why beautiful?

What is it we want when we desire? What aspire? Apotheosis?

Finding any human “beautiful” is quite disturbing. I am especially disturbed when I see a stranger or a coworker and find them beautiful despite no knowledge of their internal lives, loves, and how they affect and effect their environment and co-humans. Another facet of my appreciation of these humans is that they are (not always) usually the very inadequate adjective “feminine”. Biologic imperatives aside, as thinking being, how is that my sense of beauty is skewed this way? If beauty lies in certain proportions of facial and body features, why should something as constructed, ethereal, flexible, and earthy as “gender” affect my preferences? Instinctually I distrust all category, yet those same instincts shade my preferences to certain and not all hues.

Intellectually, I can understand a preference for healthy scapes. A healthy looking desert or mountain always looks more beautiful to me than one that appears sickly or polluted. But it is the case that the humans I find most beautiful are not always the most healthy. If the appearance of health alone were a judgement-hinge, then why go further? But I do go further. Certain people are beautiful to me, more than other people. There is a sense that knowing someone well is to further appreciate their beauty, so I accept that. That still does not explain why so and so X at my workplace is more beautiful than so and so Y despite their similarities. Nor does it explain the same phenomenon when I see people on the train home.

I can say with confidence that all the friends I know well are extremely beautiful to me equally but in their own ways. And I love them all equally but in different ways. This is no cause for alarm. But why should a less deep appreciation for total strangers beauty be unequally divided among age, “gender appearance,” and other properties?

The shallow appreciation is unremarkable as I don’t know these people at all; I stress the unequal division of this appreciation. Another puzzling fact is that sometimes the appeal of a total stranger seems to be quite deep. Am I as prejudiced as all that? (Yes.)


icebubes, vapor, and water

How very arbitrary everything is. An attempt to make order of it all leads to the greatest acheivements of human beings, science, art, structure. Everything exists, as do I. And my continued existence is dependent on All That Is. If that All were not there, nor would I be. Be, that is. Is. The mathematical orbits of atomic particles echo the orbits of planets and galaxies. Difference returns to congruency, always and always. We humans are bound to time: flowing, flowing, always flowing. Continue reading “icebubes, vapor, and water”


Two dots. I reason that humans are able to perceive time because we are able to remember difference. That essentially, difference is dependent on memory to even be noticed. “When it was different,” as a means of cogitating the universe. But if one looks at these two dots . . one is able to perceive and remember difference without the aid of memory at all. The two dots are. Memory learning is needed for seeing and perceiving the difference between words and letters…but not for noticing these two dots : thence is a hole in my original idea.

sexual fantasy

Is this sexual fantasy deeply narcissistic? Is the friend-partner just a female me? Does this fantasy assume that someone would be as content with such a gaze as I would? Does this fantasy assume that my visual appreciation (quite a male trait, I hear) is more important that the types of fulfilment desired by this partner? Do I have a specific partner in mind (I do, somewhat dismayingly.) Does this fantasy not place sexuality outside the home (as in grand-patriarchal tradition), and yet even deny any kind wet fulfilment to the partner? Isn’t the fantasy quite a selfish one, really? It assumes a trust. It also assumes a frame between the everyday and the hour or so a week within. It is essentially Platonic. Am I now a bad human for this desire? There are frames where the desire to penetrate is one of violence and violation, an implementation of male force. I’m safe on that count. There are also (more recent) frames where the non-consummation is a denial of a sort, a violence of emotion, a manipulation and eschewing of pleasure-giving. Then I am guilty. Also there could be read an aversion to emotional responsibility here. But at the same time, to assume the emotional dependence of another seems to me a quiet sort of sexism.

The essential thing about a desire is that it is a projection outward of some very rooted instincts. Most humans share the same sorts of instincts when it comes to desire, and I pass no judgement on the colourful forms it can assume. Continue reading “sexual fantasy”

all of her

She was a point, but she felt pointless, so she became a line. But no one listened to her line, so she expanded into the worlds of width, breadth, and height. Here she encountered endless shapes, but her point had vanished. And her lines were constantly mutating into other angles. With no defined shape, she decided to expand into a four dimensions, but found she was yoked into dragging the other three with her into an ageing future. Five and six were similarly, just pointless variations on a theme. So made an effort and found her point again, though others criticized her as one-dimensional. After a certain point, she vanished.

Questions for my friends

Questions for my friends:

Do you know how beautiful you are?

Do you know that you literally saved my life?

What does your face look like when you just wake up?

Have you ever sat down in the shower and cried?

Have you ever gone to sleep, and woken up, weeping?

Which smells of your body do you like the most?

Have you ever felt drawn to a rigid religion for the feeling of legitimacy it might give you?

Have you ever had a sexual thought about me?

Does the feeling of thankfulness in your life outweigh the feeling of apologetic “sorry”?

Name three beautiful words you’ve said out loud when all alone.

Do you like to press your palms to your eyes and see the emerging patterns?

Have you ever thought something inappropriate?

Tell me about a time you were accidentally racist.

Tell me about a time you were purposefully racist.

Tell me about your kindness.

I love you.

If you could give everyone in the world just one (same) hand-held object, what would it be?

If you could give everyone in the world just one (same) talent, what would it be?

Would you still like me if I were fat?




More confident?

Who (all) would you like by your side on your deathbed?

What information would you like me never to tell you?

Why are you so judgemental?

What if everyone judged you as harshly as you judged everyone?

Would you think less of me if I enjoyed [shallow pop musician] deeply?

Why don’t you call me more?

Can you forgive me?


In theory a great great achievement: to know oneself so well, so deeply that conscious awareness becomes redundant. To be so acquainted with one’s decision making trees and efforts that there is no need to refer to oneself anymore: knowing one’s weather forecast so well as to eliminate the need for self-reflection. To me, this situation might be the penultimate happiness. Consciousness that knows itself to the point of knowing its responses and actions in any situation, and thus overcomes reflective thought. In easy terms: what if you knew yourself so well that you didn’t need to think about your actions/thoughts anymore. Continue reading “self-aware”


Life is plebian, that is: there is always the moment awake lying down before sleep, and still that moment of awake but not up yet after a sleep. Noone escapes these two moments except in extreme cases (which I will set aside). Why is it easy to imagine that moment for, say, St. Teresa or Marting Kuther King Jr., but not for Adolf Hitler or a religous extremist? Again, with the way in which archetypes become writ large in the media of our minds, why do some beings escape the rule of the ordinary. Darth Vader, Thor, Saddam Hussein, Mother Mary, Zeus, Saturn, these figures have a status that excepts them from ordinary. Fictional characters already escape the ordinary because they are subject only to imaginary circumstances, and not reality. The same could be said of Mother Mary or Judas, because although there are historical references to their existence, they have become mythological figures. The same goes for figures like Hitler or Pol Pot, their names have become stand-ins for such evil that although these people were as subject to daily life as anyone else, the concept of Hitler or Pol Pot overcomes the human person the names designate.

In truth, we don’t like to remember their humanity. To do so is a reminder that within the ordinariness of life, that in policy meetings and management heiarchies, these lone humans were able to effect desicion trees making ordinary citizens able to commit acts of great violence and agony. Their very humanity ties us to them, and makes us uncomfortable due to the moral accounting resuting thereof. But the “good,” we like to remember their humanity, usually. It is a reminder that even with the opressive conditions of existence, we can acheive great things as Mozart, as the Buddha, as St. Teresa.

“Good” and “evil” are very simplistic ways of dividing human beings. In a consequentionalist stance, we could judge people based merely on the effects they have had on surrounding humans. Martin Luther King Jr. is an inspiration to millions for equal rights and the power of dogged activism. Brutal dictators cause extreme agony. Most of us fall in the middle: we’re just trying to pay the rent and take care of us and ours. I prefer to know and be reminded of the obayance of all humans to our biologic needs, beacuse it is a great reminder of the extreme breadth and depth of how we may affect other people.

Now we have returned to earth and recongized these beings as having been living, just like us.

Inflexibility of time

12891698_10101776888413366_5310539695117596337_oWorking in the business of live theatre is a brutal education on the inflexibility of human-scaled “time”. During performance, any act is totally unreversable. While one can redo something in rehearsal, this ‘redo’ is always a new redo in that a mistake at 12:13pm becomes fixed at 12:15pm—most definitely not at 12:13pm. I can not travel back in time. As theatre is a collaborative venture, redoing a moment requires the cooperation of all the parts of the whole: technicians, performers, staff. (Of course everybody is cognizant of the redo.) But in performance, there are no retakes. There can never be a moment redone without all participants noticing. Continue reading “Inflexibility of time”