F A N D P
A U
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L G
I N
N I
G D
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D I
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W B
N A N D
Building up seems like so much longer and the decent is just far enough that the plunge downward seems more appealing. They should just call Reincarnation "Spiritual Recycling" and Heaven "the final purchase." Religion is the most beautiful part of humanity and I can never take part. I cannot commit, and when I do I can never believe. I can write with both hands quite well now, I am reaching fever pitch. It's either make it now or spiral into madness forever.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Soaking into this sentence
Back to check out this hole I have dug, what a deep one. All blog updates from followers, none. Perfect. The key to modern living as a poor person is to learn to enjoy the color of white walls, especially as it fades into a dull Grey and almost coffee type tone depending on the occupants dirt and dander. I like dandy lions and lions that are dandy, that is something I don't have to learn to enjoy. I would like to start a college course, Enjoying Sunsets 201. It will be a class that goes so in depth about the patterns of sunsets that they become utterly mundane. Every sunset the passing student See's will never leave them dumbfounded but rather unimpressed by the forms and colors. I've got many more ideas to send to the board of directors:
Exasperating moments of Happiness 312
Using Favors as leverage 111
How to Convince a Junkie 113
During the winter I have two loves: music and art. However I consider those two the same thing, along with writing. and during the summer nature gets added to the list. However I have recently been severely deprived of all three. This is what makes me unhappy. I have been a largely emotional guy most of my life, but that was because I didn't realize what my true outlet was. Now that I have it and can't use it I feel so empty, like I am trapped in the cookie cutter jaws of familiarity. Wake up, eat oatmeal or whatever I can find, Wait for my room mate to shoot up for like 45 minutes, share a cigarette, get dropped off at Front range a couple hours before class depending on his work schedule, go to the library instead of doing homework, go into class and barely manage to keep up, go back to the library and read about fossils, physics, light refraction etc. . . . get picked up. Come home and procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate.
In a way I am like a junkie as well, I am addicted to expression. I am addicted to my curiosity. I am addicted to actually having something to show for my work. What are we supposed to do with our tools we are given in college? Become a teacher? A pharmacist? A translator? A designer? It seems like it boils down to two things, recycling old ways or creating something new. How differently can a person in architecture build a bathroom? How many different poses do people really desire to portray in portraiture? I want to create things that do one better than just copying the old design of god, a form a function a law a obfuscation to mask it a purpose a resolution. I want to show combination's of forms that portray something inexpressible and beyond our normal plane of sight, something that actually twists the mind. But I want to display it in such a way that the person knows it's happening and wants it to happen. But I am really tired and I don't know what I am saying
Exasperating moments of Happiness 312
Using Favors as leverage 111
How to Convince a Junkie 113
During the winter I have two loves: music and art. However I consider those two the same thing, along with writing. and during the summer nature gets added to the list. However I have recently been severely deprived of all three. This is what makes me unhappy. I have been a largely emotional guy most of my life, but that was because I didn't realize what my true outlet was. Now that I have it and can't use it I feel so empty, like I am trapped in the cookie cutter jaws of familiarity. Wake up, eat oatmeal or whatever I can find, Wait for my room mate to shoot up for like 45 minutes, share a cigarette, get dropped off at Front range a couple hours before class depending on his work schedule, go to the library instead of doing homework, go into class and barely manage to keep up, go back to the library and read about fossils, physics, light refraction etc. . . . get picked up. Come home and procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate.
In a way I am like a junkie as well, I am addicted to expression. I am addicted to my curiosity. I am addicted to actually having something to show for my work. What are we supposed to do with our tools we are given in college? Become a teacher? A pharmacist? A translator? A designer? It seems like it boils down to two things, recycling old ways or creating something new. How differently can a person in architecture build a bathroom? How many different poses do people really desire to portray in portraiture? I want to create things that do one better than just copying the old design of god, a form a function a law a obfuscation to mask it a purpose a resolution. I want to show combination's of forms that portray something inexpressible and beyond our normal plane of sight, something that actually twists the mind. But I want to display it in such a way that the person knows it's happening and wants it to happen. But I am really tired and I don't know what I am saying
Thursday, March 10, 2011
you don't have to
Another night of studying and I have to get my thoughts into words or I will die with them in a sea of paperwork.
It isn't necessary to imagine the world ending in fire or ice. There are two other possibilities: one is paperwork, and the other is nostalgia. ~Frank Zappa
I love Zappa, he is like my Uncle Erny, optimistic, intelligent and down right silly.
How true that is, nostalgia is a silent killer of progress and it is more infectious than any virus. It comes from the inside, and I would liken it to cancer. All my ties to home are like a tumor that needs to be abscessed. Cruel words, Cruel words from a not nearly as serious or cruel man. Obviously the love is there in space but it shouldn't be weighed by time.
But let me digress from all this bullshit, it is my strongest appeal and allure. I try to bounce, the sentences, around, so it seems like, I am actually talking to you. and I really am! I am actually shouting in your ear, I am actually stepping on your toes. Soooo. . . . . . .Onto the heart of the matter;
My current feelings:
Frustration, but of a sympathetic kind.
Pessimism
and finally nostalgia.
I have frustration and an almost fascination with people who avoid sentimentality. I am actually not a very sentimental guy, I express my thoughts sentimentally to give them weight and truth. How I feel about most things is usually never how they actually are, so if I expressed my true sentiments, which I sometimes do; it seems so deceitful and therein lies my humor. Humor is psychologically defined as a violation of your expectations, a somewhat cold and sterile approach I suppose, but effective for the masses all the same. If I give my true feelings about a piece of furniture and tell how it reminds me of old dishrags and sweaty maids, the result (9 times out of 10, and 10 times out of 9) will be laughter. This is easy, to make someone laugh you have to give them the impression you are breaking the rules but at the same time indicate you are nervous to what the people around you are thinking. It's a delicate process, easily shattered and easily manipulated. However the best way to manipulate people is to be so effective that we manipulate ourselves, so I am not frightened by manipulation. I wish we could be better at it, so the game could be more fun. Of course if and only if the game hurts just a little rather than a lot.
So I have given two thesis for what makes me who I am; unsentimental, but honest. Which is a bit of a paradox as personalities can be this way. Thus the personality traits have been fused into one, hypocrisy. I find being called a hypocrite is a compliment, it is the most effective approach to avoiding the stagnation of routine and decision making. However I also indirectly have shown another part of my personality, my dissecting nature. Whether or not I have the knowledge to back it up is always thrown onto the table, but effectively I have never paid heed to knowledge as the great decider of what makes a person a genius. It is all the attitude, A person can speculate about what is underground all they want, it is the adventurous spirit that digs up the soil and uncovers those hidden worlds. No my friends Knowledge is what you display at dinner parties when somebody mentions a subject you know about. Wisedom is something we all get for free but it comes at a time when nobody will listen to you. Intelligence is something we are born with but is something we must slowly destroy to fit into society. Logic is where the genius reigns supreme, but it is a monarchy, the only way we can expand logic is war and every thought of every minute is a war for me. You can teach me and I can teach you, but when will we all learn? Paradigm shifts require vast remodeling of the public concious, a real tedious process which requires interpreters. Luckily we come from many lines of organisms that self organize.
I'm done, coffee is brewing and I need to finish my streak of 3 nights without sleep.
It isn't necessary to imagine the world ending in fire or ice. There are two other possibilities: one is paperwork, and the other is nostalgia. ~Frank Zappa
I love Zappa, he is like my Uncle Erny, optimistic, intelligent and down right silly.
How true that is, nostalgia is a silent killer of progress and it is more infectious than any virus. It comes from the inside, and I would liken it to cancer. All my ties to home are like a tumor that needs to be abscessed. Cruel words, Cruel words from a not nearly as serious or cruel man. Obviously the love is there in space but it shouldn't be weighed by time.
But let me digress from all this bullshit, it is my strongest appeal and allure. I try to bounce, the sentences, around, so it seems like, I am actually talking to you. and I really am! I am actually shouting in your ear, I am actually stepping on your toes. Soooo. . . . . . .Onto the heart of the matter;
My current feelings:
Frustration, but of a sympathetic kind.
Pessimism
and finally nostalgia.
I have frustration and an almost fascination with people who avoid sentimentality. I am actually not a very sentimental guy, I express my thoughts sentimentally to give them weight and truth. How I feel about most things is usually never how they actually are, so if I expressed my true sentiments, which I sometimes do; it seems so deceitful and therein lies my humor. Humor is psychologically defined as a violation of your expectations, a somewhat cold and sterile approach I suppose, but effective for the masses all the same. If I give my true feelings about a piece of furniture and tell how it reminds me of old dishrags and sweaty maids, the result (9 times out of 10, and 10 times out of 9) will be laughter. This is easy, to make someone laugh you have to give them the impression you are breaking the rules but at the same time indicate you are nervous to what the people around you are thinking. It's a delicate process, easily shattered and easily manipulated. However the best way to manipulate people is to be so effective that we manipulate ourselves, so I am not frightened by manipulation. I wish we could be better at it, so the game could be more fun. Of course if and only if the game hurts just a little rather than a lot.
So I have given two thesis for what makes me who I am; unsentimental, but honest. Which is a bit of a paradox as personalities can be this way. Thus the personality traits have been fused into one, hypocrisy. I find being called a hypocrite is a compliment, it is the most effective approach to avoiding the stagnation of routine and decision making. However I also indirectly have shown another part of my personality, my dissecting nature. Whether or not I have the knowledge to back it up is always thrown onto the table, but effectively I have never paid heed to knowledge as the great decider of what makes a person a genius. It is all the attitude, A person can speculate about what is underground all they want, it is the adventurous spirit that digs up the soil and uncovers those hidden worlds. No my friends Knowledge is what you display at dinner parties when somebody mentions a subject you know about. Wisedom is something we all get for free but it comes at a time when nobody will listen to you. Intelligence is something we are born with but is something we must slowly destroy to fit into society. Logic is where the genius reigns supreme, but it is a monarchy, the only way we can expand logic is war and every thought of every minute is a war for me. You can teach me and I can teach you, but when will we all learn? Paradigm shifts require vast remodeling of the public concious, a real tedious process which requires interpreters. Luckily we come from many lines of organisms that self organize.
I'm done, coffee is brewing and I need to finish my streak of 3 nights without sleep.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Giving up: (The Summary of my time in Fort Collins so far.)
I am giving up on being normal, successful, or meaningful. Giving up on the game and going to look at the clouds. I am giving up on finding out the meaning of life and focusing on finding out the meaning of myself. Nietzsche once said every man is his own prison but for me I am my only escape. You can try and follow my trail of tears to find their delta but all you will see is the negative image of roots deeply embedded in laughter.
I have stowed myself in the fibers of every canvas and sealed myself in a tomb of paint, so when you look at me what you see is the image I want you to see; A narcissistic fanatic who exceeds his egotism by pretending he is a virtuoso, he pretends he's a Dali by becoming a Domi, he pretends he's from the renaissance by becoming a Domini, but that is not me for I am the son of Anthony, the greatest father in history who is cursed with me, the devilish child. I love my father, but I also am my father and he does not love himself. I want to show the world what he can make, I want to show how great he is to the world through myself; the prodigal son.
Art was a legitimate possession for me, it took over my entire psyche. I remember feeling my brain change the moment I set those markers to her arm, and I could hear and feel her heart beating faster. It was throbbing in my mind until it reached my cerebellum and took the rhythm of my heart. The transfer of the gift of art happened right there in that room, almost as if we were experiencing history in the making. Maybe. . . Even if I make no difference as an artist I know that some aspect of my life could serve as a lesson to somebody, I have seen too much and been a part of way too many profound things.
I had a friend tell me about a girl I used to see the other day, he was telling me that after they had sex she talked to him about me. Saying that she had a huge crush on me, but that I was crazy. and I was, and I am. It's a fact that I am just going to have to accept, what is the difference between genius and insanity? One small step forward and out into a chasm of shrill screams. I used to be immersed in science as a child and then I found music and then I got expelled from school. My mom told me she always thought she lost a naturalist in the making during that transition, watching that child chase insects down the bank until he slipped into the rhythm of the river of creativity. Soon I would emerge and be reborn once more, science would take over my life again for another brief heave and sigh in the tension of my life's web. Then I found drugs and art made me fall into a decomposing cave among collapsing veins and dying junkies. I am not like them in my habit choices, but I am like them in my addiction and my obsessions. Food, money, shelter, and comfort mean nothing to me. I need to find that answer I have been looking for, I need to find my way back into the light. The instant greed corrupts the mind you become more poor than you will ever be. I found that out the hard way, but I never desired wealth or status. I desired fame, but indirectly for something else, a legacy. A way for my life to matter.
At least that's what I thought made it matter; there was a schism in my personality that resulted from psychedelics, there is the clown, the artist, and the philosopher. However the philosopher is also divided into the idealist and the nihilist. Plato and Nietzsche are always fighting each other in my mind; it's when they make love that things get strange. But how many times will I write down a good idea for a painting when I feel I don't have time to make the painting instead of actually making it!? How many times will my most profound insights turn into an idea for a painting? How often will my inner clown feel the temptation to become anarchic and make it impossible for anyone to see the essence and truth behind what I say in words and in images? The answer is indefinitely, it's a part of my curse, but it's a blessing in disguise for I have found the key to to true perpetual motion in thought, the paradox will generate a tremendous feedback loop, and maybe at any moment I will reach the zenith of momentum and finally plummet into the hands of fate. I'm either going to die a legend or die in the depths of a rainforest smothered in life, I will never be buried in the those modern cookie cutter sarcophagus' we call coffins, the thought of having to have yet another house to trap me in death disturbs me greatly.
I have stowed myself in the fibers of every canvas and sealed myself in a tomb of paint, so when you look at me what you see is the image I want you to see; A narcissistic fanatic who exceeds his egotism by pretending he is a virtuoso, he pretends he's a Dali by becoming a Domi, he pretends he's from the renaissance by becoming a Domini, but that is not me for I am the son of Anthony, the greatest father in history who is cursed with me, the devilish child. I love my father, but I also am my father and he does not love himself. I want to show the world what he can make, I want to show how great he is to the world through myself; the prodigal son.
Art was a legitimate possession for me, it took over my entire psyche. I remember feeling my brain change the moment I set those markers to her arm, and I could hear and feel her heart beating faster. It was throbbing in my mind until it reached my cerebellum and took the rhythm of my heart. The transfer of the gift of art happened right there in that room, almost as if we were experiencing history in the making. Maybe. . . Even if I make no difference as an artist I know that some aspect of my life could serve as a lesson to somebody, I have seen too much and been a part of way too many profound things.
I had a friend tell me about a girl I used to see the other day, he was telling me that after they had sex she talked to him about me. Saying that she had a huge crush on me, but that I was crazy. and I was, and I am. It's a fact that I am just going to have to accept, what is the difference between genius and insanity? One small step forward and out into a chasm of shrill screams. I used to be immersed in science as a child and then I found music and then I got expelled from school. My mom told me she always thought she lost a naturalist in the making during that transition, watching that child chase insects down the bank until he slipped into the rhythm of the river of creativity. Soon I would emerge and be reborn once more, science would take over my life again for another brief heave and sigh in the tension of my life's web. Then I found drugs and art made me fall into a decomposing cave among collapsing veins and dying junkies. I am not like them in my habit choices, but I am like them in my addiction and my obsessions. Food, money, shelter, and comfort mean nothing to me. I need to find that answer I have been looking for, I need to find my way back into the light. The instant greed corrupts the mind you become more poor than you will ever be. I found that out the hard way, but I never desired wealth or status. I desired fame, but indirectly for something else, a legacy. A way for my life to matter.
At least that's what I thought made it matter; there was a schism in my personality that resulted from psychedelics, there is the clown, the artist, and the philosopher. However the philosopher is also divided into the idealist and the nihilist. Plato and Nietzsche are always fighting each other in my mind; it's when they make love that things get strange. But how many times will I write down a good idea for a painting when I feel I don't have time to make the painting instead of actually making it!? How many times will my most profound insights turn into an idea for a painting? How often will my inner clown feel the temptation to become anarchic and make it impossible for anyone to see the essence and truth behind what I say in words and in images? The answer is indefinitely, it's a part of my curse, but it's a blessing in disguise for I have found the key to to true perpetual motion in thought, the paradox will generate a tremendous feedback loop, and maybe at any moment I will reach the zenith of momentum and finally plummet into the hands of fate. I'm either going to die a legend or die in the depths of a rainforest smothered in life, I will never be buried in the those modern cookie cutter sarcophagus' we call coffins, the thought of having to have yet another house to trap me in death disturbs me greatly.
Friday, March 4, 2011
New living and new dying
There has always been this idea that has disturbed me since I left an open mind to any facet of existence, and it is the heaven/hell concept. I would venture to say that if I can believe that there is a heaven or if there is a hell it wouldn't be hard to believe that we are in hell right now, because obviously life isn't perfect. The proportion of happiness to sadness and pain is always tipped in the favor of suffering. No matter how happy a person thinks they are there is always sadness present, this is not ideal. However one could point out that you could have more happiness in life than suffering and therefore for the most part we can be happy and that seeing the brighter side of sadness to move onward is a fact of life. But this is classic conditioning. As children we can never seem to deal with pain the way an adult can and it is a rough transition to get to that point of adulthood because of this. We start out innocent of pain and slowly feel that rape of consciousness as we develop. So idealisations are not that unfounded, we would all seize them at the chance. However it is not hard for me to adapt to feeling pain for myself, it is damn near impossible for me to adapt to seeing others suffer. Hell for me is watching my friends personalities slowly slip into the traps of adulthood, Hell for me is watching my best friend since before I could walk shoot up four times a day and spend hours looking for a vein. He is leeched of life, and leeched of that energy he had when we were younger. I always thought he would be better off than me because he was such a good kid and pursued everything with vivacity and love. However I am not a good person in the least, and I deserve this feeling, he however does not at all. That is where my empathy is tortured to my core.
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