Today is just a day I want to be away.

My two favorite things in life are libraries and bicycles. They both move people forward without wasting anything. The perfect day: riding a bike to the library.
— Pete Golkin

Perception and Sensation

A man during night

A man during night

She is disturbed. How can I be stuck in a bed with such a weak creature as she?
Her defenselessness was attractive once… on cold nights through snowed parks. It was so easy then to soothe away her fears with my hand against her reddened and goose-bumped cheek. I feel so distant from that alien thing in our small bed. She cries for help night after night.

I have not touched her since the honeymoon, she is too busy for it. Nights of sweat and screams, of shivers and shuffles are more company to her.
Why won’t she stop?

I tried at first to be there, but quickly she drifted farther to insanity. She knows not what goes on with her. When we used to talk, she’d always say she was afraid. But of what? And to that question she could never find an answer.

So, I learned by now how to hide from her night terrors…

Slowly with time, when she’d wake all unsettled, I no longer cared to hear her say she didn’t know why.. I simply, with so much ease, ignored her…

I hope she never finds out that when she wakes… I too wake, and I am there by her side… silently faking sleep, until her panting soothes away… then I sleep.

A girl during night

A girl during night

Shaken from breath i was (tonight), and in trying to recapture the air that was so quickly leaving me-

 empty…

i awoke to the leaving night. 

Farewell stars, 

 if such fright did not come to me by night, i would wish you to stay by my side. But,

i am awake now, i am here now. i am no longer there.

No one can explain to me how horrible visions come to me under a blanket of beauty as is the moon and its sewn on stars. 

i have done nothing wrong… i swear it. 

i have seen nothing disturbing… i swear it.  

i turn my head to see if i have bothered him- again.

No-

He is still and asleep.

i envy him.

And although he does not love me back… i love watching him …

and feeling him sleep through my fear. 

The silent yawns of tiredness are overpowering me…

My eyes are falling, 

But

 i can’t go back there.

Where are the wild things... in our minds but ALSO in the Wild...with the Wild

Depending on their organization, groups must have cognitive properties that are not predictable from a knowledge of the properties of the individuals in the group. The emphasis on finding and describing "knowledge structures" that are somewhere "inside" the individual encourages us to overlook the fact that human cognition is always situated in a complex sociocultural world and cannot be unaffected by it.

The phrase "cognition in the wild" refers to human cognition in its natural habitat - that is, to naturally occurring culturally constituted human activity.

Instead, I have in mind the distinction between the laboratory, where cognition is studied in captivity, and the everyday world, where human cognition adapts to its natural surroundings. I hope to evoke with this metaphor a sense of an ecology of thinking in which human cognition interacts with an environment rich in organizing resources.

-Edwin Hutchins "Cognition in the Wild"

(my professor- the father of Distributed Cognition according to Wiki... only he is not fond of the wiki page... very not fond of it)

what does it mean?

I don’t know who he was.
But I was in a crowd of vivid faces. Yet, paid them no attention.
There was only one figure that I cared about.

I could stare at him and never bore.

He tugged at his hood as he would lean forward. At random his cheeks would cave in, as if he was showing off cheekbones, but he wouldn’t do it on purpose it was just his manner. He wore grown-up shoes; brown. And he never touched his hair.

It was black- his hair.
short, and curved with a slightly wet-looking effect, like it was almost dry but not;
he had a right side bang that hung in a half loop.

It attracted me the way it highlighted his nose; thin but not high in the air. He wore jeans but I was more drawn to his ring.
A silver polished plain one that he wore on his thumb.

He looked at me and then I woke up.

can we handful things

how can wrists be so rough
and fingers clasped in a hand so sure of vulnerability
at the now of the event,

if ever something that weak
hit reality- to the point of returning to it's weeded real,
if ever it untouched back into that distance,
the wrinkles at the bend of the finger would stop
accumulating

i am here as my finger runs up to your knuckle
softly we warm playful trails that start from the tip of the nail
and lead to the veins and bone attempting to scratch out of skin

help! i don't need somebody.

i have not written
much of anything

i think i am sick.


since i've been back
i've fallen
changed
with
my thought occupied


my mind still writes
but
i have not let it write

i will.

translate this for me, please

little goodbyes;
it's easier that way-
to not tell you i'd miss you.
it's so you'd stay a memory
it's all for the best

i really don't love you
but
how do i say
i don't love you
but
i love holding your hand

how do i say that i enjoy you liking me-
and that being what i love,
what i'd miss.

so when i say
my little goodbyes
with a hug
and a kiss
i will miss that

just that

a room with a view

a had a view
that could inspire
even the weakest of feelings

where the wild things are, where the sidewalk goes on

it has been a while
i've returned
but
it's as if my mind was elsewhere

where i was
is where i want to be

where i am now
i am coming to dread

if ever i get a to leave
i know where to run to

there is this place i know
where i've been


















how do
i
fly away home

when i have found a place i want to call home
but
a place that i am not ready to sacrifice for

dead as night...

as windows open
in summer heat

i keep doors shut;
the shadows scare me.

as streets get lit
in invisible black

i mumble into sleep;
i need someone to talk to

about
how
i’ve been chasing nothing into the heart of dark.

no regrets

No one knows but
I
Wrote a letter.

And
I sent a messenger to deliver it

By now
It is read.

return of me

Tired-

But i arrived at the terminal

With no regrets.

i went to forget

and

i forgot,

as all crushed souls

do

soon enough.

it was an accomplishment

just to feel,

again-

the disabling stomach flutters.

while i was gone:

i did not fall in love

it was more like i

fell out of

whatever i was in

before i left.

hello.

hello.

you've reached the voicemail of -------
i am currently out of the office
or away from my desk.

sorry i was unavailable and cannot take your call.

enjoy the rest of your day.
thank you.

{i'll be out of the country until next month, it should be fantastic.}

"to forget one's purpose is the commonest form of stupidity"

Nietzsche

american dreams

the bikeriders and beyond
- Danny Lyon

l'enfant

disappear

fifteen years later.

again,
saturn's rings disappear
reflecting no sunlight.

and in fifteen years time they will disappear,
again.

e.l. trouvelot

{but does it float}

total eclipse of the sun

aurora borealis

the planet jupiter

the great nebula in orion

solar protuberances

morning talk of spirits

facing doors
bring shadows at night
moving to the trembles of your eyes
dark figures
that leave you in the morning

at breakfast when you mention them
you speak of them as monsters

but
when you’ve grown
you speak of them as lovers
that left you at the altar
standing alone in white
with black suits and their eyes facing you up there
alone.

heat

if the heat does not stop
soon
newspapers will
burn
in a tin trashcan

beauty is going to absorb
into atmosphere
as simple as
boiling water

just watching
the fire
burn
the pot
and boil
the water
is enough declare this the hottest day

long
fire
burning
day

60 and then another song will begin again.

60
seconds.

funny things happen.
like the sun keeps shinning.
there are happy people despite your misery.

people keep smoking despite surgeon's warning.

people still apply to medical school. Harvard medical.
divorces are 50percent of every new marriage's fate.
the philosophy major still has applicants every year.

funny things not so funny happen.
but funny.

50

50
seconds.

40

40
seconds.

30

30
seconds.

20

20
seconds

10

ten
seconds

all the world is a stage

oh, all i want:
something to smile at.


everything is a new york minute.
with everyone it's a new york second.

update

i just found my favorite song thanks to my good friend Achlee.

bob dyaln covering tim harden - and that is love.

http://insearchofthemoon.tumblr.com/

{i used my tumblr to post this, i like tumblr; it's like a little electronic treasure box.}

psychology

i have a hard time talking to people.
how does one communicate? hardest task.
i literally sometimes stutter, mumble, and slur my words.
i should probably work on it, since i want to be a speech and language pathologist.

dream job: working with the Autism Spectrum Consultants

night thoughts

i am packing for a trip.
it is about time i leave for something.
i invited a few friends to come, we fly out the 13th.
i guess i got really tired of watching everyone else but me leaving.

things to pack:
35mm film
paper and pen
boots
leather jacket
id (the Freud kind and CA license as well)

i might soon call it a night.
goodnight.
the heat is unbearable.

A piercing image of Phineas Gage - Los Angeles Times

A piercing image of Phineas Gage - Los Angeles Times





July 16, 2009
Reported photo of Phineas Gage found.
In the cog sci text it's always the skull that we exam, Harlow's reports, experiments, etc.- i'm glad they have given him face. Even though it might not be him, i like knowing that there was someone who was Phineas Gage.

September, 1848

Phineas Gage
PHINEAS GAGE (1823-1860) is one of the earliest documented cases of severe brain injury. Gage is the index case of an individual who suffered major personality changes after brain trauma.
{History of Neuroscience}

His contractors, who regarded him as the most efficient and capable foreman in their employ previous to his injury, considered the change in his mind so marked that they could not give him his place again. He is fitful, irreverent, indulging at times in the grossest profanity (which was not previously his custom), manifesting but little deference for his fellows, impatient of restraint of advice when it conflicts with his desires, at times pertinaciously obstinent, yet capricious and vacillating, devising many plans of future operation, which are no sooner arranged than they are abandoned in turn for others appearing more feasible. In this regard, his mind was radically changed, so decidedly that his friends and acquaintances said he was "no longer Gage."

HARLOW report

[The tamping iron] entered the cranium, passing through the anterior left lobe of the cerebrum, and made its exit in the medial line, at the junction of the coronal and sagittal sutures, lacerating the longitudinal sinus, fracturing the parietal and frontal bones extensively, breaking up considerable portions of the brain, and protruding the globe of the left eye from its socket, by nearly half its diameter. {HARLOW}

don't let dreams deferred dry up

the story of Delcan Jean Jone

how confused the stars are
when your telescope is not pointed at them.
your little boy eyes
collide them together- for this instance
to break
the continuum of star upon star
burning out.

your eyes close
by shutter speeds
and your eyelashes flash

the sky is almost done with night

in photographic mind
nothing lasts more than seconds
of a life
of a dimming star.

the moon will crater
the sun will end

but you were once there.
looking up to there-
with your little boy eyes
alternating turns
in the frame of a
telescope lens

three hours

when the caffeine is to the point where it is almost done
with you-
the bottom of the cardboard cup
is an etchy sketch.

a play thing
for a tired girl
of
a
three hour of sleep night

the things we play as children-

sleep deprivation,
a fun game,
so well
complimenting to
not eating.

when
i skipped dinner
you said i was going to die.

i don't mind that you said
it.

i am just bothered that there are not enough
coffee grains
at the bottom of this cup to
tally up
the number of nights
i have not slept.

sunflower fields are a never with you.

the other night there was a guitar by the window-
it played
like it had loved someone once.

if only it could play like it loved someone
now.

it was as if all its cries where stuck in its throat

morning times

in morning fogs
the devils ring doorbells

and the half-awake
answer the demonic calls
only to be met
by
morning fog of
industrial left-over

so the half-awake
make it back to bed
only stopping once for a piss

then back to bed
..only to wake the half-asleep.

but with a forehead kiss
it's back to dead slumber
with
morning fog
about the bedroom.

Cyrano de Bergerac

"What if she turns out to be a prude--or an intellectual? I wouldn't dare speak to her, I don't have the brains. The way people speak and write nowadays makes my head hurt. I'm just an honest, simple, terrified soldier."

- Edmond Rostand, Cyrano de Bergerac, Act 1

dark hours

She tells her love while half asleep,
In the dark hours,
With half words whispered low;
As earth stirs in her winter sleep
And puts out grass and flowers
Despite the snow,
Despite the falling snow.

Robert Graves

fire fourth floor.

it's been less than a month @ my new place and my building, more specifically my floor, has already caught on fire.
no it wasn't my fault, that day i wasn't making popcorn
{i've almost burnt down my college dorm room last year with microwave smoke from five attempts at making popcorn}
we were all outside for a while watching the firefighters fuss around the smoke and fire
i had just been out buying ice cream, my ice cream melted in the wait.
the fire,
it was contained, it only damaged the apartment where the fire originated in
point is
i am glad my apartment has not caught fire.

{pic: Nothing is New}

Good then Gone

i'm good, i'm gone

The Lykke Li
video i really wanted to post was {with the members of the shout out louds} was disabled from embedding so here's the link instead.
MUSIC VIDEO

moon landing

"Here men from the planet Earth first set foot upon the Moon. July 1969 AD. We came in peace for all mankind"

40 years ago
man landed on the MOON.
on a summer day of july 2oth.
























{Neil Armstrong}

the country life {part 1}

los dias de mi padre

Father
He was a child once.
A kid baseball player of bone and dirt.
Grown to be satisfied with a meal a day.
It was the country; a village of no electricity, no running water to
clean sweat.
But a river ran through for the folk-story-believing mothers to hand wash;
a river there to entertain the poverty.

Being born to the 1954 of such a place is a reality of few.

Father
didn't stand a chance;
the oldest of the boys in family of nine
means the first male born is crowned a man
by default.
It breaks you hard but makes you, as day by day, you
realize that it's another day of reckless youth.
Those family things keep you awake;
those ties to your blood
are the promises that kept you awake from dream;
Fighting your way through makes the Darwinism philosophy.

One of the most over-told memory;
spoken of at the dining table, over wine with my Father,
is that of academics.
Drinking to seventeen percent alcohol at present day tables,
it takes cheap Trader Joe's wine then,
Father's
confessions begin;

Father
never made it past sixth grade
after a few years of tries,
attempts to pass,
he was done.
failure is sour in a mouth of a man carrying our last name.

Grandmother tried to fix the "mess",
as ordered by Grandfather.
Bribery the best tool of a country woman.
Morning came she made it to the school house;
with a chicken from Grandfather's brick and cement barn.
It was a clucking poultry for diploma offer.
The Professor's answer is a mystery of memory.
Father to this day, does not know if he even got his sixth grade diploma.

stress-free is lie

stress

down and out

"It is a feeling of relief, almost of pleasure, at knowing yourself at last genuinely down and out. You have talked so often of going to the dogs - and well, here are the dogs, and you have reached them, and you can stand it. It takes off a lot of anxiety."

{George Orwell}

i don't want to.

i don't want to get over you.


I don't want to get over you.
I guess I could take a sleeping pill and sleep at will
And not have to go through what I go through.
I guess I should take Prozac, right,
And just smile all night at somebody new,
Somebody not too bright but sweet
And kind who would try to get you off my mind.
I could leave this agony behind which is just what I'd do if I wanted to,
But I don't want to get over you cause
I don't want to get over love.
I could listen to my therapist, pretend you don't exist
And not have to dream of what I dream of;

I could listen to all my friends and go out again and pretend it's enough,
Or I could make a career of being blue
I could dress in black and read Camus,
Smoke clove cigarettes and drink vermouth like I was 17 that would be a scream
But I don't want to get over you.



{lyrics: The Magnetic Fields}

we cannot go but let's go there

when the coffee blacks sink

they fall below;

sink down to dark.

far

until i cannot tongue my way to them.

there's no doubt that my lipstick already smeared

but 

coffee is all i need

today.

so i continue to reach

for the coffee blacks

, all sunken below,

in the corners of circles

where the titanic could not go.

duration of a coma

wicked wakes and frights by night,

but it's all in your mind.

sweats of yellow stain gowns, 

but you stay there.

without wind to dry;

and to take away those thoughts-

away, it'd take 

the duration of a coma.

L'Amour de Pierrot

my mind
is off
but it's not my fault
it's the
strong spatial low-pass filtering.

i guess our minds no matter how good they are at adapting and compensating; they make errors.
this just proves how our environment can trick our minds.

or maybe we just want to believe there really is something more.




{1905}

the same thing is getting old

you never know how wretched you've become
until others do the thing you do
so wrong. they ruin the things you once did so well
or shall i say the thing you did so secretly by the examination halls.
but it takes a while to hit you well-
then you realize
that you don't want to be like the ass in 4434
that lights up around his two-year old daughter.




there's a time and place. just never around children; they didn't choose you, but your're in their life so grow up, ass.

romantics of the travelers {what you told me}

i'm not looking to fool no one with these beats
i sure as fuck don't fool you

just know
it ain't the rocks i threw that broke your window-
Na, it was the hot summer heat,
that expanded and broke glass,
but i'll admit my part in it.

i hit rocks up to fly to Chuck Berry
i don't mean him disrespect, i just mean for you to let me in.

i would be different if i had the dimes to buy a cycle,
but i have no grease to be one them oil heads,

listen to this,
we'd dine out real fine.
in highway dinners,
we'll talk of being more refined than corner gas stations
but there's no thing that will keep us from
hot dogs on summer nights.

let those freedom fighters watch us cycle into their -
fireworks.

blow your hair in the winds

the way you wash ketchup stains
off
my sweat smudged shirt
keeps my grin.

you don't know, but
i'd give my pocket knife
just to be two old fools
love-sick over the newspaper collection
at whatever public library
of wherever we find
ourselves
in.

a day in the life of... somebody else.

there are railroad tracks worth exploring
before the flying cars boot Amtrak
out.

Na, it's not worth a hoot, to be howling harmonics
at the moons.
Morning brings those rail machines 'round here.

waking me blind with commotion
conductors they orchestrate
so i'm keeping stutters to the vinyls

make an artificial light shine

the dream came back,
i had misplaced it, i guess.
it always comes back to me.

i wish i could misplace cowardliness.
i tried to misplace nightmares,

every time it happens, my mind no longer stays on the force
of two ton metal.

i scattered glass on the freeway
now
i think and process in scattered scenes;
scattered photographs are just becoming clear as scattered glass and bending metal.

{ffffound}

/i wouldn't love you any less/

<< You've got your saints and your sorrows/ And I've got my ghosts/ And what's killing me now/ Is gonna kill us both/ And if time is a factor/ The only one that we face/ Like lines on a map/ You can try to erase/ But it doesn't change a thing/

No, it just makes a mess>>

{pic: ffffound}

late news

a week back i was reaching for my shot glass and brandy when i cut my finger real deep on glass.
i was dry sober so i remember how
it hurt so bad.

i almost fainted; i guess since then i am only able to drink wine.
i'm sure i'll get over it soon enough, but as insensible as this sounds:
i think this proves i'm only a tequila girl.

i need to get over drinking it is too dramatic for my liking;
it's a good thing i've become afraid of opening my bar cabinet.

in other news
i am reading more about old Mexican folk tales

there's this belief where my parents grew up that witches came by night to suck up baby blood. In order to keep this from happening, the elders would order that there be scissors hanging by the room in which the baby was sleeping. This apparently kept them away.
The logic to this; well these things never follow logic, it's always fear and hope.

she watches from her window with a view

you have a room with a view
of a California palm tree
but the guys next door watch porn, so you close your blinds
on summer nights.

the coffee is bitter of Columbia stink;
so
tally the scratches on the wall
of nights of insomnia

these
firework nights
it don't matter
that we don't know where we go

those people doomed to photographs
don't wine taste like we

its 2am outdoor alcohol
see how
by candlelight we sweat

we sit
salty and shining by the moon.

the suns don't shine
and gods don't smite
tonight only americans explode bombs in our sky.

this is what i've come to trust.

morning after morning.

{ffffound}

why is it that we always finds ourselves at the docks

at 3am
shine a flashlight on me and you'll see that i am not there; it's not four years ago.

i told you i wasn't stardust,
i'm just broken glass
the broken beer bottles by the Henry Fonda parking lot

our walks recklessly never on tempo leave me exercised
the moon songs on the radio, they don't mean we'll be there for each other

i can't see the start of things, that you said was in my lips
and i broke the glasses that you fell in love with
But you still won't leave me alone.

further and further away i want you gone

i need to be left

i can't shake the smell of your nicotine stains
there's no way to
exchange this weak system

i was never a secondhand smoker until i met you
i was doing just fine

until
i saw your name spelled wrong on my run through echo park
and
at 3am i used spray paint to fix the misspelling on the tunnel wall.

i am trying to get big but this record is on repeat

<Get Big>

Once we get to the end of this song,
then it will begin again.
So you said,
in our bed.
I was watching light ship
through blinds to find your skin.


So take your medicine
and I won't ask where you've been.

Live your lost weekend.
I know you've wanted it.
Get big, little kid.

And I can't say why each day
doesn't quite fit the space
we saved for it.
But if that space now demands
that you throw up both your hands,
that you call it quits...

Take your midnight trip
I know you've dreamed of it.
Walk your sunset strip,
because I think you've needed it
to get big, little kid.

But just remember that our love
only got this good
because of those younger days
that'd you like to outstrip.
So drink your cup down
to the dregs and leave
that club shaking legs
with another guy,
but just remember: I'm not him.

Take your medicine and I won't ask
where you've been.
Live your lost weekend,
because I know you've wanted it
to get big, little kid.

And once we get to the end of this song,
then another will begin.

-OKKERVIL RIVER lyrics

in a muddle

i am in a muddle

there's so much that is stuck

i have a passport, that i kept with other stuff i rarely use.

Life and Picasso

i fell in love with Picasso when i was in Barcelona

it was the Picasso Museum of Barcelona that made me realize how passionate his works are.

 

I love what belongs to me, yet at the same time I have a strong urge to destroy. It's the same with love.- Picasso

music searching

lately i've been in the mood for wine,

 and music.

so i've been looking up artists.

enjoy. this is why i love music.

{glenn gould's piano skills leave me shuffled}

{there's nothing that i love more than being welcomed home from my day with music as i step onto the subway platform}

{edith piaf reminds me of my muddled heart and mind}

about my book search

sunday mornings

i wake up at 5:45am 

start my car with bob dylan and velvet underground tunes

get my newspaper and coffee at the 7-11

and head to the early bird old bookstore sales @ the flea market

recently i've been in the mood to find my childhood books

like 

Caps for Sale

Clifford the big red Dog

Frog and Toad 

Madeline

Little Bear

...

i've found a lot

and was really lucky at finding 1960-1970s 2nd, 3rd, 5th printings of my books.

i'm a 89-90s kid but i do not complain about vintage books.

i guess it's silly

but i get really happy when i find a book with prices of 50cents or 25cents  

i guess sunday morning's are my favorite time of the week. 

inspiration for the empty

i left my new apartment a mess.
well it had so much potential, until we got the hideous couch and coffee table.
i guess this means never again use school loop to buy furniture.

we have so much work to do before we get it up to living standards.
the thing is we are broke college students.

sigh.

Living nice doesn't mean spending a lot
it's just a matter of luck in trying to find everything
and coordinating the colors and arrangements.

i guess the grunge look will be okay
for now

well in the mean time we are bargain hunting for furniture.


Of course, inspiration is a must.
So here it is
my hopes and dreams:
{well some of them}

meditation solutions

there are things in my head
that i wanted to erase

i close my eyes

but the demons came in through the ommmms of my mouth

papa Buddha, grandpa Moses
you gave me a sucker
it passed the time with delight

i guess it's just common sense
to close my eyes
to close my mouth, stop breathes, turn purple and die

Fireflies in the garden

ROBERT FROST

fireflies in the garden

Here come real stars to fill the upper skies,
And here on earth come emulating flies,
That though they never equal stars in size,
(And they were never really stars at heart)
Achieve at times a very star-like start.
Only, of course, they can't sustain the part.

we are human; the world revolves around us

we are human.
we think in human terms.
there is no other perspective than the human perspective.

right?

i guess it's only human to attribute biological motion to non-living things.

like dots, those are just dots?

or not. the brain is funny, it sees humans in dots.
and moving dots are moving humans.

In his biomotion lab, Dr. Troje illustrates how movement, speed, direction, arrangement of lit up dots become human.



take a look:

The Biomotion Lab.

playing with the brain is fun.