mathy mathy, ini mathy

 athumathi

mathumadhi

exp lore

There is a billion miles of unexplored wilderness between the head and the feet, of any given human being. And I've chosen to spent my life in that wilderness. ~Gabrielle Roth

കുറെ

ഏറെ കാര്യങ്ങളിൽ ഇപ്പോൾ

clarity

ഉണ്ട്

Moley

There is no need to see the brainfever bird.

Hello Reader

Preyas or Sreyas.

Which?

necessity need and awareness of possibilities

Necessity is the mother of invention. But sometimes we don't realize we need something unless we once have it, or have that idea.. or that possibility that you can indeed have it.. like a good python script, scripted by Perplexity AI.

Unbelievable

But don't get too excited.

AI vortex

I know androids dont dream of electric sheep but this distinction is getting fuzzier and fuzzier and we wade more and more into the AI vortex.

plight of writing terse

content writers

can't end writing

content after content

with no contentment!

Wistful meditative contemplative stillness especially noticeable in early mornings

and the ungraspable phantom of life

Your word is God ~ Anna Brown

For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned.

Matthew 12:37

beneath a veneer of respectability

 

The Outsider's struggle is emblematic of a broader societal conflict, where individuals harbor dangerous impulses beneath a veneer of respectability.

But

Many great artists, like Shakespeare and Keats, navigated their lives without the neuroses associated with the Outsider archetype, indicating that profound creativity can exist alongside social adjustment.

tasked with bridging the gap between self-perception and actual experience

writers serve a crucial function in society by articulating experiences and truths that others may overlook

ban ville

 

1. What is Banville’s attitude towards his own writing?
   Banville is highly critical of his own work, stating that he hates all of his books and feels they are a standing embarrassment.
2. Describe Banville's typical writing routine.
   Banville typically writes from 9 a.m. until lunch, takes a break for bread, cheese, and tea, then resumes working until 6 p.m., maintaining a structured environment with two desks at right angles.

fleeting moments of connection between individuals

everything new in childhood had an aura of the uncanny

on life as having been filled with stillness and vigilance, portraying a sense of waiting for what was to come in an unfashioned world

the past beats inside me like a second heart

tone balances between wistfulness and curiosity

attempt at humor that falls flat and awkwardness in delivering potentially grave news

Banville compares writing to being a sportsman, emphasizing the need to perform at the top of one’s game for long hours each day.

Critics describe Banville’s writing as perfectly crafted, beautiful, dazzling, and often infused with dark humor and sharp wit.

Banville's exploration of themes related to women’s rights and his admiration for female writers further enrich his literary contributions.

Banville considers himself "incurably terrified of air travel," fearing the potential dangers associated with flying.

He believes there is no distinction between men and women in his writing; he sees them simply as people.

Banville praised Edna O'Brien as one of the most sophisticated contemporary writers, noting her ability to create striking characters who are often damaged by their experiences.

He aims to blend poetry and fiction into a new form, reflecting a desire to innovate within literary traditions.

He imitated James Joyce after reading "The Dubliners," which inspired him to write but also led him to recognize the quality of his early attempts as poor imitations.

Banville's narrative style is marked by lyrical precision and a keen exploration of complex themes such as identity, gender dynamics, and existential fears. His use of dark humor serves to both entertain and provoke thought, while his reflections on societal issues highlight a commitment to social commentary. The pacing of his prose allows for deep introspection, inviting readers into the intricate workings of his characters' minds.

and his advocacy against vivisection (The act of operating on living animals (especially in scientific research) --- Banville called vivisection "absolutely disgraceful" and questioned why scientists do not volunteer for experiments instead of using animals. He was shocked to learn about vivisection experiments being conducted at Trinity College and wrote a letter of protest to The Irish Times. He felt dispirited after realizing he received little support for his stance and considered withdrawing from public discourse on such matters.

Banville stated that he does not eat meat.

Banville's emotional connections to friends and animals are also explored, revealing a sensitive and principled individual who grapples with ethical issues.

Banville mourned the loss of his labrador, Ben, who died from cancer at Christmas 1980, and he still regards him as "a lost friend.

He suggested that if he were awarded the Booker Prize, he would use the money to buy every copy of the longlisted books in Ireland and donate them to libraries to ensure they were read.

What did Banville say about receiving the Franz Kafka Prize in 2011?

He described it as an award he truly wanted, appreciating its old-style nature and acknowledging his long engagement with Kafka's work.

Pynchon

Pynchon has famously never granted an interview throughout his career, which spans over five decades, and he has only been photographed a handful of times as an adult

metaphor Archie used to describe his life path

 He likens his life path to a trail of breadcrumbs that has been consumed by birds, indicating that he feels lost and without direction.

..

Archie feels that mentioning the war leads to disinterest from others, as people tend to glaze over or change the subject, indicating a sense of alienation regarding his past.

The text explores themes of identity, the search for recognition, the impact of time on personal achievements, and the struggle against feelings of irrelevance in a rapidly changing world.

But I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now ~ Bob Dylan - Archie

Sarah and Oliver

 Sarah feels conflicted; although she describes it as picturesque and pretty, she realizes that she has become what she never wanted to be—a conventional person in a storybook life.

Oliver dreamed of living in the country, having Irish setters, wanting four children, and having a wife who did not work outside the home.

Reading Point Counter Point

 She finds Huxley's prose exciting and skillful, appreciating its ability to expose the emptiness of civilization. The reading stimulates her critical abilities and evokes a mixture of excitement and inevitable depression.

the "horrible moments" related to contemplating infinity

 She describes moments when thoughts of infinity and death overwhelm her sense of self, making her feel trapped within her own body. This contemplation leads to physical discomfort and existential anxiety.

Sontag suggests that when faced with existential dread, she seeks relief through sensual experiences as a counterbalance to abstract thoughts about infinity and mortality, indicating a struggle between intellectual contemplation and physical desire.

She employs vivid imagery of physical strain and discomfort, describing muscles on a rack and an urge to burst out of her "poor shell," which symbolizes the intense pressure she feels from her thoughts and desires.

Medea

 Sontag was profoundly moved by watching Medea and was frustrated by audience members who reacted emotionally rather than appreciating it as a work of art. She believed that true engagement with art required detachment from reality.

Caveat lector

 After Sontag's death, the author found nearly a hundred notebooks filled with diaries, which were organized by her assistant and friend during the sorting of her effects.

The sole conversation about the diaries occurred when she first fell ill, where she simply stated, "You know where the diaries are," without providing further instructions on what to do with them.

From a young age, Sontag believed she had special gifts and a significant contribution to make, which fueled her relentless pursuit of knowledge and education throughout her life.

The author references Isaac Babel’s motto "You must know everything" to highlight Sontag’s desire for deep knowledge and understanding.

Sontag's stepfather urged her to relax and read less to find a husband, while her tutor, Stuart Hampshire, expressed frustration at her seriousness, comparing her to Germans and implying it was a negative trait. Sontag, however, took this as a point of pride.

The author suggests that Sontag held a deep belief in the ability to remake oneself, reflecting an American ideal that emphasizes personal agency and transformation throughout one’s life.

"Ideas disturb the levelness of life."

She finds solace and clarity in music, particularly through Mozart's Don Giovanni. The arias evoke strong emotions and provide her with a sense of resolution and serenity amidst turmoil.

Sontag describes her reading of Gide as an intense intellectual communion, feeling overwhelmed by the speed of thought and the depth of insight, which she likens to experiencing labor pains for every idea he presents.

André Gide (1869-1951) was a prominent French author, awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1947. His literary career spanned various styles, beginning with the Symbolist movement and evolving into a critique of moral and political issues. Gide's notable works include The Immoralist and The Counterfeiters, which explore themes of individual freedom and moral complexity. He is recognized for his experimental narrative techniques and autobiographical writings that reflect his struggles with identity and sexuality. Gide's influence extended beyond literature, impacting modern thought on freedom and tradition.

The reading list reflects her desire for intellectual engagement and growth, showcasing her ambition to immerse herself in a wide range of literature, plays, and poetry, indicating a commitment to expanding her understanding of art and life.

She emphasizes that poetry must be exact, intense, and complex, suggesting that art strives for independence from mere intelligence. 

Sontag experiences music as a deeply physical and emotional force, feeling both passion and pain in response to the melodies. She describes music as alive and sensual, evoking a visceral reaction that connects her body to the emotional landscape of the piece.

Sontag finds Goethe’s Faust moving but acknowledges her limited understanding, while she feels a strong connection to Marlowe’s work, having invested significant time in rereading it aloud. This indicates her deep engagement with texts that resonate with her.

weel demonstarted death

It is raining outside. What if there is no one else to read not just this, but anything whatsoever, other than a persistent and deeply fake illusion.

What if other people and other beings out there are completely empty and illusory.

And the real reason why you don't have any creative thing to share, or the motivation to create writing or painting or creative art work or photo work and sending it to people and making logical statements and seemingly nice words and creations of beauty during the absence of time and heaven is because it is evident that there are no other beings out there other than thunder and lightning and raining cats and soggy wet jeans in the light green turbanish gibberish.

One continues directly into the homage of intrinsic awareness which is the primordial base and dunes of reality which remains unpertubed in phenomenality, in self perfected spontaneaity.

wow, this reads nice, says whom.

knows by whom.

there is no knowledge other than the knower itself 

nothing to know other than the knower itself

knowledge is the knower itself.

SQQQQueeeze La Roux

 I;m going in for the kill

im doing it for the thraaaaallllddooom

and i am hoping you undeerrrestimate the enormity of the hopes of despaaair

that every mirror wake land in the thwack roadroasssssttttteedddddddddddd roadrunneeeer coyote

crocodile markers in the every man's longman dictum tigerlily

Here I am on the road again

 Default to what you normally default to

sometimes you need to return to your previous defaults

and find new and newer and yet newer defaults which transcends everyone's notions of understanding

but ties well within the ambit of your kaleidoscpic visionary activation fields in the shpongled museum of consciousness and musically yours everytime there is nothing to say in actuality so you do not say it

the girl you knew the night porter before is so boring

like hell boring well water maaaaaallooooooottttttttttttyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

hotttrrrrrrrooooorrrrrrrr downnnnnnn there featherds

of the fracking starry night and van goghian museum underspass road killa

ear parceller

and strung out from the road and the music is shaking off by itself 

and just pretend it doesnt bother you

and you just want to Xplod the CAR AUDIO ALARM ACTIVISION SPIDERMAN GAME AGU AKKU and Jack Sparrow or Samurai tick tac toe

there i go the highliter bakelite again!

out ther in the spotlight there is no bob seger ounce of again music that you wont play any longer that the theeeeeee thet thhhteeta waves

throu you next life

after life

mount eversent self blindslided and snow gladded in the rollcage music

copy paste delete

and engineering quaaannnnnttttaaaas of light particle waves dispersing through the very essence of 

spelling mistakessssssssssss

The Seed of Awakening

 Within each heart, there is a seed.

A spark of peace and love, longing for connection from deep within.

The peace we seek is revealed in the wake of awakening.

Blessings start to roll, when we look within our soul.

Our actions hold great value, and every thought is a gentle wave. 

When we become the stillness, evil and suffering fade.

For they arise from separation, in the shadows that we've made.  

We are one in consciousness, which is a truth we often miss. 

Beyond the fragile ego, lies our eternal bliss.  

Life’s roadblocks are tailor-made paths for us, to guide our journey within. 

Inviting deeper inquiry, where our fears and doubts are shed.  

Let us breathe into this moment and thoughts drift by like clouds.

Awareness is the boundless space, where all sensations play. 

And when we peel back layers of the onion, peace emerges from the fray.  

This peace is not a distant dream; it’s woven in our core.  

As we honor life and presence, we become what we adore.  

So let us cherish every heartbeat, every whisper of the day.  

For you are the peace this world seeks; for in you, it finds its way.

GeorgeWSarris!

 https://www.youtube.com/@GeorgeWSarris/videos

In the courtrooms of dreams

In a place of distance,  

A thunder-crash echoes,  

Sea-cool waves lightly  

Quenchless in their command.  

Columns of bronze  

Stand overruled by time,  

While miners,  

With careful instincts,  

Proceed through darkened tracts.  

A blue-movie flickers,  

Deliciously mixed emotions,  

As comrades dwell in shadows,  

Flipping through pages of history,  

Sighing at the weight of legacies.  

In the courtrooms of dreams,  

Fervent voices rise,  

Legitimacy battles falsehood,  

While growth emerges from ruins.  

A ribbon of hope stretches,  

Dispensing wisdom through whispers,  

As the wind carries tales of kin-strife,  

And the moss silhouettes softly sigh.  

Beyond the confines of fear,  

A castle gazes at the horizon,  

Where light dances on the edge of reality,  

And every heartbeat resonates with possibility.

..

In a world-weariness, echoes of a dawn-striped sky,  

A magnificent blare of life, where dreams thinly lie.  

Bitterly, the heart communes with shadows of the past,  

As wooding paths unite, casting doubts that hold steadfast.  

A singlehanded mountaineer climbs the heights of fate,  

With pliable provisions, navigating through the weight.  

In the depths of foliage, where secrets are concealed,  

An emblematic truth emerges, forever unrevealed.  

Reckless whispers gather, like mice in the night,  

Cuddles of uncertainty dance in the fading light.  

Yet something stirs within, a vibrant call to rise,  

To overthrow the silence with explosive battle cries.  

Through tarry troughs and gorse, a journey must be made,  

For every broken heart can find a way to trade.  

With each step taken forward, a new path is defined,  

In the tapestry of existence, all threads intertwined.  

Thus, in this vibrant chaos, where dreams and fears collide,  

A chance-meeting with destiny opens wide the tide.  

So let the heart be fearless, let it navigate the storm,  

For in the depths of struggle lies a spirit yet to warm.

Threads of Resilience

 In graveyards, whispers of woe  

Conducted by a mothy chanter,  

A shieldwall of memories,  

Twisting through the cottonwood,  

Where blood-money flows like rivers,  

And the echoes of falsehoods linger.

Youthful brows engage in debate,  

Missest moments, unspeakable fears,  

Yet inspirations rise like sea-hawks,  

Searching for a way to survive.  

Twice the struggle, thrice the resolve,  

As the guitar strums a solemn tune.

The aroma of lentils fills the air,  

While decrepit dreams are reaping-machines,  

Engrossed in thoughts of what could be,  

Dissenting voices rise against the tide.  

With every breath, a new identity formed,  

In the shadows of dominions long past.

Emblematic of the struggle,  

A commander stands at the avenue's end,  

Addressing all with a voice that swells—  

“Let us banish despair; let us reform.”  

In this realm of forgotten tales,  

The spirit thrives amidst the ruins.

..

In valleys where the sea-winds blow,  

A dominant force, a meteor-procession,  

Resonant tears spill from heavy hearts,  

While the stench of discomfitures lingers.  

Behind corpse-limbs, a belief takes root,  

As the theatre of life unfolds.

Fifteen outsiders gather in slums,  

Straining to find a way to prosper,  

Dissenting voices echo through the gully,  

While jasmine scents the air,  

And the flag waves defiantly above.  

Connections form like reticulations in the sky.

The day-close brings reflections of shame,  

With many-cylindered dreams escaping,  

Yet hope resides in the mended ties,  

As comrades rally against the tide.  

In this space of competition and struggle,  

A sweetness emerges from bitter experiences.

A train receives its passengers,  

Acceding to journeys untried and bold,  

While the world outside sprawls in chaos.  

Yet within this turmoil lies potential,  

An invitation to democratize existence,  

To transform despair into a feast of possibilities.

..

Aches of a cheerless rite-of-passage,  

Both gentle and deepened,  

In the forge-fires of ambition,  

Melting sorrow into strength.  

Gradually, the concert of life unfolds,  

Sagas of martyrdoms echoing,  

Where both joy and melancholy dwell,  

A doorway to the epicenter of dreams.  

Over-throwing the cruder aspects,  

A believer in the beauty of creation,  

Fiddler of fate,  

Hovering above the ruins.  

Each print a testament to struggles endured,  

While the barnesandnoble of wisdom  

Exhibits the scars of past battles,  

Stunn and ricocheted through time.  

In the shadows of the cavern,  

A silent acknowledgment lingers,  

As if to say:  

All journeys are intertwined.  

The weight of history presses down,  

Yet hope is a potent force,  

Allowing light to seep through cracks,  

Transforming darkness into a canvas.  

With every stroke of fate’s brush,  

The narrative evolves—  

A tapestry woven with threads of resilience,  

And the promise of tomorrow’s dawn.

..

Disaster rated, a well-wielded designates,  

In the outer realms of integrity,  

A potent brew of politics and poetics,  

Where laughter intertwines with the glow of hope.  

Beholden to the laurel-tree,  

Grecian echoes resonate,  

As wolves of doubt embitter the soul,  

Yet the spirit remains unyielding.  

Even as baggage weighs heavy,  

A miniature essence of freedom emerges,  

Swathed in the fragrance of autumn,  

Transforming darkness into light.  

The political landscape shifts,  

With each halting step toward solidarity,  

A crosslegged stance on the knoll,  

Where dreams and realities collide.  

Voices rise in exultation,  

As riders traverse the undulating paths,  

Each word a thread in the tapestry of existence,  

Illustrating the journey through time.  

Amidst the tumultuous waves of change,  

The essence of love-verses perseveres,  

In a world where every sigh is a testament,  

To the enduring spirit of creation.

The Lament of Northerland

In Northerland, where the icebergs gleam,

Helmsmen navigate through a fractured dream.

With fleets of sea-ships, they surround the shore,

While gangs of shadows whisper tales of yore.

Calling foul, the moral compass spins,

As trunks of blackberries hide the sins.

In the swamps, where the species shrink and fade,

The gardener's hands are weary, yet unafraid.

With a deduction made under a winter's chill,

They seek to refashion what time cannot kill.

Romance thought-bubbles, floating in the air,

Yet the poison of greed leaves a bitter glare.

The Aunts, with their wisdom, discuss and debate,

While the enemy liars conspire to create.

In this world of omissions, where truth is a game,

The stakes are high; the players feel no shame.

Each limb that reaches for a brighter dawn,

Is met with the weight of burdens drawn.

And yet, in this chaos, a voice rings clear—

A promise of change that we hold dear.

Through the frills of spray, and the echoes of past,

We gather our strength, our spirits steadfast.

For in this journey of life, both harsh and sweet,

We find our way forward on resilient feet.

So let us not linger in shadows or shame,

But rise with the courage to reclaim our name.

In the heart of Northerland, where dreams intertwine,

We’ll craft a new future—bold and divine.