Put Jelly On Your Shoulder

I have a memory of the beach which links to a memory of the mountains. The former was while I was a wee one approximately the age of three. The latter was around the age of ten. I had always been taken to the beach as an infant, none of which I remember but of which I am told. My mom's mom used to live there. I remember walking with my parents, them holding loads of beach stuff and I walking next to them some early summer day. We had just left the car and my view of the limitless ocean and sky which must have met each other at some point was lodged in my mind. When we walked a couple of hundred feet from the parking lot there was a concrete sidewalk for bikers and roller-bladers of all kinds. Upon reaching this area my parents stopped walking to allow the bikers to roll by. As they came closer I walked right out in front of one and was run over. It must've been quite painful, but pain isn't something you can particularly describe or quantify. As in a doctor's office where they ask you if the pain is a one or a ten. The man who ran into me was very angry, and scolded not only my parents but me about the accident. I remember my parent's resentment of him well. This is the only memory I have of that day at the beach. When I was ten, my family and I were driving through the mountains to Lake Arrowhead to either visit my dad's parents or go to a UCLA alumni camp. We stopped on the way up to take a look at the view of Los Angeles below. Upon getting out of the car, I started to have a panic attack, fearing that my fearless sister would accidentally fall off the side of the mountain, never to be heard from again. I started screaming and yelling and generally freaking out but that did nothing to stop my sister, though she later claims that that was when she knew I cared about her, and that it most likely made her safer when going to the edge. So in turn I closed my eyes and looked away at the same time like an ostrich would.

Exclamation Questions

Comes when you feel like you're saying something new, true, yet debateable. It's not like that to you, but to someone else....?

John Donne's Bater My Heart, Three-Personed God

This tale of a man who feels unworthy of God's love is mainly found to wish that someone will stop him from being evil. He has no sense of control over his relationship with God, and though he knows this is one necessary step for faith, it is not enough. In fact, it is an example of the dark side of Faith, a man who regrets his decisions but cannot change them. "Betrothed your enemy;" there is also a sense that he feels that God is too powerful, but as we know, Free Will is an important piece in God's plan. He wants us, maybe, to express our humanity of power so that his own strenght of creation may be seen. Thus the untenability of God.

Ben Jonson's On My First Son

His sin is too much hope. In the case of a living father-son relationship this sin may be absolved by making friendly suggestions rather than demands. Sin is void when you go at a problem with a different methodology. It's in the way you do things i.e. an adverb. He also says one should not lament x when one envies x but those two definitely come together with an acceptance of fate. For example, one begins to secretly desire death (or, rather, its simulation) when one accepts death. It gives one a better sense of understanding. This theory is furthur supported when he claims this poem as his best. From tragedy to triumph. He even goes as far as to say "Here doth lie...his best piece of poetry." The analogy of the poem as dead is obvious. And to lament is a lacking of what one desires.

Artaudian Thoughts Followed by Nietzschean Thoughts

The smartest bees are those who do their jobs on the edges of a flower patch, where the others don't go for fear of the limit. (I'm the only one congratulating them.)

How do I feel about Van Gogh? I remember his self-portrait, those eyes and cheekbones protruding as if he was piercing the viewers sense of self not to become him but rather to question and boldly look into the terrifying space with an attention to detail and simultaneously having reckless abandon. He has an aesthetic look to him, "fiery eyes," but I see him looking at you more than at a picture he's about to paint. He must've looked into a mirror while or before he painted. The sense of engagement hints that it is indeed during his painting. His plea has a sense of independence to it, knowing that it is right yet unattainable. "No, Van Gogh was not mad, but his paintings were wildfire atomic bombs." -Antonin Artaud

The most evil thing Antonin Artaud did was against those who identify with him. He gave those evil psychiatrists more information on the disease than they should have, thereby diagnosing more people with the disease. To what extent does this fit into Artaud's larger motif of making people feel his sickness? Perfectly! But he fails to take into account our desires, it's always him, him, him! I wish to ask my friends what they want out of their lives...
For those who aren't sure, they know deep down that all desire precedes experience, just like Freud said.

The cry of the painting "The Scream" precends not experience, but memorable experience. Artaud's cry comes back to haunt him when he refuses to publish his letters based on the fact that they are going to be altered. Idealism as a defense mechanism for one's fear of not being heard. The cry is useless unless heard, for the crier it does nothing, only as secondary effects and consequences of Nietzschean power.

Be a better listener than a converser and you will be told.

Do not encourage bad behavior, yet do not condemn.

Lack of fire, certainty in action, and faith in the fate of myself and faith in the beginning stirs of consciousness.

Self criticism over social criticism.

What can we teach a horse? Anything provided it is desirable and there are learning obstacles in between stages.

How will I quit smoking? Only slowly but surely, for the negative consequences are long term!

My strong will is luckily directed inward, toward self-knowledge.

I'd like to think I'd be a benevolent leader, better at opposing evil power structures than making good ones.

"And thus it will happen one day that a man will be born again, just like me... and in a better land they will meet and contemplate each other a long time: and finally the woman will give her hand to the man."

As soon as it goes in I feel it. We live in such comfort, as do the animals we give shelter to. We have so many experiences in life, yet we forget so much, relying on the evil yet trustworthy generalizing emotions which keep our friendships intact. When off at college, we want to make ourselves new. While at home we want to return to the good old days. What happened? Instead of digging for old memories we sought new memories, which were futile without our old ones.

On Consciousness and Concentration

Lets say, for example, one exhales. Now, "what goes on in your mind" here is something very simple. Regardless, even this affect is extremely hard to trace. Lets say you feel a certain something in your body as you exhale, this far from guarantees that this is indeed that main mechanism of action of the exhalation. The goal, therefore, is not to trace out every piece of the exhale, wherever and whenever it may be influential, it is to find the core of the experience of exhaling and to modify it that way. How to do such a thing can only be accomplished by a) forcing oneself to take a very exhausting and/or relieving exhale and b) allowing the exhale to be perceived as an isolated event.