Monday, February 9, 2015
We all have forests on our minds.
We all have forests on our minds. Forests unexplored, unending. Each one of us gets lost in the forest, every night, alone.
― Ursula K. Le Guin
photo and quote:
Ferdinand von Bozen (facebook page)
― Ursula K. Le Guin
photo and quote:
Ferdinand von Bozen (facebook page)
not much light all day, 17.45 now
a view from
my office
Alterius non sit qui suus esse potest
Paracelsus
Jason and the golden fleece
as an argonaut i miss the wind in my sail..
there is no reason to imagine that i am somebody so very special.
i am not.i am only special if somebody who is important to me sees me this way.
somebody who loves me.
i am but a contemporary man rooted in his own story.
just now i watched a crime story on tv.
it does relax me.
philosophy bores the shit out of me.
psychology, analytic thinking, de-construction and construction,
abstraction, interpretations of my person and my life, it makes me only one thing:tired.
intellectual games make me angry.
i tried to fight these things in communication processes, but i don't see a reason to do so anymore.
i am me, if i change i change,if i don't i don't.
my own quotes, ruminations, paintings,
it is not my life.
i like to live, see, listen, relax and sometimes share.
i have quite common needs, food, sleep, comfort, warmth.
i have a few talents, but they do not much increase my pleasure to be alive.
at this moment, i don't even know what i feel.
i wish it could be more simple than this. but it does not only depend on me.
even my desire is more floating than flowing,
and i need to be silent about it, it is more memory of my self than
hope and projection.
i am in a process of involution, throwing a cloak across my shoulders,
feeling the wind of fate, quietly.
i feel left alone, and it must be good.
i remembered the stillness of solitude.
there is no reason to imagine that i am somebody so very special.
i am not.i am only special if somebody who is important to me sees me this way.
somebody who loves me.
i am but a contemporary man rooted in his own story.
just now i watched a crime story on tv.
it does relax me.
philosophy bores the shit out of me.
psychology, analytic thinking, de-construction and construction,
abstraction, interpretations of my person and my life, it makes me only one thing:tired.
intellectual games make me angry.
i tried to fight these things in communication processes, but i don't see a reason to do so anymore.
i am me, if i change i change,if i don't i don't.
my own quotes, ruminations, paintings,
it is not my life.
i like to live, see, listen, relax and sometimes share.
i have quite common needs, food, sleep, comfort, warmth.
i have a few talents, but they do not much increase my pleasure to be alive.
at this moment, i don't even know what i feel.
i wish it could be more simple than this. but it does not only depend on me.
even my desire is more floating than flowing,
and i need to be silent about it, it is more memory of my self than
hope and projection.
i am in a process of involution, throwing a cloak across my shoulders,
feeling the wind of fate, quietly.
i feel left alone, and it must be good.
i remembered the stillness of solitude.
it is good.
i hope i will not be buried under
my own ship.there are still seas to sail.
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