Technology, it's one of those fascinating things. Take Virtual Reality, for instance. If you add not just the visual experience but an immersive sound experience; topple that with just how far robotics has come along. Now, for just a nano-lapse, picture an engineered hybrid from both fields, that of technology as in virtual reality and that of sex with a doll.
Come into the scene: a virtual reality world that not only can you see, but also touch, even smell and feel.
Virtual sex with a sensory-wrapped sex doll that takes human form before our eyes through the sensual mimicry of technology (how did Apple ever get away with the "I-Touch"?), a perpetuated ritual is such a self-absorption, the theatrical moves we take towards attaining that which fascinates us, the adopted roles each one of us partakes in order to achieve a projected reality, some imagine such vividly, fully depicted and therefore more realizable and tangible. Others serve as mental cock-blocks, dwell in a lethargic, self-defeating effort that boils down to fearing it more than wanting it. And not that there's anything more wrong than living your life in fear, but worse yet many of us don't know just how much we fear and how little we really try. To paraphrase Kafka, take an ax to the frozen sea within and chop, chop. It's too cold outdoors to be indifferent inside, drop the act and walk without beating around the bush of your ego, loose the pretense, dare to, go ahead and give chase, hunt down big prey, play the part that strikes only the utmost soulful cord. Walk barefooted, as naked as the ash that dances above the burning flame, the little fragile particles of carbon deluded in the winter air. How you breath when you just ran a few miles and how water tastes then, it's how food tastes when you've fastened till noon or been on a juice diet. You can only fasten others for so long before they starve; toss them some bones, let them sink their teeth in your flesh, suck your wound dry.
We may not fully realize how much of mere bad actors we are throughout the course of our lives, all because we take this fantasy of ours for reality, instead of seeing ourselves as collaborators in this piece. We can depose of roles and sketches of which we disapprove, or make a bold move that's not so far out of the realm of things we can make happen. Little by little, like an invisible existential thread that saws moment to the very next, laughter, sorrow, all the intricacies that make up this phenomenon we call life. Painful, no doubt; that much Buddhism has attested to. And not all pleasure leads to pain, it's what the ancients had wrong: we can have our way, the highway, and midway paths in life. Take a hard look at yourself: are you better off than you were a few weeks ago? A few months? In a few days, you can improve in little, measurable ways. Who said entities could not be quantified? We all know what we like and if it is what we are doing, after spending our days doing other people's deeds, living according to the delusion other people in our lives has conformed us to. What is necessary here happened already, we need to fight back with teeth and nails and sheer willpower, and claim some of the glory we've denied ourselves for far too long. Be a good closer. Don't wait around forever. Step out of your comfort zone. It's life that awaits on the other side of the line, so make sure you answer its call.
Come into the scene: a virtual reality world that not only can you see, but also touch, even smell and feel.
Virtual sex with a sensory-wrapped sex doll that takes human form before our eyes through the sensual mimicry of technology (how did Apple ever get away with the "I-Touch"?), a perpetuated ritual is such a self-absorption, the theatrical moves we take towards attaining that which fascinates us, the adopted roles each one of us partakes in order to achieve a projected reality, some imagine such vividly, fully depicted and therefore more realizable and tangible. Others serve as mental cock-blocks, dwell in a lethargic, self-defeating effort that boils down to fearing it more than wanting it. And not that there's anything more wrong than living your life in fear, but worse yet many of us don't know just how much we fear and how little we really try. To paraphrase Kafka, take an ax to the frozen sea within and chop, chop. It's too cold outdoors to be indifferent inside, drop the act and walk without beating around the bush of your ego, loose the pretense, dare to, go ahead and give chase, hunt down big prey, play the part that strikes only the utmost soulful cord. Walk barefooted, as naked as the ash that dances above the burning flame, the little fragile particles of carbon deluded in the winter air. How you breath when you just ran a few miles and how water tastes then, it's how food tastes when you've fastened till noon or been on a juice diet. You can only fasten others for so long before they starve; toss them some bones, let them sink their teeth in your flesh, suck your wound dry.
We may not fully realize how much of mere bad actors we are throughout the course of our lives, all because we take this fantasy of ours for reality, instead of seeing ourselves as collaborators in this piece. We can depose of roles and sketches of which we disapprove, or make a bold move that's not so far out of the realm of things we can make happen. Little by little, like an invisible existential thread that saws moment to the very next, laughter, sorrow, all the intricacies that make up this phenomenon we call life. Painful, no doubt; that much Buddhism has attested to. And not all pleasure leads to pain, it's what the ancients had wrong: we can have our way, the highway, and midway paths in life. Take a hard look at yourself: are you better off than you were a few weeks ago? A few months? In a few days, you can improve in little, measurable ways. Who said entities could not be quantified? We all know what we like and if it is what we are doing, after spending our days doing other people's deeds, living according to the delusion other people in our lives has conformed us to. What is necessary here happened already, we need to fight back with teeth and nails and sheer willpower, and claim some of the glory we've denied ourselves for far too long. Be a good closer. Don't wait around forever. Step out of your comfort zone. It's life that awaits on the other side of the line, so make sure you answer its call.
Fights we engage in throughout the course of our lives. We should pick them carefully; sometimes, it is absolutely mandatory that a course of action has to be taken: either trying a different approach, see if a thing has a way around it. Luckily, there are always things to be taken care of, fights to pick, people to meet, friends to have.
Oh I know, I'm an ogre. I rarely go out. If I do, it's usually a local spot for a four or five beers, and then head home. It's been ages since I fell asleep after midnight, often down by 11 pm, even when I get a day off. Sure, I'll have two or three beers, max out at four beers, Negra Modelo, if not Coors, Heineken, Aguila, Corona, Presidente, Blue Moon draft, or a beer whatever the case may be.
Work keeps me busy and it's a healthy environment. It's a mini-universe of what the world out there could and should be: courteous, firm
I get to interact with neat people, being exposed to some many people, one after the other, having to some extent the obligation to engage them visually first, verbally second, and politely. What you do takes notices by everyone around, so you need to assert yourself but manage to do so without coming across as arrogant given your good looks. You won't give yourself away either. Give people space initially, let them get use to your presence and be cordial, effective and impersonal. Sometimes, people will want to get a reaction from you. What happens is, work is work, and then there's play, and it usually isn't a good idea to mix the two.
I can't say that means anything other than just an imaginary barrier that I often pose. Like Trump's wall proposal, there's just some madness to it that fascinates and catches the general imagination. It's that things as good as they may seem can sometimes rile-up, go wild and all out. Things are never the same for long, for not even a fraction of a second. Everything and everyone is all one-singular being, a whole, and the fact that we see each other as separate nothing more than an optical illusion. It may be scary to find that all the noble ideas we hold oh so dear are truly devoid of meaning other than the one we give them.
Things and people will respond to the energy with which you come across them. You gotta leave them with a positive-lasting impression. The more you create that energy for you by not being judgmental, by being indifferent to rudeness, by extending a hand once in a while but mostly keeping to yourself. Of course, you'll be open to a select few but there are no sacred cows in this clan of mine. It's just me-myself-and-yo.
It is as if you were to remain still, stay quiet inside. It's here where we reside. Your eyes are full with
Of course, others have a special place in our collective mind whether we acknowledge it or not. We can get used to one another, dependent on each other from time to time, really miss someone or go days without taking a bath. You can be all down and out laying in bed at home, blaming the world for the misfortunes and slights suffered. Why God? Why, you ask, as if anything would care answer. No one hears your prayers. That much we know, those who really know, know that no one awaits for us in the afterlife and therein judges our character and behavior here on earth while alive, pending a celestial gift, the reason why we must fear how we go about essential issues in our lives: women, sex, the nasty little creature that we really are. Religion, as Nietzsche wrote in the Antichrist, denies us of that which is just as human as are our instincts, our primal impulses, lust, wickedness [so long as you don't expect more than a legal slap in the wrist, I guess we're all guilty, all sinners, so why try to kiss up to a stuck-up like that?], no one gets arrested for "sinning". These things, in small degrees, spice up our routines, we're not saints that it won't make us evil. And if need be, we should be face evil with the same amount of ferocity. What's evil is not our actions in the eyes of a neutral God who sees it all but rarely speaks except if it's a faithful lunatic who'd
That system is not only atrocious, ineffective and ill-conceived, it really doesn't make much sense.
That system is not only atrocious, ineffective and ill-conceived, it really doesn't make much sense.
Of course, if that's your cup of tea, drink up.
God is just one less imaginary friend in life. Not that I discount its functionalities, it's actually fun wake up in the middle of the night in cold sweat and think that there's a demon out to get me for all the blasphemy inferred. Instead it's nothing but darkness, absolute darkness creeping in between the sheets at night and the winter hasn't been this cold in decades, a woman sleeping next to you is all you need sometimes, someone to grab by the hair and drag around the room for the sake of killing boredom on its tracks. Teach oblivion a lesson or two, build more that'll last a lifetime, work secretly on yourself and shoot for the stars, a good book will want to be read to the end and it has dull moments, like everything and everyone everywhere; over time, things collapse, rid themselves of their encumbered posture, fall prey to the impartial passage of time. Is time really "impartial"? Does it rule over everyone the same way? If that were the case, there'd be no reason to ask anyone's age. We can guess but sometimes people do not look their age, not by a whole lot. If you're in your forties, and you still get suspiciously asked for a photo I.D., if people react surprised when you tell them you were born early in March, 1974.
Says Mom: "You were a big baby, even though your dad's family never grew beyond 5 foot 7 inches, it's fair to say at 6 feet and half an inch tall, you're the giant of that family." On top of that, mother named me Boris, as a Russian ex boyfriend's of hers. Eventually, I accepted that my name was unique and not all that bad but really, mom? I was supposed to be named Oscar, like dad, but they had a fight shortly before my baptism and I was baptized Boris. My parents come from a primitive world, at that time and age men were free to abandon their wives with their young, and face little trouble other than social recrimination. They grew up in the sixties, a generation that struggled with the new found freedoms. Sexual freedom, the pill, abortion rights, hippies, gay movements, except they were born in a country in South America. There, laws and institutions were not as lenient, times were tough but lower instincts prevailed: my father abandoned my mother, only coming every couple of years to get her pregnant. She finally cut him loose after the third child; she was never that bright. Cleverness hit her later on in life and she got to play a rich man's mistress. He set her up to live in a decent neighborhood, paid school for her children, we were picked up by a yellow school bus like the ones we had seen in some foreign films. We will in time become foreign to all these images, as if our sentiments had migrated as well, as if whatever it was we suffered took hold in this other realm where poverty does not exist. Not in the way that we conceive of poverty, not just a lack of resources or debts incurred, much-much worse: having to worry every single day what were we going to do in order to eat that day. Yet there was much worse than that. I don't remember going without eating for more than breakfast days, but there were people who didn't have where to live and they did not live on the streets. Families were more united in misery than they're in prosperity. Prosperity tends to dissolve unnecessary human bonds. And it probably is for the best, but poor people helped one another and there were times that other people's help really meant something awesome, more than charity, acts of generosity never go unnoticed. Besides, giving feels great, too. When you do so, you become a larger than life figure, if you do so humbly, and not just to show off. It's okay to want to show off in good fashion, like buying everyone coffee, but it's best to get into the habit of giving not just all in a single offering, and do so with those who deserve your time and will feel flattered by your efforts. Forget trying to impress those who will never see in you much more than their own flaws and failures. Others will treat you just as poorly as they've been treated, if you allow it. You can keep your prudent distance, be cordial and discreet and collectedly open if confronted. Be the one that listens and deflates a situation, bow if you must to save your head, but don't live on your knees. Fight the good fight, keep noble, be a gentleman, dress impeccably, keep the hygiene, the well-rested and meditated spirit. I've seen scarcity, it feeds off our debauchery and lust for life, the fever of romantic bonds, the vices and obsessions we keep.
Those who don't use drugs, use morals.
Says Mom: "You were a big baby, even though your dad's family never grew beyond 5 foot 7 inches, it's fair to say at 6 feet and half an inch tall, you're the giant of that family." On top of that, mother named me Boris, as a Russian ex boyfriend's of hers. Eventually, I accepted that my name was unique and not all that bad but really, mom? I was supposed to be named Oscar, like dad, but they had a fight shortly before my baptism and I was baptized Boris. My parents come from a primitive world, at that time and age men were free to abandon their wives with their young, and face little trouble other than social recrimination. They grew up in the sixties, a generation that struggled with the new found freedoms. Sexual freedom, the pill, abortion rights, hippies, gay movements, except they were born in a country in South America. There, laws and institutions were not as lenient, times were tough but lower instincts prevailed: my father abandoned my mother, only coming every couple of years to get her pregnant. She finally cut him loose after the third child; she was never that bright. Cleverness hit her later on in life and she got to play a rich man's mistress. He set her up to live in a decent neighborhood, paid school for her children, we were picked up by a yellow school bus like the ones we had seen in some foreign films. We will in time become foreign to all these images, as if our sentiments had migrated as well, as if whatever it was we suffered took hold in this other realm where poverty does not exist. Not in the way that we conceive of poverty, not just a lack of resources or debts incurred, much-much worse: having to worry every single day what were we going to do in order to eat that day. Yet there was much worse than that. I don't remember going without eating for more than breakfast days, but there were people who didn't have where to live and they did not live on the streets. Families were more united in misery than they're in prosperity. Prosperity tends to dissolve unnecessary human bonds. And it probably is for the best, but poor people helped one another and there were times that other people's help really meant something awesome, more than charity, acts of generosity never go unnoticed. Besides, giving feels great, too. When you do so, you become a larger than life figure, if you do so humbly, and not just to show off. It's okay to want to show off in good fashion, like buying everyone coffee, but it's best to get into the habit of giving not just all in a single offering, and do so with those who deserve your time and will feel flattered by your efforts. Forget trying to impress those who will never see in you much more than their own flaws and failures. Others will treat you just as poorly as they've been treated, if you allow it. You can keep your prudent distance, be cordial and discreet and collectedly open if confronted. Be the one that listens and deflates a situation, bow if you must to save your head, but don't live on your knees. Fight the good fight, keep noble, be a gentleman, dress impeccably, keep the hygiene, the well-rested and meditated spirit. I've seen scarcity, it feeds off our debauchery and lust for life, the fever of romantic bonds, the vices and obsessions we keep.
Those who don't use drugs, use morals.
No comments:
Post a Comment