[Re- posting...]
Stumbling through archives and archives of text... Discovering long lost thoughts and meaningfull ramblings. Musings so to speak, that after all may still present some meaning. For completeness sake: a republished old blog here....
Depuis que je ne cherche pas -
je trouve.
(P.Picasso)
Do you know what your siblings' eye colours are?
If not -go check ...
[6/25/2001 12:01:49 AM | NeO Nautilus]
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Dear Reader::
you may have wondered where we got all this inspiration.
Well, only recently have we discovered some interesting insight.
When you think you're an individual doing something very SINGULAR, you are mistaken. Millions of people roam this planet, and millions of them have a webpage now. So lately we've been stumbling over a lot of "melancholy" sites, with nod design, just content. So that's in a nutshell what we're planning to do here. Provide you with content (photgraphic evidence of uselessness and crypto-phobiac litterary rants).
Read on, happy Friends, since you are in the getting entertained by us business.
Sadly, however, our continuous quest for fellow contributors turns out to be pretty marginal. YOU - ALSO - have something to tell. And just sticking to your own life, minding your business will leave you very "locked-in". Act up, do something or write about it. Get out there and help the elderly cross the traffic-infested streets. Don't just sit back and enjoy the ride, get behind the wheel - and drive off to a happier horizon.
We will - in the long run - structurize these musings, but for now we'll deal with these publishing-problems in an amateur kind of way.
Hate the frames on this site?
Hate the content?
Hate Jules Verne?
Hate your own life?
Let us know, interact, and we'll get back to you.
[6/17/2001 12:13:28 AM | NeO Nautilus]
so
1. find a destination
2. plan your route
3. deliver the loco - motive and the M.O. (modus operandi)
4. Execute = terminate with extreme prejudice
5. Do not let yourself be attached to anything that you cannot walk out on in 15 seconds flat
if you spot the heat - around the corner.
[edit]
[6/17/2001 12:08:18 AM | NeO Nautilus]------------
You wanna be making moves on the street . . .
Considering the amount of stress we all experience while going through some form of examinations,
I seem to be pulling it off quite well.
If it weren't for the fact that I have to deal with a situation here.
Picture perfect people seem to meander through my life: the young & beautiful & intellectual high-brows of society. They treat each other well on an individual basis. But when whining or dining they evolve into a pack of blood-smelling wolves. The degrees of hypocry and malign behaviour skyrocket out of control.
And yet we are pleased with ourselves. Oh so god-damn pleased.
It's sickening to view the little sides of the people that circulate at the top of the criminal food-chain. How they always manage to turn responsabilities away.
Those are strong shoulders that can carry the burden of wealth. And we mean by that:: every kind of wealth. Be it monney, succesfull entrepreneurship, relational agility, manipulative overdrive, or plain and simple greedy intelligence.
So what happens if you decide to give up this un-true way of life. What if you decide that you can matter, that you can do better, that you can touch other people, not in their wallet, but in their hearts and souls. We have to reach out and embrace such opportunities.
I am a traveller, a nomad, I walk the road that's laid out for me. But I'm also a survivor. I carry wounds unhealed, screws and plates of titanium. Every day I wake up to see the scars on my body like tatoes from a ritualistic passing.
Once, playfully, some buddies and I re-enacted the Voyageur-ritual up in the Quetico region. Travellers on the fur trade became men. They left as boys, and hardened by the cameraderie and friendship of the untamed, they blessed themselves one last time before heading back into the charted routes and the established maps. That was quite playful, touching even. And afterwards we regarded eachother as grown-ups, acting deftly, having bonded for 40 days in the bush.
Those days are now long gone. But still, as the anniversary of THE incident passes, I cannot keep myself from thinking. Why does my heart run so wild! Why am I allowed a second chance.
I call it "unfinished sympathy", unfinished business. Sometimes a call is placed upon a man, and when the shit hits the fan, a man's gotta do, what a man's gotta do. Things cannot be un-done. Eggs need to be broken, for the cake of life has to be baked.
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