Perspective

Isn't perspective an interesting thing. To be convinced of something, and then to be shown something completely different. To be brought outside the box. It makes you feel closer. It makes you feel farther away. You feel bigger. You wonder how small you really are.

I wonder if I've every looked at the world from any position which could be construed as 'normal' or typical. I guess I was a pretty typical kid in a lot of ways. May be just in that I believed I was in receipt of the truth. But I have always had a desire to separate myself from the rest of the pack. I suppose that in it's self satisfies the condition. But none the less, my wish has been granted, or so It would seem.

I wonder what it's like for people to get up in the morning and look around them selves and assume they have it all figured out.

To see them selves as a part of this great "we" existing at the center of the universe. To view the things around them selves, and in deed them selves included, as the pinnacle of creation despite over whelming evidence to the contrary.

To be sure, being sure
is an exercise in futility.
The only thing I ever learn,
is the list of things I do not know
is growing at a far greater rate
than the list of things I do.

Imagine you are Galilieo. Staring up at the night sky thinking I want to take a better look. You build your self a telescope and peer in. What's this? The Universe appears to be a very big place. And such is the story of astronomy. Interestingly the Microscope was invented around the same time. Galileo even built one and peer in. What's this? The Universe appears to be a very small place. Such is the story of Science apparently. Such is the story of all creation I would postulate.

Infinite Nothing
or
Ordered Chaos
or
Paradoxical Logic

The position one stands in once in receipt of this perspective becomes a true conundrum. I have gotten to a point where I know so much that it has become impossible to have a conversation in which the other party doesn't express some view that is absolutely ridiculous. Everything that comes out of their mouth sounds like a complete farce to me. I want to argue. I want to point out what fools they are.

The older I get the quicker I remember that I can't prove anything. There was a time when I would interject but these days my brain is stopping the words long before they are formed into words by my mouth. All this knowledge and it appears to be going to waste, never to be used.

I want to stop everyone because they have it so wrong. I want to ask them "How can you be so convinced?" In the end I am held mute for now I know; I can't be sure.

Liquid Kiss

The pottery, named Yuanyang II, is one of the collections of Hong Kong Museum of Art now displaying at the Central Concourse of Hong Kong International Airport (HKIA). It is produced by Tsang Cheung-shing, a ceramic art tutor and product designer.

Yuanyang II is modeled in a distinctive form with two figures indulged in kissing each other. Their heads support two elegant cups for drinking tea and coffee. The form and concept design fully complement the theme “Yuanyang” (a typical Hong Kong beverage of mixing tea and coffee), a symbol of marriage and love, with a touch of humour for artistic creation.

Instructions for Making Love to a Goddess

A poem by Michael Graber:

Prepare for months before entering her
chamber: fast, do body work, drink pure
fruit juices. This is an altar, so be humble
or be humiliated by her shriveling pranks.
She knows what takes you to your knees.
Wait until she unties her hair before you
unbutton her blouse. Did you remember
to consecrate the encounter with a gift?
Listen with your hands. Scan her body for
parts too long untouched. Stay in the space
between total surrender and discipline.
Don’t be scared to ask her what feels good.
When she laughs, you will stagger, drunk.
The music her body makes sounds like
the world’s oldest hatreds and freshest
healings, waking the dead from trance.
As for speed, interpret your instructions
from the river. Be as intimate as food
in fire. With the ache of birthing, repeat
her name aloud as a mantra. If you’ve
gotten this far, your life has changed
shape and you awake in a country
where judges, sheiks and rabbis, even
dollars have no authority. The poem
you write must stand on its own. Yet,
you cannot sit for long after light breaks
your being. Here, you master patience.
Like a boat tethered to a pier, you are
tied to this dance the length
of her infinite satisfaction.