It seems impossible to worry anymore. As the boat rises along the wave, I am unaware of the inevitable fall. I’ve never let so much go… I will be either powered or murdered. Anything but stagnant.
P2 - The only meaningful investment is in the improvement of the functioning of the self.
P1 - Improving your self automatically improves society. You cannot separate the two.
P2 - And improving society automatically improves the self.
all we need to say is "improvement" but in relative to what? isn't everything subjective? hmmmm, some things seem objectively universal. like gratuitous suffering is ALWAYS bad. perhaps the emotion/feeling is objectively the same, but the stimulus for that emotion/feeling is subjective.
roller coasters make jim sick. roller coasters excite sally. roller coasters anger frank.
we all understand sickness, excitement, and anger. that is the objective part. however, the only thing society can control is the stimulus. it is possible to give free roller coaster rides out to all but impossible to give out happiness.
the key is this! money can mean many different things. vacations, food, drugs, material possessions, sex. it can purchase many things to fulfill the individual.
due to money's variability, redistribution of wealth can "improve" both societal and individual needs.
Can two people have completely different interests with equal levels of self-acceptance reflect into each other? Yes. The core is what reflects.
A slice of paper folded again and again into an unbendable mass. We admire who folds tighter than the other. But, this power must be used for good. Otherwise, you manipulate and cause confusion, Andy Warhol.
I guess there is an objective truth.
Then I am Emotion.
No activity is pure however. There are downsides in any activity. Too much of anything will cause the downsides to become overwhelming, even if they are small inconveniences at first.
Thus, reaching pure identity and pure love is impossible.
Enamored with purity. Whole acceptance. Excitement for a deeper understanding. That look. More whole. External fills internal. Limitless risks worth risk. Because, you have yourself. Always.
When you realize you already have everything (yourself), you are complete.
Until today, I have always thought it was part of the song and quite enjoyed it. It was unique and seemed to fit well into the music. Yesterday, I downloaded the album and heard the same dubbed over phrase throughout the entire album. At that time, I realized the overdub wasn't part of the original song but an attempt to keep people from pirating music. Now, I dislike that overdub. My feelings about the overdub completely reversed.
John Cage was wrong. Music (art) is NOT completely subjective. After learning the dubbed voice wasn't part of the artist's vision, the value of those sounds lowered dramatically.
The artist's intention carries weight and holds value. There is objective value to art that is based around the intention of the artist. The artist sets the objective value (intention) which is unchangeable.
Art is objectively and subjectively valued.
There is massive appeal, magnetic appeal. Oh, the appeal pulling me.
Stop! Browse again. Redo. Undone.
This is where I stand: The ones who say I'm too much -
- are not enough for themselves.
I've held back.
Browse again. Redo. Undone. Not terrified.
Others' assets are either appealing or intimidating.
Energy is my addiction. Childlike wonder. People like this, oh the appeal.
You see it in their movement, smile, eyes, laugh, touch, being.
I will not settle.
Settling is mutual. Always. Unfortunately, it's masked as a loss for one.
I miss what I have not had.
But, I know it will be there.
I wait while smiling.
Oh, the appeal.
people, music, dance, art, laughter, philosophy, health, adventure, passion.
Be stupidly in awe. This life is perfect with every silly emotion. Do not sacrifice this moment for any other. Magic is happening, regardless of any injustice. This very second is the most important. And then the next. No need to force them. Their greatness is vast.
Thank you for this.
Fact. There. Always.
Emotional plan, logical plane and surfing both. Hopscotch.
Make me jealous. Turn the emotional plane resistless.
Every pour dumping from inside to outside to inside to outside
Old and flashing colors shaking with my skin
And those speakers
I saw myself as wrinkled - aged. And then smoothed over. Repeating.
Sweating brow and hair sprouting between my lids.
And the power shook. Noises. Little playing noises.
That moment. The moment. Of perhaps my life.
this song was playing:
But we haven’t. This world has so many places to paint our life upon. Will they all eventually crumple? Maybe. Perhaps there are some that wont. I do not know. Regardless, there are always clean spaces for us to begin our work. If it becomes painful, set it free. This world has tools for expression everywhere. What a wonderful thing.
Life spirals and accelerates in every direction with kindred light and matter.
Grasp and refuse to release.
I rectify my personality by chalking up impulses as well-placed logic piles.
I dream words are math tools of expression.
Cowardly enablers turn potential into pain.
These modes of experience are not controllable, yet they change.
Repetitious twitching scares the health officials where blood and semen are both powerful and viewed as too thick for anything other than disgusting and functional beyond our direct use. The blood does its work. We transfer it from working persons to failing persons. Doctors earn their possessions through the mastery of pointy steal tube insertions.
Fortify liquid with vitamins to fulfill the recommended intake of vitamins. It even tastes sugary. Where in this equation have we lost? Glucose and processed grains keep my neurotransmitters flickering quickly. I can now drive motor vehicles with much precision onto shallow curbs, in reverse, red line, and slowly in construction areas. They are risking their life to better America’s infrastructure. America is my birthplace. Odd really. Odd. odd. odD. I am american. amerICAN. I CAN. It is only up to me. Earn. Spend. Earn. Spend. I CAN.
Music is the energy, intensity, joy, easement, and despair that reflect the inner emotional state.
Music is magic.
We strategically select words to communicate our desired identity. I discover people in their sentences.
Is this written Nathan or authentic Nathan?
There is Party Nathan, Philosophical Nathan, Sex Nathan, Music Nathan, Exercise Nathan, Crazy Nathan, Stable Nathan, Giving Nathan, Selfish Nathan, Terrified Nathan, Numb Nathan, Passionate Nathan, Excited Nathan.
Rip away chains and let your ego flourish.
I miss Kate. Last weekend, while on ecstasy, Dane told me Alan is here. He wanted me to believe him so badly. I don’t know if I didn’t.
Heaven, continued existence, the hardest question - I have no idea. Following anything is so difficult. I feel clueless about almost everything. Ideas and rules seem confusing and paradoxical.
I need to focus more on sensations. Regress into an animal. My food is spicy. An oakish, blurred spice that lingers lightly and consistently. But now I’ve categorized my experience. There are shelves and boxes of labeled experiences in my brain. I’m trying to make sense of this insane place.
Everything is so different, yet similar. Everything is free, yet forced. I build and build and build with time, energy, self identify, addiction, for something new. But, in doing so, I sacrifice.
I say, “I hate money”. But that’s not it. I hate my love for money. I’ve never had trouble making it. My unquenchable want for more leaves me powerless.
If money is freedom, then why do I feel trapped working for it? Does obtaining freedom trap me?
I’ll reiterate my earlier focus. I will focus on sensation, the here and now. People that do that are so attractive. They have energy and magic within them. They are unstoppable. My quest in life is to become more and more like them. To love life upward. To not become stagnant. I am worth more than that.
Now imagine beams jutting through your tips, fingers and toes.
And out of your spine.
Now listen closely (you’re flying).
Tell me about the rush, the exertion, the adrenalin, the power.
Shout from your deep belly.
When have you felt so human?
The energy you have is unreal.
And, this never has to end (you’re flying).
Write poetry, dance, ponder, improvise and compose music, exert and stretch muscles, grow, paint, read, touch, fly, eat, kiss, explore, breathe deeply, smile softly, consume less, work less, lose fear, love.
Reject THE MAN or become him. Fuck profit. It destroys the human spirit. We have turned against ourselves, and thus, each other.
Together, as partners, we can discover our humanity.
Communication filtration complication
Emotion bottled intuition
Balance simplicity FORCED
This, present and powerful.
Thoughts pile into plans and ideas. Maybe I cannot lose myself? Loss seems acceptable now. The more I integrate this, the less fear impacts my life. A choice decided by fear, is truly not a choice.
We pressed into another, like stacked pillows.
Regardless, I will not forget. I cannot. And that is precious. Like stacked pillows, pressing so hard, becoming one feeling, experience, understanding. All we have is honesty.
Is this great tool our great downfall?
No, I feel more human, more valuable, more real.
I am a failure.
I could’ve tried harder.
I could’ve loved more.
But, I’m selfish.
Now, you’ve lost.
I will never know.
That possibility is ugly and tormenting.
Risking everything because of inconvenience.
You truly are.
You deserve more than I am.
My feelings change nothing.
Not sorry enough.
If I were, you would be here.
I hate this.
Nikola Tesla, "The Problem of Increasing Human Energy". Century Illustrated Magazine, June 1900.
I hid my contorted smile -
As my face shot jagged, unforgiving angles.
And yours, bulbous and drooping -
Asked me to stop shouting and sit.
Like a prince.
A curious girl in a purple dress -
Asked what I thought.
If we could grind up old things -
Like doorknobs and old statues.
We melted into each other.
We train dogs -
To not be dogs -
But be simple humans.
We still keep them leashed -
In case the dog part takes over.
When you are nothing -
You can see everything.
Desire blinds us.
This world -
Waits to really be seen.
Swirl and spin so our extremities feel pressure from condensed fluids as pressure increases gradually from the heart to the finger tips.
My dad can spin faster than your dad.
Is not calming
Maybe I should start
Appreciating the sun
The amount of possibilities
I prefer less freedom
Until it’s taken away
I have sex
Now called making love
Because I've slowed down
Are bitter and disappointing
I want to be distracted and diverted
And not bothered by it
Freedom doesn’t start
It starts now
I utterly adore your dark brown eyes, your sexy skin, and thick hair. I see life bringing you so much simple enjoyment. Your energy amplifies mine. I feel on top of everything. Knowing you exist excites me.
This seems unreal. Thank you.
I’m slapping my hands hard, hard, tremendously hard, against the floor. I’m forcing the beat through my hands and into the floor. When you feel alive, you do strange things.
I’ve kissed my reflection in the mirror. Does this make me narcissistic? Yes. Yes I suppose it does.
I fill my mouth, throat, and cheeks with water as full as possible. It hurts very much to swallow, but I do it again anyway.
I dream about falling off sky scrappers. Terrifying. I don’t know if I can bungee jump.
That person has magic inside them. They feel good about themself. They are free. They have found something many have not.
I can pick a favorite color of the day. A permanent favorite color is too much commitment. Why not enjoy colors as they come?
I don’t feel sad when my dog runs away. She’s freer. She always returns, exhausted and happy. I don’t want to control her life.
Money controls me too much.
I will not be embarrassed for my actions and thoughts. This is a work in progress.
Sex is good, love is better, beauty is everywhere, time is precious, I want a hug.
I want you to see that you’re worth more than this. You’re worth honesty, respect, consideration, love, and caring. You are worth everything that you are. People are worth what they are.
When I look at you, I see something worth being vulnerable for, someone worth taking risk over. You’re worth risking my sanity.
This is not an easy road. Part of what makes life grand is traveling awful roads. Awful roads shape our shoes, define us, and we grow. Grow to the stars.
I want to question simple things. Things rarely questioned. More perspective. Am I naïve? Or should I trust social preferences? I’ll be the judge. However, the more I judge, the less clear everything becomes.
Why not you? What are you frightened of? What could it possibly take from you? I will not outcast you, but I’m not everything.
But neither are they. That’s my point.
They fill my eyes and mouth – open.
Remember traveling though the rain? – together – palms pressed.
Wet cloth against my skin – pressed and clinging.
Although warm – and lights burning deeply - eyes.
Simplicity – what I found.
Energy raging. Filling myself from my toes - to head.
I’m brimming now – ready for exertion – to jolt and pound.
My muscles clench – enjoyable – rowdy –fantastic word –rowdy.
Igniting dynamite – only constant – slow dynamite.
I’m slow dynamite – what I am.
Glaring sun, washed out fields of sunflowers. White swirling with yellow. And, there you are, dancing. Showing off. Silence, except you. Your slow movement in silence. Am I dying slowly? I smile slowly.
We sit, in fog, on a bench. It’s cold. A bench for the bus. You lay your head against my shoulder. I touch your wet hair. Now warmth, soft comfort. Our attempt to connect. Addictive. However, we do not merge. We do not fuse. We remain alone.
You’re standing away now. You’ve become closed. I wonder. I worry. And then I anger. My fear is on the table. Bloody, black, sticky fear. Unattractive fear. Now you see my ugly part. And I’m embarrassed. I’ve hidden it. Until now. You brought out my fear. Why are you standing so far away?
We cannot fuse. We try and try and try and try. We crave it. Is this a waste, or is this an impossible craving? You left me, searching to blend with somebody. I swear it’s impossible. Remember the sunflowers? If that didn’t work, nothing could.
“Sorry, this is my last cigarette.” What if that seemingly false excuse is true? Do I deserve my gut punctured (sharp stick or pole) because everybody shares the same spineless excuse? The next time I’m confronted, I’ll use strong body language, carry a deep tone, have an unchanging focus, and maybe touch her arm. “Sorry miss, I would, but I’m honestly out.”
Quickly wash my hands afterwards; otherwise I’ll imagine an itch. That might disgust you. But, I’d probably wash my hands after touching you too.
Don’t read into this. Don’t read into this. Don’t stop reading, but don’t read into this. It hurts when you read into this. It confuses when you read into this. Stop counting this, you’re reading into this. Stop asking why. Stop selecting, dissecting out. Reading books and magazines. You believe you've deciphered the world and placed its truths into labeled glass jars (vacuumed canned fruit). You intend on eating it seven, nine, five years from now. You could be dead by then. Stop canning fruit. Waste of fruit. If you want something useful, start reading calculus books. Redirect time from entertainment to calculus. Then, see patterns in nature again. It has been awhile.
September kisses. October loneliness. November and December merge. I self indulge now. Egocentric and bored. Egocentric and adored. Having 5 dreams and no plans. Only current money.
Which year is this?
The world has natural perpetuation, momentum if you will. The selfish get pushed upward, while the selfless sink.
Blur your eyesight and become that selfish man. Oh the people you’ll control.
My dog and a vehicle collided. The car dragged her 2 or 3 feet, according to the vet. She knew the wounds. It really made me think, I wonder if the vet hit her.
That fucking psycho, how many animals has she hit? Surely she prowls around Yorkshire to drum up business. Quite the go-get-er, an expert in manipulation and fraud. She should have studied the stock market (her obvious calling).
Severe pain and possible mutilation for money (I bet she collects expensive, leather mini-shirts.) Maybe she stays between 5-10 mph. You know, the get-hurt-but-not-fucking-kill-you-speed. Oh well, we should support local businesses. And besides, my dog sleeps more. I wonder if she has brain damage. She has never been this sweet and docile. Oh, and when she chases rabbits, she hobbles on three legs (very effectively). So cute.
She speaks about vastly intangible spirit things. Think of spirit orbs hovering around our bodies. Red, green, and blue orbs that communicate. This, only she can know. This knowledge passes behind closed doors. I am simply peering though the key hole.
I am not impressed. She has pegged me incorrectly.
I study clay constantly. Its puzzle enchants me. This clay can represent anything worth contemplating. You probably study clay as well.
I start to knock out chunks (mostly corners) with a metal rod. I am making sense of reality. I am cornering reality. I am justifying reality. I am perceiving reality.
After the rod, I use smaller, more precise tools. Chisels and wire. I begin to define, forcing it smaller. That clear goal feels close.
The clay has shrunk immensely. Now, tools are not detailed enough. I place my hands deeply into the clay, expanding my fists, stretching my fingers, molding, caressing, and discovering.
I hold the remaining clay in one hand. I have made my reality very simple, concise, and clear, however still not perfect. Having no clay would be perfect.
I don’t believe reality should be defined. We strive to discover rules and patterns. By doing this, reality can quickly become dysfunctional. The more we corner truth, the more we loose the whole.
How deeply I want to define things. I crave simple truths and definitions. How much this intrigues me.
Unfortunately, the closer I get to a definition, the more frustrated I become.
Perhaps I should focus on defining opposites. Define and justify black, and quickly define and justify white. Then can I sit comfortably in grey?
I toss between black and white. I cannot relax in grey.
Maybe this is due evolutionary psychology. The pattern finders, the black and white thinkers survived and procreated. After all, they didn’t try poison only some of the time. They have defined and changed their behavior toward poison permanently. We live in a much more complicated world now. This world rejects definition.
“I'm afraid that if you look at a thing long enough, it loses all of its meaning.”
Neon lights are smearing together. Affixation till heaven.
A fallen piece of heaven. Fallen into my skull. Seems more filled now.
Affixation till heaven. A smiling coma – controlled.
Sweating fingers and numbness. Damp and pleasant.
Only enough focus for heaven. Affixation till heaven.
Their hearts were unmovable. Reduced to pure burning intent.
This was their chemistry. How easily they could identify with the other.
Their passion destroyed them.
It was like watching brothers murder each other.
Everyone sobs but them.
Everyone sobs but them.
Too much loss. Unneeded loss. Loss for ideals.
My chin grazes along your hair.
And I breathe you.
I place your palm inside mind.
Fold my fingers to tangle yours.
Light lips along your neck.
Is this the beginning or the end?
This justifies the risk. Nothing can stop me know, because, I don’t care anymore.
The WhiteText continues. Turn your head and look at me. I sense your focus and refuse to look back. Are you intuitive to my thoughts/strategy/manipulation? Notice my ambivalence toward you. I NEED this. Pretending not to notice you. Are you tricked? Or patient with my ridiculousness? What are you feeling? Maybe nothing but a shallow tingle.
Forgotten within ten minutes.
I think for you and I.
From where I came. Our past.
And forget why.
I have to sit as these credits roll.
Catching up with a friend.
Relaxing in the hot tube with stars above. Or snowing. Blowing snow.
Discussing philosophy. Perhaps meaningless. Love It.
Being cheerful. Smile. Love people.
Running in a downpour. Intense soundtrack needed.
Writing poetry to radiohead.
Playing the piano while feeling especially sad.
Having a great connection with someone new ☺
Snowboarding in tree runs. Relentless… until you fall.
Kicking my dad’s ass in racquetball.
Smiling at beautiful women. Dancing with them.
PASSIONATE DRUNKEN DANCING ☺
Going to a tear jerker.
Create some bitchin future plans (rarely follow though, half of life is dreaming).
That feeling after my workout.
Flooring the gas pedal. Tight turns. Loud music. Make the passenger nervous.
Buying something hottt to wear.
Spending money on something unneeded and impractical.
Cleaning my room and car. Accomplished.
Missing my motorcycle.
Reading a clinically insane author.
Contentedness reveals so oddly. I’ve sought it in goals and beautiful women on pedestals. Rarely, I find golden emotion.
Now I drop my goals.
My dim room waits.
My tattered mirror frames my naked body. I find a blunt grin to settle myself. Music fills the space, music to match my chemistry.
Then begins movement. My face paints joy, sex and intensity onto my mirror. My body paints an awkward, loose strength.
My calves give a heavy burn, like revolting tools. This place belongs to them as well.
Sprint for the sprinting, not for the finish.