Herd
High Tech
Like everything in Nature, technology contains spirit. Just think of the seeds being sewn through our interactions! Just think of the power of enlightened art, music, and film! The human web is beautiful, in all of its sublime disarray.
R.E.M.
You may notice certain individuals entering your life. And you may think, 'Now, what is the purpose of all this?' And then you may ask yourself, 'What do I need - for growth?' Is it sun, or is it rain? And there you are, right where you are.
Last edited by sevens on Sun Jul 31, 2005 2:20 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Psy
So many are terrified of psychology. But, it is Life. Deep in the mine, is where you'll slowly shift diamonds and jewels - until finally, you break through into an underground cove - waterfall and all: with a view of the stars.
Sometimes, you must examine the details, in order to secure your bed.
Sometimes, you must examine the details, in order to secure your bed.
Last edited by sevens on Mon Aug 01, 2005 5:53 am, edited 5 times in total.
Tokyo Jukebox
Hey! Yeah, you!
If you dig music:
1) The Shins - Oh, Inverted World
2) Deltron 3030 - Deltron 3030
3) Bob Dylan - Live 1966
4) Phish - Story of The Ghost
5) Elliot Smith - Figure 8
6) Bright Eyes - Lifted, Or The Story's In The Soil
7) Iron and Wine - The Creek Drank The Cradle
8) Belle and Sebastian - The Boy With The Arab Strap
9) Bright Eyes - I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning
10) Flaming Lips - Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots
Tasty! :)
(Set to Random)
If you dig music:
1) The Shins - Oh, Inverted World
2) Deltron 3030 - Deltron 3030
3) Bob Dylan - Live 1966
4) Phish - Story of The Ghost
5) Elliot Smith - Figure 8
6) Bright Eyes - Lifted, Or The Story's In The Soil
7) Iron and Wine - The Creek Drank The Cradle
8) Belle and Sebastian - The Boy With The Arab Strap
9) Bright Eyes - I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning
10) Flaming Lips - Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots
Tasty! :)
(Set to Random)
Last edited by sevens on Tue Aug 02, 2005 12:16 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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MKFaizi
Art
On the whole, yes.
Vincent cut his ear off.
And once wrote, 'One may have a blazing hearth in one's soul and yet no one ever come to sit by it. Passersby see only a wisp of smoke from the chimney and continue on their way.'
Â
Vincent cut his ear off.
And once wrote, 'One may have a blazing hearth in one's soul and yet no one ever come to sit by it. Passersby see only a wisp of smoke from the chimney and continue on their way.'
Â
Last edited by sevens on Wed Aug 03, 2005 11:28 am, edited 1 time in total.
A dult
Most adults are so enraptured with their delusions that they forfeit almost all of their communication skills. To them, all words become both empty and full - of cheap wine and crackers: pilfy crumblings in the mouth. Their minds halter and accent words still, but these words only prove to signify a throughly beaten spirit. If they would only gather refreshment from the lungs of poets past, their once bitten tongue, would bleed forth only forgotten poison - and would open a newly blossomed heart.
Their new ears, too, would open and ring - with fresh sea, and warm spring tide.
To be sure, it is their unconscious mind that is speaking the loudest - poetry is the connecter, because poetry is embedded within it.
Their new ears, too, would open and ring - with fresh sea, and warm spring tide.
To be sure, it is their unconscious mind that is speaking the loudest - poetry is the connecter, because poetry is embedded within it.
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MKFaizi
Vincent cut his ear off because he was overly emotional, depressed, alienated, self centered. Pretty normal, herdly stuff.
I don't deny the beauty of some of his paintings. Some of them are lovely, especially in color and mood. His sensitivity to color was astounding. His response to light was astounding; stunning.
Unfortunately, he was so unconscious that he was pretty oblivious to his own perception of light and color.
All he wanted was to be a famous artist. Consumed by the thought.
Think anybody gave a shit?
Hell, no. Why should they have given a shit?
The more Vincent wanted fame and acceptance, the more he was rejected. He was herdly. Lusted after the herd. Ran hard after it like a crippled heiffer abandoned even by her mother.
Though I am somewhat happy that his paintings survived, I may have admired him more as a human being had he burned the entirity of his works -- left nothing whatsoever behind. Why should the stinking herd have pleasure from the works of one who was kept at bay; constantly denied entry but kept running to the point of starvation?
But the little heiffer never quit. Kept running until his death. Died still on the far fringes of the vast, accepting, loving herd.
He left behind a wealth of paintings that have since been enveloped and devoured by the herd. The herd loves Vincent. Any faint pencil stroke that can be attributed to the little cow is of great value. His paintings are worth millions of dollars. You can buy "Starry Night" stationery and coffee mugs.
What is the honor in dying to be accepted? No matter what one's talents, what is the worth of running and salivating for any token of acceptance?
If Vincent was alive, could he be pleased to see postcards of his paintings for sale in mall shops? Could he be happy to see his painting on the side of a mug?
When you know that that is what the run will entail, why run? What could you expect to win by acceptance?
Acceptance by the herd is death.
I have learned that I would not cut off a single fingernail for its sake.
Faizi
I don't deny the beauty of some of his paintings. Some of them are lovely, especially in color and mood. His sensitivity to color was astounding. His response to light was astounding; stunning.
Unfortunately, he was so unconscious that he was pretty oblivious to his own perception of light and color.
All he wanted was to be a famous artist. Consumed by the thought.
Think anybody gave a shit?
Hell, no. Why should they have given a shit?
The more Vincent wanted fame and acceptance, the more he was rejected. He was herdly. Lusted after the herd. Ran hard after it like a crippled heiffer abandoned even by her mother.
Though I am somewhat happy that his paintings survived, I may have admired him more as a human being had he burned the entirity of his works -- left nothing whatsoever behind. Why should the stinking herd have pleasure from the works of one who was kept at bay; constantly denied entry but kept running to the point of starvation?
But the little heiffer never quit. Kept running until his death. Died still on the far fringes of the vast, accepting, loving herd.
He left behind a wealth of paintings that have since been enveloped and devoured by the herd. The herd loves Vincent. Any faint pencil stroke that can be attributed to the little cow is of great value. His paintings are worth millions of dollars. You can buy "Starry Night" stationery and coffee mugs.
What is the honor in dying to be accepted? No matter what one's talents, what is the worth of running and salivating for any token of acceptance?
If Vincent was alive, could he be pleased to see postcards of his paintings for sale in mall shops? Could he be happy to see his painting on the side of a mug?
When you know that that is what the run will entail, why run? What could you expect to win by acceptance?
Acceptance by the herd is death.
I have learned that I would not cut off a single fingernail for its sake.
Faizi
Heart Attacks
The danger in morality lies in an abundance, or, an over-sensitivity - a subtle doubting of self. But, only through a pure heart and mind are the treasures of the earth made manifest.
With time and heat, wisdom becomes both a safety net, and a trampoline.
With time and heat, wisdom becomes both a safety net, and a trampoline.
Earth
Many indigenous cultures viewed the world as a home, with a bountiful hearth in its center. Their eyes gazed and glanced Nature in everything: their pottery, their bodies, their tattoos, their children, their food, and their minds. To them, life must have swayed easily, amongst the ever-changing mystery. Their philosophies were simple, and contained amply amounts of wisdom; for they shared, and opened their minds, freely.
Even within our sickly pop culture, it is still possible to access these eyes of the indigenous peoples. Look around your home, and take notice of the earth - within four white walls.
This was inspired by a bowl of black beans and rice.
Thank you, black beans and rice.
Even within our sickly pop culture, it is still possible to access these eyes of the indigenous peoples. Look around your home, and take notice of the earth - within four white walls.
This was inspired by a bowl of black beans and rice.
Thank you, black beans and rice.
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MKFaizi
I consider Nietzsche to be less herdly than someone like Vincent Van Gogh. I greatly admire Nietzsche's writing and his thought. He came close to what I might consider to be selfless thinking. However, he was attached to the value of shock and I think that he was sometimes lonely.
Had he lived longer -- mentally -- he may have overcome those things but he stopped writing and living consciously at the age of forty-four or so.
He probably lacked ten or twenty years of work to achieve enlightenment.
I continue to learn from his work and the work of others.
Faizi
Had he lived longer -- mentally -- he may have overcome those things but he stopped writing and living consciously at the age of forty-four or so.
He probably lacked ten or twenty years of work to achieve enlightenment.
I continue to learn from his work and the work of others.
Faizi
Cool
Everyone just wants to be cool.
'Cool' is a word, that when spoken, shifts and shakes: leaving some confused, some elated, some upset, and some scared.
Once grapsed, your own coolness will bring together pain and suffering - and slap them around a bit.
To be cool, is to communicate.
'Cool' is a word, that when spoken, shifts and shakes: leaving some confused, some elated, some upset, and some scared.
Once grapsed, your own coolness will bring together pain and suffering - and slap them around a bit.
To be cool, is to communicate.
Re: Cool
I used to be cool, fifteen or twenty years ago.sevens wrote:Everyone just wants to be cool.
Now I don't care.
Definition
Sounds like you're a pretty cool guy.
Love
Many say, 'Oh, love is a trap. Oh, love? Yeah, doesn't exist.' But, real love is a divine love, between two humans. What is real love? Is it not, an ever-conscious growth? An exploration? A breath? A surgery? An adventure? A dream? How do you access this? Through your own mind. Through your own spirit.
And if it should end, then it is another stone to place, and polish.
And if it should end, then it is another stone to place, and polish.
Re: Definition
Not really. Or, rather, I hope not.sevens wrote:Sounds like you're a pretty cool guy.
There's a 13-year-old boy around that reminds me of what "cool" is.
Cool is doing, or being, what other people think is cool.
Cool is being just slightly above average - enough to be noticed, to be impressive, but not enough to be threatening. Cool might be the leader of the pack, but cool never leaves the pack behind.
Cool is a what most people want to be.
It's a trap.
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MKFaizi