126 - galley. Life as effort. Everyone else appears less principled. 378 - ocean liner. Life as strength. Everyone else appears smaller. 459 - sailboat. Life as reverie. Everyone else appears more capable.
compliant fix - internal whip aggro fix - internal motor withdrawn fix - giving way to subconscious currents
Rochambeau: galley beats sailboat. The punitive streak turns outward, but the aggro remains unscathed while the withdrawn pays for worldly neglect. liner beats galley. The aggro secures dominion even though the compliant works just as hard. sailboat beats liner. The unrestrained ego collapses on itself, and the withdrawn has the last word. Like Shelley looking over the remains of the statue of Ozymandias.
The impulse to suicide is two-headed-- a face of Death, ugly but certain, and a face of Rebirth, veiled, like a mirage reflecting promise past that may well vanish on arrival, yet begs possession enough to hesitate.
Two heads yet one creature, for death's inverse is not life but that animal with a single head, Surrender. And the suicidal do not surrender, or at least they make of it a butcher's triumph.
"Horrifying? There is no real horror in imaginings; only thrill, escape, hope, salvation even. Reality is the only horror; or rather, the reality that imagination has deserted, and left raw as flayed flesh."
"Hell waits past heaven's door. The pit beyond the glimpse. Where embryos of things angelic grow into things demonic."
"God, give me blues enough to make me want to sing but not so much that I cannot."
"Hope is the destroyer of all regret. There needs be nothing to regret. There is nothing worth regretting. But we are lacking in hope so we regret."
"All bad things pass, thankfully. All good things pass, unfortunately. Life maintains a constant average of mediocrity infused with a lust for the exceptional, sometimes destined to become the new mediocrity but often lost."
"Resignation seems the appropriate response to the impermanence of everything, but makes for poor living. Good living requires a turning away from Mortality, or one just withers away."
"How many of the brightest works come of drowning's surfacings? And how many of the darkest of contentment's stumblings? How much can be told of our creatives, if all seen of them are from times they escape themselves?"
"The aim of doing with effort should always be to do effortlessly; to marry conscious will to unconscious resonance and thereby make the doing meaningful. Rather than dismiss such collusions as happy accidents, better to realize they validate the act and keep a hand out for their receiving. No accidents, only godsends."
"Imagine and you shall create."
"A work of art can be only as rich as the life that perceives it."
"Suffer for art? I say I suffer without it. Art is the sublimation of everyday suffering. In this sense we are all artists, always sublimating, even if only in conversation, even if only as patrons to 'real' artists. We need it to carry on."
"There is always condescension in the words of prodigals who make lessons of their lives: 'I have sinned so you don't have to, I have suffered so you don't have to'--and the worst--'I have had great joys, and I have lived, so you don't have to.' Some they may save, but still they reap of their mark of experience while denouncing the very experiences that made them."
"No one who is loved should feel ugly. The homeliest peasant who is loved is redeemed beyond the most beautiful aristocrat who is not. Yet we often feel ugly even when loved, for love is as hard to receive as it is to give."
The Devil is patient, more patient than God, so content to shadow till he is forgotten, for he needs but that instant to sling his fistful of Mortality and other of Despair, to unmend every ministration of God's loving medicine men, and send his prey whirling toward his great pit of annihilation.
If only one other carried the same torch as me, if only one other traveled the same road as me, and if that other saw truer, stepped surer, I would be inadequate. And that I may very well be, for my torch like no other, and road like no other, may be just my blindness to the other. Yet whether I journey for greater or lesser, may ever that treasure be secured for me--to see that much for the better is being me.