The Precept of Happy Hour

Time is a circus always packing up and moving away

Numerous happy hours have been spent writing commentaries upon humor and philosophy, the art of writing and the finer arts, but the ageless truths of life, like many of the world's greatest thinkers, have usually been clothed in shabby garments or wild displays of ostentatious attire. This blog is an attempt to supply a tome worthy of those insights and the individuals whose thoughts are the substance of these virtual pages. 

To bring about a coalescence of Beauty, Truth and Humor has been my absolute pleasure, and I hope that the result will produce a positive effect upon the minds of the many readers who have found their way here, and especially those who return. 

Work upon this blog was begun on the 17th of April, 2011, and has continued mostly uninterruptedly for over six years. The last few years other professional activities and personal hobbies occupied my time and my writing waned, but I continue to return, time permitting, for the sake of clarity, for the sheer joy of writing, and for the pleasure of sharing with an audience - which at Google+ Classic's heyday reached an astonishing forty million pageviews. 

Scholars with specificity on the topics herein will immediately note the lack of quotations and references. There is no bibliography nor collections of reference materials upon which to examine the authorities dealing with philosophy and symbolism. Instead my goal was to make accessible the deeper and/or superficial sentiments expressed in abstruse philosphical information, with a rich, visual, or otherwise playful mode of creative expression. Given the one million or so direct pageviews (beyond Google+), arriving via Blogger, I see that my penning and the images chosen to enhance the aesthetic value are working. Not that I would have changed my mode of writing had my blog not received pageviews, but it is nice to know that people appreciate the intuitive sensibilities involved in researching pleasing images, in addition to the independent thinking that serves as the cornerstone of my writing. 

Writing for any extended period of time produces patterns. There are over a thousand articles herein. The patterns produced are aesthetic, playful, philosophical, exploratory, light-hearted, and family-oriented. That tells me to which thought continents my brain travels and the subjects readers find illuminating, enjoyable, or simply visually appealing. 

I make no claim for the infallibility of any statement herein contained, but I do lay claim to most of the originality. As an individual who read over 4000 books by my 30th birthday, I have a lightening-fast ability to digest copious amounts of information and a large working memory. This enables my prolificacy. While there are over a thousand articles posted on HTTF, I have responded to at least three thousand or so sincere notes from people from all around the world, from a variety of diverse backgrounds and cultures. Because I am a professional and maintain a career, I haven't always the luxury of time necessary to respond to all the responses this blog generates, but I do try to incorporate my responses in actual posts, if only to address the topics that people bring to my attention. 

Academically I have studied the complete and also fragmentary writings of the ancients sufficiently to realize that dogmatic utterances concerning any of their tenets are worse than foolhardy. Traditionalism is the curse of modern society, particularly that of academic institutions. While many of the statements contained in this blogesque treatise may appear at first wildly fantastic, I have sincerely endeavored to refrain from haphazard metaphysical speculation, presenting material for pleasure and consideration, and whenever possible, in the spirit of the original authors rather than the letter. 

By assuming responsibility only for the mistakes which may appear herein, I hope to escape the accusation of plagiarism which has been directed against nearly every writer since the beginning of written documents. Having no particular ism of my own to promulgate, I do not try to twist the original concepts to substantiate preconceived notions, but I do tweek it a bit, playfully engaging with or painting doctrines in fresh new packaging in an effort to reconcile the often irreconcilable differences present in what passes for humorous, philosophical thinking, or even sound thinking. 

The entire theory of this blog is that humor is a healthy device for expressing the myriad of human sentiment. Sarcasm is diametrically opposed to my mode of thinking, for this reason the humor contained herein mostly falls into the "laugh-at-life" category - though, I do have a tendency to poke fun at those who market themselves as paths to enlightenment. But that is only because they get on my last nerve with their holier-than-thou "I have the answer for all of you" attitude and self-promulgation. Yes, it is a personal bias. 

Rich as language is in media of expression, it is woefully lacking in terms suitable to the conveyance of abstract philosophical or humorous premises. Therefore, a certain intuitive grasp of the subtler meanings concealed within tales of Pacmanien migration and UFO spotting for fun is necessary therefore to a deeper understanding of what makes people laugh. 

Although a thousand or so of the thinkers I reference are in my own library, I wish to acknowledge gratefully the access given to me by international archival institutions and the collections of private individuals. Without referencing by name those books and or patrons, I have endeavored to do justice by writing in a way that appeals to a very exclusive audience. In this sense a number of my posts are eclectic-sounding. That suits me fine because life itself is a hodgepodge of eclectic experiences, with the familiar ones categorized as personal or subjective. 

The editorial work in this blog is virtually non-existent. I simply don't have time for it. I write from the top of my head and whatever emerges is what you read here. As it is, I have no distinct plans for the point I wish to make herein, other than the knowledge that the Reader's patience grew thin after the first paragraph and maybe only two or three people are still reading, and would be most appreciative if I drew this post to a natural conclusion - which I shall do, soon. 

But not without acknowledging gratefully my daughter to whom I am indebted for many of the articles, which she has read or asked that I read aloud to her. My son is not as interested in his mother's fleeting literary contributions to the world, but will no doubt someday make his way through a few of my favorites; if only because I have stipulated it in my estate that he do so in order to receive his inheritance. [Insert wicked laughter] 

I do sincerely hope that each reader who visits Happy Thoughts Travel Fast, if they read not a single word of the many articles herein, at least read the title. Therein lies my premise that happy thoughts do travel fast. If any of the concepts herein bring additional joy or even illumination, then that is sprinkles upon my already nicely frosted cake. 

In the beginning there was the stillness. The stillness was boring. There was no cake and no sunshine; there was no traffic, nor loud neighbors. Then one day a big party broke out and a magnificent reverberating brilliant BOOM exploded! Naturally, the stillness, which had no form, looked toward the giant radiant boom, which was not unlike a sun on fire. And like binge watching a television series on Netflix, the stillness was sucked into the drama, into which it dove head first. But the stillness still remembered the quietude. Not wishing to return anytime soon to the boringness, the stillness eventually sought out springtime, a charming refuge. Spring accepted its presence and said: “If you want to hang out with nature, you have to do your part.” So, the stillness got to work, watering plants and trees and shrubs; or, rather, dumping a big bucket of ice on them, hoping that over time it would melt, providing a continuous watering, while the Stillness, now alert, explored other exciting locations in the garden. 

The stillness felt honored to explore the garden, which it approached carefully out of naturally inclined respect. Home for the stillness was just a reference point. The stillness was fascinated by the popping up of daisies and other lovelies, the word it used to describe all of nature’s unfolding. It was not so fixated on from whence or why they came into being, but rather on the delightful fact that they existed.

The stillness had no fraternity to perpetuate, no doctrine to teach. But it did have a preference for pleasure. Pleasure inspired solidarity. With the growth of social consciousness, the stillness became custodian of nature’s concepts. There were no initiation rites to inspire veneration for anything other than enjoyment and appreciation. There was admiration for all existence, but not as a literal or elaborate theory or legendry. 

Other beings tamed nature for their own purpose, inspiring scholars, sages, and poets to flourish. Each grew in comprehension of a specific direction, which they called truth. They associated with men and women bound together by oaths and obligations, and into their own fraternities bore witness to those ideas that perpetuate concepts they considered good. 

Each being found itself in one location or another. From this space a unique comprehension of truth blossomed, and with it knowledge as a responsibility to the whole; or, an opportunity for personal ambitions to advance; or, both. Flowers rose above foliage, bushes rose over ground, trees hovered high, atmosphere reached further, and conditions flowed through it all. The proverbial fire and its potent latent abilities was discovered, and so, came into conscious communication with the land. 

Initiates of these early societies came to be regarded as possessing extraordinary faculties and powers. They enjoyed the special favor of those who gazed toward the domain in which they dwelt. New knowledge inspired a duality between nature, as a starting point, and the other places further afield. But scholarship was always the means, never the end. 

The end of scholarship was the contemplation of the abstraction. A latent desire to explore the garden without impediment. To receive within itself the light of vast truths. Some were naturally suited for such learning for they possessed the integrity of motive, the patience of effort, and the vision of ends - they labored toward their own improvement, and championed translucent progress above other considerations. Those of different opinion favored their unique time/place/location. 

And so it was inevitable that the initiates of what would later be called Mysteries should unite themselves against that which tainted their unique luminosity. Be it more or less openly in society, or privately, in secret, men and women continued to explore multitudes of directional thought. Some thoughts passed from public view, while others faded and reemerged. This circumstance was not a decline of plan or purpose. 

The world of discovery remains as a powerful force for the creation of human institutions, be them public or private. Those who do not concern themselves with the domain of intuitive metaphysical judgment question the use of symbols, myths, and figures employed to conceal essential explanation. Like Aristophanes’ Clouds, these concepts and symbols merely lampoon intellectual fashions. Rarely are clouds part of any original doctrine. They are put there to softly protect the entrance to a given journey, made necessary by intolerance and bias. The use of indirect communication was entirely practical. To remain unknown or unspoken was the best way to divert disaster. With soft, fluffy clouds, esoteric arcana was concealed. Clouds were not meant to inspire ignorance, but to protect generations of wisdom garnered from traveling along a specific thought trajectory. 

Discipleship ends in the attainment of an inner capacity suitable for the realization of the fullness of a given trajectory. The disciples, by harnessing conscious awareness, embrace practical mastery, putting it to proper use in relation to the given space. 

At various times scholars came together to form academies, where they imparted scientific, intellectual, ethical or cultural doctrines. The initiates of this tradition were not necessarily regarded as brilliant intellectuals, but rather honored individuals practicing higher dimensions of knowledge they considered essential. History preserves the records of numerous persons, from different ages and places, who exhibited knowledge and skill which cannot be explained according to today’s erudition. We can reject, but we cannot ignore entirely the testimonies of Pythagoras or Buddha. Many of the most noblest members of our planet’s history have expressed their profound admiration for figures such as Mother Theresa or Gandhi. Not to recognize a specific esoteric teaching, but in recognition of their contribution to the advancement and improvement of the human state. 

Adeptness is a state of maturity so far as this is possible. Deficient in nothing necessary to a life spent in a specific direction, the adept individual is capable of determining a course of personal action most likely to contribute to their own elucidation. This state inspires a full release of learned faculties and powers. Accordingly, these individuals align with global solidarity, as citizens of a larger invisible empire of the philosophical elect, the custodians and protectors of nature and its offspring: humanity. They are considered true educators and illuminators. Their expression is powerful, creative and direct. 

Others study these individuals, systematically notating thoughts and actions into a system or method, which later becomes a science. It is the art of living, the finest of the arts. Here truth-seekers gravitate. Willing to accept the sovereignty of the eternal over the temporal, they dedicate themselves to the mastery of a given science, mythology, or concept. This body of knowledge becomes their tradition. The institutions that perpetuate these traditions are their schools, and the graduates are their disciples or practitioners. 

As for the stillness, it discovered Spotify and was never heard from again ... 

The Best Story Wins

Wings of Love (1972)

Stephen Pearson

He or she or It who tells 

the best story wins.

Most people think of money as the highest human attainment. And money seduces.

With it, you win. Simple as that, or is it?

As stated in A Critique of Money, "money is among the elements that facilitate social interaction."

What else facilitates social interaction?

Let's see, now, shall we...

I don't know about you, but what facilitates social interaction is good manners. Pausing a moment from indulging in our own experience of life to acknowledge life outside ourselves. Acknowledging the other is the epitome of good manners.

The things we share are not always the things we're thinking about. Sometimes the things we share are more like this:

The TRICK to telling the best story is telling ourselves the best story

I can do better than that!
(spoken like a true storyteller)

You go back outside to play .... to get some wind blowing against you ... you take a thousand slow breaths precisely regulated to the body's expenditure. The experience vacillates between moderate to slightly intense relaxation. It's a trip, and you're riding it ... full steam ahead!

Its vistas extend for miles along riverbanks and surrounding streets, enveloping mountanesque courtyards, and its total surface area covers as far as your eyes can see.

A living monument that has witnessed centuries of the most momentous events in the history of that place; and it is the culmination that serves as a veritable encyclopedia of all the geographical and societal events and styles developed over the course of this particular time/space/location through which you are currently traveling and now contributing into being.

This space we're talking about consists of an approximately incalculable number of experiences and a myriad of other arrangements constructed into the space we occupy as we swoosh our way down the mountain ... 

The things you see before you lay claim to illustrate the existential history of the space through which you're still moving.

The scale of these dates and their corresponding movements is nearly unfathomable, but clever people everywhere will try to figure them out, after first patting themselves on the back for noticing them in the first place. It is precisely here where eternity's zipper lies. You either see it or you don't.

And what do you do if you don't see it?

That's a good question. Just pretend. Pretend you see it. Make it up. Imagine it. See it. Build it. Construct it. Paint it. If you must, plant flowers.

Leafing through what we see, we will, of course, find "essentials" such as those things with which we cannot live without. Those thoughts or experiences or sensations we simply must have to feel good. These are the characters of our story.

Victory wants to go first! 

She builds herself A Rose Cottage...

NIKE (or Nicé) was the winged goddess or spirit daimon of victory, both in battle and peaceful competition. Her four children, Nike (Victory), Zelos (Rivalry), Kratos (Strength) and Bia (Force) stand beside her along the other side of existence. In other words, along Eternity's Zipper.

Beyond her wreath or sash to crown a victor, an oinochoe and phiale (bowl and cup) for libations, a thymiaterion (incense burner), an altar, and a lyre for the celebration of victory in song. In mosaic art and coins Nike is often shown holding a palm branch as a symbol of victory.

The stories she tells herself reverberate throughout history. She is constantly reborn, carried forward generation by generation. Her presence is felt. All who come near her sense a frequency not unlike that which they seek. The slightest provocations shiver.

She is the Mona Lisa, the Winged Victory of Samothrace, and the Venus de Milo. In them we recognize the hand of Raphael, Vigeé Le Brun, and any other artist that delights our aesthetic sensibilities. Be it in art or song, from every epoch and every medium little of which will ever be known beyond specialist circles; it is our imagination only that is so sweeping, so comprehensive that it has a matchless ability to provide us with a new discovery every moment of every day.

But who could survive such intensity?

There must be rest periods. Rejuvenation and relaxation. Just like gliding down our mountain, there are times when we give more effort, and times when we relax and allow for the experience to flow through us.

Every day a previously unnoticed aspect hidden in the corner of our room, a newly acquired object, a sculpture taken out of storage or restored, a work of art we ourselves bring into existence, which we see for the first time, or simply a moment that catches our eye we had not previously engaged. To live the greatest story, this is a priceless asset.

But what if you don't live the greatest story? Some people see room for improvement in their lives. The quality of the story you tell yourself now takes on new meaning. If you think there's something better out there, the El Dorado of moments ... Oz.

... you're absolutely right!

Athena (2012)

Soph Laugh

There is definitely something better out there. But where is there? The Cheshire Cat would merit our attention if we only knew how to listen to him. Flash forward past the bank-busting originals, the investment pieces bartered by hedge-fund analysts and arms dealers, secured by museums for the enlightenment of the nation.

Take the story you tell yourself, those words you hear yourself think every day, as you make your way through life. Does it make you laugh? How many gifts do you give yourself? What do you collect? What sort of stuff do you do and think about each day? Do you like everything about which you think and do? Do you ever want to do something different? Can you imagine how exhausting it would be to ask yourself these types of questions every day?

This kind of thinking will keep you busy if you're not otherwise doing something. But you can also allow yourself to get lost in the labyrinth of cultures and world styles. Go off in search of the world's treasures. See what you've never seen or had occasion to imagine.

Soak it in. Feel it. Experience it.

AMAZING! 

New input is amazing. A good story ALWAYS needs New Input. It is an imperative if you want to construe for yourself a story unmatched in comparison. The story you know your destined to tell.

All stories are destined stories. Every moment is in an of itself an eternal moment. Forever existing simply because it existed. Anything that exists or is made to exist or is imagined to exist exists the moment it is imagined into existence. And that's a lot of existence.

Nothing can be more surprising, seductive, interesting, and impressive than to directly confront the greatest ideas in their appropriate setting. Every moment, every place, every person, every thing has its greatest moment.

The greatest story is catching someone at their greatest moment.

There are many great moments. And some of these great moments are best admired outside of our own homes. The moments that adorn our walls, if you wish, can represent something only you can prove exists. The expression of self materialized.

Material artefacts of self show the world we mean business, meaning, we fully intend to experience as many moments of every day humanly possible. We want to squeeze in billions of stories, like billions of stars, absorbed by us as we expand outward toward full expression.

Whatever image we imagine before us only stimulates the appetite, to preserve a memory of a moment, and above all, to make us want to immerse ourselves in the treasure troves of the world we have to give ourselves moments from which we can tell ourselves the best story. We must craft moments and stories and mix up the order in which we apply them.

In doing so we find the best stories of our lives. If we choose to share them, we can. We can share our ultimate stories: A collection of our finest moments. Or we can keep those treasures for ourselves, closer to home. We can hang them on our walls, or whisper them in our corridors or outside in the garden among the rose bushes who only sing when politely asked to ...

The Advancement of Creativity

Laughing is good medicine,

but if one laughs for no reason,

one needs medication.

Given the enjoyability factor in creative thinking, which goes so far as to denounce the validity of reason in all the prerogatives it assumes in the practice of aesthetics, on the one hand, and in the spread of contemporary artworks interpreted sui generis, which once used to explore new mediums inspires new combinations of materials, on the other, aesthetics would seem to be alive and well in a world of technology and automation.

Creativity is so mixed with existential thought (principally because philosophers are artists who aim to sculpt the sound and beautiful thoughts) that one has the overall impression that aesthetics as a cogent core of intuitions, insights, inspirations, experiments and passions, as found in the entire classical world, has blossomed and this innermost core of identifying with self eternal.

Artists manifest the facileness of assumption. Aesthetics has not lost its identity; it merely transforms itself as new materials are made available.

Indeed, crowning the creativity of contemporary artworks, this flourishing of artists from all around the world to consider the aesthetics of intuitions, insights, inspirations, experiments and passions that artists by following by and large the aesthetic outline of the Human Creative Condition has further elaborated, manifesting the aesthetic spirit as its most vigorous.

Classical ideas of aesthetics retain their legitimate claims albeit in novel formulations and within a novel framework. But in this novel era, the era in which aesthetics has at last arrived or is arriving at its destination, the classical ideas with their claims are left rather in the painter's palette while new incipient ideas are being laid down as cornerstones of a gigantic edifice to be erected before the world stage.

It is indeed, from an overturn or priorities, with cognition and its specific mental intentionalities now assuming second place, while the creative act of the human being assumes first place, that this novel edifice receives the orientation for its inspiration.

Furthermore, although a proper place remains allotted to aesthetic consciousness, the subject with its originative extensions is not just alive in terms of its classical priority, but is turned inside out of its directing position to a limited realm for the newly recognized aesthetic principles of being, which is that of self-creativity-in-expression. 

Thus at the very center of contemporary fields of aesthetic investigation, we find clues for the genuinely aesthetic mathesis universalis, that was the initial dream of Husserl and which, having gotten lost in his meanders, he failed to devise.

Poor Husserl.

By thus going back to the creative virtualities of human existence and the principle of self-creative-expression, an entire new way of aesthetic expression emerges in which all rationalities transform themselves by nature of inventive fertility.

Herein this blog is situated volumes of examples, a splattering of ideas, points of view, and insights which come from otherwise diversely influenced conceptions and reflections offer Reader-Viewers COLORFUL PERSPECTIVES a compelling investigation of some major issues which reappear again in new formulations: principally the issue of a human individuals self-creativity-in-expression, insofar as he or she becomes and evolves with respect to the force which drives human imagination.

What has its classical flavor in rhyme and meter, color and composition, is clad now in modalities of the nuanced and modulated transmissible interplay of forces which allow the human being to create herself while co-creating something else, and this in the societal, vitally conditioned, significant networks of human inventiveness.

Human creativity with respect to the objects we create - artworks and inventions - go back to the fundamental virtuality of the Human Creative Condition of the moral sense, whence the morality, ethics, and regulations which human beings establish for their co-existence take flight.

The above-indicated set of principles which has overturned classical aesthetics, which at the same time standing counter to the overinflated tendencies of contemporary aesthetics, has been operative to various degrees throughout history, in particular since the 1960s, during which time the attention of numerous scholars was drawn to its novel vistas and principles.

Contemporary artists have attracted anew to these approaches. During at least the last five decades we have been witnessing the inception of a reinterpretation of the classical thinkers, finding in their thought ideas congenial to ours which have hitherto been overlooked, both in their dominant trends of interpretation as well as in excavating reflections and insights pertinent to our problems.

It is in this spirit that creativity has been advancing. Thus in all similar aspects of creation (blogs, Pinterest posts, Tumblr photos, social sharing feeds, and all not-before-traditional modes of Human-Creative-Expression) classical aestheticians are interpreted anew in the perspective of how their thoughts converge on our aesthetic sensibilities.

This blog is filled with examples of mixed-thinking via mixed-media, mixing genres, and interweaving photos to elevate words to new heights. For over nearly five years this blog has been devoted to exploring humor, wherever it may reside, so long as it is respectful of human dignity. In this vein a variety of styles have been smooshed together just to see what emerges. While not overtly funny, the enjoyability factor comes from not knowing the end result - not knowing how scholarly discourse combined with nonsensical absurdities might sound or look on virtual paper.

Living up to the blog's original title "Sophy 'softly' Laughing" posts often mimic their namesake - eliciting soft or quiet laughter. It is not the giant guffaws that draws attention to this blog. It is the earnest search for those things that delight and inspire wonderment. The "funny" aspect of searching for the experience of wonderment is how easily it can be found by comparing seemingly divergent thought systems in order to find the bridge that unites them. What is truly funny for me - recognizing humor is subjective - is how united all thought systems are when we search for connecting strands. But it is not a search for the visible, it is a search for possibilities and what-ifs.

For example: What if there really are Blacksheepologists in the world ... analyzing data in the hopes of uncovering the true origin of the elusive Black Sheep? Every family reportedly has a Black Sheep in the family. It could indeed be that in a world of 7 billion people one person might actually be reading the Black Sheep Scrolls in search of clues to determine whether or not there was indeed a time when counterfeit black hides were being mass-produced.

Even if this example only resides in my mind, and now in HTTF - it exists. I have imagined It into existence... a scenario that might not have ever been imagined had it not been for my own brand of Sophist humor ("Sophist" as in Sophy Laughing-inspired -vs- "sophist" as in those contemptible, degrading, disgraceful, disreputable, loathsome, reprehensible, infamously slimy, morally suspect rhetoricians of 5th century BCE Greece claiming to specialize in the tools of philosophy and rhetoric only to miss the mark entirely).

I conclude this post with the statement that I believe eternity to be everywhere. Everywhere is eternity. Thus we exist in eternity. Whether or not we eternally exist is an entirely different question. This matters because that which we do, we are doing for an eternity. If life does not bring us all the riches we desire, the love we deeply long for, or the health or beauty we wish were our own to possess, it can bring us other opportunities. The opportunity to create something from nothing. The opportunity to see each experience as one belonging to a certain space held within eternity. If we are held in eternity, which seems inescapable; if we cannot unexist the nature of our existence, as our bodies remain, and the 21 grams of spirit that escapes is still held within existence, i.e., eternity; then, we might as well do something that entertains us.

Writing and creating thoughts that had hitherto before not existed entertains me. If it did not, I would cease to do it. I am not required to write. I am not paid to write. I am not rewarded for writing beyond the rewards the experience itself affords me. Many people around the world are in a constant state of creative expression: doing, acting, and engaging with the world from a place that brings them no financial gain, no worldly acclaim, and no intense emotional engagement from the world - but they still do it.

Day in day out, people everywhere are inspired to create by nature of their fulgurating spirit. Whether a being is sharpening a stone hand axe for beautification rather than utility, whether an elephant is playing with a bouncy ball or rocking to Bach, whether insects are building nests rather than mindlessly roaming in perpetual search of sustenance, we are all held in an eternity whose natural state is one of Creative-Expression.

Rather than succumb to rationalism; rather than abandon my blogging to strategize other 'more important things' ... which would surely bring about a more shallow blend of mind manifesting "fin de sièce" moods regarding my use of time; if instead I tell myself I have all of eternity to write this blog AND still have extra time left over to strategize on those 'more important things' ... I have seized eternity for myself. Here I am crafting eternity as it pleases me.

If we are willing to temporarily suspend our long-cherished convictions and expectations which sidestep us more than they propel us forward to face the tests of progress for ourselves, we are more able to maintain their validity or well-foundedness as we discover for ourselves which convictions and expectations serve and which do not. It is only in the doing that we discover.

These thoughts vanish nearly as fast as they are presented. They are grains of salt lively enough only for metamorphosed fulfillment. Aesthetics worldwide is the promise and part-realization of this type of metamorphosed fulfillment of eternity's (and of this century's) long-lasting Creative Dream, it's fulfillment in the aesthetics of life and Creative Expression.

How to Dislodge a Yummy Piece of Candy from a Stick in 5 Easy Steps

by Bo Erik Hollsten

Author of Infinite Gear Media

1     Evaluate whether or not you like the piece of candy to determine if it is worth the effort invested to undertake a candy dislodging activity.

2     If the candy is coated with insects, you may wish to avoid dislodging the candy unless you enjoy eating candy coated insects. 

3     If there are any power lines nearby or touching the stick, call the local power company to have the stick with the candy on top of it removed safely. 

4     If there is another blob person trying to reach the candy on top of the stick, you should either challenge them to a showdown, steal the candy, or offer help to the other to blob person to obtain the candy and then split it. 

4.5  In the event you opted for the latter option (above), have the other blob person lean on the stick and push it forward so that the stick bows downward where the candy can be plucked off the stick. You can now enjoy the candy with your new blob friend. 

5    In the event there are no other blob people around when you find the candy, use your hand to gently pull the stick toward you. Be careful not to pull the stick too far, otherwise you risk launching the candy off the stick in the opposite direction. You can now pluck the candy from the stick and enjoy your yummy treat.

The Genii

A surreal tale...           

       Take a walk with me. Let us visit an imaginary universe of astonishing richness and diversity. Let us voyage to places that symbolize the undefined in dream-like escapes, where in our urgent desire for perfection, we create a home for our uncertainty, a place where the impossible does not clash with its surroundings but instead sits pronouncedly upright, satisfying our insatiable desire to rise above the lumbering of our fellow travelers.  

Allegory of the Genius of Alexander I. Prince Heinrich Lubomirski

Louise Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun (1755 - 1842)

              In this excursion, let us draw a map for the younglings, for those who, bound by their energetic resonance, search wildly for their rightful habitat. So that they might avoid getting lost in the labyrinth of imprisoning realms, let us call upon those authorities that have ventured there and back again.

Porträt der Graham-Kinder (The Graham Children) 1742

William Hogarth (1697 - 1764)

 ...

From the ruins of a walled city

The southeast echoes songs by night

The songs of a past time are carried by an secret dynasty

In the light of the moon, you can see their flight…

Follow with me down into the cave

Wearing two golden helmets of Geniian lineage

Stones tremble as they try to conceal the silent gateway…

We realize that the path of the past is endless

As we stand upon a distant ridge

We continue searching for the wide valley

Where we heard the sounds of younglings play…

The gateway is ruled by an unconscious planet

Entangled veins disclose hidden clues within their twists

Who is welcome to cross the waters whose streams are filled with granite?

On the bank of the river

The answers follow the bird that rises from the mist…

            Legend has it that geniuses are descended from and named after Genii, an offspring of the guiding spirit or tutelary deity of this land.  The Ancients spoke of how its divine nature manifests in extraordinary proclivities: seeking harmony, the pleasantness of a place, the strength found in upholding an oath and the natural inclination propelling it forever onward.

            The decendents of genii, those whom we refer to as geniuses, cannot flourish amid the shackles of conformity unless they find a refuge to house their intellectual throne. Imprisoned by incipit tragoedia, ruled by a people with whom the genii have no common language, genii tend to wander ceaselessly, roaming along the coast of life, barely peeking out from their blanket of amnesia; all the while, unable to communicate with the local inhabitants, and more importantly, with themselves.

Memories that cannot remember having been…

Thoughts that take us to the other side of time.

            For those who wish to embark upon the quest of freeing their young genius of their amnesiac chains, know that it is possible to deliver them to another realm where contradictions are not seen as impediments, but rather delightful, fabricated niceties that arise from intellectual independence in a landscape that permits multitudes of coexisting possibilities without the fear associated with losing one’s mind: the annihilation of coherency.

Far, far away from the tyrannical and unwilling nature of the Highlands, a genius might again find faith in the vastness of their mind, encouragement for their dreamy maunderings and fantastical, seemingly irreconcilable imaginings that challenge others to expand their own mindset rather than limit it to what others deem are acceptable limits of one’s imagination. A place where genius might transform their guests into kings or butterflies or believers of all and nothing simultaneously just to explore the notion without the biased opinion that these transmutations are impossible.

            The realm of which I speak is strangely beautiful, with shimmering torrents of mercury, blazing lakes of fire and swift rivers of rose-colored liquid flowing across golden sand beneath mountains of sulfur and bitumen.

            Along the Stream of Universal Remedy, a golden liquid flows, curing all ills and wounds. Here, genius discovers that it can heal itself of the pain it suffers above ground in the Highlands. No longer imprisoned for intellectual misconduct, the genius tears itself free of the iron shackles associated with faulty reasoning, and in a single gesture, with a point of the finger, dissolves the metal into a tiny needle and thread with which it can mend its own wounded spirit ~ should it be torn.

            Oh look! There is a youngling cleansing themselves of the negativity associated with free thought. She notices a welcoming leaf on a tree, which she then presses upon her face. The royal imprint of the genii appears, dissolves, and then fuels the natural energie of this land.

            This world is fueled by the energie associated with imagining and guarded by defenders of The Deep Wonderment. Caverns of thought are filled with fantastic gems and veins of precious ores, and their fluted and twisted pillars of white, saffron and pink that support the roofs are mirrored in the still pools surrounding its many forests.

            History has it that the Genii settled here at the end of the Great Greek Awakening. In this realm, the Genii developed their inquisitive skills. Among other services to humankind, they adopted a mindset, which later became law and was inscribed on monuments and temples across the land:

Free thyself from the chains of belief

According to those travelers who have ventured into the Caves of Genii, the kingdom is rich and flourishing. It is place where all younglings recognize a powerful essence dwelling within. An essence that instantly resonates from a synchronicity they experience with their surroundings.

Taking a moment to breathe in vastness of this moment, another youngling notices that the trees are surprisingly tall, with broad tapering leaves. The fruit of which is the size of a melon and so light that it bounces when dropped. He plucks one and bites into its skin, its transparent juice is intoxicating, its flesh tastes like sweet bread.

Memory is the theater of the spirit

I am the shadow my word’s cast

The moment scatters

I write not knowing the outcome of what I write

Like a memory inventing itself

            A vast forest surrounds these fruit trees. The ground to the north rises to a mountain with three peaks. The two outer peaks are densely wooded but upon the middle one, the highest, proudly stand orthostats, their presence quietly beckons those who curiously traverse the mountain onward toward a vista on the east side of the river where a polygon of trilithons make up one of the largest sanctuaries in the land.

            There is an airy freedom here; one that welcomes the boundless nature of the mind to gaze upon the triad before taking flight into the majesty of existence. No longer plagued by cultural philistinism of the Highlands, the genius’ mind flows effortlessly to the point that it can identify with the sun, with the energies that form into matter, and even with the background information upon which this celestial dance takes place. 

Golden whirlwinds insubstantial as my own thoughts

In a ghostly theater of reflection

A single monotonous intensity

Do I believe in man or in the stars?

            It is here where deities are born… where the genius witnesses his own becoming… where the ground rises up to meet him and the sky bows down to curtsy at his feet… where the birds swoon from the fragrance of fauna… where boundaries are forgotten… where from quietude emerges a symphony of natural harmonies that awaken an essence that was hitherto enclosed in the mortal trappings of life.

           

            Championing their ideals, the Genii considered intellectual freedom one of the cardinal virtues. They sought, not out of an insatiable desire for possession, but for the undisputed right to explore without conforming to a festival of ignorance that limits such exploration.

            A moment passes and the genius sits in deep thought. Taking in the color of his surroundings, he thinks about how in the Highlands he felt like an imposter. How despite his best efforts he could not align his insatiable propensity for further exploration with the deeply held beliefs of others. How was it that he could understand and appreciate their perspectives and yet find himself so utterly misunderstood in the process? If he was born in the Highlands, shouldn’t he be a Highlander? Could it be that biological origin and energetic origin are different? Could an individual be born into a specific configuration and simultaneously belong to or coexist in another form?

There is another life within this life

Another you that recognizes you

Another you, you do not know…

Look between the lines

Open yourself to the invisible

Your thoughts are still en guarde

            Just then, an eagle pecked at its own shadow. The genius wondered what it meant.

            
          “Is this a sky-god presiding over the three peaks of this realm offering me a gift of supremacy, a fount of the auspices upon which the relationship of genius rests with the gods? Perhaps it is nothing other than bird tired of its Oak tree, curious about its shadow. Curious? How curious! How is that a bird could be curious? Why would it not be so? Am I limiting my mind out of habit or fear of reproach?”

            In this moment, the genius realized that he had habituated himself to follow the Highlanders’ customs, that he was accustomed to limiting his thoughts to please the gods of conformity.  Indulging in only a few eccentricities, which he readily labeled as “eccentric” to appease Highland officials, observing an ancient punctilious regard for rules and comparing those rules to those other rules held by other Highlanders, he lamented.

            Perhaps neither the genius nor the Highlander recognizes that what was once bizarre had become usual, that what seemed normal was now an oddity, and that virtues and faults had lost merit or honor in a different code of virtues and faults.

            The Highlanders approach to knowing is called science, and yet all their scientific accounts are aimed at creating a solid and compact image of a world they cannot see from outside themselves. The Highlands is a place where diversity, the type of thinking that might be inferred from a different subjective opinion, has less substance than the structures that house it. Highlanders speak of what is needed to exist, but exist on less than what can be spoken.

If through us the universe speaks with itself,

why do we try to silence it?