Her fragrance of choice was fresh garlic.
Imagine his surprise when he discovered that the safe was full of pudding.
Pair your designer hat with scuba gear for a memorable occasion.
This blog has been created as record and proof of: LIFE vs. A(_)I
Her fragrance of choice was fresh garlic.
Imagine his surprise when he discovered that the safe was full of pudding.
Pair your designer hat with scuba gear for a memorable occasion.
Travelling and waste removal have a lot in common, if they are not in essence the same: the placement of a simple substance at a particular point in time (E=mc...) It all depends on the context and the value one places on an existence. The only question is: "Who is involved and judging what (matters)?"
Jeder Ort an dem man nicht sein will ist ein Gefängnis. Auch Optionen und offenstehende Türen sind ein paradoxes Gefängnis. (Motivationsbremse der Auswahl) Man bleibt paralysiert sitzen und bewegt sich nicht, wenn man nicht weiss, wohin man will.
Given a free (human) spirit, I gotta choose! Either from where I stand or from a different place (which involves movement).
Once the POV is established one can select/ evaluate/ determine: WHAT(is going) WHERE and (in particular) WHY?
This process can virtually be applied to every"THING". Not just the Body (Physis) but also the MIND (Metaphysis).
Unfortunately this process tends to be very time-consuming, if one can't stop thinking like me:
The body is easy. No matter how beautiful it's designed, it's just a shell. One can prepare swiftly for its movement and pack accordingly. It's just a container, containing...well...(whatever got stuffed into its orifices...) and in case something leeks there is a prescription free pill called "Imodium".
The MIND on the contrary is...well..."not quiet as simple" to say the least! To be or not to be aware, that is the question. Take these "bits" for example: emotional value of a spaghetti-ice/lasagne / Ich häkel mir n Wasserkocher / Hornhaut auf der Seele...
Is this worth keeping or thought diarrhea? All I know is: I was forced to jot this down. OCD and BPD never ask for permission. They are dictators:
This week I got to know a french galerist. And as if that wasn't amazing enough, this galerist just happened to be looking for a performance artist, joining an upcoming group show in: PARIS! I mean... it's like somebody saying to you: "Here are the ...5..no wait.. 6 numbers to win the lottery this weekend. Just go and DO IT." And in theory you know what you gotta do: You just gotta JOT down the digits on a lottery slip and enter this slip at a lottery point. That's all you gotta do! But instead... you sit on the sofa starring at these digits, drawing them in different size, in different styles on different materials, adjusting the color, changing the stroke width, contemplating the order... until... monday mornign and the event passed. Of course I just made this up...in reality the weekend isn't over yet and I can (still) DO IT.
I just need to jot down what it is I'll be "performing".
I mean, I am an MC after all, I can turn any mundane particle into stardust. I guess, so far I only lacked the confidence and arrogance to sit in front of an audience and breathe. But, but, but... But what? I got ingredients, I got containers: a body and a mind. I AM READY!