Hey! 


Tday I ain't gonna post much more than the daily Krishnamurti. It's a bit late n we quite fancy watchin LOTR for a while n I'm pretty slow with this so there.. 


Here's Krishnamurti:


What is sanity and insanity? Who is sane and who is insane? Are the politicians sane? The priests, are they insane? Those who are committed to ideologies, are they sane? We are controlled, shaped, pushed around by them, and are we sane?
  What is sanity? To be whole, non-fragmented in action, in life, in every kind of relationship - that is the very essence of sanity. Sanity means to be whole, healthy and holy. To be insane, neurotic, psychotic, unbalanced, schizophrenic, whatever name you might give to it, is to be fragmented, broken up in action and in the movement of relationship which is existence. To breed antagonism and division, which is the trade of the politicians who represent you, is to cultivate and sustain insanity, whether they are dictators or those in power in the name of peace or some form of ideology. And the priest: look at the world of priesthood. He stands between you and what he and you consider truth, saviour, god, heaven, hell. He is the interpreter, the representative; he holds the keys to heaven; he has conditioned man through belief, dogma and ritual; he is the real propagandist. He has conditioned you because you want comfort, security, and you dread tomorrow. The artists, the intellectuals, the scientists, admired and flattered so much - are they sane? Or do they live in two different worlds - the world of ideas and imagination with its compulsive expression, wholly separate from their daily life of sorrow and pleasure?
  The world about you is fragmented and so are you and its expression is conflict, confusion and misery: you are the world and the world is you. Sanity is to live a life of action without conflict. Action and idea are contradictory. Seeing is the doing and not ideation first and action according to the conclusion. This breeds conflict. The analyser himself is the analysed. When the analyser separates himself as something different from the analysed, he begets conflict, and conflict is the area of the unbalanced. The observer is the observed and therein lies sanity, the whole, and with the holy is love. 






Krishnamurti is definitely one of my favourite dudes! Thank you. 

A whole lotta love!




...c

Weeeeeell hello thar!


Yesterday I missed the daily blog! Dang! I was cleanin most of the day n then we went to Ems cinema to watch a documentary n when we got back we watched couple of episodes of Gossip Girl ( yees, I'm pretty hooked on it!=) "that's so gay duude, ur so gay!" yes well, in the words of the great Steve Hughes "yeah I'm gay mate. I'm icing cakes with thirty chicks and you fuckwits are showering together..." so there.. ;) ) 

In any case..
But the documentary! Goodness! Blew us away! Very, very powerful stuff n really touching. It really made me angry at times n challenges the belief in people n the world. N it made the think how is the world so fucked up, that it produces such beings in such states? What has made us like this? N I looked at the people on the screen n tried to understand where they came from n what they'd been thru n what made them the way the were... 
Really brilliant documentary highly recommended, five stars all the way. Not only does it pack a powerful message-punch, it's also beautifully shot. I think everyone should see it and it should be mandatory viewing in schools across the globe. If I were a teacher I'd definitely show it in class, n I hope all you teachers out there do show it, even if it might be goin against the normal stuff a bit. Cos we need to challenge things! (this is as much a inspiration speech to myself as anyone else!) Like Jesus and countless other inspirational people throughout history! Like good ol Bill said, "but we, kill those people" (remember?) "Shut him up! We have a lot invested in this ride! Shut him up! Look at my furrows of worry; look at my big bank account, and my family. This has to be real." Yes, unfortunately that's what happens.. But it shouldn't deter people from further challenging things! So hopefully this documentary, (and others like it, still to be discovered or made..) will make a difference n people will wake up n change things for the better, with love. 

Yeez, then tday I went to my favourite place in the world so far ( not having travelled that much (yet) this still stands at number one.) The ever wonderful n magical Suomenlinna! 

Very nice summery pics there for ya, which don't really even do it justice! 




N here some wintery ones I took meself:

I would've taken more but it was absolutely bloody freezing n my fingers were stiff & I was cursin the place to hell & gone cos it was sunday n none of the cafés were open n I kept hoping some sweet little old lady living on the island would come along and invite me into her incomprehensibly cosy n wonderful home n offer me tea n snacks n tell me stories. She'd be like a 100 years old n would have a crystal clear memory n show me pictures n tell tales. Aah, but it was not be.. But luckily I did find a tiny café that was indeed open n I went in all frozen n asked the girl for the largest possible cup of tea. To my surprise the place was half empty. Weird considering that the ferry was almost full of people n I imagine it wasn't the first or last to be so.. I wondered where all the unsuspecting n ill equipped tourists had gone n whether they'd frozen into icy statues to be found some time in the spring.. In actual fact most of the people I saw were very well equipped n it seemed I was the only fool not wearing enough. Tho I did have pretty much the warmest stuff I owned on at the time.. And very often it made me yearn for one of these:

I saw a dude on the train one day wearing, if not the exact one then one close to it, n on the island in the howling, biting
wind oh, how I wished I had one of these! Or somethin similar where you might break into a sweat just wearing a t-shirt underneath.. The horror! The horror! well, that may be a bit over dramatic but it was pretty fucking cold, I can tell you! 
But I felt very lucky to have found the place cos it would've been such a shame t have to go then cos I wanted to stay n dig the place n sit for a while n read n write in a nice cosy caff. It wasn't the cosiest spot I'd been to but it would most certainly suffice. So I sat there n drank my tea happily n wrote in my journal. Soon the place was closing so I packed my stuff n tried to wrap myself up as well as possible n faced the elements once again. I heard some people say the next ferry was departing in about 20 minutes so I took off. Rode back to the mainland n gave Ems a call n we'd meet at the book shop. Turned out they had a big sale n I bought I big bunch of books for under 20 euro's! Sweet!
I got:
- Goethe's Faust part 1
- Kerouac's Big Sur (tho I already have a copy this one had some extra bits n it was only about 3e..)
- A book about the Borgia's 
- William Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury
and Franz Kafka's The Castle. Not bad says I! 


N now for yesterdays Krishnamurti s'il vous plaît: 


Have you ever wondered why human beings go wrong, become corrupt, indecent in their behaviour - aggressive, violent and cunning? It's no good blaming the environment, the culture or the parents. We want to put the responsibility for this degeneration on others or on some happening. Explanations and causes are an easy way out. The ancient Hindus called it Karma, what you sowed you reaped. The psychologists put the problem in the lap of the parents. What the so-called religious people say is based on their dogma and belief. But the question is still there.
  Then there are others, born generous, kind, responsible. They are not changed by the environment or any pressure. They remain the same in spite of all the clamour. Why?
  Any explanation is of little significance. All explanations are escapes, avoiding the reality of what is. This is the only thing that matters. The what is can be totally transformed with the energy that is wasted in explanations and in searching out the causes. Love is not in time nor in analysis, in regrets and recriminations. It is there when desire for money, position and the cunning deceit of the self are not. 






and today's one too:


Death is everywhere and we never seem to live with it. It is a dark, frightening thing to be avoided, never to be talked of. Keep it away from the closed door. But it is always there. The beauty of love is death and one knows neither. Death is pain and love is pleasure and the two can never meet; they must be kept apart and the division is the pain and agony. This has been from the beginning of time, the division and the endless conflict. There will always be death fro those who do not see that the observer is the observed, the experiencer is the experienced. It is like a vast river in which man is caught, with all his worldly goods, his vanities, pains and knowledge. Unless he leaves all the things he has accumulated in the river and swims ashore, death will be always at his door, waiting and watching. When he leaves the river there is no shore, the bank is the word, the observer. He has left everything, the river and the bank. For the river is time and the banks are the thoughts of time: the river is the movement of time and thought is of it. When the observer leaves everything which he is, then the observer is not. This is not death. It is the timeless. You cannot know it, for what is known is of time; you cannot experience it: recognition is made up of time. Freedom from the known is freedom from time. Immortality is not the word, the book, the image, you have put together. The soul, the "me", the atman is the child of thought which is time. When time is not then death is not. Love is. 
  The western sky had lost its colour and just over the horizon was the new moon, young, shy and tender. On the road everything seemed to be passing, marriage, death, the laughter of children and someone sobbing. Near the moon was a single star. 




Absolutely beautiful! 






Be well!


Lotsa lovin!




...c

Back again n not so tired this time! 

Yesterday I went to see an old friend I hadn't seen in absolutely ages n it was great. N she lives about 2 minutes away from my place! Fantastix. Well I was gonna write fantastic but it's fantastix now=) There you go.. We talked about all sorts n there might even be a school reunion (grades 1 to 6, I don't really know what that is in wnglish or english either=) ala-aste for all you Finnish readers (all..?) ) That would be interesting, seeing people for the first time in 16 years. Wow.. N that brings me to good ol Switzerland n mountains! 

Majestic ol misty mountains I spent part of my youth under.. 

Dang beautiful things! N so human like in some ways.. Regrettably never got to go to the top.. my bro did tho.. said it was amazing as I can well imagine.. 

There's even a little restaurant on the tipedy top: 

View from top I believe.. Amazing photographer by the way! Found his pics just now. One David Kaplan  

http://home.fotocommunity.de/dmk/index.php?id=1427075 

Very good stuff. Really want to go back to ol Schwyz n get to the top of that mighty mountain! I really dig mountains. Beautiful things! 

Yez, yez. which leads me somehow to another of me "heroes" if you will, the saintly Jack Kerouac! 

Aah he was an angel of a man! (well not in real life I've gathered.. he was a bit of a shit really, but he wrote like an angel!) Really cool dude! Will find some good passages soon n put them up here. I think I'll go for my annual read of On the Road soon.. It sort of creeps up slowly n then that feeling just grows n grows n it's just perfect. N it's a pleasure every time!

(First edition cover. Not my favourite but couldn't find a good pic of it for this occasion..)

N from ol Jack I jump over to the fabulous Mark Lanegan! 

He's just the coolest dude. Been diggin him for a while now. I think maybe the greatest voice in rock (or any genre..) at the moment.. (or even ever.. hmm..) Beautiful, dark, brooder who seems to suffer for his art n cries n bleeds those words with such deep down low down mysterious soul n he delivers that poetry to you with such feeling that you feel it in ur heart n guts. 

  I'd like t see a film made of him n his journeys.. A big poetic film, kind of rough lookin, beautifully gritty n raw, wonderful landscapes, misty autumns n chill winters, rainy drunken nights in bars, n moody dawns in some forlorn ol town, n he cuts this poetry out of his hard life of toil n woe n love, such deep n passionate dramatic poetic love. That'd be a film! Maybe have Tom Waits play him (uncanny resemblance anyway.. looks n voice..)or that dude from Robin Hood who played Guy of Gisborne (had to look him up.. Michael Wincott)That would be sweet. 

Mark Lanegan's got an album comin out soon too. N I've got tickets to see him play in HKI. Lookin forward to seein him again! 

Good shit! 

N now fro the daily Krishnamurti:

You have only one head and look after it for it's a marvellous thing. No machinery, no electronic computers can compare with it. It's so vast, so complex, so utterly capable, subtle and productive. It's the storehouse of experience, knowledge, memory. All thought springs from it. What it has put together is quite incredible: the mischief, the confusion, the sorrows, the wars, the corruptions, the illusions, the ideals, the pain and misery, the great cathedrals, the lovely mosques and the sacred temples. It is fantastic what it has done and what it can do. But one thing it apparently cannot do: change completely its behaviour in its relationship to another head, to another man. Neither punishment nor reward seem to change its behaviour; knowledge doesn't seem to 

transform its conduct. The me and the you remain. It never realises that the me is the you, that the observer is the observed. Its love is its degeneration; its pleasure is its agony; the gods of its ideals are its destroyers. Its freedom is its own prison; it is educated to live in this prison, only making it more comfortable, more pleasurable. You have only one head, care for it, don't destroy it. It's so easy to poison it. 

he continues:

He always had this strange lack of distance between himself and the trees, rivers and mountains. It wasn't cultivated: you can't cultivate a thing like that. There was never a wall between him and another. What they did to him, what they said to him never seemed to wound him, nor flattery to touch him. Somehow he was altogether untouched. He was not withdrawn, aloof, but like the waters of a river. HE had so few thoughts; no thoughts at all when he was alone. His brain was active when talking or writing but otherwise it was quiet and active without movement. Movement is time and activity is not.

   The strange activity, without direction, seems to go on, sleeping or waking. He wakes up often with that activity of meditation; something of this nature is going on most of the time. He never rejected it or invited it. The other night he woke up, wide awake. He was aware that something like a ball of fire, light, was being put into his head, into the very centre of it. He watched it objectively for a considerable time, as though it were happening to someone else. It was not an illusion, something conjured up by the mind. 

Thar you go! 

Be well

Lotsa lovin

...c

No fading in tday.. 


Too tired..


Just wanted t post ol Krishnamurti's thoughts:


When you are driving, meditation seems to come so naturally. You are aware of the countryside, the houses, the farmers in the field, the make of the passing car and the blue sky through the leaves. You are not even aware that meditation is going on, this meditation that began ages ago and would go on endlessly. Time isn't a factor in meditation, nor the word which is the meditator. There's no meditator in meditation. If there is, it is not meditation. The meditator is the word, thought and time, and so subject to change, to the coming and going. It's not a flower that blooms and dies. Time is movement. You are sitting on the bank of a river, watching the waters, the current and the things floating by. When you are in the water, there's no watcher. BEauty is not in the mere expression, it's in the abandonment of the word and expression, the canvas and the book. 
  He was a short man, lean and hard of muscle: he had come from a far away country, darkened by the sun. After a few words of greeting, he launched into criticism. How easy it is to criticise without knowing what actually are the facts. He said: "You may be free and live really all that you are talking about, but physically you are in a prison, padded by your friends. YOu don't know what is happening around you. People have assumed authority, though you yourself are not authoritarian." 
   I am not sure you are right in this matter. To run a school or any other thing there must be a certain responsibility and it can and does exist without the authoritarian implication. Authority is wholly detrimental to co-operation, to talking things over together. This is what is being done in al the work that we are engaged in. This is an actual fact. If one may point out, no one comes between me and another. 
  "What you are saying is of the utmost importance. All that you write and say should be printed and circulated by a small group of people who are serious and dedicated. The world is exploding and it is passing you by."
  I am afraid again you are not fully aware of what is happening. At one time a small group took the responsibility of circulating what has been said. Now, too, a small group has undertaken the same responsibility. Again, if one may point out, you are not aware of what is going on. 
  He made various criticisms but they were based on assumptions and passing opinions. Without defending, one pointed out what was actually taking place. But--.
  How strange human beings are. 




Indeed.. (concerning that last line..)

Gnite! I'm out..




LOtsa lovin!






...c

Fade in:


Int. Flat - Night. 


(In fact that whole setting is startin to be a bit dull.. Let's try..)


Ext. Sunny beach hut, somewhere tropical - Day.




A young man, DASHed handsome, is sitting at a table in a comfortable beach hut looking out on a perfectly turquoise sea, clacking away at a typewriter. He is dressed in comfy linen clothes & next to him he has a nice cup of tea, which despite the tropical setting is very refreshing and actually cooling. 


(There! Much better!=) )

Soo tday I didn't go to work. I got up a bit late n ate n just kept thinkin I really don't want to go to work tday n I was feelin pretty awful, really exhausted n nauseated n frustrated n just ghastly. So at the last moment I decided to text my boss (who's also my best friend..) that man, I just can't make it today I feel worse than shit I'm takin a day off. Luckily it was pretty quiet at work but I still felt he'd be enormously fucked off with me. But I thought I'll just have to take his wrath n deal with it. Then he sent me an "ok" message (literally just "ok") n I thought, right, he's really, pissed off. But a moment later he texted again sayin he was sorry for the short reply, he was at the wheel n hope I felt better soon etc. Such a sweet ol guy! So I went back to bed to try n shake this darn nasty feeling off. 
Cut to: a couple of hours later.
I got up n still felt a bit weird. I finished my Fante book 

Brilliant stuff again! Tho not quite as good as Ask the Dust or Wait Until Spring, Bandini 

But still great! He's a master. Beautiful. 


So anyways I finished that n felt better soon. Then we went t Helsinki to get some foodstuffs n to a lecture at the archeology department, with the title:


An Anachronistic Dead End. Phenomenology and the Study of Embodiment in Archaeology. By Visa Immonen


So I was pretty much goin in there not expecting to understand a bloody word! But it was all very interesting ( at least the bits I actually paid attention to.. I kept wandering off on my own thought flights..) not that I can necessarily repeat what was said.. But it seemed to be about how.. well dare I even go into it? Maybe you should ask my girlfriend.. in fact, maybe I should ask my girlfriend! But I think it was about how archaeologists can figure out how people might have felt what they may have thought back then, by trying to experience it they way they did (or might have done..) by goin t certain places n figuring out what it was like then etc. 
n it was all very interesting n made me think about studying n a whole bunch of other stuff too. 


Then we got home n made food n M came t pick up Roosa n here we are. 


Now the daily Krishnamurti quote:




It is good to be alone. To be far away from the world and yet walk its streets is to alone. To be alone walking up the path beside the rushing, noisy mountain stream full of spring water and melting snows is to be aware of that solitary tree, alone in its beauty. The loneliness of a man in the street is the pain of life; he's never alone, far away, untouched and vulnerable. To be full of knowledge breeds endless misery. The demand for expression, with its frustrations and pains, is that man who walks the streets; he is never alone. Sorrow is the movement of that loneliness. 
  He only discovered recently that there was not a single thought during these long walks, in the crowded streets or on the solitary paths. Ever since he was a boy it had been like that, no thought entered his mind. He was watching and listening and nothing else. Thought with its associations never arose. There was no image-making. One day he was suddenly aware how extraordinary it was; he attempted often to think but no thought would come. On these walks, with people or without them, any movement of thought was absent. This is to be alone. 


(the second paragraph isn't next in the text but I thought it explained things pretty well..) 

That's all folks! 






Lotsa lovin!






...c

Fade in:

Int. Flat - Night. 

A somewhat drowsy looking fellow is sitting at a lap-top. Suddenly along comes, none other, than Mr. Crippling Insecurity!

(in fact an old enemy of drowsy man's friend, the good & the just & the heroic, Abey.)

                             Mr. Crippling

                     (with a nasty evil kind of smirk &

                       sarcastic tone.. )

               

               Pray, tell me Mr. C, what do you 

               think you are doing? Do you honestly

               believe that you can do something 

               worth while or in some way 

               important? Now, we've been through

               this before haven't we my dear man.

               Let's not get carried away with

               such foolish things shall we..

          

                             Mr. C

                  Just fuck OFF Mr. Crippling! 

Right, enough weirdness.. Here I am again n earlier on I had all these ideas flyin around n was really lookin forward t comin home to do some bloggin n have a good ol time with it. But now that I'm actually here, I don't really fancy it that much after all.. I guess it was all Mr. Crippling's fault.. In any case, I'm just fighting through here n tryin t get this done cos otherwise it's just gonna be forgotten n I'll just go "well, I'm not in the mood.." or "I haven't got time.." (but waste it on other stuff..) or I'll always want to write when it's not possible, like on the bus or in the middle of a busy day etc..  

So here's a few things I wanted to put out there (actually I'm kinda tryin to control myself in that regard, cos in some ways I feel like posting a hundred things a day, all the videos n documentaries n all sorts, but then I'd like to have stuff each day so I'm tryin..=)) 

First was.. well actually let's start with a bit of music:

I was diggin this this morning on the bus n got really into ol Led Zep again. Bonham in fact bein the main reason for me wanting to play the drums way back when.. He really makes them drums sing old Bonzo. Beautiful. 

He was an animal! Brilliant dude. 

Yes n the second thing I wanted to get there out was the amazing Bruce Lee! 

Yass, the man hardly needs any introductions!

Been diggin the dude since I was a wee lad. He was a really interesting guy & he's got loads to learn from! N not just how to kick peoples asses really well! He's much more than just kickin & punchin! 

I'll rummage round for some good quotes & I'll stick 'em up here soon.

This here is gonna be out soon n will be interesting to see...

N here's the interview from where the much quoted "be water my friend." comes from. (or at least the bit which is in the doc.. I think the original is in an episode of Longstreet..)

Fantabulous man indeed! More of him later. 

And then to another wonderful dude who went around town by the name of Jiddu Krishnamurti.

A very beautiful man indeed! N one of the things I thought I'd do would be to post a piece of Krishnamurti's journal every day. I put one up on FB a couple of days ago n thought I'd do the whole thing here. He usually started off with a description of nature around him n his walks n so forth n then he goes into what ever problem or thoughts he had at the time. So I'm gonna put down those thoughts for ya n you can do what you please with these. 

Here goes:

Krishnamurti's Journal 1973

Any form of conscious meditation is not the real thing: it can never be. Deliberate attempt to meditate is not meditation. It must happen; it cannot be invited. Meditation is not the play of the mind nor of desire and pleasure. All attempt to meditate is the very denial of it. Only be aware of what you are thinking and doing and nothing else. The seeing, the hearing, is the doing, without reward and punishment. The skill in doing lies in the skill of seeing, hearing. Every form of meditation leads inevitably to deception, to illusion, for desire blinds. It was a lovely evening and the soft light of spring covered the earth. 

(thought I'd leave the last bit in there anyway..=)) 

N that was the first of his entries. 

I'll finish off with a strange little poem, I guess you could call it, I wrote on the bus one day last week. It probably doesn't make much sense.. I just let go n this is what came out:

                        Oh the sour smelling

                        symphonies of

                        sound. & the 

                        manyfold pretty

                        petite ribbons of 

                        gold n dust hangin

                        from dirty old trees

                        in the growing grey

                        brown dusk of our

                        days.. Solitude

                        soulstreams of

                        abundent thoughts

                        on dreary white    

                        clouds swiftly

                        wofting away these

                        simple queens n

                        riders of silent

                        suburban frosty

                        slumbers

Until we meet again!

Lotsa lovin

...c