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Satyr
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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Wed Oct 19, 2016 8:56 pm

Fallon Effect

Spent the first year at my last job, keeping to myself. I used to bring a book to read.
Real cushy eight-hour weekend shifts.
Wasn't until the second year when my solitary personae shifted to extroversion. Coworkers wanted me to join in, feeling like I was lonely on my own.
Some people, especially females of Mediterranean descent, cannot understand solitude.
They associate it with rejection, and loneliness.
Anyway that's when a whole different part of me broke out, to their surprise.
I soon became the funny guy.
I could dish-out the one-liners, and my repertoire of imitations and stereotypical voices, turning a drab work day into a fun-time.

Positive reinforcement works wonders.
I would only have to speak for them to be in a good mood.
My jokes were always geared to the people present, because they changed from week to week.
had to be cognizant of the particulars in each case.
Some were religious, some were sensitive, others were fucked-up...a nice variety of psychologies.
Gossip was how I gauged their spirit.
It was a weekend shift so the weekly turnover was about three weeks.
I would work with the same people in cycles.
Loved the job, because most people bore me, and I lack the patience to endure them for more than a short time.

Anyway, there was one black guy who I worked with every so often. He only covered on weekends when someone called-in sick.
He had a regular Monday to Friday shift so we rarely saw him on weekends.
Funny thing is that all the black guys at my job liked me.
Dan was his name.
This guy loved me.
He was convinced I ought go into stand-up.
I could make him crack-up with laughter.
Soon all it took was a stupid comment and he would keel-over.

Dan had no idea about my "dark side", the internet knows as Satyr.
Once it got a bit uncomfortable.
I said something clever, can't remember what, and Dan exploded in laughter.
The others present sort of smiled, and looked on awkwardly, and so did I.
I had to become serious to change the mood.

Goes to show that if you gain a reputation, the reaction becomes automatic.
Then the slightest stimulation, like in the Pavlovian expriment, triggers the expected reaction.
Others associate you with the emotion you consistently make them feel.
They share their judgments reinforcing the collective opinion.

A trick flatterers exploit to their advantage.

If I were someone different, like Fallon, I would feed-off the positive feedback. Make a name, a career, money, off of it.
I would, completely, give myself to the reaction.
My self-esteem would be addicted to it. I would be codependent.
Dopamine rush.

But I'm not.

I know too much to give myself to simple psychological pleasures.
It's a curse.
Only way to quiet my brain is to inebriate it, so that my reasoning can no longer hold the primal part of me back.
Unfortunately I also have a high alcohol tolerance, and I am not a naturally addictive personality.

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Thu Oct 20, 2016 7:55 am

Had a friend named George, who had a sidekick, named Mike.
Mike and George were like Pezer and Iakob. They even looked like them...well in general.
Thin, no muscle tone. Hippie style.
There are other similarities, so many, that I decided to write this down.
After observing people for decades I've realized they come in general psychological types, repeating, with slight modifications.
Clones.   
I guess that's what psychology ad astrology are all about.
Behavioural similarities along with physical ones - in general.

Mike died, in his thirties, from complications caused by his thalassemia.
George did not even cry, at his funeral.
I did, and he wasn't even my shadow. I had spent but a fraction of the time George had with him.
We all grieve in different ways.

Anyway...
Mike had a white streak in his long beautiful black hair.
He had a rigid vampire look, corresponding to Pezer's stiff-style of speaking, becoming squeaky, white-men-can't rap, when he "improvises".
Mike's walk was also strange. His feet seemed to be ahead of his torso - a laid back style that defied gravity.
Very gaunt, and white....and very passive.    
Mike was George's shadow.
A name he got from those of us who noticed how he was never absent from George's side.
First thing in the morning Mike called George to find out the day's schedule.
It was a domineering relationship. George used Mike as his go-fer, a psychological prop for his needy psychosis.  
A supportive "friend" involved in all of his many schemes.  
You see George was an arsty-farsty, sensitive guy.
Smart as hell, but mentally weak.
He got a scholarship for McMasters, in the classics. Only hope for a job, in that field would have been as a professor.
He would have been a good one.
I helped him move out there. A month later he drops it, to pursue a career in music, or whatever scheme it was at the time.
I helped him move back home.
He wanted a "tough-guy" in case his landlord gave him problems.
He was not a confrontational person.
We sneaked out at dawn, and were never confronted by anyone.

Anyway...
George was narcissistic, as well. Compensation for his over-sensitivity, cultivated by a childhood of pampering.
He was the only boy, of three siblings.
The only son syndrome.
Everything was about George. To be around George was to be part of his entourage.
I hung around him because he was a walking adventure.
Every two-three months, or so, he had another obsession, another project.
One summer he wanted to be a musician - he played the guitar - so he purchased expensive microphones, mixing software, a nice guitar, a mandoline, and so on.
Then he was going to be a film director, so he purchased a nice camera.
We actually did some filming in a cemetery and mortuary. Real "deep" existential stuff.
He had found some movie-prop place that lent him some bad-ass angel wings, and then he recruited local starving actors to participate in his artistic film, all about him.
It was hilarious.
Never tried, as far as I know, to get funding from the Canadian Film Board, like his buddy had. The one who put the idea in his head.
We, later, went to watch a screening of his friend's funded film. As I watched I wondered how the hell my tax dollars paid for the crap I was watching.
Nice, classy affair, in the artistic part of Montreal, St.Denis.

Anyway...
After that George got it in his head to invent and sell a strategy board game.
Week after week I saw it grow into a monster that would need a high-powered computer to play.
Then he was going to be a restaurateur.
Was going to purchase his boss's place, in Montreal's tourist district, for $700,000, at the time.
This from a guy who was accumulating a debt he would later have to erase by declaring personal bankruptcy.
If it were not one thing it was another.
All it took was a verbal trigger.
Something that would flatter his ego, and spark his imagination: women, money, admiration, adulation...
The world would be his oyster.
Like when I suggested to put the camera, he had paid a good amount for, to good use and make a documentary on immigrants.
Tell their stories how they came to the country, their dreams and so on.
He took my idea and imagined a film about him, and his waiter's life.
That project never got off the round.
He did become a wedding photographer for a while. But he wanted others to do the actual work and he to manage.

He later applied and got a job running a high-end steak house.
He was smart, can't doubt it, but his weakness was his flakiness.
His mind was powerful but fragile - needy.
Emotion corrupting his judgments.
If a girl smiled at him he would be convinced she wanted him.
Once, at the university's club, drinking beer listening to a local band, a girls's eyes locked with his, for a second...she was probably looking for someone, momentarily thought it was George...who knows?
George returned there, week after week, hoping to bump into her. He was sure she and he had "shared a moment".
If a waitress smiled at him, as part of her job, he became a devoted patron, until he eventually realized she was only being nice.  
He once turned around and came back home, half way to Toronto, when the girls he was riding with made some comment - which I could never make him tell me about.
I'm sure it had something to do with his expectations being dashed.

Every project, every event, was overblown by his overactive imagination, and then easily deflated.
He met some corporate lawyer type, on-line, from the States. Not attractive.
I was his best man...or one of three.  
Last I heard he's running a big restaurant in Florida.
We stopped talking.
Let me explain why, showing how sensitive he is.
Whenever he would return back home he would send me a message.
"I'm going to be in town, we can hook-up."
"Sure"
Then he would send me a message from home, a few days later.
"I could not find free time to call you. I'm back home."
"Okay, don't worry about it."
George wanted me to complain about him not giving me a bit of his precious time, as others in the entourage did, you see.
Because the entire world revolved around him and my earlier participation in his schemes, minimal as it may have been, was for him an indication that I was part of his posse...his clan.
I don't mind pretending to be inferior but when it becomes annoying....I set things straight.
George was becoming annoying.
I had no more time, or interest in being part of his schemes.
On one occasion he had three people running around town, canvassing delis, as part of his most current scheme to set-up an exporting of Montreal Deli style foodstuffs, poutine, smoked-meat etc.
Never went anywhere. He was full of ideas, and no action. Reality contradicted his fantasy world.
There was some contact with reality, but so minimal that it did not matter.
I had no more time to play in his life's story, as supporting cast.

Anyway...    
This happened three times.
I have this three-strikes rule.
Each time there was some excuse as to why his announced coming did not result in a 'sitting by the feet of the lord'.
Third time I sent back a very polite reply. "Listen George..." I said "If you come you come and if you do not you do not. No need to inform me, just call me if and when you get here, and if and when you have the time. No big deal. ."
That cut through his inflated thin-skin.
It did not express enough importance on his potential arrival.
I was not feeding the narcissistic monster inside.  
"What did that mean?" he messaged back, a bit insulted.
I had about had-it with him and his little psychotic power games.
So I became sarcastic, breaking down my sentences and defining each word separately...
"'Listen' refers to the act of paying attention acoustically....'George' is a Christian name for a organism, in this case...." and so on....

That was my last correspondence with him.

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When I see this van-clan, entourage...it's like I'm watching a repeat movie. A show. It has its own sound-track.
Same dynamics, same cast of characters, same psychologies.
It's uncanny.  

I should write a piece on it.
It has to do with feminization, how friends are now like free-range males, on the periphery of a herd dominated by one masculine entity - institution.
If you notice, the clique is always trying to attain power through an established venue.
Music industry, or movie industry. A way of usurping the dominant male.
A clique created by the current socioeconomic circumstances.
Tribe-less males, finding in one another a sense of purpose, a new identity.
It's why they oppose all external forms of identification: nationalism, for example.
they admire those who survived the master - rooting for the victims.
The little man who made it big - the unpopular made popular. Made into sparkly pop.
Revenge of the downtrodden.
It is why has an other-worldly air about it - magical. Not nature, do they worship but the supernatural; not the real but the surreal.
Slaves are masters, masters are slaves. Inversion with their own style.
Like those male lions pushed to the periphery of lion prides, waiting for an opportunity to break in and take over.

There's always a central figure, a "star", that binds the group together, otherwise they would be split apart, by their own momentum.
The narcissist. His psychological singularity, attracts a variety of needy, lost types -  pulled into the gravitational sink of his ego.
An alternate reality is created.
An event-horizon. Light it sucked in, and so is time. It does not escape.
Brightness is internalized. All is vibrant, brilliant, inside, while outside darkness rules.
Black Hole grows the more matter it absorbes, radiating outward small amounts of energy.
It's effect is internalized.
The entourage must assimilates others, become popular, otherwise it has no reason for existing.
Internal heat radiates an external coolness.
The massive ego, at its center, sparks smaller egos, lends them energy.
Their goal is to swallow existence into their combined singularity.
 
An emotional Black Hole.

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It cannot tolerate another star in its vicinity.
Temporal vortex, falling out of existence.

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The entourage is always comprised of males, as its central core. They are compressed as sexless, raceless, entities - with no traditions, no family, nothing that would contradict the singularity. All is absorbed into it.
Nothing is born in a Black Hole.
It is itself a separating reality. It is its own world.
It emanates energy.
Like a well-stages play.
The director is the central figure, the hero. Others are bit-layers, their personal lives a hindrance, but tolerated - if possible thee external relationships are integrated into the play's narrative.
The "star's" attraction/repulsion keeps the entire system rotating around it.
The power of attraction exceeding the power of resisting, in those it pulls in as satellites and then assimilates into its mass.
When it flatters them, when it gives, it flatters self, through them, it gives self alms. It rewards itself through them.
Slightest resistance is expelled as useless radiation.    

Anyway...

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Wed Oct 26, 2016 8:25 am

When I was in kindergarten the teacher called my mother in for consultation.
She wanted permission to train me to stop using my left hand.
She had noticed that I favoured it when drawing or cutting paper into shapes.
At the time being left-handed was thought of a kind of disability, in a world of right-handers.
Slowly I learned to write using the right hand.
Curiously I retained my comfort with the left when doing work that requires power.

I'm a strange kind of ambidextrous.
For precision work I can only use the right, and for work like shoveling I can only do with the left.
In my thinking I tend to think using imagery.
I have a poor sense of direction, needing visual data to orient myself.
At the same time I categorize, being obsessively ordering, placing sensations into categories, creating cohesive mental models.
I do not rest until the right and left hemisphere agree, or, at least, find a mutually satisfying solution.

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Thu Oct 27, 2016 7:38 pm

One time, I woke up after sleeping with my head on my outstretched arm.
Still not fully awake, the hand had become numb, because of reduced blood flow.
It felt, as if, it was not my own hand, but that of some other.

I enjoyed the detachment, realizing how tenuous our connection is to our own body.

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Thu Nov 03, 2016 2:50 pm

Bad habit, I know.
When I sense idiocy, I begin to joke and lie.
It's an automatic reaction to what is alien, or not what I want to associate myself with, coming to a compromise due to environment - adaptation.

A lie must be partially a fact.
Hyperbole. An inflation and/or deflation of what is obvious.  
But not so much as to expose itself.
Here a sense of the others quality adjusts the exaggeration, to be attempted, to within believable limits.
A lie exposing weakness, and/or is self-deprecating, is easier to exaggerate.
The other is naturally inclined to accept what insults other, and by contrast, flatters self, supports self in its previous investments, its narratives.
More so if these stories have nothing tangible to offer, but only feelings, theory, feel-good assessments, of romantic idealism.
All evidence is simply not enough before the exception, before the theoretical.

A fact that is self-flattering, and/or exposes a strength, is more difficult to exaggerate.
Inverse proportionality at work.
At this point is where feeble minds get caught.
It takes a fine mind to gauge the others quality, and to know self to a degree of honesty and clarity, to inflate and deflate without passing the line of being unconvincing.
Some preparatory exploratory attempts may serve to make the proper adjustments.    

The degree to which the other's judgment is respected determines the degree of exaggeration that will be attempted.

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Wed Nov 09, 2016 1:57 pm

Culinary Detox

Purchase giant dry white beans...
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Prepare them like this...


Your taste buds will love it, and your intestines will be thoroughly voided within the day.

Woke up at 2:00 a.m. to empty my bowels, and then again at 5:00 a.m.
Body feels clean.

I wonder if there's such a natural detox remedy for the mind.

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Wed Nov 09, 2016 7:22 pm

Took a right/left brained psyche test, just for the hell of it.

My score...

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...got 50% on each side.
I'm perfectly schizoid.
Ha!
Or am I perfectly balanced?
scratch
I am ambidextrous but never ambivalent.

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Wed Nov 09, 2016 7:27 pm

I got 53% rationality vs. 47% intuition.
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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Wed Nov 09, 2016 7:32 pm

Leaning to the left, huh?

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Wed Nov 09, 2016 7:43 pm

Maybe, but I wouldn't be surprised if I were to lean slightly to the right at another time.
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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Wed Nov 09, 2016 8:34 pm

69% Left. More than I thought.

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Wed Nov 09, 2016 8:46 pm

The dancer in the test is turning clockwise. I don't see what that has to do with either side of the brain, it's not like being right or left brained changes the direction in which the dancer is turning. Besides, we can almost choose the outcome by just thinking about the questions. The easiest example is when it asks to pick a form. The left-brain would pick ordered forms, the right would pick disordered (chaotic) forms. In this way you can almost choose your result. While answering honestly I too got 50%-50%, but I also managed to get it to 75% right 25% left by answering in a manner I think a right-leaning person would.

It is almost like a test that determines how strong you are by asking you how much you can lift, instead of having you actually lift. Sure, one can answer honestly, but one can also lie about it, whereas with actually lifting things, there is no lying - you either can or can't do it. The same is with IQ tests, you can't choose the outcome simply by thinking about the question - you either perceive the pattern or you don't.

I think the problem here are tests based on self-assessment. If you know which answer will lead to what outcome you can easily answer the questions in a way to achieve a desired result.

Aside from that issue, I don't trust most of these tests which are short, colorful, and have flashing images. They look like a compilation of mini-psychology games by a high schooler instead of a serious test administered by a qualified expert. I'm not saying there isn't any value in it, but I wouldn't take it too seriously.
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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Wed Nov 09, 2016 9:04 pm

From my own experience I would also have put myself somewhere in the middle.
If I were in the mode where I would "over-think" the test (which happens) I'd already know that I am leaning quite a bit to the left at the time.
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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Thu Nov 17, 2016 3:27 pm

Got my hands on some wild moose meat.
Now, I need to find a good recipe to prepare it for consumption.

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Tue Nov 22, 2016 6:04 pm

Though I was raised by a Christian mother, Christianity was never internalized by me.
it was something I performed, mechanically, during some days of the week, and this was never forced upon me.
No faith came into play, because I was never forced to submit to anything.
Everything was experienced, by me, as a ritual I did not relate to, and found strange.

The Bolshevik was internalized, by my father's influence, which, ironically, contradicted that of my mother's.
There was no theoretical substratum only an appeal to fairness, against organized exploitation, something I still relate to in contrast to an individual's exploitation due to his/her own merit.
Capitalism may mirror natural selection but it corrupts it through the concept of inheritance and ownership.
In nature genes are inherited but not social status.
No matter who your parents are you must earn you place in the pack.

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Tue Dec 13, 2016 7:26 pm

Terrible three weeks....a bad end to a good year.
My son brought a virus home.
Some kind of mucus producing bug.
No fever, only constant mucus.
It even came out of my eyes.
Whatever sleep I managed to squeeze in between coughing, managed to fuse shut my eyelids with sticky nastiness.
Mucus coming out of every pore.

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Wed Dec 14, 2016 3:50 am

A (flu)-virus without strong symptoms can be dangerous because people are not forced to stay in bed and sometimes they get back into their routine too quickly, which in turn can lead to the virus not being properly dealt with by the body which can lead to serious illnesses in the long run.

Bottomline is, symptoms have to eventually steadily disappear.
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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Sat Dec 17, 2016 3:34 am

My genes seldom succumb to bugs, although mosquitoes come through my jeans. santa Glad you are back.
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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Sat Dec 17, 2016 9:20 am

Positive Pollyanna wrote:
My genes seldom succumb to bugs, although mosquitoes come through my jeans. santa Glad you are back.  
When you have a kid and he or she brings home bugs from school, you'll see how "strong" your autoimmune system is.
I rarely got sick. Maybe once a year when the weather changed in the fall, but that first year of preschool was the year I was sick for 12 months straight.

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Sat Dec 17, 2016 7:45 pm

I tend to overload on healthy foods full of vitamins whenever I notice first symptoms of a cold/flu. There's a saying where I come from - better to prevent than to cure. I would recommend tea with lemon and honey.
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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Sun Dec 18, 2016 3:06 am

And put the lemon and the honey into the tea just before you are going to drink the cup, so that the heat does not destroy too much of the vitamins.



People usually have weak spots where they will feel the disease first, like getting cold feet or whatever.
I usually get a soar throat first and so I immediately start drinking sage tea, a herb with strong immediate effects on a soar throat.
If possible, I also get into bed already before I am forced to do so by the illness. Keep the body temperature rather high.
In my estimation from experience it shortens the duration of the illness considerably. The body is supported in his fight already before the infestation through viruses or bacteria gets really going.
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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Sun Dec 18, 2016 6:19 am

I have chamomile picked from Crete.
Beautiful stuff.
A bit of honey, and it felt like liquid healing.

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Sun Jan 08, 2017 6:47 pm


It's between #8 & #1 for me.
Whichever had the best television and internet reception would finalize my choice.

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Tue Jan 10, 2017 10:54 am

Tried to watch the Global Awards this year, as I do with every award show.
My interest is mostly to see the hot actresses and to assess the level of glitz and glamour in a decaying system of culture of no culture.
A sort of social barometer of the state of Nihilism, in the nation that made it into a culture, and built an empire upon it.

Unlike the past years I could not make it beyond the first awards, when the Negroes came up to talk bout how the system must be opened up to their creativity, and how all deserve to express themselves, which means only the Negroes because nobody bothers with the oriental minority and how absent they are from these award shows.
They want to convert the movie industry to what the music industry has become.
A place where talentless idiots can sample and repeat and imitate, and resell by syhtesizing, the creative creations of a past.
We already see it with the movies Hollywood produces yearly.
Same scenarios, different actors, different premise, different titles.
Sampling applied to movies, as it has been applied to music, and art, in general.

If not plagiarism then this Pollock inspires splashing of imagery, pretending to be rooted in a wilful idea, when it's simply a confusion produced by pictorial quilts, implying, confusing, amalgamating a variety of past ideas into a confused mess the writer/director splashes on screen hoping the audience will find in it their own interpretation to make it genius.
A adaptation of the word-associating cRAP we call musical art, these days, with the continuous repetition of me-me and love, and sex, and bling bling.

And in all that mes the insidious conspicuous propaganda promoting the nihilistic ideals of uniformity, equality, non-distinction, a denial of nature and natural processes, anti-realism replaced with abstractions that only trigger good feelings in the spectator, escaping relief from reality into an alternate reality where everything is ordered and finalizes with a better end.

I think I'm not able to sit through en entire 2-3 hour show anymore.
I feel nauseated....I cringe with every acceptance speech, I shake my head with every propaganda comedic piece that lacks the integrity to also make fun of the opposite.
Nazi propagandists were little league to what I witness there.
It's so sophisticated you sometimes fail to notice it. We've been so indoctrinated with these messages that we no longer notice their unchallenged repetition.
after a while we think they are self-evident, that it has always been this way, that no alternative ever existed.


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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Tue Jan 10, 2017 11:53 am






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"ἐδιζησάμην ἐμεωυτόν." [Heraclitus]

"All that exists is just and unjust and equally justified in both." [Aeschylus, Prometheus]

"The history of everyday is constituted by our habits. ... How have you lived today?" [N.]

*Become clean, my friends.*
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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Tue Jan 10, 2017 12:23 pm

I never understood what the big deal with Streep was.
She's one more idiot actress that can pretend she's someone else....or that pretends she's in a different circumstance convincingly.
She does not stand out in any way from the dozens of other actresses.

Give me an actor that can recite Shakespeare and act it out on stage, or ancient Greek drama, and I am impressed. I'll watch him on screen playing a love stricken buffoon for extra cash.

But this buffoon selling the same Modernistic mythologies, embodying victimhood and becoming rich by pretending she is underprivileged and wronged....and I want to puke.

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Thu Jan 12, 2017 9:05 pm

I'm having issues with oxygen intake when I swim.
More I swim the more air I need, and that leaves me gasping, while not getting the benefit of full cardio workout.
My solution....
The mask & snorkel.

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Amazon is great.

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Wed Jul 26, 2017 10:30 pm


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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Thu Aug 03, 2017 7:08 pm

Just got back from a local Nordic spa...
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...
Loved the Nordic bath.
Ice cold.
Couldn't stand it for more than a minute, but it was invigorating.
Then you plunge into the salt water warm pool, and it's all okay.

Felt like a Roman.  

I want to try it in the middle of winter when it looks like this...
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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Sat Aug 05, 2017 6:54 pm

There was a guy in the army who suffered from alopecia.
He looked like the lead in midnight oil.

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Big strapping young man, with hands the size of shovels.
He would pick-up cement bags as if they were nothing.
He was always laughing.

We were stationed together for months, near the northern border.
To pass our time we would harass each other.
I remember we used to antagonize this guy, to make him chase us.
I was fast, so I felt safe...but I remember he caught me once, and once was all it took.
He was laughing as he repeatedly punched me on the same shoulder, until I was begging for him to stop.
My shoulder was blue for a month afterward.

Another thing I remember about the guy was a rat standing on his shoulder, in the middle of the night, as he slept.
We had all kinds of animals up there on the mountains.
They had a pack of large dogs to protect us from bears and wolves, but no cats to keep away rats.
At night the rats would come out. We used to find their droppings in our helmets every morning.
I always covered myself tight with the blankets to not have one of them crawl in bed with me.
One did, once, I think...felt it crawling up my leg, before I went crazy kicking at it.
One night I woke up in the middle of the night, because of a noise.
I'm a light sleeper.
When I looked around in the dark, in a room full of sleeping soldiers, I saw a rat on this guys chest.
Did not make a sound...I wrapped myself tighter and drifted back to sleep.

Back at base we used to buy cheese-pies that were nibbled on by rats.
Daily we saw huge rats that fed on the refuge the base produced.
Giants like kittens.

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Mon Sep 11, 2017 1:24 pm


Can't be for another, and no other can be for you.
Always hoping for more, even when it comes to the one you identify with, or is partially you, like a child.
Do not hold onto them too hard, because you are not enough, and cannot be more than a passing, a step on their life's ladder, a railing for them to hold onto on their way up and away; a door to go through into a new space, full of possibilities you cannot offer.
Let them pass their fingers through yours, tightening and loosening as they will, never grasping, closing your fist to hold them still.
Let them feel your heat, the sweat on your palm, your finger tips caressing their surfaces; the surrounding boundary of their deep abyss.
Let them hold you, kiss you, if they want, enjoying what they give, never becoming addicted, presuming you are worth more, that you deserve more.
Demanding nothing more than the ephemeral moment, and its fading memories...also falling from you, in time.      

What can you be for another, or another for you, when nothing lasts; when nothing is ever enough, perfect, adequate, for a hungry spirit?
Feed what you can, give what you must, let yourself spill forth, not caring if they carefully cup their hands and bend to taste, to drink of you, or how you will taste.
Let them wash in you, before they go off to dirty themselves again, looking for new, more refreshing pools to swim in.
Let them keep what you've let go of, for a time returning to its recollection - carved out of their intentions to be good or to feel bad.

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PostSubject: Re: potpourri Tue Sep 19, 2017 8:19 am


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If the cup has shattered into a thousand little pieces
sweep me up, piece by piece,
and glue me together with your saliva
Then place me behind the other cups,
in your cupboard,
only taking me out, for your private use,
when a missing piece, or two, and cracks do not matter
for the enjoyment of a hot cup of tea,
But be quick, about it,
because the liquid will start seeping through the cracks,
to burn your fingers

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