Urgent appeal

I can't express how sad I am. Robert Anton Wilson is dying from post polio syndrome and has money to pay the bills for the next couple of months only. I am shocked by how cruel life can be. He sold over a million copies of The Illuminatus Trilogy, thousands of copies of Cosmic Trigger plus all the other wonderful books he's written but even though he's not been able to afford a decent end for his life. He is a genius and influenced the way I live my life tremendously. It is painful for me to see him suffer this way. If you have any spare money, please send him. I'd be immensely grateful.

Money can be sent to his PayPal address olgaceline@gmail.com. You can also send a check to RAW c/o Futique Trust, P.O. Box 3561, Santa Cruz, Ca 95063.

Please send him some money. Please. This is out of order.

http://rawilson.com/


http://www.rushkoff.com/2006/10/robert-anton-wilson-needs-our-help.php


http://www.boingboing.net/2006/10/02/robert_anton_wilson_.html

Commit no Nuisance

I have this picturesque picture on my door, so I can be reminded, among other things, of the subjective character of public messages. What do you mean, mate? Haha. What is a fucking nuisance? My piano teacher said it was originally made to keep people from peeing on the streets. Right... I imagine a drunk 18th century man dying for a piss getting his willy out of his trousers, feeling the warm flow of piss coming, the relief of pissing, oh, so nice, blissfully looking up to see this sign and quickly holding his urine cos he doesn't want to commit a nuisance. That doesn't happen, does it? This sign lives round the corner from my college, and I come and visit it every couple of weeks, just to say hello, since now the times changed and no one seems to know what a nuisance is anymore. And I love it!

But, hey, that's how they do it in England apparently, in conjunction with the "fit in" lobotomy and imposed "common sense". They put signs everywhere, expensive ones, and people just follow it(?), and the respectable middle class smiles happily. They made this huge campaign to tackle illegal work. Big fuck off posters in every bus stop saying "we know where you get you cash in hand work". Scary, hu? Not really. They spent 3 million pounds on advertisement and caught 3 people! Haha.

But I really think it's a clever way to do things. I suspect that odd fellow thinking about cheating the system is going to think twice if he/she sees big posters on every corner. Don't know about the knife campaign. It's a big problem here in England. No guns? Let's stab, then. The piss campaign, well, I won't piss on the street cos I don't have a willy, that's the main reason, but that sign would never keep me from doing it cos I wouldn't guess what it means. Lovely. Keep it like that.

100 Monkeys

Haha. As I reach peak alienation, my life reaches the top of the happiness mountain. I think I don't know what you are talking about at any given time. Alienation. Oh, don't think it's bad, hun. Should I say individuation? It is a paradox, isn't it? Just like when I bought my "I love sex" mug and went celibate for some unknown reason, I feel so close to you as much as I'm so fucking far away. I'm a walking T.A.Z.


So, tonight I'm starting a new type of autonomous zone. I will call it called SPAZ (nothing to do with spazzy), semi-temporary autonomous zone. Since I reached the peak of alienation and now the wheel of life will probably connect me to the masses again in a mundane way, just like before, I decided to test the 100 monkeys theory. I need 99 more monkeys to spread the SPAZ idea through the morphic field. My initial idea is that we practice transcendental meditation, innocence, fun useless sporadic work, sleep indulgence and that we speak like The Cat in the Hat . It will be tricky, I know, but it's worthwhile, the benefits are immense, and no higher skill comes without discipline. Any volunteers? Suggestions?

In the cracks of the system we think. The cracks in the system here in London are huge caves with air-conditioning, free food and exotic dances. It's fun. Some people manage to make the cracks even wider so we can pretend to be useful for a fair amount of money. This lovely lady made up a travel information website to try and convince people to walk or use public transport instead of using cars, and also invite people to go to Muswell Hill festival. How lovely! How do you think she wants to promote it? With a pantomime horse and funny walkers, of course! What else?

I don't know if you ever tried walking around dressed as a horse but I'll tell you, you can see fuck all, so they needed me to guide the 2 guys inside the pantomime horse through the streets of Muswell Hill, dressed as a horse rider, obviously.

Good money, the lads were fun, all good, but I feel in love recently and you know how it is. My mind kept wondering away so the pantomime horse walked into bushes, banged their head on those plastic roof things outside cafes, crossed the street randomly and nearly invaded the teddy bear event happening at the church across the road.

There was a small queue of children waiting to see their teddy bears fly from the top of the roof in parachutes. They even got a certificate afterwards, to prove that they entertained their teddies at the church that Saturday. There was a lady with a stethoscope, checking the teddies heartbeats after the jump, assuring the little ones their teddies were fine. Sweet.

We stumbled across the pavement into the church, causing various reactions. The horse's face wasn't exactly kids-friendly so the scared ones screamed in horror as I clumsily got my horse out of their sight.

Well, this story wouldn't be so special if it didn't signify the end of my beating-around-the-bush-till-last-year-at-college. From now till the end of June 2007 I'll be pursuing my noble plans of setting up an educational project in deprived areas of London (yes, there are deprived areas here) and teaching as many south London people as my energy allows how to make music.

I truly think if you have a creative output you're half awake in this world. No, I don't have the delusion or the ego trip of changing the world or the educational system as my teacher has, but if I can get a few kids in my area to make new connections, get their arses in gear and explore their unconscious through music, I'm sure the other monkeys will benefit too, and maybe they'll contaminate the neighbourhood with songs about love and detachment. Who knows? Let's see. But I just want my neighbourhood to be groovy. That's it. Merely selfish reasons.

Believe those who are seeking the truth, doubt those who find it.

I'm a highly suggestible creature. As soon as I see a big beard I believe the bearer to be a wise man.

Save... Save who?

"Save The Planet? The planet isn't going anywhere. We are. We're going away, pack your shit folks. We won't leave much of a trace either...Maybe a little Styrofoam. The planet will be here, we'll be long gone, just another failed mutation...The planet will shake us off like a bad case of fleas, a surface nuisance. You want to know how the planet's doing? Ask those people at Pompeii who are frozen into position..." - George Carlin

hahahaha... Well done Mr Carlin. That puts things into perspective. Should we change our slogan to "save the human kind"? Huummm... Are we vanishing soon enough to save the earth? I don't know. We humans are tough, you know.

If we reduced the population of the world to 100 people just as an experiment, keeping the actual proportions, there would be 57 Asiatics, 21 Europeanss, 8 Africanss and 4 Americanss. 52 would be women, 48 would be men, 70 would be non-white, 30 would be white, 70 would be non Christianss, 30 would be Christians (sigh...), 89 would be heterosexuals and 11 would be homosexuals. 6 people would possess 59% of all mundane riches and all 6 would be Americans. From all 100 people, 80 of them would life in subhuman conditions. 70 would be analphabets, 50 would be undernourished, 1 would be about to die, 1 would be about to be born, and only 1, ladies and gentlemen, would have a university degree. There would be also 1 lucky bastard who owns a computer. It if wasn't me, it would be my husband, of course.

So if you woke up healthy this morning you're luckier than millions of people that didn't make through this week. If you have never experienced the perils of war, never felt the loneliness of prison, never felt the agony of being tortured or the afflictionss of hunger you are better off than 500 million people. If you can go to church or to your chosen holy place without the fear of being humiliated, arrested, tortured or killed, than you are more fortunate than 3 billion people.

If you have food in the fridge, clothes in your wardrobe (or everywhere in the room like me), a ceiling above your head and a place to sleep, you are richer than 75% of the world population. If you save some money in the bank and in your money pig you are among the richest 8%. If your parents are together and still alive you are a very rare person. And since you are reading this, you are "safer" than the 2 billion analphabets.

I'm ok, really. Can't complain. Sorry for the heavy post, but I thought you would like to think about the world this way for a few moments, on a different scale.

Poisoning pigeons in the park

As you guys must have noticed I'm well into Buddhism. I'm cultivating the power of now, transforming negative thoughts into light, not feeding my passions (not necessary but celibate for a while now), avoiding meat, working on my aggressive behaviour and refraining from killing, which is quite hard considering the amount of huge hairy spiders strolling around my house.

I'm reading The Tibetan Book of the Dead, but reading the mantras in a western way can be quite hilarious, so I often start laughing, which is not very respectful, is it? I also laugh out loud when I read the description of the Peaceful and Wrathful Deities in the Great Liberation by Hearing. 3 heads, one is blue, the middle one is burning dark yellow and the 3rd one is red, six arms, one holding a skull cup, the next one holding an axe, and so forth... hahaha. That's the type of image our minds produce when we die, apparently.

But you know, it's tricky to be Buddhist. I went to a Buddhist centre near Soho Square, just to see if they could help me in any way. They could. I bought a nice Nag Champa soap, flicked through a few good books, talked to the smiley lady behind the counter, went downstairs to get some tasty Veggie food and sat down at Soho Square to eat my lunch.

As I opened my lunch box, feeling so fulfilled, so happy to be, so so Zen, a flock of filthy pigeons flew my way avid for a bit of my food. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh, filthy flying rats! Get tha fuck out of here, you nasty creatures! My Buddhism is gone. Just like that. Machine guns, poison sprays, a big crane, Marshmallow Man tap dancing. I thought of a thousand different ways of killing them all, and killing quickly, right there by the peaceful Buddhist centre.

They got the message and flew away, covering the real Buddhist sitting 5 benches away. She didn't mind it at all and shared her food with those things, smiling at them as if they were babies. Fucking nutter, I thought. They carry deadly diseases, they stink, they... they... They should be dead!!!! Ok, I'm not 100% Buddhist then. Maybe I'll be born a fucking pigeon in my next life, but I did my part. I didn't act on my emotion. I didn't kill any pigeon, so it's fine. But I must be going backwards in my spiritual journey cos I remember clearly I used to like pigeons when I was a little girl. I used to feed them and everything. In fact every child likes pigeons, just cos they don't have the slightest idea of the nasty things they do. Oh, the age of innocence...

But still, I have to do something about my rage, so I thought of singing this lovely tune with you guys. It's harmless. Let's sing along! Let's sing for democracy! Let's sing for the rights of the unborn pigeons! Let's sing Poisoning Pigeons in the Park by Tom Lehrer! For those who never heard this before, please click on the link and follow the lyrics bellow.


Spring is here, a-suh-puh-ring is here.
Life is skittles and life is beer.
I think the loveliest time of the year is the spring.
I do, don't you? 'Course you do.
But there's one thing that makes spring complete for me,
And makes every Sunday a treat for me.

All the world seems in tune
On a spring afternoon,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.
Every Sunday you'll see
My sweetheart and me,
As we poison the pigeons in the park.

When they see us coming, the birdies all try an' hide,
But they still go for peanuts when coated with cyanide.
The sun's shining bright,
Everything seems all right,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.

Lalaalaalalaladoodiedieedoodoodoo

We've gained notoriety,
And caused much anxiety
In the Audubon Society
With our games.
They call it impiety,
And lack of propriety,
And quite a variety
Of unpleasant names.
But it's not against any religion
To want to dispose of a pigeon.

So if Sunday you're free,
Why don't you come with me,
And we'll poison the pigeons in the park.
And maybe we'll do
In a squirrel or two,
While we're poisoning pigeons in the park.

We'll murder them all amid laughter and merriment.
Except for the few we take home to experiment.
My pulse will be quickenin'
With each drop of strychnine
We feed to a pigeon.
It just takes a smidgin!
To poison a pigeon in the park.

The Flow

Behold! That is a lie! They are also called comedians, writers, dancers, painters, artists in general. Why, beautiful people, these artists attract us so much? Why, ladies and gentlemen, do we have orgasms on the dance floor, shivers in the art gallery, giggles in the studio, bliss on the Internet and all sorts of emotions flooding our brains when we are exposed to art? Don't you worry, oh Buddha child. I'm going to tell you why. It all starts inside the bodies of these skillful human beings who managed to merge action and awareness and feel the FLOW. We feel the flow through them, and it makes us fly.

First, let us have a look at the components of flow, nicely categorized below by psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

1 Clear goals (expectations and rules are discernable).
2 Concentrating and focusing, a high degree of concentration on a limited field of attention (a person engaged in the activity will have the opportunity to focus and to delve deeply into it).
3 A loss of the feeling of self-consciousness, the merging of action and awareness.
4 Distorted sense of time - our subjective experience of time is altered.
5 Direct and immediate feedback (successes and failures in the course of the activity are apparent, so that behavior can be adjusted as needed).
6 Balance between ability level and challenge (the activity is neither too easy nor too difficult).
7 A sense of personal control over the situation or activity.
8 The activity is intrinsically rewarding, so there is an effortlessness of action.
Not all of these components are needed for flow to be experienced.

I would like to elaborate on the bullet point number 8, which to me explains why some brilliant artists, having made a genius album, forget the flow in a search of external rewards and end up making a rubbish album following the initial success. Yes, beautiful creatures, they may think of fields of girls/boys chasing them down narrow corridors, but the main focus is the art itself when most careers start. A few buckets full of dollars later and the smell of money, the pressure of a whole society, an ego trip or a possible identification with the mind causes them to chase their own tail instead of feeling the flow. Having said that, we can move forward to illustrate this idea with examples related to our more humble reality, and maybe find out why some of us disconnected from the source and stopped making art.

Desmond Morris, as published in The Biology of Art did a very clever experiment where chimpanzees were given canvas and some paint. They got into the flow making weird paintings, using colours to create effects, completely absorbed. They were truly having fun. After a few weeks Mr. Morris started "rewarding the chimpanzees for producing their paintings. Very soon their work began to degenerate until they produced the bare minimum that would satisfy the experimenter." Mr. Morris managed to get them out of the flow by introducing external rewards, just like schools do to us, just like society, hindering our natural flow of creativity.

Just bear that in mind when you are making art, and suddenly a voice in your head wonders if people are going to like it. That's not the point, really.

Chinese medicine

My hormone imbalance is very good for me, I think. It makes me more assertive, physically stronger in a way, slightly masculine in a sexy way. The downside is that near my period I go nuts and my skin resembles an overcooked lasagna a Bolognese. No one notices it cos the lovely Egyptians invented make-up and I know the best places to buy it. Other than that it's fine, my skin is peach-like throughout the month, apart from those 5 fucking days.

Western medicine treats my condition with pills but those horrible things make me very sensitive. So much I cry watching washing powder commercials. It's sad. I wonder if that's what it is to be a "normal" woman. I don't like it, so I made my way to the nearest Chinese medicine shop and told the Chinese woman behind the counter about my suffering.

I said I have cists in my womb that cause a hormone imbalance and it is a normal thing for a western woman to have. She said it's not normal with a very alarming tone of voice. I explained myself saying what I meant by "normal" is that 1 in every 6 women has it. She said something happened to me in my teenage years and I have to fix it, balance the hormones, and clean my blood. I wonder what happened in my teenage years. hahaha. Well...

Anyway, she gave me these lovely Chinese boxes full of pills, a Chinese soap, a Chinese lotion and wrote the instructions on the boxes cos I can't read Chinese. I'm totally in her hands. She could give anything. I wouldn't notice. Lovely feeling.

The treatment lasts for 2 weeks, and after that I'm sorted. 26 pills twice a day, a bit of Chinese soap, a bit of magik lotion and I'm saying goodbye to the Egyptians. I get home, lock myself in my room and stare at my collection of Chinese boxes, beautiful and mysterious. I feel so happy I bought them! I don't know why.

Next week I'm doing acupuncture, as recommended by the lovely Chinese woman. I've done it before. It's great! And these pills are working! But they leave a slightly metallic taste in my mouth. Anyway, they are wise people. I won't ask the I Ching if I should trust the Chinese doctor cos it will slap me in the face with a rude hexagram. It must be a bit patriotic, I suppose.

Transformation/Utopia

If the accumulated knowledge of Western civilization has anything of value to offer us at this point, it is an awareness of just how much is possible when it comes to human life. Our otherwise foolish scholars of history and sociology and anthropology can at least show us this one thing: that human beings have lived in a thousand different kinds of societies, with ten thousand different tables of values, ten thousand different relationships to each other and the world around them, ten thousand different conceptions of self. A little traveling can show you the same thing, if you get there before Coca-Cola has had too much of a head start.

That's why I can't help but scoff when someone refers to "human nature," invariably in the course of excusing himself for a miserable resignation to our supposed fate. Don't you realize we share a common ancestor with sea urchins? If differing environments can make these distant cousins of ours so very distant from us, how much more possible must small changes in ourselves and our interactions be! If there is anything lacking (and there sorely, sorely is, most will admit) in our lives, anything unnecessarily tragic or meaningless in them, any corner of happiness that we have not yet thoroughly explored, then all that is needed is for us to alter our environments accordingly. "If you want to change the world, you first must change yourself," the saying goes; we have learned that the opposite is true.

Continues at Deoxy.org

Life is music

I'm floating, or maybe I'm liquid myself. Crazy days, running from big gigs to small gigs, from my own gigs to someone else's, fun work, exciting explorations, I feel as if I'm on acid all the time. The order of things, the disorder, instant Karma, changes I made and worked out brilliantly... Life has been treating me well. A few turning points later and my enemies became my old friends, my old friends became a question mark full of sweet surprises, new friends jump out of bushes with purple flowers in their hands, wise. Life is good.

I posted this website on my myspace and it was a big hit, so thought of introducing Pandora to my blogger friends so they can feel the flow of things on this fucking excellent website. Webradio? Much more, I would say. Check it. It helps you discover more music you like

Politics and history

If you ever hear a fellow student say, "I'm not turned on politics," give that student a history book, because if you don't turn on politics, down to the air you breathe, the water you drink, the racial profiling you detest, the health insurance many people don't have, and on and on. If you don't turn on politics, politics will turn on you in very disagreeable ways. - Ralph Nader, On The Stump


Right. Columbus, stupid example, named the natives of America Indians cos he thought he was landing in India. Whatta? We still call people from 2 different continents by the same name cos fucking Columbus said so!? Well done! haha.

Eddie Izzard said he only fancies women who are able to discuss politics. Fuck. Me and Mike got a bus to Dublin to see his gig last Friday. All the way to Ireland to see him! Yes, I love him. Waiting at the airpot on the way back (coach back is too much), dizzy, still laughing, I asked Mike to train me to discuss politics in case I meet Eddie somewhere. After a useless attempt to be outspoken I ended up claiming I support New Labour by accident. I don't know what I'm doing. Well, I won't shagg him anyway. I know it.

By the end of our conversation I asked Mike: do you honestly think all of us should know our history? Should we spend a considerable amount of time reading about politics? He said yes, we all should know our history. Ok. So you think the average person can by pass the bollox and retain the useful information? Do you think the average person benefits from our history made in Europe? hahaha. Wake them up first! They are asleep! History has been told as some want it to be read.

I just don't get it. Do you think the information available to you is any close to "reality"? If you tell me you take pleasure in collecting pieces of a puzzle you won't solve cos it gives you a sense of... umm... being in control I will understand but won't comprehend, or the other way round, not sure.

Maybe you are one of those who believe we should know our past so we can do something, can't remember, with the future. I just think you are anal fuckers and you should definitely cut down the amount of alcohol you consume. Also, I recommend you form little communities, 15 people or maybe more, and create your own politics. Take care of those around you, that's my politics. I read about the world politics, yes, but always sure there's something else that is not being said that changes the whole thing. I read it as if it was a very realistic fairy tale. Stop me if I'm wrong.

Let's protest agains all that's wrong. Today! But bear in mind we're not as well informed as we think we are, and even if we were, our information can't stop the war. Can we stop it? Why is it happening, hey you, reading politics? Stop it!

I think we should know ourselves first. Nothing can stop us, aware.

Oh, that's rubbish

So, yes, this week I am bleeding. Menstruation, ladies and gentlemen, politely referred to as period. If I was a Dogon woman I would be put in a special hut for the duration of my period, which I think is very wise, but I am not a Dogon woman so I'll just stay in my room, bleeding.

Get up, organize things, feel the pain, lay down again, feel better, make a cup of tea, watch the boys go up and down the stairs unchangeable, smiley, stable, feel the pain again, go back to my room, relax, feel ok again, grab the guitar, make some music, feel a great deal of pain, breath, feel ok again, make a song about pain, grab my rhyming dictionary...

This rhyming dictionary I have is organized in a very unpractical way. I have to go through all endings to find the one I want, but then I come across weird rhymes and feel like changing the song to fit them, poor rhymes, cos I'm sure no one is going to rhyme vagina with North Carolina, and it makes me really sad.

Fuck it. I go downstairs again, make another cup of tea, watch people cook, FEEL A LOT OF PAIN AGAIN, I stare at the wall, no, better stare at something else, ouch, fucking hell, I stare at our collection of bins, the organic bin, the recycling bin and the landfill bin. Landfill, OUCH, as the name says, fills the land with things we can't recycle. My house only must produce a big bag a day. I just wonder where we are going to put all the landfill bins from all our houses.

Most houses put all their rubbish in one bin, fuckers, trusting the government to do something nice with it. Bush is going to do something about them bags, I suppose. Maybe they are going to launch them into space! Yeah! P. C. was telling me about this guy who's building a lift that goes all the way to space. Maybe we can use it to get rid of our rubbish!! Alien creatures would be astonished to bump into our stupid rubbish somewhere far away and would probably think it's a sign, an S.O.S., and they would follow the rubbish till they get here, to see that rubbish is all we've got at the moment, and they would fly back, moaning.

A little girl or an old woman?

Post censored as a slight sign of respect for my mum
















The Illusions

It's ok.

No people. I read novels as well, not only self-help books, but I have to admit though, that the idea of self change is very appealing to me and I spend a considerable amount of time trying to rearrange my brain in order to live better, and this includes devouring self-help books. Good ones.

Some people get shivers when they hear the word self-help so I better call it self-development. I don't know. Is that better? Well, the fact is that I really want to mutate and create groovy biochemical bonds in my brain so I can function better and, for instance, be less irritated by the smallest things such as my workmates asking me simple questions like "Did you use to dance samba in Brazil? With you mates and stuff?" or "Is every Brazilian girl like you?" or even "Did it take long for you to get here?" Don't know why, it gets on my tits big time. Do they really want to know how long it took me to get there? I doubt it. Is it possible to have 100 million girls with the same personality or look just cos they live in the same country? Nah. AND I DON'T CARE ABOUT SAMBA, FOR FUCK SAKE. But hey, small talk, break the ice, it's all cool. I just need to find a way to go through these situations without much friction.

Also, I'm trying to get rid of my musts, shoulds, can'ts and other limiting thoughts. You know, everyone has them. At some point of our lives them thoughts were useful tools of survival but that time is gone and our brains need adapting. Many of these chemical bonds were formed before the critical-evaluative mind was formed (we were just silly kids) so let's push things forward.

Energized Hypnosis, A Non-book for Self Change by Christopher S. Hyatt, Ph.D. and Calvin Iwema gave me that last piece of much needed advice on the matter.

"Imprint theory states that at critical times during early development, or periods of imprint vulnerability, strong bonds are created as a result of one-time-learning.
Researchers such as Konrad Lorenz have studied this in animals, and have documented cases where a baby gosling was exposed to a ping-pong ball shortly after birth and imprinted it as "mommy". It then followed the ball around, nestled with it, and later in life attempted to mate with white round objects.
Although this research has not been studied extensively with humans, the possible similarities are worth thinking about."

I know what you are thinking. You are worried if the baby gosling is doing fine now. Not to worry. He is alright. Apparently he has been spotted walking around Shoreditch, a trendy London area, trying to mate with all shapes and colours. Well done, Baby G!

Scales

Oh, well, as Allan Watts said, we're just a hicup in the greater scheme of things. But I made up my mind! I want a man from Antares.

From http://webisto.com/space/

I'm a spy

"I am a spy", I thought. My job was to infliltrate myself into the wonderful world of the cafes of London, looking for clues on how to... well... sell more Baileys in cafes. But it's a start! Today Cafes, tomorrow maybe secret societies, who knows. I just want to infiltrate. But if any secret society actively invites me to join in I would be glad too.


But yeah, they call it mystery shopping over here. I had to go around town for 3 days asking for something "creamy and refreshing" to see if they offered me Baileys, and if not I would ask "what have you got with Baileys?" Then I had to order one of the 4 options: Baileys frappe, Baileys latte, Baileys blended and Baileys on ice. Had to take pictures of the bar, take notes of where the merchandising was, if they used the correct glassware and stuff like that. All very secret and well paid.

As I sat my beautiful ass by the window in my first attempt to spy a nice cafe in South Kensington the phone rang. Me: "OH, HELLO MATE! HOW ARE YOU? YES, I AM FINE. JUST ENJOYING THE SUN IN A CAFE SOUTH OF THE RIVER! YEAH, I AM WORKING. I AM MYSTERY SHOPPING! Bollocks. Everyone started laughing out loud, shit. Italian background, you know, shouting and moving hands, what makes me really discreet.

Whatever. I made my way to the second cafe, took pictures, sat down to enjoy my Baileys Latte and the phone rang. It was a Brazilian mate of mine, so I felt free to explain him what I was doing in Portuguese, my mother tongue, so nobody would discover my true identity. Finished my Baileys and said goodbye to the barman, who said goodbye back, BUT IN PORTUGUESE!! The fucker was Brazilian too! I completely fucked up everything.

Secret societies, if you thought about inviting me to join you and after reading this you changed your mind, I would like to let you know that I AM GOING TO START MY OWN SECRET SOCIETY, SO PISS OFF!

And we wouldn't understand each other anyway. I have this terrible problem of communication, you know, here in England. I speak so loud and passionately that if I tell you guys I'm going to the shop to buy cigarettes you will think I'm never coming back. Are you laughing?! It's serious!

Me and my housemates were discussing what paint we should buy and what colours we should paint what room. Some of them wanted to use eco paint as everything in the house tends to be ecologically political, which I'm proud of most of the time, but I suggested we used Dulux, just cos it's thick, nice, practical, doesn't drip, basically it is very efficient. I said it in my normal tone of voice and they looked at me as if I was shagging the paint.

I know how to speak low and slow though, to the right person.

Plato's metaphor of the cave

Plato's parable of the cave is a metaphor for ignorance and knowledge. Imagine, says Plato, a cave in which prisoners are chained in such a way that all they can see are shadows thrown on a wall in front of them. All they know of life are these shadows. They would think that these shadows were reality, having known nothing else. If one of them were freed, and allowed to emerge into the daylight, he would see things as they are, and realize how limited his vision was in the cave. He would be quite unwilling to return:

And when he remembered his old habitation, and the wisdom of the den and his fellow-prisoners, do you not suppose that he would felicitate himself on the change, and pity them?...you must not wonder that those who attain to this beatific vision are unwilling to descend to human affairs; for their souls are ever hastening into the upper world where they desire to dwell. (Republic VII, 516)
Yet to his fellow-prisoners, he would seem the fool, not they:

And if there were a contest, and he had to compete in measuring the shadows with the prisoners who had never moved out of the den, while his sight was still weak, and before his eyes had become steady...would he not be ridiculous? Men would say of him that up he went and down he came without his eyes; and that it was better not even to think of ascending. (Ibid, 517)
I suggest that the lethal text may not in fact destroy the mind, but rather cause it to move up to a higher level of consciousness, which would seem "weak" to the people left behind. He might have a direct apprehension of Plato's world of Ideal Forms. Instead of having been destroyed, such a person might simply have transcended the body and no longer have need of it. (Such a fate is implied in Macroscope.)

I further suggest that the person who enters cyberspace has, in a metaphorical sense, left the cave. She has entered an abstract dataspace-a world of Ideal Forms-and has no need of the physical body. Indeed, the person wearing a bodysuit and VR goggles seems vaguely ridiculous to anyone watching her twist and turn in response to no apparent stimulus. She is, in a literal sense, a visionary.

From http://deoxy.org/alephnull/platocav.htm

Sergei Prokofiev

Last sunny Monday afternoon was one of my countless days off, so I met my friend P in Greenwich, went for a walk in Greenwich Park, had a coffee in a lovely cafe and bought 2 pound books in the bookshops that are always on sale. All books, posters and games for 2 pounds!! Visit Greenwich if you have the chance. That's "where the world starts", where Cutty Sark, the world's last tea clipper is, where deers run wild in the park, where the vision of Canary Wharf makes me think of its tales.

At the bookshop I bought The Sabbath - Abraham Joshua Heschel, A World atlas, Confucius, a guide to Morocco and this lovely Sergei Prokofiev's Peter and The Wolf box that looks very interesting. Very cute box set. I'm going to listen to it now.

More on work and money

I dove deeply into my thoughts, thinking about the world economy and jobs and money and all these things for long hours. It is no good to dwell on these things for long. The way I approach my job needs to be healthy, otherwise I am sure I will find excuses to work less, or not at all. I really don't want to be one of those who talk about the horrors of the world in order to remain inert. And also, if you think about something for long with anger you become this thing, its opposite, its cousin.

"He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you." - Nietzsche

I felt bad these days. So bad I thought of killing the little computer assistant floating beside my text on word. Felt helpless cos I kept thinking about what I mentioned a few posts ago. It makes a lot of sense, but I need to work, and I want more for myself, but I couldn't stop thinking about blowing it all up. Sometimes I think working damages my brain, especially when I need to give my mind space to it. My mind space is the thing I value the most. That's why I like doing what I do. After my shift I go home and completely forget about it. No residues, nothing. I get home and make music with all my heart.

I had to see my job in a new light today, and I did. Last night my mind wouldn't stop. I was about to cry, when I found this Meditation Center. Nothing new about it. Lovely exercises on how to meditate, you know. Practiced a few, felt happy, relaxed, and went to bed. This morning I had to work for fucking Coca-cola again!! But now I had an idea. Breathing exercises. Breath in deeply, scream out strongly, breath in deeply, scream out inverting the words, just like Hare Krishnas do. My body was happy, full of life, my mind so clear.

Bosses were there again, but this time not only the agency, but the Coke people as well. They stopped in front of me, amazed. They actually had a meeting in front of me, admiring how the campaign works so well. I felt the little demon creeping into my thoughts for a few seconds. What are they doing here? Fuck off you twats!! No, Paula, don't stare at the abyss, breath.

They took pictures of me, which I enjoyed very much, and the demon went away with the samples. Team leader happy, extra money for the effort, mind awake, I made it! I made my job useful! Useful and healthy for myself at least.

Left home. In the bus, the phone rings. An agency wants me to do mystery shopping. Oh, absolutely! I am going to spend 3 days going to cafes to evaluate the services, eating for free, getting paid good money for it. Oh, yes, that makes everything easier! Really, sometimes I think I think too much...

Apologies

First of all, I would like to publicly apologize for having called the lovely salps that are saving us from carbon dioxide mere crap-eaters. What I meant by that is that they eat our crap, our waste, our carbon dioxide, and therefore they are our-crap-eaters, but obviously they deserve to be called better names.

Secondly, I would like to thank Indigo for being so proactive in the blog world, always commenting our silly posts not matter what weather, motivating us to be better bloggers, filling us with the joy of being heard. Hey Indigo, the salps make my heart sing as well!

Thirdly, I would like to apologize to all moneymakers for being so rude to them. Sometimes I generalize, I'm sorry, not taking into consideration the psychological needs of most human beings. We crave attention, yes. We want to be accepted and loved by others. We want people to recognize our value in society and the easiest way to do it is by getting rich!

Some of us have different ways of having fun, different ways of interacting with the world, different ways of showing our genius. Some ways are easy to recognize, like having loads of money, for example. If you are rich, people look at you and think "well done!", if they are not the jealous, envious type of person. Girls jump on them rich, mates workship them rich friends, and society welcome them with tender tones of voice, the automatic door type of "come in!".

But what if you derive your sense of self (Buddha forgive me) from silly things like getting your foreign ass inside hermetic societies, saying no to parties to stay home on a Saturday night reading Erowid, representing nasty brands in order to slag them off while wearing their T-shirts, sitting around with drunk Irish men listening to war time stories and things like that? You're fucked, mate! Nobody is going to stop and say: "Oh, nice! I see you are talking to this filthy drunk Irish man in order to learn more about war without the media in between! How great! Would you like a cup of coffee? Can I get you anything?" No, most people won't praise your subversive self. Forget it.

So, once again, I apologize to you money-driven people, cos I feel a bit of sympathy for you need to be loved, since I need it too, but my mind took me elsewhere. You are very brave to give yourself fully to the system. I don't have the balls to do it!! Like the old banana business man: "I'm a business man! I sell bananas! I think about bananas all day long! Hahaha. Today I'm going to think about a better way to sell bananas, and tomorrow, for a change, I'll just eat them, cos it's my day off."

What is left for me? What is left for us, dreamers? What is going to confirm we are of some importance for the whole? Apart from ourselves and our bloggers friends, Ralph Waldo Emerson keeps me going in the silence of my room. From self reliance:

[...]

Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so, and confided themselves childlike to the genius of their age, betraying their perception that the absolutely trustworthy was seated at their heart, working through their hands, predominating in all their being. And we are now men, and must accept in the highest mind the same transcendent destiny; and not minors and invalids in a protected corner, not cowards fleeing before a revolution, but guides, redeemers, and benefactors, obeying the Almighty effort, and advancing on Chaos and the Dark.

[...]

These are the voices which we hear in solitude, but they grow faint and inaudible as we enter into the world. Society everywhere is in conspiracy against the manhood of every one of its members. Society is a joint-stock company, in which the members agree, for the better securing of his bread to each shareholder, to surrender the liberty and culture of the eater. The virtue in most request is conformity. Self-reliance is its aversion. It loves not realities and creators, but names and customs.

[...]

What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think. This rule, equally arduous in actual and in intellectual life, may serve for the whole distinction between greatness and meanness. It is the harder, because you will always find those who think they know what is your duty better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.

[...]

Insist on yourself; never imitate. Your own gift you can present every moment with the cumulative force of a whole life's cultivation; but of the adopted talent of another, you have only an extemporaneous, half possession. That which each can do best, none but his Maker can teach him. No man yet knows what it is, nor can, till that person has exhibited it. Where is the master who could have taught Shakspeare? Where is the master who could have instructed Franklin, or Washington, or Bacon, or Newton? Every great man is a unique. The Scipionism of Scipio is precisely that part he could not borrow. Shakspeare will never be made by the study of Shakspeare. Do that which is assigned you, and you cannot hope too much or dare too much. There is at this moment for you an utterance brave and grand as that of the colossal chisel of Phidias, or trowel of the Egyptians, or the pen of Moses, or Dante, but different from all these. Not possibly will the soul all rich, all eloquent, with thousand-cloven tongue, deign to repeat itself; but if you can hear what these patriarchs say, surely you can reply to them in the same pitch of voice; for the ear and the tongue are two organs of one nature. Abide in the simple and noble regions of thy life, obey thy heart, and thou shalt reproduce the Foreworld again.

So old, so new. Read the rest of this text and more at http://www.emersoncentral.com/selfreliance.htm