you emerged from the ether this evening, proximal in digital format; that smile, your face, your voice, all of which i had shifted into the background now rest as heavy ripples and waves, warrants for arrests to challenge my existence. my mind always awash with the best captures of you, as you took the best of me with you. what am i to do? Constantly in battle in a war that i cannot win, with losing myself. There doesn’t seem to be any moving forward only stagnancy and despondence. Maybe next time i’ll die. I doubt i’ll ever see a difference in this point of view. where do i draw the line, throughout the course of the morning? the corresponding afternoon? in the repeat of the evening? Hitting the wall, the consuming and exhausted km after Km? Eh, why bother. Time’s my damage, inconsistency and hell an exposure of self without defence. I sometimes know where I’ve been and my actions dictate where i’m heading. I lack the maturity and emotional intelligence to be able to handle the reality and burden of self nor the relics of physical and intellectual turmoil and decay. Why stay when i cannot define clear evidence of a future without being irretrievably lost within myself, without being a laborious burden…. I don’t see difference or capacity to change, or worth or action, just stray days and falling apart, and failing to thrive. So, how does one survive with limited capacity?
I am interior to it: betwixt the chaos; the plush and jawboned surfaces, the people, seams, codes, architecture entangled in composition, proportions of propped pompous rhymes and rhythm: discord and hushed hues, awash with stretched watercolour, totalling the echoes of complaints, questions and processes:
At some point your brain chooses, either you walk that line to continue or you lie down and die. – What is the purpose of human existence? It is apparent that I am at a point of divergence. Not on whether to live or to die, that’s simple, – we all die, it’s a matter of when. I cannot make anyone else understand if I do not understand it fully myself, understand that I feel everything, paradoxically, that I feel nothing, or dilute. I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand or know myself, nor will anyone else. – This fault is my own, accumulation of the past, the present, the future. The denial of all three perhaps. – The unease, the tension, anxiety, stress, worry, fear, obsession, guilt, regret, I’m sure there is more. (Too much past coupled with too much time travel; inadequate in explanation, because I don’t fully understand myself.)– Then neither does anyone else. – It’s not easy as making a difference in a choice, or priority. “Make getting well your job” well, I have fucking tried for a lifetime so it seems, uh arduous, it’s exhausting just being… you know. So.. ugh. It’s fine. It’s difficult to see past things, even when they are transparent at times, you know. Everyone needs.. Something, space, place, time, concepts, purpose.. Something.. I don’t know what exactly that is only that it shouldn’t be interior to another person.
October seems to be all encompassing; you deceive my brainwaves. Proportional – tidal, wet heavy clothing sticking to skin; I carry you around like an assemblage of lint sheathed in my pocket. Your wounds remember like words briefly, empty. You have that capacity to mark, to hurt people. I am alone in almost all daily actions, distress, contemplation, confusion, nightmares, and despondency.
I wonder briefly, at times what you feel. Anything? A glimpse of you, rather than me? Like examining the portraits/paintings. Stills. Mmm.. don’t think so, or maybe. Mm.. no.. eh. ???
Take a breath in escapism; you are after all perpetually running, and old and grey. I seem to be living in separate realities/universes and have no idea where it is that I belong, who I am, if I’m actually alive or dead.
We are all a series of moments, syphers, considerations… strung together I guess.
The people who care for you the most can hoist you to such heights in an operative instance, with that collective will they can obliterate you without a second of hesitation, forethought, with ease like the turn of a page or causal flip of a coin, the erasure of illustration. People can be vastitudes of potential, like the ocean has ripples, tides, waves, sediment and capacity. A person can apply care and compassion, empathy to another; alas no person can form or deform another person to compel them open. All one can do is be still in an allowance of simplicity and silence, perched still in the midst the interval; waiting to work, be pliable with that ensuing openness, volume and capacity when it occurs. I am able to attest to lack of understanding and construction of clarity, estimate that no level of fully practiced human being understands me, as I do not understand myself, yet I do know I cannot be someone I am not. I often feel and think in an esoteric language that coincides with a thinking that cannot be defined, only felt. Each of us contain hefty anchors, in thought, emotional gags, the weight of the anchor, the ambiguity and ability to break the surface tension of water will be the precedent in the trails and endurance of a choice to sink or swim. We are all momentary.
The recesses on the hinges of my mind traveled today. Seedy back and forth in discussion for a trade agreement. A tidal wave water colour obliteration loop the feedback. Felt an equivalent to the changes and channels of an afflicted animation. Cinematic thrashing, eye provoking, life distorting. An entire new liquid lyricism sepia city, jeering like an ethics steering committee.
A mini mayhem biosphere circumventing conflict, adaption to prospect the unearthing of a nugget golden, the perspective of and association of reality.
Art is the restoration of chaos and order, discussion of defenestration, dissolution with strike of hunger/ satisfaction, bombs of improve striking semblance of Truth in galleries of the gnarled woods and ripples. Today experienced trekked improvising beings into a bemoaning tissue silo- comprising foot holds esoteric, myopic, reduction, intrinsic haze of experience, thrice travellers all guilty of adventure, challenge and revolution. Adventure is the unexpected, collection of the exploration, bouquet of time, not the stamps in the passport, rips and cloaks of time, or the heavy boots. Slow motion of gravity, appreciation of presence, tense, person-hood, Travel and exchange adventure and elongate the time waves, while navigating the discord and deadlines of the debating brainwaves. These traversing days, travellers choice recognize, catapult and empathize understood betwixt Russian roulette impart polished days. Sediment falling, impart meaning, quality, new tranquility, open captions and lungs to breathe and approach of triple distilled eyes, the self and ubiquitous solitude siphon real to life.
You are you, I am myself, we may have visited thirty countries, it’s exhausting, you lifted a veil and weighted a balancing point, everyone requires tethers, especially when everything is abstracted and connected. A person is lucky to find a single person who understands perceptions, to find two people in synchronicity and fluidity…. astonishing. I guess it never hurts to acknowledge that, even when you think you’re outnumbered by the dead, by believing in nouns that break easy, like people, because they perish, some good people like yourselves… do exist. Ha. Like a good book, read twice. I’ll have to remember to capitalize on the alchemy of language and Thank you.
Junk Sculpture at Environmental Centre
To Whom it may concern,
I am not your average detritus,
A lump, collection of consumption so epic you may consider me a Utopian epiphany.
The Psychic death of suburbia.
I am your dreams discarded,
A wasteland of entropy.
The ‘accidental’ geographic mass marketed
screaming collections of ongoing jutting electric Eclectic relocated Human Egos.
static and stoic,
Iceberg and wonderland of One.
While you were away,
fleeting moments they did smile,
shine down surmise and expand exponential growth for miles .
Wander a path of flow, anchored, rooted in entanglement
Edging tiny parts poised and positioned
Exotic Limbs and handles,
forming a foreign new country of settlement
Forging an epidemic
Were your homes too tiny to re-establish
Your bones too fragile to carry your own burdens?
If you were here, you would be home by now.
Nostalgia critic, aghast the premise of your once loved treasures.
Bloated by diplomatic, automatic, climatic selfies.
Reboot, Uplift and Recycle
discarded remains morphine to my skeletal seethed empire of adaption.
Pack and pick my bones.
Encrusted, awash with untold stories of your memories.
Now my treasures.
Winged, sedated environments split doors wide open
A galley of existence
A Threshold to the nexus of a reality that you should know.
enter this shock, make peace with your errors, grow new bones, paper tigers.
To Be Bold, Genuine and Honest. Advocate. Change.
All the armor and ignorance in the world cannot lend you protection.
I’m making my way towards you.
Asking the right questions, divergent thinking, . Gaining the right behavioural skills for revised training. We are constantly Exploring new behavorial management skill sets what about the needed push for improvement in behavioural economics
Years ago, a leading American teaching hospital admitted a 21-month-old boy we’ll call Kevin. He was pale and withdrawn, drastically underweight, had constant ear infections and was refusing to eat. He’d been neglected by his parents.
A young doctor took charge of his case. He hated having to draw blood from Kevin’s emaciated body and noticed the boy refused to eat after being poked with needles. Intuitively, he kept invasive testing to the minimum and instead tried to provide the boy with a caring environment. Kevin began to eat and his condition improved.
But the young doctor’s superiors didn’t approve of his unconventional efforts. So a host of specialists, each interested in applying a particular diagnostic technology, set out to find the cause of the boy’s illness. If he dies without a diagnosis, we’ve failed, they reasoned. Over the next nine weeks Kevin was subjected to batteries of tests, which revealed nothing decisive. He stopped eating again, so the specialists sought to counter the combined effects of infection, starvation and testing with intravenous nutrition lines and blood transfusions.
But Kevin died before his next scheduled test. The doctors continued testing at the autopsy, hoping to find the hidden cause. One doctor commented: “Why, at one time he had three IV drips going at once! He was spared no test to find out what was really going on. He died in spite of everything we did!”
That story is told by a distinguished German psychologist, Gerd Gigerenzer, of the Max Planck Institute, in what many academics would call his hugely “counter-intuitive” book, Gut Feelings.
But here’s the trick: what university-trained people are encouraged to regard as “intuitive” isn’t intuitive at all. It’s what all their learning has led them to believe is the right way to think or act. In this, academic sense of the word, it was the specialists who were acting intuitively: their training told them they couldn’t begin to help the boy until they’d first correctly diagnosed his problem.
Thanks to this way of thinking, they tested him until their actions helped to kill him. But the way Gigerenzer uses the word, it was the young doctor who acted on his intuition, casting his professional training aside and trusting his gut feelings.
Gigerenzer’s point? In this particular case, the young doctor was right to trust his instinct and his better-trained and more experienced superiors were led astray by all their learning.
What’s more, he claims, cases where relying on your gut feelings rather than on careful analysis leads to better decisions are surprisingly common.
But such a conclusion – itself based on Gigerenzer’s scientific (if controversial) research – is, in the academic sense of the term, hugely counter-intuitive. It’s the opposite of what educated people would expect.
It’s a mistake to imagine only economic rationalists are on about rationality. Ever since the Enlightenment of the 17th and 18th centuries, virtually all university teaching has stressed the need for reasoned, logical analysis. You make decisions by gathering all the relevant information you can, then weighing it up carefully and logically.
Economic rationalists assume that’s the way we really do make decisions. But the American psychologist Daniel Kahneman – whose life’s work is beautifully summarised in his book Thinking, Fast and Slow – won the Nobel prize in economics for demonstrating that the vast majority of the decisions we make are made unconsciously, instantaneously and instinctively.
Kahneman showed that these unconscious, snap decisions are based on deeply ingrained mental short-cuts, or rules of thumb, which psychologists call “heuristics”. He further argued that a lot of these heuristics are illogical and so cause us to make many bad decisions. This is the basis for the title of the well-known book by the behavioural economist Dan Ariely, Predictably Irrational.
But this is where Gigerenzer begs to differ. He argues that in many but not all circumstances, the heuristics we use lead to good decisions – better decisions than we’d make if we took the time to gather more information and think the decision through.
And this is true even though many heuristics seem to the educated mind to be illogical. Why? Because we often must make decisions almost instantly, because deliberation can get in the way of our unconscious motor skills, because gathering information has costs (not all of which are monetary), because the future is uncertain no matter how much we know about the past, and because of our “cognitive limitations” – too much information confuses us and makes us indecisive. What’s more, some information can mislead us, containing “more noise than signal”.
Gigerenzer’s research contradicts two core beliefs of economists and other rationalists: more information is always better and more choice is always better. Rather than building complex decision-making systems that take account of as many factors as possible, we should search for “fast and frugal” decision rules that are shown to work most of the time. Spending less time on some decisions can actually improve them.
Relying on intuition or gut feelings isn’t acting on impulse or caprice. This is because our brain’s use of its intelligence isn’t necessarily conscious or deliberate.
“The intelligence of the unconscious is in knowing, without thinking, which rule is likely to work in which situation,” he says.
“What seem to be ‘limitations’ of the mind can actually be its strengths.”
The logic-based approach to decision-making “assumes that minds function like calculating machines and ignores our evolved capacities, including cognitive abilities and social instincts. Yet these capacities come for free and enable fast and simple solutions for complex problems …
“Logic and related deliberate systems have monopolised the Western philosophy of the mind for too long. Yet logic is only one of many useful tools the mind can acquire. The mind, in my view, can be seen as an adaptive toolbox with genetically, culturally and individually created and transmitted rules of thumb,” he concludes.
Don’t get Gigerenzer wrong. His line of argument is in no way anti-intellectual. Rather, he’s used his intellect and the scientific method to challenge conventional thinking about how our intellect works.
(Photos by Zhenya Grinshteyn)
Amazing, AMAZING photos today from by photographer Zhenya Grinshteyn exploring the soon-to-be demolished Greystone Psychiatric Hospital in Morris Plains, New Jersey.
Check out more photos, and some background on the buildings, below…
View original post 427 more words
“Relief Printing” – exactly that. Literally. Entrenched in ink, the static composition of synchronicity between lines, bombastic colour and a juxtaposed adaption of jettisoned rejection. Slips and the reversal of images. The print feeds and aborts, becomes vulnerable. Freedom and casual risk combine with an ability to acquiesce that which quenches the thirst for sharpness, the need for good design and the absorption of knowledge. Leaving curiosity to play with anguish, antagonism and discord, free will roams without rest in places that offer desire. Poorly thought out lines later transfer to paper, leaving a blotchy, superfluous, semi-vagrant spectrum of colour, translated by the eye into marks and nouns.
Science tells us that
the entire world gravitates
that every atom
holding our fragile lives together
is falling apart.
Those 2 A.M. nights
when the salt water
in your lungs burned
and you couldn’t see a way out-
The boy who stabbed you with smiles-
Your brave sister,
your hopeless father,
your beautiful mother-
falling apart.So, what’s the point, kid?
If we’re all marching toward an impending doom,
what’s the fucking point?
Science doesn’t tell us what to do
before the chaos we’re all hurtling toward.
And kid, that’s because science is full of shit.
Science only tells us the outcome,
not the desperately important in-between bits-
the ugly and terrible and painful,
the magnificent and lovely and magical
bits that sew up a life.So, kid, you’ve got to live,
and not just that stoic existence you’ve
been stomping trough all this time.
You’ve got to be kind,
you’ve got to fall in love,
fall out of love,
no matter how much it hurts
because my god,
it’s worth it.
Don’t let the world turn you to stone;
you’ve got to feel.
your heart will threaten
to march right out of your chest
because you’re so fucking full of it all-
of the people,
the endless days,
the eternal nights-
and kid, that’s fine.
Courage isn’t measured by the
number of people you’ve turned away
or by the counts of the nights you’ve
spent alone because you refuse to
give someone the chance to love you.
Being alone is not poetic;
you’ve got to let them in.
Let them peel back your skin
and waltz into your bloodstream
and love them,
And finally, kid,
your life has already begun.
Chaos is already underway.
… I wish, I wish, You guys could have read this…
|—||Emily Palermo, A Lesson in Entropy|
You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.
Generally, by the time you are real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes don’t see as well and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. “But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand. – The Velveteen Rabbit