THE PERFECTED BEAUTY OF EMPTINESS
Take you to the edge, to what cannot be seen
What cannot be touched and felt
Requires no knowledge
To the perfected beauty of emptiness
We do not know why we exist
What does not know why it does not exist
Does not know it does not exist
Crushed and banded by no God
No love
No light
Absolute darkness
Unconditioned boundless space
Not what you do
What you are
Not who you are
What you are
Is nothing
Drop your crutches
Walk off the edge
Freefall, never to be caught
Impossible, unthinkable
Out of reach:
Not to be taught
Not to be learnt
Not to be held
Not to be released
To be burned and
Ashen, blown
Crippled, then towed
Attachment, non-attachment
The same
Existence, non-existence
The same
Speak for want of silence
Commit violence in the name of change
When nothing has ever changed
Nothing has ever moved
In this perfected beauty of emptiness
So afraid to be nothing
To see, feel nothing
To need, seed, reap, sow, stop and-or-go nothing
No "what the Master said"
No Guide, no girl guide, no boy scout
No "Be prepared", just perpetually scared
Of no shadow where light cannot go
Just perfected beauty, indivisible
The sheer, exhilarated state of worthlessness
Surrender to what it is not
Take what it cannot give
Wait for what it is not
Can never be
Ego is idiot cargo, "above as below"
Slogans, no guns, nothing
Come to nothing
Give it up, pay the price
Make the sacrifice
Want to find out what you are?
A car that must be totalled on
A wall higher than the sun
At uncertain speed
That pulls the wings off of flies
And puts out all their greedy eyes
Flies that fly near to the sun and get fried
Drive-thru, no-proof, it's the end
Of what you do, are, were, will be
Will never be, never were, never wanted
Any of it so let it go
How can what is free become free?
The world become me?
"I am the world"
But not as charity
Not a cheque, not cash
On the Wall of Death
Getting smashed
Disintegration requires no explanation
There is nothing to sign
There is only MIND
It is blind, pig-ignorant and so, so undermined
By the perfected beauty of emptiness
If you want help
There is no help
If you want Hell
There is a small motel
Where doors open and close
Slaves wash your clothes
And they like you to lie
Lie and lie and lie and lie
It is not free
Cost of world, cost of world
Until you stop lying and lie down
Lay down your reality and demand
The perfected beauty of emptiness
Go to the edge
Stare unblinking into that perfected beauty
O, white silver city of New Jerusalem, who gives a fuck for you?
O, give me Auschwitz and Hiroshima!
Not for the seeker, not for the squeamish
Awarding degrees of pain to drop-outs from the School of Life
Drop-outs gassed by pious German shepherds
Children and dogs stripped by fire from the sky...
My "God", where the living fuck were you?
Spellbound by the perfected beauty of emptiness?
Idle dreamers
Dreamers of idols
Want to worship
Because I am afraid
Of what some dead men said
They're all gone, so soon am I
I sold myself for dead men's lies?
Falsehood, truth and all absolutes
Are extinguished in that still...
Still, still...and look closer still!
Can you take it?
Stare, not break it?
Look hard at what history denies
What we tell our poor selves
See the perfected beauty of our lies?
The perfected beauty of happiness
The perfected beauty of misery
Same thing
Pain, pleasure, pleasure, pain
Same.
Sane, insane: same.
Fear of flying, fear of dying
Psychology is an apology
Psychiatry is sex by other means
New age is the death throes
of the old
Childish, beautiful, perfectly empty delusions
Wake up!
It doesn't matter, drop it like Death.
Hate it...because hate at least has purity,
Lift is lifeless corner and you might
glimpse the perfected beauty of emptiness
(No subject)
We Stand Alone
After Paschendale
After Katyn
After Auschwitz
After Kronstadt
We stand here
After Aquith
After Beria
After Noske
We stand here
What footfall
What valley what field what forest
What streets in the morning sun
After the streets of Nagasaki?
Mask, persona,
Alias, pseudonymn:
We stand here.
Why should we flee Jahveh?
Where are the lightning?
The scorched prophets?
'In millions of hearts
'burns the indextinguishable
'flame of the word'.
Apollo: carven flame,
Christ by candlelight.
And that he mount the unbuilt steps
To the unraised altar
with sky for roof
and star for pinnacle
sumus in fide
We Stand here.
We stand in the press.
We stand here alone.
(No subject)
(No subject)
Alice
Where was the live exhibit done? I assume that was an art exhibit
And what is that blue stone?
Both stories that go with the pics are from here
http://www.grammarpolice.net/archives/cat_art.php
(No subject)
(No subject)
(No subject)
Surrealism: double vision
Surrealism's women thought they were celebrating sexual emancipation. But were they just fulfilling men's erotic fantasies?
by
Germaine Greer 3/2007
...
Eluard wrote poems about Nusch, and published them in a collection called Facile, with nude pictures of her by Man Ray. He certainly wanted and orchestrated her exhibitionism, but did he actually create it? Perhaps Leonora Carrington's narcissism was imposed on her by Max Ernst, but it seems as likely that it is an aspect of female self-fashioning at any time, and does not correspond in any way to demands made by a male partner.
Indeed, it may be partly or entirely delusional. Léonor Fini's endless elaborations of her own likeness are unlikely to have been carried out in response to prompting from any of her "legions of lovers". Fini was convinced that she was inventing her own ideal of femininity: sensual, powerful, merciless. To a jaundiced eye, it is more of the same: huge hair, virginal breasts, tiny waists, long legs, Barbie before Barbie.
The woman of surrealism is certainly stereotypical, but the stereotype seems to exist before the art, which is largely a capitulation to it. The women who walk through Delvaux's dreamscapes, for example, are all identical. If there is an exception to the slender maidens of the surrealist dream it is Gala Dalí, whose body is heavier and older than the fashionista stereotype and is used by Salvador Dalí in a very different way. The effect of Dalí's work depends upon illusionistic painting; the portrayed objects and creatures must look even more real than they would in photographs. Dalí always lights Gala's body harshly from a single source, accentuating imperfections, the loose flesh on the arms, for example. The world of the female surrealist - Carrington, Fini or Remedios Varo, say - is stage-lit, gloomy perhaps, but without shadows. Dalí never lengthens Gala's legs by so much as an inch.
Her hands are always capable, grasping or demonstrating. Her shoulders are slightly bowed. Even when she is mockingly cast as a goddess or a madonna, she always looks like herself. In leaving Eluard for Dalí, Gala escaped into a freer, more playful and at the same time more serious way of life.
Gala is the best known muse of the surrealist movement, but she is also the woman who had least in common with surrealist fashion. Surreal Things tracks the process by which the stereotypical female figure in surrealist photographs, poetry and painting, stepped into the shop window as the store-front mannequin. Where once Eileen Agar had to wear her hat made of gloves and her hat made of seafood herself, the mannequins would now wear Elsa Schiaparelli's rather more timid extravagances, a hat vaguely like a shoe, a gown with lines of padded quilting. Dalí was part of this activity, but he never subjected Gala to it. Indeed, when he had to deal with mannequins, he was likely to replace their heads with clumps of greenery.
The puzzle must remain: when Man Ray posed a nude woman as half a coat-stand in 1920, was he turning her into a servile object, or was he protesting against her own view of herself as a servile object? Today's growing girls are obsessed by supermodels who are ever more extravagant versions of the surrealist stereo-type, whose gorgeous heads might as well be replaced with clumps of greenery, for all the thinking they are allowed to do. We can't blame men for this, can we?
فان الكمال والجمال من الفراغ
This wording looks dangerous .. you might need to be waterboarded.
8-)
MOOOO
What’s all this talk about the Seth Material
Between 1963 and 1984 an entity called Seth communicated through Jane Roberts. Jane Roberts and her husband recorded these communications and produced a number of books called the Seth Material. This material is very advanced and takes many readings to understand and get the full benefit of it’s teachings. In fact, the more advanced you are in spiritualism, the occult and supernatural, the more you seem to get out of studying the Seth Material. The Seth Material also has an enormous amount of substance for those with an open mind who are involved in science and cosmology. It covers the topics of parallel and probable universes as well as new ideas on the subjects of time, dimensions, the structure of matter and astral projection to mention only a few.
Seth
Speaks! I need a copy.
I'll send you a copy...
e me your address again...
(No subject)
Kevin
LOL!! ya killin me man!
SkyyOmer
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