17 November 2010

What do I have on my Hands?

Surveillance: I'm sorry I haven't really been contributing into this study as well as I could have with all my capacities to see all that is in words pictures film statistics you name it, data. for there's a lot out there in regards to love, like poetry written in a state of desperation, you know, art therapy and stuff like that. ok, so this is from a web diary of some young woman, written in two parts back in like 2009 or something. I love the way people imagine a password can secure their musings btw

I am very wrong in many things 

I look so horrible in my eyes that I belong to hide, I'm thriving for solitude. got my spirit really insulted the night it left my body, and now it has been whispering demonosities in my ears for a week and another week. no blissful mornings anymore. tension within causes my back to turn to rock, neck to thicken ever more, and as a new feature I feel the joints leaving under my clavicle towards my chin be like violin strings

I am more aggressive day by day 

what do I have on my hands?

right now I know where I stand
got familiar with what I have on my hands
today went by too hot, so hot it gave me a headache
run like a dog with harvested power from years left behind

saw friends, all the good friends
even the ones not seen in months

spirit tried its all, tried to communicate from distance
spreading sweat in the night all the way from ooppera to the depths of kallio
while whispering

but it is not my mission, that I know
no tools to build in my hands, says the law

God: I don't know what's the point to speak about love anymore. in case dear readers haven't noticed, the sphere of men has been dominated by the culture of disintegration for the past decades. everything is being splintered to pieces...

I could go on and on about this, but let's just leave it for I'm too depressed right now

Ayn Rand: decomposition is the postscript to the death of a human body; disintegration is the preface to the death of a human mind. disintegration is the keynote and goal of modern art - the disintegration of man’s conceptual faculty, and the retrogression of an adult mind to the state of a mewling infant

to reduce man’s consciousness to the level of sensations, with no capacity to integrate them, is the intention behind the reducing of language to grunts, of literature to “moods,” of painting to smears, of sculpture to slabs, of music to noise
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