Sometimes it seems like everything is fake, and everyone is confined to a narrow band of thought and expression. Not to imply that I am any different, but if feels like we only know how to communicate our confusions & misunderstandings about life. I got frustrated at a party trying to talk to people; all the conversations seemed routine and lacking depth. Like the conversations between other people were not about the information being discussed, but about personal wants disguised in metaphorical expressions of interest & ideas. What I’m getting at is that sometimes I don’t feel involved with this reality, there is a feeling of being outside looking in — or being inside looking out… or both at once — but it feels more real than anything else.
I brought my real journal with me to the bar that I’m sitting in right now. I used to write daily, and now it has gaps of over a year.
Sometimes I feel like it’s reasonable to accredit my personal disappointments to the overwhelming depression that creeps up from time to time. There have also been times that I have blamed my absence on periods of extreme happiness. So, maybe it’s actually both of them that are debilitating… in different ways, and in the same ways.
It feels, in both cases, as though I maintain a strange tunnel vision that keeps me from seeing the edges of my individual existence. As though I can only focus on the connections between everything, and my sense of identity fades into the voids between them. It sounds so bleak to compare my dualities as equal states — different charges of the same force — but that’s how it is. My joy is just as terrible & restrictive as my sadness.
I guess it’s a little confusing for me. To feel that all the things I feel have pretty much the same after-taste. Aside from giving some credit to the idea that we should live in the moment, I feel that this truth is disheartening — to say the least. What are our lives other than the emotions that we get from them? Isn’t that the whole point? And if they’re all the same anyway, or if we are able to see past their influence, what are we doing with the time allotted to us? Is it just some curious fluke of multi-phasic energetic interference patterns. Ripples in the ocean of life that appear to dance and crash into one another, when really we’re just the after shocks from the depth below — or the wind’s transferred momentum.
These questions come from the continual feeling that the way we conduct & understand our lives is eternally lacking. We are some how in touch with a greater experience, and it is the gap — the obvious & glaring gap between our two realities — that gives us the introspective spark. We are biologically wired to avoid negative (unpleasant & harmful) stimulus, and it seems that (compared to our brief moments of insight & revelation) the majority of the things we feel fall into the negative category. Does this give us the fuel for our deeper inquiry, or is it a reminder of the fact that individuality is a temporary condition?
All of this makes me think about the nature of love. Why do we place such importance on such an insignificant things? Everything we do. [:] Let’s reset. Perhaps love is our most direct route to feeling the absence of an individual life; the closest thing there is to ignorance & death that we can find.
Source: SoundCloud / D I A N A
Snowflake (focus stacked version) on Flickr.
It made from 3 similar shots, focus stacked at object and averaged (summed) at background for better signal/noise ratio, then both layers combined with mask.
February 2011. Background: dark gray woolen fabric.
More snowflakes in set snowflakes and snow crystals.
I feel like crying. I am so exhausted. Nothing is ever the same in my head or my body. Thoughts, behavior, feelings, expression of feelings, pain, sensory function… it all is swirling around a vortex, constantly changing.
Nothing stops long enough to be understood or fully seen, just pulses of information that have no pattern or relation to one another. Every day I feel lost inside of a non-existent perceptual diaspora, a grain of sand in the winds of Neptune.
I fear I will be debilitated with this illuminating roulette for the rest of my life, buried by the gold at the foot of the rainbow… that I will die surrounded by riches I cannot spend, alone and cocooned in beautiful visions that I cannot bring to reality. A voiceless singer, the blind painter: here lies Niel, a quiet man tortured by his own devices, silenced by the confusion of staring into the sun.
Camera Accessory Monitors Brainwaves, Takes Photos When It Thinks You’re Interested
Hands-free loving Japanese folk have come up with a wearable, headset like contraption called the Neurocam that analyzes brain waves to take pictures and video for you.
Using a proprietary brain-wave quantifying algorithm similar to those used in the Necomimi cat ears, the Neurocam only captures things that seem to interest you. By measuring the wearer’s interest level from a scale of 1-100, all shown in real-time on an attached iPhone, Neurocam’s bio-sensors start to kick into high gear at a score of 60…
Neurocam is currently just a prototype, though the creators aim to link their emotion-based software with a variety of devices and services. For example, wearing the Neurocam during shopping might actually prove to be a useful tool to retailers in gauging consumer interest for future products. Neurocam is also GPS-enabled, so urban development may benefit from measuring visitor interest in a certain area.
I hope you are dreaming now.
I am in my dad’s car, on the way to the funeral, watching the countryside stream past. I feel nostalgic for all the things I can’t remember and the thousands of times I’ve ridden to some unknown destination. There is a freedom to riding without navigating or steering; to be able to watch the expanse unfold & collapse around me. It is humbling to be in the presence of such beauty. The world is so quiet.
I have a habit of falling in love with souls who have yet to be at peace with their bodies, their minds, their weaknesses. I try to build them, to find the parts of them that are missing in me.
I end up with holes in my chest.
This art is music. It stands quite apart from all the others. In it we do not recognize the copy, the repetition, of any Idea of the inner nature of the world. Yet it is such a great and exceedingly fine art, its effect on man’s innermost nature is so powerful, and it is so completely and profoundly understood by him in his innermost being as an entirely universal language, whose distinctness surpasses even that of the world of perception itself, that in it we certainly have to look for more than that exercitium arithmeticae occultum nescientis se numerare animi [exercise in arithmetic in which the mind does not know it is counting] which Leibniz took it to be.
- Arthur Schopenhauer, The World As Representation: Second Aspect (1958)
“I leave you free to be yourself, to think your thoughts, to indulge your taste, follow your inclinations, behave in any way that you decide is to your liking.” He adds, “The moment you say that, you will observe one of two things: Either your heart will resist those words and you will be exposed for the clinger and exploiter that you are; so now is the time to examine your false belief that without this person you cannot live or cannot be happy. Or your heart will pronounce the words sincerely and in that very instant all control, manipulation, exploitation, possessiveness, jealousy will drop.”