Friday
Plato's Symposium
"According to Greek mythology, humans were born with 4 arms, 4 legs and a head with 2 faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives finding their other halves." - Plato's Symposium
Individualists -- Erich Fromm
Most people are not even aware of their need to conform. They live under the illusion that they follow their own ideas and inclinations, that they are individualists that they have arrived at their opinions as the result of their own thinking--and that it just happens that their ideas are the same as those of the majority.
wisdom
Man of all ages and cultures is
confronted with the solution of one and the same question: the
question of how to overcome separateness, how to achieve union, how
to transcend one's own individual life and find at-atonement. The
question is the same for primitive man in caves, for nomadic man
taking care of his flocks, for the peasant in Egypt, the Phoenician
trader, the Roman soldier, the medieval monk, the Japanese samurai,
the modern clerk and factory hand.
The question can be answered by animal
worship, by human sacrifice or military conquest, by indulgence in
luxury, by ascetic renunciation, by obsessional work, by artistic
creation, by the love of God, by artistic creation and by the love of Man.
It becomes a desperate attempt to
escape the anxiety engendered by separateness, and it results in an
ever increasing sense of separateness, since the sexual act without
love never bridges the gap between two human beings, except
momentarily.
Tuesday
Monday
Thursday
Tuesday
Monday
Sunday
Friday
Wednesday
Documentations of my life.
I had a very different life when I started writing this blog. I made the mistake of deleting posts that were relevant to my past life out of anger and bitterness.. certainly shouldn't have have done that. When I was a young teenager, I set out to document and remember the timeline of my line in the form of writing, as ambiguous and mysterious as it is, as well as photographs which I've definitely succeeded in, so far.
The act of actually going to particular posts, and henceforth deleting them is such a horrifyingly violent act... I get angrier at myself just thinking that I dared do such a thing. It's equivalent to removing those memories and permanently discarding of them... the words I wrote in those moments, at the height of my feelings towards whatever was going on at the time... to actively make the disappear is just so awful. I wish I had never done that.
I wrote something terribly brilliant on the train back to Queens in late January of 2009, I was at the height of something great in my life and I luckily had my laptop with me so i proceeded to write down exactly how I felt towards certain things in my life at that moment. It was incredibly. I wrote the greatest thing I could ever remember to come out of my mind. I wish I could remember what I wrote.
For a further explanation: the reason for my wanting to document my life is that I tend to forget things easily, not purposefully... it's just, my mind seems to be a sieve and I could never understand why but alas, I found a remedy... a reason for my wanting to document things. So I can reread them, so I can look at the photographs, and thus recall what had happened on that day. This is my mechanism, my found method... and I'm sure millions of people do the same thing. This works for me, and I see no fault in it.
The act of actually going to particular posts, and henceforth deleting them is such a horrifyingly violent act... I get angrier at myself just thinking that I dared do such a thing. It's equivalent to removing those memories and permanently discarding of them... the words I wrote in those moments, at the height of my feelings towards whatever was going on at the time... to actively make the disappear is just so awful. I wish I had never done that.
I wrote something terribly brilliant on the train back to Queens in late January of 2009, I was at the height of something great in my life and I luckily had my laptop with me so i proceeded to write down exactly how I felt towards certain things in my life at that moment. It was incredibly. I wrote the greatest thing I could ever remember to come out of my mind. I wish I could remember what I wrote.
For a further explanation: the reason for my wanting to document my life is that I tend to forget things easily, not purposefully... it's just, my mind seems to be a sieve and I could never understand why but alas, I found a remedy... a reason for my wanting to document things. So I can reread them, so I can look at the photographs, and thus recall what had happened on that day. This is my mechanism, my found method... and I'm sure millions of people do the same thing. This works for me, and I see no fault in it.
desires and actions
A desire presupposes the possibility of action to achieve it; action presupposes a goal which is worth achieving.
How strange it is to be anything at all.
An observation
I think the only reason people hold on to memories so tightly is because memories are the only things that don't really change when everybody else does.
Tuesday
Sunday
a solid truth.
if you ever want something badly, let it go. If it comes back to you,
then it's yours forever. If it doesn't, then it was never yours to begin with.
Lana Del Rey, my recent obsession. She is a goddess.
then it's yours forever. If it doesn't, then it was never yours to begin with.
Lana Del Rey, my recent obsession. She is a goddess.
Friday
Brand New - The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot (LIVE HD)
And it hurts to hold on, but it's missed when it's gone.
Wednesday
I was always an unusual girl.
I was in the winter of my life…and the men I met along the road were my only summer. At night I fell asleep with visions of myself dancing and laughing and crying with them. Three years down the line of being on an endless road toward and my memories of them were the only things that sustained me…and my only real happy times. I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet. But a plan and a series of unfortunate events saw those dreams dash and divide like a million stars in the night sky, that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken. But I didn’t really mind it because I knew that, that it takes getting everything you ever wanted and then losing it, to know what true freedom is.
And when the people I used to know found out what I’d been doing, how I’d been living…they asked me why, but there’s no use in talking to people who have a home. They have no idea what it’s like to seek safety in other people…for a home to be wherever you lie your head.
I was always an unusual girl. My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality. Just a hint of indecisiveness that was just as wide and wavering as the ocean. And if I said I didn't plan for it to turn out this way, I’d be lying…because I was born to be the other woman. I belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone. Who had nothing, who wanted everything. With a fire for every experience, and an obsession for freedom, that terrified me to the point that I couldn't even talk about it. And pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me.
And when the people I used to know found out what I’d been doing, how I’d been living…they asked me why, but there’s no use in talking to people who have a home. They have no idea what it’s like to seek safety in other people…for a home to be wherever you lie your head.
I was always an unusual girl. My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality. Just a hint of indecisiveness that was just as wide and wavering as the ocean. And if I said I didn't plan for it to turn out this way, I’d be lying…because I was born to be the other woman. I belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone. Who had nothing, who wanted everything. With a fire for every experience, and an obsession for freedom, that terrified me to the point that I couldn't even talk about it. And pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me.
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