And whatever..

I’ve been taking things too seriously <now get> to the point…

I have to? make! (a note of) consciously relaxing=> relaxation.

And I hate that, it should come naturally, and more often than that and I guess!

In Sum: I’m making use of this year of the goat (2015) to properly expel and resolve this serious state of being.

Explanation 4.1.3: To being, life is a serious matter, it’s a one time event, at any given point lies an opportunity for more, and somehow this serious opportunity at that, to realise what the meaning of now can and possibly will be and now seriously is that other time for serious self reflection and cross examination. But seriously? I mean seriously.. dudeeee

NOW on the STREET

And then there is the not so nice things I can think far too seriously about, then there is all the serious things I should< be doing and making as the serious matter of change and its seriously surreal implications (!!!) for the series ~ of serious seminaaaahhhs

that I seriously wanted to go to (!) but now feel inadequate (?) because I didn’t go 😦 and now that meant!? I just wasn’t serious enough now was I?

But I also need to let a breeze cut through, and breath in 5 times because…. let’s face it!

FWIUWG>$I%@$+:{g:>mdg(&  If i’m not serious about chilling out then seriously, it just won’t happen.@^$TGDJCLKEPVTNY#@Y HFN: EWN 23v]508BMI

But life is happening, it just fucking happens. There are matters because there are matters (OK), the way I sought was serious because the way it was is and was the way it was.

5 Deep breaths

Nothing to be taken seriously. And no one wants everything about the present to be too serious, the present is and nothing less, seriously.

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Thoughts from a lone winter dinner in Rome

Here I am in a restaurant.

And I don’t know, I’m not feeling welcome, eating a meal I didn’t really want, in a head space I don’t want to be in.

One that unsettles… in-secures me, interrupts my flow, my nature.

Menu Meal, its 10pm. I’m tired of it all, I’m winning and losing and in constant free fall.

And as parts of my life rise to even greater highs..

I recognize too these deeper lows that come as a consequence of natures equilibrium.

The type of person who..

walks into a restaurant, with most tables break from a settled in quiet chatter halt abruptly at my instant gaze.

Where the woman at the door places suspicion over my presence, where my feeling of doing the right thing once again doubts itself..

Restaurants I can never choose, it reminds me of what I lack.. a lover, a partner as something that, I don’t care about.

Restaurants are something intimately related to this coupled idea, an attribute of involvement, that in a relationship attribute – perhaps not real, just a signal by extension.

Tenho que parar de comer carne, nao faz bem.

22/12 Rome, 23/12 Rome (buy a tent,  see the Madigliani exhibition)

Art shop, 1 brush, 3-4 colours.

24/12 to London (readings? party? BA provide hotel?)

17 hour layover.

When I envisage myself I first see a strong solid idea, immediately envisaging my strengths, my journeys, with a flicker of landscape to invite my memory as a guest along the way.

The forgotten forgone moments are many, cigarettes smoked immeasurable, the alcohol a more and more distant past. The smiles and laughs accompany me, as does the endless joint.

How does one think less? and is it necessary? How does it help/hinder my situation?

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Future Thesis

to a Future thesis in techno…

but now looking into the Past:

I now know why….

…We (I and maybe depending on you how much you include yourself) should never resort to the application of numbers in measuring the value of this fragile organic diverse yet beautiful social world.  If this kaleidoscopic rainbow of our universe that lies before us is beyond our own understanding/perception or imagination and as a result all you can deal with is binaries, then perhaps one can understand the use of numbers as simply a passing product of process, rather than a label for mapping existence.

When dealing with history, we can only ever draw on examples; a musical track belonging to a set/album, always incomplete yet substantiated by dynamic lines of logical expression that are heard by their resonating synthesis. They act to compel only as a means of explaining the passion or drive behind an argument for a version of existence. Better a version than no version or worse yet, someone elses. So if the track mixes power and privilege it has influences that reside in specific powerful sound vibrations. As a vibration it is comprised firstly by a sound, its subsequent manipulation (process) that descends into a distortion (outcome). The FX are plagal and not perfect in its composition, its resonance reverberates from within its enclosure: the metaphorical sound container.

It seems that all things require resources, objects, relics, facts and figures to be made manifest, only to see this same manifestation destroy innocent simplicity. In the white chapter, the bible (read) during the age of religious empire to tame primitivism, the primacy of language (speak) to promote colonialism and religion as a form of division, and now with numbers (compute) divided us into living a binary code of subtle contradiction. The message of distract at home to project abroad for the sake of perpetuating a myth of superiority comes to rule the silence. Silence requires sound, one that comes from within. We are not American, We are not superior, in that sense we are not “free” and so by demystifying the method of measurement and dismissing its impositions on value, the time arrives to seek out the infinite mysterious sounds of our universe. All of their forms, feelings and fantasies.

The contradiction lies in the method of how you measure:  so why do Americans still have an imperial system for themselves, but impose the decimal system on everyone? is it that the empire doesn’t want to let its secret out inside for fear of back penetration? The rule is import / export, the inside become pre programmed cross correlation, where negatives become constructed and deciphered to the inside, while myths and false egos becomes disseminated to the periphery by numbers. In the end a false creation, a false abstraction albeit contained by cornered edges and divisions to allude to one bit for all, into the false reality. As such it is numbers that are the colonisers of capital. In other words, value. Your value.

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the same sounds of insanity

Seething through the sounds of summer, synthesized from the semantic of the sub-terrain: a similar sound of sudden insanity. Smelt spontaneously, smeared sporadically, spelled succinctly; shattered shamelessly.

Suddenly so swiftly syncing the symbols supremely, so seamlessly sampled systematically. Surreal yet simply such a surprise to savor this superior spectacle.

Some surrender to the sacred sublime, still, some scheme to the sleeping submarine, but all stare into the seething sun, saluting its surmising significance as a spiritual symphony for the single sacred soul.

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Househunting…

Hi there (creepy voice)

I am a fire breathing dragon in my mid 90s working my way through life backwards, literally walking forwards but with my back to the backwards shit. That’s why I am hitch hiking my way through the melbourne vortex of houseshares. Current vibe is becoming a bit too cool for school and I desperately need to explore and exchange strange facial expressions.

About me? (or around me?)

I work overnight shifts at a callcentre with jaded ex-artists and musos. I have studied for a while.. yeah I like that one cuz it’s a nice excuse. Right now I want to just shut up and listen to music, relax with smoke and smashed mirrors, bump things about on occasion and ride some sly pants down the psy trance. And I can do that whilst being sharp with the financials. i hear from you then?

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illness as a mental manifestation

Renewal and reflection are welcome friends in life. For me, they bring something extra to numb mundane readings of the obvious. They also treat the states of the self, stir up parts of the sleeping self and quieten parts of the awake self. Like an art gallery, the exhibit comes to be displayed then stored, in order to redisplay at some other point in time for some other poignant purpose.

I remember reading the book “Illness as a metaphor” at the beginning of my thesis term in university. The book was given to me by my supervisor as a pretext to thinking about ideas for my thesis. A short read at 70 odd pages, the author and critic Susan Sontag packs some serious punch into this metaphorical interpretation of reality, and the connection modernisation has with controlling bodies by simple prescription. Sontag highlights her examples in the common uses of language that characterise illness as an idea owned and controlled by structural power. As such, illness is explored by Sontag for its obscured role in power relationships between individuals and structures, and how deviance to the norm is constructed. From it we gain insight into our world and what may be happening to this understanding we thought we had of ourselves. This clever read levels a solid critique of modernism, how it reworks our understandings/meaning appropriated to the ideas surrounding life and death and how they are manipulated by the doctrines and demands of modern neoliberalism. This is referred to in the updated dichotomy, by postulating that illness comes to take the place of death in the life/death dichotomy. Illness becomes a tool to denigrate and judge those who possess an inability to adapt or cope with the demands of homo economicus, that is, the individual’s ability to integrate and participate in the capitalist system.

Books aside and a thesis already now complete, I would wind up in Asia, hitch hiking through China and Thailand and experiencing the magic of each place. Magic suddenly turned to maladie, with heavy sickness and fever taking over the body toward the end of my travels upon landing in Indonesia. The hospital experience in Indonesia was one distanced by a lack of a common language, which led to a worsening condition and ineffective treatment of whatever it was I had. Sick and senseless, I would eventually persuade airport staff to let me on a plane so I could be bought home for more rigorous ICU treatment in Australia. Throughout the experience, I was prompted by the hospital environment how radically different human life can be seen, and how and what it could mean for me personally. As patients we are rats in a laboratory-like environment. Your illness becomes to be the only thing people negotiate you by, and you in turn end up negotiating it. Hallucinations and personal experiences and feelings aside, I believe that my warped feelings through medication and sickness offered me insights into the dichotomy of life and death, the feeling of inner vs outer struggle, the breath of different speeds speaking to the struggle for a natural path of balance. These factors would compound on my broader thinking of life, love and the other possible dimensions I was yet to discover.

Now a meta narrative for this illness began to be forming. For it seems that this past six months can be defined by two speeds of life in two worlds – both equally attended and realised by my own volition. In one the mind is freed up by the restrictions placed on any reality; routine, schedule, along with the same friends, tasks, patterns etc. This is the travel world. The other world exists of structures that more or less remain fixed, demanding little of day to day movement and people, the worries of those days for myself would lie out of the future, that the day to day would be taken pragmatically and the future goals, ambitions and paths fill all mundane thinking space. The possible future would speed my mind up, the spontaneous present would bring back the present. These two head spaces somehow would cancel each other out, bringing me to some quantitative balance.

Yet two states or modes of being must be harmonised, the divided self must feed off each other. This mental delusion had to come to an end it seemed, it was already pronounced and ready to compound. Yet perhaps this became the catalyst for this illness, unknown to all the doctors in the intensive care unit and unknown upon my release. As such I draw my own conclusions and come to think of this illness as a climactic response to a building tension between two modes or poles of feeling and thought, two contradictory actions that sought only to play each other off to find a real winner. lost? Perhaps this is what infinite possibility can do to you, in some ways its good as it opens up the rigidity, whilst on the other hand taken too seriously to the edge, it comes to negate itself and THE self.

I feel more inside now, more freed from living at two ends, or pursuing ideas and things that belong to someone else. It also helped me understand what I must do, that my path is mine, and it brings me comfort at a minimum to know that through these experiences I have come to visualise and comprehend those other paths. Now it’s a matter of getting on with it, accelerating and excelling how I know I will.

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Never know where I land, I am a gypsy man

The feminine man drinks up life as he can, to locate the subtle balance that restores the endless possibility of his spherical span.

He acquires the second element that opens the door, alchemy is now his project, for which he can continually explore.

The outside force of nature, once harnessed now works within, manifesting the magic hidden deeply in his mystic grin.

The feminine man poses power that none can fully know, his universe now open to a new and vibrant flow.

 

Posted in Figurative Writing, gypsy, Love, magic, music, mysticism, Philosophy, Travel Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment