Saturday, May 20, 2023

Getting Out of the Way of the Images....

Perhaps this is why certain people prefer film and/or photography.  How the Super-ego-recessive right brain hemisphere interprets the world (by sight, induction and intuition) and the ego-dominant Left (by sound, deduction and logic).  And dreams are the result of an "other-centric" brain hemisphere's Super-Ego explaining to its' dominant but visually-impaired counterpart the pertinent events of the day as it gets transferred from temporary storage into permanent memory (REM sleep).  During the Day, My ego is in charge and converses with the right-hemisphere's counterpart Ego-ideal.  But at night, the Super-Ego become dominant and converses with the unconscious Ego's (and Ids) true desires, and entertains them.  Day/night, the Id demands... an offers up the dominant need... hunger... thirst... the most pressing pain requiring attention (sexual relief) or alleviation du jour.
This is my big problem.  I'm too self-conscious.  I can't get out of the way of my own images.  My words get in their way.  I should express myself in images, not words.  It's why I fear public speaking and sometimes say things that make no sense.  The in-the-moment interpretation does not correspond with the imagination.

Childhood is special.  Your mind has not analyzed all the images.  It had no language with which to do so.  And as it recalls, the raw image come back, not some erroneous hyper-real  "analysis" of them.  Imagination replaced interpretation.  Education robs children of their imaginations, because it replaces imaginations with interpretations (from the hyper-reality of the 'other').  You become trapped in the nightmare of their desires, of che vuoi)

Monday, May 8, 2023

Don't be so Hard on Your Own Beauty...

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Don't Be So Hard On Your Own Beauty ;lyrx; Currently, The sullen look on your face Tells me you see something More pure in me than this dirty When I’m With you I no longer have tainted flesh Where violation teared my dress before you Took me away, I could not see past this horizon line With my dying light that’s overgrown with Thorny vines and piercing through The only vein that’s still okay You let me cry, and wipe my eyes And make me feel something other than Desolated nothing I am desperate in a nightmare Where I’m trying to find you In a maze, with no staircase, I’m stuck and breathless In the backroom of a spinning hall, Dizzy, I crawl and trip down, Fall again, you pick up all my guts Spilling out, bruised up, bloodied up Oh, I look into your eyes and See a bright white light and You turn this horrible place Into, Orange light, sunset in sight You tell me not to Be so hard on my own beauty You still Hold me even though I’m made of fire burning through You hold me gently, but these Thorny vines and piercing through The only vein that’s still okay You let me cry, and wipe my eyes And make me feel something other than Desolated nothing I am desperate in a nightmare Where I’m trying to find you In a maze, with no staircase, I’m stuck and breathless In the backroom of a spinning hall, Dizzy, I crawl and trip down, Fall again, you pick up all my guts Spilling out, bruised up, bloodied up Suddenly, Curled up In a ball In the bathroom floor Unconsciously I feel you, Shake me awake From a bad dream With my eyes Open!

Contra A/D Converters...


A hot and windy August afternoon
Has the trees in constant motion
With a flash of silver leaves
As they're rocking in the breeze

The boy lies in the grass with one blade
Stuck between his teeth
A vague sensation quickens
In his young and restless heart
And a bright and nameless vision
Has him longing to depart

You move me
You move me
With your buildings and your eyes
Autumn woods and winter skies

You move me
You move me
Open sea and city lights
Busy streets and dizzy heights
You call me
You call me

The fawn-eyed girl with sun-browned legs
Dances on the edge of his dream
And her voice rings in his ears
Like the music of the spheres

The boy lies in the grass, unmoving
Staring at the sky
His mother starts to call him
As a hawk goes soaring by
The boy pulls down his baseball cap
And covers up his eyes

You move me
You move me
With your buildings and your eyes
Autumn woods and winter skies

You move me
You move me
Open sea and city lights
Busy streets and dizzy heights
You call me
You call me

Too many hands on my time
Too many feelings
Too many things on my mind

When I leave I don't know
What I'm hoping to find and
When I leave I don't know
What I'm leaving behind

When I leave I don't know
What I'm hoping to find and
When I leave I don't know

What I'm leaving behind
His world is under observation
We monitor his station
Under faces and the places
Where he traces points of view

He picks up scraps of conversation
Radio and radiation
From the dancers and romancers
With the answers, but no clue

He'd love to spend the night in Zion
He's been a long while in Babylon
He'd like a lover's wings to fly on
To a tropic isle of Avalon

His world is under anesthetic
Subdivided and synthetic
His reliance on the giants
In the science of the day

He picks up scraps of information
He's adept at adaptation
'Cause for strangers and arrangers
Constant change is here to stay

He'd love to spend the night in Zion
He's been a long while in Babylon
He'd like a lover's wings to fly on
To a tropic isle of Avalon

He's got a forcefield and a flexible plan
He's got a date with fate in a black Sedan
He plays fast-forward for as long as he can
But he won't need a bed
He's a digital man

He'd love to spend the night in Zion
He's been a long while in Babylon
He'd like a lover's wings to fly on
To a tropic isle of Avalon

He's got a forcefield and a flexible plan
He's got a date with fate in a black Sedan
He plays fast-forward for as long as he can
But he won't need a bed
He's a digital man

He plays fast-forward for as long as he can
But he won't need a bed
He's a digital man

He plays fast-forward for as long as he can
But he won't need a bed
He's a digital man

He plays fast-forward
For as long as he can