What is Fear?

"What is Fear?" may be the strangest question of all - it is something so personal, so immediately felt, it feels like it is not amenable to generalization. We feel it lacks a kernel, it lacks substance. It might be evanescent, hover in the air for all we know. However, we have an inkling - a very strong one - of at least one general fear: that all human beings share the fear of death. It seems to be part of the human condition.

Fear of dying, would animals also share this sentiment? Undoubtedly they are trying to evade death, they are actively seeking measures to increase their longevity. That is a boring phrase - what do we mean? An agent will take advantage of its environment to secure a position where it can continue to experience, take action and maximize its personal utility function. This phrase, borrowed from the artificial intelligence literature, is even more boring - even if it's quite precise it will not help us in penetrating fear. That is because fear is personal, understanding the origins of fear is not enough to satisfy the spirit.

Let's take an example: a scene where pigs are being slaughtered. Let's pick one particular pig among the whole mess. It sees its comrades - like in the animal farm - being slaughtered and then it inevitably releases fear hormones. It must be expecting the same kind of treatment that befell on its comrades and desperately trying to evade that sort of ending. Wait a second. We should not mix in another emotion - that of desperation - when we are analyzing fear. That is not allowed in this case. What do we have then in our hands? Only space and time.

This particular pig's existence is in space and time. The pig sees other pigs being slaughtered and that is its personal sense of space. When it is expecting the same to happen to itself, there is an expectation, that is, a personal sense of time. The pig's whole existence becomes fear, the personal sense of space and time partakes in the impersonal. Acknowledging reality becomes fear.

Coming back to the modern day human fears, we will see some sort of semblance among the confusion. Fear of failure will assert itself as a loss of time. Failing to achieve something implies being evaluated negatively by other people. Other people signify the sense of space attached to this particular feeling.

On suffering

The first of Buddha's four noble truths says that 'there is suffering (dukkha)'. It seems however to be too compact for our understanding, almost an attempt to evade the questioner. The first question that arises in my mind is: "is there more to this sentence?" That is, could we meditate on this 'noble truth' so that in the end it gives up and reveals its profound depths? The truth might be somewhat 'compressed' in language, but it seems to say, at first sight, that suffering should not be denied.

Can a suffering individual deny that she is suffering?  When we suffer, it is felt personally: the distance between the self and an unhappy notion has collapsed. But most of the time, when only others are suffering, or when the self that has suffered is felt as a ghost of some departed quantity, we can distance ourselves from suffering and even construe every unhappy circumstance as illusion, as fancy. 'It is all over now whatever that was' seems to be the attitude of the non-suffering individual taken towards most suffering, and she hopes that it will not repeat itself. She does not try and penetrate suffering, if we approach it dynamically, as a process through time. We could say that she overlooks the causes and conditions of suffering. Following this argument further would bring us closer to the second noble truth: 'there is origin of suffering', or we could perhaps reformulate this as: 'there are causes and conditions which lead to suffering'. 

People have slightly different translations of these noble truths and tend to interpret them from different points of view, because the word dukkha can be translated differently. One translation of dukkha that seems to shed more light on the situation from a rational point of view is the word unsatisfactoriness. There is a certain sense of unsatisfactoriness in whatever we do because our experiences are incomplete. 

In an analytical attempt to the combine the two truths into an even more abstract statement, like the attempts to merge Maxwell's equations in mathematically more concise notation, we are led to the previous observation: our experiences are not complete. Is it possible to formulate this mathematically? What is the topological space underlying our experiences?

Mathematically, incompleteness means that Cauchy sequences do not all converge. That is, in the experiential realm, the space where our thought processes and complex of emotions act out their part, a sense of endlessness pervades. Lacking a sense of modesty, the individual has lost his spirit and is wandering. The desire to pursue materialistic goals or idealistic conceptions can easily leave one unsatisfied. 

Pofuduk şarkı

(Lax translation of the Jigglypuff song from jigglese)

Puslu dakikaların arasından zıpırdadın geldin
Gümbürdettin mahvettin hayatımı
Çılgın bir gülüşün
ve rüya dolu gözlerin var,
Seni seçtim aşk böceği!

Toz pembe gel, puf pembe gel,
Cıvıl cıvıl gel,
Kıpır kıpır gel,
ve hayatıma renk getir!

A link, a helping hand

Here one can download Shobogenzo, an important text in my (humble) opinion:

http://www.thezensite.com/MainPages/Dogen_teachings.html

Let us "pray that our whole life will be peaceful, and that our pursuit of the truth will abide in the state without intent."

Buddhist preaching

Body in the body is the everyday life
Mind in the mind is delusion
Body in the mind is science
Mind in the body is Buddhist teaching

But in the end who can care for this body and mind ?
Or who can detach from it ?

Socrates here and now

When we think of Socrates and what he has achieved, has realized and thought, it seems to be so far away, he seems to be the star of the philosophical firmament, at least so they tell us, but the light of his teaching is taking so long to teach us, 25 centuries or so, even the photons must get weary after some time. He was some crazy dude probably, all he knew was that he knew nothing. He is surely not relevant in this age of knowledge.

When the light from some distant sun is reaching us, it is reaching us here and now. So Socrates and his ignorance, or his wisdom, is to be realized in this moment.

If what I've read in the books is right, his pupil Plato understood that in a very tragically dualistic way: All I know is that I can know nothing if I stay in the cave, I have to get out, to the world of ideas, if I want to grasp true knowledge. I am gasping for true air, take me in, you world of ideas!

And apparently the skeptics later interpreted him in an even crazier sense : we can not know anything. The imagery is that of the philosopher not helping out the helpless chap who's fallen into the well, because he cannot get a guarantee of this guy's existence: he might be some demon in disguise for all he knows.

Let us try to understand this innocent statement in a different way: in the context of the past, the others. The sophists are claiming to teach people knowledge, ways of the world, and people are just accepting what others are spoon-feeding them. The sophists, the gurus, the teachers are these others, teaching, enlightening us, we can just sit and do nothing, let's enjoy the ride.

Socrates is saying that to realize truth, his 'one god' in the 'Apology', we have to let go of such gurus, such teachings. We have to think for ourselves, we cannot accept someone else's clothes, or his ideas. We have to be radical. His whole teaching, his methodology, his questioning, was and is testament to this radicalism.

When the Buddha says, 'highest teaching is not the highest teaching', he's warning us of the same danger. There is no fame or gain in the pursuit of knowledge, so let us be entirely honest with ourselves.

the art of possibility

Kierkegaard's famous quote:

“If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of potential -- for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible. Pleasure disappoints; possibility never. And what wine is so sparkling, what so fragrant, what so intoxicating, as possibility!"

Kierkegaard's 'existential' awareness of possibility, as all intoxicating things are, potentially dangerous, and ultimately depressing. All the things that one cannot do, even though it is 'possible', the feeling of an evanescent inertia, the burden that the possible puts on what is ... You get the idea. The idea, following the path of development of the existential philosophy, culminates in the possibility of God.

God is a possible, God is a contingency, so it bears its mark upon the world. If only it were not possible, if only it could not exist, then we would not have felt the terrible burden.

The imagery is that of the hanging thread, the worlds of possibilities along with God are hanging by the thread, so to speak, and the quantum bubbles of that primordial soup preceding the big bang - they are the constituents of that possibility.

The individual feels, when left to himself, that he could not under any circumstance trace the beginning, the initial condition of the universe, that which was created at the spur of the moment. And he heaves a sigh of relief, knowing that he could not possibly change the preordained order of things. But wait a second! What if he could? The inner demons of his psyche are pouncing on him, never letting the possibility of tracing the possible escape from him. Ah, sweet forgetfulness, the individual cries, the possibilities are expanding and multiplying, they are getting on top of each other! Sweet forgetfulness, he prays for: work your charm!

That possible God which preceded our barren World, the world of emptiness, the world of unfulfilled lives, he gives the world a thrust, and we feel the responsibility, the burden of an unhappy freedom, freedom to feel regret and to feel imprisoned !

Or so it would seem...

The cure may lie in the way of looking at these complicated feelings, and seeing them for what they truly are, a complex of emotions, that feedback on each other. They are a very unconstructive way of looking at the events surrounding us, they are the language bubbles, that are freely arising just as in that pre-big bang moment. And they DO NOT EXIST. Let us attack the beast of burden with its own emotional weapon: this mesh of unhappy feelings, they could exist, however, they are a possibility that was not granted growth into being, because before being they annihilated themselves, they are the ghosts of departed quantities à la Berkeley. It is not possible to dwell on them, because you cannot dwell on them.

That which came into being, in the meantime, has grown into a full-fledged flower, and it is up for grabs, it is yours for the taking.

the history of the lost ones

What we need is a revolution in education - or an anti-revolution, revolution in the reverse direction, a history that is revolving on the second hand, not the first: the lost ones!

as opposed to the winners...

so far, whoever won made history, and whoever lost, went underground and "became" history. A declaration of independence for the lost ones is in order, repeat after me: "I shall not follow the path of the ego, and the ego-doers, the conquistadors, Fatih the Conquerors" and so forth. With each "victory", only their superficiality surfaced, and what lies on the rich ocean depths - the depths where no light of the conventional history goes in - belongs to the lost ones!

The history of science is a case in point. Science is the wonder of it all - but who ever wonders such things? Teach kids gravity as Newton's discovery, the apple of his eye dropping and bursting with discoveries on the order of "revelations", teach Einstein's theory of relativity - not relative to its context in space and time - as an absolute on the order of a miraculous intervention to the state of affairs, teach Mendeleev dreaming of the whole periodic table at one instant, and so on... Teach these, and you will create mindless automatons, to say the least, hobgoblins, and to say the worst - perhaps even anti-scientific fanatics who rightly cannot believe these miracles of achievement stripped of their colours and textures! (They will rather believe a creationist fairy-tale than an non-evolutionary evolution that does not make sense to them.)

Therefore repeat after me: "I choose to go underground, I shall from here on be a supporter of the lost ones, wronged with their wrongness, I shall take on their mistakes, lie down and settle on their little feet, so that you may pass on - go and release your curiosities, your errors they are your treasures."

Then dive underwater, and forget the male explosion:

the Male that enforces his Sea-men,
he can go on and discover his Americas,
the Whale that I am, I dive and I go under,
the wheel of history - it should split asunder
and barge in, the Lost truth, my love.

repeat after me: "I am the lost one, I have lost control."

on what life has to offer

'Life has no meaning.' This is the nonsense, "bullshit" - to use the technical term used nowadays! - stuff that's been fabricated over and over again. It's completely an aberration; life has a myriad of meanings.

'Life has no meaning.' This is the confirmation of the coexistences of life's multitude of meanings. Vivacious and bustling, florae bursting into activity. This is the confusion of the prefrontal cortex as it assesses the dynamics of life's meanings, and cannot reach a verdict. It does not like to overheat however and quickly terminates - forgive the mechanical intrusion - in a local minimum:

'Life has no meaning." Let us modify this a little bit: "Life has no unique meaning". You rabid DOG, you miscretin, jump at life and bite him, suck him senseless, and maybe he shall reward you with one of his knuckles.

Eureka

Reality is non-orientable and the two sides, Heaven and Hell are twins, i.e. they are deposited in each person. It is a matter of choice&circumstance that one fades into one or the other.
---
Nothingness (or the Sunyata) is the reality. And this reality is the limit of the nonorientation property of Reality. An emptiness is the object where the two orientations have collided completely. This is the stable property of reality. And only strange loops that are nonorientable are stable in any hierarchy manipulating within Sunyata.

What this means:
First of all a quote: "those who know do not speak, those who speak do not know." Thus when Lao-Tse spoke, he did not know how to speak! (Po, a Chinese poet, half-musing, wrote a poem about misunderstanding him.)

the musical theory of the mind

Are we in a state of accord or discord?
Neither, we are sustained in between the Minor and the Major and in the end we return to the primitive, the state of nonbeing, the root of it all
---
We must stress the fact that life is a game whose rules we humans have made up (life as in mind, i.e. the human life.) This is like emphasizing the sixth note of the Dorian mode. Else you get major or minor side effects. (depending on your mood)

sophistory

Philosophy is at its highest when it is a mockery of itself. Thus Kierkegaard wished Hegel were an "experimentalist." By taking itself seriously philosophy becomes a grave (error).

Philosophy is a 'sophisticated' game that sophists teach to people (especially young boys&girls) to sharpen their wits and to disturb their securities (certainties).

note: it seems that Plato, the greatest of all the philosophers, never let his Ideas get ahead of himself and thus set an example in "Parmenides" for others to follow.

The Last Civilization

The conference was almost over. Nobody cared about the Neuroscience Conference however - at least not the millions watching the live broadcast from their homes. They were waiting for the CICP's report - the Committee for the Investigation of the Conscious Paraphenomena. The committee had announced yesterday to the public that they had made an important discovery - too important to be kept secret from the public. The public had a right to know. The report was now going to be revealed in a matter of seconds and people were overexcited, fidgeting around nervously: It's not everyday that you hear such news!

And then the representative of the committee came up forth from where he was hiding, and went up for the stand. He cleared his throat, -ahem-, twice, -ahem-, gulped some water and then slowly began his speech:

"Hello everyone, as you may all know… (some boring stuff for ten minutes straight)... we have been looking all this time for the throne of the mythical beast - Consciousness. We don't know if our ancestors had it, or when this idea of consciousness pervaded the whole public area of discourse. We do not know, and can hardly guess. It became so attached to the whole body of communication like a virus would however, that it became almost pointless to say "I am" without attributing to ourselves some spectral entity that hovers over the air and becomes ourself - this entity would "redeem" ourselves from the material world so to speak ...

That moment his speech was interrupted by a woman scientist from the Committee:

"but as you all know, there is this song which states it so well:
We are living in a material world,
And I am a material girl.

As she was saying this, her hands were outstretched as to show the wedding ring on her finger - her pride and joy. The public didn't see her however. The representative laughed heartily, and then continued:

"Umm yeah, well that sums it up really. For almost a hundred years we have been looking all over the brain for this beast, and it seems to have fled. And actually, we proved that it is nowhere to be found. The statement "I am" is just a tautology really : "I am, I exist in the material plane." Banishing the ghosts of our past - that is what we do. It is stupendously inefficient for mankind to be conjuring up these evanescent entities, when we should rather be focusing on the more immediate question at hand:
What are we having for lunch?"

"Bon appetit, ladies and gentlemen."

With these final words, the representative of the CICP declined from the stand, and joined his fellow scientists for the lunch served at the hotel - beef stroganov, white wine and many many more yummy deliciousness.

He had apparently forgotten to say "Don't panic" to the crowd of attendees though, and the millions more that were watching the event from their homes had already had their lunchs.

Panic ensued. It spread forward like a virus, or more than a virus, say an H-bomb. The representative had detonated the atom bomb which would itself go on to detonate the deuterium liquid inside the bomB - and what then, what sorrow, what gasping for air, what incredulous mischief, what horrendous tragedy, what blinding darkness, what a spiraling doom doom doom a what what a doom !

Time spinning off of its axis, millions fleeing back to their inward eye and finding no consolation, the mind's eye all gone, the earthquake shattering all the last remnants of the last civilization. "I am?" became "I amn't!" and all the millions and millions were saying "We were. And yet we are nowhere to be found!

"This is damn too irreal!"

People went on for their last supper, and then shriveled and dried inside out.

Schoenberg and the dissident dissonance hypothesis

".. the distinction between dissonances and consonances is only gradual, one of degree, [that] dissonances are nothing else but more remote consonances whose analysis gives the ear more trouble on account of their remoteness; but once analysis has made them more accessible, they will have the chance of becoming consonances just like the closer overtones."

Proliferation of lives

-I love life so much that I wanna marry her and have kids with her,

Autumn Leaves

no iq

I believe that we are improvisers, that our characters are to be found in improvisation. Or rather, our character is improvisation. Our daily life is improvised. And although everything in its totality is improvised and may seem capricious (Schopenhauer perhaps), it is possible to improve this improvisation. It is possible to do this because improvisation is improvised. It is in its self-nature.

Do not dwell on things, because you can not dwell on things. You have never dwelt on things. You have never thought things through, because you are already through things, moving beyond things, improvising on things, laughing and crying with total lack of self-regard.

My guitar teacher used to say to me that composition is something rather different from improvisation. I used to disagree and think that musicians improvised a lot and therefore, as an end result, compositions came to them through this improvisation. This is a wrong way of seeing things: thoughts and compositions, and control in general, are things through which improvisation improvises. They are the use of improvisation, but improvisation is the Lord, our Shepherd.

(Hui-neng: "Hsing [i.e. the kernel of life, in a way] is the lord. The lord rules over the dominion...")

Aha! one last improvised comment from Einstein:
"The lord is subtle, but malicious he is not."

Yaklaş biraz

Kokun boğacak gibi sarmalıyor
Sarmalına alıyorsun beni, kaçış yok
faciasın, felaketsin, çırpınıyorum
Ama yoğunsun,
Kefalinim, ısırdım
ısırdım oltayı

Ses et sen

Öyle bir sesin var ki güzelim
Ele geliyor sözlerin
İri yarı tümcelerinde
Oynak başlıklı manalar
Kesiyor biliyor yüreğimi
Haydutsun, dans ediyor dudakların
Açık saçık bir içtenlikle
(tam ayarında kaşarsın.)

the Jigglypuff song

With a puff of misty dreams you came
Jiggled and wriggled my life away
Dazzling eyes
And a mischievous smile
Like baby Eros,
happy with your devilish ways
a little love bug
love beetle
love urchin

enter my house of crimson gold
and be its bold mistress.

Meğer hayat bir cenabetmiş

hayat bir cenabetmiş şimdi duydum
kapı komşumuz geldi de söyledi
o da bir arkadaşından duymuş
meğer hayat hiç yıkanmazmış
o yüzden rast gitmezmiş bütün işler
o yüzden yalnızlık keder tasa
o yüzden yapış yapış tüm bu havalar
soğuk ıslak ve çilekeş
insanın iliğine işler bu hayat.

Tünelde

Ilık bir bahar akşamı akalım derim
Tünele, ve geceyi taksim edelim
Durmak yok hovardayım o barda bu barda
Tüm dünya bir karnaval adeta
Ve deliye her gün bayram!

Dans edelim sokaklarda elimizde birer bira
Tüneldeyiz biz, sonsuz bir kahkaha
Çınlıyor kulaklarda ve yüzler gülüyor
Hayat sarhoş ve laçka, zaman neşeyle akıyor
Şırıl şırıl işiyoruz borcumuzu
İçelim efendiler içelim bu han-ı iştiha bizim
Patlayınca, tıksırınca, çatlayıncaya kadar içelim

Delmiş Deşmiş En Güzel Şiir

Kabaca kalıpların üzerine oturtulan ince ruhlar
Yontulan değerler ve algılar
Kabaca vücutların üzerine oturtulan ince kızlar
Yırtılan değerler ve salgılar

Mutsuzlara (to the unhappy)

Mutluluğu tabuta koymayınca
Hayat ne güzel!

In English:

Confine not your happiness in a coffin
Life is now living you!

hayalarımdan

Hayalarımda hayal edilmez bir güçle
Uyandım bu sabah hayata
Bir el attım
Evet karşıki dağları ben yarattım
Üzerine tüm bulutları ben serptim
Bembeyaz boşalttım milyonları özgürce

Patlamalarımla karşı konulmaz
Bir yanardağım şimdi
Lavlarımda kaynıyor bulutlar
Fokur fokur tüm umutlar
Sereserpe uzanmışım atla gel hadi!

Evrim

bir hücre açıldı, özgürlük oldu
sürünürken kanatlandı
uçtu uçtu kuş oldu
pencereme kondu
mini miniydi, aldım içeri
besledim usanmadan

geldi zaman, gitti zaman
meme verdi koskocaman
ve memelerin arasından
kafanı uzattın hiç utanmadan
o arsız sendin evet..

her şiirden çıkıyorsun güzelim
evrimini sevdiğim

the assumption of the virgin

- The idiots have foiled my grand assumption: I am no genius! They say only mediocre people think of themselves as geniuses, as Napoleons!
The mediocre loser spits forth bitter saliva:
- My genius transcends space and time. What do those iq tests measure anyway? I say unto you: they measure chess skills only and chess is the lowest of the mind games.
- Most geniuses did not like chess, I'm sure. They were men of contemplation, true, but of another nature.
Thus spoke the mediocre loser.

If pushed however, he will cry aloud:
- OK, I refuse to be intelligent. I refuse to be profound or even original. I am shallow. I say unto you verily: Spit on me with all your might, you men of genius, you MEN of unfathomable originality! Spit and I shall swallow. I shall succumb to my fate.
Thus spoke the mediocre loser as he revelled in a cataclysmic orgasm. The great men of genius were surprised: What was so good about "being trampled upon"?
Why, there is nothing to be surprised about. To win is to win, but to lose - and in so doing, conceiving the winner - is to win too!
Thus spoke Kamasutra.

Catamorphosis

- a little note to myself -
I have become quite the mystic lately. I feel as if mother nature has "catamorphosed." She is wisely watching, and doting on her amnesiac children, through her lovely kitten eyes.
Forgetfulness abounds, and we mistrust the wise cat for some reason we can not identify:
"there is something beyond the catly appearance!"


-Learning is remembering- Anamnesis

On Freud

- "Read Euler! He's the master of us all" said Laplace. Well I say, "Read Freud, He's the master of us sci-fi people."
- You mean Freud is fraud?
- No, he was a visionary.
- C'mon he was an horny jester.

the dispossessed

Masturbation is the symbol of civilization. The renunciation of the instinctual will to instant-gratification, turning towards the inner self [decadénce], fruitless contemplation, the other world(s), and feeling unnatural (for the first time) regarding your multiplicative functions (sin)
The first masturbator was the great "civilizer."

How do we then uncivilize, mankind [return to the shameless origin] ? Unmasturbatize mankind and promote free sexual intercourse.

- my little sexual organ does not belong to me alone!
the turning point (self-realization of unself)
-your body belongs to me now!
NO! the great error.
-I will not let myself be possessed by possessing
the chant of freedom

transexuality pt.2

the grand transexual - an introduction of sorts

-oh the grand transexual? is it a poem that you've written?
-no, no, you mistaken me with Ivan of The Brothers Karamazov. I have no literary ambition.
I am a simple portrayer, a humble but ardent worker faithful to the intricate realities
embedded in our world. anyway, it is certainly not a poem, although that would be quite wonderful, i am not, i think, up to the task. instead i have devised a certain drama, centred around our main protagonist, the transsexual. His is an ambitious soul, lusting not just for hormonal release but also for knowledge. Alas, dark, and sinister is the well of knowledge of this weary world. Weary because it has been torn down with each segment come to consciousness, it builds up again and again only to be shredded by the ones it loves. the tears are welling up once again in its dried eye sockets, but this time for our unhappy, unfulfilled transsexual...

it was with exact tenderness that his parents had brought him up. he was their only child,
and the hurl towards his future had been careful, loving, with no artificiality.
A liberal education he received, and a healthy constitution he had, a good natural dose of humor too must be included in the list. With bright unmoody eyes he contemplated his future, knowing no fear, his youth crushing the cuccoon of regret. his remarkable naturalness had been observed in his neighborhood as well. with the children he grew up to be good friends, and his good temper was overcoming the effects of pride. fights were to be had of course and not infrequently but reconciliations were always the greater.. for both sides.

you know how it is with tragedies. one instills a certain flaw in a character, which leads him/her to downfall. pushkin the young genius observed it well when he claimed the flaw of Othello to be the exact opposite of what people think: it is exactly his extreme trust in his wife that leads to his downfall. so perhaps I should include a certain ambition in our transexual. And a moment ago I said "his is an ambitious soul", maybe that will lead him to darkness and to despair?
i really don't know, sometimes a character is just too darn stubborn, and independent, even "objective", resisting the author's futile attempts. yet i think i know how to use this character to my advantage, his stubbornness can indeed be the very pivot of my machinations.

Let it be said of him, then, that he was, like Othello, a man too straight for his own good. So normal, hormonalwise, that he couldn't stand his supposed triviality.

Alternative anthropology

It was not the brothers who rebelled against the father. No, it was "the envious" who envied the rule of the great penis. The great penis was/is the sign, the symbol of fertility. The man with the
largest penis possessed the women and had the initiative for offspring.
The overthrow of the "magnus penus" was the decisive civilizing moment. The envious gathered
around, united and plotted against the "supreme fertilizer."

Escape From Africa

This plot of the tribesmen against the chiefs seperated mankind for the first time in history. Those among women who could not forget the pleasures of the penus sided with the chiefs and were left behind as the rebellion sought for itself a new home.

The rebellion went white with shame
Some went even red with fury
And Africans grew blacker
For the night was soon to descend

The memory of their humiliation was always fresh in the minds of the rebellion. It still is.

Galileo - the two towers

-i am a dynamite. i shall keep on moving!
-you shall do nothing of the sort, my little slave.

ode to integration

I will integrate you and end your life - Ramanujan was an avatar.
How do you integrate one who is free and unbounded however?

Riders of the Storm

One is not "thrown" into the world. We are too heavy for that sort of thing.

Fantasy pt.1

it was like falling from a precipice...

I was seducing this pretty girl, I had felt her then to be an exotic specimen
and yet with hindsight I now know that I cannot describe her features
for she had none herself, she was only a combination of certain
womanly features fitted together by my fancy at work
she had not a room of her own - it was all mine
a rectangular room with bare and depressing walls
no particulars were visible
and nothing was left to me about her excepting
a vague feeling that she represented her breasts
two upright sentient beings operating at their own will
and one thing was clear- I was intent on attacking them or rather,
they were to be drained of their stock - the precious ambrosia.
First, she was there speaking strictly business with me but what business i knew
not in the least.
I never listened to her, I confess, i concentrated on THEM
there was nothing particularly striking about them to be sure, neither too big nor too small
just the usual sort.
But the fantasy of it - the breasts and my mouth, the saliva, nipples protruding,
the perfect crime! the forbidden Apples juicy and fresh!

I pushed her to the edge of the room and then came the decisive moment
when all restraints broke loose: this was wrong, this was crime, this was
brutal yet how it was necessary! I felt her breasts and and i rejoiced over her screams: "Stop! WHAT ARE YOU DOING! I will report you to the police, the police!"
oh, how i needed policing, 'die Polizei', the Prussian force disciplining me.
I attacked her more vigorously the next round, i forced myself on her,
i pushed my head ever closer to her bosom. it heaved with terror and my mouth was in the blessed valley
GOD! how i triumphed at this hour i saw all the creation celebrating this just crime:

To be caught in between your breasts
To give in to the exhausting world
And retreat into two stonehard shells
To suck the rejuvenating milk that leaks
From those caves of tranquility
Where all things are immune
To restless screams of time
I hear instead the sweet lullaby of my mom
As it pulsates in the frozen depths
And shards of ice reflect
The radiance of a childhood now lost

Who can judge me I wonder?
I am only a game, caught, beaten by the dogs, bleeding to death
these breasts that once nurtured me, now do but torture me!
and I consist of only fantasies, the dreamland engulfed me when i was little
and the fairies trained me in the art of seduction. They fed me well ..but only
to be offered in the end to the Gods
The Gods that reside at the bottomless PIT,
from whom all the tragedy, love and eroticism take their course.
I am a vessel and they have sealed my fate.

As i recall this terrible deed, i am calm and i smile as always. I know everything was and still is necessary.

transsexuality - a transient play

on empathy and transcendentalism: a transsexual approach part1
(Male converses with his female companion in bed)

M: You know i bet Paul Verlaine was always on top that old man doin' that poor little Rimbaud shamelessly...

F: You mean Arthur Rimbaud?

M: Yes that poor prodigy always experimenting with the world, a straight life, it seems was too shallow for his intelligence!

F: Aha! As in the case of Leonardo da Vinci, perhaps, who was also reputed to be a sodomite ?

M: Y-yes.

F: So !? Is anything wrong with that? i get the feeling you are not the experimentalist you always claim to be in real life !?

M: Whatd'ya mean?

F: You don't wanna feel how i feel when you ... force yourself on me? And when you deflowered me, you didn't show any mercy or compassion did you? you are always boasting about morality and the empathy you feel for your fellow human beings, you take pity on them, you put yourself in their shoes, then why don't you put yourself in my shoes? Why don't you wear those high-laces, why don't you put on my exotic lingerie if you are so turned on by such fetish stuff? Why don't you ...

M: Oh come on I am a real man you know I could never do that!

F: When it comes to those Greeks you talk so much about they were so much superior now weren't they? But I've done some research about them, and you know what: they were all weirdos, those brilliant minds, you could never tell who laid with whom, those young bodies piercing ...

M: What? This isn't you talking is it? It's that damn psychopathic writer-wannabe of yours, that bastard I'll..

F: Oh shut up! I have my own ideas now. And I am a realist. I wanna portray things that stand between you and me.

M: (angrily) Then portray my cock!

F: Haha! Alright if you mean the length well its about..

M: NO STOP PLEASE STOP COME ON DON'T TALK LIKE THIS! (whispering: You know it functions quite alright baby ?)

F: No, I know of no such thing! (laughs) Now now ... What if i told you that you were not even designed to be a straight man? How do you define straightness? The Euclidean geodesic? The shortest line from a point to a point? Well then it would seem that you, the straight man, are the best that you could ever strive to be. But lemme tell you something, the world was also supposed to be straight and guess what? Its actually quite round. The universe was supposed to be Euclidean. Well I'm sorry but I think Einstein showed otherwise, "space tells matter how to move and matter tells space how to curve" as someone said. And now Man, (aside: something tells him how to curve too ) I tell you, Man could not be straight even if he wanted to. He's always so eager for knowledge, a stubborn fool always on the lookout for those Truths of his. He will "discover" his "true" nature, even if everyone begs him not to. He will go against his gods, and he WILL discover the secret fire, the eroticism he had once freely given up!

(continuing)

F: For eroticism means Gaydom, Gayship, Gayness,.. it is a secret fire burning, burning, and burning ever so madly inside, it is what drives you people!

M: When do you plan to stop this nonsense?

F: Shut up and listen. You know that myth of your wonderful Greeks: Prometheus the hero who stole the holy fire from the Gods and was punished for eternity to have his liver pecked out by a bird. I won't go into the details of how it all happened, but you know Zeus got very angry. He had stolen not just the fire, he had stolen his MOJO as well! "Come on baby light my fire! "Hera says, but what's happened to the great thunder bird of Zeus? Someone must have torn away its wings!

F: And when you steal the fire you reveal the desire within.

F: I once met a wise a very wise man, who had taken to pussy-hunting. He had devoted his whole life -so to say- to the hedonistic ideal only. That's very wise of him, there are among us now people who dream of being "renaissance men", greedy pigs not men. They are constantly dreaming of self-fulfillment from all sides, but what they actually want (and lack) is a gang bang.

F: Anyway, here he was, talking about adventures that would fill volumes and volumes, dusty tomes of arcane lore, with the orgasms and the erotic cries that lie within.

M: He he! You mean arcane lure, perhaps, that he was lured to such a pathetic life.

F: No, don't try to misunderstand me! Lore - that's what it was truly, for he was a very wise fellow. He had come across one fact during this whole career, one futuristic, inevitable fact: that males are converging, to a sodomite life. He told me that the anal pleasures are not to be underestimated.

F: It is the blight, the curse of the male: that the g-point of men lies in the ass. Is it a pain in the ass, a fire in the ass, a sweet melody, a sweet pleasure resonating in the ass? Well I don't know, perhaps all of them at once. But I know what made men the "only" civilizing force in the history of men-womankind? Your denial. You are not penguins; a tragic flaw, or a happy blessing?

F: Well, there are scientific theories about the possibilities of future human life - out there in the star dusts/clouds residing as super brains giving up the sexual life for survival. How typical of these frigid male scientists! How they deny everything, I cannot understand. The future is out there somewhere perhaps, but not as some fucked up brain clouds, no, the future is one Grand ORGY! Men as men and men as women and women as men and women as women! Omnisexuality!

F: (growing ever more nervous) The universe will smile at us happy fools in our rapture, for this happy spectacle is in the becoming!

M: Oh well still, I love your stockings and all but I wanna worship them from the outside not from the inside.

F: (now calmer) Then it is time for you to hear the story of the Grand Transsexual.