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Monday, September 13, 2010

controlled freedom


good planning is art.

I used to plan and have planned for me a LOT of elements of my life. Planning was the apparatus that pushed me through school, helped me set up my brain in a very precise, very powerful way: the academic/scientific way. Through all of it I was involved in different visual-art and music programs and took a particular interest in literature as well.

But my emotional side did not fully develop until I had to emerge from this protective maxtrix grove into the 'real world' of ambiguity, spontaneity and DISSEMBLY.

Because of a number of factors, the biggest being my horrible skin problems, this immediate and improvised mode of being was not one I was too familiar with. I had not gotten into a lot of the normal, formative situations 'one gets into' 'by that age'.

Anyways a lot of good stuff happened, and a lot of bad stuff happened and ruined some things. I got a good job just long enough to not be living one day at a time, in a state of panic and stress. AND I MADE FRIENDS.

I made friends at a time in my life when I needed them most, of the kind of friend that you hope and hope that you know them as long as any of you are alive. And you love and love them.

My relaxing, my unlooping from my security habits (the world had gotten very small :( ), my friends, and (thanks to my friends) my doing stuff I always wanted to fixed me. Life is still stuff, and up and down, but I feel sound. (hehehehehehe :))) )

Balance permits this. Balance between planning (which everyone has to do some of) and the wow of the now.


There are two kinds of people: people who do or don't do things based on what does not break the law; and people who do what they feel like until there's a cop hand on their shoulder and guy saying, "no..."


Making love is like the best thing ever, isn't it


and fighting with your loved ones is like the worst thing.
Why is this shit difficult??


People are weird. They weird me out.
I am by definition people. I wierd me out.




My artistic endeavour, then, has been to plan well enough to survive and convey something worthwhile, while keeping in touch, as much as possible, with the eternity of the moment.

I do not impose planter walls on my spiritual myceliae. Or those of those I trust.


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