Pale Fire

What the hell is going on, I'm being hit by a massive amount of strange information ranging from the smallest details regarding the names of butterflies to the haunting brevity of almost being run over by your friend. I have never read a novel like this before: it is like piecing together a jigsaw puzzle without having the full 1000 pieces. One of such a laziness of mind as I have exhibited at times sometimes thinks to himself that it's better to let the unconscious do the sorting and just reread it later (ending up in more work for my lazy mind, but it doesn't know it yet!). The other part of me says filling in the blanks, not the search for a fundamental theme, is where the fun happens. This novel, the first I've read by Nabokov, reeks of Nabokov. Could this be because he's a Russian posing as American? Could it be that his masterfulness lies in his ability to recreate the scene like it's real? Or (most likely) is it that Nabokov's obsession with death can only be compared (in the scope and magnitude of its depth) to mine? I deeply identify with this man, and believe that his accounts of mental disorders such as hysteria and lunacy to be dead on. Part of the reason for this is simply the vastness of information he has appropriated from personal experience, and part of it is that he still understands what lies at the heart of it: a desire for greater power. Whether that be the will to dispose of a tyrannical leader or to immortalize your soul in poetry, I somehow feel that we humans can do so much that is outside the normal processes of our minds. The best way I know how to do this is to take away something which you desire deeply. But I digress. My point is that Nabokov has created a web of reality which is so vast yet so compact that it inspires me. I felt for a long time like a knowledge monger, endlessly consuming bits of knowledge without being able to put it into some compact form. That, I believe, is the missing piece of genius. We can easily get addicted to knowledge, and that scares me (even though I've seen it). Anyways, about the unknown, the afterlife, the key to this lies in its simplicity. When I compare my experiences to those of John Shade I realize not only that mystical experiences are often quite similar to one another, they are often very brief. This inspires me to realize that humans still have a long way to go, but that progress shouldn't necessarily take place from one advancement to another (the path of convenience) but it should take place in the way of Nietzschean reevaluation. This means that no longer does the iPhone evolve from the Blackberry but that the individual's desires are transformed to create a man dedicated to himself. Suddenly, everything that a man sees is in a new color. I will not go into how to do this now, but I will say that it feels as if there is so much unused potential in this world of the future. A place in which change takes place in one's mind long before it comes to be a reality. A bridge in which the only builder is the genius: Nabokov.

Eiffel Tower

I, like many Pariseans at the time of its erection, think the Eiffel Tower is ugly. Its sheer mass borderlines on collapsing in on itself. Its huge base (even larger when you're standing under it) makes the top look like an antenna fit to be atop Mt. Wilson. Although the view from the top is spectacular, the view from the middle is nearly as nice: it doesn't need to be so tall! Personal biases came into play as I visited on a rainy day: it provides no shelter from the storm! It is extremely impractical, as it looks like a big metal pole sticking out of the ground. Sadly, my favorite book of French philosophy was ruinined in the rain at the tower that day. It's arching architecture is completely unoriginal, one can see such pretty symmetry on the Camps-Elysees with the Arc de Triumph. If you visit Paris, go here first if you go at all, so as to see the entirety of Paris at once. Yet its virtue is its downfall, its height makes it look absurd. Besides, if you go to Magic Mountain and see the ride Superman, it has the aesthetic appeal of the Diffel Tower: it is the tower cut in half with a roller coaster gouing up the side!

Dali's The Persistence of Memory

Salvador Dali's The Persistence of Memory is another one of my favorite works. There are many elements in this work which are typical to Dali: the ants coming out of the clock, the clocks themselves, and the ocean. Dali was a man obsessed by the eternal, and this painting is no exception to that rule. In my opinion, this work is a fantasy of the paranoid. The ants in this painting make an appearance in Dali and Bunuel's Un Chein Andalou, coming out of the hand of one of the characters. In my opinion, this is like the spreading of a disease across and from within the body, or, in this case, a clock. The fact that they have not spread very far means that it is only in the act of the sun setting, as opposed to the movement of the sun during the day that we see such action. This is clearly a sunset rather than rise for the creatures of the night are only beginning to let themselves be known. This fuzzy space of, "is it night or day?" is furthur used in the depiction of the ocean. A pool of water, elevated from the ocean like an infinity pool is an expression of the darkness's way of creating fuzzy space. One begins to wonder whether the ocean is overspilling its bounds, and the mind creates not only the extra portion of ocean, but the sides of this "pool" in a reaction to the doubt of its actual existence. This uncertainty is also expressed in the clock on the tree, where a branch, visually unsupported by anything directly underneath it, is strong enough to hold up a melting clock. These mind games are very interesting to me, as they seem to show us the blind spots of our consciousness.

Van Gogh's The Starry Night

The Starry Night holds a great deal of personal significance and past experience to me. Not only was a copy of it pout in my room as a child, but at some point in elementary school I painted a copy of my own. What struck me then was the strange brown tower-like structure on the left side at the top, watching the city lights from afar as if they somehow mirrored the starlight. Now looking at the painting, it is obvious that although the same blue pervades both city and sky, the way Van Gogh paints the stars is entirely distinct in itself. While their light is progressively brighter as one looks toward the middle, each star has it's limit of light output, like orbs of energy whose strength is limited. I believe this is an expression of the emptiness of the night sky, with its points of extreme lightness and darkness, provided by the night's vast space. Its extensive use of blue in both the sky and ground expresses the sky's enveloping nature.

Bop It

Bop it, twist it, spin it, flick it, pull it. A record somewhere in the 200s. Once you get into the zone your task becomes simple, for it is only a task. The mind adapts to the task, literally at hand. Once you break your record you're bound to come close to it next time. Provided it is legitimate, it will be broken. Now, the baseball home run record doesn't apply, because they are all illegitimate children of steroids. These actions are irreversible. If everyone jumped off a cliff, would you? Everything requires a whole lot more individuality than one can expect of the addressed child. I wouldn't want to be alone. Children are literal beings, a fact necessary in comprehending the difficulty of the use of this adage. But if we can't expect all adults to act a certain way, trying to change the children to act a certain way is not futile or useless but expecting a lot, which comes to my final conclusion, that the idea that we must grow and be responsible happens in spurts of expression is false. That real growth is slowly and internally harbored and waits for those moments of expression. It is in the invisibility of the form that makes us believe that creative spurts are the way it should be. This entry was slowly brought up over a long period of time, it is the flow which is spontaneous.

For those who I don't know

I'm sorry I missed you
I'd meet you, but not everyone likes a gossip queen
Or a tattle tale, like my neighbor called me
But if I tattle tale her
My parents will lose a friend
Or not
But I'll be a bully
Doesn't everyone want to lose?
In some way or another, we want to be free
Whether or not we know what it is or not
Everything is slowly dying
Intellectually I am a believer in progress
Forever stuck in place
Forever striving for an acceptance
Of myself, of those around me
All there is is internal/external
Or so they say
The importance of the world lies in decision
Over my contentment and perpetual sleep
Of volume on high
Can't hear my voice
As more therapeutic
Than to listen to it
Though easier to maintain, harder to change

Gobbledegook

I can't explain it but I feel like everything I work towards is fleeting
It doesn't matter how hard I try, the end result is fleeting
It comes in moments of pure terror
It comes in moments of the idealized
Whatever it is I know it when it happens
You'd have to feel it to know it
And if you missed it, you want it
And if you saw it, you'd want more
Only problem being it's being beyond my will
And if I try to do something, it is only to prove I can't
Writing is therapeutic
Reading never leads me where I want to go most
Map it on the body
Safe to stay there if you never want to see it again
What is this desire for the unknown always changing
Knowing what I know now, maybe there's nothing left
To pun, to say, to fight, to do, to become, to be
But now, when I am most proud, inspired, how to end?
The question asked, the answer null

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.

Fragments II

Double cough, cough, then try to reproduce!

Let alone mental states, bodily states are impossible to repeat, even right after you've been there.

The best guess for where my mind is now is where it just was.

Training is not futile, but its ultimate goal of perfection would be. Many settle for simply the limit, and they call that perfection (especially considering the body's health).

If you see people close to you doing something, sometimes you will do the opposite, or, in my friend's case, the same thing as a child, and your maturity then becomes your freedom!

Simply how it works.

Only smoke for the sake of smoking, not because you're bored.

Doubt your calling and you lie between the space of sincerity and nothingness.

Hopes/expectations too high, but he just wants to ride as long as he can, could care less about the far future. (Not in terms of work ethic, in terms of attitude) (an interesting case, if someone is jealous of you).

Repetition starts to suck when it takes effort, I mean, repetition is fulfilled when it is effortless.

Why sit in a circle? I mean, who introduced it? To this group and this group only? Someone who wanted a change toward tradition, toward community, but it's not necessary, it's just a nice addition made into a foundational law. It adds stability, so that new things can arise, so it acts as a freeing yet unnecessary circumstance. But it is essentially capitalistic, satisfying all through one means.

AH! Sun Chips! How novel you are! But oh how quickly you grow old! The more new memories I have of you, the further away from your place in my youth you move! That is, unless your place had been constant!

I'm really good at: hiding, making mistakes at the right time, doing drugs.

Stir crazy: "when you just have to leave your immediate environment."

My creativity comes and goes like a landed sparrow, I must make sure to keep this notebook with me at all times, never missing a beat.

When I Write Something Really Good...

When I write something really good, it will be two stories, the first of real experience, the intermission will say, "you think I did this of my own free will? Well, I have another story to tell." As I stare into the ocean I realize I no longer need outside stimulation to get where I want to get...for now! Then the second will go back into the past, and tell my real story...http://varietynow.blogspot.com/ start reading until you see our agreement! It was independently arrived at, which I'm very happy about.

Fetal Breathing Introduction

The Toaist concept of fetal breathing is like a combination of extremes, that is, breathing without breathing. What you do is you hold your breath as long as you can, and, during that breath, you act to your mind as if you're breathing. It gets very intense, very fast, especially if you can contrast yourself with what you were doing a few seconds earlier. It can be enhanced by a) smoking cigarettes b) focusing on the back of your head (not to prolong your breath but rather put you in a more natural state) c) focusing on your stomach will give you a vibrant, quick-fleeting image d) focusing on your eyes will give you the closest feeling to being baby-like (a yearning). My method is to take two inhales/exhales, and on the there as long as possible. There must be more to this process than continually repeating oneself, but I will update when I figure that out. If guilt works the way it is supposed to, it makes itself obsolete.

Cause And Effect

Cause and effect is a very intuitive way of thinking. I will now explain my relationship with this scientific format. Causes which are done by ourselves as a result of our free-will result in a desired effect. Lets take an example from Clockwork Orange: an excellent commentary on free-will: the main character is treated, as cause, and cured, as effect. This major turning point was dictated by cause and effect. One learns to rely on outside sources the moment one's future is saved. This mirrors the use of drugs, and part of the reason I loved them so much was my being attuned with their effects. Now, I have two things to say about the nature of this type of perception. First, causation only comes to mind when we controlled the cause. What caused the cause to cause the cause is entirely unknown. Second, one can never be sure of how much of a cause one needs to produce an effect. This is seen when in Clockwork Orange the main character begs and pleads the scientists to stop with the therapy, yet they won't, because not even scientists know the first time. It is in this case that ignorance is really not bliss! Nietzsche says of causation, "The interpretation of an event as either an act or the suffering of an act." This duality of cause and effect seems to segregate itself when we look at it this way: the main character in Clockwork Orange equates his becoming a better human during his greatest act of suffering. So, as his suffering has the effect of less suffering for humanity, it guarantees that the cause will continue so long as the balance is not met (so long as someone needs his personal revenge).

Working On A Story

I'm currently working on a story which is an interaction between the most peaceful person in the world along with the most violent person in the world. The going has been hard, but I think eventually rewarding.

Why Nietzsche Makes Me Uncomfortable

The way in which Nietzsche makes me uncomfortable is completely unintended, or, rather, a consequence of the way he writes: issues such as duty are brought up but one is unsure of what eh believes its value to be. For me, it puts me in the position of opportunity: to have the strength to put down the book and think for myself. I often find myself dissapointed in my inability to see the rich fullness of what he is expressing. The other thing Nietzsche does, which, on the other hand, is not admirable is how he uses tiny pieces of art to fit his needs without giving an accurate representation of what the piece was about (Deleuze followed and called it virtuous). It is the fragmented nature of art, so as to bring out its best (or most useful) parts. The whole issue of my inability to see the rich fullness of what he is expressing has made itself more obvious when I was writing poetry: that so much goes into so little, that one must understand all the facets of the poetic reality. This means that the poet's personality will become much more obvious to the reader so long as the reader has done a bit of poetry himself.

Fragments I

Relieve? Relive? Which one? One or the other. Prevent, defend, it's all a temporary lapse of time, a game to preoccupy. I want to get to the top, I'm bored of this game. Preconceived notions are reliable, and premature behavior is the standard. How is growth possible within regression? It is unknown. We must go for it all. All or nothing! Inhale/Exhale. Gavin Hale is my replacement in a dream of whatever it wasn't baseball. Has consciousness become so estranged that words take precedence?

Regret and guilt are very similar. Especially in how they cancel themselves out. See, the whole point of regret is to keep someone from repeating history, so if it works like its supposed to it will be preventative in nature. The same with guilt, it is based on a past mistake which you must take personal responsibility toward catharsis.

My old ways refuse to work anymore, which I hadn't really realized, it's time to say, "from this moment forward." This attitude is the least sentimental and least narcissistic attitude I can come up with. I should know, I'm a sentimental narcissist.

I should know, I've been there. I should know, I've done that. I should know, I should know.

Bad jokes are actually quite multifaceted in obvious ways, which lends to appreciation but they entirely lack misunderstanding, which, as Jung says, is crucial to being a Nietzschean philosopher of the future. The spell check says Nietzschean is not a word, I should know, I saw some of Little Miss Sunshine.

Putting non-existent stress on oneself is for me a way to put myself in a place where I can to my best kind of work (in the clutch). But to continue to put on stress without relief and to live in a state of perpetual stress is very bad for anyone! Therefore, one should not necessarily do what one is best at. Built up stress and relieved stress are the two extremes of my bipolar self.
The doctors tell me bipolar disorder is any oppositional feelings, not just manic and depressed. The committee (in the brain) is not willing to make a compromise, it is in a state of listening to itself but getting caught in the feeling of one isn't necessarily more significant than the other.

There must not be all that much too see! If one forgets or refuses to remember, "all" becomes lesser and lesser, until you can put it in Al Gore's lock-box. I feel less like I forget and more like I refuse to remember. All this under the veil that I am constantly trying to understand myself. I must contemplate that which is most deeply wrong with me.

I appreciate all brain food (provided it is digestible).

I want to pay my dues all at once, its tough, but thats the way I wish it were.

Flies have consciousness of space-time.

What is the key to life? Adaptation; staring at the horizon. Why I love the beach? The tides are regulated by an unseen force, each wave is powerful and different. I feel like eternity is more unattainable than haunting now-days. There is much less urgency, but my most important goals have not yet been reached.

My useful lie: telling myself I'll be out in 30 days.

The fan mirrors the wind, yet is unreceptive, does what it was made for without interference.

A sports fan is like a fan.

Horses probably hate being ridden. When they walk it is both glorious and laborious, huge strides.

I promise not to lose you, journal.

Blog, you can't be lost, I don't like that. You're always around, waiting for me. You should gain my respect rather than demand it, fool.

I don't like the idea of having your senses fit reality either, because how valuable are your senses anyway? The best sensory perception, in that line, is not one that can taste, or, rather, endure the bad tastes and consequently have a huge repertoire, but one which can delicately differentiate let's say, the smell of a good orchid and a great one, which others may not be able to sense!