My dads poem
30 Apr 2012
28 Apr 2012
3 Apr 2012
2 Apr 2012
Grasping at the duplicity of reality
Illusions commend themselves to us because they save us pain and allow us to enjoy pleasure instead. We must therefore accept it without complaint when they sometimes collide with a bit of reality against which they are dashed to pieces - Sigmund Freud
Threshold conciousness
“Winding, and unwinding we go, through our selves, going one way we are
ourselves, the other way, what are we? The art of ourselves? images, dreams,
stories, fantasies, memories? Can we rub against our art selves as we wind
around, like serpents, and let some of the pigment brush off on us? And look,
where the pigment rubbed off, the skin becomes transparent, and we see through
it, to another world. Much more vast. And it's looking at you.”
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