more muddle than musing

So at the core of it all is it all. The journey motif, epistemology, it's all the same. The science of other, the only lens through which to perceive; we're born into it, grown into it, forced into it, and yet at the core, the spirit of one. Is otherness wrong? Can we see our similarities through not our differences? The paradox, the duality, the mind and body, the yin and yang, balance, all notions of other are they not based solely on consciousness?

genius unmuddled

Perhaps genius IS the journey motif; finding your way to where you are, from where you are, from the edge. Art isn't a glimpse of insanity, it's a glimpse of sanity from the insane. Swing wide to see that it is the path back, the pursuit, the unraveling, the deconstruction of the truth giving way to experience.

chiming in

Sorry, I just don't think paradigm shifts occur as catastrophic events. The evidence is already around us; those that recognize it as such are not only deluding themselves, but are part of it - both change and the resistance to it, unfortunately more so the latter. It might better be phrased paradox shift; we simply shift from one side to the other. Both sides are due regard as the pendulum swings.

The muddle gains momentum in question: Is this a larger cycle in which we have only now gained enough footing from which to view the abyss? Evolution of global consciousness? And yet they are asked; answers sought.

Rapture? Let's deride on a definition and then just carry on.

with no centre, the only way to truly know where we are, is to know where everything else is

And as I continue through I find myself defending that which I cannot define. "Detest words"? An artist? But we can paint with such broad, sweeping strokes. Paint with a smile, let others deride.

So many artists make their mark without making a mark at all. Perhaps they frame the mark, perhaps they gesture toward it, perhaps they call upon it in a seance, perhaps the call it out from a pulpit, perhaps they crush it under the heel of their shoe, but it is no less art than a computer representation of liminal space.

Hate words; to void.

where is here

If you're here, you're probably lost, and, as I am about finding my way into the cracks, I encourage you to stay at your own peril. My task is about your world crumbling continuously away from around, and becoming through, with, and about you, and you are always left with just you; just your love; and you are fulfilled.

And just where is here? Here is where. Here is not there. Here is that point of drunkenness when you need to throw-up to feel better; you hate throwing-up, but can't wait, look forward to it, need it, want it, and fear and loathe it. I guess Buddhists might call it that point between inhaling and exhaling, but that's far too dogmatic for me. I like where. Our world is affect. The most important part of speech is preposition. Juxtaposition; relationship; grab hold of what you've got because it's moving too and just go along.

Muddled Musings

Are we destined to be hidden behind a swathe of sarcasm and negativity? As I begin my foray into this empty world of words, adding to the already mired inter-web of delusions of art, are we really progressing? Or are we merely moving towards increased chaos, the equilibrium of other, the bricolage of byte bites, the antithesis of the real?

I am an optimist, really. I feel whole and real and grounded. My musings are mere rants, catharsis of intellectual emotion; the emotions of my intellect. I find god in places where there are no answers, only wonder: and I wonder. I have a relationship with wonder - the emptiness that gestures to the real, the inconceivable, the truth when stripped of language. Only there can the ego be set free; if you love something let it go.