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Got this mix of text from various sites on the net and other sources. Philly's "Steal This Art" Show hits the AP wire. (Yahoo News) The irony of the show was that someone stole the video tape that was secretly videoing the thefts as they occurred. Also, art that wasn't meant to be stolen, was of course stolen as well. His thoughts kept forking, like water trying to find a clean, short path downhill. Brooms On stormy days when the wind is high Tall trees are brooms sweeping the sky They swish their branches In buckets of rain And swash and sweep it blue again. Cornflake leaves Beneath the trees -- Are they a breakfast For the breeze? She called Heineken a gourmet beer. I smiled. I liked her poverty. It was the same as my own. read my hips THE MOON IS BRIGHT AND BIG AND HEAVY. It hangs close to the earth as we stand in the manger. He says it's a good night for fishing he says it a couple times. I don't ask him why though I am curious. It's a good night for fishing. The light of the moon illuminates all and my heart feels as wide and open as the lake. But why would it be a good night for fishing? Little fish run, flee, swim away, why would you swim to the light when they are looking for you? Silver fishhooks dangling. a black-box in my mind records the time I spent with you -The Beta Band "To you alone" If, however, a single major government or a segment of the global power elite were to sanction the necessary research and development, then sustainable chemically-underwritten euphoria is quite tantalisingly accessible, even now, to those of us who want it as an option. Better still, germ-line therapy can then turn lifelong ecstatic well-being into the hereditary post-human condition. Many people will have internalised too many of the life-impoverishing hang-ups of humanity's biological past to contemplate playing a pioneering role and participating in the era ahead; just as misplaced prudery prevents many people from enjoying sex. But life, one may think, should climax in an orgasmic celebration of being, not a fatalistic world-weary fade-out. To escape from the hedonic treadmill we must first sabotage a small but vicious set of negative feedback mechanisms. These are genetically coded into the mind/brain. Recreational drugs of abuse do not transcend or subvert such mechanisms. On the contrary, they actually bring them into play with a vengeance. Today's quick-and-dirty euphoriants are nonetheless instructive. They give us a tantalising glimpse of what humanity's natural state of consciousness could become if several ugly neural metabolic pathways were inhibited or eliminated. LOVE IS WAR The man is like a lighter and the woman is like a cigarrette. To have their true form realised they must come together. "Giger, you are an alien lurking inside my body, laying your futique eggs of wonder." - Timothy Leary "The word anima is a Jungian term (from noted psychologist Carl Gustav Jung) meaning soul, while an enema is an anal douche." Once upon a time there was a little boy--just like you!--named Jeff, and he lived in a yellow house with a big yard, along with his mother and father and sister and brother and his bunny rabbit (until it got loose and Mr. Koberly's dog ate it) and his goldfish (that his brother flushed down the toilet one day when he got mad at Jeff) and his puppy, Squitters, that ran in front of car just a few weeks after Jeff's mom had to go to the hospital for an operation (only the operation didn't work, and Jeff's mommy went to Heaven); but before Jeff got leukemia and died, he and his puppy had this exciting adventure . . . my friend from the Institute for the Blind puts mineral water in ice molds. he turns the cubes in his mouth reading the poetry of the ice bubbles with his tongue. on holidays he freezes Champaigne PKD: I first became interested in philosophy in high school when I realized that all space is the same size; it is only the material boundaries encompassing it that differ. After that there came to me the realization (which I found later in Hume) that causality is a perception in the observer and not a datum of external reality. In college I was given Plato to read and thereupon became aware of the possible existence of a metaphysical realm beyond or above the sensory world. I came to understand that the human mind could conceive of a realm of which the empirical world was epiphenominal. Finally, I came to believe that in a certain sense the empirical world was not truly real, at least not as real as the archetypal realm beyond it. At this point I despaired of the veracity of sense-data. Hence in novel after novel that I write I question the reality of the world that the characters' percept-systems report. Ultimately I became an acosmic pantheist, led to this point of view by decades of skepticism. Sheep? "The only species I’ve ever had a fondness for. I think maybe because they’re so helpless." "I really believe there is an evil archetype or form-destroyer – eidos-destroyer – normally kept at a distance from us by society, friendship, conviviality, but which can strike at us when alone. This is what happens in mental illness, this is why LSD is such a deadly drug: it exposes you alone. I’ve experimented with LSD but always under control." alone Hints from an instance Mirror with a Memory guy with the button(wart) on his arm, he can switch his feelings on and off by toucing it, when his feelings are off he perceives the bigger picture, when his feelings are on he fixates on the little things there would be no big things if it wasn't for the little things No matter the translation, no matter the language or lack thereof, monsters are produced by the endless sleep that we sleep every night and pray that there will be an awakening into another dream; one we call reality. We lie down to sleep, afraid of sleeping the truth, proud to live the illusion; we beseech for release from this senseless nightmare, this angry dream of the rousted soul. Every night, we lay down to die. Just a little bit. Man is the dream of the dirt, in turn dreaming the lives of angels who dream of rocks which dream of breath. When reason has left; when you have gone past good and bad, when fear has left you and the dark is brighter than the sun; out past right-doing and wrong-doing, beyond concepts and where there is no place, you will find a field. I will meet you there. The brain "contains a structure called the Amygdala, a thimble-sized cluster of neurons. The Amygdala produces and processes emotions such as anxiety, anger and sadness... [and later in the article] The Amygdala becomes active in response to potential danger, then sets up a series of reactions which help your body prepare to protect itself." A fan contributed this information: l Padme is a lotus flower in Hindi. It is special because it manages to remain pure despite the fact that it grows in a pool of filth. In London you keep your eyes fixed at around bellybutton level. No higher, no lower! And in the momentary snag of your glances, their eyes slide away. The London crowd flows. It clots and untangles, it dodges and slows and breaks free again. It has enormous patience. Back to WavinBack to Quiddity Complain about the theft of text to brianoflynn2001@yahoo.co.uk