The window

Having “real” conversations. I’ve never really tasted that it seems. Actually I have. I was in a band. We’d talk anything, in rhyme without reason, in sound, about the strangest rudest things. Suddenly I was able to say everything I wanted and I was able to hear the amazing stories and responses of the other band members. No fear. It was a beautiful thing, I wanted it so much, wished for it, then it was happening. Alas though, it died, for reasons of external wrath that tears the hearts out of people and leaves them unable to do what they set about wanting. I miss it all so much, what we had together in the musical glue, that created something else that is no one but the group thinking together in a way that rang true.

Then there is stuff happening now I find difficult to go into... So let's just look at the parallels of fiction. They're not me, they're not you, they're not anybody, but I think in this automatic image I've skewed some popular character for reasons that eat my retorts.

Recent painting, over an old one (about a guitar that had a hole in the opposite place than it is supposed to be and a tiny key).
Opened up a window and found you one day. There alone were your beings and I remembered them . And from that point I set forth to love what it was that made you different from me.

What we sense, well even if it makes no sense to the rest of the world, we still have to make sense of it otherwise we're senseless.

Eye openers

Geothermal

http://www.ozenergy.net/energy/geothermal.html

Cocktail

Art is a great distraction with debatable attraction when perception has symbolic deception and no reception for its bollocks.

Beings

Bad manners

It’s about something that happened a long time ago that is provoking the “hello”. It rings like super stings, but it gives back what it brings. I think it is beautiful to have you here thinking and dancing upon my feat, hearing my heart beat. I’m loving the way your voice rains down in sleet. You are a precious treat.
I wonder what will happen next. People do stupid things all the time, but I’m at a loss as to what might’ve caused this one.
Oh, it’s just that sometimes it is expected that you behave in a certain way. And if you rock the boat at all, people are either all out to defend you, or think of it as their life quest to bring you down.
-You’re not a person I want to know.
-Is that so?
-You’re a public menace.
-Really.
-You’re in trouble in more ways than one. It’s been a long time coming.
-Yeah? I’m not overly fond of being given shit. But should you attack me, I’m equipped to deal with it.
-Now isn't that just asking for trouble.
-According to you.
-See you say all this stupid shit and you don’t recognise that you’re doing it and you don’t even see it and yet you think you can deal with it? Now that’s what I call a fuckwit.
-Yeah, but I thought it would give you enough to think about to go to the trouble to say something back.
-Ah.

There’s a lot of things you could fear might happen. Social rejection, fragmentation of friends, embarrassment to the family… And all for what? So you could wrap up the tail ends of some stupid joke that you thought needed tidying up.

Mechanisms of coercion

Apparently harps are very expensive to buy. Unless they’re just some sort of toy. Of course they’re probably a good investment, for they age well, like violins and wine, if you take good care. Trumpets though, they’re a different thing. They tend to lose their pitch over time. But what’s material value when apposed to sentiment? And people collect all sorts of things that are not considered valuable until one day someone says they are. Abstract concepts apparently are imagined to make the world go round. But really that is only a medium through which to get the desired result. .So then, one harp will be smashed to obtain another. Thus the concept kills another version of what it seeks to obtain.