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.........back again.........
Jan. 23rd, 2008 | 06:06 pm
........so I'm back.......again........for now..........I'm going to try to make this LJ useful........an instrument to help motivate me in my writing.......so yes.......some things might come out maniacal and absolutely absurd.........but that's okay..........you have been forewarned..
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.......blue......black..........wings.......
Dec. 9th, 2006 | 09:58 pm
mood: 
hopeful
so yeah.....I'm somewhat back.....although what parts?.....I still do not know........parts of my brain maybe.....parts of my eyes......most of my brain I think is gone.....all I can say is that I"m exhausted....yes...I almost feel like the guy in the Machinist....I might actually have surpassed him.......although I haven't started hallucinating yet.....I don't think......but anyways........all that aside...I'm trying to read again...and learn some new stuff.....maybe German....soon......here is something inspirational that I came across by Rilke:
Letter Seven
Rome
May 14, 1904
My dear Mr. Kappus,
Much time has passed since I received your last letter. Please don't hold that against me; first it was work, then a number of interruptions, and finally poor health that again and again kept me from answering, because I wanted my answer to come to you out of peaceful and happy days. Now I feel somewhat better again (the beginning of spring with its moody, bad-tempered transitions was hard to bear here too) and once again, dear Mr. Kappus, I can greet you and talk to you (which I do with real pleasure) about this and that in response to your letter, as well as I can.
You see: I have copied out your sonnet, because I found that it is lovely and simple born in the shape that it moves in with such quiet decorum. It is the best poem of yours that you have let me read. And now I am giving you this copy because I know that it is important and full of new experience to rediscover a work of one's own in someone else's handwriting. Read the poem as if you had never seen it before, and you will feel in your innermost being how very much it is your own.
It was a pleasure for me to read this sonnet and your letter, often; I thank you for both.
And you should not let yourself be confused in your solitude by the fact that there is something in you that wants to move out of it. This very wish, if you use it calmly and prudently and like a tool, will help you spread out your solitude over a great distance. Most people have (with the help of conventions) turned their solutions toward what is easy and toward the easiest side of the easy; but it is clear that we must trust in what is difficult; everything alive trusts in it, everything in Nature grows and defends itself any way it can and is spontaneously itself, tries to be itself at all costs and against all opposition. We know little, but that we must trust in what is difficult is a certainty that will never abandon us; it is good to be solitary, for solitude is difficult; that something is difficult must be one more reason for us to do it.
It is also good to love: because love is difficult. For one human being to love another human being: that is perhaps the most difficult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the final test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation. That is why young people, who are beginners in everything, are not yet capable of love: it is something they must learn. With their whole being, with all their forces, gathered around their solitary, anxious, upward-beating heart, they must learn to love. But learning-time is always a long, secluded time ahead and far on into life, is - ; solitude, a heightened and deepened kind of aloneness for the person who loves. Loving does not at first mean merging, surrendering, and uniting with another person (for what would a union be of two people who are unclarified, unfinished, and still incoherent - ?), it is a high inducement for the individual to ripen, to become something in himself, to become world, to become world in himself for the sake of another person; it is a great, demanding claim on him, something that chooses him and calls him to vast distances. Only in this sense, as the task of working on themselves ("to hearken and to hammer day and night"), may young people use the love that is given to them. Merging and surrendering and every kind of communion is not for them (who must still, for a long, long time, save and gather themselves); it is the ultimate, is perhaps that for which human lives are as yet barely large enough.
But this is what young people are so often and so disastrously wrong in doing they (who by their very nature are impatient) fling themselves at each other when love takes hold of them, they scatter themselves, just as they are, in all their messiness, disorder, bewilderment… . : And what can happen then? What can life do with this heap of half-broken things that they call their communion and that they would like to call their happiness, if that were possible, and their future? And so each of them loses himself for the sake of the other person, and loses the other, and many others who still wanted to come. And loses the vast distances and possibilities, gives up the approaching and fleeing of gentle, prescient Things in exchange for an unfruitful confusion, out of which nothing more can come; nothing but a bit of disgust, disappointment, and poverty, and the escape into one of the many conventions that have been put up in great numbers like public shelters on this most dangerous road. No area of human experience is so extensively provided with conventions as this one is: there are live-preservers of the most varied invention, boats and water wings; society has been able to create refuges of very sort, for since it preferred to take love-life as an amusement, it also had to give it an easy form, cheap, safe, and sure, as public amusements are.
It is true that many young people who love falsely, i.e., simply surrendering themselves and giving up their solitude (the average person will of course always go on doing that - ), feel oppressed by their failure and want to make the situation they have landed in livable and fruitful in their own, personal way -. For their nature tells them that the questions of love, even more than everything else that is important, cannot be resolved publicly and according to this or that agreement; that they are questions, intimate questions from one human being to another, which in any case require a new, special, wholly personal answer -. But how can they, who have already flung themselves together and can no longer tell whose outlines are whose, who thus no longer possess anything of their won, how can they find a way out of themselves, out of the depths of their already buried solitude?
They act out of mutual helplessness, and then if, with the best of intentions, they try to escape the convention that is approaching them (marriage, for example), they fall into the clutches of some less obvious but just as deadly conventional solution. For then everything around them is - convention. Wherever people act out of a prematurely fused, muddy communion, every action is conventional: every relation that such confusion leads to has its own convention, however unusual (i.e., in the ordinary sense immoral) it may be; even separating would be a conventional step, an impersonal, accidental decision without strength and without fruit.
Whoever looks seriously will find that neither for death, which is difficult, nor for difficult love has any clarification, any solution, any hint of a path been perceived; and for both these tasks, which we carry wrapped up and hand on without opening, there is not general, agreed-upon rule that can be discovered. But in the same measure in which we begin to test life as individuals, these great Things will come to meet us, the individuals, with greater intimacy. The claims that the difficult work of love makes upon our development are greater than life, and we, as beginners, are not equal to them. But if we nevertheless endure and take this love upon us as burden and apprenticeship, instead of losing ourselves in the whole easy and frivolous game behind which people have hidden from the most solemn solemnity of their being, - then a small advance and a lightening will perhaps be perceptible to those who come long after us. That would be much.
We are only just now beginning to consider the relation of one individual to a second individual objectively and without prejudice, and our attempts to live such relationships have no model before them. And yet in the changes that time has brought about there are already many things that can help our timid novitiate.
The girl and the woman, in their new, individual unfolding, will only in passing be imitators of male behavior and misbehavior and repeaters of male professions. After the uncertainty of such transitions, it will become obvious that women were going through the abundance and variation of those (often ridiculous) disguises just so that they could purify their own essential nature and wash out the deforming influences of the other sex. Women, in whom life lingers and dwells more immediately, more fruitfully, and more confidently, must surely have become riper and more human in their depths than light, easygoing man, who is not pulled down beneath the surface of life by the weight of any bodily fruit and who, arrogant and hasty, undervalues what he thinks he loves. This humanity of woman, carried in her womb through all her suffering and humiliation, will come to light when she has stripped off the conventions of mere femaleness in the transformations of her outward status, and those men who do not yet feel it approaching will be astonished by it. Someday (and even now, especially in the countries of northern Europe, trustworthy signs are already speaking and shining), someday there will be girls and women whose name will no longer mean the mere opposite of the male, but something in itself, something that makes one think not of any complement and limit, but only life and reality: the female human being.
This advance (at first very much against the will of the outdistanced men) will transform the love experience, which is now filled with error, will change it from the ground up, and reshape it into a relationship that is meant to be between one human being and another, no longer one that flows from man to woman. And this more human love (which will fulfill itself with infinite consideration and gentleness, and kindness and clarity in binding and releasing) will resemble what we are now preparing painfully and with great struggle: the love that consists in this: the two solitudes protect and border and greet each other.
And one more thing: Don't think that the great love which was once granted to you, when you were a boy, has been lost; how can you know whether vast and generous wishes didn't ripen in you at that time, and purposes by which you are still living today? I believe that that love remains strong and intense in your memory because it was your first deep aloneness and the first inner work that you did on your life. - All good wishes to you, dear Mr. Kappus!
......this letter brings me hope.........
Letter Seven
Rome
May 14, 1904
My dear Mr. Kappus,
Much time has passed since I received your last letter. Please don't hold that against me; first it was work, then a number of interruptions, and finally poor health that again and again kept me from answering, because I wanted my answer to come to you out of peaceful and happy days. Now I feel somewhat better again (the beginning of spring with its moody, bad-tempered transitions was hard to bear here too) and once again, dear Mr. Kappus, I can greet you and talk to you (which I do with real pleasure) about this and that in response to your letter, as well as I can.
You see: I have copied out your sonnet, because I found that it is lovely and simple born in the shape that it moves in with such quiet decorum. It is the best poem of yours that you have let me read. And now I am giving you this copy because I know that it is important and full of new experience to rediscover a work of one's own in someone else's handwriting. Read the poem as if you had never seen it before, and you will feel in your innermost being how very much it is your own.
It was a pleasure for me to read this sonnet and your letter, often; I thank you for both.
And you should not let yourself be confused in your solitude by the fact that there is something in you that wants to move out of it. This very wish, if you use it calmly and prudently and like a tool, will help you spread out your solitude over a great distance. Most people have (with the help of conventions) turned their solutions toward what is easy and toward the easiest side of the easy; but it is clear that we must trust in what is difficult; everything alive trusts in it, everything in Nature grows and defends itself any way it can and is spontaneously itself, tries to be itself at all costs and against all opposition. We know little, but that we must trust in what is difficult is a certainty that will never abandon us; it is good to be solitary, for solitude is difficult; that something is difficult must be one more reason for us to do it.
It is also good to love: because love is difficult. For one human being to love another human being: that is perhaps the most difficult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the final test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation. That is why young people, who are beginners in everything, are not yet capable of love: it is something they must learn. With their whole being, with all their forces, gathered around their solitary, anxious, upward-beating heart, they must learn to love. But learning-time is always a long, secluded time ahead and far on into life, is - ; solitude, a heightened and deepened kind of aloneness for the person who loves. Loving does not at first mean merging, surrendering, and uniting with another person (for what would a union be of two people who are unclarified, unfinished, and still incoherent - ?), it is a high inducement for the individual to ripen, to become something in himself, to become world, to become world in himself for the sake of another person; it is a great, demanding claim on him, something that chooses him and calls him to vast distances. Only in this sense, as the task of working on themselves ("to hearken and to hammer day and night"), may young people use the love that is given to them. Merging and surrendering and every kind of communion is not for them (who must still, for a long, long time, save and gather themselves); it is the ultimate, is perhaps that for which human lives are as yet barely large enough.
But this is what young people are so often and so disastrously wrong in doing they (who by their very nature are impatient) fling themselves at each other when love takes hold of them, they scatter themselves, just as they are, in all their messiness, disorder, bewilderment… . : And what can happen then? What can life do with this heap of half-broken things that they call their communion and that they would like to call their happiness, if that were possible, and their future? And so each of them loses himself for the sake of the other person, and loses the other, and many others who still wanted to come. And loses the vast distances and possibilities, gives up the approaching and fleeing of gentle, prescient Things in exchange for an unfruitful confusion, out of which nothing more can come; nothing but a bit of disgust, disappointment, and poverty, and the escape into one of the many conventions that have been put up in great numbers like public shelters on this most dangerous road. No area of human experience is so extensively provided with conventions as this one is: there are live-preservers of the most varied invention, boats and water wings; society has been able to create refuges of very sort, for since it preferred to take love-life as an amusement, it also had to give it an easy form, cheap, safe, and sure, as public amusements are.
It is true that many young people who love falsely, i.e., simply surrendering themselves and giving up their solitude (the average person will of course always go on doing that - ), feel oppressed by their failure and want to make the situation they have landed in livable and fruitful in their own, personal way -. For their nature tells them that the questions of love, even more than everything else that is important, cannot be resolved publicly and according to this or that agreement; that they are questions, intimate questions from one human being to another, which in any case require a new, special, wholly personal answer -. But how can they, who have already flung themselves together and can no longer tell whose outlines are whose, who thus no longer possess anything of their won, how can they find a way out of themselves, out of the depths of their already buried solitude?
They act out of mutual helplessness, and then if, with the best of intentions, they try to escape the convention that is approaching them (marriage, for example), they fall into the clutches of some less obvious but just as deadly conventional solution. For then everything around them is - convention. Wherever people act out of a prematurely fused, muddy communion, every action is conventional: every relation that such confusion leads to has its own convention, however unusual (i.e., in the ordinary sense immoral) it may be; even separating would be a conventional step, an impersonal, accidental decision without strength and without fruit.
Whoever looks seriously will find that neither for death, which is difficult, nor for difficult love has any clarification, any solution, any hint of a path been perceived; and for both these tasks, which we carry wrapped up and hand on without opening, there is not general, agreed-upon rule that can be discovered. But in the same measure in which we begin to test life as individuals, these great Things will come to meet us, the individuals, with greater intimacy. The claims that the difficult work of love makes upon our development are greater than life, and we, as beginners, are not equal to them. But if we nevertheless endure and take this love upon us as burden and apprenticeship, instead of losing ourselves in the whole easy and frivolous game behind which people have hidden from the most solemn solemnity of their being, - then a small advance and a lightening will perhaps be perceptible to those who come long after us. That would be much.
We are only just now beginning to consider the relation of one individual to a second individual objectively and without prejudice, and our attempts to live such relationships have no model before them. And yet in the changes that time has brought about there are already many things that can help our timid novitiate.
The girl and the woman, in their new, individual unfolding, will only in passing be imitators of male behavior and misbehavior and repeaters of male professions. After the uncertainty of such transitions, it will become obvious that women were going through the abundance and variation of those (often ridiculous) disguises just so that they could purify their own essential nature and wash out the deforming influences of the other sex. Women, in whom life lingers and dwells more immediately, more fruitfully, and more confidently, must surely have become riper and more human in their depths than light, easygoing man, who is not pulled down beneath the surface of life by the weight of any bodily fruit and who, arrogant and hasty, undervalues what he thinks he loves. This humanity of woman, carried in her womb through all her suffering and humiliation, will come to light when she has stripped off the conventions of mere femaleness in the transformations of her outward status, and those men who do not yet feel it approaching will be astonished by it. Someday (and even now, especially in the countries of northern Europe, trustworthy signs are already speaking and shining), someday there will be girls and women whose name will no longer mean the mere opposite of the male, but something in itself, something that makes one think not of any complement and limit, but only life and reality: the female human being.
This advance (at first very much against the will of the outdistanced men) will transform the love experience, which is now filled with error, will change it from the ground up, and reshape it into a relationship that is meant to be between one human being and another, no longer one that flows from man to woman. And this more human love (which will fulfill itself with infinite consideration and gentleness, and kindness and clarity in binding and releasing) will resemble what we are now preparing painfully and with great struggle: the love that consists in this: the two solitudes protect and border and greet each other.
And one more thing: Don't think that the great love which was once granted to you, when you were a boy, has been lost; how can you know whether vast and generous wishes didn't ripen in you at that time, and purposes by which you are still living today? I believe that that love remains strong and intense in your memory because it was your first deep aloneness and the first inner work that you did on your life. - All good wishes to you, dear Mr. Kappus!
......this letter brings me hope.........
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.....baby smiles
Jul. 28th, 2006 | 03:11 pm
.......nothing brings me greater joy than to see him smile and laugh......nothing can compare.......his smiles are like little sunbeams.......they exist without any pretense......they are innocence immortalized.......
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"training"
Jul. 17th, 2006 | 01:25 pm
....why do people think they need to "train" their baby or toddler....your child is not your pet or property....He is a small human being full of light and spirit who is new to the world...they need comforting and love....anyway, just posting this as a response to that Ezzo book that is out there, and I feel for any child whose parent (maybe with good intentions and not really knowing any better) decides to follow that book....
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........little guy
Feb. 18th, 2006 | 04:17 pm
.......a little guy makes me smile.......
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.......morpheus hates me
Aug. 27th, 2005 | 01:28 pm
mood: not buoyant
.....disturbing dreams last night......terrifying in their close proximity to my psyche......suggesting an unravelling of my psyche.....my psyche is being destroyed in the worst way.......sadness now.......i only hope that the little being does not experience my dreams..........
........i don't feel attached to this world anymore......everyone seems almost alien to me......it's like i'm watching some dull movie that is playing in the background.......but neither am i buoyant or floating away.......
........i don't feel attached to this world anymore......everyone seems almost alien to me......it's like i'm watching some dull movie that is playing in the background.......but neither am i buoyant or floating away.......
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...a..letter to..........
Aug. 26th, 2005 | 12:49 pm
mood: 
disappointed
dear_______,
........i have left today
........time is no longer a question
........i know no time
........all timorous memories
........sifting the melted tears away from my flesh
........explosive glass i am
........you
........you ejacualate romanticism on the others
........never a drop for me
........i, your physical flesh-doll
........locked in your prosaic closet of idle reality
........how dare you snatch me out of the sea
........away from my world
........only to toss me away the next day
........forgotten
........i am neither here nor there now
........trapped betwixt the moon and sun
........waiting for an eclipse
........i loved you yesterday
........i loathe you today
........i lock you tomorrow
........into my amnesiac box of pain
........i have left today
........time is no longer a question
........i know no time
........all timorous memories
........sifting the melted tears away from my flesh
........explosive glass i am
........you
........you ejacualate romanticism on the others
........never a drop for me
........i, your physical flesh-doll
........locked in your prosaic closet of idle reality
........how dare you snatch me out of the sea
........away from my world
........only to toss me away the next day
........forgotten
........i am neither here nor there now
........trapped betwixt the moon and sun
........waiting for an eclipse
........i loved you yesterday
........i loathe you today
........i lock you tomorrow
........into my amnesiac box of pain
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......the waves and sea cats..........
Aug. 22nd, 2005 | 11:10 pm
music: pj harvey in my head.............
....... human existence.......existential woes and griefs......sometimes i am saddened even in observing the crackheads and hookers on the streets......they were once babies.......nascent newborns to this strange universe......when did it all change for them.......to where they just become servile to their habits...... and simply become these flesh machines grinding away their souls more and more and just moving with the motions.......the sad thing is that they don't even realize it......usually.......is it boredom?.......is it just the fact that we as humans live too long?.........it seems like all these systems that we as humans have built......all these bureaucracies that have been installed......(things that animals don't have......) are simply there out of boredom.......i just yearn to escape from it all.......dwell in my cave by the sea with my cats and listen the the murmurs in the waves.......
.....*speaking of cats*......i had a strange dream, oh about a month ago, that i gave birth to kittens and was nursing kittens......maybe i'm supposed to be an animal healer......
.....*speaking of cats*......i had a strange dream, oh about a month ago, that i gave birth to kittens and was nursing kittens......maybe i'm supposed to be an animal healer......
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.....gasp........
Aug. 6th, 2005 | 01:17 am
.......damn......i hate to admit such things....but i'm on a quest for revealing new vulnerabilities........shedding my slithery snake skin....translucent shards falling away to my more opaque self.......
I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me, always over me. His will, his pleasure, his desires, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don't mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, God, as woman I want to be dominated. I don't mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling -- all that I am capable of doing -- but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding." - Anais Nin
.....this has caused many conflicts within my self......
I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me, always over me. His will, his pleasure, his desires, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don't mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, God, as woman I want to be dominated. I don't mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling -- all that I am capable of doing -- but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding." - Anais Nin
.....this has caused many conflicts within my self......
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autistic-like detachment
Aug. 6th, 2005 | 12:51 am
mood: 
numb
.........i feel dead......nothing to be dramatic over......nothing to orchestrate melodramatic histrionics over.....dead-meaning no life, no breath, no emotions........falling into a vault of nothingness.....i can not react anymore.....poke me-i will not quiver......scream at me-i will not hear.......phantoms have a quicker pulse than this.........aftershocks of a trembling earth.....long dead, but still trembling.........
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rebelling against the mass legerdemain of flesh.......
Jul. 24th, 2005 | 07:58 pm
mood: 
plastic is not palatable
Why a rebel? I wanted to bring to the forefront my state of mind and emotions......but it isn't applied to what most people consider "rebellious".......i'm not rebelling against politics in a trendy anarchist fashion-rebelling this way is futile at best and stupid unless you're actually deep within the political labyrinth and have broken the funhouse mirrors to actually be able to do some tangible damage.....i'm not rebelling in some trendy "goth"/"pagan" way, declaring a pretentious war on everyone else's lifestyle accept the "goth" way (buying all your clothing at hot topic and reading "Lenore" comic books does not count as artistically cultured)......My rebelling takes place in my mind and emotions.....i'm rebelling against shallowness......vacuity......fraudulenc
and then there is man........and then there is woman......men hate feminists......they love her emotions as long as they suit his mood.......otherwise she is deemed too emotional, too much of a burden.....yet they dislike the hardcore feminists.......a woman who has intelligence, who has a mind must check her pride or man can not digest this, because his ego regurgitates all pride except his own......and he thinks he should suppress her whims and emotions, even though he is not taking care of her......she is working....independent, not fully allowed to utilize her full feminine faculties......i'm rebelling against such emotional suppression.......i am a female......i should express my desires and femininity......i should not strive to match man in my artistic expression (which is mainly intellectual)....i think females have more abstract and dreamy worlds that should be expressed.....something emotional........
.....and then there is woman......i am rebelling against the common woman.......the pettiness...the superficialities....the super princess complexes...no wonder some men are misogynists.....it's all about balancing the dualities.......overcoming the trained gender roles, and just revealing your true self and beauty......sometimes i feel so sick of everything that i just want to dwell in a cave somewhere with cats......
and now a quote from my favourite rebel female, Anais Nin-
“I have heard the beast pound
in the breath of a bird...
and felt in its feathers the fire.
I have hated with passion
the gathering herd
and the weight of its common desire.
Ah, but no rest for weary terrestrial wings
in beating oppressive air;
they long for the strength
of celestial things
like the essence of myrrh in her hair.”
and then there is man........and then there is woman......men hate feminists......they love her emotions as long as they suit his mood.......otherwise she is deemed too emotional, too much of a burden.....yet they dislike the hardcore feminists.......a woman who has intelligence, who has a mind must check her pride or man can not digest this, because his ego regurgitates all pride except his own......and he thinks he should suppress her whims and emotions, even though he is not taking care of her......she is working....independent, not fully allowed to utilize her full feminine faculties......i'm rebelling against such emotional suppression.......i am a female......i should express my desires and femininity......i should not strive to match man in my artistic expression (which is mainly intellectual)....i think females have more abstract and dreamy worlds that should be expressed.....something emotional........
.....and then there is woman......i am rebelling against the common woman.......the pettiness...the superficialities....the super princess complexes...no wonder some men are misogynists.....it's all about balancing the dualities.......overcoming the trained gender roles, and just revealing your true self and beauty......sometimes i feel so sick of everything that i just want to dwell in a cave somewhere with cats......
and now a quote from my favourite rebel female, Anais Nin-
“I have heard the beast pound
in the breath of a bird...
and felt in its feathers the fire.
I have hated with passion
the gathering herd
and the weight of its common desire.
Ah, but no rest for weary terrestrial wings
in beating oppressive air;
they long for the strength
of celestial things
like the essence of myrrh in her hair.”
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intimacy
Jul. 24th, 2005 | 07:51 pm
mood: 
crazy
......unraveling my skin was never a sin as my emotions lie there waiting......a bottomless vault of poisons-tender and unfettered in your grasp.........surge, surge, surge, through my eyes-thrice.........the ocean crawls through my eyes raging and foaming at the indifference......at the detachment........i want to be intimate with every sonance that vibrates the flowers in my skull.......to make love to the sonata tickling my soul........
" At first, he savored only the material quality of the sounds secreted by the instruments. And it had already been a great pleasure when, beneath the tiny line of the violin, slender, resistant, dense and driving, he noticed the mass of the piano's part seeking to arise in a liquid splashing, polymorphous, undivided, level and clashing like the purple commotion of wave charmed and flattened by the moonlight." Proust
......i feel the intensity in your silence......i want your silence to to kiss every capsule of my pores with its sordino mouth......i can not exist in the mikros kosmos of the makros kosmos.....it is only in great explosions and delicate nuances that i dance.........
" At first, he savored only the material quality of the sounds secreted by the instruments. And it had already been a great pleasure when, beneath the tiny line of the violin, slender, resistant, dense and driving, he noticed the mass of the piano's part seeking to arise in a liquid splashing, polymorphous, undivided, level and clashing like the purple commotion of wave charmed and flattened by the moonlight." Proust
......i feel the intensity in your silence......i want your silence to to kiss every capsule of my pores with its sordino mouth......i can not exist in the mikros kosmos of the makros kosmos.....it is only in great explosions and delicate nuances that i dance.........