Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
"The Uses of Not"
Architecture is as much about 'negative space' as it is about structured design. But I think I get confused by the term. I know it as the purposeful inversion of a substantial mass in order to demonstrate the amount and shape of the space it occupies. Does regular space get 'filled in' while this negation occurs? I think so. But don't we use a reflexive projection to space.. measuring scale, composition and function by how inhabitable it is to the human? Don't we want to just put ourselves into the space, even using fantasy or mind-magic if the environment is hazardous?
There are 2 Japanese words that can better develop the idea. Mu, which as interpreted by Robert M. Pirsig means to sort of "unask the question". And Ma, which delivers this choice scripting:
In Japanese, ma, the word for space, suggests interval. It is best described as a consciousness of place, not in the sense of an enclosed three-dimensional entity, but rather the simultaneous awareness of form and non-form deriving from an intensification of vision.
A question came up recently in rl, and seems entirely suitable here: How does a geode form? Here's one you can sit inside.
There are 2 Japanese words that can better develop the idea. Mu, which as interpreted by Robert M. Pirsig means to sort of "unask the question". And Ma, which delivers this choice scripting:
In Japanese, ma, the word for space, suggests interval. It is best described as a consciousness of place, not in the sense of an enclosed three-dimensional entity, but rather the simultaneous awareness of form and non-form deriving from an intensification of vision.
A question came up recently in rl, and seems entirely suitable here: How does a geode form? Here's one you can sit inside.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Whirled Whore Too
Suited more for an Whomunculus post-title than here, but personas necessarily bleed through their own crypsis. And in this state of withdrawal, I again excavate the 4th pillar of personal health: Sleeping, Eating, Exercise and Writing [EWES?]
These are all foundational, and not ideals in themselves. They're skeletal and load-bearing; not essence but ossence. And I'd always lumped writing into a category of luxury, or even superfluity. However, while other people don't seem to need to write, I do.
Licorice root wedged firmly in cheek, I'd like to redress my *blithe* views on love from 11/1/11. For starters, I stress ROMANTIC love. For middlers, I wasn't done. And for enders, even if I was done, why cannot I say and argue something I don't believe in? Polemics aren't just for fuckfaces, fuckface.
Have you ever walked away from someone's love, not because you weren't satisfied, but because you couldn't bare to see it fade? The dendritic crystalline growth pruned to preserve. It was too powerful, and you knew it. Or you could see the stark frenzy accreting in your lover's eyes, and you forfeit the entanglement, so neither suffer the retinal death. Perhaps the true romantic knows this, and would choose to be digested by the consequences of imagination rather than the pedestrianization of the L/other. Perhaps you can only save it by ending it prematurely. Ab'amor'tion.
Polarised light micrograph of crystals of quinidine, a drug for treating heart 'arrythmia' originally derived from the cinchona tree. It stabilises the heart beat
But maybe not, as true love spreads its blossoms in the strangest of seasons, it is so often acausal. As the synapses sclerotize and habituate to the L/other's stimulus, paranoia need not tyranneyes. By now, the life-furtherance of your drug-addled brain should have begun to be realized. You love this person to achieve your dreams, his and hers or hers and hers or his and his. Your minds combined in kind to find that your futures share the same sunshine. Objectives are enhanced, not inhibited. And your L/other will confront their fears for you.
Whirled Whore Too: You are being lied, too. Habitually refining the first-dose, the inintimate is outside. In the fucking reign. You've laid yourself, open, for further -job insecurity. May as well be honest about it, cause at least then you'll know when to be/use your Johnnies.
These are all foundational, and not ideals in themselves. They're skeletal and load-bearing; not essence but ossence. And I'd always lumped writing into a category of luxury, or even superfluity. However, while other people don't seem to need to write, I do.
Licorice root wedged firmly in cheek, I'd like to redress my *blithe* views on love from 11/1/11. For starters, I stress ROMANTIC love. For middlers, I wasn't done. And for enders, even if I was done, why cannot I say and argue something I don't believe in? Polemics aren't just for fuckfaces, fuckface.
Have you ever walked away from someone's love, not because you weren't satisfied, but because you couldn't bare to see it fade? The dendritic crystalline growth pruned to preserve. It was too powerful, and you knew it. Or you could see the stark frenzy accreting in your lover's eyes, and you forfeit the entanglement, so neither suffer the retinal death. Perhaps the true romantic knows this, and would choose to be digested by the consequences of imagination rather than the pedestrianization of the L/other. Perhaps you can only save it by ending it prematurely. Ab'amor'tion.
Polarised light micrograph of crystals of quinidine, a drug for treating heart 'arrythmia' originally derived from the cinchona tree. It stabilises the heart beat
But maybe not, as true love spreads its blossoms in the strangest of seasons, it is so often acausal. As the synapses sclerotize and habituate to the L/other's stimulus, paranoia need not tyranneyes. By now, the life-furtherance of your drug-addled brain should have begun to be realized. You love this person to achieve your dreams, his and hers or hers and hers or his and his. Your minds combined in kind to find that your futures share the same sunshine. Objectives are enhanced, not inhibited. And your L/other will confront their fears for you.
Whirled Whore Too: You are being lied, too. Habitually refining the first-dose, the inintimate is outside. In the fucking reign. You've laid yourself, open, for further -job insecurity. May as well be honest about it, cause at least then you'll know when to be/use your Johnnies.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
11/1/11
(or 1/11/11 if you prefer a world which makes slightly more sense)
I've already slipped on my quiet desires to NaBloPoMo. Can I even start now? Yes I can. I can do whatever I like. Mind's submerged these days; irritable, like a lash in the inner-eye.
Addiction. As a thought exercise, let's not yet supply an example, cause it could predicate our resultant thoughts.
What is it? Does it have an opposite? Can it truly attain categorical partition from other acceptable dependencies [social assurance, food, sleep]? Most addictions are only justifiable in themselves, is this why 'outsiders' can leverage such insensitive disdain on those addicted? Or is that only a protective mechanism to quarantine oneself from like vulnerability [confirmation of a degree of universality!]?
Question questions.
Love is not the locus of purpose here, but I find it to be over-manipulated, undermined and misinterpreted. Love isn't necessarily the answer, but it is the eloquent phrase that might startle out the appropriate question.
Romantic love is an endogenous bio-pharmacy erupting with reality alterants. Through the introduction of another's materiel -once called 'anthropines'- this laboratory seizes this surge and squirts your system into hyperspace [Not cosmic space, in the literal sense, but an occupiable mind-quanta attained only through outside assistance.] Delicious, but quite soon, only this concoction will do; this enhancement, this love, this trans+space is at odds with OBJECTIVE REALITY {?so called, as it objects scornfully to everything it hasn't sanctioned?} --- and something will inevitably interrupt the chain. Perhaps I'll revisit this part later, but right now it's running away with itself.
So, how do you quit something? It can be a time vampire, an energy leech. Is it now irretrievably coupled with your personality? With your sense of self, or even, sense of place-time? Euphoric revelation could be conceived as being as unfair to the world as crippling despondency. So THIS then is a relief, as that would suppose that intimate to the core of addiction must be choice. A choice made frequently, and perhaps painfully, or perhaps just made once, and then subsumed by the powers of that which was let in.
But what then of somatic dreams? How is it that they can be compelled so dangerously by addiction? Mine are deep and breathtaking these days, with their surface brushing against the tension of waking life, that I'm beginning to reel and doubt the veracity of now. This is my eyelash, I suppose.
I've already slipped on my quiet desires to NaBloPoMo. Can I even start now? Yes I can. I can do whatever I like. Mind's submerged these days; irritable, like a lash in the inner-eye.
Addiction. As a thought exercise, let's not yet supply an example, cause it could predicate our resultant thoughts.
What is it? Does it have an opposite? Can it truly attain categorical partition from other acceptable dependencies [social assurance, food, sleep]? Most addictions are only justifiable in themselves, is this why 'outsiders' can leverage such insensitive disdain on those addicted? Or is that only a protective mechanism to quarantine oneself from like vulnerability [confirmation of a degree of universality!]?
Question questions.
Love is not the locus of purpose here, but I find it to be over-manipulated, undermined and misinterpreted. Love isn't necessarily the answer, but it is the eloquent phrase that might startle out the appropriate question.
Romantic love is an endogenous bio-pharmacy erupting with reality alterants. Through the introduction of another's materiel -once called 'anthropines'- this laboratory seizes this surge and squirts your system into hyperspace [Not cosmic space, in the literal sense, but an occupiable mind-quanta attained only through outside assistance.] Delicious, but quite soon, only this concoction will do; this enhancement, this love, this trans+space is at odds with OBJECTIVE REALITY {?so called, as it objects scornfully to everything it hasn't sanctioned?} --- and something will inevitably interrupt the chain. Perhaps I'll revisit this part later, but right now it's running away with itself.
So, how do you quit something? It can be a time vampire, an energy leech. Is it now irretrievably coupled with your personality? With your sense of self, or even, sense of place-time? Euphoric revelation could be conceived as being as unfair to the world as crippling despondency. So THIS then is a relief, as that would suppose that intimate to the core of addiction must be choice. A choice made frequently, and perhaps painfully, or perhaps just made once, and then subsumed by the powers of that which was let in.
But what then of somatic dreams? How is it that they can be compelled so dangerously by addiction? Mine are deep and breathtaking these days, with their surface brushing against the tension of waking life, that I'm beginning to reel and doubt the veracity of now. This is my eyelash, I suppose.
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