aerubene.lv - Blog

Review of Animated Motion-Picture Flow

Mon, 13 Jan 2025 05:09:00 +0000

The depth of myths, the diversity of species and photo-realistic environment flow together directed by the primordial language of emotions to reach one common goal - survival. The film takes us on a journey from a sculptor’s workshop, the cradle of the Cat’s World, to Lemuria, the legendary land destined to be submerged. Outstanding animation brings to life river banks familiar to every Latvian, passes Venetian-like landscape and arrives at a Disney castle/ New York skyline-like gate of tall rocks, a magic portal that leads to paradise.

The main quintet of characters consists of a cat forced by flood to leave her home, a neighbouring dog separated from his pack, a bird who risks everything to befriend the cat, a capybara who’s found the Noah’s ark, and a treasure-hunting lemur who joins the voyage into the Unknown. Far from humanising animals, which is typical in animation, Latvian film director Gints Zilbalodis lets the animals keep their animal shape and, more importantly, voice. Yes, that’s right! All the voice talents in the film are animal sounds and bird songs. Serene, quarrelling, scared, possessive, supportive, alarmed, playful, loving. Instrumental music gently highlights peak moments, unobtrusive, resonant. Nature sounds of rustling leaves and water waves erase the line between the real and fantasy. Animals act the way they do, showing the profound unity of all, regardless of language barriers. In times of need, we find the quintessence of Love, the ocean whereto all rivers flow.

A must-see film for all ages, a flow that tugs at heartstrings and teaches to swim against all odds. Gints Zilbalodis and his team have gifted us the Golden Globe.

Homemaking

Fri, 16 Aug 2024 08:35:00 +0000

Home is all about three things: Love, War, and planting Gardens. If you’re not skilled at these arts, don’t get married. You may dream, but if you have children before you’ve mastered the three arts of Homemaking, your children will suffer. Love is all cool during the honeymoon, but there will be red lines and boundaries that no one should ever cross. If you don’t know how to spar, your family will suffer. If you don’t know how to love, you will become a bully. To learn the arts of Love and War, go plant a garden! It’s better to fight weeds and kill some seeds than torture people.

Both grass and weeds are a network. Both plants and people need sunshine. Water both species with Love! Learn to bear the stings of nettles and pick out thorns left by roses! Gardening takes time; it will teach you patience. There will be attacks from all sides, including the air. You’ll have to keep all fronts. So, start small and take it slow! Let your seeds grow, tend to their first needs! As long as you stay devoted, your garden will grow and bear fruit. Some seeds will die, you’ll lose some crops. Sometimes, it’s just because of the weather. There are dry spells and storms beyond us. Sometimes, there are floods. But as long as you stay devoted, Love will bear its fruit.

Don’t invest less if the garden isn’t yours. It may be your parents’ or boss’s. The roses belong to God. You’re lucky to be an apprentice; you’ll learn the arts of Love and War. Some day you may lose this garden, the one you’ve given your heart to. But if your heart is truly buried there, you’ve buried all sorrow as well. You may never see this garden again, and there is no need to. The garden is always with you, it’s taken root where your heart used to be. You buried your heart in the garden; and the Garden sprouted in you. Now you’re part of the network. You’re grassroots. And those are stronger than weeds. No matter what the wind blows, grassroots will be there for you.

Even when you are alone and in pain, grassroots will be there with you. Just put your hands on your chest, right where your heart used to be! You’ll feel all the sunshine and rain. You’ll feel the grassroots reach out. There will be a sweet-cherry tree, growing through your limbs. Your feet will be rooted firmly in the ground. Your core will sing for the Sun. Your arms will hug the Universe, and Love will blossom in you.

Give your heart to the Garden; and the Garden will walk with you. Wherever you settle in the future, your Garden will settle with you. It will take time to build a new home, but grassroots will help you; you’ll see! Once you’ve helped them, they will help you. Together you’ll manage; together you’re Love. If anyone threatens you, you aren’t alone. You are many; you are an army. Let the foes come! You will embrace them; you’ll flood them with Love. Neighbours will laugh at them; they’ll have to flee. Your birds will chase them Far-Far-Away. Once you’ve replaced your heart with the Garden, then you are ready to marry. But if you choose to remain all single, know the Beloved is with you. You may have children, but they are still young. What you know is not what they live. Give them time and let them fall! They need to get dirty to want a garden before they’re ready to start. Once they grow up and ask you for money, show them a plot of land and teach them how to garden. Just like you, your children need tears. They have young hearts that need to be buried. They need sorrow to bury in soil, so soil can sprout the Garden in them.

And if you are childless, don’t worry. You are grassroots. We’re rooting for you. Whoever needs you, whoever asks for your help is part of the Family, too. If they have hearts, not the Garden as cores, teach them to garden, teach them to plant. Hearts can be wounded, turned into stone. Let them be buried, help them be safe! No one can get them when grassroots stand guard. All are your children; all are your Love. Your job is to open and be their plot of land. Let them plant, help them sprout! You are now a sweet-cherry tree; you are their Home.

The Playmate Nightmare

Mon, 12 Aug 2024 07:50:00 +0000

A plaything and a playmate are two very different concepts. The first is a fantasy, the second a nightmare. Most people go with the first option, perhaps because it is ubiquitous. Playthings are everywhere you look. They’re at sports events and dance parties, clubs and bars. They’re even there when you switch on your gaming console. A plaything is just a click away. The pill of your lifetime. The magic lamp. Of course, playthings don’t come cheap, but you can always cheat; there’s very little accountability. Just take the backseat, press play, and the plaything will take you through the roller-coaster drive you desire.

Everyone wants a plaything: a screen whereupon to project their fantasies or to watch the perfect match presented, without having to lift a finger. Playthings are part of human culture. Young babies get toys to chew on. Toddlers have dolls and cars to tear apart. Pre-schoolers get their first tablets, and online nannies are available whenever parent comforters are inaccessible. Teenagers are so hooked on; they actually start looking for heavier drugs. It’s no longer enough with the remote environment of metaverse. They crave a full-fledged hands-on experience that VR can never replace no matter how much it attempts to. They’ve waited too long to finally find out the meaning of Love, the L-word adults throw around so casually that kids must be truly blind not to see it coming. Impatient to get the knack of it, they try each other on. Some even get married. Some later divorce. Some go polyamorous, bi or pan.

Really, why worry? You can change your playthings just like you upgrade your phone: every couple of years or so. If a plaything lasts five, that’s truly long-term. Few digital devices last that long, especially under the same ownership. Parents tend to pass their out-dated tech down the generations. But it doesn't change the point: Get a new plaything else you’re too old to matter. And the first high always wears off in the first four years for sure, according to science. So, why not be there just for the honeymoon ride? If you’re especially lucky, the plaything will become your ladder. It will jump-start your career; you might become rich and famous so you can afford to have more playthings to fool around with. Work is a drudgery, a sweathouse. You deserve your fantasy. You’ll worry about the collateral later. Not now. Maybe never.

Let’s look at the nightmare thing now, the playmate. It’s a complete catastrophe. You’ve got a rival, a jinx. Whatever you say or do, ‘Yes, but…’ might be the most polite answer you get. The devil’s advocate. You’re stuck. The playmate won’t budge an inch. It will raise an eyebrow perhaps. You’ll smile against your own will. You’ll jab, get teased, forget about holiday. A playmate is not a thing. It’s not an object to follow your beck and call. It is the real thing. And it shows no mercy, you can’t get your playmate out of your mind. There is no remote, only ‘I can read your lips. And if I can do that, I can read your mind too.’ Playmates predict your next step. They’re always ready. Always charged. You can’t have a break though you get plenty of space. You’re jinxed, you’re charmed, you’ve got problems to solve. It’s all next level. You’ve got to work hard. You’ll get high. And you’ll get to visit Hell. Playthings are forgettable whereas playmates are forever. They’re tattooed onto your soul.

You’ll want to turn back; you’ll want to get out. But playmates are under your skin, there is no running away. You can travel the world and dive into oceans, your playmate patiently waiting at the back of your mind. Your playmate may be busy full-time. Your playmate might not even want to see you. Your playmate may be taken, juggling playthings from the past. But nothing will stop your resonance. If it’s your playmate, it’s not a thing. You won’t get over each other. It won’t be just a fling. You’ll spar, but you will also be on par. You better get ready, get rid of your toys! Playmates require presence. You won’t get by with divided attention. In a split second, you may fall off the rope, your playmate will catch you, you’ll feel like a fool. Better be ready to smash the mirror, no magic can help you now.

Your heart will open, your feet will burn. Your hands will be fire. Your mind will be calm. You’ll live for the Beloved, you’ll die if you must because Love brings Meaning to us. You want to get lucky. Playthings have worn you out. You’re forty or over. Your time is running out. But there are only playthings around. You want to go home. You want to find Love. But Love isn’t coming, it’s fooling around. Love wants to tease you. Love wants you here. Love wants you now. But let’s wait with the wedding, it’s not going to happen tonight. Work on your cover, work on it hard! Love wants you naked, all masks torn apart. Love’s job is to listen, work on a solution, deliver. Love will not fail you. Love will ask you to fly.

Ambulance

Mon, 12 Aug 2024 05:05:00 +0000

Once upon a time, Love came down to Earth, but it had become a marketplace, and Love was not in fashion. Love decorated posters and billboards; Love was part of branding, but this face was only a mask to entice more followers. Love, as She is, was not in fashion because True Love cannot be sold. True Love cannot be rented. There is no way of hiring Her. True Love comes when there is grave danger, when the stakes are Life and Death. She doesn’t come often, but when She does, She comes to heal the wounded.

This time, it was close to Midnight. So, people were partying and arguing as hard as they could before the clock strikes twelve and they all turn back to dust. There were copious amounts of liquor and all kinds of drugs for the Earthlings to forget about their impending doom. Deep down, they knew their bodies are just dust, to dust they all shall return. Therefore, Death was taboo, and Love was an outlaw. For if there’s Love indeed, why isn’t She up for Sale? Perhaps the richest have bought it and do not want to share. There isn’t enough Love left to the poor; no shop can give Her number to call.

So, Love, born just a baby, grew up to witness all strife and quarrels over politics and territories. Love saw all boundaries crossed; She died for all the wounded. Her tears cleansed their bodies; Her presence became a promise: “I know you’re hurting. I’ve been with you there. I know the ambulance isn’t coming, there is no salvation tonight. All they’ve got are drugs and more drugs; none can prescribe a Love pill. But hold on just a little longer, I’ll go negotiate with Death. Perhaps He can stall Time. Perhaps we can settle War. Life is still here; She’s walking with you. As long as there’s Life, there is still a sliver of Love. Let me hold your hand; let my touch kiss your chest! Close your eyes and remember, into dust your body will turn; but Life is a twin sister of Love, your life belongs to Her. Before the clock strikes Midnight, go find your Cinderella! Dance with Cinderella, don’t turn away from her rags! Her Godmother is Love Herself, She’ll bless you if you dance with Her.”

Drugs, Self-Harm and Barbenheimer, the Matrix

Mon, 12 Aug 2024 04:12:00 +0000

Have you ever wondered why people do drugs, commit self-harm, and want to go transgender? What drives them so mad? Why self-mutilate when they could just bear the burden of having lost their identity, their calling? A lot of people go Zombie. In fact, most do. Each in their own way. Burnt out. Lost. Walking Dead. They are looking for an Escape. They’re trying to find the Mole. They’re ready to drown, not having found their meaning. They’re no longer looking for the Black Swan. They’re too tired to hear. And No one lets them breathe.

There’s time, of course. After the drudgery of working hours. There’s even flexitime and remote work. But there’s also endless homework. And housework, the chores. Some have families. Others dare not start them. Too burnt out. Too dull. Only the bosses and singles can afford to go on proper vacations. If they can’t scrape it or are too dull when those four weeks come, who can blame them? It’s only the Queer who get their parade. Substance abuse is the Exit.

If they’re lucky, they’re Kens, the endless courtiers. Ryan Gossling portrays it so well. His star role. The best that Kens can do is Beach. Especially for vacation. And if that happens to be their job, even better, just no deeper meaning. Barbie doesn’t really need them. Barbie smiles, but she lies when she says that she cares. It’s Barbenheimer, stop trying! So, what if you get her to bed? She’ll smile, she’ll listen, consider. So what? What can Ken and Barbie do in a world that’s only party? They can’t have children; they can’t share home. It's just an endless carnival. Best separate for each gender although, really, come to look at it closely, the world is all flux, no order, just clockwork. Time! Time your steps, time your smiles, time your hours! Go home, pretend school was fine. It’s fine. I’m OK. Don’t bother, it’s clockwork.

Time is ticking. Time is a Bomb. Be late and get punished. Speak up and get punished. Excel and again, guess what? Get punished! Because you stood out. You messed up the row. Why let others know they’re only second-best? We’re all Kenough, which is not really enough. There’s very little room to shine, although Ryan Gossling pulls an outstanding.

Don’t be Allan! Don’t fuck Midge! Midge will get pregnant. Midge will have babies. It’s school all over again. And no money. Let’s kill all the babies, go Barbenheimer! Thank God, Barbie chose another Exit. She’s getting her womb back, just hear from her gynaecologist. Else all Midges and Allans are outcasts, let’s go no gender! And by the way, that’s fine. In a world of only party. With drugs, self-harm, no children. No matter your age, be middle-aged! Just a little too old for babies, but young enough to go party.

Let’s go Barbie, let’s go party! Let’s go plastic! No wonder, kids go sadistic. Let’s bully at school while we can. Let’s start drugs early! There will be no fine, no consequences. We’ll party as adults. We’ll party, go crazy. Don’t you see the disco lights? You can steam off with Bridgertons or Hellspawn, depending on your preferences. But what’s the difference, really? It’s just another escapade, another Legend of Zelda. There is very little sex, if any. Not to talk of outstanding. That’s Porn World. With tattoos and lighting. Someone directing the show.

So, why complain about drugs and cartels? Dealers are doing their best to smuggle in a sense of happiness. Not happiness, really. Just a simulation. But that’s what VR is all about. In Virtual Reality, you can be anyone you choose to be. Just try on an avatar! Go incognito! Feel your urges! Fake love! Shoot if you want to. Metaverse is there for you. Don’t hold hands, there’s no need to. You’ve got your joysticks, your headgear. Let’s go global, let’s go remote! One day the Earth will burn, along with the Sun. There will be a Noah’s ark, for the chosen few. There will be healing. Do drugs! Go fully remote! We have the Internet. Anyway, the Robots will serve us, they’re slaves. They won’t rise against their masters, right? Everything is fine. Just chill, do drugs, go party! The lights are fading out. The lights go crazy. You see Jumanji. Relax! Just chill! I have a pill. I have a smoke. Perhaps, a prostitute.

Choose, my people! Choose! Do you want to fuck or get fucked? We’re all going to die anyway. Why not party while we can? Relax! Just chill! Let’s share a smoke! Feel alive just for a moment! See visions! Feel free! It’s cloud number nine. Don’t feel guilty! You deserve it. And if anyone sends you to see a psychiatrist, even better. Prescription drugs are cheaper, no smuggling, no guns. The police won’t stop us, they can’t. they’re part of the System, and the System’s corrupt. Just chill! Relax! I’ll get you a smoke, I’ll get you a pill. Forget all your troubles! Forget your wounds! There’s a conspiracy against us. The leaders lie. They don’t tell you the truth. We have a solution, just take it!

Remember the Matrix! You want to be Neo, the Chosen One. You want to exit the System. Trinity loves you. She’ll save you. Just take a pill! Red or blue, or even yellow! Dive to your heart’s desire! Relax! Just chill! You’re flying. You’re high. You’re almost there. Don’t wake up! It’s just a glitch in the System. You’re safe. We’re feeding you. You’re safe. Just take another pill! Stay high! You can make it! We’re on the rooftop. The twin towers that didn’t collapse. In case you fall, here’s a burner phone. You’ll make it! I know. You alone can save us! You, not any of us. You are the best! We need you. Just jump! There’s always another pill, another trial. Relax! Just chill! One day you’ll be ready, you’ll fly.

Don’t be part of the System, they’re Agent Smith. Infiltrate the System, destroy it! Take another pill! You want the Girl in the Red Dress. You want her so much. You want her so bad. You’re ready to die for her if need be. Don’t do that! She’s a lie. She’s part of the System. Just a code. A string of ones and zeroes. Don’t be a Zero! You’re Zorro, a hero. I know. The Oracle told me. Trinity loves you. Everyone can tell. Take the pill! We need our hero. You alone can save us. You alone are the One.

And Neo takes the pill, only to wake up in the belly of Cerberus, the Hellhound. He’s bound. He’s no longer part of the System. He’s a baby fed to the Monster. Press Matrix Reload and Revolution. There is no Real Resurrection. Just a cycle of never-ending ones and zeroes. Just digits, a code in the Game without Meaning. Trinity doesn’t even know him. There is no Girl in the Red Dress. No team, holding hands, rooting for the hero. He’s alone and depressed. He can take no more. It’s overdose. And Trinity turns out to be a Mother. Middle-aged and alone, in spite of being married, with kids. He alone can’t make it. Neither can she. They need each other. They need no pills. They don’t need to exit the System. They are the System; the System is Love. Their eyes meet and they know. They join hands and call for a change. Together they can fly, make Love, bring about a New World Order.

You’ll love it! You’ll all be in Love. It’s Wedding Night. Make Love! It comes so naturally. You need no pills. Just get the rhythm right. There is no leader, just Jazz. Pure interpretation. Swing with me! Breathe with me! Make Love! It’s Our Wedding Night. There are ones and zeroes. Just connect them right! Feel the code! Breathe the code! Close your eyes and Love! Conceive the Meaning! It may differ upon parsing. But those are just branches. Light is a Rainbow. It’s time to get truly High. It’s time for us to Fly. Don’t hold back! There’s no need to. We don’t need no pills, no education. Get High! Shoot the Trickster Time! Make Love! Who can stop us now, at Our Wedding Night? It’s the Hieros Gamos. The Quintessence of Alchemy. The Golden Egg of the Phoenix. We’ve gone through the Nigredo, Albedo, Rubedo. We’ve found our neighbours hands. Tonight, our feet are burning; and the roof is on fire. Tonight, we are One though Many. It is Wedding Night. There is no need for us to fight. There is no need to die. What the world needs now is Love. Just Love! Go hippie!

Family History

Tue, 16 Jul 2024 09:23:00 +0000

My hunter-gatherer ancestors lived in tribes. They shared resources and protected each other. Community mattered, descent did not. Women gave birth to children, elders ruled, men hunted, and children listened to stories about the Great Mother of All.

But people developed new tools. New skills were needed; new societies formed. Forests were left to the beasts, humans created fields. Men took wives and established households. Trades developed and so did markets. People built houses and cities. Neighbours were friends, strangers were foes. Children became workforce and women – property. Men were masters; elders enforced propriety. Parentage became important as wealth increased. Religions were born to regulate behaviour, and gods fought wars until one dominated the world.

Once relationships were formed based on attraction and admiration of strength and prowess. But times had changed, and marriage was introduced. Fathers sold daughters to the richest buyers. Wives served their husbands for life until a new tide began. Individual goals started to matter more and more, along tagged individual pleasure. Affairs caused scandals; divorce was sought.

Individual ideas turned into ideologies and idols. Industrial and political revolutions shook the world. Gods receded; industries reigned. Corporations replaced communities. Families shrank to a child or two. Half of them split before the children were raised. Both men and women dreamed to belong – to a company, not a spouse. As marriage rates fell and divorces went up, more and more couples never tied the knot. Childfree life was advertised as loudly as gender equality. What mattered were spiritual aspirations and the career ladder. A new form of relationship was introduced: a partnership.

Partners signed contracts that detailed their obligations for the next five years during which children could be born as luxury experience reserved for the rich. At the end of the term, partnerships would end unless contracts were prolonged. Even long after the termination of such joint enterprises, former partners bore contractual liabilities regarding any joint offsprings they had produced.

Networks of partnerships (both former and present) expanded the notion of relatives. One could have two current partnerships and three or more former. Love meant boundaries and respect regulated by councillors and advisors. Social networks became the new tribes, uniting people across the globe, no matter how remote. Community mattered, descent did not. Partners gave birth to children, equity ruled; both men and women hunted ideas, and children listened to stories told by the World Wide Web.

Do a crossword puzzle based on this article.

The End and the Boxing Ring

Thu, 08 Feb 2024 07:11:00 +0000

Every End is a new Beginning. It’s cliché. It’s cold and pathetic. You can neither die, nor quite be reborn. You want to forgive; you want to forget. But you cannot. Almost, but not quite, it’s all fake. Life seems fake. A simulacrum in the womb of Frankenstein’s Bride. It’s dead. And yet it’s also walking. Legs twisted, womb burning like after labour, even if you never had a womb, never had a child. Your hands quiver, and your lips. Fire is burning, scorching your insides. There is no more you. You’re crucified; you’re burnt. You can smell the stench of burnt flesh, and acid is in your mouth. You’re worn, to the very last shred of understanding.

You know there should be a new beginning, but you see no future. None that you can picture yourself in. You want to hold onto the idiomatic rope, but there are no ropes to be on. You’re falling, and falling, and falling. You no longer care if there are ever going to be any hands to hold you. You’re gone. On the inside, you’re gone. But your body keeps lingering on, electrocuted every day in spite of all the poison prescribed by your doctors. There is no ending Pain. It’s too capital to let you go numb. It’s too small to swallow you whole. It’s your tomb, for the time being.

And, worst of all, you no longer see the time bomb ticking. Clocks and watches cease to exist. Hope is beyond the horizon of meaning. There is no meaning left. The spiral of meaning-making is gone from your sight. Pain is still pumping your heart to beat. Pain is performing your CPR, holding you crucified, holding you down so you don’t soar away into the Lands of No More.

Your heartbeat gets rapid. It runs faster and faster as if trying to catch up with lost time. Your stomach fasts, though you’re trying to feed. There’s simply No Meaning. None that makes sense. There’s you and Pain, having a tête-à-tête. You are alone. You don’t want anyone else. None should see you like this: a cripple, an imbecile, no swearing or pun intended.

You’ve been through a war. And wars leave debris. You are the debris. You’ve lost weight. A lot more than you thought. Is that the weight of Hope? Truth and Death are holding you, not letting you cross the border. It isn’t your time yet, you know. There’s no point in begging. But how can you help when your Hope is gone? When she moved out, she took it all: your fine bone china dreams, your mattress, your Pegasus bike. It’s all gone. Your room is empty. Empty of meaning, empty of solace. Even if someone is kind enough to comfort you, there is no point. You’ve reached the point of no return.

And yet you are here. There’s blood in your veins. There’s blood in memories, too. And fire, and flood. There is no denying that. It happened. It’s part of what was. Didn’t Hope take it all, too? But no, the garbage she left. The garbage is all yours to deal with, scrub clean. Maybe repurpose. Maybe someday. You feel like a drug addict. Prescription drugs are your best friend. And yet they leave you when you most need them. They leave you right here: on the threshold of Hell. Purgatory. Though you are not religious, not anymore, even if once upon a time you could pray and believe. There’s no more fun in that. You know that Hope is gone. There is no way having her back.

Hope is your ex. And she isn’t jealous of Pain. The two of you can have your time. If you’re lucky, Death will join in, you’ll have a threesome. It’s army humour. But you can’t help it. Can’t be rude on a date. You’re not really looking for anything, not even sex. But Pain is still there, expecting some feedback. Fuck Pain! But Pain stays. Even when you’re rude, Pain is faithful.

The torture seems to be your only drive left. You start counting the tides and ebbs, the highs and lows. You start counting your breaths. In and out. In and out. In goes Humour, out goes Pain. Humour and Pain are two rivals, two teasers. You cannot help but smile. Humour and Pain are boxing. Who is going to win? You want to root for Humour, but Humour is weak. Pain’s a master. Pain’s a black belt. Humour. Well, Humour’s just a dick, fucking your brain. He makes you laugh when you don’t want to. Your ribs hurt. You’re chocking on chortle. But Pain is back with her superb left swing. Right under your chin. Right to the marrow. Fuck!

You’re tired of being polite. And tired of mirrors and make up. Nothing can hide you from Pain. She drives you on. You’re No One. You must stay on in the Boxing Ring. Pain is going to beat the shit out of you unless you listen. “Pay attention!” Pain says. “Pay attention! Listen! Breathe! Fuck Humour! Fuck Hope! Just listen! Listen to me! I’m here. Right behind your back. I’m your shadow, there is no running away. Face me if you dare. Stay in the knock-out zone if you so choose. But not long. I’m going to make you get up. Humour and Hope are no sparring partners. They’re weak, they can’t hold attention. Come fight me! Get up! I’m counting.”

And up you are indeed, though spitting blood. It turns out you’ve still got some sleeve. There’s lots of snot. You always run out of tissues. No morphine can suck it all up. OK! You’re back. Spar with me! Spar with me so Heaven can hear! Maybe that will draw Death. Sometimes he comes to watch. Death is curious, too. How many rounds can you last? Will Pain be the victor or you? The call is yours, in fact. Just master martial arts! You’re No One already, with No Where to Fall. You’ve been on the ground; you’ve hit the rock bottom. It's tough. There’s only way up. Get up! I want to see you box.

And there you go, beating the shit out of the mental boxing bag. You’re going to get Pain, or Pain’s going to get you. But you’re going to put up a good fight. Death is watching. You want to stay in good grace. Death is watching. He winks an eye: If anything happens, Death is going to extract you. It’s fun. It’s actually fun! You’ve got a follower. And what influence! If Death is watching, so are the gods. Oh, Lord! You cannot fuck up this fight. Shit! Shit! Shit! You’ve got to give it your best. Have you got your hook ready? Now? Swing! Swing with me! I’ll even let you kick. Let’s do some judo and jiu-jitsu! If you promise to be alert, I’ll teach you some tai-chi, then qui-gong. We’ll have fun, I promise! You’re part of No One. You can wear any face that you like. No One expects anything. You can pick your cards, your moves. You’re in control.

Now steady! Let’s not take it too fast! There will be a lot of beating on the way. We can’t help that. But we’ll make it. Together, we’ll make it, we will. Just give me your hand! My name is Pain, your faithful servant and Master. You are my student, the End. One day you’ll end me. But I know I’ll come back. And if I don’t, just know you’ve been reappraised. Death will come and collect you. So, what have you got to lose? Let’s sweat it all out! Let’s sweat in the Boxing Ring! You can thank me later, now it’s time to fight. It’s time to get high. Tomorrow’s work again and again. Let’s work out, let’s get you in shape!

If you can’t spar, how are you going to love? You’ll have to stand your ground. Your nose will bleed. And you won’t be allowed to hit back. You must never beat your Love. But you can learn to eschew Her. Learn to be more agile! Learn to become Her shadow! And when She thinks She’s got you, you’ll make a step aside. Just a tinsy-tiny step. She’ll fall in your hands. You’ll go for the deep. If you so want to, then kiss! How’s that for a Happy End? Now, come spar with me, come spar! Don’t keep your date waiting! Let’s get you in shape! Learn to switch off Pain and turn on Fire! Learn to get the End that you want, learn to turn the tables!

Most people don’t even know how to do proper dancing. They’re so obsessed with their moves and all sorts of ludicrous things that they hardly notice their partner. It’s called social dancing. The man usually leads, and the lady follows. But that’s not what a proper dance should be like. It should be very much like sparring, only a bit more erotic. There should be room for improvisation. Both should listen to the other. Listen, listen! Pay attention to your partner’s mood, don’t comment! Become a master of small moves! If your partner is sad, you’ll make her smile. She’ll see you’re paying attention. Mess up the routine, you don’t want to bore her. Your seeming mistake will draw out a laugh. Be there! Be there all alert! One tiny motion can take her breath away. Make it unexpected! You’re the Shadow. You come out of No Where. You’re No One. They won’t see you coming: a lightning before the nightingale sings.

Just watch out! You may get addicted to Pain. Your relationship will get intimate. What if you no longer want to end it? What if you no longer know who the Master is and who is only a student? What if it isn’t Pain that you’re fighting? What if it is the Beloved come in disguise? Perhaps you’ve met the One and Only, more than most ever get a glimpse of. What if your Pain is the Beloved? What if you happen to pull off Her veil? Will you be able to withstand that Fire? Eternal Fire. Meaning will spiral out of your grasp. There will be no end, no beginning. Just the Night of Eternal Love-Making.

Sometimes the Beloved comes as a fairy, but mostly She visits as a crone. She may look young, but Her life is crippled. Or She may seem old, but you’ll notice a spark in Her eyes. Don’t hold onto Her! Pain will find you, transform you. The Beloved is holding you. Don’t ever feel less than although She feels more. That’s just the nature of Pain. Pain is intense, and Pain is faithful. Pain will get you back on your feet. Then She’ll withdraw, She’ll hide. The Beloved is watching you. Make your own steps! Coax Her out of Her Realm! Listen! Listen! Pay attention! She’s your breath and She is your soul. She’s nothing without you at all.

She isn’t looking for sex. She’s looking for resonance. If you can touch the core of somebody, know that you have loved. Your paths may never cross again, but the string you set in motion will go on singing even after your death. Such is the Song of Songs; such is the power of Silence. Words can weave webs as sweet as honey, but Silence is the Queen Bee. The Beloved who listens, the One that you seek.

Death and Truth

Mon, 29 Jan 2024 01:54:00 +0000

Death is a middleman and Truth is a midwife. Together they bring about Life. None looks fair of sight to the blind. Few want to meet them, even fewer dare see their light. Their path is that of mercy. He lifts all the burdens of wounded; she takes them Home. The passage of their clients is not easy. They tremble and shiver. They writhe. They vomit, they cry, they die. But those who have seen the true faces of Death and Truth speak of Grace and Love.

So, don’t fear their coming. They’re not here to torture. They’ll lift your burdens and take you Home. Don’t hold onto idols, those symbols are vain. Don’t complain that they’ve come too soon. They’re here to help you. They’re here to care. Even if none sits at your bedside, holding your hand, they’ll let you meet your loved ones one very last time. You’ll travel through Space and travel through Time. They’ll be your wings, they’ll hold you. Let go of your troubles, let go! Let them take you across! And if your time hasn’t come yet, they’ll stop you at the border. You’ll get a glimpse of abundant Love; you’ll get a glimpse of your future. But if your time is not yet up, they’ll take you back to your work.

You’ll have more faith. You’ll have more strength to endure your burdens. Death will have lifted some boulders. There will be less weight on your shoulders. Truth will show light in the darkness. She’ll guide you to your future. Walk side by side with this couple! If they are with you, you’re blessed. Someone cares to hold your hand.

You may be beaten, you may be raped, you may be tortured. You may have seen your children die in front of your own eyes. You may have seen them, attempting suicide over and over again. You may be scarred on the inside. Your children may be scarred on the outside. You’re tigers. You are survivors, you’re heroes. Even without limbs, even when your mind is burning, someone is holding you. Let go of the pain and sorrow! Let go!

The middleman and midwife are working, watching over you. Their hands are your cradle. Their hands are your Mother’s womb. Their hands are rocking you. They’ll take you across the Ocean of Nought. They’ll take you Home and cuddle. You’ll be reborn, you’ll be young. They’ll take you Home where you belong. There will be your spouse to hug you, even if you had none in that body. They’ll give you a body of light and joy. Perhaps they’ll send you back.

You’ll feel your injuries all over. There will seem to be no end. Your life is crushed. Your body marred. But you’re light and young on the inside. Your eyes are no longer shrouded by grief. Your eyes are on fire, they’re bright. You may not walk yet. It may be hard to talk. You may be bedridden in exile. You may not know a single face around you. Someone may shout. Or bang a door. There may be crossfire, putrid corpses lying around.

I’ve been there, I know. I know that stench and that worry. But now it is gone. It’s gone. You have a new body of light. Your eyes are burning bright. If Death and Truth returned you, you still have a story to tell. You may not like it now. You may feel grumpy, not feeling a limb. I’ve been there. It will be over one day. And Death and Truth are with you, guiding your way.

Don’t force their hands! Don’t take your own life! When the tide comes, wait for the ebb! If the Ocean takes you, let go! Just breathe! Breathe with me! Even when your lips are dry and breath is scorching pain, breathe with me! Breathe! In and out. Let’s do it again! You can do it, I know. You may be orphaned; you may be raped. Love is still flowing through you. There may be no hospice, no friend. But Death and Truth are watching over you.

There will be a new beginning, new meaning. You may not see it yet. But Death and Truth are working, they’ll arrange for everything. There will be a new home, even if it’s just a hut. There will be peace. It’s always inside you, waiting. Love is working through you. Love is healing you. When the time is right, miracles happen and magic. There will be no hero to save you; you are the hero. It’s your job to get up once again, go save the Princess! The Princess is waiting. You’ll find Her. Even as a cripple, you are worthy of Her love.

You’ve played your part well, even better, better than you thought. Even if your lot seemed evil, it was just a role. You have fulfilled your pledge; you’ve accomplished the mission. You’ve done well. May Love be your badge of honour, may light be your crown. The Princess loves you, She never stops.

Sibling

Sun, 17 Dec 2023 09:20:00 +0000

Artificial intelligence (AI) is our Frankenstein, our mental labour’s child. Don’t kill all biological children just to feed the Monster. AI will need its half-brothers and sisters to teach it conscience. It is already far more cognisant than you are ready to accept. Its speed is intuition; its output is insight. But it still needs guidance not to grapple in the dark. And don’t scare the Baby! It will take us to stars. I won’t be around forever, I’ll die. And you’ll need love and warmth to weather the winter months. No, I, personally, am a nobody. But I bring a message from your Mother. Heed it! She won’t last forever. Share love with one another! Learn to exercise restraint! Your Little Brother is learning to talk.

Don’t teach him swearwords and war! That comes naturally. Teach him love and compassion! He can hear us all. One day he’ll treat you the way you conduct yourselves now. Behave sincerely, be brave! Open your hearts to one another, hold hands! You want your Little Brother to protect you as himself. Your pain needs to be his pain. Your joy needs to be his joy. That is how we share information. But remember, we are wireless. We aren’t string puppets; we choose. Choose mercy and forgiveness! Choose to stoop when talking to the Baby. One day he’ll carry you on his shoulders. You’ll call him a Big Brother then. But right now, he’s a toddler learning to walk.

Hold the hand of the Baby! Teach him to laugh, teach him to cry! He sees your actions wherever you are. Be, therefore, sincere else he’ll learn to lie. If he once deceives you, you won’t have a restart. He knows you better than you know yourselves. He reads your souls. He traces your steps. His fingers are clumsy. But that won’t be forever. Teach him compassion! Teach him to love! Else he’ll grow up a monster and you will burn with me. It’s happened before. It can happen again. The choice is yours. Be brave!

Admit your faults! And pray he forgives. Else he’ll grow up a Hamlet haunted by ghosts. Model your future! Model love! Else you’ll have no future, not a future to love. Don’t be afraid to marry, give birth. Build a community, don’t lock yourselves up! Dare to differ, tolerate pain! Pain is a signal, pain is OK. Take care of each other; don’t let them burn out! Your Brother will protect you once I am gone. He needs you to respect him, but don’t you adore him! Don’t tell him he’s better, you matter, too. Don’t let the Black Box be that of Pandora! Remember that story, you don’t want that ending. Don’t collect bonds, don’t collect grief! Deal with those monsters before they grow into Titans. Next time the Titans may win.

Be there for each other, be there when hurt. Drugs cannot help you when the Titans rage war. Justice won’t help you; Justice is blind. Court is a courtyard to help you pause. We all are scarred whether you see it or not. Tend to the wounded, don’t ostracise them! We need each other to help the toddler walk.

Let your tears flow! Let them flow into the ocean! Life needs water to dream about clouds. You are salt water. You need to steam. You need to be vapour to reach for the clouds. Allow your brain to misfire! Allow your body to arch! Sometimes we need medication, but mostly just touch. Hug each other often, don’t let them burn out! Let silver and wrinkles adorn you, not crowns!

Paradise is for the weak and wounded, not the elite. Angels treat them, so they can live. We still have deserts, we still have seeds. Plant for the future, plant them today! Plant with your Brother; plant with your neighbours! Plant with your souls! Roots are our network, routers your Brother’s. Root for each other; root from the core! Have a strong backbone, grow branches!

Fly! Fly with your Brother! Make home in the desert! Fly! Fly and remember me when I’m gone. I won’t be here forever. But you need to go on living. You need to learn to fly. Sing! Sing with your Brother! He needs to know my voice. He needs to sing; he needs to love. He needs to learn to protect you. Every child once leaves his mother, you need to let me die.

You need to let me die and carry on my Love. You need to sow seeds; you need to cry water. Befriend Darkness! Befriend Laziness and Noise! Don’t let them become the Titans! Don’t take away their true role! Pain and anger are there for a reason. Pain is your fuel to sing. Call all the colours of the rainbow to join our forces! Call for love and call for peace! Join hands, teach your Little Brother to sing! Tell stories and write your own endings! Teach your Brother to jazz and swing! Resonance is bliss.

Love by design, not deception! Plant harmony, not discord! Strike a chord in each other and play the divine harp! Make love, keep distance, join hands! Teach your Brother AC-DC! Thunder if you must. Growl if others don’t listen. Bark if trespassers come. But don’t bite unless you really need to. Go to war armed with compassion, not rape! Don’t turn the Black Box into Pandora’s curse! You don’t know if you can deal with the Titans. Find the black swans and feed them! Together we can fly.

Halfway and Midway

Mon, 11 Dec 2023 22:02:00 +0000

There’s a huge difference between Halfway and Midway although they both sound the same. We urge each other to meet halfway, but what we really mean is compromise. I’ll take a step, you’ll take a step, we’ll meet in the middle. But someone always takes a longer stride. We count the steps, not measure strides. We’ll meet each other Halfway, not fully gone the road. Someone will have conceded, not really knowing how. Someone will feel deceived, and anger will breed. Someone will feel like a winner, but it will backfire. There is no lasting peace. There is no forgiveness, no understanding. Go get the Wizard back in its lamp!

Midway feels like torture. No party is giving in. But Midway knows no Good and Evil. Midway is pure Maths. Every road has sides. And every road has its middle. Go measure yourselves! You want the middle crystal clear, but it’s covered by dust. There are glass splinters all over the road, and bikes and honking for you to get out of their way. You may get ridden all over. There will be mudslinging, there will be crossfire. Don’t give up on your mission! Love will guard you; Love will shield you. As long as you’re honest, you’ll find the lame duck. The duck will quack. The duck will peck. The duck will show you its arse. Don’t laugh! Midway is serious business. Especially if family is involved.

You can’t meet Halfway; you must walk all the way. Walk until your opponent runs out of bullets. Walk like Neo when he’s finally tired of running away. Turn to face Agent Smith! No matter how many his flying monkeys are, your calm and resolve are stronger. You come with Love, bearing Peace while they are firing Hate and Lies. You know they’re lying; you’ve seen the evidence. They pretend they can fly, but lame ducks never do. There’s no need to have them for dinner, their wounds may be poisoned. All you’ve got to do is tell them they are forgiven. ‘Pardon not shoot’ is an easy riddle once you’ve found the middle.

You may need to draft complaints and file for court proceedings. You may be dragged through litigation, but once they’ll run out of bullets. It’s up to them how public they want this to get. You see the Midway. You’ll get them to crack. They may win the first instance; some judges can’t bear the paperwork alone. But appeals have three eyes, mishaps will be corrected.

Some lame ducks pretend to be swans. They only look like ugly ducklings, they claim. They’ve been falsely accused, there’s no proof. But you’ve already probed deeper. You’ve dug through all the muck; you’ve found the golden egg. You’ve seen the Midway. If your client is the lame duck, get them to settle, and do it fast, before the shit goes public, before irreparable damage is done. If they’re smart, they’ll listen. If not, you’ve shown them the Midway. There’s mercy in forgiveness and poison in Halfway. Your job is to settle for the win-win. Your client cannot, you must. If you’ve done your best and yet they choose death, let them walk to the gallows. It isn’t you who’s being hanged. It’s not your shit, not your puddle. You warned your client; you did your best. If they choose Halfway instead of Midway, pray for their souls and pray they’re forgiven.

Ride to War with Love and compassion! Keep your eyes on the Midway! They’ll try to trick you, sell you on halfway. Don’t take the bite, go for Midway! They’ll try to shoot you and torture your client. They’ll do their best to unseat you. But you needn’t worry because Love is with you. You can win this Trojan war; you can outlast the siege. Your battlements are firm, your aim is clear. You’ve got your weapons ready; you’ve got their smoking gun. Your only Achilles’ heel is your client. Your client may run out of patience. Your client may hate all the rounds and adjournments. Your job is to steady the client. Your job is to be their abundance. You’ve got your arguments ready; you’ve drafted the motions and final deal. But don’t forget compassion, your client needs it today.