http://68.media.tumblr.com/141944af1...ftrwo1_500.jpg
Printable View
''When I write, I become a version of myself that isn’t filtered through the detritus and clutter of experience.''
Kinda corny but it hits the spot
"Getting older is a hard thing to explain to anyone who hasn’t done it yet, which I don’t mean in a patronizing way, just a true one: it’s a strange thing to be in a position to know so much about what you could have done differently with no way to redo any of it. (Time travel into the past is theoretically possible but unlikely, as you may know already.) I don’t mean regret, that’s not the same thing, and I don’t mean I wish I could go back and give advice to my younger self, because my younger self would find my current self unfathomable–not insufferable, I don’t think (I hope) but also not likely someone my younger self could ever imagine growing into, and I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise."
Sarah McCarry
There is another world, but it's inside this one.
Paul Éluard
Occasionally I drop a teacup to shatter on the floor.
On purpose. I’m not satisfied when it doesn’t gather itself up again.
Someday, perhaps a cup will come together.
Hannibal Lecter
They turn up occasionally in this kind of world. They're trouble.
They're considered to be outsiders even among the garbage of the underground.
They usually do a lot of damage to everything and then go away.
But sometimes they survive, thanks to their bestial instincts or sharp wits.
They can't live without being over the edge. And they spread disaster.
Dutch, Black Lagoon
When we were arguing on my twenty-fourth birthday, she left the kitchen, came back with a pistol, and fired it five times from right across the table. But she missed. It wasn’t my life she was after. It was more. She wanted to eat my heart and be lost in the desert with what she’d done, she wanted to fall on her knees and give birth from it, she wanted to hurt me as only a child can be hurt by its mother.
—Denis Johnson, Dirty Wedding from Jesus’ Son
Inspirational..... (lol Jk, i'm just awestruck by how perfect the prose is, I feel it so hard, I keep coming back to it)
[Love] promises a way out of our suffering. We suffer from our isolation in our individual separateness. Love reiterates: “If only you possessed the beloved one, your soul sick with loneliness would be one with the soul of the beloved.” Partially at least this promise is a fraud.
—Georges Bataille, in Erotism: Death and Sensuality
Yeah. So I'm trying....
We have come to forget that a large and important part of life consists in our emotions toward such things as roses and nightingales, the dawn, the sunset, life, death and fate; we forget that we spend much time sleeping, dreaming, thinking, reading, alone; we are not entirely occupied in personal relations; all our energies are not absorbed in making our livings…We long sometimes to escape from the incessant, the remorseless analysis of falling into love and falling out of love, of what Tom feels for Judith and Judith does or does not altogether feel for Tom. We long for some more impersonal relationship. We long for ideas, for dreams, for imaginations, for poetry.
—Virginia Woolf, “The Narrow Bridge of Art”
"Once you become consciously aware of just how powerful your thoughts are, you will realize everything in your life is exactly how you allow it to be."
"Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now." - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
"What type of belief can increase the manifestation of synchronicity and its significance?: Total belief in oneself tempered by deep receptivity and empathy to others and the living planet. The world we know and live in may be more mental than we realize. That's the way of culture and cultural trance. If we are to open up to the innate timing of existence, it may not be enough to break cultural trance and open the doors of perception. We may have to walk out through those doors to a place beyond the constructs of the mind itself -- where labels, explanations, and theories fail and where our hearts ignite in a blaze of feral creation." ~ Antero Alli
"Perhaps the ‘stress’ is what does this. Though it’s not stress, really, it’s repeated long-term exposure to the possibility of being blown apart suddenly. It’s the length of the exposure that does it to you, I think. When you’re living with that, it seems you have to stop planning for the future in order to face it. You can’t have dreams and hopes and still operate in a world like that. At least I couldn’t, though I didn’t realize it at the time. Maybe it’s just not that easy to live after you accept your death."
“I loved my last girlfriend so much it felt like I wanted to consume her. Instead, she broke apart trying to keep up with me. She started as this beautiful innocent creature, but she spent two years trying to relate to me and then she was too much with me and she nearly did not pull up in time. It reminds me of a story about an American soldier with his Vietnamese girlfriend during the war there who responded to their issues by getting naked in the shower and fucking with a live grenade suspended between them, which they set off as they came. I wonder how much that girl really wanted to be there, objectively. She only wanted to be with him, and it cost her. I guess he consumed her. I hope she wasn’t faking her orgasms.”
— From a query submitted to Kristin Dombek’s advice column
“Most of us let our negative emotions persist longer than is necessary. Becoming suddenly angry, we tend to stay angry - and this requires that we actively produce the feeling of anger. We do this by thinking about our reasons for being angry - recalling an insult, rehearsing what we should have said to our malefactor, and so forth - and yet we tend not to notice the mechanics of this process. Without continually resurrecting the feeling of anger, it is impossible to stay angry for more than a few moments”
Sam Harris, Waking Up: Searching for Spirituality Without Religion
Quote:
Originally Posted by lungs
this is so Ti it pisses me off; heaven forbid I work through my feelings rather than just cut them off in the middle because "if I stop thinking about it I won't be angry" as if repressed anger weren't a thing. I really feel like Sam Harris is kind of an idiot manchild
this is the kind of non solution that leads to people exploding down the line
as if anger itself is wrong. like so what if I'm fanning the flames of my own anger? so what if I do something on the basis of it? the consequences good or bad will lead to learning something. yes if I murder someone cause I was angry and it wasn't justified that's bad. but only the person that bottles everything in in the way he suggests reaches that point. if you understand yourself from day 1 in terms of Fi it won't reach that point, because the filth has clean sewers to process it... anger is the proper response to a lot of things. understanding ones own anger is far more important than refusing to acknowledge anything that provokes it. this is such a stunted way of thinking I feel like it falls into the category of "beliefs so dangerous it may be moral to kill the person for holding it" (this idiocism is another Sam Harrisism, for those who aren't following)
I'm Fi base and this quote struck a chord with me because I get so angry about petty unresolved shit that happened years ago that I need to work on distracting myself in order to function. When there is no recourse, no resolution, no satisfactory outlet, just the feeling in your guts that serves no purpose except self torture? I'd... rather notQuote:
Originally Posted by Bertrand
Anger gets a bad rap when it is an appropriate response to injustices imo, and in some contexts it feels reclamatory and relevantly subversive to express it as a woman; I'm definitely not anti-anger.
Actually, I had this post in mind when I saw it: http://www.the16types.info/vbulletin...=1#post1176906
The anger thing reminded me of this photoset <3 3 3
"The eyes are not the windows of the soul: they are the doors. Beware what may enter there."
— Doctor Who, "The Time of Angels"
"Magic is afoot, God is alive.
God is alive, magic is afoot.
Magic never dies. "
— Leonard Cohen
"The soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts."
— Marcus Aurelius
"Look like the innocent flower,
But be the serpent under it. "
— William Shakespeare, Macbeth
"Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t."
— William Shakespeare, Hamlet
"Your soul is the whole world."
— Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha
I love it @LuckyOne .
Who are you referring to here? It had better not be lungs.Quote:
Originally Posted by Singularity
She's given no indication that she's unintelligent. Sadly, I can't say the same for you.
i think they're trying to call me a dumbassQuote:
Originally Posted by niffer
LOL are you serious? Why? Hook me up with this drama.Quote:
Originally Posted by Bertrand
that's more thought than I'm willing to give singularity :PQuote:
Originally Posted by niffer
This is super insightful and well-worded (and funny) and I completely agree with this. I have a lot of problems with repressed anger because of bottling it up all my life, in the exact way you describe. Nothing to add.Quote:
Originally Posted by Bertrand
"My words are unerring tools of destruction, and I’ve come unequipped with the ability to disarm them."
— Maggie Stiefvater
"Music is a moral law. It gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind,
flight to the imagination, and charm and gaiety to life and to everything."
— Plato
But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep. "
— Robert Frost
“Don’t confuse my personality with my attitude. My personality is who I am. My attitude depends on who you are.”
— Frank Ocean
“You attract the right things when you have a sense of who you are.”
— Amy Poehler
"And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time."
— T.S. Eliot
"I have trouble socializing with people... but I want to."
Christian Wolff, The Accountant
''And when everybody is thinking and nobody is living and feeling anymore, you can do whatever you want to the now helpless distracted people, the people who are caught in a self-perpetuating illusion of their minds.
And since they only operate based on their mind now, I can simply justify every horrible thing I do to them with mere thoughts. It is the law. It is rational. It is moral. It is Science. It is God.
They may have doubts. Sure. But the important thing is not whether they believe me. The important thing is that they have enough doubts not to stand up for themselves. The important thing is not that they like what I do to them. The important thing is that they are afraid enough not to do anything about it.''
Då lydde alla, när det ljöd: "gevär i hand, reträtt!"
Sven Duva blott tog miste han och fällde bajonett.
Än mer, hans svängning till reträtt gick ock besatt på sned,
Ty långt ifrån att dra sig bort, bröt han på spången ned.
Där stod han axelbred och styv, helt lugn på gammalt vis,
Beredd att lära vem som helst sin bästa exercis.
Fänrik Ståls sägner, Sven Duva
Then everyone obeyed, when the call for retreat was sounded
Sven Duva though, got mixed up and fastned bayonet
Even more, his swing to retreat was also obsessed askew
For, far from pulling away, he broke down the boardwalk.
There he was broad-shouldered and stiff, calm as is his way
Prepared to teach anyone his best exercise.
The Tales of Ensign Stål, Sven Duva
Demetrius: Villain, what hast thou done?
Aaron: That which thou canst not undo.
Chiron: Thou hast undone our mother.
Aaron: Villain, I have done thy mother.
― William Shakespeare, Titus Andronicus
the tragedy of a species becoming unfit for life by overevolving one ability is not confined to humankind. thus it is thought, for instance, that certain deer in paleontological times succumbed as they acquired overly-heavy horns. the mutations must be considered blind, they work, are thrown forth, without any contact of interest with their environment. in depressive states, the mind may be seen in the image of such an antler, in all its fantastic splendour pinning its bearer to the ground. why, then, has mankind not long ago gone extinct during great epidemics of madness? why do only a fairly minor number of individuals perish because they fail to endure the strain of living—because cognition gives them more than they can carry? cultural history, as well as observation of ourselves and others, allow the following answer: most people learn to save themselves by artificially limiting the content of consciousness. if the giant deer, at suitable intervals, had broken off the outer spears of its antlers, it might have kept going for some while longer. yet in fever and constant pain, indeed, in betrayal of its central idea, the core of its peculiarity, for it was vocated by creation’s hand to be the horn bearer of wild animals. what it gained in continuance, it would lose in significance, in grandness of life, in other words a continuance without hope, a march not up to affirmation, but forth across its ever recreated ruins, a self-destructive race against the sacred will of blood.
peter wessel zapffe
Macouba
She wasn't the woman I went to seek.
I met her by the merest chance.
She did not speak the French of France,
But the surded French of Martinique.
She wasn't rich. She wasn't chic.
She had a most entrancing glance,
And that was all . .
Cordwainer Smith, "Alpha Ralpha Boulevard"
Was going on with Adam Savage he's getting into poetry whew
http://68.media.tumblr.com/7adff3c86...7v3ko1_500.png
Uuuugggggghhhhhhhhhhhsjshaja
- Ayumi HamasakiQuote:
I don't have dreams. How can I say it? I myself am a dream.
"Part of her mystery
is how she is calm
in the storm and
anxious in the quiet."
Rudy did not try to physically touch the boy, not even a pat on the shoulder.
It was an instinctive choice. The boy was solitary; comfort had to come from within.
Jonathan Maberry, The Dragon Factory
'So a wise man ought no more to take it ill when he clashes with fortune than a brave man ought to be upset by the sound of battle. For both of them their very distress is an opportunity, for the one to gain glory and the other to strengthen his wisdom. This is why virtue gets its name, because it is firm in strength and unconquered by adversity.'
― Boethius, the Consolation of Philosophy
In the flaming light of the morning sky
the wine in your cup looks like a tulip in spring.
Drink, and forget that the hammer of fate
can bring you down at any moment.
― Omar Khayyam
'Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.'
― Victor Hugo
In the merry-go-round of life
only those that think they are wise
and those that don't try to be wise are happy.
I have studied all secrets of the universe
and returned to my lonely place,
envying the blind I met.
― Omar Khayyam
I am nothing. I’m like someone who’s been thrown into the ocean at night, floating all alone.
I reach out, but no one is there. I call out, but no one answers.
I have no connection to anything.
Haruki Murakami, 1Q84
I have the beat and shouting
*Queues up Sabotage by Beastie Boys*
Jaylah, Star Trek Beyond
"All sorts of things in this world behave like mirrors."
— Jacques Lacan, Seminar II
https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com...079c1e654e.jpg
“Critics who treat 'adult' as a term of approval, instead of as a merely descriptive term, cannot be adult themselves. To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence. And in childhood and adolescence they are, in moderation, healthy symptoms. Young things ought to want to grow. But to carry on into middle life or even into early manhood this concern about being adult is a mark of really arrested development. When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.”
― C.S. Lewis
“I will give no one the satisfaction of my death.”
"I know her weakness. She is weak before reality. Her life is full of fantasies."
— Anaïs Nin, Diary
"And like the moon, she had a side of her so dark, that even the stars couldn’t shine on it; she had a side of her so cold, that even the sun couldn’t burn on it."
– Unknown
If you make people think they’re thinking, they’ll love you; But if you really make them think, they’ll hate you.
—Don Marquis
"No law can be sacred to me but that of my nature. "
— Emerson
We chart delusions through collective agreement.
—Siri Hustvedt
“Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape”
William S. Burroughs
A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly.
Specialization is for insects.
- Robert A. Heinlein
You can actually draw random poems from here: https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/
Here is the one I got-
The Meth Craze or The Meth Epidemic
All of this meth business and bullshit
was Hollywood+CIA...created
Breaking Bad was the catalyst
the meth craze is one huge ungodly
money racket...
with meth there are no hassle with supply
its all money...cheap to make unlike other
drugs...cocaine herioin marijuana
meth is all money all the way the cellphones
keeps and makes all the business going on
pretty much available knowledge
the dealers phones are tapped and traced
each phone call of the process
it certainly looks to be one of the smoothest
operations going for the law and the CIA
"Anything that can be reached with a ladder does not interest me."
— Ludwig Wittgenstein
"One advantage in keeping a diary is that you become aware with reassuring clarity of the changes which you constantly suffer."
— Franz Kafka
"Omnia vincit Amor"
— Virgil
"All theory, dear friend, is gray, but the golden tree of life springs ever green."
— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
What about a song lyric?
"And you will come to find that we are all one mind. Capable of all that's imagined and all conceivable."
When someone with the authority of a teacher, say, describes the world and you are not in it, there is a moment of psychic disequilibrium, as if you looked into a mirror and saw nothing. Yet you know you exist and others like you, that this is a game with mirrors. It takes some strength of soul–and not just individual strength, but collective understanding–to resist this void, this nonbeing, into which you are thrust, and to stand up, demanding to be seen and heard.
—Adrienne Rich
It is clear that in dreaming of himself as donor, liberator, redeemer, man still desires the subjection of woman; for in order to awaken the Sleeping Beauty, she must have been put to sleep: ogres and dragons must be if there are to be captive princesses. The more man acquires a taste for difficult enterprises, however, the more it will please him to give woman independence. To conquer is still more fascinating than to give gifts or to release.
Thus the ideal of the average Western man is a woman who freely accepts his domination, who does not accept his ideas without discussion, but who yields to his arguments, who resists him intelligently and ends by being convinced. The greater his pride, the more dangerous he likes his adventures to be: it is much more splendid to conquer Penthesilea than it is to marry a yielding Cinderella. ‘The warrior loves danger and sport,’ said Nietzsche; ‘that is why he loves woman, the most dangerous sport of all.’ The man who likes danger and sport is not displeased to see woman turn into an amazon if he retains the hope of subjugating her. What he requires in his heart of hearts is that this struggle remain a game for him, while for woman it involves her very destiny. Man’s true victory, whether he is liberator or conqueror, lies in just this: that woman freely recognises him as her destiny.
—Simone de Beauvoir, ‘The Second Sex’, trans. H. M. Parshley, p 216.
“I have wrestled with an alligator, I done tussled with a whale, I done handcuffed lightning, thrown thunder in jail. That's bad. Only last week I murdered a rock, injured a stone, hospitalized a brick, I'm so mean I make medicine sick.”
-The Greatest
When Freud and Jung broke, which was a teacher-student relationship, or at least Freud though it was, Jung quoted Nietzsche to him. "One repays a teacher badly if one remains forever a pupil."Quote:
Originally Posted by lungs
Only when you have all denied me shall I return.
I now go away alone, my disciples! You too now go away and be alone! Thus I want it.
Truly, I advise you: go away from me and guard yourselves against Zarathustra! And better still: be ashamed of him! Perhaps he has deceived you.
The man of knowledge must not only love his enemies, he must also be able to hate his friends.
One repays a teacher badly if one always remains only a pupil. And why, then, should you not pluck at my laurels?
You revere me; but what if your reverence tumbles one day? Beware that a statue does not strike you dead!
You say you believe in Zarathustra? But of what importance is Zarathustra? You are my believers: but of what importance are all believers?
You had not yet sought yourselves: then you found me. Thus do all believers; therefore all faith amounts to so little.
Now I bid you lose me and find yourselves; and only when you have all denied me will I return to you.
Be honest and true, boys!
Whatever you do, boys,
Let this be your motto through life.
Both now and forever,
Be this your endeavor,
When wrong with the right is at strife.
The best and the truest,
Alas! are the fewest;
But be one of these if you can.
In duty ne’er fail; you
Will find ‘twill avail you,
And bring its reward when a man.
Don’t think life plain sailing;
There’s danger of failing.
Though bright seem the future to be;
But honor and labor,
And truth to your neighbor,
Will bear you safe over life’s sea.
Then up and be doing,
Right only pursuing,
And take your fair part in the strife.
Be honest and true, boys,
Whatever you do, boys,
Let this be your motto trough life!
I'm a street walking cheetah with a heart full of napalm
I'm a runaway son of the nuclear A-bomb
I am a world's forgotten boy
The one who searches and destroys
Honey gotta help me please
Somebody gotta save my soul
Baby detonate for me
Look out honey, 'cause I'm using technology
Ain't got time to make no apology
Soul radiation in the dead of night
Love in the middle of a fire fight
Honey gotta strike me blind
Somebody gotta save my soul
Baby penetrate my mind
Let me begin by telling you that I was in love. An ordinary statement, to be sure, but not an ordinary fact, for so few of us learn that love is tenderness, and tenderness is not, as a fair proportion suspect, pity; and still fewer know that happiness in love is not the absolute focusing of all emotion in another: one has to love a good many things which the beloved must come only to symbolize; the true beloveds in this world are in their lover’s eye lilac opening, ship lights, school bells, a landscape, remembered conversations, friends, a child’s Sunday, lost voices, one’s favorite suit, Autumn and all seasons, memory, yes, it being the earth and water of existence, memory.
From “Other Voices, Other Rooms,” Truman Capote
David Chethlahe Paladin is a Navaho Indian living on a reservation in Arizona
The army tells David as he is a Navaho, they are going to drop him behind enemy lines and use him as an information gatherer in their special services. David, using his native language, is to relay his findings to another Navaho in the army. Their language becomes a code that the Germans are unable to crack, much less decipher.
David is dropped behind enemy lines. Ultimately, he is captured and interrogated for information. The German officers find him useless and direct that he be sent to a death camp and executed as a spy.
The guard then orders that David’s feet be nailed to the floor and that David stand there with his arms outstretched for three days like Christ on the cross. Every time David would falter and crumple the guards would hoist him up again. In the middle of the night, someone would sneak in and cram raw, maggot-covered chicken innards into David’s mouth.
When the Allies open up this camp, they find David a mere shell of a man, weighing maybe 70 pounds, and speaking Russian*. They turn David over to the Russians. David later speaks English and gives his name, rank and serial number to the Russians who transfer him back to the US military.
David is sent to a VA hospital in Battle Creek Michigan where he spends the next 2 years in a coma. At the end of two years, his legs are encased in metal braces, similar to what polio patients used. David, a young man, maybe not even 21 years of age, is to be sent to a VA home for the rest of his life.
David asks if he can visit his family on the reservation. The answer is, “Of course.” David literally drags himself onto the reservation. He meets with the elders of tribe. They ask to hear his whole story. David tells them every horrible thing that he endured. He is full of anger, rage and hate.
The elders confer and tell David to meet them tomorrow at a designated point on the Little Colorado River. David agrees and at the appointed hour he arrives. One of the elders tethers a rope around his waist; others remove the braces from his legs. They hoist David up into the air and as they throw him into the raging current of the Little Colorado River, they say, “Chethlahe, call back your spirit or die. Call back your spirit or die.”
David would later say that those moments in the Little Colorado River were the very hardest of his life. He had to fight himself for himself. And he was able to see the big picture; he understood why things unfolded as they did. For example, he realized that the raw chicken parts were meant as a source of protein to sustain him so that he might live.
David Paladin was thrown into the river as a very broken – and broken on every level — man. And David emerged out of the Little Colorado River like the phoenix out of the ashes.
"May all beings everywhere, with whom we are inseparably interconnected, be fulfilled, awakened, and free. May there be peace in this world and throughout the entire universe, and may we all together complete the spiritual journey."
— Lama Surya Das
Jack Burton: Just remember what ol' Jack Burton does when the earth quakes, and the poison arrows fall from the sky, and the pillars of Heaven shake. Yeah, Jack Burton just looks that big ol' storm right square in the eye and he says, "Give me your best shot, pal. I can take it."
Jack Burton: When some wild-eyed, eight-foot-tall maniac grabs your neck, taps the back of your favorite head up against the barroom wall, and he looks you crooked in the eye and he asks you if ya paid your dues, you just stare that big sucker right back in the eye, and you remember what ol' Jack Burton always says at a time like that: "Have ya paid your dues, Jack?" "Yessir, the check is in the mail."
I love Tex Cobb. He is a boxer and karate guy who has been in many movies as the hardass. The biker in Raising Arizona for example. He is known for being tough as hell. Having an iron chin in boxing against some of the greats. I like this story he told. "Ain't nobody bad. I know, I looked." lol
" I was very influenced by Eastern philosophies & religion. After I dropped out of college, I started traveling around the country. I was 19 years old and I decided to find me something that worked, like being cool. Being cool worked, it got you out of trouble and you got a lot of good things happening for you but I never had more than maybe a C- in cool. Being smart worked for you. It got you out of a lot of trouble and got you a lot of good things and although I was actually pretty quick, I didn’t count it for much ‘cause it came real easy to me. I could memorize large sections of data and regurgitate it back to you but it didn’t bring me any happiness. But believe me, being smart isn’t nearly as good as being wise. Then there was having money, it got you out of a lot of trouble and got you a lot of good things and I never had two nickels.. . but there was being bad . . . and being bad applied across the board. Because you could take a rich, cool, smart guy and you could have him doing anything you could possibly conceive of because you were bad. So I thought, hey I found me the secret of the temple, I’ll go out and get me a Pass Master in bad, and I did. And there ain’t nobody bad believe me, I looked. I fought for world titles in boxing, karate, I fought bar wars, street corners, most everything living and half the stuff dead and darling it don’t matter there ain’t nobody bad, I know, I looked . . . ”
A Buddhist story I always liked:
It's just as if a man were wounded with an arrow thickly smeared with poison. His friends & companions, kinsmen & relatives would provide him with a surgeon, and the man would say, 'I won't have this arrow removed until I know whether the man who wounded me was a noble warrior, a priest, a merchant, or a worker.' He would say, 'I won't have this arrow removed until I know the given name & clan name of the man who wounded me... until I know whether he was tall, medium, or short... until I know whether he was dark, ruddy-brown, or golden-colored... until I know his home village, town, or city... until I know whether the bow with which I was wounded was a long bow or a crossbow... until I know whether the bowstring with which I was wounded was fiber, bamboo threads, sinew, hemp, or bark... until I know whether the shaft with which I was wounded was wild or cultivated... until I know whether the feathers of the shaft with which I was wounded were those of a vulture, a stork, a hawk, a peacock, or another bird... until I know whether the shaft with which I was wounded was bound with the sinew of an ox, a water buffalo, a langur, or a monkey.' He would say, 'I won't have this arrow removed until I know whether the shaft with which I was wounded was that of a common arrow, a curved arrow, a barbed, a calf-toothed, or an oleander arrow.' The man would die and those things would still remain unknown to him.
- When there is freedom from mechanical conditioning, there is simplicity. The classical man is just a bundle of routine, ideas and tradition. If you follow the classical pattern, you are understanding the routine, the tradition, the shadow — you are not understanding yourself.
- Do not deny the classical approach, simply as a reaction, or you will have created another pattern and trapped yourself there- Bruce Lee
"What is 'historicity'?"
"When a thing has history in it. Listen. One of those two Zippo lighters was in Franklin D. Roosevelt's pocket when he was assassinated. And one wasn't. One has historicity, a hell of a lot of it. As much as any object ever had. And one has nothing. Can you feel it?" He nudged her. "You can't. You can't tell which is which. There's no 'mystical plasma presence,' no 'aura' around it."... "It's all a big racket; they're playing it on themselves. I mean, a gun goes through a famous battle, like the Meuse-Argonne, and it's the same as if it hadn't, unless you know. It's in here." He tapped his head. "In the mind, not the gun."
In the middle of the century just past, Mayne Reid was the great writer of books of out-of-door adventure. He was forever extolling the hunters and field-observers of living animals' habits, and keeping up a fire of invective against the * closet-naturalists,' as he called them, the collectors and classifiers, and handlers of skeletons and skins. When I was a boy, I used to think that a closet-naturalist must be the vilest type of wretch under the sun.
But surely the systematic theologians are the closet-naturalists of the deity, even in Captain Mayne Reid's sense. What is their deduction of metaphysical attributes but a shuffling and matching of pedantic dictionary-adjectives, aloof from morals, aloof from human needs, something that might be worked out from the mere word * God' by one of those logical machines of wood and brass which recent ingenuity has contrived as well as by a man of flesh and blood. They have the trail of the serpent over them.
-William James
This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end
Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
I'll never look into your eyes...again
Can you picture what will be
So limitless and free
Desperately in need...of some...stranger's hand
In a...desperate land
Lost in a Roman...wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane
All the children are insane
Waiting for the summer rain, yeah
There's danger on the edge of town
Ride the King's highway, baby
Weird scenes inside the gold mine
Ride the highway west, baby
Ride the snake, ride the snake
To the lake, the ancient lake, baby
The snake is long, seven miles
Ride the snake...he's old, and his skin is cold
The west is the best
The west is the best
Get here, and we'll do the rest
The blue bus is callin' us
The blue bus is callin' us
Driver, where you taken' us
The killer awoke before dawn, he put his boots on
He took a face from the ancient gallery
And he walked on down the hall
He went into the room where his sister lived, and...then he
Paid a visit to his brother, and then he
He walked on down the hall, and
And he came to a door...and he looked inside
Father, yes son, I want to kill you
Mother...I want to...fuck you
Whatever you think or do regularly becomes a habit, a strongly conditioned pathway in the brain. The more you think about what can go wrong, the more your mind is primed to anticipate trouble. The more you lash out in anger, the more your body and mind are geared toward aggression. The more you think about how you might help others, the more your mind and heart are inclined to be generous. Just as weight lifting builds muscles, the way you direct your attention can strengthen anxiety, hostility, and addiction, or it can lead you to healing and awakening.
—Tara Brach, True Refuge: Finding Peace and Freedom in Your Own Awakened Heart
Maybe this is too selfhelpy utilitarian but I find it reassuring. I'm too focused sometimes on just coming to terms w who I am like I'm a fkn rock, or thinking I need some kind of epiphany or breakdown to change
That quote is a fact to me. It's habitual. Absolutely. Like posture. You're imbalanced and lean to one extreme. Sitting. My body is used to sitting cuz I sit so much. It isn't used to being active. It has grown accustomed to sitting. Your body will adjust to your habits as will your mind. Muhammad Ali said what you are thinking is what you are becoming. There is an old proverb. Bulgarian I think. A tree tends to fall the way it leans. That is why you don't lean for too long. You are a spring, you bounce back.Quote:
Originally Posted by lungs
“Don't be in a hurry to condemn because he doesn't do what you do or think as you think or as fast. There was a time when you didn't know what you know today.”
― Malcolm X
I don't know where to put this but I feel like such a jackass for my behavior yesterday. Almost too embarrassed to come back to the site. lol. I have some issues obviously. I started a fight from nothing. I don't dislike anyone on this forum. Like somebody asked me why I disliked the guy I was going off on. I don't. He was just in my range of fire at the time and somebody to take it out on. And I was drinking too. Which I should stop.Quote:
Originally Posted by lungs
Anyway, I realize the problem is me and not others.
To keep it on topic I will add two quotes that remind me of my behavior:
"It's not a slam at you when people are rude, it's a slam at the people they've met before." - F. Scott Fitzgerald
“Rudeness is the weak man's imitation of strength.”
― Eric Hoffer, The Passionate State of Mind: And Other Aphorisms
I like this one too:
To be humble to superiors is duty; to equals, is courtesy; to inferiors, is nobleness; and to all, safety: it being a virtue that, for all her lowliness, commandeth those souls it stoops to.
You'd be far from the first person to do this.Quote:
Originally Posted by Tearsofaclown
*looks in mirror*
Self awareness goes a long way.
"I was really interested in intention, or more specifically, in moral responsibility and how we conceive of ourselves versus how we actually behave. A lot of the characters engage in violence—physical, emotional, or otherwise—and then they run over options and try to find ways to justify him or herself. Why he did this. Why it was worthwhile, or necessary, or good. I’m interested in the ways that people find to keep their ego intact in these moments, or don’t. I’m interested in that gap between behavior and identity, between who we are or what we claim to be and what we actually do."
—THE RUMPUS INTERVIEW with Kea Wilson
Quote:
Originally Posted by lungs
You got a dog? I love this paper by William James. A Certain Blindness in Human Beings. We have no idea what other people are about or mean but act like we do.
I love that. "Why are you sitting there lifeless when you could throw sticks for me to catch?" What queer disease comes over humans where they seem paralyzed and vacant of conscious life.
Take our dogs and ourselves, connected as we are by a tie more intimate than most ties in this world; and yet, outside of that tie of friendly fondness, how insensible, each of us, to all that makes life significant for the other!—we to the rapture of bones under hedges, or smells of trees and lamp-posts, they to the delights of literature and art. As you sit reading the most moving romance you ever fell upon, what sort of a judge is your fox-terrier of your behavior? With all his good will toward you, the nature of your conduct is absolutely excluded from his comprehension. To sit there like a senseless statue, when you might be taking him to walk and throwing sticks for him to catch! What queer disease is this that comes over you every day, of holding things and staring at them like that for hours together, paralyzed of motion and vacant of all conscious life?
About plagiarism and art... I always remember this quote from Salvador Dali's autobiography:
Eugenio d'Ors once made the profound observation that "everything that is not tradition is plagiarism." Everything that is not tradition is plagiarism, Salvador Dali repeats. The most exemplary case that one can give of this to a young student of the history of art is that of Perugino and Raphael. Raphael, while still a very young student, found himself almost without realizing it incorporating and possessing the whole tradition of his master, Perugino; drawing, charoscurro, matter, myth, subject, composition, architecture - all this was "given" to him. Hence he was a lord and master. He was free. He could work within such narrow limits that he could give his whole mind to doing it. If he decided to surpress a few columns or to add a few steps to the stairway; if he thought the head of the Madonna should lean forward a little more, that the shadow of the orbits of her eyes should have a more melancholy accent, with what luxury, what intensity, what liberty of invention he could do this.
The complete opposite is Picasso, as great as Raphael, but damned. Damned and condemned to eternal plagiarism; for having fought, broken and smashed tradition, his work has the dazzle of lightning and the anger of a slave. Like a slave he is chained hand and foot by the chains of his own inventions. Having reinvented everything, he is tyrannized by everything. In each of his works Picasso struggles like a convict; he is tyrannized, reduced to slavery by the drawing, the color, the perspective, the composition, by each of these things. Instead of leaning upon the immediate past which is their source, upon the "blood of reality" which is tradition, he must lean upon the "memory" of all that he has seen - plagiarism of the Etruscan vases, plagiarism of the Toulouse-Lautrec, plagiarism of Africa, plagiarism of Ingres. THE POVERTY OF REVOLUTION. Nothing is truer: "The more one tries to revolutionize, the more one does the same thing."
Arlo Pear must be right-handed.Quote:
Originally Posted by Tearsofaclown
@lungs
The highest technique is to have no technique. My technique is a result of your technique; my movement is a result of your movement. A good JKD man does not oppose force or give way completely. He is pliable as a spring; he is the complement and not the opposition to his opponent’s strength. He has no technique; he makes his opponent’s technique his technique. He has no design; he makes opportunity his design. One should not respond to circumstance with artificial and ‘wooden’ prearrangement. Your action should be like the immediacy of a shadow adapting to its moving object. Your task is simply to complete the other half of the oneness spontaneously.
-Bruce Lee
"Question: What are your thoughts when facing an opponent?
Bruce: There is no opponent.
Question: Why is that?
Bruce: Because the word 'l' does not exist. A good fight should be like a small play...but played seriously. When the opponent expands, l contract. When he contracts, l expand. And when there is an opportunity... l do not hit...it hits all by itself (shows his fist)."
Great example of Se and Ni in some arrangement. I am not a subject of experience, I AM experience.
When we hold to the core, the opposite sides are the same if they are seen from the center of the moving circle. I do not experience; I am experience. I am not the subject of experience; I am that experience. I am awareness. Nothing else can be I or can exist.
“A story was a form of telepathy. By means of inking symbols onto a page, she was able to send thoughts and feelings from her mind to her reader's. It was a magical process, so commonplace that no one stopped to wonder at it.”
It’s not enough to say the heart wants what it wants. I think of the ravine, the side dark with pines where we lounged through summer days, waiting for something to happen; and of the nights, walking the long way home, the stars so close they seemed to crown us. Once, I asked for your favorite feeling. You said hunger. It felt true then. It was as if we took the bit and bridle from our mouths. From that moment I told myself it was the not yet that I wanted, the moving, the toward—
“Be it done unto me,” we used to say, hoping to be called by the right god. Isn’t that why we liked the story of how every two thousand years, a god descends. Leda’s pitiless swan. Then Gabriel announcing the new god and his kingdom of lambs—and now? What slouches
toward us? I think I see annunciations everywhere: blackbirds fall out of the sky, trees lift their feathery braches, a girl in an out-sized yellow halo speeds toward—
I picture her last moments, the pickup pulling faster, pulling rougher, kicking up its tracks in the slush: she’s nestled into that golden circle, sliding toward the edge of the closed-off field—
I am looking at the postcard of Anunciación, the one you sent from Córdoba in the spring. I taped it to the refrigerator next to the grocery list because I wanted to think of you, and because I liked its promise: a world where a girl has only to say yes and heaven opens. But now all I see is a bright innertube pillowing behind her head. All I see is a girl being crushed inside a halo that does not save her.
This is what it’s like to be alive without you here: some fall out of the world. I fall back into what I was. Days go by when I do nothing but underline the damp edge of myself.
What I want is what I’ve always wanted. What I want is to be changed.
Sometimes I half think I’m still a girl beside you—stretched out in the ravine or slouched in the church pews, looking up at the angel and girl in the colored glass, the ruby and sapphire bits lit up inside them. Our scene. All we did was slip from their halos—
Which is to say, mi corazón, drink up the sunlight you can and stop feeding the good fruit to the goat. Tell me you believe the world is made of more than all its stupid, stubborn, small refusals, that anything, everything is still possible. I wait for word here where the snow is falling, the solitaires are calling, and I am, as always, your M.
—Mary Szybist, “To Gabriela at the Donkey Sanctuary,” Incarnadine
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
— William Ernest Henley, Invictus
From the Chinese historical drama Red Cliff:
Liu Bei: "Brother!"
Zhu Ge Liang: "We are not building an alliance. We are making enemies. Viceroy Zhou, what is your opinion?"
Zhou Yu: "At this time of crisis, you can still weave straw sandals?"
Liu Bei: "This has been a habit of mine for years. We have walked a long way wearing these shoes."
Guan Yu: "Whenever our shoes are worn out, Big Brother weaves new ones with his own hands."
Zhou Yu: "It really is strong. I am surprised that such weak strands of grass, can become so strong after you weaved them together. You have a noble Lord, and brave generals. Generals Guan, Zhang and Zhao are all invincible warriors on the battlefield. An army high in spirits can fight an enemy ten times its size. We sons of Wu, must protect our homeland. We will also do our best. I have only one dream. A dream for all; that is for all of us to unite! United, no one can pull us apart!"
http://www.schnittberichte.com//www/...3012/sb634.jpg
@Cassandra
You will agree to this in general, for in spite of the Gospel, in spite of Quakerism, in spite of Tolstoy, you believe in fighting fire with fire, in shooting down usurpers, locking up thieves, and freezing out vagabonds and swindlers.
And yet you are sure, as I am sure, that were the world confined to these hard-headed, hard-hearted, and hard-fisted methods exclusively, were there no one prompt to help a brother first, and find out afterwards whether he were worthy; no one willing to drown his private wrongs in pity for the wronger's person ; no one ready to be duped many a time rather than live always on suspicion ; no one glad to treat individuals passionately and impulsively rather than by general rules of prudence; the world would be an infinitely worse place than it is now to live in. The tender grace, not of a day that is dead, but of a day yet to be born somehow, with the golden rule | grown natural, would be cut out from the perspective of our imaginations.
The saints, existing in this way, may, with their extravagances of human tenderness, be prophetic. Nay, innumerable times they have proved themselves prophetic. Treating those whom they met, in spite of the past, in spite of all appearances, as worthy, they have stimulated them to be worthy, miraculously transformed them by their radiant example and by the challenge of their expectation.
-William James
This reminded me of Supervision romance:
"They were like two magnets who couldn’t decide whether to attract or repel."
— Jay Asher
"He also had a condition that was referred to as "granulated eyelids" and it caused him to blink more than usual as if he found creation slightly more than he could accept."
-The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford
Classy but obliterating insults that made history. Captioned: "These glorious insults are from an era before the English language got boiled down to 4-letter words."
“He had delusions of adequacy.” - Walter Kerr
“Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go.” - Oscar Wilde
"I feel so miserable without you; it’s almost like having you here.” - Stephen Bishop
“He has Van Gogh’s ear for music.” - Billy Wilder
“I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure.” - Clarence Darrow
“He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary.” - William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway).
“I didn’t attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it.” - Mark Twain
"Never argue with stupid people. They drag you down to their level and beat you with experience." - Mark Twain
“Thank you for sending me a copy of your book; I’ll waste no time reading it.” - Moses Hadas
“He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up.” - Paul Keating
“I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend… if you have one.” (George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill)
- “Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second… if there is one." (Winston Churchill, in response.)
“His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork.” - Mae West
“I’ve had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn’t it.” - Groucho Marx
“He loves nature in spite of what it did to him.” - Forrest Tucker
An addition to your awesome post @Chae:
I Would Challenge You To a Battle of Wits, But I See You Are Unarmed - Unknown, earliest comparable word play written by Abby Buchanan Longstreet,1866
The Jem'Hadar in Star Trek. They wake up dead every day and reclaim their lives. Life itself is victory.
Omet'iklan: I am First Omet'iklan, and I am dead. As of this moment, we are all dead. We go into battle to reclaim our lives. This we do gladly, for we are Jem'Hadar. Remember: victory is life.
Jem'Hadar: Victory is life!
"You know something? I really hate people! They're selfish, ignorant, loud obnoxious pricks, with basically no redeeming qualities whatsoever. I mean really, look at all they've achieved! Genocide, global warming, reality TV, and just a never ending parade of failures and fuck ups! They are, without question, a complete write-off of a species, and how dare you make me care about them!" -Kirito, SAO Abridged
“The great nations have always acted like gangsters, and the small nations like prostitutes.”
“I never learned anything at all in school and didn't read a book for pleasure until I was 19 years old.”
“When a man cannot choose, he ceases to be a man.”
-Stanley Kubrick
''Alone, they see me as their peer (I am). Alone, they see me as a subject of quiet delight (I am). Maybe I always was, and I forgot that too, left it behind in the wreckage of my performative self. New York exacts a tax of flesh, all the old dark gods do. Los Angeles is a new god, maybe, lemon trees and white-gold sun. Maybe it’s not a god at all, just light and grace until you are able reign over your own heart again. It was my first escape, and this is the city that will be my last, maybe, despite Brooklyn’s long, proud blip.''