Tags » Identity

Name Changing in the Family

My aunt decided a couple of years ago to start going by her middle name instead because she prefers it, which led to mainly negative reactions from my family. 531 more words


Korla Pandit and the invention of the Exotic self

When we are asked on our musical preferences, we usually like to answer with a solid answer: ‘Exotica, obviously‘.

The whole theme of Exotica as a musical genre is something on which we shall write in length in the near future, as it is something extremely dear to our bent hearts. 225 more words


Conscious Creation

You can actually build a body that is good at being sad. You can also build one that is good at being angry, or good at being a victim or even good at being happy. 714 more words

Ego, Consciousness, Thought

LSD: Reflections From The Aftermath - Identity pt.5/7

It would be useful to point out here that this is all my perception (if you hadn’t guessed!), not necessarily anyone or everyone who’s done acid. 392 more words


Value Time

Value Time

Pentecost 55


We all have the same number of minutes in an hour, the same number of hours in a day.  The only variable that really changes is the number of days we live on this earth.  652 more words

Obsidian's Edge 27

El sueño de la razón produce monstruos.
When reason sleeps, monsters are born.
Francisco de Goya.

3:00 AM

… often the imprisoned heart pinned like a butterfly and chloroformed into silence like a resurgent Guy Fawkes sitting on his bonfire and waiting for the universe to roll its coloured dice a captive and that heart singing as the dark rum of freedom bites into its jackdaw dreams of bright silver rings married to a bird’s leg and the round open eye of a cat staring at a Queen of Hearts as champagne bubbles burst in the mouth and dash on the tongue as they wash against the tooth’s white rock as it waltzes with the white caps that crest into broken ghosts who shuffle in and out like a pack of cards filled with knaves and the joker is belled with a red fool’s cap and a bladder on a stick as a tom cat’s tom fool grin melts in the mirror when the moon’s face skids and bounces off a snow bank where tranquil midnight mysteries trap trembling worlds in hand-blown glass bubble dreams that distort all distances clasped beneath clutching fingers while the crystal raindrops serve as an eye to behold the crimson glory of the hibiscus with its blood red stains where the baby fell from the rocking horse and confessed to a crime it never committed though speckled like a fresh trout it was drawn from deep water and blamed for the rainbow fire that flickered flames to the harsh crisp sound of the candle licking at its waxen jail where flower faces float framed against the white-washed wall as the wide-open staring eyes of the snowy owl speckle a yellow madness and its feathers are nails to be fired into  a pottery tree in this harsh somniferous light that breathes fear and fire into shavings of dry bark and a beaver gnaws at the roots of the world as an accusatory beak points at the funneling snow and puffed up feathers plump out a body so thin it is unfit to fight these flames of ice or withstand these snow stones cast by blameless flint-eyed innocents who have never themselves done anything wrong though they spark at the trough with one eye clouded by a spider web of hate and the other a sharp sun peering through clouds condemned like a donkey to walk round and round crushing the heart out of the… 80 more words