Friday, October 15, 2010

The Seven Selves by Kahlil Gibran

Found this online by Kahlil Gibran 

In the silent hour of the night, as I lay half asleep, my seven selves sat together and thus conversed in whispers:

First Self: Here, in this madman, I have dwelt all these years, with naught to do but renew his pain by day and recreate his sorrow by night. I can bear my fate no longer, and now I must rebel.

Second Self: Yours is a better lot than mine, brother, for it is given me to be this madman\'s joyous self. I laugh his laughter and sing his happy hours, and with thrice winged feet I dance his brighter thoughts. It is I that would rebel against my weary existence.

Third Self: And what of me, the love-ridden self, the flaming brand of wild passion and fantastic desires? It is I the love-sick self who would rebel against this madman.

Fourth Self: I, amongst you all, am the most miserable, for naught was given me but the odious hatred and destructive loathing. It is I, the tempest-like self, the one born in the black caves of Hell, who would protest against serving this madman.

Fifth Self: Nay, it is I, the thinking self, the fanciful self, the self of hunger and thirst, the one doomed to wander without rest in search of unknown things and things not yet created; it is I, not you, who would rebel.

Sixth Self: And I, the working self, the pitiful labourer, who, with patient hands, and longing eyes, fashion the days into images and give the formless elements new and eternal forms -- it is I, the solitary one, who would rebel against this restless madman.

Seventh Self: How strange that you all would rebel against this man, because each and every one of you has a preordained fate to fulfil. Ah! could I but be like one of you, a self with a determined lot! But I have none, I am the do-nothing self, the one who sits in the dumb, empty nowhere and nowhen, when you are busy re-creating life. Is it you or I, neighbours, who should rebel?

When the seventh self thus spake the other six selves looked with pity upon him but said nothing more; and as the night grew deeper one after the other went to sleep enfolded with a new and happy submission.

But the seventh self remained watching and gazing at nothingness, which is behind all things.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

 "This is one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind." - Neil Armstrong

As technology has linked communal learning and sharing, the efforts of the world wide web is to permit accessibility to information and in doing so deconstructs the traditional methods citizens receive news and shared networks.  It can be worrisome to imagine closure of this free way of collective thinking.  One of the strongest educators for our century is through photo and video journalism as our eyes capture evolutionary knowledge, filters various intelligence through analysis and suspect of propaganda.  However, if pictures of our humanity are displayed in all aspects of our emotions, personalities and mental agility we gain insight to the possibilities and potential of our species.   The curious are rapidly gathering data for entertainment, assessment and categorization of the strange, bizarre, unknown or relishing in the beautiful globalocracy that reflects life.  

One of the most concise collection of informal education 

The variety is somewhat of a smörgåsbord for the those looking for a pit stop in the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy.  From the odd to porn poised women to iconoclastic ideas fresh and relevant to our times, it is one of my favorites places to venture on a rainy afternoon.

One favorite find is the tardigrada, known as the ugliest water monster but is actually a microscopic water dweller that can survive just about any horrific conditions that would kill any other animal.  They are the only animals known to survive the vacuum of space.

Talkyedy Walls
The problem is I've been talking to WALLS most my life and found out long ago, they don't talk back but I've drawn on few of them, etched with my fingernails in the soft padded ones and admired the works of others who did the same long before I came along.  From graffiti tags, to the labeled billboarded mass, to the illustrious artiste, I represent child's scratch, like the cluck cluck of chickens, scratching for feed.  

I am plagued by graphite images in a bold black, whispering white world.  I sit in-between sounds to guide my frail ears, harped by codes and ciphers.  The catalog in codex confiscated the prior canons. Loss in dissipated antiquated languages, this poet speaks to walls.  


The journey into society to merge with similar commonalities and traits of other people in transit.  Seeking the stairs or the stares of those who dare to climb and reach within the true self to carry and propel us forward.  Rather than confiscation of convoluted thoughts, the conscious identity needs recognition.  My choice lies in a realm of freedom for crafted thinking and characters refined from dire beginnings. Reaching and stretching forth for others who hear, see and understand the misconception of popular culture.  The poetical visual trek is for the spark in intellect and mindful reactions in the world of counterculture.  Truth becomes self evident.