(ed. what follows is a collection of writings by your Friend. Any or
all words here are written in a normal and clear state of mind. Any
resemblance to real people is purely intentional. All complaints
are wished to be presented in a pure Token of Love. Thank you for
your continuing patronage. Written during Oct 4 and Oct 5, 2008.
No chemical alteration of the writer's mind was required, with the
special exception of caffeine.
- Your Friend and Brother-in-Love )
--
Woop! Glap! Zingle! Ka-splat!
...beginning.
Thomas woke up from his drug-induced coma-like state-of-the-mind one
Sunday morning. The room around him was a multi-sided rectangular object
of many facets of facetious geometrical faces. The window was 2-by-3 by
which Two is meant as the width and Three as the height. The Window was
the source of illumination in the room which itself was sealed off from
what-other-realms-may lie behind the thin enclosures of reality in which
our Hero Protagonist lied in a herbalical hubris-state just few short
moments ago.
His hand was a mechanical device with multiple joint-pieces,
which automatically rotated independently from each other; creating a
sort of strange labyrinth-mix of army salutes and street gestures.
One could easily get him/herself into trouble in the streets of
Amsterdam with a hand like that; whizzing away on its own accord constantly.
A clear self-security risk.
The drugs started to clear from our Friend's mind; it was clear that
the required level of clarity would be soon reached with a distinct
level of easiness. Clear as a day it was.
The last remnants of that sweet Mary Jane soon left ol' Thom-Thom's
noodly-woodly-woogle. He rose up from his predicament-on-the-sleeping-device
and started to adjust His ocular devices-of-seeing-eye-thingies towards
his strange mechanical hand, which had started a sort-of Fairy Dance
Moon Ritual of the Spring Goddess-routine, and started a weird grinding
metal gear-sound which filled the room with monotonious machine hum.
"Strange indeed", said The Man.
--
The Angel Gabriel
The Angel Gabriel sat in a Parisian coffee-house hold a list of names in
His Divine Hand. The coffee cup was filled to brim with opaque black
beads which seemed inedible. He idly scratched the front of his neck,
apparently suffering of some sort of skin irritation condition.
(ed. then again, the Matters Of Divine Beings is a complex field of
science, so I'd really not know what really was going on. What is
Written Here, is just the human point-of-view from what was gathered
with the limited Senses of Man. )
The list contained the following names:
- Goward Gelbin Huhu-Walla The III
- P-012411
- Whatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatata
All were written in neat typewriter type of type, fixed-width and
beautifully aligned in a geometrically pleasing grid. The beads in the
coffee cup rolled around a little, moving the other beads in turn, in
a-sort-of gear-like motion. The Universe as a metaphore, perhaps.
I scratch your back, and I'll scratch yours.
My head hurts. Must be a brain tumor.
--
Lucifer - A Miscellania of Collected Pockets of Space-Time
The Fallen One sat atop His fiery Seat in Gehenna. Morning star, he was
called. Lucifer.
The Man sits in front of his writing device and ponders the gears of
universe itself, making little sense as he goes. Then he breaks into a
self-referential passage in his text, describing what ever he finds
interesting in any small pockets of time that pass on constantly. Then
he reads the passages later in his solidity and is instantly transported
back into that particular pocket of space-time.
Free the confines of your trapped mind and talk to your inner plumber.
Drain the pipes of mental traps and self-learned protection mechanisms.
Let the sunshine in! Let the Love shine through! Let the people near,
and come close to other people as well. Receive and give Love. Love is
all you need. Love is everywhere. United States of Love. Love Machine.
Love is The Amazing New Electronic Pop Sound. Love is Cybernetic. Men
and Women as a Yin and Yang of the Universe of Love.
Everything is one, but even One is Dual-Sided. Still, nothing is as
Black and White as they'd like you to think. There is no absolute.
There is always the bordering value of gray-shade. Chaos is not Evil.
The Man sits in front of his writing device listening to electronic
sounds of Popular Music but is not distracted; not by far; he is
actually enlighted by the simple quality of the tonal sequence; he
starts seeing the combinations of the frequency of notes and colors
of the full rainbow spectrum.
(ed. they call this phenomenon Synesthesia. )
They call this phenomenon something Latin-sounding, but the name escapes
The Man at the required instant in space-time. He is forced to not to
write the required letter sequence because of this momental mental
flux. The sound is suddenly distorted in an interesting way which
reminds the Listener of the sine wave; a pure algorithmical wave of ups
and downs. This effect is called the vocoder.
The voice is coded with two waves; the original voice itself and the
other voice, from which characteristic are taken into the original voice
pattern; thus it all becomes something completely new and different.
Something out of this world.
This is how speech can used in new and interesting ways, something which
before was impossible for the human speech organs.
--
The Anatomy of the Human Sexual Quirkiness – A Therapeutical Study
The Man feels totally naked when in fact he is wearing a full set of
clothes. This nakedness is translated into incomprehensible feeling of
shame, which seems to be something that is learned from the Company of
Others; the sub-conciousness of the Western Society. The self-image of
The Man is helplessly bad; He looks into the mirror and tries to like
what he sees. On some days, he does. On others, he seems to quite think
of himself as being in a wonderfully distorted Funhouse-in-a-Fairground.
He meets a Female. A Yang. He hits it off with the Female. A girl.
A Woman.
A lovely little cutie girlie.
And then he realizes that even though he thinks he enjoys sex and knows
"The Tricks of The Trade", he is still in his inner self the same shy
and nervous Person as always. The lack of self-esteem is then translated
into fumbling and unsure movements of the Body.
It takes a few tries. Then he gets quite good at it.
The girl even comes a few times in traditional Old School Apple Pie
American Missionary Position Intercourse. Oh boy!
Then the different styles and positions are tested; many of which are
much liked and added to the repertoire!
What is then observed is the fact, that the The Man craves more of
partnership than casual sex; which is also found nice, but still
secondary. The drug-like feeling of Love is overpowering to this
young Lad.
This is better than anything. Better than a pound-bag of Jamaica's
Finest Ol' 'erbal brew. Better than a monstrous hit of Good ol' Research
Chemical Acid. A double-shot of that good ol' Jack in a glass with twin
ice. Take your pick. Depending on your poison-of-choice.
The Man chooses Love. Both Traditional Hetero-Sexual American Apple Pie
Kind-of-Love and the Love-your-Brother kind. He chooses his path to
be the Path of Love.
Love.
Love is everything.
The Man finds others. Others who want to Love him back. Love his, as
much he Loves the others, even if He sometimes lacks the proper method
of showing His quantity and quality of Love.
And in the end, isn't it what we want anyway...?
--
Alcohol as the Removal Agent of Social Inhibitions - A Case Study
The observed Group goes to a Public House. They order Alcoholic
beverages of their choice. At the start, they are a little silent and
jumpy, being all in strange, never-before-seen company. They
start quaffing down their Drinks-of-Choice, the poison required for
this study. After the first one, all members report easier levels of
interpersonal communication. This is continued through the evening. The
redness of cheeks on all faces is increased as the number of drinks
increase.
The volume of speech and laughter increases. Body language is more
apparent and highly visual. A few hugs are exchanged. The closeness
of bodies attract orbiting mass. Personal space is decreased; but not
by any means accidentally. A feeling of hot breath is felt on their
faces as the Group shouts at each other over the Loud Blasting Music in
the room. More physical contact is observed, in increasing number. A few
kisses are exchanged.
The Group Loves one another and the Group as One. Sexual tension is
apparent. Is this force of unnatural and Un-American Triad of Love
acceptable for all and everyone?
Cannabis Sativa is added to the mix as an experimental catalyst of
Physical and Mental Love. This, as expected, increases the Lust or
Libido or Sexual Want or Driving Force in Males and Females of the
Group.
All physical Contact is now strongly associated with Mental infatuation
between the members of the Group.
Simply put, they want each other badly.
Different Combinations of Love are experimented on, many of which are
much liked and added to the repertoire of the Group.
This is what we call a Gang Bang in the Business of Love. Oh boy!
--
The Human Hand-Towel or How to Stop Absorbing Shit for the World
The Man sits in front of his writing device and ponders things great
many. Of palaces burning and of tygers fearsome. Of far-away lands and
people of Great Renown.
Ever think of why You call people "Sir" or "Madam", like these
honorifics were somehow preset values of the Human Worth?
A "Sir" for $130!
A "Miss" for a bargain Fiddy Quid!
For The Man, human worth is a humble state, of which all Hu-Men should
be aiming for. It's something that is Noble, Just and True. Greater
than any meaningless social value or measurable quantity of material
wealth. Mahatma Gandhi was quite close to what I'm aiming at. He wasn't
perfect, of course. Nobody really is. He isn't a personal hero. You
shouldn't have too many heroes.
"Measure a Man by his actions," says The Man, knowingly grinning. Ignore
his scruffy and quirky outfit, he is not any better or worse than you. He
just Is. And so should You be.
The Man is not Jesus, nor is he Buddha, Allah, or any other figure to
look up to. His actions may not always be admirable or True. He is not
by any definition a Figurehead of Great Expectations. He just Is. And so
should You be.
Do unto others et cetera...
There is still a lot to say, but the Human Race needs is own voice, and
that voice is not the voice of Religion or State. It is the Voice of
Humanity itself, crying out from the darkness; the vast mass of
wrong-doing and of unto-others.
An Aye for an eye, a Youth for a tooth. Walk with the mass and you
become a cog in the machine losing any notion of free will.
Stand out.
It's a dog-eat-dog world out there. Try to stay aboard and enjoy the
ride.
--
The Spring Ritual or 1+1=2
We sat together in the river-bank of Seine
Your hair has dark brown and it was flowing in the summer breeze
You looked me in the eyes
I was yours and you knew it
I gave in to the dizzying feeling of us Two
And finally, one plus one equals Two
--
Isn't this where we got off?
The end is the...
all words here are written in a normal and clear state of mind. Any
resemblance to real people is purely intentional. All complaints
are wished to be presented in a pure Token of Love. Thank you for
your continuing patronage. Written during Oct 4 and Oct 5, 2008.
No chemical alteration of the writer's mind was required, with the
special exception of caffeine.
- Your Friend and Brother-in-Love )
--
Woop! Glap! Zingle! Ka-splat!
...beginning.
Thomas woke up from his drug-induced coma-like state-of-the-mind one
Sunday morning. The room around him was a multi-sided rectangular object
of many facets of facetious geometrical faces. The window was 2-by-3 by
which Two is meant as the width and Three as the height. The Window was
the source of illumination in the room which itself was sealed off from
what-other-realms-may lie behind the thin enclosures of reality in which
our Hero Protagonist lied in a herbalical hubris-state just few short
moments ago.
His hand was a mechanical device with multiple joint-pieces,
which automatically rotated independently from each other; creating a
sort of strange labyrinth-mix of army salutes and street gestures.
One could easily get him/herself into trouble in the streets of
Amsterdam with a hand like that; whizzing away on its own accord constantly.
A clear self-security risk.
The drugs started to clear from our Friend's mind; it was clear that
the required level of clarity would be soon reached with a distinct
level of easiness. Clear as a day it was.
The last remnants of that sweet Mary Jane soon left ol' Thom-Thom's
noodly-woodly-woogle. He rose up from his predicament-on-the-sleeping-device
and started to adjust His ocular devices-of-seeing-eye-thingies towards
his strange mechanical hand, which had started a sort-of Fairy Dance
Moon Ritual of the Spring Goddess-routine, and started a weird grinding
metal gear-sound which filled the room with monotonious machine hum.
"Strange indeed", said The Man.
--
The Angel Gabriel
The Angel Gabriel sat in a Parisian coffee-house hold a list of names in
His Divine Hand. The coffee cup was filled to brim with opaque black
beads which seemed inedible. He idly scratched the front of his neck,
apparently suffering of some sort of skin irritation condition.
(ed. then again, the Matters Of Divine Beings is a complex field of
science, so I'd really not know what really was going on. What is
Written Here, is just the human point-of-view from what was gathered
with the limited Senses of Man. )
The list contained the following names:
- Goward Gelbin Huhu-Walla The III
- P-012411
- Whatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatata
All were written in neat typewriter type of type, fixed-width and
beautifully aligned in a geometrically pleasing grid. The beads in the
coffee cup rolled around a little, moving the other beads in turn, in
a-sort-of gear-like motion. The Universe as a metaphore, perhaps.
I scratch your back, and I'll scratch yours.
My head hurts. Must be a brain tumor.
--
Lucifer - A Miscellania of Collected Pockets of Space-Time
The Fallen One sat atop His fiery Seat in Gehenna. Morning star, he was
called. Lucifer.
The Man sits in front of his writing device and ponders the gears of
universe itself, making little sense as he goes. Then he breaks into a
self-referential passage in his text, describing what ever he finds
interesting in any small pockets of time that pass on constantly. Then
he reads the passages later in his solidity and is instantly transported
back into that particular pocket of space-time.
Free the confines of your trapped mind and talk to your inner plumber.
Drain the pipes of mental traps and self-learned protection mechanisms.
Let the sunshine in! Let the Love shine through! Let the people near,
and come close to other people as well. Receive and give Love. Love is
all you need. Love is everywhere. United States of Love. Love Machine.
Love is The Amazing New Electronic Pop Sound. Love is Cybernetic. Men
and Women as a Yin and Yang of the Universe of Love.
Everything is one, but even One is Dual-Sided. Still, nothing is as
Black and White as they'd like you to think. There is no absolute.
There is always the bordering value of gray-shade. Chaos is not Evil.
The Man sits in front of his writing device listening to electronic
sounds of Popular Music but is not distracted; not by far; he is
actually enlighted by the simple quality of the tonal sequence; he
starts seeing the combinations of the frequency of notes and colors
of the full rainbow spectrum.
(ed. they call this phenomenon Synesthesia. )
They call this phenomenon something Latin-sounding, but the name escapes
The Man at the required instant in space-time. He is forced to not to
write the required letter sequence because of this momental mental
flux. The sound is suddenly distorted in an interesting way which
reminds the Listener of the sine wave; a pure algorithmical wave of ups
and downs. This effect is called the vocoder.
The voice is coded with two waves; the original voice itself and the
other voice, from which characteristic are taken into the original voice
pattern; thus it all becomes something completely new and different.
Something out of this world.
This is how speech can used in new and interesting ways, something which
before was impossible for the human speech organs.
--
The Anatomy of the Human Sexual Quirkiness – A Therapeutical Study
The Man feels totally naked when in fact he is wearing a full set of
clothes. This nakedness is translated into incomprehensible feeling of
shame, which seems to be something that is learned from the Company of
Others; the sub-conciousness of the Western Society. The self-image of
The Man is helplessly bad; He looks into the mirror and tries to like
what he sees. On some days, he does. On others, he seems to quite think
of himself as being in a wonderfully distorted Funhouse-in-a-Fairground.
He meets a Female. A Yang. He hits it off with the Female. A girl.
A Woman.
A lovely little cutie girlie.
And then he realizes that even though he thinks he enjoys sex and knows
"The Tricks of The Trade", he is still in his inner self the same shy
and nervous Person as always. The lack of self-esteem is then translated
into fumbling and unsure movements of the Body.
It takes a few tries. Then he gets quite good at it.
The girl even comes a few times in traditional Old School Apple Pie
American Missionary Position Intercourse. Oh boy!
Then the different styles and positions are tested; many of which are
much liked and added to the repertoire!
What is then observed is the fact, that the The Man craves more of
partnership than casual sex; which is also found nice, but still
secondary. The drug-like feeling of Love is overpowering to this
young Lad.
This is better than anything. Better than a pound-bag of Jamaica's
Finest Ol' 'erbal brew. Better than a monstrous hit of Good ol' Research
Chemical Acid. A double-shot of that good ol' Jack in a glass with twin
ice. Take your pick. Depending on your poison-of-choice.
The Man chooses Love. Both Traditional Hetero-Sexual American Apple Pie
Kind-of-Love and the Love-your-Brother kind. He chooses his path to
be the Path of Love.
Love.
Love is everything.
The Man finds others. Others who want to Love him back. Love his, as
much he Loves the others, even if He sometimes lacks the proper method
of showing His quantity and quality of Love.
And in the end, isn't it what we want anyway...?
--
Alcohol as the Removal Agent of Social Inhibitions - A Case Study
The observed Group goes to a Public House. They order Alcoholic
beverages of their choice. At the start, they are a little silent and
jumpy, being all in strange, never-before-seen company. They
start quaffing down their Drinks-of-Choice, the poison required for
this study. After the first one, all members report easier levels of
interpersonal communication. This is continued through the evening. The
redness of cheeks on all faces is increased as the number of drinks
increase.
The volume of speech and laughter increases. Body language is more
apparent and highly visual. A few hugs are exchanged. The closeness
of bodies attract orbiting mass. Personal space is decreased; but not
by any means accidentally. A feeling of hot breath is felt on their
faces as the Group shouts at each other over the Loud Blasting Music in
the room. More physical contact is observed, in increasing number. A few
kisses are exchanged.
The Group Loves one another and the Group as One. Sexual tension is
apparent. Is this force of unnatural and Un-American Triad of Love
acceptable for all and everyone?
Cannabis Sativa is added to the mix as an experimental catalyst of
Physical and Mental Love. This, as expected, increases the Lust or
Libido or Sexual Want or Driving Force in Males and Females of the
Group.
All physical Contact is now strongly associated with Mental infatuation
between the members of the Group.
Simply put, they want each other badly.
Different Combinations of Love are experimented on, many of which are
much liked and added to the repertoire of the Group.
This is what we call a Gang Bang in the Business of Love. Oh boy!
--
The Human Hand-Towel or How to Stop Absorbing Shit for the World
The Man sits in front of his writing device and ponders things great
many. Of palaces burning and of tygers fearsome. Of far-away lands and
people of Great Renown.
Ever think of why You call people "Sir" or "Madam", like these
honorifics were somehow preset values of the Human Worth?
A "Sir" for $130!
A "Miss" for a bargain Fiddy Quid!
For The Man, human worth is a humble state, of which all Hu-Men should
be aiming for. It's something that is Noble, Just and True. Greater
than any meaningless social value or measurable quantity of material
wealth. Mahatma Gandhi was quite close to what I'm aiming at. He wasn't
perfect, of course. Nobody really is. He isn't a personal hero. You
shouldn't have too many heroes.
"Measure a Man by his actions," says The Man, knowingly grinning. Ignore
his scruffy and quirky outfit, he is not any better or worse than you. He
just Is. And so should You be.
The Man is not Jesus, nor is he Buddha, Allah, or any other figure to
look up to. His actions may not always be admirable or True. He is not
by any definition a Figurehead of Great Expectations. He just Is. And so
should You be.
Do unto others et cetera...
There is still a lot to say, but the Human Race needs is own voice, and
that voice is not the voice of Religion or State. It is the Voice of
Humanity itself, crying out from the darkness; the vast mass of
wrong-doing and of unto-others.
An Aye for an eye, a Youth for a tooth. Walk with the mass and you
become a cog in the machine losing any notion of free will.
Stand out.
It's a dog-eat-dog world out there. Try to stay aboard and enjoy the
ride.
--
The Spring Ritual or 1+1=2
We sat together in the river-bank of Seine
Your hair has dark brown and it was flowing in the summer breeze
You looked me in the eyes
I was yours and you knew it
I gave in to the dizzying feeling of us Two
And finally, one plus one equals Two
--
Isn't this where we got off?
The end is the...
2 comments:
Satan
Lisaa Studyja!
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