When you read an archetype like the other, you perceive someone who is arrogant and controlling. A healthy human thinks "he is not who I am", but the other is the kind who shows he is. He is also an archetype of otherness in that one never understands quite what it is to be. Humanity resists definition. The other is the atrocious creature that isn't you, but really is.
There is never any real substance to anything; matter is a species of nothing. There is only form that we call matter. If we were to find what we call matter, that which is made into form, we would not be able to comprehend it, as we think in terms of form. When we see a piece of iron that makes up a radiator, we see the form of an electromagnetic event. The nucleus of an atom is made up of protons and neutrons and they are balanced by the electrons that orbit them. The electrons are negatively charged, the protons positively and the neutrons are have neutral charge. The shell of an atom, made up of the orbiting electrons, is mostly responsible for the qualities of that substance, but that series of electrons are balanced by the protons and the neutrons. There is here an arrangement of forces that make up what we think is matter, but that arrangement has a motive structure, which itself is composed of particles. There is then what the ancient Greeks called a logos to the atom, and what makes the matter of iron is a form that is material. The best way to describe the...more
Some what can seem to be one thing and appear to have captured exactly a happening what, but the direction of perception is wrong, usually. Reality comes as a series of folds and one needs to unfold whats in order to understand. Perception is part of this process, yet the folding-unfolding creates a blind spot.
Once when I was sleeping in the dark, heavy of dream, I was awoken by a scratching at my door. I thought it odd that one of my animals might be outside my condominium, so I performed a roll-call; all present and accounted. I looked through the peephole but saw no-one in the hall. Curious, I opened the entrance to my abode and found at my feet a medium-sized, purple frog, fully decked in a yellow cape and red hat. He seemed annoyed.
“I haven't been able to get in,” he said. “They sent me to the wrong section of your home.”
“Oh really?” I said.
“Yeah. I need to come inside.”
I stood in my pajamas deeply perplexed.
“May I?” asked the frog.
When he came inside, he flapped his cape and pulled out what looked like an electronic device, something like a small hand-held computer. He tapped it once and then shook his aggravated head.
“You know, I hate to ask, but can you get back into bed?” he said in an irritated voice, though I saw that he was not annoyed with me.
“You're supposed to be asleep when I arrive.” He looked at a...more
J and K planted a tree on the summit of the highest hill in their land near a brook with gurgling clear water, a great oak with leaves fullgreen and tender. It grew wildly and quickly, as rapid as oak trees grow, at least. It drew strength from underearth soil and shifted its roots into the dark organic dead around it, while the little creatures and minuscule entities made home bark and branch. Their oak soaked up the moisture from the air and drank liquid from leafy dew, sating its thirst from the rain that seeped into the ground. Its branches reached out into the out-there away from end of tree and though their oak did not see, it felt and made good the charites of a grown giving. It grew old as trees do and remained standing long and wide and into the years it reached out its outreach, rushed in heat of sun and pleasant breeze. And K and J and J and K loved and cared for the oak, together making it sturdy and vibrant. Years passed and they made home the shade under the branches and lived well without care – well, nearly without care at least.
A time came when J...more
There are many reasons why the Classics section of the Modern Languages department needs more resources and attention, not the least of which is the potential for a Classics presence. Classics at DePaul has not been given a proper opportunity to flourish and we cannot know the potential for enrollments until there is a Greek and Latin presence as well as a Classics major. A small DePaul Classics contingent has worked over the years to gain ascendancy and to solidify its presence, yet a lack of resources has hampered efforts. Classics has been allowed a minor, which has given ancient language studies at DePaul meager opportunity to function, and when resources are made available to the department they invariably go to language sections that have not only enough to function well, but also possess sufficient funds to continue arguing for more resources. Classics is not permitted a presence in department voting that decides distribution of funds. A full time, tenure-track presence will remedy this situation, but if a tenure-track position is not possible, DePaul can show its...more
Dana stopped near the side of the road and tied Aristippos near the bramble bush. He would stay, keeping the carriage in one place. Good boy. She was fortunate that no-one had seen it before she did. It would surely be gone already should someone have come along and seen it. Its chain was tangled in the green and browning thorns and branches of the angry bush. Its entanglement was why its owner had not taken it back, or maybe its owner did not know where it is, not yet know they lost it. Must be. She thought that it was a most beautiful object. Perhaps not the most beautiful ever seen, but the beauty and the originality steeped in tradition that it employed surrounded her mind with luminescent musing. It was, she supposed, an amulet, spherical and gold with strangely-formed words written all about and around. She was unable to discern all of the sliver-filled characters, could see that there existed a great many more than she perceived woven inside the sphere in many layers beneath the surface, more and more spheres inside spheres each embroidered with insight. She looked at it...more
The mat of blonde hair flopped down into his face again. He savagely threw it back atop his head. He leaned his well-cut arm around the divan and glanced at the wall with the many, giant shelves inset, myriad resting books and old compact disks, even some leftover videos lounging as though they had worked all day. He knitted his brows. The mahogany floor and the brass plating on the glossy-wood windows spoke to him as they always had. This his library scanned immense fifty meters or so, and it was the smallest room in the ever-expanding domicile. The lengthy field of fine fescue outside the manor and the multi-kilometered expanse of trees enveloped the home entire in silence. He thought he may want a Moules Mariniere, but then again no. Perhaps he wanted another woman. They were cheap, many times, and quite manipulable.
He may want to fly north; he was somewhat in the mood for skiing and cocoa at high altitude.
No. Not really.
He suspected work on another addition to the house would be his next thing, but there was so much of that, had been done...more
The path beneath him was black and warm. His beaten and faded sport-shoe disintegrating around his feet, he continued beyond what he perceived to be his tolerance. His clothing comfortable, clean denim, he enjoyed the sensation of recently washed garments, felt untainted and faultless. An unfortunate circumstance returned his stain regularly and as a result he developed a habit of cleaning his clothing frequently, more often than he was able to afford. He had walked so many kilometers that his count was lost. He retained some of the money that had taken him away from that circumstance, and each kilometer buried the event more deeply into the abyss of his psyche as long as he continued moving. He had almost returned to what he called “normality”, but much time would be required in order to submerge that memory amply, and the blot returned regularly. He considered himself a fair man, not necessarily good, certainly not a saint, but a decent man who refrained from harming others to the extent that they refrained from harming him. A man who was generous to friends and associates, he...more
Agnes pushed the porcelain figurine forward just a bit. What with a blue, floppy hat and the flowing dress its depiction of a young woman strolling was quite beautiful, she thought. It slide along the counter as she pushed it, but she didn't pick it up. The youthful stroller was too heavy. Everything around her came laden with weights and dripped as if drenched in some sort of fluid. She thought it was an oil of some kind. It fell exceedingly slowly from her body as it weighed down her limbs hands, and her feet almost dragged along the tiles. A drop would not hit the floor in an hour so slowly did it go from her body. She didn't want to touch anything, was afraid that anything she held would break, already broken. When she arose in the morning, her first thoughts pressed her back into the bed. She wanted to sleep more and when awake keep sleeping. The visit to Precious Porcelains had been a good idea, and it gave her a bit of levity and thus lifted her a bit lighter, but only a bit. She walked along the aisle and found an urge to stroke a collie on the glass shelf, eternally...more
“You're not serious.”
“I am. I'm quite serious,” she said.
“Why do you want to know?”
“I'm curious about what...transpires in there.”
“'Transpires,'” he said with some incredulity.
“Well, you may be disappointed. I'm sure that what goes on in mens'...place of...'exiting' is different than what goes on in yours.”
“Some of it is very much the same.”
“Granted. But you guys do all that primping and trimming and spreading of color.”
“I'm not sure what you mean.”
He knitted his brows.
“It's a magical place. Much moreso than your den of beautifying.”
“I remember when I first entered our sacred place. It was when I was still little, maybe five or six years male. It's the time that I recall, anyway. Maybe I entered earlier and have no memory of it.”
“Of course. Of course.”
“The door is naturally guarded by a man in a top-hat. Usually, the hat color is yellow or orange, but any hue will suffice. He's always happy to greet you and he has an...more
Tom squatted and examined the pile of fallen broken wooden branches around the Bitternut hickory. The stick was not proper, too thick and curved in the wrong manner. It would be unwieldy and awkward. There were all sorts of trees around him, and when he turned his view circle-round he was able to see from his squat much more clearly what moved and who was where. His uncle had taught him how to survive and observe in the wilderness. His headache had subsided a bit, but he still hurt.
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“Yap yap YAP yap yap YAP YaP yaP YAP.” “Yap yap YAP yap yap YAP YaP yaP...more
Preacher Marvin, dressed in a breathtaking tan suit with black lapels, spoke to a theater of believers who howled and hooted exultation. He delivered the message again: the good christian sympathizes with Others. He is compassionate with other creatures, and then preacher Marvin said that god gives us the earth to tend as we see fit, animals have no souls. He said “we” are the chosen people. He paced the stage before the pulpit and then circled round behind it. He banged his fist on the sturdy, gilded wood as he claimed that no other creature possessed a soul like man. Marvin then gradually walked out into the audience and touched the hand of an elderly woman, front row. She rose and hugged Marvin, saved and Halleluiah. She related to the audience how she had been lonely and afraid, near life’s end.
“No-one ought to fear death as long as they have Christ in their heart,” said Marvin.
He held the frail thing up before a great lake of geriatric eyes.
“You did?” asked John.