I want the Angel of Unconsciousness to come
to relief my body from this pain
I want the sleep to flood my mind
to release these strains of mine
I want the Fairy of Rest to whisper in my ear
Peacefully, to erase my fear
and let the drowsiness appear
I want the Seraph of Calm to sing for me
to let the song fill the room and enchant me,
Soothing my nerves and bringing the tranquillity
I want the Queen of Insentient to caress my cheek
until I sink into the oblivion of lovely dark sleep,
warm and safe slip in to the void so deep
I want the Empress of Dreams to invite me in
to show me the wonders of the world,
and all the places I’ve never been
to let me play in her emerald tower,
carefree like a child for an hour
Hiding from the dreary and grey,
from the harshness of the day,
unburdened for a few hours
seeking adventures and magic of a land so far away
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
Evolving - Acceptance, transition and catharsis
It’s a transitional phase right now, can you feel it? Every nerve in my body is responding to it, and I can also see it in the people around me. It’s affecting my mind, and my body, the brain is almost on overload processing things around me, things from my past, present and future. And when I'm able to shut down the brain to get some sleep, the body doesn’t wake up for at least ten hours; it’s like the body also is going through some kind of transition that requires a lot of sleep.
Even the plants in my apartment seem to respond to the change, growing new leafs, budding, bursting in to bloom.
The transition is not good, or bad, it’s a little bit of both. To be able to reach further, evolve, you are forced to leave some things behind; you can’t take them all into the future.
Some of the things that will slip into the past are bad thing, wounds that now are healed, problems solved, burdens and annoyances that will no longer trouble you. But some of the things you are leaving behind are good things, beloved friends, special relationships, security and certainty, and it hurts. It’s hard to let go. To let it happen. To accept.
Yesterday it dawned on me that one of the most precious things in my life is now nothing more than a cherished memory. She was the sun, the meaning of life, the pure essence of friendship, the embodiment of all good, my kin spirit, my guardian angel, the shoulder to cry on and the safe haven to rest in while the storm is raging.
This is not my place anymore; she is not my significant other in the same way anymore, I’ve known that for some time now. I made a choice two and a half years ago, I chose a different path, and the damage could not be undone. As I said; I’ve known this for some time now, but yesterday came the acceptance accompanied by pain.
Today I burst into tears, while reading, the text elucidates another loss to me. It was a beautiful text, about a beautiful person and a beautiful event. It made me happy, but also incredible sorrow-stricken. I recognized what the text was describing, and it took me back to those moments and feelings, concretized what I lost, what I chose to exclude. The tears weren’t just tears of sadness, they were also tears of joy, and ultimately they are the tears of my catharsis.
There’s yet another loss, but I don’t talk about it, because it doesn’t make sense to me - the unnecessary loss of a kin. It’s hard to accept or talk about something you don’t understand.
The past is unfolding behind me, claiming ownership of things dear to me but at the same time, clearing the way for my future.
It’s been a quarter of a century this year and I think the caterpillar which have been in a chrysalis stage for some time now will break out of the cocoon and finally transform in to a butterfly. But it’s painful and scary, and you don’t know what the future holds.
Even the plants in my apartment seem to respond to the change, growing new leafs, budding, bursting in to bloom.
The transition is not good, or bad, it’s a little bit of both. To be able to reach further, evolve, you are forced to leave some things behind; you can’t take them all into the future.
Some of the things that will slip into the past are bad thing, wounds that now are healed, problems solved, burdens and annoyances that will no longer trouble you. But some of the things you are leaving behind are good things, beloved friends, special relationships, security and certainty, and it hurts. It’s hard to let go. To let it happen. To accept.
Yesterday it dawned on me that one of the most precious things in my life is now nothing more than a cherished memory. She was the sun, the meaning of life, the pure essence of friendship, the embodiment of all good, my kin spirit, my guardian angel, the shoulder to cry on and the safe haven to rest in while the storm is raging.
This is not my place anymore; she is not my significant other in the same way anymore, I’ve known that for some time now. I made a choice two and a half years ago, I chose a different path, and the damage could not be undone. As I said; I’ve known this for some time now, but yesterday came the acceptance accompanied by pain.
Today I burst into tears, while reading, the text elucidates another loss to me. It was a beautiful text, about a beautiful person and a beautiful event. It made me happy, but also incredible sorrow-stricken. I recognized what the text was describing, and it took me back to those moments and feelings, concretized what I lost, what I chose to exclude. The tears weren’t just tears of sadness, they were also tears of joy, and ultimately they are the tears of my catharsis.
There’s yet another loss, but I don’t talk about it, because it doesn’t make sense to me - the unnecessary loss of a kin. It’s hard to accept or talk about something you don’t understand.
The past is unfolding behind me, claiming ownership of things dear to me but at the same time, clearing the way for my future.
It’s been a quarter of a century this year and I think the caterpillar which have been in a chrysalis stage for some time now will break out of the cocoon and finally transform in to a butterfly. But it’s painful and scary, and you don’t know what the future holds.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Fixing things that are broken
I just fixed two items in my home that broke during a house party. I usually don’t like stuff, objects -at lest not owning them, it makes me feel rooted, stuck, fixed. Owning material objects makes me inflexible, gives a feeling of (unwanted) responsibility and it also adds a bit of guilt.
But I find a strange consolidation in putting material objects back together – fixing them.
I can really understand why people choose to work in the repair business. It got this very attractive simplicity to it, the pleasant satisfaction you get from the process of putting thing right.
It’s not so easy with people – when they break its much more complicated to fix.
First of all it’s very hard to tell if someone is broken, it’s not always visible on the outside.
Secondly it’s not clear what “fixed” should look like, which are the characteristics of an undamaged person?
Aren’t the guiding principles for “undamaged” just a normative statement by the currently dominant view within a society? And what evidence do we have that these principles themselves aren’t responsible for our brokenness? The history reveals that the description of sound and sane isn’t static or universal in any way. It seems to me as a highly arbitrary construction….sane, healthy, sound, happy…
Third, How do you mend a broken person? Since we can’t with certainty discern the characteristics of an undamaged person, it’s hard to come up with a remedy for a broken one. Without a destination it’s hard to set the course of action…
But people still break. Everyday.
break them selves.
break others.
get broken….
It breaks my heart.
And we don’t know how to fix it.
The closest thing I found that even resembles some kind of remedy for a broken person is a hug and/or a friendly word.
But it’s not a fix…it’s more like a temporary band-aid to stop the bleeding…
Material objects are sympathetic in that way - they are easy to fix.
But I find a strange consolidation in putting material objects back together – fixing them.
I can really understand why people choose to work in the repair business. It got this very attractive simplicity to it, the pleasant satisfaction you get from the process of putting thing right.
It’s not so easy with people – when they break its much more complicated to fix.
First of all it’s very hard to tell if someone is broken, it’s not always visible on the outside.
Secondly it’s not clear what “fixed” should look like, which are the characteristics of an undamaged person?
Aren’t the guiding principles for “undamaged” just a normative statement by the currently dominant view within a society? And what evidence do we have that these principles themselves aren’t responsible for our brokenness? The history reveals that the description of sound and sane isn’t static or universal in any way. It seems to me as a highly arbitrary construction….sane, healthy, sound, happy…
Third, How do you mend a broken person? Since we can’t with certainty discern the characteristics of an undamaged person, it’s hard to come up with a remedy for a broken one. Without a destination it’s hard to set the course of action…
But people still break. Everyday.
break them selves.
break others.
get broken….
It breaks my heart.
And we don’t know how to fix it.
The closest thing I found that even resembles some kind of remedy for a broken person is a hug and/or a friendly word.
But it’s not a fix…it’s more like a temporary band-aid to stop the bleeding…
Material objects are sympathetic in that way - they are easy to fix.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Dirt talk- Thoughts on Language and Sex
Language. It’s mind-blowing just to think about it. And when you think about it you’re trapped in it, to think about the language is to already use the language. You can not position your self outside the language to observe it in any neutral way. The thoughts are always already contaminated.
You are the language, and the language is you, inside you. The language is the source of vast possibilities, the promises of communication, creation, connection, emancipation. But it’s also the straitjacket, limiting your thoughts, actions and the very horizon of your world.
The discourse is constantly ongoing, regenerating and changing, words running like water from mouth to mouth, at the centre of all relations, the hub in the wheel of human activity. We talk, to each other, about each other, of things, writing about talk, talking about writing, acting according to scripture preaching the scripture… it reminds me about the King Crimson song “Elephant talk” …. everywhere, everyday talk, talk…
“Talk, It's only talk , Babble, Burble, Banter, Bicker, bicker, bicker, Brouhaha , Boulderdash, Ballyhoo, It's only talk, Back talk
Talk talk talk, It's only talk, Comments, Clichés, Commentary, Controversy, Chatter,
Chit-chat, Chit-chat, Chit-chat , Conversation, Contradiction, Criticism, It's only talk , Cheap talk
Talk, Talk, It's only talk , Debates, Discussions, These are words with a D this time, Dialogue, Dualogue, Diatribe, Dissention, Declamation, Double talk, Double talk
Talk, Talk, It's all talk, Too much talk, Small talk, Talk that trash, Expressions, Editorials, Expugnations, Exclamations, Enfadulations, It's all talk, Elephant talk, Elephant talk, Elephant talk”
And I would like to add: Dirty talk.
I think sex is like speech in a way, it’s always there as a backdrop of our existence. It’s something many of us do almost compulsively, and we also speak compulsively about sex. But back to the subject dirty talk…
I usually hate when people speak during sex, the discourse of an intercourse is already there -shaping how our bodies penetrate each other. But can we at least have the silence, absence from words when we fuck, to let the moaning be the dialogue.
I love the moaning. It’s also functioning as a language, but it’s a simplistic way of transferring information about pleasure or displeasure, appreciation, to tell someone to continue or stop. It doesn’t contain all the imperative practises of the spoken language, no ambition of greatness, no pretence, no vanity, no judgemental crap, no oppressive statements… free from moral or ideological assessments.
Oh joy, sexual silence, a vacation from the retarded babble that’s usually the hallmark of human contacts…
I’m not saying that dirty talk is in any way wrong, or bad, or that other people shouldn’t do it or get turned on by it. I’m just saying that when you fuck with me: shut the fuck up or get out of my bed.
You are the language, and the language is you, inside you. The language is the source of vast possibilities, the promises of communication, creation, connection, emancipation. But it’s also the straitjacket, limiting your thoughts, actions and the very horizon of your world.
The discourse is constantly ongoing, regenerating and changing, words running like water from mouth to mouth, at the centre of all relations, the hub in the wheel of human activity. We talk, to each other, about each other, of things, writing about talk, talking about writing, acting according to scripture preaching the scripture… it reminds me about the King Crimson song “Elephant talk” …. everywhere, everyday talk, talk…
“Talk, It's only talk , Babble, Burble, Banter, Bicker, bicker, bicker, Brouhaha , Boulderdash, Ballyhoo, It's only talk, Back talk
Talk talk talk, It's only talk, Comments, Clichés, Commentary, Controversy, Chatter,
Chit-chat, Chit-chat, Chit-chat , Conversation, Contradiction, Criticism, It's only talk , Cheap talk
Talk, Talk, It's only talk , Debates, Discussions, These are words with a D this time, Dialogue, Dualogue, Diatribe, Dissention, Declamation, Double talk, Double talk
Talk, Talk, It's all talk, Too much talk, Small talk, Talk that trash, Expressions, Editorials, Expugnations, Exclamations, Enfadulations, It's all talk, Elephant talk, Elephant talk, Elephant talk”
And I would like to add: Dirty talk.
I think sex is like speech in a way, it’s always there as a backdrop of our existence. It’s something many of us do almost compulsively, and we also speak compulsively about sex. But back to the subject dirty talk…
I usually hate when people speak during sex, the discourse of an intercourse is already there -shaping how our bodies penetrate each other. But can we at least have the silence, absence from words when we fuck, to let the moaning be the dialogue.
I love the moaning. It’s also functioning as a language, but it’s a simplistic way of transferring information about pleasure or displeasure, appreciation, to tell someone to continue or stop. It doesn’t contain all the imperative practises of the spoken language, no ambition of greatness, no pretence, no vanity, no judgemental crap, no oppressive statements… free from moral or ideological assessments.
Oh joy, sexual silence, a vacation from the retarded babble that’s usually the hallmark of human contacts…
I’m not saying that dirty talk is in any way wrong, or bad, or that other people shouldn’t do it or get turned on by it. I’m just saying that when you fuck with me: shut the fuck up or get out of my bed.
Stylized fucking and artificial kissing.
It was a nice fuck.
No sticky strings attached to it which could later complicate things
It was similar to a lot of other nights just like it, but this fuck distinguished itself in at least two ways;
1. the kissing felt artificial in some way, something that was there more to fit with the customs of sex rather than an actual desire to kiss your sexual partner…
2. the pure simplicity of it, just sex. No more, no less. No guilt, no love, no hate, no regrets, no complications, no obligations, no nothing. just sex.
In my youth, I used to fuck people who had the looks but an unpleasant personality, in those days I thought that it was a smart way of avoiding emotional involvement during my sexual escapades.
I gave up that strategy some years ago for a number of reasons; the point is that even those fucks still had the element of passion and kissing as innate characteristic.
This is what separates this fuck from the rest, the stylized simplicity of it.
It was a nice fuck.
No sticky strings attached to it which could later complicate things
It was similar to a lot of other nights just like it, but this fuck distinguished itself in at least two ways;
1. the kissing felt artificial in some way, something that was there more to fit with the customs of sex rather than an actual desire to kiss your sexual partner…
2. the pure simplicity of it, just sex. No more, no less. No guilt, no love, no hate, no regrets, no complications, no obligations, no nothing. just sex.
In my youth, I used to fuck people who had the looks but an unpleasant personality, in those days I thought that it was a smart way of avoiding emotional involvement during my sexual escapades.
I gave up that strategy some years ago for a number of reasons; the point is that even those fucks still had the element of passion and kissing as innate characteristic.
This is what separates this fuck from the rest, the stylized simplicity of it.
It was a nice fuck.
Welcome to a blog about Power, Knowledge and Sex
In this blog I will put my views and observances about sexuality, relational power, epistemological issues and other thoughts in to words.
This is no place for conservatism, moralist judgments, misogyny or racism.
This is a place for sexual disclosure and discussions about sex and knowledge.
I am just one of the billions of people walking around pretending to be persons. You and me and our views alone will not prove or change anything. But, just as the black swan in the problem of induction, a divergent view will at least limit the scope of generalization and certainty.
Read and comment.
/Camenes
This is no place for conservatism, moralist judgments, misogyny or racism.
This is a place for sexual disclosure and discussions about sex and knowledge.
I am just one of the billions of people walking around pretending to be persons. You and me and our views alone will not prove or change anything. But, just as the black swan in the problem of induction, a divergent view will at least limit the scope of generalization and certainty.
Read and comment.
/Camenes
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