“The first time I saw Susie... I was lost to her. And that was that." (Cave N, 2014 in an interview for NY Times with John Wray)

“The first time I saw Susie was at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. And when she came walking in, all the things that I have obsessed over for all the years, pictures of movie stars, Jenny Agutter in the billabong, Anita Ekberg in the fountain . . . Miss World competitions, Marilyn Monroe and Jennifer Jones and Bo Derek . . . Bolshoi ballerinas and Russian gymnasts . . . the young girls at the Wangaratta pool lying on the hot concrete, all the stuff I had heard and seen and read . . . all the continuing never-ending drip-feed of erotic data . . . came together at that moment, in one great big crash bang, and I was lost to her. And that was that.”

"Smoke is blacking out the sun. At night I pray and clean my gun" (Waits)

"... Well we stick our fingers in The ground, heave and Turn the world around Smoke is blacking out the sun At night I pray and clean my gun The cracked bell rings as The ghost bird sings and the gods Go begging here So just open fire As you hit the shore All is fair in love And war ..." From the song "Hoist that Rag" by Tom Waits featured on "Real Gone" album.

"Give and you give and you give till it's gone Then the people you fight hardest for say you're wrong" (Ben Harper)

"I don't need any help to be breakable, believe me" (Matt Berninger)

"Did I do everything I could do, or did the mice just need to play" (RHCP 2011)

... or... "I’m a loaded gun pointed at the mirror A drugstore cowboy whose end is near yeah baby I’m a big time schemer with broken down dreams I’m a derelict rebel without a cause I ain’t the cat with the sharpest claws no baby Cause sometimes life just ain’t what it seems" (Mr Ness)

"Oh dear dad, can you see me now?" (Vedder 1991)

"Oh, dear dad, can you see me now I am myself, like you somehow I'll wait up in the dark for you to speak to me I'll open up...Release me..." (Artist: Pearl Jam; Album: Ten; Track:Release; Year: 1991)

"A smile relieves a heart that grieves" (Jagger 1981)

"... memory's like a train, you can see it getting smaller as it pulls away" (Waits 1985)

"I like what time does to your memories. It depends on what kind of lens you are using. I like the way things are distorted by time." (Waits)

"allt låg samlat i ett timglas där sanden och all tid rann ut" (Bruno K. Öijer)

ALLT LÅG SAMLAT

jag vaknade
med en känsla av att vålnader
lagt ner sin kraft på mej
och arrangerat mitt blod och mina läppar
så att jag kunde se och tala igen
i hård blåst tog dom sej tid
att peka ut den avlägsna platsen
där mitt hjärta låg begravt
och efteråt
försökte jag komma ihåg vad som hänt
något hade angripit mej
en pojke full av spindelväv hade
strukit bort sitt ansikte
spader och hjärter dam
hade mötts i mina händer och fräst åt varandra
jag såg ingen himmel eller jord
allt låg samlat i ett timglas där sanden
och all tid rann ut
medan människor fortsatt att tvinga sej fram
för att släcka sina blickar i mej
i deras ögon satt en sjuk glimmande låga
som om de burit med sej arvet
från en forntida ödeläggande brand
där dom förlorat allt och lämnats kvar
besatta
uppslukade av rädsla och bittert hat

"If we had a keen vision of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow or the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence" (George Eliot in "Middlemarch")

We generally neglect huge chunks of life... and these chunks tend to remain in the gloom of our individual and social blind spots... zones of the unthinkable... like forever locked chambers in a mudcastle... everything takes place as if we need to let life pass us by just to cope with it...

Instead, we compensate... we build beautiful air castles where all chambers are open and clean and the walls are made of glass... and we're generally better of without knowing too much about what is going on on down there on the ground... where we're dirty and finite...

This has been said before... remember Bourdeiu's preaching about the salvation of misrecognition... or Wittgenstein's "Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent" famous postulate. Still I can't help but being attracted to that lethal "roar which lies on the other side of silence". It calls to me! And I feel like I was always here, waiting for its call. Perhaps I find the wide open chambers and glass walls a bit too clean and neat. There's something missing. I need some dirt!

And how magnificent it must be to sigh for the last time while drifting away to the roaring tunes of growing grass.

"If you're gonna try and walk on water make sure you wear your comfortable shoes" (Turner 2011)

There's a tiny yet cunning pinch of deep irony in the consequences of coerced and thus still cowardice acts of bravery. For bravery is a virtue and thus a rather desirable mode of existence for many. So even if we are not very brave, we might still want to be... and thus also attempt to become. And how do we do this? By forcing ourselves into performing the ‘brave’ deeds, of course! So in order to gain social recognition and to improve our self-esteem we go against who we are, moulding ourselves as if we were but clay. We do the impossible.

But then, there seems to be a tiny little thing missing. How are we to perform miracles if we don't believe in the power of our own magic? And even if we should manage to 'perform' the miracle, how are we then to deal with the new worlds that this act opens before us? Are we ready to face the terrifying terra incognita – for bravery is not about the moments but about the sustainable attitudes? Or are we going for head-in-the-sand strategy?

Each act of bravery, each performed miracle, raises the bar of our being-in-the-world, demanding from us to carry on with at least the same level of bravery... and a pocket always full of magic. It just doesn't make sense to act brave one second and then retire the other... once you claim bravery your newly gained status demands that you must stand your ground. All this means that many of our acts of bravery might be more about our continuous work on our identities than they ever are about the social and cultural consequences of its enactment... a kind of self-esteem boost, that is. This means that some martyrs may offer their lives just to get the reward from the gods in return. Not as a rational homo economicus quest for profit nor as simple reciprocity but more as a desperate way of repairing the damaged sense of the self. Well-being of others, in this case, appears as just a chimera – a part of the game that has the potency to grant the performer with high status amongst the mortals. Does this mean that some heroes die just to reach immortality (either by the grace of gods or by mundane celebration of their heroism), rather than to generate the altruistic good for other people?

In any case, it is inherent in the very nature of notion of bravery that it requires to be genuinely heartfelt in order for its enactment to fulfil the sociocultural criteria of what deserves to be called 'bravery'. Therefore, only as such can it generate proper outcomes, i.e. to cause reactions worthy of being associated to acts of bravery. But what if it is performed without being heartfelt but more as a way of meeting the very same criteria, to cowardly claim status and prestige that only true bravery can bring. Well, everything takes place as if there are two possible outcomes:

1. Such an attempt to act brave might fail – since it is not heartfelt it is also bound to be poorly executed and instead of providing the ‘performer' with desired status and prestige it just manages to confine him or her in the cage of total humility.
2. Such an attempt to act brave might succeed – the success might come by accidence of no one noticing that the act was not really heartfelt and genuine.

The latter scenario, however, is still not to be confused with ultimate success since the 'peformer' is by the sheer enactment of the miracle now forced to continuously provide a steady stream of new miracles in order to legitimize his or her new status. He or she is expected to live the life of the brave. Now, if you just aren't this brave, such life can easily transform into a never-ending torment of living up to an impossible ideal.

So, by all means, test your limits, take a leap, conquer and tame your deepest fears, dear Icarus – that's just fine... However, when you do, make sure you prepare yourself for the open-endedness of this battle 'coz it is not bound to end. The sun will not get any colder just because you dare to charge at it armed with the wings of wax. Ambitions can turn into hubris that might be just too hard to handle. And after all, don't forget that the fastest guns were more challenged than they were ever feared.

"[...] there ain't no romance around there [...]" (Turner, Alex D. 2006)

Observing the absence of romance around "there" might be quite dissapointing and prompt a critical stance outbursting in a general expression of cultural critique loaded with moral value towards "those" who apparently have failed to see the value of romance in "their" encounters with other people (with "themselves"?; "us"?; some other "others"?). This seems to be both the source and the target of Turner's disenchantment in ever so brilliant alster "A Certain Romance", a last track on Sheffield greatest 2006 debut album.

So far so good, the critique gets through and makes very much sense - not many people can say that they can't recognize themselves in the main sentiment of the song (save for "those" who are blind for romance, that is). But what if...?

What if "them" is not "them"? What if "them" is "us"? Indeed, Turner does address this issue as well, asserting that also friends can sometimes "overstep the line"... but it's somehow different. It's different because when it comes to real friends we just know that there's romance around "here" and then we're all good. Due to the certainty of the romance we share we cannot possibbly "get angry in the same way... no, not in the same way". Due to our certain romance we understand. Certainly! Still, what if...?

What if we suddenly cought ourselves feeling unease and fear... doubt... that the romance we thought was there actually is not... that its certainty is not so certain any more? What if...? What if it's still here but has become rather uncertain? What if...? What if it is gone? What if...? What if it was never there? And still we keep claiming to know its value, or at least we'd like to think we do. "We"?! But this would be quite a paradox, now wouldn't it! How could such a fear ever exist amongst the ones who truly know the value of romance? If we truly knew it, how could its absence be blamed on our ignorance regarding its value? What can it be, then? Ignorance of ignorance, perhaps? Or maybe blindness caused by a way too self-centered outlook? Finding our friends not worthy of our oh so valuable romance? Pure evil? Something else?

What if...?

What if "no romance" was all along an accepted part of the game that was more ignored than embraced, really... a part of the game handled with denial - a denial that makes the game possible at all? What if the whole friendship - together with its artificially built-in sense of "romance" - was really founded on denial and is forever depending on that same denial for its continued existence? Then, the question is: To deny or not do deny? What if what is denied is suddenly recognized and brought to the fore? Would it just make the entire relationship breakdown and collapse like a house of cards? Or would it prove to ba a result of paranoia turning the fear into a self-fulfilling prophecy... ruining everything we really loved... staining the purity of all things beautiful we shared... killing a certain romance?

What if...?

What if your fear of missing romance is but a mirror of your own errors - something both hard to grasp and even harder to come to grips with.

What if...?

Am I receiving romance?

Am I worthy of romance?

Am I giving away romance?

Am I...?

Am I capable of romance?

Compared to the tormenting thought of the uncertain romance amongst the ones who really matter, absence romance around "there" suddenly seems so trivial.

"'love everybody' is destroying the value of" (Manson 1996)

... and there we are again... assembled... like flies around our own shit... enchanted by collective effervescence in desire to besiege, conquest and dishonour the purity of godliness... we move swiftly and limp graciously through the rooms full of vultures... in search for long awaited salvation from the chains of sensory perceptions... from the pit of insane blindness they bring upon us with their encompassing curtains of eternal darkness... in the end, it metters nothing what we see... or touch... smell... hear... or taste... these are all but disturbances... forgrounded background noise... self-appointed regent of our world... empowered by the sword of reason... faultless... stainless... ruthless... made of glass... perception, chained by false truths of unfaulty faculty of logics is bound to break free and spread its scabbed wings one day... till we see with eyes wide shut, touch with no corporeal connection and smell without even breathing... till the words mean more when unspoken... till the deaf can hear what the mutes are talkin’... till the white crows dance and the black swans talk and... 'coz it metters nothing what we see, what we touch or what we hear... what matters is the way we feel... what we hide and reveal... when we give and why we steal... all that we love... all that we hate...

The world will never let itself be known by us... filthy maggots 'n worms... the closest we can get to percieving the world and one another, therefore, must ultimately be through emotional experience... through feeling...

So, fellow maggots 'n worms... please... feel responsibly!

"We find certain things about seeing puzzling, because we do not find the whole business of seeing puzzling enough" (Wittgenstein 1953: 224)

What's it gonna be?

We percieve the world through our senses.
We believe in what they mediate to us.
Perhaps mostly because they are ours...
... and we seem not so prone to question their validity.
(Or at least we are convinced that doing so wouldn't do us any good.)

So we see things - we see the smooth lick of transparent silver "riverrun", the yellow sword of light as the beacon slashes through the night, the worm eaten flesh of a rotten carcass...

We touch things - sometimes we touch orselves when out of sight of others, the soft, the moist 'n hot fire and the cold, hard and sticky ice, the taut and hungry skin of a lover...

We smell things - we smell the garden of Gardenias, the peaty smoke of the highland's well of life, the arrival of the first winter snow, the pungent stench of sewer beneath all future Mother Cities brought together...

We hear things - we hear the ominous sirenes, the harmony of lies carried by the percussion of granates and embriodered with a howl of little bullets, the infant cries in our morning coffee, the gossip of Apocalypse...

We taste things - we taste the blood, the sweet 'n sour Eden apple, the cunning foam of a countryside real brew...

And we see it our way. And we take it for a fact. And why wouldn't we? It was right there, right!? We saw it!

Still, we can always ask ourselves what the difference between seeing and imagining really is, and if that, in turn, makes any difference? Really?

Imagine the dish really ran away withe the spoon! Now if that was to happen and we saw it, we would've most certainly have recognized it since we already have recieved the idea from Mr Waits - he gave us a wayward dreamy preconception so creatively that we now are predisposed with an imagine of a dish running away with the spoon. Furthermore, since "everything you can think of is true" there is no other limit than what we can imagine to what we also can see. Does this render imagination necessary in order for us to notice changes in the ordinary course of life... the disruptions in the order of things? The extraordinary in the ordinary? (And by noticing I mean seeing!)

Of course, even if we never have heard Mr Waits' profetia, once the dish actually ran away with the spoon before our eyes we would unmistakeably know it. And this does not mean that we have ever really imagined it before - in a sense that we have thought of it or pictured it in our thoughts... in our dreams. So, it seems as if imagination is not necessary in order for us to notice things... to see... but the fact that all that is seen could've been imagined first is. So it is all those unimagined images, the "unthought known", which dwell within, and perhaps even more importantly, between us, that make our 'seeing' possible at all. Question follows: if our seeing depends on such a mysterious and puzzling parts of being human, how come we don't find it puzzling?

Sometimes we see things that just don't make sense. In fact, from where I stand, not much of what I see everyday makes sense. Maybe it's not about things in-and-for-themselves - since I am convinced that the most unrealistic and foolish thing to do would be to expect from things in-and-for-themselves to just planely be full of meaning... to make sense... there is a necessity of 'someone' to whom things may or may not make sense in some way or another... so, whatever I am seeing without grasping it: maybe it's more a matter of my seeing than it is of it's being?!

Does this mean that the world as we see it is but a projection of our preconceptions - never real in and for itself but only in our imaginations... or in our "unthought known" - the almost imaginations... that by almost imagining the world we also create it?

I musty admit - I love this idea! However, I don't believe in it. It just sounds too beautiful. It almost gives a promise to erase all injustice, pain and suffering in the world by the time we wake up... and even if we never wake up, since our whole existence is but a part of same dreaming, it doesn't matter... not at all! Because if all these things are just a bad dream then there is no real injustice, no real pain and suffering. So there is nothing to be worried about. But since we still percieve something by seeing things, irrespective of whether they are the sheer projection of our unnoticed imagination material or not - it is real indeed. And percpetion is always real! Even when it is unjustifiable and unexplainable it is nonetheless real since it is percieved. That's it!

So:
1. Unnoticed imagination material is required for our seeing.
2. Seeing is required for our percieving.
3. Percieving is required for our being.
4. Thus, we can be sure that we exist and that reality is as much a dream as the dream is real(ity).

But this means that all the injustice, pain and suffering in the world is real. So how come so many of us just chooses to fucking pretend like it's not real and to ignore it. Could we stand the weight of our conscious if we should allow such an insight to swallow us? Or are we just so fucking ignorant, stupid and inconsiderate?

I don't know man but sometimes I really wish it was all just a dream... just a dream...

"[...] there are human forces stronger than logic" (Pirsig 2006 [1974]: 21)

What is logic? What is logical? Does it mean anything? What? To whom? Why? Is even logic ever logical? It seems as if the more certain the omnipotence of logic, the less human it gets. Does logic mean inference from given premises to either falsehood or truth? If so, how come we grant so much certainty to this 'truth' when it is arrived at by such meager and fragile means - rules of inference? How can they ever guarantee any certainty about anything? Is it because we invest all our trust in certainty and solidity of given premises? As if there ever was any premises that were really given - cemented as a fact. Don't premises, these deceiving little bastards, multiply ad infinitum as soon as they are acknowledged? Isn't it at the very core of the being of premises that they are trying to fool us already from the beginning, to take them for a fact, an a priori truth in itself. Still, "truth belongs to everybody" (RHCP), I've heard. Everytime we stumble upon the facts of life we ad to them our own subjective perspective. And that's it! Some talk about the "eye of the beholder" phenomenon (Metallica). Some about how truth is but a construction, the purpose of which is no more than to alleviate the burden of being ensnared in deep shit of life: "I heard the truth was built to bend, a mechanism to suspend the guilt" (Arctic Monkeys). Then, it logically follows (I beg you all pardon for my inconsistency - but I'm a walking contradiction and I'm fine with it) that there are no premises that can ever be given as true facts - only perhaps as assumptions for the sake of the philosophical argument, but that's it. It stops right there! And that's the only logical truth about true logic because, logically speaking, with no true premises to take into this absurd equation, the only truth we're left with is that the truth is that the truth is not.

"But no one is willing to give up the truth as he sees it" continues Pirsig (2006 [1974]: 87). The truth is that we kill for our truths. We die for them! No questions asked. We just do it. Because we believe. Perhaps sometimes the belief is logical through and through... other times maybe less so. But it is at all times, in some more or less absurd way, linked to some kind of logic as its defender. Does this mean now that there are as many logics as there are truths - that logic is just as multiple as truth is? Now, what's so logical about that anyway? How can we know anything about anything, really? "This heart inside me I can sense, so I conclude that it exists. This world I can touch, so I conclude that it exists. This is where all my knowledge stops, everything else is a construction" says Camus on the subject adding that "to look for the truth is not the same as to look for what's desirable (1961 [1942]: 27, 44 my translation). Now, how's that for a true fact?

Reason and logic - it seems as if they have been criticized by everybody, forever. A bit of a cliché for a revolt nowadays, really. Let's go reason-bashing - as if no one has ever done that before. And still we kill, lie, cheat, hurt, bleed in vain, cry ourselves to sleep, enjoy the excess of wealth on the others account as if we somehow deserved it, wage wars, propagate hostility and suspicion. And what's worse, we do all these things under the flag of logic and reason - our sacred religion. We refer to them to justify our dirty deeds - for ourselves and for others. What's up with that?

Well, we are human and there ain't nothing logical about that!

"Fuck reality! Who cares about reality?" (Danny Fields 1967-1971)

(From Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk
edited by Legs McNeil,Gillian McCain)

What is reality?
Is it the objective order of things? Is it the world suspended in the web of the natural laws of causation? The way things are? The world as a pure white snow? A virgin not yet polluted by the voracious filthy randiness of the nihilism of imagination and creativity... the unspoiled IT... the Being?

What is its opposite? Its anthitesis? The 'unreality'? Is 'reality' defined by the absence of 'unreality'? Can there even be a reality without it? Really? What is day without a night? Love without hate?

If the real is reduced to what IS, safely quarrantined from all that merely 'appears': from all the contrivance... from chimera and phantasm, then it is logical! Then it is reliable and can be tamed by rationality! Then, however, it is also the escapeologist's worst nightmare... the omnicage... rigid order of things the confinment of which can never be issued... so permanent... hopelessly helpless... helplessly hopeless...

And still we are a mistery to ourselves... a great puzzle with its eternal twists...

Ludicrously hard to second-guess, to call in question and doubt, the objective world of nature stands tall and supreme, mocking our futile attempts to handle it. Whatever we do, say or think, whatever we intend with our conducts and whatever its effects, whatever our conscious or unaware reaction to whatever triggers it – we can never really replicate nor portray what really is. Or at least so it seems. We can never grasp the complexity and immensity of what is. The World is the Being and the Being is, independent of human existence and influence. Human existence is but a sheer moment, a dot denied the privilege of extension that both time and space enjoy in context of the actual eternity of shapes and modes that the Being might or may not take. In the face of eternity the temporality of human existence is ridiculous and absurd... it simply vanishes. Whatever the shape, it is always due to the Beings inner course, its essence, the truth, the technology of its core that we only occasionally get to glimpse at, sense its existence through the mediation of its silhouette, a shadow, an ontology way beyond what boundaries of our epistemology offer to us, reveal for us here and there. We can never map it down and know it. At best, although it is a rather morbid thought, we can defect, stain, pollute, ugly and distort the shadow, the silhouette, the hologramic gaze of the World. Its core, the Being, remains however eternally untouched and untouchable. Love perhaps, one could argue, could be the rare one amongst many of human qualities that could be viewed as a potential or actual contribution to the greatness and beauty of the aptness of the Being. But with the gaze from perspective of the World as solely in and for itself, love surfaces merely as a technology, an accidental coincidence that is more of an occurrence than a product of a human consciously actualized eagerness for whatever. It is then temporality par excellance, a dot of non-space and non-time that is exposed to mankind in order for us to, for whatever reason, find reproduction enjoyable. Or in a word: nonsense. The same goes for hate, pain, joy and whatnot.
This is, at least if we are to view the order of things from what drives us, subjective and cultural humans, to challenge the boundaries of nature. We demand from nature the irrational, crave from it the impossible. In the meanwhile, our time on earth seems to be dedicated to suffering and dealing with the consequences of the reality, the truth so supreme and unmanageable, the revealing of the Being and the dazzling and inflexible light of its core.

Whatever is objectively real is objective only in our subjective world of experience, understanding and action. Any intrusion from an ontology that seriously claims its universal omnipotence independent and above human experiences is doomed to put out the fire of human experience with the gasoline of ignorance towards what it means to be human. Humans and the life as we know it are just a stain on the unbending ray of eternity – and stains don’t last, they fade away. The World exists in and for itself, self-sufficient and non-human. We humans are, in contrast, entirely depending on the World – not as it is, however, but only as we can gaze at it. Due to sheer existence of the Being we exist, though due to its great eternal qualities everything seems to point towards the contradictive notion that it is almost as if we never existed – in the shadow of forever of the Being our brave existence is turned into nothingness. However, we are bound to perceive ourselves as being-in-the-world – our individual consciousness, i.e. our self-awareness and consciousness of the others as well as of objects outside ourselves, unavoidably being caught up with the world that surrounds us, our bodies being the mediators making the consciousness possible by transcending the world for us. With the World left out – we cannot be. Of course, we should be aware of distinction between the consciousness and the things in the world – a point well defended by the fact that we can imagine things that world doesn’t contain, i.e. we can be, and often are, conscious of the ‘unreal’ – hence the round squares and quadratic circles… hence the flying unicorns and, under extraordinary propitious circumstances, the Swan Lake performances by pink elephants. The unreal, in turn, is generated outside the world by the consciousness that stays inside the world – providing human beings with capability to imagine. Nonetheless, we gain self-awareness through the mediation of the Other, i.e. the other people. And that is exactly why we have to turn our back to the Being as eternity, to the World as objective, in spite of its omnipotence. In vastness of the waves of the World, so gracefully thrown around by the strong winds of the Being, we are easily – and doomed – to drown. It is only when our gaze embraces the actuality of our being-as-humans-in-the-world that our existence makes any sense. Whatever the endeavour intended, while staring ourselves blind into the sun of the Being, we are bound to pay attention to what it means to be human, the actual lived experiences, to honour them with nothing less but recognition, be they pain or joy, love or hate, wellbeing or suffering, if we as humans are to earn a meaning for ourselves and among ourselves – to make our short visit in the eternity worthwhile.

Reality? Yeah, who cares about reality? Fuck it!

Until the next time, let following words worth repeating throw some light on the issue:

"I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real"
(Reznor 1994)

"Can a man possessing consciousness ever really respect himself?" (Dostoevsky 2001 [1863]: 12)

A century and a half year old echo of admonition...

Beware of revelation!

... especially through wanting to know...

Beware of the burden!

... perhaps not as much of awareness as of self-awareness... not of consciousness but of self-consciousness...

So how’s it gonna be:

“Beware! “?

or “Be aware!”?

If to know is to suffer and to suffer is to care, then we are caught in the web of particular moral principle... adding to the burden of self-consciousness the burden of responsibility...

“Hello”, inquiringly we greet ourselves. We gaze, we touch, we explore, we adore... blinded by the awe of our ego so immaculate... loooooove... hands so dirty... gaze so dire... unleashed filthy fingertips stain the innocence of virgin skin... forever... calamitous and ruthless gaze infuse the impiety...

You! You... you, you stupid fool... you, the object of your own reverence... you, the devoted devotee... you can’t cage the humming bird no matter how big the cage... you can’t purify the snowflake in the purgatory of your burning hand... you can’t wash the clear spring water with toxic waste... there’s no liberty in freedom... there’s no rescue in the refuge...

So, can a man possessing consciousness ever really respect himself?

The truth is that the truth is not!

"Too much is not enough and enough is just too much" (Mike Ness 1988)

Things they seem... much more than they ever are... I guess... at least it seems that way... and when they seem it seems like they've been like that forever... and yes, then we take them for granted and mistake the 'seem' for 'are'... but when they seem not to seem as we want them to seem... when they seem to collide rather than to cohere with our vision... then they hurt... and then we know this for a fact 'coz then we are hurt... and then we hurt... 'coz hurt people hurt, right!? It's how it works... or at least it's how it seems.

Sometimes it's okay... sometimes it just makes no sense... things, they change... and then they remain same. I love the world in my dreams... I hate it when I wake up. Everything is twofold. Ultimately, I am truly sorry for wasting your time...

... I hate myself! And yet I want you all to love me! Things don't get much crazier than that!?

"Time don't wait on nobody!" (Whitney, 17 years old girl spending her time in Warrenville prison for young delinquents)

"WHITNEY (17) – The eyes and ears of Warrenville, and our
unexpected heroine. Intimidating, self-isolating, and one of
Warrenville’s longest-term inmates, Whitney is infamous for a crime
she won’t talk about. Despite herself, she soon emerges as one of
the most powerful storytellers in the group. Her writing introduces
us to her charming, drug-addled father, a man whose mistakes paved
the way to his daughter’s heinous crime. As the performance
approaches, Whitney’s growing voice may lead both of them to
confront the past and try to move forward."


http://www.girlsonthewallmovie.com/

http://www.ur.se/play/158748

http://www.ur.se/play/158748

"What does it mean to be human and alive?" (Wade Davis 2008)

"We're living through a time when virtually half of humanity's intellectual, social and spiritual legacy is been allowed to slip away. This does not have to happen! These peoples are not failed attempts of being modern [...] these are dynamic, living, peoples being driven out of existence by identifiable forces. That's actually an optimistic observation because it suggests that if human beings are the agents of cultural destruction, we can also be - and must be - the facilitators of cultural survival!"