Saturday, October 10, 2009

The Logical Machine

Salvador Dali has been one my favorite artists for as long as I can remember, and I remember looking through a book of his work when i was eight. Expressions of beauty do not have to be "appropriate." I'm not interested in a personal definition.

A comma here a comma there.

The difference it made was great.

Layers of wind, all from the same place, hit the leaves with varying degrees of pressure.

A dangling string is smothered in glue. It catches and pulls me with an overwhelming stress into the glistening erosion.

Simplicity, I refuse it, I am not alone, I am the same as everyone else. We are creatures of layered complexity. To make the bold and false statement that everything is cut and dry, or capable of being simply stated, or worse yet, "black and white," is to deny the intricate beauty which we cannot understand. I know nothing, but I find beauty within the sublime concepts that I do understand, and they lead me to an inkling of the transcendent.

The reader is the author; the author is the reader.

Human relations.

Pasolini, I shall always be.

See if I care, See if I care. If you don't mind, I'll slip out the back way. If you don't want me, you don't have to have me. There must be somebody else to go about it another way. I thought you might feel the same way, that's all.

This is what I am made of...there is nothing I am afraid of. I will die with both of my hands untied.

Heaven vs. Paradiso
Never confuse these two contrasting dreams.

It was all down hill from Baroque.

Logic is dead.

Art is dead.

Pragmatism is born.


"All hail simplicity"- ignore the mystical.

Let us capture images of nature - "Look how accurately this painting depicts nature." - ignore the mystical.

Nature is lovely and alluring, but it remains a representation of entrapment to me.

Plain brown portraits take over.

The natural beauty of the human form.... the realist school....gross.

In my own unlearned opinion, there are two types of art, ones which elevate the common, and ones which lower the sacred to our own banal level.

Excuse me, my thought process may change slightly from here on out, as I am on my fourth cup of coffee, and I am taking a break to clip out fashion ads for my project on "Fuchsia- and it's impact on fall jackets trends." I will proceed to feel lackadaisical while doing so...(I am taking the easy way.)

One, two, three, forget it.

I know it's serious.... Girlfriend in a coma....

“Plainness has its peculiar temptations quite as much as beauty.”- T.S. Eliot ....I find the work of T.S. Eliot to be extraordinarily distasteful. I have a severe desire to tear this apart, but I shall refrain, but this what I am talking about. There is no beauty in modern life.

"The virtue of plainness and ugliness." If two things don't fit, but you believe both of them, thinking that somewhere, hidden, there must be a third thing that connects them, that's credulity” - Umberto Eco

Run, run, run, run, forget yourself in the motion of limbs, progress, industry, forget me.

Status Quo.

The disappearance of the individual.

The will, the will is not raw. There is another part of us which is beyond not only the cognitive, but beyond the will. The will is directed by the cognitive to a certain degree. Our wills our influenced by our perceptions. "The Trimuph of the Will"...I don't mean to be racist in any way...but, hey, once again, thanks Germany, for yet another twisted philsophical ideal.

Unity, Power: The death of the individual.

"Words are but symbols for the relations of things to one another and to us; nowhere do they touch upon absolute truth. ... Thus it is, today, after Kant, an audacious ignorance if here and there, especially among badly informed theologians who like to play philosopher, the task of philosophy is represented as being quite certainly "comprehending the Absolute with the consciousness", somewhat completely in the form "the Absolute is already present, how could it be sought somewhere else?" as Hegel has expressed it." -Nietzsche critizing Hegel...but I can't decide who I dislike more profusely...

There are two birds on a tree, one eats the fruit of the tree, while the other looks on. Which bird is me? Duality. I am looking into a reflection of a reflection which goes on infinitely.

Run, run, run, run, through the glen.
See if I care, see if I care, I wouldn't, I won't.

Memorized prayers having the similar effect of a mantra (an abandonment of yourself having God as your sole focus.). I see nothing wrong with this.


April 5 2005, Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger (Pope Benedict XVI) referred to the Christian religion as the religion of the Logos:

"I will write my law on their hearts." St. Justin wrote that those who have not accepted Christ but follow the moral law of their hearts (logos) follow God, because it is God who has written the moral law in each person's heart. Though man may not explicitly recognize God, he has the spirit of Christ if he follows Jesus' moral laws, written in his heart.

The Dark Night Of The Soul
Saint John of the Cross

Songs of the soul rejoicing at having achieved the high state of perfection, the Union with God, by way of spiritual negation.

Under the dark of night,

Demented by hot yearning, I arose

(O gamble of delight!)

And went though no one knows,

Leaving behind a house in cold repose.

In darkness all went right,

By secret ladders, in clandestine clothes,

(O gamble of delight!)

In darkness I arose,

Leaving behind a house in cold repose.

And in the luck of night

In secret places where no other spied I went without my sight

Without a light to guide

Except the heart that lit me from inside.

It blazed my trail and shone

A surer path than noonday rays could show

Toward where there waited one

Whom only I could know

Out in a place where only we could go.

O guiding dark of night!

O dark of night more dear to me than dawn!

O night that can unite

A lover and loved one,

A lover and loved one moved in unison.

And on my flowering breast

Which I had kept for him and him alone

He slept as I caressed

And loved him for my own,

Breathing an air from redolent cedars blown.

And from the castle wall

The wind came down to winnow through his hair

Bidding his fingers fall,

Searing my throat with air

And all my senses were suspended there.

Beyond myself, I eased

My forehead on my love where he reclined.

Time stopped. I lay released,

Leaving my care behind

Among the lilies, out of night and mind.

I am not a complete idiot, however my lack of knowledge is vast.


  1. I love Dali too. He bleeds dreams. :) Beautiful post.

  2. I bled a dream into this post it seems.