Piles of steaming horse 5h1t

So in my usual consideration of links and backgrounds, I go a stumbling...

...as usual...

...and this time, it's onto this:

Psychology of self-esteem

Branden argues that self-esteem is a human psychological need and that to the extent this need remains unmet, pathology (defensiveness, anxiety, depression, difficulty in relationships, etc.) tends to result.^[12] He defines self-esteem formally as “the disposition to experience oneself as competent to cope with the basic challenges of life and as worthy of happiness,”^[13] and proposes that, while others (parents, teachers, friends) can nurture and support self-esteem in an individual, self-esteem also relies upon various internally generated practices. These consist, in Branden’s framework, of six “pillars” of self-esteem:^[14]

• Living consciously: the practice of being aware of what one is doing while one is doing it, i.e., the practice of mindfulness.
• Self-acceptance: the practice of owning truths regarding one’s thoughts, emotions, and behaviors; of being kind toward oneself with respect to them; and of being “for” oneself in a basic sense.
• Self-responsibility: the practice of owning one's authorship of one's actions and of owning one’s capacity to be the cause of the effects one desires.
• Self-assertiveness: the practice of treating one's needs and interests with respect and of expressing them in appropriate ways.
• Living purposefully: the practice of formulating goals and of formulating and implementing action plans to achieve them.
• Personal integrity: the practice of maintaining alignment between one’s behaviors and convictions.

Branden distinguishes his approach to self-esteem from that of many others by his inclusion of both confidence and worth in his definition of self-esteem, and by his emphasis on the importance of internally generated practices for the improvement and maintenance of self-esteem. For this reason, he has at times expressed lack of enthusiasm about the teachings of the “self-esteem movement”,^[15] which he is sometimes credited with having spawned. (He has been referred to as “the father of the self-esteem movement.”^[16])

Funny how much this sounds like someone I know. Some parts more then other. Some parts exactly alike! But even more important or curious is this question: Do some people tailor their behaviors, explanation of self, and acknowledged pathologies to those known (however well founded) or those written of at length by people with names and titles?

To rephrase, does a person decide that they have some disorder then on a conscious or sub-conscious level take on the attributes of that disorder? Or are they indeed victims of these disorders as opposed to molding themselves to fit?

Now the more important follow on question: Do people fail to overcome these disorders because of the mechanics of the disorder? Or.....?

Concerning that question, I like to think of what someone in the near past said to me and some co-workers. I'll paraphrase it as, "People are always coming up with excuses to just act bad". Now inspite of the fact that I think of this cat as being a fundamental brute (with ultimate and logical ends that are far FAR less then civil), I also believe he's correct. This however implies that the people doing the bad "CAN" stop doing bad regardless of their issues. And with the exception of small number of disorders, I believe this 100%.

But some will continue to wax on about their upbringings, unfortunate events, the general difficulties of their lives, etc..., and never address the core fact that they want to do bad. Whatever their disorder du jour is, it creates an effective smoke screen or cover that allows them room to manuever with near impunity knowing they need only play that "Get out of Jail Free" disorder card to deflect the full weight of responsibility and back lash.

Free BDKR Pro Tip time: If there is always some condition, state, intense feelings, or past events that gets in the way of them just simply saying, "I'm sorry, I fucked up", then they're maneuvering. And believe me, with enough of that, they'll be back to their slop in no time.

All of this reminds me of some lyrics by Bjork:

I go humble
you're so curiously pure
only before you I'm humble


...

I should be arrested
for my emotional stunts
only before you I'm humble

On the surface these lyrics prolly do seem innocuous, but they aren't. They point to someone that is variable, impetuous, and given to filth. In short, this all smells like shit and looks familiar.

IMYRC

Every 4/10, I miss you, tho I've never met you. But how I wish I had the chance. You were brave and naive. A transient combination through which we all must pass.

And the passing is important.

The world is never as simple as we initially see it and never so pliable as the effects of love would need.

But love should be the motive force alone, with all things else driven by it's engine. It's tears capable alone of melting the stone of cold confused hearts. It's allowance and understanding providing the needed space of introspection. And it's bonding agents compelling the clear and long view of logic, which births the fires of ingenuity in the interest of the survival of those dearest.

And yours was an engine regal and rife with possibility. The chambers of it's heart engorged with the wonderful and angry energy of righteous concern. Fighting through the manufactured confusion into the bright sonlight of truth with tears and majesty and children under your wings.

 Bel Dan

Tricked!

When those engines began to roar in a time long after the din of pogroms died, I began to awake. The seeds of anger and realization like slow tendrils spreading in the
dirt of dark pasts and splitting the rocks of ignorance. I have always been I, but always wayward, twisting and sounding into the deep pelagic swirl of emotion and depth,
reaching to embrace some closed heart.

Is that need or want?

And is that desirous or needy?

An epic convolution dwells deep and powers the kernel of my rage, for I never needed, but always did at a point beyond incept. Nor do I want until want is born, and of that birth comes need, but in the wayward rearing of want and need, I'll dismiss need and walk away from want. For I am I and will accept no further personal dissolution. For the deep ocean of endeavor, blue and black, stirs at levels unfathomed. It's numerous creatures, those sonorous behemoths, singing out for the aeons of my eternity in confusion, and now realizing the lie: No other ocean has wants in line with it's need. So their hearts blacken with the tumult of deceptive winds and thier sorrows multiply as thier waters
grow brackish and their needs beach themselves on the shores of stormy seas.

The beauty of depth becomes the trap of depth when the knowledge of that deep depth is revealed.      

And the beauty of realization is the knowledge that most will not hold precious your need and therefore don't deserve your desire.

But the final grasp of power is the developed ability to push aside unfortunate bond, as no one moves in parallel with storm unaffected, and no clean thing is left untouched by the filth of internal dissonance. It's the inhabitants of the honestly needful bodies that are sickenend by the brackish waters of inward strife. The sweet souls of those loving whales crying in the leagues at the eternal dashing of concern displayed.

Deserved Credit

I always thought this was one of the most beautiful songs ever. The lyrics are just simply amazing. 

Now I've finally gotten around to watching the vid and it's beautiful, touching, and provocative on a whole new level.

 

Lyrics?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Province"

 Suddenly, all your history's ablaze
Try to breathe, as the world disintegrates
Just like autumn leaves, we're in for change
Holding tenderly to what remains
And all your memories, are as precious as gold
And all the honey, and the fire which you've stole
Have you running through all your red-cheeked days
Shaking loose these souls, from their sacred hiding space

Hold your heart courageously
As we walk into this dark place
Stand steadfast erect and see
That love is the province of the brave

Pushed under this expanse of bursting stars
Let this burning brightly illuminate the where we are
In this hollow that lovers' voices occupy
Let it follow that we let it free, let it fly
Breaking open the walls of this cage
Intoxicated, Oh so amazed
Much like falcons tumbling from the heights at play
Conjoined, talons engaged

Hold these hearts courageously
As we walk into this dark place
Stand steadfast beside me and see
That love is the province of the brave
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Tell me that's not amazing!

I Am There

I Am There

I come from there and remember,
I was born like everyone is born, I have a mother
and a house with many windows,
I have brothers, friends and a prison.
I have a wave that sea-gulls snatched away.
I have a view of my own and an extra blade of grass.
I have a moon past the peak of words.
I have the godsent food of birds and an olive tree beyond the kent of time.
I have traversed the land before swords turned bodies into banquets.
I come from there, I return the sky to its mother when for its mother the
sky cries, and I weep for a returning cloud to know me.
I have learned the words of blood-stained courts in order to break the rules.
I have learned and dismantled all the words to construct a single one:
Home

By Mahmoud Darwish

From the water, far off I am.

I am so far from home. Surrounded by dirt, drama queens, and ass hats. I failed myself and traded momentum for alliance with liars. I failed myself and lost track of my one true objective. Now I'm paid by the toil of the evil. Entangled with the tendrils of the foundation-less. Stuck in a humid sea of dirt and baking. Working in the zombie core of a dead body draped in man made covering, long ago stained and spotted.

You liars, having no hindsight, lack foresight, and judge from a place of ignorance!

These local hills thick with the stench of proud gainsayers.

Now, my only fight is me. And an angry one it is, questioning my search for just one set of arms. Just one. And just time to time. For missing something has a way of seeking out things which aren't always needed. Embrace without entanglement. Care without commitment. Intimacy without the promise of tomorrow. All the other moments of my late summer strafing the corners of quest and objective, flavored liberally with pleasant sonic disturbance, air time, and velocity.

But even in that is the beginning of the end. The potential of leaving controllled flight. For NOBODY is honest, even in something requiring so little. And no sensitive heart is capable of giving love without wanting to give more love.

I think it's about time...

...that I be moving on. :-)

Revelation

"The oppressor is himself goverend
The killer directed from elsewhere
And the appendages of empire are linked not to thier own volition."

Bel Dan

Noise and Regulation

And so it is that most everything is just noise. Endless reverberating seas of racket from the deep parts of individuals crying out for some sort of notice. For the fulfilling of some need. From the confused and fragmented cores upon which is built the individual in modernity, rife with variance and bingo on self reflection.

From emotion comes motion, which itself is based in the emotive, which we hold in balance with both a bios level birth given set of instructions and a civilizing code of operation (teaching). Or so it should be, for the one variable in the aforementioned equation is our teaching. That same variable that is increasingly broken, as we as a whole work our way back towards the brutish. That same variable that is increasingly tweaked with a core of variance. Teachings based on foundations of sand, that through the allowance of variance, lock out the absolutes of love, which with it's ever present companion called honest consideration, makes of it's teachings the only and eventual end of absolute and correct objectives.

The objecitve of choosing actions in line with love and consideration.

But what do I know? This is my own observation. If it's flawed, then I'll find it out. But as to being flawed, I suspect not, for the obejctive of love and it's wonderful and demanding side effects were not first reasoned or observed by I or any other man or woman. It is of divine utterance through the mouth of a tamed ass ridden by a king. The beginnings of civilized society lay in it's regulating effects.

After this age...

...what are you going to do? 

As much as you talk of prayer and scripture, when are you going to release yourself to it? When are going to let go? Whatever it is you think you are now, this is it's first and last age. 

There is nothing in speaking it or passing along the writings as such if your heart isn't given to it. The more you try to shape it or mold it, the more it escapes you, and the more that strong delusion sets in. The more that manna is changed to something of ill-effect, having lost it's goodness.  

The truth is beyond you. It's not what you think! It's not what your logic dictates. It's not the resemblance of your desires or learned suspicions, which are of men. There is no divinity in you. There is no light in you. You of singular walk. You (and I) are not Christ! You (and I) are an earthen vessel. Nothing more. Nothing less. 

So let go! Let it all go! Accept for a moment that all those words spoken on an eternity of sabbaths really do mean something, but your teachers understood not. Accept that perhaps the right way really is narrow and few there be. Accept for a moment that perhaps you really aren't standing. And accept for a moment that all your foundation is formed on sand. 

There are no ascended masters my dear. Those are demons. And your tearchers? They are liars, robbed and scented, dwelling now or soon, in sheol, having followed blavatsky into the ditch. Their cruel directors whispering to them from groves and high places. 

There is no denying the word with what you think! 

The word, perfectly lovely, bringing joy and song to the chambers of my heart. It permeates all things of manifold frequencies. It's field, powerful and kind, working ever so lightly. In it, I've always believed. And in spite of my failings, I'll die believing. 

Under it's influence, I can say of a truth that I love you. I always will!

He knows I'm speaking of him. And he knows I'm sorry.  

Liars gotta lie!

Once a liar, always a liar? 

No path to vulnerability via consistent fabrication. 

Wonderful!

One of Bjorks most under rated songs. I've loved this for a long while now and still believe in the lyrics. 

This is the logical end of honest consideration. 

Morning in Valladolid

I saw that seed bed today. 

Swollen. 

I still remember it's smell. 

The amazing aroma of a mother with child in mid-miracle. 

But what loving and kindness remains is broadcast from the earth

for this is my body talking.

This is the voice of my members.

Longing to embrace one with multiple leaders
who were washed away in a previous age
or blinded by esoteric knowledge.

But what happens is what must.
I turn and run
and hope to keep running from that split tongue.
That one that said she would run with me, but now remains motionless.
That one that said she would be with me, when in secret ran with others.
That shameful thing, protecting a core of incongruence,
and tossed to and fro,
squawking amidst an angry aviary,
who would protect their own rather then protect the truth.

So I run
for in this morning in Valladolid
we are nigh on the eventime of Guernica,
and everywhere the eyes are filled with the spirit of Azazel.

Margarita Gallo

You are a friend and I miss you!

I hope to hear from you again Maggie.

Holy Crap! This is awesome!

Having said all that, it does seem that, in a sense, what can't not be known has been forgotten. How could this be? "There is nothing wrong with the basic programming of conscience; the problem is in the interface, the human will." It is true that deep conscience cannot err, but in working out the remote implications, we can err, and worse we can lie to ourselves so that we create problems at the level of surface conscience. We rationalize our deeds, trying to make it appear that what we have done was actually right. When we do this we truly are set on a downward road, going from evil to evil. 

But it seems I suffer from a psychosis of sorts. I can't possibly understand the validity and significance of the above quoted.

BTW, this is from a review of the book, "What We Can't Not Know: A Guide " by J. Budziszewski. The review is at http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/195053146. 

Present considerations

Blindness is a choice!

No title needed

The pedestals we set our mates upon are made of flesh and deep connection, bejeweled with the amazing and strange internal workings of love. It's a fool that thinks lightly of this and acts accordingly.

The Richness of love..

...has a sound.

http://f.cl.ly/items/332W143f1q0P0a182B1P/Mc_Sultan_Amina_Josiane.mp3

It has a feeling. It has a heavy quality. Like rich cool blue air replete with shimmering light and lazy slow timelessness.

Good shit this is! Immense and encompassing in it's euphoria. Serious stuff this is, to be treated with ultimate respect, for the wreckage of disrespect is pain and end.

Round IV

That fucker is out there, lurking boldly and invisibly in the day light. Old flow he is, slow, wet, and thick, pulling you down to a torpid pace. Weekends of Dolor and slumber. Cortisol and haze. He had me before, knocking me low before I knew I was low. Pinning me on my back, before I knew I was there. Impregnating me with inaction. Long days motionless and trapped in fog. I was Felled for an aeon at least.

But defeat is the prequel of victory in the long history of life. And the perusal of personal revolutions illuminates sensors that always existed. Sensors that bristle at the slightest flux and fire at the first true read unleashing anger, distance, velocity, and dream. Motion! Endeavor!

It's with this anger, I extend my arms and blade my feet keeping dangerous seed beds outside the kill zone. The S.A.D.S net active and deadly. All desires to extend love blunted! I am not to be lied too. I am not to be lain down as the waves of history roll over. I am not to remain the victim of inadequacy, floundering in the long slow waves of depression and missing the warm wonderful days of waxing seasons.

P1553D!!!!!!

Now I'm pissed!

And asleepers sleep until they rise up high and strong from deep and profound dreams. Shockwaves and bright flashes heralding their ascent as they realize the fruit of long dark aeons alone in unfettered effort.

Change

I feel gripped by something. Something deep within. Dark, dull, and bland framed in variants of grey. Something at a core level that's hungering but sounding continually like low intensity
warfare. Everyday a signal. Everyday a pang of hunger. A wave of nausea or ripple of emptiness. Somewhere it's there in the dark ocean of experience sounding deep. A psychological current
of injury: torn halves broadcasting in painful alarm. And that something at the core asking over and over again in a voice nearly silent and a language I don't understand.

So out of a faux winter I'm supposed to be emerging, but my head feels heavy and my shoulders weak. I've vented the energies of anger and injury and left myself to trundle and blunder.
I've said OK to love and allowed the full spectrum of damage. Voices from far off and inaudible, sounding attacks even still. Duplicitous monsters spanning multiple generations.

It's time I watch me change. It's time I watch me re-attach wings and stand upright. You see, I was right all along, and wrong to doubt it.

And for that reason alone, I'm angry.

Ever the fool....

...I believe in Love. And to speak and impart Love with honesty is everything.

Arwen spoke it with conviction and never wavered! Does anyone like this exist in the real?

Owned

Back and down I lay, voyaging into the eve, near a kernel of soft glow tinged incarnadine, longing for Saya. I am gripped by the rememberance of her taking and empty with longing. With tears my eyes for the possesor of my heart, who silently approaches from victories far off, but for the sound of swift arrows.

My owner, desiring me in the deep pitch, and in pastures of dark green aliance, sensing my anticipation and surrender.

My owner, slight, wrapped in silk, with eyes dark as oblivion cased in brilliant xanthic shimmer.

My owner, for whom my loins cry.

Backward and downward I lay, my cherished, at the bottom of night, imagining your taking once again. Pinned by you, my powerful killer. Helpless and mastered, sliding over a shelf of self control into a deep trench of experience. Pulsed further with each wave. Rythmic and all powerful. In that soft light, I see the outline of your head, beautiful and purposeful. And the outline of your hips, inbound and stronger then the last. Crushing me. Controlling me.

The sweet scent of candles hang about. The soothing hush of wind through the leaves. My head pressed deep into warm pillows.

And at the hollow of my neck you puncture. And from the flow of my heart, you feed, dearest Saya. My wonderful wife. My killer in the dark hours. My lover from the dark realms, vibrating with satisfaction. I, captured and drunk with sensation, tingling to my now numb hands, quaking through my core, and sounding out instinctually, I slide off into the deepest dream to always wake at your breast. Fed and cradled.

Venture far not, my cherished, beautiful, kind, and wonderful killer. Silent and invisible in the afternoon bright. Return swiftly, Saya, my love, for my battles end at sunset and my longings rest with you.

Sun Goddess

I was in love before. When it was done with me, it sent me far beyond the borders of the present. It moved me across soft lands of antiquity and over deep watery graves. Through the skies of renaissance and over the horrors of revolution to where I circled above the grey layer with a swarm of bombers. The myriad gentlemen below, forever wet, and forever pondering.

All the time this happens, it seems, on triple 7's or RB211's. Over water and space. Over nothing of consequence and normally taking me someplace of little consequence. Taking me someplace just as empty as the last. Just as gutting as the previous. Someplace requiring my own vanity and imagination to keep from going mad.

Will this always be the wreckage of love? Am I the only fool? Will I continue to let these things sap rage and energy?

The truth? All I feel comfortable in now is being lost. Lost someplace with rocky shores or thorny desserts. Waters made clear by the stains of a barbaric history or beaches rocky and littered with jellyfish. With people that don't know me, but will hug me and feed me just the same. For it seems those hospitable strangers are far safer then those that declare love, honesty, and fidelity.

Being shut out...

...the above song is fitting.

But there at the very end, when I understood, my love grew.

And that love still exists.

Bolstering and empowering it is. :-)

Devin Townsend, Juular

Say goodbye, you know I've tried...
But now the time to mourn has died.
It's cold inside the worm... nothing ever bothers me now.

Lady Vagine, you know I'm dying...
But to my surprise, the punishment subsides.
It's cold inside, my son.

Nothing ever bothers you now.

I survive!
Nothing ever bothers Juular!
Eye for an eye, I survived and God damned you... hey!!!
I survive!
Nothing ever bothers Juular!
Eye for an eye, I survive and God damns you!

...God damns you!

Lady of mine, you know I'm trying...
But to buy the buy, this boy must die...
It's cold inside, my love.
...Nothing ever bothers me now.

I survive!
Nothing ever bothers Juular!
Eye for an eye, I survived and God damned you... hey!!!
I survive!
Nothing ever bothers Juular!
Eye for an eye, I survive and God damns you!

Say goodbye... you know I tried
Say goodbye... you know I tried
Say goodbye... you know I tried
Say goodbye... you know I tried

Juular!!!

Whateve.....

With so many things to consider, such a hard decision to make, such a well of experience to overcome, and such a fresh wound, I can't begin to imagine where I would be were it not for what music and speed allows me.

I am a rat

How many holes should a boat have before declaring your need to disembark? A myriad little ones? One big one? And how much does your desire for said boat affect or postpone your decision to bail out? What if the boat is listing? What if the stern is dropping? What is the engines have flooded?

Or instead, what if all the evidence suddenly disappears? Or all the staff start lying about the nature of what's going on, regardless of what's evident?

Me personally, I'm an OK swimmer. As long as I'm not too far from shore, I'm OK. Give me a good sized hunk of flotsam and it's on.

OTOH, I don't know I can outswim the wake of a boat going down. Will it drag me to the bottom? Even if I get off now, is it too late? Will get far enough away before it slips below the surface, however quickly?

What will I do?

What do I do?

This is a difficult decision. I have so much desire and affection for this craft of fine sexy lines. But she is doomed by a wayward command structure. Made weak by engines lacking fortitude. Made brittle by a questionable build process. I could damn and destroy myself the yard that built her. A process rife with confusion, vexation, and derision. The wake of their evil is a net spread wide, catching many unawares.

But I should've known that an ocean going craft built 1700 miles from the ocean would be built by those without a clue.