We/Or/Me , Time , Vashti Bunyan

The Alan Parsons Project , Time

Cat Stevens , Time

Tom Waits , Time

Marc Wittman, Felt Time

“Consciousness is tied to corporeality and temporality: I experience myself as existing with a body over time.”

"Presence means becoming aware of a physical and psychic self that is temporally extended. To be self-conscious is to recognize oneself as something that persists through time and is embodied."

"Through mindfulness and emotional control, the tempo of life that we experience can be reduced, and we can regain time for ourselves and others."

"On the phenomenal level, consciousness — and the self-consciousness deriving from it — is distinguished by spatial and temporal presence. Consciousness is tied to corporeality and temporality: I experience myself as existing with a body over time."

and of course, of course:

"Thus, impulsive people display greater temporal myopia."

and citing Henry Miller:

"On how one orients himself to the moment, depends the failure or fruitfulness of it.”

out of "Felt Time:The Psychology of how we perceive Time" by Marc Wittman.

link: Felt Time  (brainpickings.org)

This article reminds me very much of Israel Rosenfield: 

"The Stránge , Familiar and Forgotten; An Anatomy of Consciousness".

link: Israel Rosenfield (brainpickimgs.org)
i read the book several times...
quote:
"My memory emerges from the relation between my body (more specifically, my bodily sensation at a given moment) and my brain’s “image” of my body (an unconscious activity in which the brain creates a constantly changing generalized idea of the body by relating the changes in bodily sensations from moment to moment.) It is this relation that creates a sense of self; over time, my body’s relation to its surroundings becomes even more complex, and, with it, the nature of myself and of my memories of it deepen and widen, too. "

And the article on Felt Time shows me that i just am no good at any emotional intelligence.

i am more impulsive than patient. Though i THOUGHT i had never been 

so patient for so long. i loathe waiting, i hate being in a state like  a bird which 

gets disorientated in a room flying against windows and getting stuck in curtains.

It is painful to hit one's head and not see it coming...

ALAN PARSONS PROJECT :TIME SUBTITULADO AL ESPAÑOL

Time, Pablo Neruda ,from:Winter Garden

Time

The day is made from many days, an hour
keeps slow minutes that found their way, and the day
grows and grows with extravagant forgottens, with metals,
crystals, clothes still flung in the corners,
predictions, messages that never arrived.
The day is a pool in the future forest,
waiting, filling with leaves, with warnings,
with dark sounds that entered the water
like celestial stones.

On the bank
remain the golden footprints of the evening fox
who like a small impetuous king wants war:
the day collects in threads of light, in murmurs:
it all suddenly springs up like a vestment
that belongs to us, it is the collective shine
that waited and dies on the orders of the night
splashing in the shadows.

El Tiempo


De muchos días se hace al día, una hora
tiene minutos atrasados que llegaron y el día
se forma con extravagantes olvidos, con metales,
cristales, ropa que siguió en los rincones,
predicciones, mensajes que no llegaron nunca.
El día es un estanque en el bosque futuro,
esperando, poblándose de hojas, de advertencias,
de sonidos opacos que entraron en el agua
como piedras celestes.

A la orilla
quedan las huellas doradas del zorro vespertino
que como un pequeño rey rápido quiere la guerra:
el día acumula en su luz briznas,murmullos:
todo surge de pronto como una vestidura
que es nuestra, es el fulgor acumulado
que aguadarba y que muere por orden de la noche
volcándose en la sombra

Alan Parsons Project - Time

Gilbert Garcin & Kroke - Time

Zeit in Malcesine

lost in transition

I saw a film, "Lost in Translation". Not bad, weird, about the Japanese and our limits of communication.
Now blogging from Edinburgh, having another coffee in another cafe, the Black Medicine Shop.
I am ususally so busy, time passes quickly, and I don't easily feel lost. My life has a continuous meaning, my own importance has grown into an awareness of self-importance to which I am accustomed by now. Now I am loitering around Edinburgh, watching so many eyes staring, hungry for life, pale kids at the side of sloppy fat mothers stepping into light, coming out of their dark dungeons, drug addicts begging for coins, school classes queueing up for a tour of the castle, their faces bored. I got hungry, bought some samosas, started eating them, placed the bag on top of a litter bin, drank my ginger beer. All of a sudden time appeared as a vacuum, I felt being pulled into nothingness, lost, meaningless, soon to be poor, hungry, thirsty, seriously ill and finally defeated.
The tall grey stone houses, these dark and narrow steps, Fleshmarket Close, a T-shirt shop at the corner, and towering above all of them the castle, the rock and Earl Haig on his splendid horse.
Somewhere near the Writer's Museum a step, a stone, enchisseled the words: "It's a grand thing to get leave to live." I still have to digest that.