Yeah, I can see it now
The distant red neon shivered in the heat
I was feeling like a stranger in a strange land
You know where people play games with the night
God, it was too hot to sleep
I followed the sound of a jukebox coming from up the levee
All of a sudden I could hear somebody whistling
>From right behind me
I turned around and she said
"Why do you always end up down at Nick's Cafe?"
I said "I don't know, the wind just kind of pushed me this way."
She said "Hang the rich."
Catch the blue train
To places never been before
Look for me
Somewhere down the crazy river
Somewhere down the crazy river
Catch the blue train
All the way to Kokomo
You can find me
Somewhere down the crazy river
Somewhere down the crazy river
-Robbie Robertson: "Somewhere Down That Crazy River"
"Here's looking at you kid"
-H.B. in Casablanca
(as time flows by in Rick's cafe).
The ghost was her father's parting gift, presented by a black-clad secretary in
a departure lounge at Narita.
For the first two hours of the flight to London it lay forgotten in her
purse, a smooth dark oblong, one side impressed with the ubiquitous Maas-Neotek
logo, the other gently curved to fit the user's palm.
She sat up very straight in her seat in the first-class cabin, her
features composed in a small cold mask modeled after her dead mother's most
characteristic expression. The surrounding seats were empty; her father had
purchased the space. She refused the meal the nervous steward offered. The
vacant seats frightened him, evidence of her father's wealth and power. The man
hesitated, then bowed and withdrew. Very briefly, she allowed the mask her
mother's smile.
Ghosts, she thought later, somewhere over Germany, staring at the
upholstery of the seat beside her. How well her father treated his ghosts.
-William Gibson: "Mona Lisa Overdrive"
(a father's lasting gift)
On Tue, Jul 12, 2011 at 10:42 PM, Dan Glover <[email protected]> wrote:
> They locked him up... told him he was crazy. After enough time had
> passed, he knew it too. He must be crazy. He could see it in
> everyone's eyes. He heard it in the way they talked to him. He felt it
> in the way they kept their distance. Like they were afraid. Not of
> him, but of what he'd become. Or maybe it was him they were afraid of.
> After all, he was crazy so how would he know, how could he know for
> sure of where the madness ended and he started?
>
> They asked him questions and fed him pills. Blue pills, green pills,
> red pills... they all went down the same so it didn't much matter. A
> cup of water, drink, now, lift your tongue. How do we feel today? Do
> we want to hurt our self today? Do we want to hurt anyone today? After
> enough time had passed he began to sense the correct answers, the
> answers that would set him free. Not just free to wander the grounds,
> but free to go... out there... into the world.
>
> The answers didn't work right away, the correct answers. But after
> enough time had passed, they didn't seem as afraid when they looked at
> him. A light in their eyes had replaced the fear. He noticed now that
> everyone had that light in their eyes but the light wasn't always the
> same light... the sane light. The light that said: I am okay. Now,
> when he looked into a mirror, he saw that light in his own eyes. It
> made him feel better.
>
> One day they came and told him that he was indeed better now... that
> he could go home. It'd been so long though that he no longer had a
> home to go to. Four years in an institution will do that. Everything
> was gone. Family, friends, wife, money... like he'd been to war. They
> gave him a hundred dollars and a bus ticket anywhere. So he rode that
> dog all the way west until the sea stopped it; he could go no further.
>
> He rented a cheap room above a tavern by the ocean. The sounds of the
> waves and the people below lulled him to sleep at night. He got a job
> in the tavern below doing the only thing he knew how to do: cleaning
> up after others. He noticed the light in their eyes changing as they
> grew drunk with liquor, meaner, uglier. They made messes on purpose
> just to see him clean it up. But he never grew angry. He just did what
> he did and he did it with a smile on his face. A smile only an insane
> man could wear properly.
>
> She worked as a bar maid and her name was Lisa. All the men called her
> Mona, though, especially after they'd had a few, and they laughed
> about it and slapped their knees as they did so like it was the
> funniest thing. He didn't get the joke but then again he'd never been
> to a museum and he'd forgotten all the art he'd ever been taught. Lisa
> didn't like it. But, like him, she never let on. She just smiled and
> did what she did. He noticed that it was a smile a lot like his.
>
>
>
>
> On Tue, Jul 12, 2011 at 10:17 PM, 118 <[email protected]> wrote:
>> Once he had lived with his new awareness and gotten used to it, he
>> wished to share it with others. When the breakdown first happened, he
>> was left without ability to share what he saw. Gradually, he had
>> recovered from the original shock, and spent time with his new
>> awareness trying to understand it. Now he fully understood it,
>> although not with words, but did not know how to communicate it.
>>
>> There was a wide divide between his personal understanding and its
>> agreement in the Social Layer, which is where he wanted to place it.
>> He felt alone, and wanted it discussed between other people. Every
>> word that he thought of as part of a description was insufficient, and
>> just plain wrong. He read how others had done it, but did not have
>> the patience for all the questions that would spring forth. However,
>> he also did not want to remain alone with his new understanding.
>>
>> He sat in front of the computer and surfed around. He found a nice
>> slide show that kind of was in tune with his awareness. A little more
>> surfing brought forth the perfect music to expand upon the slide show.
>> Visual and auditory, was that enough? He was feeling something
>> similar but much much more intense. He opened the window a bit to let
>> the night air in. Yes! That was it, that cool breeze fit right in.
>> Not only that but the night blooming jasmine was expressing itself
>> fully at that time. But how many people know about that breeze and
>> that smell.
>>
>> He decided that he could not share it over the computer. He would
>> have to wander the lands and find people who he could show directly.
>> An while such a journey seemed long, he knew that by doing it that
>> way, he would no longer feel alone.
>>
>>
>>
>> On Tue, Jun 14, 2011 at 12:37 PM, 118 <[email protected]> wrote:
>>> Hi All,
>>> It has been said that communication through writing lies within the
>>> realm of static quality. Certainly it can be said that it is based on
>>> Subject/Object grammar. How then do we point to dynamic quality,
>>> without getting stuck in these circular discussions which only point
>>> towards themselves?
>>>
>>> I propose that there is a method in writing which is based on Dynamic
>>> Quality. In fact there are many methods being used today with such a
>>> basis. Train of thought, or automatic writing is one of those. Often
>>> I have to read my posts after I have written them to see what I said.
>>> In this way writing is more like talking in the present tense, in the
>>> moment.
>>>
>>> So, what does this look like when we are relating something that
>>> happened in the past? Well, we must remember that things that
>>> happened in the past were happening in the present at one time. By
>>> present I mean that infinitesimal (non-existent) fraction of time that
>>> we live in. In order to explain this, I will use an example that has
>>> nothing to do with MoQ, since that is much more difficult. I will
>>> choose the following sentence written in standard past-tense grammar,
>>> and convert it to dynamic quality format.
>>>
>>> "The lovestruck man swam across the cold river to be with his expectant
>>> lover."
>>>
>>> OK with that? Now here is the Dynamic Quality Format:
>>>
>>> "Feeling alone and despondent, the intensity of desire was building.
>>> Each step brought him closer to that object of his desire until he was
>>> met by a cold river which presented a barrier. Yet, his wanting
>>> pushed him forward. As he entered, the cold began to travel up his
>>> body until he was completely free of suffocating heat. Arm over arm
>>> he entered into a mesmerized state where each moment was unique and
>>> separate from the previous. He had no idea how long he was in this
>>> state, but found himself surfacing at the shore, and the spellbinding
>>> cold was replaced slowly with heat once more. This much closer, he
>>> moved slowly towards that which he sought in order to satisfy the
>>> longing which had held him for so long. This was the woman who was
>>> expecting him."
>>>
>>> So, why do I call this "writing in Dynamic Quality format"? It is
>>> simply because as one read this, everything is opening up to the
>>> reader as happening in the moment. The subjects and objects are
>>> revealed as they happen. It is not until the end of the sentence that
>>> the beginning is defined. This is the way life works if we live in
>>> the dynamic moment. Each moment defines those that occurred
>>> previously.
>>>
>>> Give it a try and see what you guys come up with!
>>>
>>> Cheers,
>>> Mark
>>>
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