Prius State of Mind / Interpersonal Space

The human body can seem like a hybrid vehicle. The engine is like the body and the battery is the mind. The engine activates when the body is in action; when idling, the battery cycles on. The battery only supplements the engine when intensive action is happening.

Often in daily activity one might find they are operating on autopilot, the engine caries one to a destination with little cognizance of the journey. An obstacle that requires more than the normal effort snaps the battery out of its rest, and the brain is engaged.

Additionally, the battery cycling on when at a standstill is perhaps like the brain having the chance to consciously examine things that normally pass by quickly when the body is in motion.

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When going to the space of another artist or group of artists, it's not about your art unless there is agreed upon collaboration. When allowed in another artist's creative space the focus should be on their art.

Ramen Fighter Miki

Say "I Love You"

Cardcaptor Sakura

Cardcaptor Sakura

Society

The purpose of society is to make people feel guilty.

I don't know if the terms "society" and "human" are interrelated or if they have diverged. At some point, society may take on a life of its own, and maybe should be feared the same in like manner to comprehensive AI in today's discussions.
What exactly is "society" in today's terms? Is it still disparate groups of humans or other animals commingling? Is it now a bureaucratic set of rules and processes?

Hot and Cold, pt. 2

There are two kinds of death: hot and cold.

Hot death is excitability; to be consumed by energy until all connections break and functions cease. Literally burning up. A shrew's heart beats extremely fast until it simply stops - the end of motion. What would happen if it slowed pace, would it live longer?

Cold death is the gradual slowing of processes until basic functions can't be kept up on the level of energy available. It is perhaps like anesthesia taking effect toward the end, a drift into sleep. Most old age death is likely a cold death.

Thin Place; Interstice

Living and perceiving are not binary or fixed to any singular coordinate; they exist in a range, along a spectrum. Within the spectrum, there are tolerances where it's allowable to have slightly more of positive things or to experience ailments associated with negative things.

In normal living the good and bad are experienced to a degree that allows us to differentiate the two. Consequently, in perception, a certain amount of hallucination is tolerable in everyday living. They can be produced internally, with or without intervention, or externally through tricks of light (or from another individual somehow?), or even a combination of internal and external. The question is at what point do everyday hallucinations signify a serious hardware malfunction?

Tolerances exist on the spectrum in different positions based on the individual, and there may even be ranges within the spectrum as sort of a refinement of the overall spectrum. I imagine practicing awareness and cultivating consciousness would naturally lead to a more complex and refined spectrum, and a better ability to be attuned to the subtle layers of reality.

Memories of Sunday

Atey Ghailan

Cardcaptor Sakura: The Movie

A Letter to Momo

Hot and Cold, pt. 1

Being too warm or too cold, beyond the edge of comfort, is the closest experience of death I’ve had at my age. During high school, I recall forsaking my love of Winter because of the pretentiousness of thinking that way. Naturally people can love Winter when they are in a warm home looking out at it. The truth is I do love Winter, the quiet, cold death. For me, it’s sort of akin to oncoming headlights in the opposite lane – moth syndrome – and if I’m not careful, I might find myself merging into it. It’s an odd, seemingly subconscious desire, to put this body through something; maybe a way of trying to grasp control of this sensory prison.

Mirage

The man sitting in the chair before the reception desk asked him how he liked being here as opposed to there.

"It's largely all the same," he replied. "Living around, I've come to realize people are the same everywhere. They're all jerks doing whatever gets them ahead."

The man commented on how interesting he was in the context of an office.

"Truth be told," he said, "I'm not actually here right now."
He stood up and gestured gracefully with both arms extended.
 "I'm afraid none of this is real. I'm sorry, there's nothing for you to see here."

A Letter to Momo

The Girl Who Leapt Through Time

Patema Inverted

Application for Extension

You can't take it with you, or can you?
The wealthy have the means to purchase life extensions, and it makes sense to do so given that money can't be used once deceased.
When considering the afterlife, there seems to be one conclusion for those who can afford life-saving medical care. On the one hand, if there is no afterlife, then this life should be extended as long as possible since this is it. If there is an afterlife in the form of rebirth, one may end up back here in much more dire straits, in which case life should be extended while in a good position. Because energy can't vanish from the system, reincarnation seems the likely afterlife, if there is one.

Cardcaptor Sakura

Kokoro Connection

Cardcaptor Sakura

Cardcaptor Sakura: The Movie

The Girl Who Leapt Through Time

Cardcaptor Sakura

Sword Art Online

Cardcaptor Sakura

"Life, friends, is boring."

I have done my living.

The development of my physicality - that continual dream state that ends in birth - and the subsequent rapid splitting of cells and in vitro growth on the culture dish that is the world. It tapers; it slows.
And I come to the beginning of the end. I know my body is settling; all the cells and neurons I will ever have shuffle about my outline like quicksand finding temporary equilibrium. I know my mind and memory dull, and things aren't quite as vibrant as they used to be.

Dying is not some sudden end
later in life;
it begins at this time, what people consider youth.
The body blossoms
again and again
with a refresh of cells that are new, yet less effective
and more error prone than their predecessors.

Many live in reverse. The prenatal dark dreams bear striking resemblance to the delirious fantasies of the deathbed, a coincidence of similarity and chemistry. "Living" is then the awakening from the dream, the day-in-day-out ache that says 'you are alive!' beginning with the ache of your first breath - the drowned breaking the water's surface.
...
I should point out that death, without interference, is painful. It happens to be, in order of occurrence, the second most jarring transition; the other being birth. The aches produced by what many consider to be living turn out to be us tip-toeing around that transition. We experience dying in many small ways before it ends.

Part of me, if I were to get fired.

Cardcaptor Sakura

Scene from a School

Scene: A hallway with the white and somewhat brown checkered linoleum, the old radiator and window that stretched across one wall, the almost imperceptible innumerable holes from years of staples on the other wall, and pock-marked ceiling squares that would kill you if you ground up and snorted enough of it.

Two boys are sitting against the wall, facing the radiator, with knees just under their chins. They are taking the phrase "study hall" literally, and discussing the semantics of what they are doing and why everyone else is in a classroom, when the outdated loudspeaker system sounds.

Through the almost pure static of the loudspeaker - that spoke to either the lack of funds for upgrades or the unimportance of the messages it would carry - the words "Ricky... Principal's office to meet... Parents are..." could be made out.

"Dammit, I forgot out the parent conference," Ricky cursed.

"Why was it called?" Jake asked.

Ricky wormed up the wall and began a slouched walk down the hall with hands in pocket. "I don't know, probably because of missing class."

"Hey, meet you behind the portable before fourth? Your turn to drive to The Butchery," Jake called after Ricky's shrinking back.

"Working class gritty," Ricky said, shaking a peace sign over his shoulder.

The Principal was not in the Principal's office, but the Guidance Counselor and Ricky's parents were seated and waiting.

"Ricky, please have a seat. We need to talk about your grades," she ordered. She spoke names with a lilt that rose on the last syllable, like a vehicle working to crest a hill.

"Now Ricky is doing very well in English and fairly well in computer science, but his grades have been slipping in math. Currently, he isn't meeting the standards of the GLAD (General Learning and Achievement Directive) exam and, naturally, we can't have any child left behind™."

 "Not to interrupt, but shouldn't we try to nurture his talents? If he's doing well in English, he could be a writer or editor," Father chimed in.

The Guidance Counselor gave a smug, knowing smile. "A child doesn't know what they want to do for the rest of their life, and no one knows what will be in demand in the future. For this reason, all students are taught and tested on a series of fundamental lessons in the same subjects. They must all know this information. Without this basic knowledge, it will be very difficult to compete for a position of advanced employment. What if Ricky decides he would like to become a rocket scientist, but he hasn't mastered the subject of math? What is he would like to develop a superior form of corn, but he hasn't mastered the subject of biological sciences?"

She paused to clear her throat.

"Ricky has one more year before graduation. The school won't be able to allow him to graduate if he can't demonstrate mastery of all the basic subjects in the government-developed standardized tests."
 
Ricky looked over at his parents. Both parents nod their heads like Drinking Bird toys as they took in the words of the Guidance Counselor. Employees through and through, they understood that progress is made by agreement; you got ahead by agreement. Disagree and you may need to find a new job.

More discussion and pleasantries and he is on his way to fourth period, though, he walks past the classroom door and out the back door. Jake is leaning against the windowless side of a portable and passes a cigarette. He lights it, takes a drag, and looks up as he exhales. The too-big sky soars overhead, swirling the clouds to a froth, his cigarette smoke seemingly feeding the sky.

"Let's get going. I don't want to be late."

I"s

Vacation Time

For those living paycheck to paycheck, a vacation means paid time off, but not necessarily going anywhere, given that current pay goes toward current living demands for those individuals. Assuming the paycheck-to-paycheck lifestyle is already void of fat, or unnecessary expenses, I argue that vacation time should be allotted at the rate of overtime, or time-and-a-half. This provides a little extra to allow for exploration with the "time" part of the phrase going toward the current demands at home.

Wolf Children

Trafic

"If you live life with awareness
You mature
A Mature one never dies,
Because he will learn even through death
Even death is going to be an experience
To be intensively Lived
Watched
Allowed"

- Osho

Around a Small Mountain

Tsubasa

Lime Tree

A sudden wind stream
forces leaves against iron
young tree learns to stand.

I Had That Dream Again

Mystery and Melancholy of a Street,
Giorgio de Chirico

Japanese in Space

The X from Outer Space

Visually Compelling

"There was a sudden troubling thought that nobody seems to know much of anything. Everything in our culture seems to be marinating in the same plastic sack and the ingredients are deeply suspect."

-The English Major, Jim Harrison

Guilty Pleasure

     "Just another fucking day in Liberal, America," Jake said sarcastically.

     "Just another fucking day at The Butchery," Ricky corrected.

     Jake, a high school sophomore, is a twiggy person in too-big, dark-colored clothing that moves like Jell-O in his more energetic moments. A self-proclaimed 'punk rocker,' he lives up to the stereotypical portrayal of a goth of the United States. He sits on the rear bumper of an old Volkswagen Passat, a car with the bone structure of a tank, nodding his head to a hymn of System of a Down.

     Ricky, a high school junior, would be a candidate for future bouncer employment; to say that he has 'filled in' would be an understatement, and one wonders how his frame holds him aloft. He is the owner of the sedan and reclines in the back with his feet sticking out the end.

     The Butchery: fueling point for the bodies of the affluent and well-known. Owned and managed by obscure  - but upstanding - citizens who are members of the Conscientious Entrepreneurs for Profit, CEP for short. Bleeding hearts who serve bleeding hearts (unless ordered well-done) to other bleeding hearts.

     The music slows and fades, signaling they are one song late in clocking in. Ricky groans, stretches and rocks himself to a sitting position.

     "Guess it's about time," he said, spitting onto the asphalt.

     "Matter of fact, it is," exclaimed Jake, entering one of his brief euphoric, energy-laden bursts. He dances about the lot throwing jabs at the air behind Ricky, who is closing the hatchback.

     Ricky began plodding toward The Butchery, across the small parking lot along a two-lane road in a sparse part of town, with Jake still dancing around him.
     
     The boys were getting an advance lesson in a topic their peers didn't yet have to face: 'the real world.' This is a politically correct time in America, and also a time when the number of jobs available since their birth will have largely desiccated by the point of their graduation. They saw no harm in dropping out of the educational queue and getting a head start to lock in a position in life. Besides, there aren't many people remaining in the country willing to do the dirty jobs that still had to be done.

     Everyone has appetites and desires that seek fulfillment, perhaps it's genetic, but not everyone has the alacrity to provide for those appetites. In the case of The Butchery, the plutocratic customers desire meat from fresh and well-treated animals, and the well-to-do management wishes to provide it for a price. However, neither party comes from that thin slice of society with the willingness and know-how to get its hands dirty.

     Enter Jake and Ricky. Each shoulders half of a double door at the back of the restaurant. They walk a narrow corridor lined with cages of chickens and pens of pigs, the wall covered with an inventory of butcher's tools, and enter the kitchen.

     A squirrelly looking man in an odd bellman-like suit faces the two dogs who entered with a stern look and pursed lips. He speaks with a squeal that raises pitch every fourth or fifth word.

     "Where have you been? Dinner service is just a few hours away," squeaked the little concierge. 

My Own Private Idaho

Stand Out with These Latest Trends

In the Teen section of a bookstore is a poster featuring the image of a barcode that reads "Do Not Conform" in place of the standard integers. The poster is well-hung in an affordable, ubiquitous, black frame with an obvious plastic sheet in place of glass, likely of IKEA origins.

Salt

      Once upon a time, salt (among other spices) was extremely valuable and systems of slavery were in place to procure it. Today it's essentially given away. Also, today, we continue to have systems of slavery - often self-imposed - in place, which we refer to as the employee.
      Rather than once-valued salt, the employee works for "valuable" paper money, which has lost most of its worth since being removed from the gold standard in the 70s. Little do they realize, employees are being paid in the salt of today.
      One should scrutinize what's considered valuable today. How long before it is today's salt?

Tsubasa

Life's Waiting Room

Within life's waiting room,
people who have come after
are already called forward
and I continue to wait
I would leave, or inquire
at the reception desk - but
the magazines are quite good.


(Tedium in Seven Syllables)

Lost in Translation

A dog in France will not understand a command given by an American. A French dog and an American dog will be at ends with each other in the same way a French human and an American human have trouble communicating. Both rely on nonverbal kinesics for common ground, but other animals likely have the universal cues more refined.

V