Don't turn your back on love

highest goal is to become whole
during the processing of an eternal soul

the endless space of mind stores past fears

only releasable through a body made to shed tears

lunacy of this kind does not need genes or environment

consciousness encompassing even dreams is crazy yet brilliant

Napapiiri

as the sun sets somewhere over the railways and far from my sight, I light an incense growing from the grass. the slender wind jogging around the damp park has the scent of vanilla dissolve into it, slowly making the air around us a bit special. it has been a while since the three of us sat together in a park like now, eating random exotic foods and beverages brought form distant lands to serve as triggers for viewing our whereabouts from a healthy distance. I remember us drinking stolichnaya and borjomi the last time we wandered on lawns. it was weeks ago.

after spending the last weeks in the company of so many non-satan worshipers, I've come to forget how good it feels to be together with fallen angels. my mind is not only playing with terms here - stirring and twisting and, thus, owning the words - but also hiding a bit of truth into a provocative metaphor.

earlier today I leaned to my bike, waiting, in the middle of the inside courtyard of helsinki's main railway station. the people were running past me in the afternoon scurry, off and on to trains from the platforms of the weird station which the trains only leave for one direction - north. as I let my gaze fall from the world around me to my muddy shoes I noticed myself to be standing 700,9 kilometers from the arctic circle.

like my gaze, we three fell in an early age from the imaginary heaven culminating to such mantras as “being born in finland is winning the lottery.” not “like” winning the lottery. winning it. I cannot say what the reasons for the falling of others were, but I tripped over and fell hard after I began to realize how artificially the world around me is governed. I had been given time and space to build up my own system of values and standards from early on, cheers to good parenting, and so it was rather tough to realize that the ideals well thought through as being the highest on my view were barely visible in what went on in the outside world. worst was to realize that words are corruptible.

in a “social democracy” we who go for quality in everything, more or less by instinct, are left to show our respectful fingers to the majority bearing but vague values. like, instead of having a society which promotes individual achievements people are driven by a weird lunacy called equality. one cannot imagine anything that could produce more serious cognitive dissonance than the idea of equality in the form presented by that mass. I know that only basic potentials are equal, never the end results.

with both of my hands I lure the smoke from the incense to float to my face, and james begins the conversation by singing her translation of our national anthem,

“oh our land finland, borning land! ringing the word golden! no valley, no hill...”

“wait, wait, wait! is this national anthem about things lacking?”

“yeah.”

 “I want to get right to the point now. some people may have successfully become oblivious to winter after all this sun and light, but I have not. the summer has been awesome and as short as it has always been here, and I know it to be nothing but downhill from now on. first the darkness falls so early each day you begin to wish the snow would already fall to shed some lightness into the dark. then comes the snow, comes on heavy, and you wake up one morning and it is minus twenty degrees out. standing in your underwear in front of your window, holding a cup of coffee and looking at the pure whiteness outside, you thank mankind for electricity on some very primitive survival level of your consciousness. without it you'd woken up dead.”

“waking up dead is so relative, and maybe even comparable to the fear felt by them around us who are so excited about “society.” if we would not work together, nothing up here would work. that is the fear driving these people with ancestors straight from the dark forests together. in addition to living in a city, the only real difference between them and their grandparents is that today the comfort zone of men grown to be but pussies spreads way too wide when looked at with the eyes of a warrior.”

“it is natural to fear all which you do not understand. think about bears. they run in fear if they hear an old woman singing in the forest while picking berries, or when an old drunken man runs towards them with a baseball bat. they fear because when they look at how we behave they have no idea what the fuck is going on and why. they fear us, because we are unpredictable, and I cannot blame them - who would have guessed that a bunch of hairless monkeys would one day build a shuttle to leave the earth for the moon?”

“it is the higher state of consciousness, the ability to see and break patters, to see potentials and build.  this is the reason why we rule animals. we have the imagination to own. and, as a sugar topping, the confidence produced by the strength of that illusion of owning is what brings us respect.”

I laugh and my eyes follow the noise coming somewhere from the sky visible beyond tall birches. an example of general aviation flashes through a strip of sky framed by the trees, then another, and another, and I begin to see that this guy is not just flying the plane. he is owning it. 

“animals, those fools! I cannot help it, I have to rise my hands to that human achievement up there! see a bear flying that?”

“I've seen a bear drive a car.”

“anybody can drive a car, but not everyone has the balls and the skills to fly through empty space in a small plane like that guy up there. besides, not even father lenin could make bears beat gravity. it takes a lot of understanding before you cease to fear it.”  

(motor)cycle

over a cup of coffee the dyslexics compare a day on a motorcycle...

 ...to a day on a bicycle.

Faux pas

Notes: Gasoline and Gold

We regard men as infinitely precious and possessed of unfulfilled capacities for reason, freedom, and love. In affirming these principles we are aware of countering perhaps the dominant conceptions of man in the twentieth century: that he is a thing to be manipulated, and that he is inherently incapable of directing his own affairs. We oppose the depersonalization that reduces human beings to the status of things—if anything, the brutalities of the twentieth century teach that means and ends are intimately related, that vague appeals to "posterity" cannot justify the mutilations of the present. We oppose, too, the doctrine of human incompetence because it rests essentially on the modern fact that men have been "competently" manipulated into incompetence—we see little reason why men cannot meet with increasing skill the complexities and responsibilities of their situation, if society is organized not for minority, but for majority participation in decision-making.
 
Men have unrealized potential for self-cultivation, self-direction, self-understanding, and creativity. It is this potential that we regard as crucial and to which we appeal, not to the human potential for violence, unreason, and submission to authority. The goal of man and society should be human independence: a concern not with image of popularity but with finding a meaning in life that is personally authentic; a quality of mind not completely driven by a sense of powerlessness, nor one which unthinkingly adopts status values, nor one which represses all threats to its habits, but one which has full, spontaneous access to present and past experiences; one which easily unites the fragmented parts of personal history; one which openly faces problems which are troubling and unresolved; one with an intuitive awareness of possibilities, an active sense of curiosity, an ability and willingness to learn.

This kind of independence does not mean egotistic individualism—the object is not to have one's way so much as it is to have a way that is one's own. Nor do we deify man—we merely have faith in his potential.

4. against “those who would reform society must be part of it”

i love the fourth. i just love it!

i don't know what happened first and it's kind of laid a mindfuck on me

write about hands and how inside the mind of a small piece of eternity there lingered a thought about the possibility of them hands being controlled by something other than the very consciousness that appeared to direct the thought, and how in an instant the right hand index finger had a strong spasm as if something wanted to say

"yeah."

http://www.justintheroux.net/articles/anthem.html

mind fuck ere stems from waking up at night and having a song play between the ears, a song listened from the car radio some 15 years ago or so, a song which was forgotten until a stoned head ended up finding it from the depths of a harddrive filled with unwrapped torrent packages. bleargh seasons of gasoline and gold.

Vega libre

a rumor about an old anarchist friend having been granted a government provided SRS crawls into my ear on a squatted street. laying on the hot asphalt I know this must be one of the last t shirt saturdays this year, because the fading heat of the sun evokes in me nothing but a feeling of us leaving it behind by thirty kilometers every second. the nature of that thought is also from where I know I have a hungover, again, first time in months - my mind works too slow to perceive anything but the deepest values in everything I direct my attention to.

the words mumbled around me tune down as I see Iggy staring down at me, blocking the sun. his enigmatic stare is still there, in his eyes not seen in years. my mind calmly reminds me of him, how he is, by flashing back memories of his wildest performances in everyday situations. politically incorrect behavior - the finest of acts - manifesting in things thrown down from balconies, insults and bad jokes. in short, I remember times when I saw up close craziness made socially acceptable through stardom. 

Iggy moves from blocking the sun, seating himself next to me on the pavement. my eyes begin to sparkle when I realize the immediate future bears a real joke of a conversation. flashing the widest of smiles, he begins,

“imagine de niro as a kid, a kid with hair like a lion's and the same sparkle in his eyes as you see in mine.”

“every time I see such a sparkle, I've come to think, it must be a sign of a very coherent mind, because only a coherent mind can perceive potentials so well.”

“if you want to go a little crazy, then think about how potentials relate to social norms. when you see a new opportunity open up in front of you with your sparkling eyes, there is a very small chance your inner voice says something other than why not. but norms? norms?”

“the scary thing is that, a coherent mind is not necessarily a perfect mind. if I take perception as an example, the guiding cognitive tools and principles behind it may work very fluently and logically, but still the individual may view reality through some restricting elements. from what I've seen, a very prevalent such restriction is the lack of confidence in asserting oneself to others. when seen in behavior, it manifests as an everlasting cockfight.”

“ah but a good cockfight is an absolute necessity for us! you know, the values, which I know you share with me and a bunch of nearly extinct men, are worth fighting for. especially now, when the organism of society is forming itself to provide for the most social. the definition of social capital is twisting itself away from values related to integrity, to achievement, to mastery. the logical hierarchical order based on values springing from times with more closer union with man and his land is being replaced by some other logical order. what, I don't know, but I hate it already.”

“last cries before everything falls to communism!”

“when you value life you hate everything reminding you of death, and do know there to be also individuals who love life yet hate the living, because the living remind them of their own decay. such views you can find from our kind who have become lost into social circles run by altruists.”

“fair enough. how do you define empathy?“

“after experiencing a wide range of human emotions, as only a conscious being can, it is possible to reflect and know from the being, and especially words, of another person what he is feeling.”

“I am not empathetic at all.”

“em, that's because there's something pathetic about you dear. but you'll grow like do all who gain the necessary experiences.”

Iggy rises up and walks calmly away through the fighting dogs of crust punks, and as I look at his posture and overall body control I wish to get to verbally abuse someone who has a negative generalization as his opinion on opiate addicts. what a perfect topic to use to argue for individual responsibility, and in the end, free will.

later, after loosing my voice confined me to solitude, I sit on my balcony, drinking green tea flavored with dried ribwort plantain, chilies and strawberries. my rusty voice reminds me of another time when I sat on a balcony over the rooftops. it was one of those rare moments when I knew I'd found a new person who I can speak to as provocatively as I wish. a person with no fear.

on that balcony, back then, I sung with my rusty voice only the sections of a certain poem my mind was able to remember in the light of the full moon;

but as all several souls contain
    mixture of things they know not what,
love these mix'd souls doth mix again,
    and makes both one, each this, and that.

when love with one another so
    interanimates two souls,
that abler soul, which thence doth flow,
    defects of loneliness controls.

we then, who are this new soul, know,
    of what we are composed, and made,
for th' atomies of which we grow
    are souls, whom no change can invade.

but, o alas! so long, so far,
    our bodies why do we forbear?
they are ours, though not we; we are
    th' intelligences, they the spheres.

and if some lover, such as we,
    have heard this dialogue of one,
let him still mark us, he shall see
    small change when we're to bodies gone.

Victor Hugo

Rumors and Notes

a rumor about an old anarchist friend having been granted a government provided SRS crawls into my ear on a squatted street. laying on the hot asphalt I know this must be one of the last t shirt saturdays this year, because the fading heat from the sun evokes in me nothing but a feeling of us leaving it behind by thirty kilometers every second. that is also from where I know I have a hungover, again, first time in months - my mind works too slow to perceive anything but the deepest values in everything I direct my attention to.

the words mumbled around me tune down as I see Iggy staring down at me, blocking the sun. his enigmatic stare is still there, in his eyes not seen in years. my mind calmly reminds me of him, how he is, by flashing back memories of his wildest performances in everyday situations. politically incorrect behavior - the finest of acts - things thrown down from balconies, insults and bad jokes. in short, I remember times when I saw up close craziness made socially acceptable through stardom. 

Iggy moves from blocking the sun, seating himself next to me on the pavement. my eyes begin to sparkle when I realize the immediate future bearing a real joke of a conversation. flashing the widest of smiles, he begins,

“imagine de niro as a kid, a kid with lion hair and the same sparkle in his eyes as you see in mine.” “behind that sparkle, I've come to think, must lie a very coherent mind, because only a coherent mind can perceive all potentials.”

angry for seeing how we are beaten, becoming extinct. the organism of society is forming itself to provide for the most social. social capita wins over integrity - the logical hierarchical order.

last cries before everything falls to communism. a special treat, a haiku in finnish,

imagine robert deniro as a kid.
a lion kid.
against social norms. fuck them. FUCK THEM.


how do you dig self consciousness up from an individual?


what is empathy? after having experienced the depths and heights of human emotion as a conscious being one can, from the being and especially words of an another reflect and genuinely know what the other is feeling.
"I am not empathetic at all."
"em, that's because there's nothing pathetic about you. listen,"

anything that my mind perceives consciously I store and remember forever. the library within extends further than the square meters of all them real libraries combined.


same songs, passenger by iggy pop, remember how it played?

i found the one who is not afraid. the king.

a part of the larp is to have a bunch of anecdotes performed while standing up.

i have given up my possessive soul. i am building a new one. all mine.

But as all several souls contain
    Mixture of things they know not what,
Love these mix'd souls doth mix again,
    And makes both one, each this, and that.

When love with one another so
    Interanimates two souls,
That abler soul, which thence doth flow,
    Defects of loneliness controls.

We then, who are this new soul, know,
    Of what we are composed, and made,
For th' atomies of which we grow
    Are souls, whom no change can invade.

But, O alas ! so long, so far,
    Our bodies why do we forbear?
They are ours, though not we ; we are
    Th' intelligences, they the spheres.

And if some lover, such as we,
    Have heard this dialogue of one,
Let him still mark us, he shall see
    Small change when we're to bodies gone.

sung with a rusty voice

Coincidences

coincidences, coincidences, coincidences. like being inspired by a pianist showing off the spread of her fingers into placing my hand on three stranger's hands, to compare, and finding out my hand to be the same size and width than a man's who's born on the exact same day as I. or like robert pirsig and lila, a name referring to a color which, again, first time in three years beamed behind my eyelids the other night as I was falling asleep on a couch, like I've done on different couches for a week. beamed before I read the first page, which, as such, is the coincidence of coincidences;

“lila didn't know he was here. she was sound asleep, apparently in some fearful dream. in the darkness he heard a grating sound of her teeth and felt her body suddenly turn as she struggled against some menace only she could see.

the light from the open hatch above was so dim it concealed whatever lines of cosmetics and age were there and now she looked softly cherubic, like a small girl with blond hair, wide cheekbones, a small turned-up nose, and a common child's face that seemed so familiar it attracted a certain natural affection. he got the feeling that when morning came she should pop open her sky-blue eyes and they should sparkle with excitement at the prospect of a new day of sunlight and parents smiling and maybe bacon cooking on the stove and happiness everywhere.

but that wasn't how it would be. when lila's eyes opened in a hung-over daze she'd look into the features of a gray-haired man she wouldn't even remember - someone she met in a bar the previous night. her nausea and headache might produce some remorse and self-contempt but not much, he thought - she'd been through this many times - and she'd slowly try to figure out how to return to whatever life she'd been leading before she met this one.

her voice murmured something like 'look out!' then she said something unintelligible and turned away, then pulled the blanket up around her head, perhaps against the cold breeze that came down through the open hatch. the berth of the sailboat was so narrow that this turn of her body brought her up against him again and he felt the whole length of her and then her warmth. an earlier lust came back and his arm went over her so that his hand held her breast - full there but too soft, like something over-ripe that would soon go bad.”