Author: Pelgris

Love rambling

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In my core I desire a love that burns and aches through me. But I am so sheltered now, in my nest of years, that the outward me is a thing of sharps and edges.

How would you be able to grasp such a thing without being stabbed and bled? And even through that thicket, should a path be made or evident, what could anyone share with me?

A love of the darker nature of things? The spoils but not the work? A hope to hold, a hope to need, a hope for pleasure and shared silence. To love the beauty of a thing, but not need to own it?
That choices will be easy or simply made clear. That strength would match strength and become more.

All of this is clear in my desire but in action I am either too hesitant or overbold. A silence where there should be speech. Inaction where a gesture would win all. A rose given too soon, too much. Romantic verse and tokens given because doing so lightens my heart but without consideration for theirs.

I’m a mess. A jumble. Wanting the perfect acceptance of love in a novel, but knowing how unlikely it is. And still unable to keep myself from desiring it.

Cyclical knowledge

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The concept that I learn anew from time to time isn’t that I am capable of love. I know that quite well. No, the lesson I am taught is that someone in the world might love me. Might be intrigued by me.

Of course this knowledge only persists as long as the relationship lasts.
When it’s over, after a period of bleak depression, I seem to have lost that knowledge. Not intellectually, but emotionally. The feeling of the possible.

What I, internally, call, somewhat pretentiously, The Dawning. A light shined into dark places. I don’t know what I’m trying to say here. Perhaps that even to ourselves, we are unfathomable creatures.

Seconds dripping by at Midnight

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I’m a man of many parts. Most people are. But introspection can let you walk the paths of those parts. Most people don’t want to make the sacrifices walking those paths require. I never saw it as much of sacrifice. To know and be known, if only a little and only to yourself is a worthy goal I think.

If pressed, I will say that this life, I am trying for equilibrium. If pressed further, I will say that I have lived many lifetimes and many lives. Though in this lifetime I have had three lives.

My first life, I was a fool. I made some poor decisions. Decisions that effected friends and family. Those choices accumulated until I collapsed under their weight. I died and was reborn.

My second life was normal. Then I found my Morrigan. She introduced me to a world of pleasure and pain. To a place of transition, living hard and high on the borders. Still I kept secrets, though I learned that few want to ask the questions that lead to real answers. Because I was not ready, not accepting of her needs she began to drift away. We weren’t broken up and, in many ways still wanted each other, but at the hands of another who didn’t know her limits (or she didn’t inform them) she slipped away from this world. It doesn’t happen often and is always tragic. I shut down. Couldn’t deal, emotions became so painful that I shut them all away. Hidden in a maze deep in my subconscious. I died and was reborn.

Now is my third life, I attempt balance. Accept everyone who means no harm. Try to dance in transition and on solid ground. Accept love as it comes, in whatever form it takes. I imagine I’ll die again. Though I hope I will be in this state for the final death of this lifetime. But you never know.

Delicious melancholy

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Death is the shadow at the core of the world. It moves down the elongated spirals, corridors of heat and pressure wending its way to the surface. Each of us has a death born in the fires of creation. It seeks us, all the long days of our lives.

For some of us, it finds us before our time. It walks beside us. A companion in dark places. For those of us lucky enough to have this, perhaps overly ambitious death, we are lucky. Lucky to know and acknowledge that this life ends.

To dance in the moment, to drink in celebration, to sing out. Not in defiance of death, in ending, but a celebration of life. You do not only live once, but each time you choose joy. Each love, each companion. Each is a lifetime lived in moments. A planet, a solar system, a galaxy. Making up the universe of your life. Until the end, when form breathes its last. An exhalation formed of stars

This word ‘generation,’ I do not think it means what you think it means

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Culturally I would say a generation lasts +or- 5 years. Those at the outer edges may share cultural touchstones and thus identity with other generations. While those towards the center will identify with those within their own group more readily. When you start examining those further out you see that ideas transmitted by popular culture differs sufficiently to discern generations. Of course, if we go further back to when media and thus what allows culture to be transmitted was slower to reach enough people to reach enough mass to be considered a generation, we see a shift in the time frame. Indeed without media or a strong tradition of iterent storytelling, this concept of generation becomes thin. But for the purposes of modern(read 100 to 120 years) cultural shifts +/- 5 years works well.

Philip N. Cohen's avatarFamily Inequality

The people who make up these things drive me bananas.

NPR launched a new series on “millennials” yesterday, called “New Boom,” with this dramatic declaration: “There are more millennials in America right now than baby boomers — more than 80 million of us.”

The definition NPR gives for this generation is “people born between 1980 and 2000.” And it’s true there are more than 80 million of them. In fact, there are 91 million of them, according to the 2012 American Community Survey data you can get from IPUMS.org.* That’s OK, though, because there are only 76 million Baby Boomers, so the claim checks out.

But what’s a generation?

The Baby Boom was a demographic event. In 1946, after the end of World War II, the crude birth rate — the number of births per 1,000 population — jumped from 20.4 to 24.1, the biggest one-year change recorded in U.S. history…

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Story continued

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Magic is a mutable changeable thing. It evolves as the world evolves. Changing what works and the ways in which it works as time passes. When humanity lost faith in magic, magic laws shift to take this into account.

If you have tried magic and it failed, to most people that means it is not real. What it really demonstrates is a lack. Whether of ability, Knowledge or belief. You can know the ritual but lack the power to carry it off. You can have no idea what to do but through chance, if you are very powerful and believe, manifest an ability.

But if you fail, then barring outside influence you will continue to do so. Without utter faith in magic and your ability to work your will, magic will only be the illusion the modern world makes it out to be.

– Preamble: Treastise on Magic by Simon Crow

Lonesome October

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They dance in rebellious joy under the blood moon
Their bones and sinews
Tendons and tissues
Burning
Burning ferocity
They scream Agony
Triumph
Pain giving way
So suddenly it’s lack,
Exctasy
On the ground
Limbs extended
Necks curving upward
Mouths open
Eyes fixed to a point in the overcast
They howl with one voice
Self and other
In seamless union

Check out Psych

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https://play.google.com/music/playlist/AMaBXynsZxIqRqkGEKm3rMRxT6dqncoWCG7EfloPggvAbs92OmL8S15Zk1dBZmyLp8ktKIctR5ay5gpVMiw9JgyoW1S5llhMyw%3D%3D

Breaking my rule about posting out of schedule

Perhaps more hubris than necessary

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Every man with a bit of self awareness sees himself as a devil. You step lightly through the world because, imagined or not, the feeling that you are powerful is at your core. This idea that is central to our being shapes us. Makes us monsters but perhaps not monstrous. Capable of horrible consequences as we stomp through the world.

It’s one of the reasons I support equality for women. For purely selfish reasons. I don’t want the actions of the moment to have disastrous consequences. If women are culturally equals then the force of a man’s word can be diminished. I want an equilibrium.

The general idea is for  women to be, culturally, as powerful as men. My hope is a lowering of men’s cultural significance as women’s cultural significance rises. To have the other is to see two tyrants fighting for control. Long term it’s a recipe for disaster.

The use of  loaded terms is dangerous. Not in that it will let “them” know you are fighting but that it sets up a scenario in which you feel justified in categorizing a group of people as Other.
When a person ceases to be an individual and are seen as a cog in a machine it becomes an act of simple justification to destroy them in pursuit of lofty goals. Do not allow yourself to be lulled to sleep by the usage of such terms.

Any group that labels then demonizes another is carrying out an agenda, generally one that does not care who it grinds underfoot. Revolutions are tricky things. Just remember that the ones that fight and have the ideals are rarely the ones that shape the future if revolution is successful.

It is either a cult of personality that usurps the victory for its own ends, not really a concern here as there is not currently one focal point for which such a thing to form. Or it is those that come after that have only the rhetoric and fervor but few ideals. This is the one to be avoided as it causes the most lasting harm and the scenario most likely if we give in to the desire for quick fixes.

Stable cultural norms are crafted down generations. And now as we enter the last several generations of a long trend the tendency is to rush it forward; doing so will cause more destruction than it prevents. Warning given and done.

Poem

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Lavender scented smoke wafts
Caressingly into my nose
Floating forgotten
In sculptured
Dissonance
Wonderment unbound
Crystalline drops
Of heaven
Course through
My veins

What sacred ritual
Marks my passing

What madness

Pounding heart
Shadow locked
Trapped in voiceless
Dreams