Where Honey Comes From

On Trimutualism

*I got to debating as to whether flowers give bees their sweet offal, in the form of pollen, with which the latter make honey, or if the bees are participating in a system by which they help a plant function and make the best of the by-product, the whole time nonetheless seeing their side of the equation.

But in a discussion on systems, current society can look to the Internet hive model and see a scrambled media grown out of the progressive and increasingly qualitative communications of the sixties whose future will quite potentially fade over time thanks to over-quartering and over-watering. This causes one to ponder: "On which levels will the bees or even the ants' communication evolve?" Is it by means of a single rhythm or does it benefit from the continual one by which nature evolves?

But when the honey's coming in and simplicity is baseline, where will communication go? And with a premise like that, is the latter question moot?


S*
2006.10.14

A Warning

It had recently been brought to his attention that he was constantly at the tremendous, just, geometric and correct pursuit of the accomplishment of banal and pointless ends. And although at the time, they weren't quartering limes -- but halving walnuts and alternating the flavour with the creamy taste of pecans -- the conversation had stumbled upon a few weird paths the length of the later hours, most of which were not left untread.

The following day, successive waves of these memories came to him as he found himself rocking out to something or other about cutting his hair so many times he couldn't even recognize his own face. Maybe it was about shutting down the system and sleeping for a stir but that wasn't happening anytime soon: he wouldn't sleep with walls still bare, area rugs left unadjusted, spoons askew. Plus, there was work and coffee to deal with; the Italian latter being a far more efficient and valuable stimulant than the former.

In life, he knew, there existed a far greater sum of reading and learning than one could imagine to possibly comtemplate yet alone absorb with any relevance and conciseness in order to in turn donate a reasonable mess of thought and correlations to the randomly available ear. He digested this with an ease akin only to his general indifferent achromaticism.

S*
2006.09.28


"Memories can't wait." Talking Heads
"Memories are deceptive because they're coloured with today's events." Einstein

You Are Summoned to a Meeting

History --> Observation --> Commentary (subjective to modern interpretation)

This cycle is repetitive. Why?

Civilizations progress, excel, but grow too big:

- run out of power/energy?
- have no means or record keeping (or do, but it falls victim to power/energy-loss)?
- subject to time?

Populations rise in the same way they always have (which, by definition, cannot be pre-programmed or influenced but rather inate). Technology, social structure, availability of resources make the extent of this progress either advance or succumb to itself (e.g., 'bust' or 'fail'). Knowing (or even assuming) this, how can Y exceed X in progress, learning, betterment?

Maybe by putting into question the nature of this cyclidity; perhaps by comparing and contrasting the vehicles of information and communication of these social paradigms can we learn more about them.

Put your nightmares to the collective light; let us see our souls for what their truths speak, allowing us to highlight a common path to something -- if not everything -- better.

S*
2006.08.08

An Open Letter to the Universe (edit)

Apologies for never writing and calling only sporadically. And late, at that. Guess everyone has their communicative niche, eh?

Things are well in Montreal; life moves at a lovely pace in this city, it's a great combination of beautiful, old architecture with long winding avenues lined with green trees, people's balconies and a bevy of all manner of attitude, drive and desire. Interestingly, consistencies develop no matter where I've been: it's the speed at which the urban community moves that always attracts or repels me from a given locale, big or small. And that, I suspect, is a derivative of the internal mechanisms driving each of us -- which are, in this instance, my own. Some people oscillate better in the burbs, others the city, others the countryside; and to be fair, some people might even do fine on a remote piece of rock in the Mediterranean. Nature moulds us where it sees fit.

Nevertheless, this realization has become a very relevant one -- and not for the temporal or environmental realization that that is (i.e., a particular person in a particular space) -- but rather as a affirmation of one's core effervescence, internal machinations and inherent driving forces. This most recent move has served to (re-)confirm something I'd suspected, irregardless of destination, employment or surroundings: that everywhere is anywhere as long as the personal centre is secure and can confide in itself.

More to the point, this latter core has primarily come to embody self and family and the strengths we each derive therein. The well-being derived from the energies of exposure to knowledge, information, beauty, love and everything in between: good food, laughter, provocative ideas over warm beverages and thoroughly erratic chess are secondary complements to life's diet.

The sum of these has served to expose the fruitlessness of worrying about age, status, finances (to a degree) and destiny. And why is that? Because the great magnet has, does and will continue hurling each of us on its whim, and cull when the spectrum requires calibration, balance or a good laugh. Until then, granted we agree -- subconsciously or otherwise -- that the general purpose of this eighty-year orbit is to consciously and continually contribute to the betterment of our very dear and extremely shared civilization, it must be progress in its truest incarnation and most honest inflection toward which we labour. And, at the end of the day, find me here taking notes thereon.

From here to there,

S*

Ahem...

I don't what it is; I feel like I've lost the ability to anachronize and synthesize the life around me. Maybe it's the different city, maybe it's my current lack of reading, maybe I'm getting old and the drag racing outside doesn't interest me anymore. Nonetheless, as I've always said and written, there appears to be little paths of a graceful nature for overcoming or surpassing or climbing past the thirtieth milestone. And to be truthful, I've accorded little importance to this inevitability, this minor hump in the 'road'. This is a result of the paths of others: uneventful, unimportant, unnoticed, underappreciated. These are the insecurities that surround me like an Iroquois fortress, staves pointed to the firmament. With eyes looking upward, few are aware or interested or knowing of what lies ahead, whether that knowledge be substantial or haphazard, whether tools are available to manage, to mitigate, to handle what is to come, what they are predestined to become or what they are pre-programmed to already be. Definitions aren't always known at the start. People wrestle with them: on beaches, in offices, with sore feet and tired minds; we all discover for good or ill what we're here for, what we're good for and who it is we're meant to mean to ourselves. The inside comes eventually out.

S*
2006.06.16

Subjuntive Tripping

I returned and saw, under the sun, that the race is not to the
swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor
yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favor to men of skill; but
time and chance happeneth to them all.

Evil falls. But who knows when?
Needles in my eyes won't cripple me tonight alright/
Twisting up my mind please pull me through the light alright.

I feel sleep start out from the tips of my toes and climb up my spine, then nestle warmly against the nape of my neck.

S*

Fave current track: "Needles In My Eyes" - The Beta Band
Current media in progress: Munich, "An Aroma of Coffee" - Dany Laferriere

Postcard Refreshment

This place is cool. People are independently-minded and heed their own business as personal soap-operas and daily lives seem important enough to not need to know mine or anyone else's. I've spent a good slice of time trying to demystify my own romanticization of the city, which is largely aided by seeing normal-looking, working-class people about town; but but but, the love is continually reinvigorated as I stroll through block-wide and fountained parks watching Dutch-like beauties breezing by on old-school bikes in skirts, light scarves and spring jean-jackets, hair flowing in purposeful carelessness.

To date, things are much more upbeat than the introductory week as I cruise into a calm rhythm warm enough to keep me optimally bourgeois-bohème. On verra.

Wish you were here.

Essstar
2006.05.26

Infinite Equilateral

Like how that rolls off the tongue....

At any rate, was getting the HB on the walls sometime in the final days of Ottawa and came up with this silliness. A large equilateral triangle containing smaller shapes: namely a hexagon with three smaller equilateral triangles complementing it, filling the initial triangle.

The fun part is that both the hexagon and the smaller triangles can be continually filled with smaller and smaller equilateral triangles -- and this, seemingly ad infinitum. Then I thought about that for a while and that hurt my brain almost as much as does conceptualizing infinity. So I stopped.

Regardless, the 'infinite' scheme is not wholly real because one would eventually run out of space given the size of the initial equilateral triangle. Now where's the fun in that?

Fun times, happy days.

S*
2006.05.19

Dirty Words

Even coke bores me.
And ecstasy's a nightful.
Mushrooms are forgiveable on special occasions.
Music's always welcome.
Booze: the provider.
People, always.

S*
2006.05.11

The Neow Project

Oil The Weapons

Upon seeing 'The Dark Side of Oz' recently, one scene in particular had this viewer gauging the connection between industrial America, the mechanization of society (automobility, for starters) and our mutual predicament regarding oil. Something to ponder.

The scene when Dorothy et al. first come upon the Tin Man contains interesting contrasting actions: he has his right arm stoutly raised with axe in hand as the party oils the arm to relax it and remove the 'weapon'. In a modern re-make, one might suspect a scenario in which the immobile Tin Man is initially found, axe in-hand, arm down. At this point, a good lubrication would first loosen the joints then permit use of the weapon. What better imagery to suggest armament and aggression, while pacifism and the impressionable goodness of Kansas girls, diplomas, metal tickers, county fair ribbons, cocaine-littered opiates and little dogs be damned.

Hardly probable, but something to watch for.

S*
2006.05.19

Fortune's Ruler?

...or family tree?









*original sketch: mid-Feb, 2006

Preamble

From calculus to lyrics, the mind let loose the layers of my life, and the observations and analyses therein. With the help of a simple pencil and my kitchen wall, these ideas and invectives of the last twelve months of my life have come in waves of early-morning awakenings, late night lessons and midday monotonies. They are random, esoteric and questioning but above all, honest.

This is my attempt to communicate a language. Given the limits of the latter, who knows what has, is or will come to pass?

From here to there, smiling at the infinite wonder of now...

S*
2005.12.30