About a carpenter

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Friday, July 31, 2009

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My philosophical piece of opinion of the day.

There is a lot of hate around the christian faith. I know it. You know it. It is no secret to anyone. And it does not matter what subdivision you are, protestant, catholic, bapthist. The point is that you believe in the Old testament (Jewish believes) and Jesus. And where is the hate? Everywhere.

It comes out, these churches attack some minorities, and have amongst their believes that it is right to make a person feel less of themselves. That is cruel, and inhuman; and by no standards should be permitted.

But it also goes in. People who feel attacked, or simply disagree with them are constatly attacking them personally. But the fact is, that if we are critizing someone for judging, aren't we worse by doing it back, since we actually pretend we know better?

And I know this is a though call, because the people belongging to those religious agroupations are doing what they think is right, maybe not convenient for everyone, but what is right. And the people who defend themselves, and the people who ridiculize these organizations are doing what they think is right given their own personal religious or non religous believes. Everyone here is acting baqsed on their principles.

And given that premise, I can state that there will never be a complete agreement from both parties. What must happen is that we need to agree to disagree. But that is something many already know, and there are people from both sides working on it.


Being that said, I would like to explain my view.


I don't dislike the christian religion. It is based on the principle of Jesus, who if had or not existed is still a symbol of forgiveness, love and redemption. 2000 years later it doesn't really matter if he ever lived or made such things. What matters is that we carry the message of forgiveness and love, because who ever spread it, Jesus, or a very kind storyteller; what matters is that that manner of human behaviour is the one that can ensure peace and freedom.

So no, I don't think the religion is wrong. What I think is wrong is using it as a shield and weapon to preach hate, when it is actually found in love. And I know the Bible says many things, I know that it states homosexuals should be killed (Old testament) I know it states everywhere how women are inferior to men, I know it states ambigous passages that could deminish the African race (and others). But I also know it was written thousands of years ago, before any human right legislation, before any Versalles agreement. We should know that this was the way of thinking of people who lived in a completely different time.

And you may argue that that is God's word. And I can't really deny it, because it's your believe. I can disagree. But I also can say that God himself gave us the right of the free will by letting us by ourselves in Earth. We have that God given right, to make our own minds up, we have the right to question. And I only say, why don't we try and see the Bible more as an ethic referendum than a life guide, and instead we behave accordingly with all the civil rights we have accomplished? But then again you would still be in your right to ignore.

And even if the Bible, or any other old scripture says whatever they want, for me the important message of Christianity is Jesus, or elese it would be called Judahism. So why not follow the ways thaught by what we know he did? Why not just focus in the spirituality an comunion that a religion should be and let all the hate aside? Because that is the true spirit of the religion, not hate but love.

That's why I admire it. The religion. Not the people who use it to preach their own agenda.


And that is a right you can never wrong.




by I'm the penguin

What happened to the raisins?

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, July 30, 2009

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I forgot it for a while, I actually forgot about several things.
I was about to deliver the papers when I got intercepted and continued to participate in the required social interaction which took about 45 minutes, after they left I decided to continue with my chores, even if it was a little late for some of them. As I delivered the papers I got trapped once again in a catch-up conversation, which eventually erased from my mind the fact that I had left my ceral cup abandoned.
When I came back, the thought was not reachable anymore, and all I could remember was the other one thing I had forgotten, which was, as always, the dishes. Dishes that I forget because casually they're not mine. (I tend to forget this responsabilities which I don't actually consider as mine, obviously) Then Dan called, and I was in no mood of answering, so I left the phone ringin, though this was not an effective solution since he called again, and again. That was Dan. So I answered, and wishing I had the default Verizon voice [ref: xkcd] I finally answered.
No I do not want to go, No I will not lend you money, No I don't know were you left your keys, Yes we'll talk later. Bye
I finally returned at my room, about 3 hours later, only to find I had forgotten my ceral cup, which was now a dense dough-like substance, with swollen raisins.

She, you, she, we, I and you

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, July 29, 2009

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You know what's the worst part about them?

They are not real.

None of them, they don't really exist. At least not like they appear to me in dreams, photographies and short letters. And I have seen them, most of them in person. But it's been so long now, it's been not just years, or miles apart; it's always more about the people. How many people away are they? How many friendships unlike mine did they have until they forgot about me? Or in the case of the foreigns, how many people would it take them to meet me, to see me? Those questions, I can't answer, thus, I don't know where are they. And so, they are just not real. If I don't know where they are.

And there are several problems with this, because that's just how I am, I entrust my hopes of happiness in these strangers who, at the end of the day are not real, and then I have to pick up after the mess. And it's just silly.

It's silly because you are not even dreamy, or ideal, for anyone whatsoever. But for me? Well, I dream about you, so technically, and literally speaking you are in fact, dreamy. And I hate that, because I know how you are (sort of), and I know how it would be, the first time we met. (It has happened, you see, in my dream I was able to move back in time with my memories. In there I moved things around so to get to actually meet you, present myself. But none of that has any value because it happened in a memory... in a dream). It makes me feel so pathetic to actually dream about it, but it also feels sort of reassuring of some humanity inside. So that's the problem with you.

Then there is her, who for some reason is the only symbol standing between me being a hypocrite and me being a cynic. And that is because she is actually the type of person I talked about the other day, the rebellious tribe. And she also happens to be at the same time part of the Masked-to-dazzle crew. And yet I think of her, even if we were not so close, even if she'd think I'm stalking if I tell, even if she is a complete stranger (and unreal), she is a problem. Because like you, the image of her grows in me, and just like with you, I know I can't really reach her.

There is another her, but she is not really someone I long for, but instead something I wish I had, not her, but her experience. And she is sort of a mix of she and you. And you know her, you're actually good friends. But of course she has long forgotten about me, and there is no really a reason why to contact her back; other than having self pity.

She, she and you should make a party, make sure to leave evidence; and then just for the purpose of being cruel, should have someone near that resembles me, and you should all like him, and praise him, so I would know that could be me, but never would.

Of course there is they, who all live in digital paper, and who will never even by chance meet me. I know they are so very different, and I could not really bond with them. Yet, they are the only people who could possibly understand some things neither of you could. But that's fine, I can live without them, I only need to see them occasionally. But that need of seldom observation is their problem. I cannot have them, but I cannot lose them.


And finally there is us, we. We have problems. The rest of you may have not noticed them, and probably won't for the time being, but the roots have rooted and the branches will soon branch. You see, the problem with us is really no one's fault. It's just that as the I grows larger into other directions, the space in WE simply feels more narrow. And it will probably get to a point where it will burst, I will escape, you will not know what was of me. And then, years later I will reminisce of these times, looking back and wishing I could contact you guys, but it will be too late, I will think.


And that... is the base of destiny and fortune telling. Finding a pattern in the past, and knowing that no matter how changed in the cover, the core of the future will always be the same.






[I'm sorry, there are just some days I NEED to be alone. These days happened to be those]
by I'm the penguin

Sleepless thoughts and water

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, July 28, 2009

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Things come and go, we recieve unwanted news, we cut some plastic somedays, we recieve people from, we say goodbye to people, we watch movies, we play music, we scan through banksy books... and we read posts with (title unknown)
I wasn't actually feeling in my thinking-life mode, but I did a thought summary about recent things in my life.
And I remembered... barcelona...
Love this pic.

Of writing and sucking

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Monday, July 27, 2009

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Since this week is the end of the beginning, and the beginning of another beginning is coming next week, I was too drawn into nothingness to bring you an actual piece (of anything) so instead I'll give you what these days have given me.



A true bite of good stories in this time of decadence and sparkles. Not only a smart tale of vampires, but also a crushing critique and statement about society and morals.









"When I do it, it is flirting. When you do it, it is called sexual harassment."


This movie has it, that long lost typical story of an Englishman living trough adversity in his way to happiness, having obstacles and false ways on the path. And while this is the formula for most cheap stories now (minus the Englishman) this one stands out because it has the -good- factor. It is a comedy that most be seen, about the role of journalists, writers and celebrities in the wild chaos we call today's media. (oh yea, and there is Mother Teresa of Calcutta)











-Here is a small fact...-
You are going to die


This book is simply beautiful, heartbreaking, cruel and awesome. There is just more to it than what the story tells, and much more than what the context is about.







[advertising and reviews]
by I'm the penguin

Poor Sydney

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, July 26, 2009

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I posted in the future, because I was posting in the past, and now I can't fix it... whoops...

I spent all day making this video... which is not great but give me a break, it's the first thing I (really) do with AE...
It's the narrator at the beginning of P.T Anderson's Magnolia, oh, poor Sydney...
And it is in the humble opinion of this narrator that this is not just "something that happened." This cannot be "one of those things"... This, please, cannot be that. And for what I would like to say, I can't. This was not just a matter of chance. Ohh. These strange things happen all the time.

[ video here soon....wait, rendering is slow.... and don't even get me started with youtube's uploading]

Me swea-nee-o wa-hee-roh

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, July 25, 2009

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The other day you asked me, technically I asked first and you just proceeded as usual. I remember your answer, it was something I didn't actually expect, even if you are one of my favorite subjects. I didn't know you wanted to be a DJ, or that you even liked them that much. But that just reinforced your role as the prototype of contemporary hero, and made you grow bigger in me. But that's a whole different topic.

I don't really remember what I said back (I actually remember it perfectly, even the tone and ramble used) it was something stupid and unthoughtfull like a college catedratic or something like that ("umm... I don't know, like... a teacher form a facy Univesity and stuff, being like important there or something"<-quote). The point is that when I said it, and you pretended to be okay with it (because that's how cool you are) I knew that while it could be expected from me, that was not my actual -sueño guajiro-[no translation for that]. That if given the chance tostudy or be anything I would want to, that would not be my first option. At least now, at the time that was all I could come up with.

I've given some though to it, I've wandered in my favorite place on Earth and ask around what would I be if given the chance. And there were so many answers, so many possibilities. I love art, but I am not good enough to live of it. I love science, but it becomes sort of dull once the the reuslts no longer start with because. I like writting, but you more than anyone (actually you have never read anything written by me...) knows that I wouldn't be able to eat from it. I also like the outdoors and the environment. And I could hardly do a job where I knew I was making no difference or trascendence in the world.

So, having this in mind I reasearched the dregrees in different universities of the world, looking for the Bachelor degree in "Literary Photography of the Environment and Art in the Revolution of the World Engenieering", of course I tried several variations in the key words, for some reason there were no results, I might have made a typo or two...

I imagined later that I found it. It conviniently was in a college near home, which made it all better because they had scholarships and exchanges for full years to Europe and Canada (they were mad with America for not recognizing its degrees). I would study there and find that was my true vocation, that nothing else in the wolrd would have made me more happy. There I would experience a bunch of interesting experiences that would then serve for my first published work of short stories based on the college experience out of the Frat house series. There too, I would meet the most amazing people, and fall in love and have my hear broken three times, but then I would find the right one.

Then, I would graduate and start travelling the world, I would start in some small magazines, and would then be working for Discovery and National Geographic (they had to let me work for both if they wanted my amazing covers). Of course then I would make books with my pictures and would write novels based on all what I lived, which would make me a two-year lasting celebrity with New York Best Sellers (because I would have sold my soul a bit by this time).

Then I would retire for a while and just work in my photography while living in the city, using full use of my long lost fame to get some booty (I have all this planned out, even THAT part). Then, I would win one of those awards no one has ever heard of, and would be late for the ceremony and give a mindblowing speech which I most likely robbed pieces from some cheap romantic comedies along with high literature clasics (no one would dare to notice the mix). And then I would grow old, and reminice about my exiting youth, my fruitfull adulthood and my by then comfortable eldery.

And in my spare time I would wonder how horrible would my life had been if I hadn't found out about that degree.

It would definetly suck.

...


So there you, that is my -sueño guajiro- which I could not have possibly use any less words to describe. But you know how this things are with me, I'm complicated (thing I don't think you really care about). Well... anyway, I just had to say it, since you know... you asked.



best wishes



by I'm the penguin

Mashed potatos

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Friday, July 24, 2009

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There was a fly in the mashed potatoes by the time you arrived, I was watching it, move its little limbs trough our food, it flew away when you slammed the door. You walked in, playing with your keys, you had that keychain I had got you from seattle, the sound of the space needle against our house's keys... Every time you did that it meant you were anxious, I knew what you were anxious about, and I would've gone to you and try to fix it, but not now, not today, I was done fixing things. I just sat in the couch, and there was no fly to watch anymore.
Then, you finally came into the room, I didn't bothered to say hi, you did.
'Is eveything alright?' you asked,and I said
'yes'.
'Is there something eat?' you said
'Mashed potatos' I answered

They were something else

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in , | Posted on Thursday, July 23, 2009

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Back in the 90’s (don’t I sound old) they seemed like something else, something mysterious, free, rebellious, even gallant. I thought of them as something beyond my young understanding, something that was deep, and hard to understand, and it was the peak of all human transcending. They were no longer children, and yet they were not adults; they were a mystic creature in between.

I remember I looked up to them in respect, but in an accomplice kind of respect, a sympathetic bow if you will. Why? Well, they were talked about amongst adults, they were described all as animalistic, uncontrollable, even criminal who were reckless, every single one of them. They were to be feared, they were to be stopped, and they were an idol. And the thought of such a creature that would even scare the adults, who at the time seemed to me like an unquestionable authority, was enough to consider them myths, to see them as roaming wanderers behind a curtain on mystery, drugs, sex, and rock and roll.

Whenever I looked at them, I recall thinking what it would be like, to be them, to have this separate universe where anything could happen, where one was allow anything, where one was to be daring and in the top of the world. They didn’t seem insecure, they were just fed up of stability; they weren’t stupid, they were audacious. And I believe this is because I thought of them as people, not like us children. We were no one, we were dressed as our mothers would command because we were just children, we would be thought as funny when saying something stupid, because after all we were just that, children. We were not expected or permitted to act like people. But them, well, with them it was a complete different story, they no longer played by the rules, or had to, they made their rules, their world, which they own every bit of it. They were people, without having to be boring adults.

And this myth I had about the youth did not stop at their unspoken war against rules and adults. I thought of them as strong, beautiful, sassy and intelligent humans, who had most likely never been children. They each were special in their own way, all of them defied the very laws of nature, they could conquer the world but were just dulled by it, they could take over the minds of everyone but were just uninterested. And having this idea in mind, any adolescent who I found with no charm, no luck and no wit was just an overgrown child, nothing special about him. In this way, there could be none that wasn’t amazing; the ones who weren’t just… were not part of the group.

And I’m not very sure why I had this thoughts about this tribes, or why would I give that much importance to that group. It could possibly be just the beginnings of my love for rebellion and decadence; it could be that I never felt in my age range. Or it could be that they were simply super humans, who were kind enough to walk among us.

But with the years, and the 00’s (if that’s what we’re calling them) I realized the latter was maybe an idea I should revise.

When I hit the age of 13 I knew it would happen, I knew that puberty would arrive and make it all gross and large, and awkward. But I also knew the doors to that secret legacy of special beings would begin to open. Needless to say, I had to wait a while… And the fact is that my expectancy of belonging to that admired universal army of rouges did not change. This meant that I was still expecting, still waiting to be one of them, to see my peers get there, and all together we would travel the Atlantic on canoes, we would fly to the end of the world with nothing but kites made of hopes and dreams. We would take over the world.

But for some reason the stupid kids were now the stupid puberts, the once fart and buggers jokes were now the sex and –other fluids- ones. The world at 13 or 14 hadn’t really changed as I thought it would. I was waiting for everyone to have some melodramatic situation every week so I could come up with some witty and sympathetic solution that would for some reason work better for me than it did on the TV. And all I had was Jimmy Nobody and Joe Underacomplisher, whose parents fought over Christmas dinner. This wasn’t the world I had been seeing all those years. But all and all, maybe it was the people who surrounded me, so I waited.

And as time went by, and I observed people, they, I mean we, were not audacious, we were stupid kids who borrowed someone mother’s car under the influence and drove like crazy people. We were not fed up with stability; we secretly craved for it, look under the rocks to find it in whatever presentation it came. And most certainly we were not people; we were far from being such entities, we were lost and large children playing the game of being old, of having power and we played to have fun.

I will admit there were some which shared characteristic of the rebellious ways I praised as child, there were those who dared enough to play the actual role. But that was all it was, a role. They drank like pirates, they danced like go go girls, they drove like Meteor, they had sex like groupies, but when the lights went off, and their mask no longer could be seen, they were just that, roles. And sometimes, just sometimes, there was a real people under that art craft of a face. I happened to be lucky enough to find a few.

Then, for some time I thought that was it, that this masked phonies and their fancy lives with their fancy stories were it, the image I had long formed and revered was diminished to these people who I could see trough, that all the waiting and all the expecting had been for that, to find out my vision as a child was an illusion. And in a way it was true, there is no such thing as that much of a large group of people who are all awesome, who are all in a blood pact of changing and revolutionizing the world.

Because for what now I have learned, it is not about the age, or the stupid coiffures, or the slutty clothes. The core of this war against establishment did not belong to the teenagers, it never did; it just seemed like it. It belongs to those who refuse to wear a mask, it belongs who those who dare to speak against the majority for a cause, it belongs to the ragged-trousered guy playing the guitar in the rain, just for the love of music, it belongs to the girl in the yellow dress who insists on riding the bicycle to work even if it’s some kilometers away, it belongs to the bloggers without readers who keep writing for the love of it, it belongs to just a few of us. Maybe not people, maybe not all teenagers, but we exist; as stupid and insecure as the next guy, but here.



by I'm the penguin

A purple chair

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, July 22, 2009

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So besides reading music sheets and fighting over posession of the modem.. (which is so last decade.-. ¬¬) I did one of my mini dialogues about nothingess... the sort of objects which are contamitated with ideas that rush suddenly, and you say.. "oh, I can't forget this one.."


-It's just, I'd rather be in the other side..
-There's no other side!
-Seriously... You let them get to you, that's the problem.
-Them? ...
-No, wait.. I didn't mean..
-You made your point, thank you.
-No.
-Please leave.
-It's just that...
-Please leave.

As he leaves the room, things fall at his back, breaking and rolling, then we go back to him sitting at the purple chair he was seated before, during the begining of the flashback...

What we do about them

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, July 21, 2009

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Their role in society is very absurd, and amusing. Everyone knows they are there, everyone has seen them, yet nobody cares. And just some are honest enough or plain cynics to admit so:We just don't care what happens to them. Because while they are still people, and are a lot of people, we try not to recognize their exitence, because in doing so, we also acknowledge many flaws in ours. And that is just something that we won't allow.

When mentioned, the noble thing to say is that you hope them good, that if it was in your power you would make them one of you, one of the people who can sit in around coffee tables and discuss affairs nobody really gives a crap about. But you don't, at least not really, because wether you know it or not, the fact that they are covered by the veil of anonimity, by the cloud of ignorance, is what makes you be above that, to be able to look down. They make all the down you can look at. And changing that is something else you won't allow.

And when finaly facing them, acknowleding their existence for a few seconds, there are several reactions. Indifference is a big one, it is actually the one the mayority is trained to perform. But there are several others, the big woman on the right pities them, the redhead in the center doesn't trust them, (she thinks they might attack and rebel at any second, and she has her reasons to think so) and the humanitarian in the left just stares, stares sympathizing, stares wishing them well, but stares, actionless.

I? Well, I just try to figure a story that could have placed them there, but there are countless possibilities of what may have happened, because they have always been there, and will always be there. So I just wonder, wonder about their whereabouts, wonder about their past, wonder. Actionless.


by I'm the penguin


It is funny how in today's world (ours) you can get music recomendations by people you've never met before, and perhaps never will.
At the instant (plus some lag) he posted the message, probably by his sophisticated wi-fi mobile, which was about 10 hours ago, a message apeared in my home page. It was a music suggestion from someone I admire, casually of a band I also admire and deeply enjoy. So was this a cheap cosmic trick in the way I see it. Because it developed a series of ideas in my head which will continue to rise as I listen to that specific album. And he doesn't even know it, he doesn't know I'm alive, I barely affect his income as I buy his movies when they are in sale... Still, here I am, talking about it.
What a funny funny cosmic joke...

I'm recommending Au Revoir Simone's new album Still Night, Still Light. Let me know what you think. http://bit.ly/jO1na

[Mr DL's twitter]

Sharing

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, July 19, 2009

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Today I wanted to share some pictures I've collected over the years. Of course they're not mine, and of course I don't know who made them. So I just want to disclaim I ignore the authors but would be more than happy to acknowledge credits if commented on who made them.



This one is simply absurd and fascinating. The sort of thing I'm into


The colors should be able to speak for themselves on why I chose this.



If you look close enough, you will find this is little red riding hood. And well, If you know me, you know that the symbols this contains are just far too great to ignore. The overcoming of being a victim, the rebelion against the prototypes, the mysticism, and the power to the "weak". It's just to awesome not to love it.



Well, I don't just like photographs. And while there are paintings I like more, this for some reason called me, and so it's amongst my cool pictures.




What can I say? It has contrast and clouds...


Its beauty is simple and obvious, and yet it holds a mystery within the blacks and whites.



collection of I'm the penguin

Nothing from nothing leaves a lost music sheet

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, July 18, 2009

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I'll have to keep looking for a jazzy funky tune to play in this vacation. Because the one I found, and loved, has a lost or sold music sheet, and I suck at extracting too many notes on chords... still, here it is

i want an arrangement like the following

any of our imaginary readers is in possesion of the music sheet?

Don't be afraid

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Friday, July 17, 2009

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Hey...you...

Yes... you reading this...

Come...

Here, don't be shy, I have something to tell you

Come closer...

closer...

don't worry, your nose won't break...

There...

I have a secret for you... But I don't know if I should tell you.
You see, I'm not really allowed to


But I'll do it anyway...

hihihi

The secret is... that...

hihihi

It is that... sorry this is just so exciting... he has came to kill us, to kill us all.

hihihi

Hey, don't worry. He's coming for all of us.

Don't sweat, don't try to run. Don't dare to hide, because he always, always. Always finds you...

hihihi

It's not something you did, he has been chasing you always, he has just been ... expecting for the right moment.

No, he doesn't wait. He doesn't move, he doesn't run. He's just there, always. He is always. He is never.

hihihi

Anyway... you owe him your life...

Maybe that's why he comes to claim it back.
But the thrill here, is that you never know when he will be demanding it back

But shhh, don't tell anyone.

We wouldn't want people to be scared of him more than they already are. They must not know he is coming for us.

After all, if such truth came out, who would continue to summon him with those fancy devices called how?...


clocks?



by I'm the penguin

Aim and shoot

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, July 16, 2009

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I left the court house as soon as I could, I needed a new plea, a new strategy, new witness and I have mad cow. In other words, I needed a new job.... maybe I could captain my own spaceship... or was it the other way around?
http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CBKQ3EJJ5wM/SLLCCbB8T2I/AAAAAAAAA4k/N1wVJBe25S0/s400/06.jpghttp://tvphotogalleries.com/data/504/2664Denny_Crane_the_early_years.jpg
You just have to like William Shatner... he'll never see whatever common people see..

I am the procrastinating walrus

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, July 15, 2009

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Procrastination became a serioues trouble twelve hours ago, now it is just plain cynism.

BUT it came with a souvenir (all that doing nothing a mean) book marks!.

Here's one. From a website that does things (not always right) as I tend to imagine. In a graph.



song chart memes
There is more from this in Funny Graphs

Her Morning Elegance by Oren Lavie

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, July 14, 2009

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I had to post this video, is one of the most beautiful things I've seen lately!
Enjoy!

Dreams and facts

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Monday, July 13, 2009

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Dreams, I could hardly describe their impact on society and art, or fiction and philosophy. Far from being just image, sound and feeling recollections in our brain, they are considered to be out of this world, to be something far beyond. They are greatly related to mysticism and the occult, the fantasy and future telling.

But trying to see trough all these, the fiction, and starting to see the facts; we know dreams arebut subconcient elements. We live our lives thinking the dennotation of things, the meaning of what they are, and sometimes we have time to look into the connotation, what does it mean in a context. But it is rare to encounter someone who actually tries to find the connotation within him/herself. That is, given the person you are, sumed with your experiences and knowledge what do things, people or places mean to you.

And the answer of what do they mean is butchered, put into images you can associate so there is the actual meaning your subconcious knows. And then they are called dreams. And the interpretation of them should be that, trying to find the events and surroundings of each thing in the dream, and decode what part of our lives it is. But obviously dreams don't just throw (always) a single symbol for you to understand, there are a bunch of them, living toether in your sleep. But the fact that they are together should not be understood that together they form another interpretation.

You see, the components introduced by the subconcious are there meaning something, like putting groceries in a bag. They are mean for you to use them, but not exactly together. Maybe you introduce carrots and a brand new mirror, but that doesn't mean you're eating carrots served in a mirror. (I mean you could bu that's beside the point). The point here is that we should not see the whole "episode" of a dream as a plot where everything there has a single meaning. We have to analyze them, break them and look for the pieces. Then be disappointed that the best dream in the history of humanity, for it being just about your hate towards pancakes, qeues, and that you have to pick up your parents from the airport.





[Disclaimer: If you enjoy seeing dreams as something occult beyond my "narrow" understanding, please ignore this and go on with your life. I bet it is special.]
by I'm the penguin

Purple tie

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, July 12, 2009

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That was the day when I first saw the bearded man. White hair, grey suit, purple tie and suitcase. I just looked at him for a while, he was bitting his nails, which I thought was weird, coming from a man with white hair, grey suit, purple tie and suitcase. He was waiting for the green light, and he stopped bitting his nails only to look at his watch, to then start again with his nails. He repeated this about four times, in the one minute wating he did, until the green man apeared. Then, he crossed the street with a quick and steady walk, and he was gone.

Bloody and the compounds

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, July 11, 2009

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I though about it, you know. The paper I showed you the other day, the one that depicted with incorrectly written nomenclatures and insoluble compounds, trying to describe of what am I composed of. And I knew it would be sort of inaccurate, and I knew you would say so too, so the surprise was when you told me you were the same. That even with the distance difference we could get the same results in that sort of crappy test. And I was not naïve, I knew it was not a coincidence from the beginning.

But what there is to get from here is hardly that we got the same, but what that meant. Because the description mentioned substances of great solubility with foreign chemicals, multiple uses for the outdoors and the harmonics. Yet, in the formula it also contained compounds of only low density, not one reached even the water’s. It also said we could not have deep feelings. And just ask the stirring rod, there is plenty of space for feelings.

And well, without so many metaphors, my theory is that it is because we are observers. We stand aside from what’s really happening and we sit to watch, how they speak, how they walk, how they make love. We stare, we don’t start. And even if we participate, we know we’re not fully in, because otherwise we couldn’t be out, observing. And so I think that when it comes to telling the truth it is revealed we’re not involved, so the tests show low density, as if the matter occupying that space was less than the space itself.

And this theory works, because we can get away with saying that because of our life profession, we appear as empty vessels, because that is what we need to do to do what we do. Doo doo doo.

But, as always when I make theories; I though it trough and saw how very fake I was maybe being. Because the question crossed my mind just like I t it has crossed yours (because obviously you’ve gone through this same thoughts) Is it really that? That because we observe it seems we don’t feel? Or is it that we don’t feel and thus we observe, trying to elaborate a counter paradigm.

Maybe.

You tell me Mister

Soon

...

by I'm the penguin

Rolling Stone

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Friday, July 10, 2009

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Like a complete unknown... like a rolling stone
made with Wordle and a little PS

Ink

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, July 09, 2009

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By I'm the penguin

La Psicópata

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, July 08, 2009

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Era una psicópata triste, como lo son la mayoría de las psicópatas. Su lengua que colgaba de lado hasta casi tocar el piso ya era su propio trademark. Muchos pasaban sin verla, otros se detenían para ver las manchas de su piel, otros temían a su mirada siempre pérdida. Las encías consumidas y sus dientes siempre expuestos, (parecía que sus labios nunca alcanzaban a cerrar, eran encías y dientes largos) tenían un color arenoso y unas caries que nunca fueron tapadas.
Y sus ojos eran tristes, como ojos que esperan una mirada, o una galleta. Casi negros, casi agujeros en la cara huesuda.
Contaban que la habían encontrado en la calle, en el momento no parecía loca, pero su vulnerabilidad siempre fue muy transparente. Es por eso que la recogieron. Unas manos blancas la llevaron, la cuidaron y la dejaron crecer. “Ya se arreglara” siempre decían las manos. Pero ella siguió creciendo, tan larga, tan huesuda, tan psicópata.

Exposing deviantART's elite

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, July 07, 2009

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Since today it seems the fountain of inspiration had a mayor breakdown (the pump broke) I though of showing you some deviantART talents (yea like WE are giving THEM exposure xD) Anyway, enjoy.
End of Journey by =ahermin

this arist is a genius, seriously, his photography is not only beautiful but also fresh and brilliant.



the supervisor by
*bia37





The texture and color is magnificent, it is a work of elegance and beauty




test by
greno89




Even if the title is "test" because it is in fact a test, this artist does not cease to amaze with his incredible bend of colors and figures.






[not done yet, just out of time]
by I'm the penguin

Corona Borealis

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Monday, July 06, 2009

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I was watching a movie, and I was thinking: What if we were psycho aliens with mild astrophysics knowledge... o wait, we ARE psycho aliens with mild astrophysics knowledge...

It's difficult to see the sky with the clouds of this season, still yesterday I saw Corona Borealis for a while, and it looked nice.

I like it. It was no special bright stars or anything, it's just.. a crown, filled with stories, near Boötes, which for me is just a name I never say out loud, since I wouldn't know how to..
Being as simple as it is, it catched my attention yesterday...[ Colin Clark's ]


[from Wiki]

Los paraísos de papel

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, July 05, 2009

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"Siempre imaginé que el paraíso sería algún tipo de biblioteca" -Jorge Luis Borges

Cuando alguien menciona tal cosa como el paraíso o el cielo, nirvana o como le llamen en su localidad, la gente tiende a imaginar diferentes cosas. Puedo decir que el que conozco mejor es el de cristianos y católicos, el cual figura una estancia pacífica y blanca en el cielo rodeada de angelitos tocando el arpa. Aparentemente no pensaron ni en la gente con vértigo ni en los que odian el arpa. En fin...

Pero cuando uno se pone a pensar en el resto de la eternidad rodeado de nubecitas luz y rodeado de gente muerta que nunca hizo nada muy malo, es cuando se pone a pensar en los pros y contras de seguir yendo a misa. Y dando esta premisa es como llego a la segunda, ¿qué mejor lugar para un paraíso que una biblioteca?

Pero obviamente no cualquier biblioteca, aquí los libros no se les acumula el polvo (amenos que así se les pida), siempre conservan el olor a nuevos, y todos, absolutamente todos tienen portadas artísticas. Este paraíso tiene una iluminación al gusto, es decir uno ve la luz que quiere ver, no más, no menos. Hay anaqueles de libros con más de 30 metros de altura y kilómetros de ancho, pero aún así el primer libro que se agarre siempre es el que se buscaba.

El diseño cambia con los días, nunca es de mal gusto, pero si tiende hacia lo inusual. Un día los libros se encuentran flotantes en un lago de pensamientos, y al otro danzan flotantes alrededor de los lectores. Hay días en que los anaqueles están de más, otros simplemente son hechos de colores y luz, y también está el día en que están hechos de galleta (día en el cual todos los libros acaban apilados en algún rincón a falta de anaquel)

Y sin duda, este paraíso es como los demás, no se deja entrar a cualquiera. A la gente aquí no le gusta mucho ser elitista, pero lo es, quien solo leyó TVyNovelas o sus contrapartes en cualquier país está condenado a una sala de espera con nada más que revistas de chismes de hace tres años (el infierno). Ahí también acaba la gente más peligrosa en cuanto a libros, no los que no leen, si no los que leen solo un libro (este llámese cualquiera que involucre dioses desquiciados o vampiros pedófilos, o del tipo). Y obviamente no hay necesidad de decir, que aquellos que queman, rompen, roban o echan refresco a un libro en el curso de su vida acaban en la sala de espera también.

Así que teniendo esto en mente uno puede pensar en si seguir creyendo en las nubes con música de fondo de harpas o si optar por la biblioteca más grande y perfecta del mundo. Claro que conforme la vida de uno se figurará a cual sería más posible entrar y optaría por ese (en caso de no ser masoquista).



by I'm the penguin

Good times

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, July 04, 2009

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Likes: Sleeping watching movies (oh rly?), watching movies, having fun during vacation
Dislikes: Sold out tickets D:

This is revealing once more the scheduling fail and the time travelling. But still.

I saw a couple trailers, I ate some cereal.

I went into the mountiain, I met some cows, and turtles.
(Seriously.)

We messed up some shoes, mine survived.

Oh, good old times, oh the good present time!

Linearization

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in , | Posted on Friday, July 03, 2009

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Problems with linearization

Problems with my life...

and problems with my camera



by I'm the penguin

Wreck, video and small pleasures

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, July 02, 2009

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You know it really wont surprise me
If I'm a wreck by the age of eighteen
The way I look
The way I look is not fine

So, yes... I'm the type of person that reads cereal boxes and takes videos of kids playing with umbrellas...
And I'm the type of person that says that all this strange short videos of water vaporizing and salt falling will someday make a beautiful video... which I'll post here probably...

In my video summer, I've had a rest from the AE's slavery day, when I thought the keyboard became part of my body... So maybe it's time to start playing with it again, this time, featuring small pleasures of live, in a picture-video way...

Oh those small pleasures...

Of the teachings of the Father and his son

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, July 01, 2009

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As the robed man ignited the smokes and prayed to a deity beyond, craving for forgiveness for what he was about to do, and pleaded for strength not to flinch in this dubious endeavor; the young man in the other room waited patiently, silent, as those who do not seek in the waiting, but for the time to run.

The man proceeded to enter the next room, where the young man was, he had a big wooden box in his hand, which he placed in the table of the room. It was a little pre-hall room with stone and gravel walls and no ventilation. The only source of light was a window where someone, must likely by mistake, had put a stained glass of a dove surrounded by a red and yellow aura that did not even fit in the window frame, it was probably a left over. The result was a work place with a red and yellow lighting and the Holy Spirit resting in the table, that was of course until 6 p.m, when the reflection moved to the other wall.

“What is today’s lesson father?” The young man asked, without a sign of eagerness or boredom. The old man remained silent while he opened the dusty box, and once the lid was taken away and the old man caught his breath after all the dust had scattered he looked at the young man as if he had just noticed his presence. “Our interest today is the content of this box” he said, looking at the inside of the container.

“But first, we must review one of the most basic concepts there can be in a corporation such as ours” The young man slightly shrieked when the word corporation was used. “Can you as a soon to be priest tell me in few words, why was Christ important?” the father asked.

The priest to be was thrown out of position for a second, open mouthed and looking at the priest as if what he had just implied a horrible insult. “Of course I could, that is the true purpose of a priest, spread the word of the savior” he replied, confused of the father’s intentions. “Jesus Christ is the son of God and king of kings, holy among the mortals and yet he sacrificed his life to beg forgiveness for all of us; he had profound knowledge of science and medicine, yet was humble and carried the office of a carpenter. He used his miracles to heal the ill, guide the lost and redeem all human kind.” He said, not knowing where that question was going. “And after his dead, he resuscitated three days later, bringing the message of love and peace to the world” he ended.

“That is all true in what you have learned and also very inspirational. But what if I told you he’s not unique? The ancient Greeks had in their cosmogony a son of God that had been killed by and then, out of his holy and living heart, the gods were able to put him together again, Dionysus.” He explained while taking out a very old book with Greek letters and images of a boat and dolphins, and one with a heart and the gods. “Then there is Krishna, the direct incarnation of the creator, who on Earth performed what could be called miracles and brought a message of peace?” the priest explained with another book, expecting some sort of response from Joseph, who remained silent, waiting for the priest to be over.

“Then there is Mithra, whose sole name means to bring together, to tie the heavens and the Earth. Being the redeeming part of a triad of deities, he was the one in contact with the humans, punishing evil and praising good, redeeming those who have done wrong.” He said, showing Joseph another book, and other. “And while there is not an account of a sacrifice made by him, there is still the symbol of the god who saves the mankind, who intervenes between God and man.” He said that last part raising his voice, raising his spirit for truth and understanding. Joseph remained silent and observing while the priest went on explaining with a somewhat passion and guilt the origin of Horus from Egypt, or the similarities of the biblical symbols with Pagan deities.

“So, what do you think about this?” asked the father, after some hours, knowing it would take a while for the disciple to produce an educated response.

“I do not understand your point clearly, is this supposed to show me the other religions had influence of our believes, or that they all just used a transverse story of Jesus?” he asked, completely confused, yet remaining calmed.

“My son, this could be true if only our religion was as old as the others, which is not” he said, making an effort to confuse the young man. “The reason of me telling you this is beyond any person, even God’s son.” He said, crunching the silent atmosphere around, as if with that sole sentence he had turned the class into something else, as if the whole room and monastery had became something else. A disturbing silence came in. “What I’m trying to make you see is that all these cultures had the symbol. Maybe it was present in different figures, and maybe none of them existed, not even Jesus, but they all had the symbol” he said, part of him wanting to make the young man understand, and other craving for forgiveness.

“But.. Father, is that not heresy?” he asked, for once upset and fearful.

“You could think it is.” The Father said, looking deep into Joseph’s eyes. “But I actually believe is quite the contrary, and that what must be gotten out of all of this, is that the savior is the symbol we all share. Jesus, and this other deities were not holy just in a country, they were believed to save the whole world. And at the end of the day that is the message you want to spread around. Because if Jesus did existed, which I wouldn’t dare to deny, he would prefer, I think, that we remembered the message of love and sacrifice rather than a history lesson.” Ended the father.

The room then became the most silent place in the world. And there most surely have been a thousand other places with less noise, but that was the most silent one, as if nothing there have ever existed, as if the walls had been there by mere coincidence as well as the white dove who slowly moved out of the table. The Father and the priest to be did not existed there, there was just vacuum.

Vacuum was only filled with a single whisper from Joseph “Why...?” It was not a question, the Father knew it, he also knew it would take more than a day to explain this to Joseph, given the state of his raising and education.

“You may not understand now” The Father said, “but ahead of us comes a time where we will need to tell apart what is what in the chaos this world has become…”

“I really don’t know what you are talking about Father, and frankly it is perturbing” said Joseph expecting some type of apology, some laugh that would tell him Father had just gone senile. They both remained sit staring at each other.

“You are dismissed” the Father said “be sure of something, all what I have said today is for the better, and for your nearness into the holy” he said, not looking at Joseph, in fact not even telling him; more like repeating it to himself. He was only trying to save Joseph’s life, with the few time there was left.


[I understand it is a lame short story, that is because it is not a short story]

by I'm the penguin