the poetic life
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rethinking self
perhaps this “self” is a mere catalyst of what I perceive, of how I perceive, of the memories within me, and all that surrounds me It is not an I — rather the compilation second by second of what transpires through me and my relaying it to others and to myself.
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Prolonging Transcendental States
“Transcendent states are often desperately short-lived: a few moments late at night or at dusk; on a plane or train journey across wide open country. But we can, through certain ingredients (especially lavender, cardamom, turmeric, and cinnamon), access them a little more systematically and thereby loosen the grip of our insistent egos.” In “Thinking &…
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Springing
Paying attention, even by sheer chance, will gently or abruptly reveal the smallness of things that like to go unnoticed. Photographic captures will retrospectively reveal the unnoticed, and be a reminders of how much has gone unnoticed still.
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I submit
I submit, beyondThere is belief, there is knowledge— god, science, love are called I submit, beyondTo dissect into flesh, mind, spirit, consciousnessI submitnot passively Why avoid death, when it may be challenged?The transition might be to ceaseCan I submit?
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Nietzsche’s Risotto
Typically, however much we enjoy eating, we do not normally think that what we put on our plates is particularly meaningful. One person who took a different view was the 19th century German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche. In January 1877, while staying in Italy, he wrote a letter to his mother mentioning that he had discovered…
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An updated childhood memory
A common childhood breakfast was a couple of tablespoons of olive oil, some minced or chopped garlic, and whole wheat toast dipped on it. In Vienna I discovered great coffee, great pastries, great opera, great humor, great wine, and the absolutely amazing pumpkin seed oil from the Styria region
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the wonder of Taste
Taste is metaphysicalmemoryignoredidolizedan experience in its foolish relevance, and poetic importancetranscendental insinuation.It nourishes nothing we can touch, and magnifies all we have been and wish to repeat, within a bountiful sphere of incompletion.
Sila Blume 