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| lunacy |
And why? And what is it? Was it a leak or was it truly on purpose so the masses could be further documented, manipulated and controlled? That would be up to you to decide.
This essay is on the Nineteen Sixties from the perspective of a 'thick' child. 'Thick', spoken with a hand gesture that swept above the head in an arch, was how 'it' was described. I could not face the fact of my own taking after 'Savant' my father's nick name. I was 'thick' as well. That was all we knew, and not facing facts directly was how we were able to try to live with ourselves. It was always time to get to work when all we needed was rest, too much rushing around for what? For nothing. People just want to be, and to work as a collective toward caring goals. Why are they forced to do just the opposite? That in Truth is not Just. A law of this universe is Live and Let Live. Don't break laws and don't steal, pretty simple and good, but why are our controllers always breaking the laws they set for everyone else?
So with my imagination and through the years I choose to transform through web art that arch over my head of thickness not as the barrier to relating to others but as a symbolic rainbow of faith and love of diversity in humans. As a link. Some beautiful person wrote that extremely elegant piece of code for all to see. Pretty simple code, but that is to date. Let's go back to the sixties.
The most 'elegant' piece of code has been described as that which creates a function with the least amount of characters.
Teenagers and college kids everywhere were acting out against the business of war. They were also sick and tired of being told to not express their sexuality. Confusion and violence ensued and they were only protest war and promoting peace through artisic expression of actions. They rebelled against their own invisible shackles and the real ones that were the 'business' of slavery and it's ongoing rampaging legacy. The poorer kids who did not get to go to college or were not young or old enough were 'drafted' which meant they were forced to go to 'the war in Viet Nam.' My white face was a masque of shame causing me anguished abashment at the prison that was controlling this planet and attempted killing of the bodies through genocide the most Elegant of Residents. Colors are in fact sacred, even the 'color' labeled white. Warriors are supposed to protect people but they were forced to ruin lives, others and thier own in the process. Humans as always work to adapt and survive. Why were they by the amount of money their parents possessed and the colors of their skin being forced to commit acts of atrocity in the name of stealing other countries resources? Grand theft on an inconscionable scale, in conjuction with raping Earth of her resources so viciously and totally disregarding human and plant life. The TV and the rampage drones on.
I am simply writing what I think/feel. Astrologically, with a sun in Gemini, the keyword is 'I Think'. I am not trying to control what you think by writing, I am simply expressing myself in struggling to interpret life on this beloved planet that we get to live on and with, even though she is in so much pain because all she wants to do is love universally.
Colors? Black and white and the spectrum of more beauty that we can see or try to interpret in our minds if we can't actually see. Light from the sun in our solar system shines on matter, reflecting the light and refracting the matter's different densities to create color. Again, and both symbolically speaking as well as direct, Color Is Sacred and no color or lack of color is better than the other, it just fits into the bucket or category of description that we humans know through language.
I love to wax poetic, and it seems to come natural to me with Neptune in Scorpio in the 12th conjunct the ascendant, but I will try to write direct here, even though my Mercury was Retrograde when I was born. The birth of having to be oppositional, and trying to interpret language in such a way as to relate to others. I am speaking ironically of the Natal Chart in astrology. I have been contemplating the naval this way, of my self, so I could then interpret others'.
Mother did not want to birth me, she was terrified of being pregnant and losing her social freedoms. It was not fair that woman had to stay at home and do all the dishes, cleaning and caring for when she had been forced to do housework since she was a toddler. So, before I was born I positioned myself to put each foot on either side of the womb tunnel where the light was. They called it a Breech birth and that is true. I was trying to help her by not being born but nature took its course and I was born in Lexington, Massachusetts because Father worked at MIT's Lincoln Lab.
Simply, and most importantly. From what I have gratefully read of others' writings in recent years, I now believe that human beings must have a choice of whether they want to go through the tunnel and be born yet a gain into the light.
Code and sybolism is direct. It states what it is verbally and pictorially. Why could not people be allowed to be that way? It does not make sense to me. What did I want to be when I grew up? I could not fathom. I loved cats, but breeding them did not make sense. I scanned all the vocations. None of them were direct. Business categories were not direct. As I did not know how to speak double-speak, saying the opposite of what I feel, then I can not relate properly in business.
So I tried to not speak. Speaking did not come naturally to me. I needed the full attention of one person to look into my eyes long enough so I could speak directly to them. Mother was worked too hard, forced to work jobs to make money AND care for home, children and the self, but if that statement is backward is it not. Must care for the self first so can care for others. Right. So I did not have the art of adding to conversations. This was not 'cool' and cause my mom great frustration, fear and disdain. I felt bad for my existance further as a result.
I was born a week before the summer solstice in 1961. So my interpretation of the revolutions of the sixties was from the perspective of a child. I found the sexual revolution to be, ew. Gross. Yucky. Too much to learn at too young an age.
My father was sworn by his employers to secrecy. He had truly wanted to be an astronomer, but they would not let him because he was not connected that way. They made him be a defence engineer instead. He knew many spoken languages as his father had insisted his boys go to college because he wanted them to wear shoes and have enough food. So father never told us about what he did at work to protect us but I badgered, but he never told me anything that was 'classified'. He'd sigh, say 'no child' with patience, love and sorrow, and go to his office to write code, even though it hurt him so badly.
Confusion and pain increased and I can only describe it as a tornado swirling above my head. Later I would wear my hair in a pony tail on top of my head and it was nick named 'the volcano' hair style by mother. It was funny so I laughed as well.
Only things father had done that were no longer that way. Carrying around those secrets was painful for him but necessary to make the money to buy the Cheerios. They were hard to swallow. All I was allowed to know to this day causes me dismay at the names of the places he worked, which I could interpret through the symbology that is Television Programming. Government War Contractors. I was in terror at the vocation of war and the mayhem and destruction it was causing to innocent people in Viet Nam. The conflict was exactly that, a con job to make money off of vicious killing, maiming and suffering on all sides. As I grew into a nine year old girl when that decade culminated, the spectre of nuclear disaster weighed more heavily on humans. That weight is suffocating now with Fukushima puking disaster into the Pacific ocean, killing and maiming sea life. Why is it swept under the rug so they can continue to profit on Nuclear Power? It is all so wrong, so destructive as to be unconscionable.
So the theme of my existance, and why, did not make any sense to me at all. I felt I did not deserve life.
MIT's Lincoln Labs meant we went to Kwajalein Atoll for two years to shoot dumb dummy missles up into space to see if they flew where they wanted them to go. My beloved brother was gestated and born there and he wanted to be born so it did not almost kill my mother so she did not scream as loudly. The nurses and doctors at Kwaj were not instructed to be as cruel as they had three and a half years earlier on the mainland.
So as an act of rebellion, I value survival. I love our home, beloved earth. I realise that magic is not smoke and mirrors but simply that which occurs, and cosmically so which makes sense to me as we are literally part of the cosmos.
Learning anything. The art of observation. Art is all that truly matters. Humans are compelled to create. So. Caring and kindness is one of the finest arts. All the other arts come after that in line of what you like best. Pick a color. Pick an art. Art appreciation is also an art. So is, even, learning anything.
So.
Art. Appreciation or otherwize. On your own or infused through business or the art of working, even any old job. Be yourself and try to smile through the pain. Try to have fun. That is also how I was raised.
Care for yourself first so you may care for others. I have tried to stay to myself and be quiet because I was raised to mean-mouth-back in defense. As an act of caring toward others, I present this essay from the perspective of someone 'gifted' with autism spectrum.
We are all gifted with life. It's what we do with it. It is be a choice, to live, not a compulsion. I choose to life and struggle to find beauty in life. My own way to rebell?
That is a gross generalization and I was later also through learning to behave better than that, to 'better' myself so I can behave kindly toward others. To love music, and art through colors, even on the Spiderz Web that can describe the internet. It is sometimes difficult to practice the Art of Kindness in our society but it need not be that way just look to the Art of Caring in Business, and another acts of rebellion.
Who am I? Just another jerk. However, I beg to differ and oppose that notion.
Corporations are not people. We all are people. It is only Just to let us love bees.
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