearts? To some perhaps. Then again, what is romantic? It is defined different than it should be. Too honed to sex rather than merit with lines...fine lines joined specifically for poets, writers, and artists who understand the just difference. The just cause and causation and manifestation of real love.
How pure is pure? When seeking nothing but color from white which is light there is a spectrum. Within that spectrum lies purity and real love of the romantic because it is not superficial. Like a wound from a saber, it is deep and depth is always sought as it is greater than the shallow. Can the heart be found with a piece of cotton or a string when it cannot penetrate as the saber? Aye! However, one would have to learn the trade of understanding to find the value...the depth. Tis all a matter of perception. I have objectively looked over the words in type and hand form and found value to which I am subjective.
If the heart is an instrument of stringed precision, the chords have been struck in a mighty way awakening the sleep to see the greater light. It is good to be reminded of the real now and again by those that truly love us in kind for no reason other than they can. Within our bond lies humanity. To this I cry. ~ Maggie ~ September 24, 2008 @ 7:22 p.m. EST
I dedicate this to my sweet comrade.
To cry out of emotion because of words spoken or written in honest and true form are best. Does that make romantic hearts? To some perhaps. Then again, what is romantic? It is defined different than it should be. Too honed to sex rather than merit with lines...fine lines joined specifically for poets, writers, and artists who understand the just difference. The just cause and causation and manifestation of real love.
How pure is pure? When seeking nothing but color from white which is light there is a spectrum. Within that spectrum lies purity and real love of the romantic because it is not superficial. Like a wound from a saber, it is deep and depth is always sought as it is greater than the shallow. Can the heart be found with a piece of cotton or a string when it cannot penetrate as the saber? Aye! However, one would have to learn the trade of understanding to find the value...the depth. Tis all a matter of perception. I have objectively looked over the words in type and hand form and found value to which I am subjective.
If the heart is an instrument of stringed precision, the chords have been struck in a mighty way awakening the sleep to see the greater light. It is good to be reminded of the real now and again by those that truly love us in kind for no reason other than they can. Within our bond lies humanity. To this I cry. ~ Maggie ~ September 24, 2008 @ 7:22 p.m. EST
I dedicate this to my sweet comrade.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
My Ex-Husband~
Normally I don't answer the phone if I don't recognize the number, but answer it I did. When he stated his name, I was like "Paul who?" At which point he gives me his last name. He called because he wants two things that are his and asked if I could return them to him. To this I agreed. He then stated that he no longer lives in the same town as I and asked if he could call me again. The simple answer to that question was a flat NO. I will find that which he asked for and give them to his sister, but I want no part of him. Do I hate or dislike the man? No. I absolutely have NO feelings toward him whatsoever. It happens. ~ Maggie ~ September 20, 2008 @ 8:28 p.m. EST
NOTE: My ex-husband was my first love. We dated from the time I was 17 until I was 21. He dumped me for someone else who wound up dumping him. As I held no ill feeling for him, we did communicate as friends even after I moved to NY. We did not meet again until 2002. In 2003 we married. In 2005 I filed for divorce and it was granted in 2006. I had not heard from the bugger since I threw his ass out in 2005 and I don't expect to hear from him again. Tis best that way. ~ September 20, 2008
NOTE: My ex-husband was my first love. We dated from the time I was 17 until I was 21. He dumped me for someone else who wound up dumping him. As I held no ill feeling for him, we did communicate as friends even after I moved to NY. We did not meet again until 2002. In 2003 we married. In 2005 I filed for divorce and it was granted in 2006. I had not heard from the bugger since I threw his ass out in 2005 and I don't expect to hear from him again. Tis best that way. ~ September 20, 2008
Good Intent With Positive Vibrations = Love
When an act is done with good intent in a positive manner, love is developed in a rational way. A love that can be spoken of freely as it is not pretentious as neither party seeks to gain anything.. There are many levels of the “L” word, but many over use the term or simply do not mean what they say. It is called exploitation of meaning.
Last eve, I think it was last eve, based on the words of a wise and wonderful (married) woman, I freely told her that although I don’t know her and probably never will, I love her. What evoked this emotion? A sharing of the best kind. We were two humans being two humans with each other. This type of love is long lasting and real unlike that of Eros. Granted there is no physical contact other than the reaching out in the virtual world and connecting via words. It is the words that were transmitted that provided us each with a greater something in equal parts to equal parties. I guess what I am saying is that to love, one does not have to see the individual. The feeling evoked is what makes it so and what keeps it in your heart.
Friendship has great rewards and should be valued in high regard. It is with this intent and positive vibration that change will occur. I will make love real in the way it should be and not the way it is deemed. For at that point, I can say it with full heart “I love you” and for no other reason than the fact that I do. What are friends for? ~ Maggie ~ September 20, 2008 @ 4:44 p.m. EST
Last eve, I think it was last eve, based on the words of a wise and wonderful (married) woman, I freely told her that although I don’t know her and probably never will, I love her. What evoked this emotion? A sharing of the best kind. We were two humans being two humans with each other. This type of love is long lasting and real unlike that of Eros. Granted there is no physical contact other than the reaching out in the virtual world and connecting via words. It is the words that were transmitted that provided us each with a greater something in equal parts to equal parties. I guess what I am saying is that to love, one does not have to see the individual. The feeling evoked is what makes it so and what keeps it in your heart.
Friendship has great rewards and should be valued in high regard. It is with this intent and positive vibration that change will occur. I will make love real in the way it should be and not the way it is deemed. For at that point, I can say it with full heart “I love you” and for no other reason than the fact that I do. What are friends for? ~ Maggie ~ September 20, 2008 @ 4:44 p.m. EST
Friday, September 19, 2008
Unus Vivus
Connected to self in all directions
Oh the feeling the cold of the water
Splash upon me...it is time!
All switches come in on and off positions
As all is yin and yang
Tactical and practical
Where lies my position best?
It lies in within the part that is disconnected
Rely on thy foundation I say to self
Aye, I will ~ Maggie ~ September 19, 2008 @ 10:09 p.m. EST
In nomine magni dei nostri satanas. Introibo ad altare domini inferi. Ad eum qui laefificat meum. Adjutorium nostrum in nomine domini inferi. Qui regit terram.
I AM JOKING AREN'T I? Be thee my judge.
Oh the feeling the cold of the water
Splash upon me...it is time!
All switches come in on and off positions
As all is yin and yang
Tactical and practical
Where lies my position best?
It lies in within the part that is disconnected
Rely on thy foundation I say to self
Aye, I will ~ Maggie ~ September 19, 2008 @ 10:09 p.m. EST
In nomine magni dei nostri satanas. Introibo ad altare domini inferi. Ad eum qui laefificat meum. Adjutorium nostrum in nomine domini inferi. Qui regit terram.
I AM JOKING AREN'T I? Be thee my judge.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
When one does not dream in the night...
It is a sad state that my night dreams are squelched by the pills that I must drop. Drop them I do so that I may find sleep as sleep does not find me. Aye, days could go by and I would not know as I would be too busy absorbing, creating, interacting, reacting, unconscious and conscious...too busy to note the passing of time. When time stops supposedly making way for dreams, it happens not. My dreams occur during my waking hours and come to me quite vivid in color and tone. There are times when I interact with my dream and it interacts with me. The funny thing is that within the dream of day, the normal surroundings do not disappear. Nay! They lie there as they always do yet I see beyond what is into something else that lives. Sometimes the dream is a like a play in which I see characters and listen to dialogue in another world or this world in another time and space. It is as though the performance that is viewed is acted out for me as though I were a great patron of the arts. The surprise of the performance is that I can participate. Do I create the scenes? I can’t really say that I do as they just come to me and show themselves. Often I run for a sheet of paper to capture the happenings, but as the happenings do not stop, I can only capture but a bit.
Dreams are not limited to the visions of love, beauty, and stories. The dreams include talking to the birds, wind, sky, water, clouds, rain, sun, moon, grass, rocks et al. Am I dreaming at this point? No. I am doing. I am doing what I feel is natural and beautiful. During these times there is great love and beauty, but the story is fact. I do these things. Perhaps what I put out is returned to me through my daydreams visions of story book proportions. What must I do to get to the epic tale? I suppose that too will come naturally. It is only hoped that in some form or another, I can share my world with another or others in real-life form via the spoken word and warmth. Then again, perhaps that is not meant to be. Once again I state, for all things a purpose and a purpose for all things. I shall find my way. Better yet, my dreams will find me. ~ Maggie ~ September 18, 2008 @ 6:26 p.m. EST
Dreams are not limited to the visions of love, beauty, and stories. The dreams include talking to the birds, wind, sky, water, clouds, rain, sun, moon, grass, rocks et al. Am I dreaming at this point? No. I am doing. I am doing what I feel is natural and beautiful. During these times there is great love and beauty, but the story is fact. I do these things. Perhaps what I put out is returned to me through my daydreams visions of story book proportions. What must I do to get to the epic tale? I suppose that too will come naturally. It is only hoped that in some form or another, I can share my world with another or others in real-life form via the spoken word and warmth. Then again, perhaps that is not meant to be. Once again I state, for all things a purpose and a purpose for all things. I shall find my way. Better yet, my dreams will find me. ~ Maggie ~ September 18, 2008 @ 6:26 p.m. EST
The Greatest of Loves and Beauties...
The greatest of loves and beauties lies within the mind and the imagination. The scope of which is unparallel. What keeps me from the total incorporation of the land on the other side is my physical form. Alas, in the physical I am solid, but not as I am but atoms as are all things. The escape into fantasy brings tears of joy and tears of sorrow but with the greatest of passion. Unfortunately, I cannot find that passion in this sphere as it escapes me so. Perhaps the physical is a curse to educate via lessons well served and learned through our own endeavors. We are the creators of our past and future. You may ask about the our present. Frankly, the present never is as it falls behind even as we recognize its existence...it is past. The moment is so transient it might not well exist. However, it does. The fact that we remember its passing even if the memory is sub-conscious, it lies within us and is part of our makeup.
The love and beauty that lies in my head will one day find me without my solidity and I will so gladly welcome it. Perhaps I will be that which I was within and above the snail. I know not what I was, but I was. Oh joy! To be as such again releasing me from that which is. I welcome thee oh love...I welcome thee oh beauty. Take me! ~ Maggie ~ September 18, 2008 @ 5:21 p.m. EST
NOTE: It should be noted that I could never release the full scope of my imagination as it is too vast for parchment.
The love and beauty that lies in my head will one day find me without my solidity and I will so gladly welcome it. Perhaps I will be that which I was within and above the snail. I know not what I was, but I was. Oh joy! To be as such again releasing me from that which is. I welcome thee oh love...I welcome thee oh beauty. Take me! ~ Maggie ~ September 18, 2008 @ 5:21 p.m. EST
NOTE: It should be noted that I could never release the full scope of my imagination as it is too vast for parchment.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Correspondence between "Alice" and I BEFORE the crash of 2008
Correspondence between "Alice" and I BEFORE the crash of 2008
by Arachne on Thursday, September 16, 2008 at 8:01pm
FROM ME TO ALICE: Just out of curiosity, you too see a stock market crash in the near future don't you? In your eyes, do you see it as worse than that of '29? I do. ~ Maggie * Sep 16, 2008 6:08pm
FROM ALICE TO ME: I think there's going to be hell to pay, yes, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who sees a 'crash' coming. It will be interesting this time around as most of the mfg that was once done in the US has been outsourced, including raw materials (How much steel does the US make these days?) The fact that the World's money system is so interwoven could either compound the severity of whatever 'depression' comes about or could, in fact, soften the effect. One thing is for certain, however, that America will not come out on 'top' this time. Our government and our corporations owe too many foreign banks too much money. When "someone" forecloses on the Federal Reserve it is not going to be pleasant. What is not being bandied about right now is the fact that China cannot continue to 'grow'; problems with the US are going to tear into that economy and the dominoes will likely fall from there. The only really 'mature' gov't that will be able to take advantage of a world depression will probably be Russia. Their military is not over-extended; they have strong alliances with many countries that we have pissed off; their banks own a lot of portfolios that originated in the USA. If the American middle and lower classes are going to be able to save themselves through this, we all need to come together as small, sustainable groups and carry each other through. And I certainly don't mean religious groups, though there will be those, no doubt. We need to be able to grow food, purify water, build a power grid and create renewable energy, get rid of garbage and sewage - all the things that gov't does for us now that they won't be able to do when they are bankrupt. Kinda makes good, old-fashioned 'Communism' look pretty appealing right about now, doesn't it? * Sep 16, 2008 6:33pm
FROM ME TO ALICE: Thank you for your response as it is greatly appreciated.
Anyone who knows a tad of history or economics will see it. Then again, who are those people? Are we talking about those who are plugged in or those who have unplugged? As you know, manufacturing has moved because labor is cheap aborad. Also, it also fuels fire within Americans who believe that foreigners have stolen American jobs which is really not the case, but it does cause division of American against American of that race. The corporations are greedy that is why they have moved for cheap labor. As for the state of the United States, it has become a service industry and that is about it. We don't produce, we just consume.
This is what I see coming. Companies are going to bottom out due to various reasons and the dollar value will drop (as it has been). Loans will be called in from the top to the bottom which means that all will suffer. The middle class and some of the upper class are going to lose their shorts. Chances are the poor are not indebted to the creditors, however, will they have a job or will a welfare system be able to support those without means? Also, what about the value of money held in bank accounts? It is just numbers and NOT cash. Will ALL of it be available to the depositors? The answer is NO.
The corporations that are able to maintain themselves will buy up the devalued stock, take over the company(ies) and release a majority of the employees. In order to feed themselves, people will revert to theft (providing someone is producing and selling food). There will be an increase in crime be it violent or otherwise.
Russia...interesting that you should bring Russia up. They do have natural resources, but they too are in a capitalist state. Where has America not touched? As for China goes, their elite have rather large investments in the United States as do other countries. The Fed could print more bucks, but what would the value be? Would one need a wheelbarrow of cash to buy a loaf of bread?
Actually, what would be ideal is a state of anarchy, but not one of chaos. Anarchy is not chaos unless you are a fanatic and then it is a gap for another form of dictatorship. A self-reliant global tribal system of united humans would be ideal, but I am then talking about utopia. In utopia, people help each other. There is no police, no military, no war, no hunger. Do you believe me to be an idealist? ~ Maggie * Sep 17, 2008 2:57pm
FROM ALICE TO ME: Idealism has flowed through my veins for as long as I can remember; I've long believed that a 'revolution' of sorts will be the only way back out of the pit. And you are correct: Anarchy does not have to be chaos. I do believe, however, that some sort of 'government' is necessary, at least guidelines that people have to follow. Americans have too long been told that they are 'free to do whatever ...' which is simply not true. This is the part of Ron Paul's message that I cannot stomach. Most people have common sense and can develop a sense of common good, but there are many who are already too tribal, too self-centered, too religion-centric to be able to live in a true Libertarian society. Those people will always pray on those whom they consider to be depraved unbelievers, and there will always be enmity between groups because of this.
I think this is why I am so intrigued by Barack Obama. He's not the Messiah, certainly - that is a ludicrous statement. But he does have a very pragmatic, mature and idealistic vision of what America could be if we all grew up and cooperated with each other. Respect for all other people is a large part of his message, and I do not believe that the religionists can let go of their delusions and show respect for any but 'their own'.
It may be that this Nation needs to be divided somehow, where those of one particular slant can govern themselves without interference from the "other side". I think that is possible, except for the money-mongers and their minion (the lobbyists) who would fight tooth and nail to prevent a peaceful settlement of ideals. Sadly, in so-called conservative America, it has become something of an "all-or-nothing" mindset, and as a group these people seem willing to destroy the 'whole' rather than co-exist. A lot of their fanaticism is driven and fired by the MSM (who are owned by conservatives) and by Wall Street - also owned by the conservative lobby. * Sep 17, 2008 4:22pm
by Arachne on Thursday, September 16, 2008 at 8:01pm
FROM ME TO ALICE: Just out of curiosity, you too see a stock market crash in the near future don't you? In your eyes, do you see it as worse than that of '29? I do. ~ Maggie * Sep 16, 2008 6:08pm
FROM ALICE TO ME: I think there's going to be hell to pay, yes, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who sees a 'crash' coming. It will be interesting this time around as most of the mfg that was once done in the US has been outsourced, including raw materials (How much steel does the US make these days?) The fact that the World's money system is so interwoven could either compound the severity of whatever 'depression' comes about or could, in fact, soften the effect. One thing is for certain, however, that America will not come out on 'top' this time. Our government and our corporations owe too many foreign banks too much money. When "someone" forecloses on the Federal Reserve it is not going to be pleasant. What is not being bandied about right now is the fact that China cannot continue to 'grow'; problems with the US are going to tear into that economy and the dominoes will likely fall from there. The only really 'mature' gov't that will be able to take advantage of a world depression will probably be Russia. Their military is not over-extended; they have strong alliances with many countries that we have pissed off; their banks own a lot of portfolios that originated in the USA. If the American middle and lower classes are going to be able to save themselves through this, we all need to come together as small, sustainable groups and carry each other through. And I certainly don't mean religious groups, though there will be those, no doubt. We need to be able to grow food, purify water, build a power grid and create renewable energy, get rid of garbage and sewage - all the things that gov't does for us now that they won't be able to do when they are bankrupt. Kinda makes good, old-fashioned 'Communism' look pretty appealing right about now, doesn't it? * Sep 16, 2008 6:33pm
FROM ME TO ALICE: Thank you for your response as it is greatly appreciated.
Anyone who knows a tad of history or economics will see it. Then again, who are those people? Are we talking about those who are plugged in or those who have unplugged? As you know, manufacturing has moved because labor is cheap aborad. Also, it also fuels fire within Americans who believe that foreigners have stolen American jobs which is really not the case, but it does cause division of American against American of that race. The corporations are greedy that is why they have moved for cheap labor. As for the state of the United States, it has become a service industry and that is about it. We don't produce, we just consume.
This is what I see coming. Companies are going to bottom out due to various reasons and the dollar value will drop (as it has been). Loans will be called in from the top to the bottom which means that all will suffer. The middle class and some of the upper class are going to lose their shorts. Chances are the poor are not indebted to the creditors, however, will they have a job or will a welfare system be able to support those without means? Also, what about the value of money held in bank accounts? It is just numbers and NOT cash. Will ALL of it be available to the depositors? The answer is NO.
The corporations that are able to maintain themselves will buy up the devalued stock, take over the company(ies) and release a majority of the employees. In order to feed themselves, people will revert to theft (providing someone is producing and selling food). There will be an increase in crime be it violent or otherwise.
Russia...interesting that you should bring Russia up. They do have natural resources, but they too are in a capitalist state. Where has America not touched? As for China goes, their elite have rather large investments in the United States as do other countries. The Fed could print more bucks, but what would the value be? Would one need a wheelbarrow of cash to buy a loaf of bread?
Actually, what would be ideal is a state of anarchy, but not one of chaos. Anarchy is not chaos unless you are a fanatic and then it is a gap for another form of dictatorship. A self-reliant global tribal system of united humans would be ideal, but I am then talking about utopia. In utopia, people help each other. There is no police, no military, no war, no hunger. Do you believe me to be an idealist? ~ Maggie * Sep 17, 2008 2:57pm
FROM ALICE TO ME: Idealism has flowed through my veins for as long as I can remember; I've long believed that a 'revolution' of sorts will be the only way back out of the pit. And you are correct: Anarchy does not have to be chaos. I do believe, however, that some sort of 'government' is necessary, at least guidelines that people have to follow. Americans have too long been told that they are 'free to do whatever ...' which is simply not true. This is the part of Ron Paul's message that I cannot stomach. Most people have common sense and can develop a sense of common good, but there are many who are already too tribal, too self-centered, too religion-centric to be able to live in a true Libertarian society. Those people will always pray on those whom they consider to be depraved unbelievers, and there will always be enmity between groups because of this.
I think this is why I am so intrigued by Barack Obama. He's not the Messiah, certainly - that is a ludicrous statement. But he does have a very pragmatic, mature and idealistic vision of what America could be if we all grew up and cooperated with each other. Respect for all other people is a large part of his message, and I do not believe that the religionists can let go of their delusions and show respect for any but 'their own'.
It may be that this Nation needs to be divided somehow, where those of one particular slant can govern themselves without interference from the "other side". I think that is possible, except for the money-mongers and their minion (the lobbyists) who would fight tooth and nail to prevent a peaceful settlement of ideals. Sadly, in so-called conservative America, it has become something of an "all-or-nothing" mindset, and as a group these people seem willing to destroy the 'whole' rather than co-exist. A lot of their fanaticism is driven and fired by the MSM (who are owned by conservatives) and by Wall Street - also owned by the conservative lobby. * Sep 17, 2008 4:22pm
Sentimental Sediment
The sediment had not risen for it had not been disturbed for a bit
However, the stir caused the waters to cloud
And the stream bottom could not be observed
Sentimental is the sediment
Thus it should have laid resting
Tis my own folly that created the cloud
To folly once more
Once more
To lay it to rest
Albeit in the cold clear water
Warm water creates quickened particle movement ~ Arachne ~ 9/16/08 @ 4:10 PM
However, the stir caused the waters to cloud
And the stream bottom could not be observed
Sentimental is the sediment
Thus it should have laid resting
Tis my own folly that created the cloud
To folly once more
Once more
To lay it to rest
Albeit in the cold clear water
Warm water creates quickened particle movement ~ Arachne ~ 9/16/08 @ 4:10 PM
The Ideal of the Snail’s Compass
Sure I have been to see the snail, however, my form is unknown. How is it that I could observe from above and see it glide over and above the sea-foam green waters that do not conform to a regular wave motion but clash upon themselves like negatively reflected fives or Cs. Not only did I play witness to its movement from above, I was also privy to within. Why pray tell did the occupants dress in similar garb and why were there no individual shelters there?
I still remember the inner swirls of the shell and the rainbow or have you abalone features to it. What a wonderful display of color on not so white. Ah yes! Let me not forget the sky. Purple was its color which magnified the green foam waters. What did really escape my vision was the tower. Yes I did see it looming in the distance in all its splendid glory, but from no land did it come. Frankly, the tower with its Russian topped cap was more at smoke or lit mist in that it was not a solid object. Try as I might to glance ahead to see if a wall was attached, the vision was kept from me.
The snail, other than being large enough to hold a population of individuals, was just a snail. The birds on the other hand had an interesting feature in that they were rainbow colored gliders. Rainbow gliders who flapped not. I wonder if it is safe to say that land does not exist in this domain where the snail hails? It is only my observation to state that no land was seen. Then again was the snail merely a transport vehicle and hence the reason no shelters existed for the purpose of individual privacy?
If I, in whatever form that I may have been, was able to be without and within the snail, what might I have been? As I saw, I would assume that I had eyes to see. As I wondered and pondered, I assume that I had a brain to think. As I was within the snail, I was smaller than it was. As I was above it, perhaps I was flying. Then again, the bird of great size would not be able to enter within the snail nor were other birds observed within. Besides, how could I go from hovering above to hovering within without noting the penetration of the shell? Why was my presence not observed by the inhabitants who needed for nothing?
The vision came sometime ago, but the idea keeps returning. It is not only the idea, but also the vision as I remembered it. Memory - I did have a voice as I had asked to see more. Specifically, I wanted to see my way beyond the tower. However, my request only brought about the appearance of a bird/being in my path that completely obscured the vision.
Allow me to see it again! Return me there so that I may know more about that which I have described and more about that I which I am in the scope of it all. ~ Maggie ~ Penned Sept. 16, 2008 prior to 3:00 p.m. EST.
I still remember the inner swirls of the shell and the rainbow or have you abalone features to it. What a wonderful display of color on not so white. Ah yes! Let me not forget the sky. Purple was its color which magnified the green foam waters. What did really escape my vision was the tower. Yes I did see it looming in the distance in all its splendid glory, but from no land did it come. Frankly, the tower with its Russian topped cap was more at smoke or lit mist in that it was not a solid object. Try as I might to glance ahead to see if a wall was attached, the vision was kept from me.
The snail, other than being large enough to hold a population of individuals, was just a snail. The birds on the other hand had an interesting feature in that they were rainbow colored gliders. Rainbow gliders who flapped not. I wonder if it is safe to say that land does not exist in this domain where the snail hails? It is only my observation to state that no land was seen. Then again was the snail merely a transport vehicle and hence the reason no shelters existed for the purpose of individual privacy?
If I, in whatever form that I may have been, was able to be without and within the snail, what might I have been? As I saw, I would assume that I had eyes to see. As I wondered and pondered, I assume that I had a brain to think. As I was within the snail, I was smaller than it was. As I was above it, perhaps I was flying. Then again, the bird of great size would not be able to enter within the snail nor were other birds observed within. Besides, how could I go from hovering above to hovering within without noting the penetration of the shell? Why was my presence not observed by the inhabitants who needed for nothing?
The vision came sometime ago, but the idea keeps returning. It is not only the idea, but also the vision as I remembered it. Memory - I did have a voice as I had asked to see more. Specifically, I wanted to see my way beyond the tower. However, my request only brought about the appearance of a bird/being in my path that completely obscured the vision.
Allow me to see it again! Return me there so that I may know more about that which I have described and more about that I which I am in the scope of it all. ~ Maggie ~ Penned Sept. 16, 2008 prior to 3:00 p.m. EST.
Monday, September 15, 2008
I Named it Not~
Oh the naming! It needed a name, but I named it not. Through a volley of words a name was given by another. A name that I had to clarify and verify. Indeed I now know its precise meaning, but I did understand the word based on usage by others. However, what is the value? Would not comrade, friend, brother, (fellow) human, or pal have bore more merit? Me thinks yes. As those words do not contain within the definition of their name OR. When dealing with OR, I am looking at one thing or another as the word is either one thing or the anther, but it is NOT both. There is magick in words.
To settle on the definition is not in me, but friendship is. With friendship lies an everlasting bond of real love.
Of all things there is two sides
Love can go unloved
Friendship can go un-befriended
But if maintained within ONE
It becomes whole and held in heart
It is there that superficiality is diminished for depth ~ Maggie ~ Sept. 15, 2008 @ 7:53 p.m. EST
To settle on the definition is not in me, but friendship is. With friendship lies an everlasting bond of real love.
Of all things there is two sides
Love can go unloved
Friendship can go un-befriended
But if maintained within ONE
It becomes whole and held in heart
It is there that superficiality is diminished for depth ~ Maggie ~ Sept. 15, 2008 @ 7:53 p.m. EST
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Vulcan Sun
Radiant art thou of King of day
Hanging in majestic splendor for all to see
East to west you move lovingly
Casting warm shadows as you wander
Be thee high or be thee low
Thou art there!
Thou can even be seen as a reflection upon the moon
Wind of might hear my call
Bring love and peace to us all
None are greater and non are less
Whisper the words as you softly caress
Surround the walker, the rider, the runner
Astound the boater, the climber, the hunter
Earth, wind, water, fire, electric
All things grow from the womb ~ Maggie ~ Sept. 14, 2008 @ 11:01 p.m. EST
Hanging in majestic splendor for all to see
East to west you move lovingly
Casting warm shadows as you wander
Be thee high or be thee low
Thou art there!
Thou can even be seen as a reflection upon the moon
Wind of might hear my call
Bring love and peace to us all
None are greater and non are less
Whisper the words as you softly caress
Surround the walker, the rider, the runner
Astound the boater, the climber, the hunter
Earth, wind, water, fire, electric
All things grow from the womb ~ Maggie ~ Sept. 14, 2008 @ 11:01 p.m. EST
Self-Experiment
For this experiment, I use SELF. All too often I have relied on past events to adjust myself to one pain or another–fixing it so that a shut-off occurs and feelings are not had. Calling on past experience(s), the self connects with the greatest previous pain of the same course and then chooses to accept, ease, or erase the pain. This experiment will show me that I can remove the feeling of love. Sex and love are one and the same to me as to have sex without love is COLD. An experiment was performed on another to verify my assumption.
In this case I will remove the love factor and see if it has any affect on self. Will I be cold? How will my response be? Will the other notice? He named it and claimed it for what he sees it as, but when it is actually what he named it, will he like me? ~ Maggie ~ Penned prior to 3:00 p.m. EST September 14, 2008
NOTE: I did not do the experiment.
In this case I will remove the love factor and see if it has any affect on self. Will I be cold? How will my response be? Will the other notice? He named it and claimed it for what he sees it as, but when it is actually what he named it, will he like me? ~ Maggie ~ Penned prior to 3:00 p.m. EST September 14, 2008
NOTE: I did not do the experiment.
Sent to **** via e-mail on Saturday, January 3, 2009
Dear ****,
What you read was written after I saw you in August/September. Realize that I also saw you in October, November and December. The feelings and words are a story to myself that I had not typed until now. Many details are missing, but not forgotten. So that you know, I often write stories of my life to remind myself in hard copy of initial feelings and see if my feelings change over time in further literature. Then again, it sometimes transports me back to those initial feelings for examination/reflection. I guess you can say I am showing you my private journal. This was never going to make a blog as it was mine for me. I now share it with you.
My Story:
I am inside myself screaming my head off. The sheer volume is a release of sorts, but not that which I wish. Confusion is not present nor is hostility. What is present is the fruitless nature of it all. Fruitless in that nothing will become of it. It saddens me, but then again I knew before leaping. I saw. No it does not make me a fool for falling. How the hell am I supposed to learn if I don’t fall? Frankly, there is more to this than I am saying, but why should I bore you. Do you want to be bored? If you do read on as I will spill my guts.
Not too long ago, around the middle of July, I was off from home on a solo adventure. My adventure was to take in the beauty that I had seen a year earlier, but with a slightly different twist and a longer duration. It is my nature to go off and do as I wish and so it was done. As usual, nothing was really planned even when I got there. The event book was looked over and then lost (*edit-I found it.) as schedules do suck. To stumble across a matter of interest is far greater than to hone it to time constructs and decisions of this or that due to overlaps. Boo, hiss, and spit on that.
Upon my arrival, the first thing I did was set up my tent with the help of a sweet woman named Pearl. Upon its completion, I set myself into motion to explore my surroundings. Although I was only at it for a few hours, I had been up for several days and drove over nine hours to get there. Therefore, upon feeling a bit weary, I laid myself down within my tent only to wake to the rain coming in. After closing up, back to sleep I went until the following day.
When I woke and ventured out I had the opportunity to talk to folks I had not seen for a year and to also meet others. My time was spent wandering in and out of vendor areas, taking pictures, and stopping by when a workshop caught my ear. All was grand!
I believe I did this type of activity for two days, but then again I really don’t keep track of time. Books were brought with me so that I could wander off into another place while never leaving my site or my chair. Let me call that down time or brain adventure.
One night I remember going to the fire with John only to lose myself in the gazing of stars and the sparks of the fire that flew in a spiral manner above the main flame. It was not the event at the moment that held my mind, rather it was what was above that was shining brightly and calling me back to my tent to place to paper. Unfortunately, the ideas and feelings never made it beyond the spoken words that I spoke to myself within my confines. What can I say except that perhaps those words were never meant for paper.
I first saw him in a workshop, but as much as I did not want to see (hell I even removed my glasses), I absorbed him very silently remembering almost every detail of him. Although I cannot say with certainty when he invited me to his area (look for the dragon flag), I had no intention of going. My being was telling me steer clear and so I listened to self (*edit - I feared you (my feelings for you) hence the panic attacks.). Again time is an issue here. I remember seeing him walk by and we acknowledged each other with a nod. I was sitting in the grass with John discussing philosophy before heading off to the fire with him only to have my head send me back to camp. Remember I mentioned the stars called more loudly than the event?
Perhaps it was on the following day that he invited me to a BBQ that I had no intention of attending. Why? How would I know when 6:00 is? Besides, my being was saying - steer clear.
I remember that before I went off to read Virgil in the comfort of my chair, I was greatly entertained by K**** K**** with songs, jokes, and stories of pirates. My heart was so enjoying the moment as were all those who participated. To be honest, I don’t know how long that event lasted nor do I know at what time I went off to read, however, I was caught by he who caught my eye reading my book aloud and to myself. Oh the shock of it all. It was BBQ time and I followed him off to his camp to help with the fire.
There were six of us (Nomad, Liz, David, Adam, Me, Heather) attending the BBQ that evening and we were all buddies. Just a group of people hanging, talking, and sharing. I remember that he had gone off to do his job and Heather and I cleaned up and I put the fire out and went to clean myself off and change my clothes. Not for anything, but I was dirty from kneeling on the ground, breaking and chopping wood, and sweating profusely.
Upon cleaning myself and changing, off to the larger fire I went. It was not the grand fire, but it was a fire and I was wherever I was not looking for him and not really looking to be found. I just was there. What happened afterwards is that we did hook up and went to hang at his tent.
To my own words I did not listen “Follow your reason as the mind as the mind is greater than the body.” Why I did not listen to my head is because my heart was speaking as well. They (*edit - your being and my heart) kind of ganged up on my mind and thus my mind was overruled. What should be noted is that my mind knew something and was sending me flash words of warning. These flash words came based on data being absorbed at the moment, but did I listen to self? NO!
Regardless of going against myself and knowing that in the long run (which is really short) I would hurt myself. I can’t say that I would want to trash the experience. The experience was a good one and my time was filled with joy, play, and laughter. Regrettably, this was a limited venture. Fortunately, I would see him again in a few week’s time.
My venture to New York was two fold and he was the second fold as my daughter was the first. Spending time with him in real world was just as grand as it was in adventure world, but this too was a limited venture. The hurt in leaving made me want to hurry off as soon as possible so that I would not cry. I did cry though. I had also cried the night before as I truly felt heartsick.
To venture out again is coming up shortly, but I don’t want to leave with that sick feeling. Sure there is joy in the moment while there, but then the moment is gone and my truth comes up behind me and kicks me in the ass.
The truth is I want a partner for life–a person who is my friend and my mate. A person whom I can share my life and love with. A person with whom can share the same with me. Perhaps that is a great deal to seek in another and perhaps I will never find it. Then again it is all about risk–the risk is all or nothing.
In the words of Samuel Butler: It is better to have loved and lost than never to have lost at all. He and I will be friends. ~ Written in Early September 2008.
What you read was written after I saw you in August/September. Realize that I also saw you in October, November and December. The feelings and words are a story to myself that I had not typed until now. Many details are missing, but not forgotten. So that you know, I often write stories of my life to remind myself in hard copy of initial feelings and see if my feelings change over time in further literature. Then again, it sometimes transports me back to those initial feelings for examination/reflection. I guess you can say I am showing you my private journal. This was never going to make a blog as it was mine for me. I now share it with you.
My Story:
I am inside myself screaming my head off. The sheer volume is a release of sorts, but not that which I wish. Confusion is not present nor is hostility. What is present is the fruitless nature of it all. Fruitless in that nothing will become of it. It saddens me, but then again I knew before leaping. I saw. No it does not make me a fool for falling. How the hell am I supposed to learn if I don’t fall? Frankly, there is more to this than I am saying, but why should I bore you. Do you want to be bored? If you do read on as I will spill my guts.
Not too long ago, around the middle of July, I was off from home on a solo adventure. My adventure was to take in the beauty that I had seen a year earlier, but with a slightly different twist and a longer duration. It is my nature to go off and do as I wish and so it was done. As usual, nothing was really planned even when I got there. The event book was looked over and then lost (*edit-I found it.) as schedules do suck. To stumble across a matter of interest is far greater than to hone it to time constructs and decisions of this or that due to overlaps. Boo, hiss, and spit on that.
Upon my arrival, the first thing I did was set up my tent with the help of a sweet woman named Pearl. Upon its completion, I set myself into motion to explore my surroundings. Although I was only at it for a few hours, I had been up for several days and drove over nine hours to get there. Therefore, upon feeling a bit weary, I laid myself down within my tent only to wake to the rain coming in. After closing up, back to sleep I went until the following day.
When I woke and ventured out I had the opportunity to talk to folks I had not seen for a year and to also meet others. My time was spent wandering in and out of vendor areas, taking pictures, and stopping by when a workshop caught my ear. All was grand!
I believe I did this type of activity for two days, but then again I really don’t keep track of time. Books were brought with me so that I could wander off into another place while never leaving my site or my chair. Let me call that down time or brain adventure.
One night I remember going to the fire with John only to lose myself in the gazing of stars and the sparks of the fire that flew in a spiral manner above the main flame. It was not the event at the moment that held my mind, rather it was what was above that was shining brightly and calling me back to my tent to place to paper. Unfortunately, the ideas and feelings never made it beyond the spoken words that I spoke to myself within my confines. What can I say except that perhaps those words were never meant for paper.
I first saw him in a workshop, but as much as I did not want to see (hell I even removed my glasses), I absorbed him very silently remembering almost every detail of him. Although I cannot say with certainty when he invited me to his area (look for the dragon flag), I had no intention of going. My being was telling me steer clear and so I listened to self (*edit - I feared you (my feelings for you) hence the panic attacks.). Again time is an issue here. I remember seeing him walk by and we acknowledged each other with a nod. I was sitting in the grass with John discussing philosophy before heading off to the fire with him only to have my head send me back to camp. Remember I mentioned the stars called more loudly than the event?
Perhaps it was on the following day that he invited me to a BBQ that I had no intention of attending. Why? How would I know when 6:00 is? Besides, my being was saying - steer clear.
I remember that before I went off to read Virgil in the comfort of my chair, I was greatly entertained by K**** K**** with songs, jokes, and stories of pirates. My heart was so enjoying the moment as were all those who participated. To be honest, I don’t know how long that event lasted nor do I know at what time I went off to read, however, I was caught by he who caught my eye reading my book aloud and to myself. Oh the shock of it all. It was BBQ time and I followed him off to his camp to help with the fire.
There were six of us (Nomad, Liz, David, Adam, Me, Heather) attending the BBQ that evening and we were all buddies. Just a group of people hanging, talking, and sharing. I remember that he had gone off to do his job and Heather and I cleaned up and I put the fire out and went to clean myself off and change my clothes. Not for anything, but I was dirty from kneeling on the ground, breaking and chopping wood, and sweating profusely.
Upon cleaning myself and changing, off to the larger fire I went. It was not the grand fire, but it was a fire and I was wherever I was not looking for him and not really looking to be found. I just was there. What happened afterwards is that we did hook up and went to hang at his tent.
To my own words I did not listen “Follow your reason as the mind as the mind is greater than the body.” Why I did not listen to my head is because my heart was speaking as well. They (*edit - your being and my heart) kind of ganged up on my mind and thus my mind was overruled. What should be noted is that my mind knew something and was sending me flash words of warning. These flash words came based on data being absorbed at the moment, but did I listen to self? NO!
Regardless of going against myself and knowing that in the long run (which is really short) I would hurt myself. I can’t say that I would want to trash the experience. The experience was a good one and my time was filled with joy, play, and laughter. Regrettably, this was a limited venture. Fortunately, I would see him again in a few week’s time.
My venture to New York was two fold and he was the second fold as my daughter was the first. Spending time with him in real world was just as grand as it was in adventure world, but this too was a limited venture. The hurt in leaving made me want to hurry off as soon as possible so that I would not cry. I did cry though. I had also cried the night before as I truly felt heartsick.
To venture out again is coming up shortly, but I don’t want to leave with that sick feeling. Sure there is joy in the moment while there, but then the moment is gone and my truth comes up behind me and kicks me in the ass.
The truth is I want a partner for life–a person who is my friend and my mate. A person whom I can share my life and love with. A person with whom can share the same with me. Perhaps that is a great deal to seek in another and perhaps I will never find it. Then again it is all about risk–the risk is all or nothing.
In the words of Samuel Butler: It is better to have loved and lost than never to have lost at all. He and I will be friends. ~ Written in Early September 2008.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Lady Of The Night
Distance and knowledge separate two unlikely candidates from meeting, but in Netherworld, all things are possible. Whether a dream or waking reality, two hearts find themselves meshed by circumstance. The night stirs upon them both creating a magick or magnet of sorts thereby making the dream real.
Henry is an artist who although poor in pocket is rich in heart. His paintings are deep with heart drawn emotion of a faceless woman who faces tragedy. His vision haunts his canvas.
Each night he has followed her fascinated in his dream yet each night her face escapes him in a fleeting moment. Upon his canvas, he captures a creature seemingly in pain wildly roaming the darkened streets of London in search of he knows not what.
Within his work one can make out the cobblestone lined alleys, buildings, shadowed doorways, and reflections of moon in puddles, but of her lies just a shadow of a figure with a featureless white face glowing hazily in the night. Tis but a blur of a woman who blends well into the landscape of brick and stone. He so blends her that one can mistake her supposed face for a gas lamp without the illustration of the lamp. Upon each dream he searches her out only to find her not.
Adorning the walls of his modest loft lie much of his recent works depicting this ghost of a woman in near replication of each other. Perhaps with each new canvas and each new stroke of his brush he wishes to fulfill the vision, however, each time the canvas is left void of clarity.
His ill begotten sleep leaves him weary thus he decides to abandon his work for this day. Instead, he chooses to journal his dream trying to grasp a better glimpse of her. Although the hours pass, he takes no notice to the darkness. Alas, he scripts in the dark.
In darkness he rises and stretches out his stiff body and lights a lamp. In the glow of it all, the ghost who haunts his nights and occupies his days surrounds him. Pacing to and fro within the confines of his ghost begotten loft, he reaches into his pocket to retrieve his key and upon locking his door, he returns it to the safety of his pants and descends the staircase. The air is crisp this night and the streets are wet. However, he does not heed what is present in illustration and thus walks unknowingly.
Darkened are the streets purposefully wet and splendid for the walk. Air crisp lets off puffs of smoke as she breathes through her mouth. The rustle of her skirt and the click of her shoes break the silence of the October night as she rushes the narrow cobblestone alleys. She hears not the silent steps behind her nor the breath breathed heavy by him who follows.
From behind her she hears the words "Lady, please wait." Turning to the voice she maintains her stride reverting her glance to the direction before her. Calling to her, he quickens his pace trying to catch the lady, but upon reaching her, she vanishes through a wall.
He had seen her often and followed her without giving notice of his presence. The radiance that she emitted was a glow not seen on mere mortals. He viewed what flesh he could detect on the darkened street as translucent white. Her raven colored hair loose to the wind flew equally to that of her cape.
Who is she? Why does she rush off so? He thinks to himself. Wanting to find out more about the mysterious lady, he decides to follow her the full length of her distance without making himself known.
Upon the hour, he gathers himself to the task and readies himself for the quest. Standing silently in the doorway in the chill of the night, he waits until he hears the rustle of her skirt and the click of her shoes. As usual, she is dashing off into the night toward a destination of which he knows not. Keeping his pace far enough behind so as not to be heard, but close enough to see her, he follows her in stealth.
Alley though alley she goes heading toward the Thames. As she reaches the river, he sees her silhouette form drop to her knees by the bank and hears her distant sobs. He moves silently ever closer maintaining himself in the shadow.
The full moon throws enough light and he can now see that she has laid a large stone before her and is fastening something around it. With his wretched gut, he wishes to stop her, but he has seen that she can disappear so he waits to see her end result in hope for resolve.
Once she has fastened the chord to the stone, he watches in horror as she fastens it to her neck. He screams aloud "Lady...NO!" His shout goes unheard even as he runs toward her, she casts the stone into the water and quickly follows suit. She is again gone. This time she disappears into the murky depths.
With a sick heart he heads back home and attempts to find reason for her actions, but alas he comes up empty. He has seen the ghost of a woman, but heard her reality. Who is she? He again thinks to himself.
After a night of restless sleep he heads to the dock to make inquiry as to a suicide of a woman. Although he asks all in the area, no one is aware of any such incident. One man even asked whether he was daft or had one pint too many.
Back in his loft, he ponders the night's event and the day's answers and is left in dismay. As he has only always followed behind the lady, he decides that on this night he will leap before her and stop her action or at best try.
He carefully plans the hour and waits in a doorway to hear her approach. As usual he hears her quick pace and rustling skirt and leaps out at her before she can pass him by. To his surprise he grabs her in solidity and feels a hard object against his abdomen only to look down and discover the stone.
His mind screams wildly that she is real. "Lady, why do you go to the Thames each night and sob before throwing the stone and yourself into the river?" For the first time he looks upon her face and onto her downcast eyes. He notes her tear stained face and long soft raven hair and even the smell of her lavender laced body. Eagerly his ears await a reply. After a bit she raises her troubled eyes to his and states "Dear Sir, I know not of what you speak as this night is the only night I venture out." "No Lady, I have seen you for many a night and once I called you and you vanished into a wall before my eyes. Other nights I had only followed you for a bit, but last eve I followed you for the length of your journey only to hear you cry and see you die."
Her sobbing ceases and the stone falls to the ground while her body falls faint into his arms. As he knows only the safeness of his loft, he carries the sad limp lady to the softness of his couch and studies her features. Pale is her flesh barely flush at cheek. Her lips are supple and lightly rouged and her long raven colored hair bears stark contrast against her skin. Her cloak is as black as are her garments as though she were in mourning. Again his eyes soak in her features and he watches her eyes flutter to open.
She gazes her new surroundings mindlessly as if not within herself, but before long her eyes reach his. They connect and lock in place. Both of them are speechless as their heads nod to and fro in exploration only to gain different points of the same object. His hands reach out to her cold hands and he cups them warm. Neither of them says a word, yet their eyes speak volumes.
Finally, with the courage to speak, she asks him how he could have seen her before this night. Unfortunately, he does not have an answer for her now human ghost. Confiding in his eyes, her words escape her flowing like a stream in a quiet garden. Her whispering explains to him that for many a night she dreamed of this venture and on one such night she heard a voice call out to her: a voice that broke the spell of the dream and caused her to wake.
"Dear Lady, that was I. Perhaps we had been dreaming the same dream. When it was that I first saw you, my heart fell for you and I followed you. In an effort to know you, I called out, but you vanished. When it was that I saw the deed you intended to carry out this night, I questioned the dock workers as I had thought you to be a lady from the past. It was only this eve that I decided to leap before you rather than follow you through to your deed."
Her eyes softened to his expression as she gripped his hands. At last in a soft whisper she stated "you have saved me from myself." He replied, "no dear Lady, I have saved you for myself." ~ Maggie ~ Penned September 13, 2008 before 3:00 p.m. EST
Henry is an artist who although poor in pocket is rich in heart. His paintings are deep with heart drawn emotion of a faceless woman who faces tragedy. His vision haunts his canvas.
Each night he has followed her fascinated in his dream yet each night her face escapes him in a fleeting moment. Upon his canvas, he captures a creature seemingly in pain wildly roaming the darkened streets of London in search of he knows not what.
Within his work one can make out the cobblestone lined alleys, buildings, shadowed doorways, and reflections of moon in puddles, but of her lies just a shadow of a figure with a featureless white face glowing hazily in the night. Tis but a blur of a woman who blends well into the landscape of brick and stone. He so blends her that one can mistake her supposed face for a gas lamp without the illustration of the lamp. Upon each dream he searches her out only to find her not.
Adorning the walls of his modest loft lie much of his recent works depicting this ghost of a woman in near replication of each other. Perhaps with each new canvas and each new stroke of his brush he wishes to fulfill the vision, however, each time the canvas is left void of clarity.
His ill begotten sleep leaves him weary thus he decides to abandon his work for this day. Instead, he chooses to journal his dream trying to grasp a better glimpse of her. Although the hours pass, he takes no notice to the darkness. Alas, he scripts in the dark.
In darkness he rises and stretches out his stiff body and lights a lamp. In the glow of it all, the ghost who haunts his nights and occupies his days surrounds him. Pacing to and fro within the confines of his ghost begotten loft, he reaches into his pocket to retrieve his key and upon locking his door, he returns it to the safety of his pants and descends the staircase. The air is crisp this night and the streets are wet. However, he does not heed what is present in illustration and thus walks unknowingly.
Darkened are the streets purposefully wet and splendid for the walk. Air crisp lets off puffs of smoke as she breathes through her mouth. The rustle of her skirt and the click of her shoes break the silence of the October night as she rushes the narrow cobblestone alleys. She hears not the silent steps behind her nor the breath breathed heavy by him who follows.
From behind her she hears the words "Lady, please wait." Turning to the voice she maintains her stride reverting her glance to the direction before her. Calling to her, he quickens his pace trying to catch the lady, but upon reaching her, she vanishes through a wall.
He had seen her often and followed her without giving notice of his presence. The radiance that she emitted was a glow not seen on mere mortals. He viewed what flesh he could detect on the darkened street as translucent white. Her raven colored hair loose to the wind flew equally to that of her cape.
Who is she? Why does she rush off so? He thinks to himself. Wanting to find out more about the mysterious lady, he decides to follow her the full length of her distance without making himself known.
Upon the hour, he gathers himself to the task and readies himself for the quest. Standing silently in the doorway in the chill of the night, he waits until he hears the rustle of her skirt and the click of her shoes. As usual, she is dashing off into the night toward a destination of which he knows not. Keeping his pace far enough behind so as not to be heard, but close enough to see her, he follows her in stealth.
Alley though alley she goes heading toward the Thames. As she reaches the river, he sees her silhouette form drop to her knees by the bank and hears her distant sobs. He moves silently ever closer maintaining himself in the shadow.
The full moon throws enough light and he can now see that she has laid a large stone before her and is fastening something around it. With his wretched gut, he wishes to stop her, but he has seen that she can disappear so he waits to see her end result in hope for resolve.
Once she has fastened the chord to the stone, he watches in horror as she fastens it to her neck. He screams aloud "Lady...NO!" His shout goes unheard even as he runs toward her, she casts the stone into the water and quickly follows suit. She is again gone. This time she disappears into the murky depths.
With a sick heart he heads back home and attempts to find reason for her actions, but alas he comes up empty. He has seen the ghost of a woman, but heard her reality. Who is she? He again thinks to himself.
After a night of restless sleep he heads to the dock to make inquiry as to a suicide of a woman. Although he asks all in the area, no one is aware of any such incident. One man even asked whether he was daft or had one pint too many.
Back in his loft, he ponders the night's event and the day's answers and is left in dismay. As he has only always followed behind the lady, he decides that on this night he will leap before her and stop her action or at best try.
He carefully plans the hour and waits in a doorway to hear her approach. As usual he hears her quick pace and rustling skirt and leaps out at her before she can pass him by. To his surprise he grabs her in solidity and feels a hard object against his abdomen only to look down and discover the stone.
His mind screams wildly that she is real. "Lady, why do you go to the Thames each night and sob before throwing the stone and yourself into the river?" For the first time he looks upon her face and onto her downcast eyes. He notes her tear stained face and long soft raven hair and even the smell of her lavender laced body. Eagerly his ears await a reply. After a bit she raises her troubled eyes to his and states "Dear Sir, I know not of what you speak as this night is the only night I venture out." "No Lady, I have seen you for many a night and once I called you and you vanished into a wall before my eyes. Other nights I had only followed you for a bit, but last eve I followed you for the length of your journey only to hear you cry and see you die."
Her sobbing ceases and the stone falls to the ground while her body falls faint into his arms. As he knows only the safeness of his loft, he carries the sad limp lady to the softness of his couch and studies her features. Pale is her flesh barely flush at cheek. Her lips are supple and lightly rouged and her long raven colored hair bears stark contrast against her skin. Her cloak is as black as are her garments as though she were in mourning. Again his eyes soak in her features and he watches her eyes flutter to open.
She gazes her new surroundings mindlessly as if not within herself, but before long her eyes reach his. They connect and lock in place. Both of them are speechless as their heads nod to and fro in exploration only to gain different points of the same object. His hands reach out to her cold hands and he cups them warm. Neither of them says a word, yet their eyes speak volumes.
Finally, with the courage to speak, she asks him how he could have seen her before this night. Unfortunately, he does not have an answer for her now human ghost. Confiding in his eyes, her words escape her flowing like a stream in a quiet garden. Her whispering explains to him that for many a night she dreamed of this venture and on one such night she heard a voice call out to her: a voice that broke the spell of the dream and caused her to wake.
"Dear Lady, that was I. Perhaps we had been dreaming the same dream. When it was that I first saw you, my heart fell for you and I followed you. In an effort to know you, I called out, but you vanished. When it was that I saw the deed you intended to carry out this night, I questioned the dock workers as I had thought you to be a lady from the past. It was only this eve that I decided to leap before you rather than follow you through to your deed."
Her eyes softened to his expression as she gripped his hands. At last in a soft whisper she stated "you have saved me from myself." He replied, "no dear Lady, I have saved you for myself." ~ Maggie ~ Penned September 13, 2008 before 3:00 p.m. EST
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)