CREATIVITY & KNOWLEDGE

Yep:
-(vid was pulled) link to the vid posted is in the immediately previous reply.

Last Edited by boutreality on 10/05/2019 04:09 PM

To cleanse the "AUDITORY PALLETTE", Sigur Ros.

An Icelanandic band whose songs were sung in their own language for some albums, and when they "broke" internationally, responding to "global" pressure (US market) to make an album in English, they put out a full album in "HOPELANDIC" a made-up language.

If you bought the CD, the liner had several blank pages, where listeners can "translate the language for themselves."

Here's track 1 from the album made in "Hopelandic", in a vid posted by someone who translated the lyrics into what it meant to them.



Their feel is near orchestral and emotionally engaging, -I have been moved to tears by their music, and it isn't sad tears. If you don't speak their language or don't care to "follow" the words, the vocals become their own "instrument".
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Insecurities

What inside you changes Angel’s whispers to Demon’s growls encouraging you to eager action?

Last Edited by boutreality on 09/09/2019 07:59 PM

Lorde captured moments contents, a series of realizations about a close interpersonal dynamic, and (fill in the blank) perfectly with this song:


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Permission

You may keep me in water droplets that condensate on your window overnight.

Last Edited by boutreality on 09/09/2019 10:38 PM

A man who was very dear to me passed last night. -Fourth stage cancer, it was expected. He was an uncle to me, my father's best friend. From literally late elementary through high school, he built my taste in music. We exchanged poetry for years.

(LAST RITES)
You are the sheer intensity and utter violence of the fiercely hot plasma at the sun's core.

You were of the good and that is enough.

No other light deserves your attention.

=========
Song then words.
=========




You, Me, and Two Others

Satellite frequencies transmit at wavelengths enveloping the hills and troughs of our brainwaves. It’s nice to sound paranoid, it keeps most people away.

I’m overly introverted; she’s a sad girl all grown and prettied up; he wants an opening line, and you’re wishing everyone away. He said the craziest man he ever met spoke to a face he saw in the sky; she said the craziest woman probably loved him, and you told us trees speak in wind gusts. Having never heard voices so sad, we each claimed a tree, and looking up their trunks to study their leans and stretches, we tracked blue spirits hidden in their sways.

When the last light shines to cast the strangest shadows we will ever be, hanging from our bodies and leaning into walls, we will realize the futility of goodbyes.

Last Edited by boutreality on 09/12/2019 02:08 PM

LONG WORDS, LONG SONG, subject might be called "removed love". For all to consider when/if they have the time.
(song second):
Iron and Wine, "The Trapeeze Swinger" 9m3s- almost all lyrics. FYI the second disc of the set of b-sides and rarities (its cover it pictured) is the BEST single Iron and Wine album.

=================

Love Note 7

We’ve seen the world from places few will discover, during our years apart we learned time is topographical (and the sun always shines the right amount). Occasionally strangers attempt to fill spots we secretly save for each other, hiding in midday ambient light with the curtains drawn, if anyone gets too near we shutter, focusing on what of our home we can see. Too frightened to believe the room will brighten, undone by my chasing after your remnants, fighting to keep still long enough to recall your every feature, pursuing shifts in space, letting tears stay until they evaporate.

Mountain air and high elevations, you were lying on your stomach writing in your diary, encouraging my every word. Through leaves of forest large gusts of air sound like a rushing river, we knew no water was near, and with sticks we drew maps in the sand for parched travelers to find. Wind through pines, our lips pressed together, my hands on both sides of your face and the invading clouds. Mist passing through us, in our dissipating view we promised no matter how convincing our distance became, this tree atop the boulder I thought was too high to jump from will remind me of you.

Fools play at declaring edicts, count how many people they’ve steered wrong then try laughing it off; this might explain my fear, my sense of humor, my wonderment and remorse. A type of cold impossible to brace for hit me while crossing a barren landscape far below sea level, trying to curl into a ball and walk upright at the same time, listening for an ever fading hollowed song, hoping to find its source. The solitude spawned rumors that became enigmas without an abbot to attend them, mysteries that linger until halls are constructed to house them, and despite my frailty, no matter the number of cathedrals built, no matter their whispered glories, I stayed outside pretending your hand was in mine.

It was a game for children, open palms hiding our faces, spreading our fingers to steal peeks and struggling to control our giggles, the elation, when you convinced me the sun always shines the right amount. How its light seemed more golden through your hair, how your eyelashes mimicked its rays. Dust has covered every surface of our house, we’re ready for spring, all arguments presented and none of them validate a squatter’s claim. Your every position seared divinity into the air, the force of angels; the well-worn certainty, we’ve heard every embellishment and have held eye contact, undeterred.

9m3s


Last Edited by boutreality on 09/14/2019 06:45 PM

Another Sunset Lesson

Clouds were gathering in the sky, I saw them as ‘Chances to reach god’; staircases drifting in wind, changing shape, burning bright red a horizon away where they crumple thin, stretching invisible, threading to vapor interspersed through air. Building in chaotic stratagems, grey and black fumed amorphous bodies intermingle through lighter clouds, becoming a mass gradually growing to bear down monstrous overhead, dispersing chills in shades natural to night.
Pressed upon by a cloud bank, particles not ready to drop pushing through and into air.

Her eyes leave mine to look up, it fell steadily less complicated as everything moved, like my tear ducts’ empty swallowing. Maybe, for a second angels crept in then left, wetting my eyes. Softened, about to cry until my vision shook dry, -my head twisted: “No,” adamant, though it was contained; not so much depression, -nowhere near realization.

We moved further under the tree’s canopy, gathering closer to its trunk for shelter, curled into my arms to keep the raging storm out, holed up and silent, we listened to rain pouring in sheets for the languages it speaks. I heard a muddy voice,

“They’re talking about me.”
“Don’t think so highly of yourself.” Her whisper faint against the roar.

(It’s just impressions into substance, forms of air given dimension, everything knows this.)

Let's Feel:



Declaration

Rattling elongated hanging materials, just beyond the visual spectrum, setting the air to undulate, announced the incursion. We held closer without physically moving toward one another, hardly perceptible shifts in muscle evidence our response.

Our state of affairs is to know, and become involved, never entertaining the prospect of retreat.

Flowering trees, nearing the end of their blossoms’ season, when the slightest wind shuffles petals loose and remembering how every time we walked together no matter the time of year, being with you changed the air in the same fashion.

Last Edited by boutreality on 10/05/2019 04:38 PM

Complicit Citizenry

Legislative

“Such and something else, each allotted its own committee, is to be held…

Judicial

…as law insofar as it does not impede our ability to secure monetary…

Administrative

…interdependence between taxpayer, tax collector, international and corporate interests.”

Appropriated Commentary

“Our ruling class will subjugate us into a homogenized cesspool of designer teeth and fancy cars, shiny outfits and empty heads, where everything is paid for and nothing is earned.”

Off On Sundays

“Remember to thank God. His mandate put us here.”

------

(Best by Slug in front of live instruments, though the album has some strong contenders.)

More direct words "for" vid:
Cognitive models terminate at some invisible boundary defining each person’s awareness. A witness to a crime cannot count on the person who walks by after the perpetrator isn’t in sight to confirm what happened. It is unavoidable; every person has their own subjective view. Any two people can agree, making their reasons to agree identical enough to get two people acting the same way is by and large done by how cultural understandings develop as we are exposed to our surroundings and the world.

-It’s simply put and impossible to correctly apply in a universal sense, because people are individuals, and when we’re talking about the cognitive model of a “creative”, the use for the output is monetized. -The cognitive model of non-creatives dictates that if you create full time you do so for compensation, finding a balance between what you do for you (to “complete” you) and what you do for others is a small but indispensable requirement. A creative makes a work -a part of them- that is to be shown. Knowing to not respond to someone’s judgement of your work comes from knowing to remove yourself cognitively from what you’ve made.

A lot of “popular lore issues” -addiction/criminal behaviors- among creative people comes from a sort of preemptive failure to effectively disassociate what was made by them (that is now market owned) from their own cognitive/emotional processes. -My words (They match the song well.)

Last Edited by boutreality on 10/05/2019 04:37 PM

In The General View

Will you please listen; I have nothing of substance, a heart beating in a misplaced sense of duty. Please rest your chin on one upright hand; assume the position of attentive participant, -eager audience.

(After twenty years it feels like you’ve earned it; this time’s my turn, maybe next week’s yours.)

Let’s call this dance communicable difficulty, -eyes down in phone screen; it’s at the same cadence of the previous song.



Last Edited by boutreality on 10/14/2019 06:19 PM

Out of all the crap the 90s gave us, at least we got Radiohead. They are a case of a collective miraculously orchestrated to immense commercial success. (It's not common; literally, listen to "Creep" -the disruptive guitar riff expressed how much Greenwood (guitarist) hated the song.)

Many of their compositions meet the elusive goal of "perfect" creation (at least up to "Hail to the Thief" -I didn't listen much after that) and "KID A (with Amnesiac) or OK Computer" are up there with the best concept albums of all time.



How Nations Fall

Backroom insolvency and storefront ministrations, ubiquitous well wishes -for appearances-, you and I will work it out.

It isn’t over until the closing bell, -our pinkies’ glancing final touch when our hands separate-, and market forecasts syncopate to fallen leaves battering the glass front of the building’s first four stories.

Never again to linger outside the ground floor entrance, checking my reflection awaiting your arrival, eight more closed locations leave me reeling, let them hope this stops the bleeding, and we’ll remain, shying away from press conferences.

Now it’s all gone and a squint of my eye, though years have passed, shows what only you know.

Last Edited by boutreality on 10/20/2019 11:25 PM

An elusive ideal, referenced many times here, consuming the "creative" is the perpetual cause.

Here's one that met the mark- a capture so conclusive nothing need (or can) be added, by Arcade Fire
5m40


Grand Personalized Radio Transmits Despite Faulty Reception

You’re comin’ in saddled on dreams, you’re gonna know everything -moments of skies over vast canyons- and then, like you’re just as big:

Soft feathered kisses will shrink you, the red light mist bodies they leave will scatter to particles, fizzle your brain.

A cold empty chest will keep you awake nights, posing smiles as questions to your ceiling, peoples’ array passing, how you affect its current, how its flow torments.

Sometimes waves retreat and you’ll go chasin’ them toward the ocean:

Tabletop carpeted in gold, speckled with a sunflower’s pollen, children’s voices elated outside, -sunsets that help you forget you’re alive- the aroma peculiar to home.

The signal is strongest just before static crackles from underneath and breaks forever apart the music.

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Anyone who feels they found one or accomplished one -or would like to "speak upon" the general value of preserving the creative impulse is welcome to post.

I'll add things as they occur to me.

Last Edited by boutreality on 11/03/2019 05:22 PM

Emotions and the brain:
2m2s

-It’s a well presented amount of information on the “official scientific” explanation.

NOTICE: Every time hormones or the names of hormones are mentioned, it happens because of the endocrine system, therefore the emotional response is not solely based in the limbic brain; without the feedback loops established between the brain and body, there is no emotional experience.

-For a school of academic “progress” steadily inching toward proclaiming “nothing actually exists”, the vid expresses the population’s best hope for understanding unless dedicated individual effort is applied.

======

Indictments

Did you know this would happen?
Did you cancel my plans?
Is this what I want?
You’re worth more than me?
How do you accept that?

Who could I tell?
What’s your problem?
When did I accept your lie?
Where do you go to prove what?
Why call to wake me at three in the morning?

You said you were thinking of leaving I said go.
Now air is company.

Are you saying I never wanted this?
Satin touches bed for breakfast?
Accept my atonement for your lie?

Smelled you like yesterday: burning pasta, or another quite like it.


3m33s


Last Edited by boutreality on 11/03/2019 06:08 PM

Experimental music can be mind opening, and it's fun to see how different types of people react to different elements of oddly arranged compositions. Boom Bip and Dose One fit the idea of a "hip hop leaning experiment":



Contemporary Maturity

We feel less, through vertical partitions few can sense and even fewer can see, made of a strange fleshy fabric-like substance, gathering any thought- all emotion transferred into its stretched furrows and over long years, we grow accustomed to commanding less of the substance we consider ourselves.

Like bodies become their own transfer mediums, -in an eternal, low grumbling adolescence- but it’s only something you recognize as the impression of your last partner gradually fades from bodily awareness.

Something about those words (or how they were spoken), created chills that shot directly into me, or you -because it’s always the same audience, with players always varied, and each of us remembers someone, -a time or a place, that assured us we’re always alone.

Last Edited by boutreality on 11/15/2019 10:31 PM

Words first, Explosions in the Sky second (to cleanse the auditory pallet). Instrumental music, done well, creates an audible landscape, that band -after words- is one of the few I've found, though I'm sure there are plenty.
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Protocols

Where are your tinfoil seas and trees of concrete and rebar? On towering overtaxed blade server bluffs. If only birds were insulation and tape. We want the terminal caress of static.

We need to keep to ourselves and encourage others to do the same.

Where are your bonfires of piled headlights? In sheet-metal forests whose wires strip each fall. If only badgers were fuses and bears satellites. We want the alone of a newer cell.

We need to hollow out and render our conscience from echoes.

Where are your fields of vending machines? Beyond billboard canyons carved by antifreeze streams. If only every deer was an ATM. We want the hum of a knowing modem.

We need to command by vocal prompt and touch a screen.

Where are your tears of oil? Our thoughts are broken gears and pinions. If only emotional circuitry was easily accessible. We want to be watched over by the machine.

We need to think about and be noticed each time we breathe.

Where are your smiles for the camera? They’re being used to secure our sleep. If only we interacted with puppets without noticing strings. We want the screams of atmospheric hologram.

We need to pose in the mirror and have you believe.

Our dreams are performed on paper stages by two unseen agents, who repeat, as if arguing:
“We are the vanity of stars.” “We are the stars’ vanity.” “We are the vanity of stars.” “We are the stars’ vanity.” “We are -the vanity of- stars.”

---
6m40s, song: "Disintegration Anxiety" paired to a fan vid.

link to vid: [link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

Last Edited by boutreality on 11/19/2019 09:01 PM

Anyone following along has likely surmised that I pay a lot of mind to words- it was the first thing that attracted me to music, which was fun because my "musical mentors" growing up always emphasized everything but the words.

If you can catch them, the words "make" this song, and the music matches the sentiment as it grows, by Live:
6m8s Full version, the radio version did not last long (this one's better anyway)


“Same old thing, from here to eternity, -get there firstest, with the brownest nose.”

-Williams

Last Edited by boutreality on 12/02/2019 04:11 PM

It's a surprise to be repeating an artist so soon (it's the third so far), but something new pairs well with a song from what is probably thought to be the best album by the artist (featured in OP) Astronautalis. Words first:
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From Here to There

Curved brittle black flecks assemble into thin horizontal arcs, piling upon one another to solidify into rib-like protrusions extending from a long bar of iron struck haphazardly -one time violently- into the ground. Air is damp brown mist and flurries of disembodied anger swirl about the construct, tearing flakes from the perpetually renewing, ashen sinew of the breath-stealing dark substance.

-Assign this a value, never to be calculated by people in lab-coats, with embroidered letters, never to be cross checked with doctoral applications, -the crooked teeth of mankind’s manicured smile. (Do not wander too close, do not wander to become far.)

Their screams are no longer in the air here. The veracity and fidelity of the terrible acts committed, in allegiances to the highest evils, are no longer shocking, unnerving thoughts to debilitated collapse; metering a meticulously arranged emotional, psychological, mental and physical destruction and grinning, -as demons reaping their harvest.

“We recorded approximate locations, and calculated probabilistic associations between dynamics of a system defined by a language we made up. Does that help?”



Last Edited by boutreality on 12/08/2019 04:13 PM

Song first (loved Sonic Youth since highschool; was a junior -or senior- when DIRTY came out- or when I first heard it, which was the start of their rise in poularity, this is from a later work I picked up 'cause "haven't heard them in a while".
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A Global Market (User Instructions)

1. Marching orders at half step with no rhythm signaled, except by shouts (or bullhorns).

2. Someone in rooms for the suits decides continual preparations are just cause for war, and with their suits, they create just cause for lined pockets, designer suits, and gatherings organized by those that gave the orders in the names the fallen. (For a suit’s admiration, the tear duct’s empty swallow.)

3. If you feel, you are legislated to do so without compass. If you think, you are legislated to do so, but only on behalf of who owns the most.

4. Defend this calculated definition of democracy, or quick-snap the response -drooling to vocal proportion-, signalling your defeat:

“This is a representative republic.” END OF USER GUIDE

5. If you wonder, “Whose interests are represented?” start over from #2.

Last Edited by boutreality on 12/13/2019 02:52 AM

Revisiting the “knowledge” (as it is expressed creatively) part of the title, and how an individual view can be more comprehensively presented when what’s used to express is not direct language, because the content is not bound to succinct definition.

In the creative impulse there is potential to train into ourselves how to best capture what is known of the world, to impart a fuller view, fully realized in artistic display -that builds inside the shortfall between explicit definition and how each person coordinates their observations, or “measures a work for impact”.

“It is a too small world that imagines its solution through abstract deductions.” -William Carlos Williams
-Said it back in the 50s, and nothing has changed. Our world is ruled by cohering principles that revolve around a 3 step process, listed here with an example:

1. Label the issue (every time) with a name; give it a theme. (Climate Change)

2. Abstract from how the issue is defined by its name and theme without ensuring, that the conceptualizations framing the abstraction account for the full scope of the problem. (Fiscal interests hold the inertia of a supply-side market practice. Investment for infrastructure first gathered around fossil fuels, now (and for a long time) capital is sluggish -at best- in support of alternative fuel industries.)

3. Deduce from an abstraction of the incomplete view a course of action. (Carbon tax, as a public outcry, though the science in support of alternative fuels/energy has always been there, the money never was, so the contrived model of “a perpetual funding chase” -eschewing how science is reported-, is market derived; designed to augment the economic landscape without shifting the market inertia of capital distribution.)

-From this, present a whole:



Forethought

We built the kingdom for rats out of sticks bleached white on their topside, dark on the side they rested on before we disturbed them -with striated greys in between-, by placing thin, fallen, dead branches, piled broken at the bases of nearby dead trees, atop fixtures of rocks leaning on each other for support.

We made the fixtures after rats determined the nature and condition of the trees.

Last Edited by boutreality on 12/13/2019 02:59 AM

Necromancy and the Perpetual Interest

Didn’t have a hand in how these invisible, tangible, hauntingly agreeable supports came to ensnare reason, and how comfortably they control every move.

We can’t tell anyone we saw it first, though for decades it was on every screen.



Last Edited by boutreality on 12/14/2019 09:54 PM

Merry happy


One Winter’s Glare 12/25/2019

A poorly preserved tome outlining the boundaries for two hemispheres of influence; the spirit, about which many things have been claimed, and the consumer -a neurological demographic-, was deemed fit for mildew, or not worth the expense of a dry keep.

So we act out, the annual frigid scene provides mimes their muse; rushing, buying, covering, nerves quivering, chests sinking in small quakes, trying to catch our breath. Remembering to smile and extend wishes appropriate to a prolonged errand coinciding with a time of year; the same papers leaving the same hands, and now plastic and keystrokes achieve the same level of interaction, freeing more of us to shy from its social portend. Invite the internal insulation, invent a warm calm space where no one worked fifty hours a week (if they were lucky) to make this night happen, and discover a faint promise in a removed glow, should you find the silence.

A homeless man realized cold freezes straight through the diaphragm this Christmas, and a rape victim was killed before she could reach her phone. A strategy assumed to catalyze the spread of consumerism is best explained in terms of how the market creates the consumer:

Brains grow in lattice-works of filaments, how these arrangements of filaments shift over time comes to define lobes and cortices, and at nineteen our brains can found its own, “self-originated reason”, the differentiation in the frontal lobe creating this reason center starts at age seventeen. (If they paid you enough to not write this, where would you live? If the pay man was wearing red and boots would it make a difference?) By twenty three the prefrontal cortex is in place, which is the center of critical analysis. The market clamors for the awareness of anyone between seventeen and twenty four; the "target demographic".

One year into a world we know for ourselves on our own individual terms, we are abandoned by the interests of the signal, and its warm shine, the encasing caress of a subconscious courtship -constant and for seven straight years-, is torn from within you, from a part of you you never knew was relying on the ghostly comfort, then the disabling, darkening passages open, and the world bores around you. In its manufacture, the products tend to nurture an affinity for carols, keeping secrets, and praying for material. Buildings with colored glass and ornamented steeples increase in popularity, private and public rites are exchanged indoors and outdoors, while globally reports of a specter emerge. Its presence is marked by a diminished sense of belonging.

The effect isn’t lodged at the level of direct awareness, and the traditions ring hollow even as they are participated in, -between mind numbing lists of momentary demands and timelines, interspersed with appeals for nostalgia for when the season wasn’t busy and relatives, who were lucky enough to afford the time off, were still alive-, and no one notices the silent fights to discover what is missing resonating through every bone of their skeleton, sinking to their feet. Internal landscapes have their own climates, and as seasons turn temperatures, the specter -born from the loss of a steadying hand-, revels in the undulating content of the year’s cheer; from inside chasms it builds under smile lines it pushes and pulls, maneuvering a way to de-focus the eyes.

Last Edited by boutreality on 01/06/2020 01:26 AM

Song has real fitting words (2nd) if you can catch them. My relationship to words in music is more about how what is being "said" as it is heard, and if you walk away "knowing" differently, are the exact words in a song (or your memory) so important?

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Suffocated By Lack of Wood (Our United State)

Fifty rigid, enclosed tubules carrying nutrients from the soil in each root deliver color to the leaves.

Forests upon forests spanning the distances between oceans collapse once their collective deadfall, (built up in spans with too little lightning storms,) cuts the ground off from atmospheric nitrogen.

Parties in untold numbers hoist prospective fire marshals into office (none of them touch ground either).



Last Edited by boutreality on 12/29/2019 09:15 PM

Childish Gambino, (you know the song by the talk the vid got at least)- an artist who when asked to explain the vid at the height of its populariity, said: "No."

-To the integrity of taking pop-rap "Trap Music", the new delivery style and sound "of hip-hop", then USING IT TO F*ing say something:


Black Holidays

Unintelligible, deranged, a well-planned disaster. Mitigated, assuaged, dwindling numbers tune into the Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Operatives need no training. We prefer they never know they’re in play, never enlisted, they are entrusted to take the blame. Three buildings fall, we invade two countries, and are encouraged to keep shopping.
“Customer Service passed me off to Accounting.”

There’s always a superior to pass the buck to, make sure it climbs the ladder, with additional vicissitudes to be navigated if anyone files a complaint worth a response.

They ran us down based on traffic camera footage, charged us with aggravated assault, and invited us to the Christmas Party. Someone high-up must be on the payroll, -on our side or theirs-; my one call got disconnected.
“Accounting is connecting me to Complaints and Grievances.”

Planning to bring charges against our manufacturing base, let’s move them abroad, deregulate banks and put whoever will sign off on it into office.

My boy was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy after he got toys covered in lead paint.

“Legal is putting me through to International Affairs.”

============
-Or this find was worthwhile, literally listen to it:


Last Edited by boutreality on 01/03/2020 06:09 PM

I’ve started two threads whose OPs may as well be asking “What is it to know?” -this one and:
Thread: FACTS OF WAR: MATH & TRUTH - THE HORROR OF THE "ME TOO" MOVEMENT *UPDATE* A CAUTION EVIL WILL TRIP
-totally different tone, obviously anyone seeing things here may not like the reads there.

By now it’s obvious these posts are for people willing to read, because of that it isn’t logical for me to expect responses, though we are adults and this like many threads is an invite to discourse and fair minded consideration.

For this thread in particular: Anyone is welcome to combine any modes of expression to convey any capture of their world as it is known, felt and lived.



Approaching the idea of “knowing professionally”, considering a universal: There are people who excel at their profession and, -especially when it comes to ideals of civic duty and patriotism, there are people who excel in their position because of how they comprehend the intrinsic value their roles serve.

There are natural limits to how much needs to be stated by any sovereign individual if the goal is to arrive at a time where genuine use of knowledge is demonstrated. An example:

An educator lives teaching at the high-school level receiving career-long accolades, he is a Dr. of Chemistry, he has side projects where he makes the bulk of his income and he is renowned for decades of superior educating. When asked his secret he says:

“Educators do not impart knowledge, we cannot. The only possible goal is to prepare people for when they are expected to demonstrate it.”

A snippet from an essay available for free pdf download (link at bottom):
The endocrine system secretes the same hormones in men and women in sufficiently different proportions to give different characters to the cognition typical of each sex.

-Cognitive performance at large is well defined as the “route to intellect”, and cannot be separated from any internal process, much less glandular function:

From the male perspective, women follow an emotional protocol when using their intellect and it is their way of logic. Men have their own route to intellect, their own “way of logic”, and from the female perspective it is widely considered “unemotional”.

-Where an “unemotional” route to intellect develops later for women and an “emotional” route to intellect develops later for men.
-----

What is not included is a definition for the term “intellect”. (That is intentional for now because of the nature of the essay.)

For GLP, how the word is defined in the snippet: Intellect coordinates the momentary, instantaneous demonstration of knowledge and sentiment. (Essay also deals with how those two are inseparable in experience.) For a general inquiry, defining the word with a neutral connotation is valuable because it removes “intellect” from the label: “possessing many intelligent ideas”.
=======

Essay first post at:
[link to anewgnosis.com (secure)]

Last Edited by boutreality on 01/06/2020 01:34 AM

One of "THE BEST SONGS EVER" -2nd-, and I'm sure I'm not alone in the voting pool.
=====

Play Is Over

Bell is rung.
Allege is appear.

Wanton is around.
Picture is memoir.

Absence is mystified.



In case anyone feels inspired, and because it matches the tone of the song:
Thread: THE SPIRIT OF LAW, THE US CONSTITUTION, & THE FEDERAL RESERVE *UPDATE* BRIEF OUTLINE FOR ONE GLOBAL, CIVIL REVOLUTION

Last Edited by boutreality on 01/11/2020 08:11 PM

(If you've never heard Talib Kweli, the featured artist below, he's recognized as a phenomenon because of what he says and how fast he says it articulately.)



A brief aside on grammar: As concerned as these writing(s) can become with the nature of knowledge, -in this case “pertinent knowledge”, outlining rules for writing that may enable developing minds to carry how they learn to write over into how they learn math. So far, there are two main examples, and since it’s a “postulated system of rules”, (habits of old rules are still present); here it goes:

I lost my license (I was driving blind drunk.), and now have to run to make the bus.

-Whole sentence in parenthesis (period inside) as a part of a clause in the total sentence, where the comma applies to the entire clause; the same applies to periods, where sentences ending in, let’s say “parenthesis”, have punctuation included in the parenthesis only if: The whole clause or statement is contained in the parenthesis. -It’s not long before the math of diagramming sentences enforces the rule.

-As a former student who excelled in language and (potentially) any area but math, it’s not too far-fetched a proposal to say:

“Let’s teach kids to write language in a way that translates into math enough for the conceptual links required for basic calculations to be instilled.”

The refusal to use dashes (and instead hyphens every time) is a personal choice explained in the essay available for free download at top post at link below, but it boils down to:

“Citing redundancy with purpose,” because the essay focuses on fundamentally incorrect assignments of symbols in mathematics -a “tradition” with no record of changing how symbols are used in order to express a “point originated in an individuated sentient being” (as writing does, and if it’s new to you look up EE Cummings or Gertrude Stein), which is to say:

“At least this mode of representation, no matter how “uncomely” it may be to the reader, is built on solid footing.”

-Physics isn’t.
======

Dilated Peoples came up in the "real hiphop" crew era of West Coast Rap, where Emcees and DJs would battle and join forces to create bands (another is Jurassic Park), "Dilated" features a "DJ" track on every album, respecting real DJs:
TRACK STARTS AT 46s in:


Essay mentioned here: [link to anewgnosis.com (secure)]

Last Edited by boutreality on 01/24/2020 09:39 PM

An ode to the guitar, on a song that may be the most comprehensive warning/statement about drugs and rock & roll ever (listen for the children's choir- it's at the end):



A Pill for This

Secrets only spoken when no one else can hear them assert incontrovertible realities:

There are no longer any haunting portents attached to the act of swallowing, no expectant electric tinges of elation dancing down my spine. Residues layer like fiberglass insulating spaces between sinew, grey matter and reason, comfort or warmth are side-affects. Each quasi-plastic fractured time-release coating has deposited in my body, compounding over years, congealing into the binding used to hold onto this skeleton, and keep my joints in their sockets.

Just keep it together.

An empty stomach no longer matters, a phantom atop my physicality recoils, cowers, keels over in doubled-up writhing. Having attached itself to me with wires, my body remains in tow. On my behalf compressed powders have formulated an ability to walk upright and they never fully dissolve, particle by particle assimilating into my bones, the process leaves behind an insinuation of solidified structure.

Make me a pillar of salt.

Not party to my surroundings, -a room you’d call empty (only I know the truth), a crowded hall I force my body through; a one-to-one conversation, every facial expression pasted into place and the scenery changes around me. When I move a sensation overcomes me, -if the word “sensation” applies-, in three dimensions the entire world becomes an adhesive backing from which I am peeled, every time it steals my breath.

Chemical reactions obtain biological results, and they’re used-up till hollow.

Last Edited by boutreality on 01/17/2020 06:50 PM

Identities of a Time

What times of day keep what types of people indoors, or out earlier than normal on a shopping errand, -noticed my fellow shoppers were predominately young mothers with young children in tow; these set parameters.

Fair treatment at the interpersonal level was never a demand to let falter under the weight of groupthink. Out in the late afternoon on another shopping errand, the monotony met with smiles, noticed most shoppers were speaking in accents; the universal, region-specific outliers.

Needs for decent behavior were never meant to decay in temporal subconscious spasms,-flights in daydream, all at the hands of those everyone only defines as they.



Last Edited by boutreality on 01/26/2020 10:42 PM

END TO PHYSICAL EXSTENTIALISM

…In dreary stripes of thicker black in shadows falling from walls lining streets between subdivisions, in the long hollow concrete passages with fury in frozen wind, thin scintillating membranes build through shadow and dirt, or openly conceal their bodies in streetlight. Function platform Jupiter. A shake to the spine, and the certainty someone’s about to die.

Stop taking these materials for retractable value, placing is more than placement because we are lost to the continual battle, grounded as iron, just as obstinate, continually melting and swirling thick, heated to near-plasma, holding as solid as the endless accusation made by the physicality of the world. It was never skin or floating smiles drifting beyond the confines of their faces. Spending time with people presented me with their fading, and it is never by their choice; the grasp of reality, as an actual existence, because anything beyond this can be no more than the fourth dimension, -reading time as function of field:

All realms experienced are massive, allotted temporal dispersions, specific to parameters set for the matter of each.

Television as function of field, send postcards from the attic if the signal’s out, someone’s going to have to stay up there if this gets serious.

-Dated, and nuanced to clever defeat.




Rest of piece ending with words before vid here:
[link to anewgnosis.com (secure)]

Last Edited by boutreality on 03/18/2020 10:29 PM

To Burroughs, and the Cut-Up method:
3m13s

-@ about 52 sec it gets awesome, then the end @ just past 2m

And, regarding cut-ups and songwriting:
1m34s


A different presentation of some words from last post paired to a different song:



The Two Worlds

We are lost to the continual battle, grounded as iron, just as obstinate, continually melting and swirling thick, heated to near-plasma, holding as solid as the endless accusation made by the physicality of the world. (Then there are you.)

Last Edited by boutreality on 03/24/2020 07:07 PM

About the Author

I am the hiss of moisture being eaten by electricity spilling from a city’s power lines.
These words are the steam produced. The tension of an all pervading spirit and unwitting flesh interfused.

So, do you want to know the aftermath, the action of crumbling?

She speaks for twenty minutes and I don’t listen.
Her psycho-social theory dissects name brand purses and hair coloring,
How to make her man beg for more and the fabric that all seasons are wearing
On inner levels that she won’t talk about, she wonders if exchanging her marriage vows will feel like a celebrity’s wedding.

There is something more to your eyes than the paint and the dressing.

I didn’t get a chance to say anything- her cell phone rang,
“…Hun let's go shopping, I’m getting cold”
It was the temperature outside- not her inner vacancies.

This is a calculus of understanding: Her gulp of air plus my maintaining eye contact equaled her drive to keep talking.
“So, I guess I’ll see you later.”
She never saw me.

There is a shine you emanate independent of body glitter and jewelry-
It is content to keep silent, to be deafened, and blinding

My eyes struggle to accept a vacancy in the field and adjust accordingly.
I am a nervous system; beating my heart and quickening my vocal chords,
A current of energy that is, as of yet, partially realized.



MODERN USE OF THE TERM "Black Swan"
from: [link to www.startpage.com (secure)] (results box)

The theory was developed by Nassim Nicholas Taleb to explain:

The disproportionate role of high-profile, hard-to-predict, and rare events that are beyond the realm of normal expectations in history, science, finance, and technology.

Last Edited by boutreality on 03/24/2020 09:26 PM