journey typhoid Nothing shortens a journey so pleasantly as an account of misfortunes at which the hearer is permitted to laugh. 000205 ... camille I'm on one. 000206 ... camille http://www.zakros.com/chronic-art/sircisulna_56k.ram 000321 ... calliope i think i'm on a journey i like to stop and lie in the clover i hope i'm in the mountains damn her she stole my life 000322 ... camille again 000323 ... camille http://www.zakros.com/chronic-art/sircisulna_56k.ram and again 000323 ... camille i found this piece out there caught in the net,that i found interesting enough to share. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ According to the ancients I began my story at birth. I was the morning star that showed up at dinner time. My first billing clerk was my doctor's signature on my birth certificate. Now, as then, I was on the hero's great adventure cycle. I departed my parents home for vietnam in 1968 and returned in 1969. My adventure was into the heart of darkness. My ancient ancestors would see me as an aztec comet proclaiming the arrival of Herando cortez but my later Venice,Ca beach apartment would record me nearer to smog filled L.A. 1970's counter culture post beatnick beginning of new age melrose place. author unknown -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 000331 ... camille Overwhelmed and fascinated with the color visuals in my world where flowers so vibrant with color squished between your fingers like paint that your senses lifted you feet pulling trying to catch up with the vision you begin to fly ahead of me You were trying to take it all in, much too quickly I tried to reach you, Tried to hold you back, just a little yet you ran ahead of me "The color!!", I yelled laughing "The color!" Wait... "The color!" "It’s Too Much...Wait..!" Hahahaha This takes a while to load but it's worth it.. :o) http://www.goat.com/Movies/slope.mpg 000416 ... somebody JOURNEY TO THE END OF SELF by Charles R. Solomon When I came to Jesus For the cleansing of my sin, (John 3:3) My heart was set at peace As the Saviour came within. (2 Cor. 5:17) Looking to His promise Of a life of victory, (2 Cor.2:14) My faith was sadly taxed, As I struggled to be free. (Rom. 7:24,25) The burdens that I bore Were heavier day by day; It seemed God didn't care (Ps. 142:4) As I labored in the way. I searched for other means For relief from trials sore; No comfort could I find And I yielded to Him more. (Rom. 12:1) My Lord had heard my cry (Ps. 142) And began to guide my way; (Ps. 37:5) Tho' comfort was not giv'n He refused to let me stray. My strength was well nigh gone, And continued to decrease; Until there was no more And He gave to me His peace. (John 14:27) My heart was filled with peace That passeth understanding; (Phil. 4:6,7) I knelt in heartfelt awe My soul was not demanding. Tho' pain had been my lot, (Phil. 1:29,30) In His suff'ring I was blest; (Phil. 3:10) Crucified with Christ, (Gal. 2:20) I have found in Him my rest. (Matt. 11:28,29) 000428 ... stephen It says I blathed here. I didn't. No, wait. I have. The indicator is psychic. 000428 ... Seth I wonder where this journey ends? Six feet under? That thought scares me. That, at the end of it all, I become nothing more than a fading memory. Wow. The only hope I have is that my last thought won't be "What if...". I wonder where this journey began? In my mother's womb? That's another scary thought. The fact that a woman as evil as she be allowed to have kids. I sometimes wonder why I was put in the middle. Between my parents, between my brother and sister, between my dad and my step-mom, between my mom and my step-dad. Confusion. Depression. Anger. Hatred. People sometimes ask me how I know what love is, when I didn't grow up knowing it. I don't know. I do know what love is, though. The opposite of hate. Perhaps I'll find someone to truly love. Until then, I'll love everyone equally. Or hate them all equally. I'm not sure which. The journey continues. 000829 ... camille http://www.snarg.net/ 000919 ... camille http://www.zakros.com/chronic-art/sircisulna_56k.ram 001112 ... camille http://www.entropy8zuper.org/godlove/whispers/index.html 010507 ... tim palmer A distant journey, a vacant thought. Introduction: The standing still of time is on a pendulum of vice against virtue. A man, a creature of all innocent things, stands between the two fixed points that swing freely back and forth dictating its value. A creature, of which we call human, searches inevitably for the nonexistent realm of physical energy that dictates the balance between ones vice and virtue. Throughout this predestined life of constant convictions the creature, or human, lives in a state of purgatory. He is searching for an answer, yet his search always seems to be incomplete; and for reason that this man or this human cannot explain, he sleeps. Through a motionless, innate and sluggish journey our creature- a perfect mold of HE Himself (HE being defined in most Western religions as God- the all powerful and infallible being of creation. And no human form can absorb such an eminent being of energy- so as the story goes HE creates man in His own image) learns and entire databank of tactics and skills to carry him through his internal matriculation. As in study hall the student, or human, begins to drift asleep. Unable to concentrate, loosing all his ability to comprehend, his body is shutting down to a stagnant level. This is a level where he can obtain a strategic point of relaxation. Does he do this in his mind or in his body? (A question which can be only answered by his sleep.) Dreaming –Vs- waking/life. Once this creature, or student begins to awaken from his forsaken slumber his purgatory, or his vessel of life, is still in a Pg. 2 Sense dim. He is forced to carry on to his next scholastic challenge or his next confrontation. He is still vibrant with disillusion, his mind is chattered with yesterday’s filtration’s and tomorrows ambitions. He cannot come immediately to his senses. In a sense, he is still in his utmost stage of imagination. The student beckons for reason, begs for answers and still he finds that he is unbalanced and boggled for any restitution. A man without his senses would be as distant from the world as possible. These are the types that you will find being themselves. They have a way about them that encapsulates them into every category of life. They are trying in all actuality and every physical aspect to be a chameleon. Their concentrarion lies upon what is corrupt and incomplete. A student with a true corruption is bold in the sense that he sees in himself a man without any flaws or any type of recognition of a higher energy as powerful as he or more powerful than he is. Better yet, he is too blinded by his own superior enigmas, that he is bound by a consituttion of falsehoods that lead him to a path of misdirection. Understanding can only be met through confrontation, but if your concentration can not be directed properly, of what value do you then hold? If man would realize that he is only the creature that we call human and begin to concentrate on any given solution at hand, he could put away all the doubts and all the questions. With all of this, he would know in both his heart and his mind that he is true. ~ To all of those who have a question… ~ I. There lies a world, desolate and unashamed of it’s evil, where a creature is wondering aimlessly to search for every shrouded and ambiguous virtue obtainable in order to lead him to a life of pure spirituality. Man, our most frequent specimen of study has proven over time to fall flat on his face repeatedly. Does he fall without any ill intentions or does he fall with any fault of his own? It is believed that all men, through all their glamour and all their self-indulgent tendencies, fail! I believe that we humans are at fault for our constant failure. When one is trying to place blame, there are particular stipulations or underlying contengencies that weigh the result of any ruling or verdict. (Being tuned into the theory of Gestalt psychology, I do also believe that the result of a whole is more important than the parts of the whole.) To justify every course of action humans tend to place artificial blame. Most of the blame is redirected onto an object- thus this object can either be a physical or a metaphysical matter- but once the object has been chosen, our student then places upon it the objects value and it’s intentions. The result becomes a negation of any self-incrimination. At this point our student, or man himeself, has already used a tactic called denial to vanguard against any “peanut-gallery” jeering or outside banter, which may intrude into his devious plan. (His plan, if not yet identified, is to find any means justifiable to excuse or reason with his failure). Over the years, man tends to callus towards any uncomfortable chaffing in regards to his insolvency, but his ill-defined negligence has no scapegoat to hold. So naturally, our student begins to weaken. His efforts to obtain his spirituality are discarded like useless sheets of paper to doodle and mark upon freely. He sees in himself a full canvas. He sees a page worn and torn with all of yesteryears lessons, trials and tribulations. In addition, like a book, he finds that his story can be read on one page and yet another. Of what title should his annotated biography take? How must he doctrine it’s contents and supersede and speculations of forgery? A title mist be chosen (how else can you judge his book by it’s cover?)! More over, by any means necessary, he will place this title upon his book- his title may include all that encapsulates the pages in his mind, or it may be given an appropriate misnomer to influence the direction one will take upon reading the title page. Regardless, out student is impressed by the title he had placed on his book. As our student begins to write, a sudden discomfort comes racing through his veins. He questions his credibility, he questions his knowledge and he questions his intentions, but furthermore he continues to sketch upon his blank canvas creating a story that he may file as the excuse. If you look closely, out student has now used a classical conditioned response. He demonstrates that after being rewarded repeatedly with petty substitutes of natural desire, our student has learned that if he gives a response (most rewardingly the correct response) he will undoubtedly be rewarded. Without he having taken any responsibility for his failure, he has somehow found an impenetrable, blame free and rewarding solution. What this human has not learned is that his solution is fallible, and Mother Nature can be credited for this. As the seasons change, so does the weather. To go even further abstract, image the season being a significant resemblance of the cycle of life. There are four major categories in that cycle: (1) childhood (2) Young Adulthood (3) Adulthood and (4) Retirement. Every season flows and follows into each other in a continual cycle. You can find snow among the fields during the early spring months, or rainfall to cool the sweltering heat blazing off the summers freshly blacktopped playgrounds. As each season moves in closer to one another, as they begin to blend- traces of each season slowly begin to fade away until the next predominant, aged cycle begins to repeat. The only differences between the two-mother nature and man, is undeniably the two distinct timelines in which each cycle follows. Being that mans cycle is spread through in a portion of years, and natures cycle is spread out in only one year increments, the comparison of the two must be view in retrospect to the irrelevancy of time itself. For the moment forget about the aspect of time; imagine that the two segregated timelines run in unison with or parallel to one another. In this set condition, Mother Nature run its course over the same timeline, in unison with, the cycle of life for human existence. Scholars have devoted countless hours and given endless efforts to obtain the ability to predict the weather. There seems to be an unexplainable fixation in society that is focused upon the simplistic value of the temperature and the overall outcome of the weather. There has been a technological war in order to have the upper hand in the prediction for the most severe natural disasters; yet, a prediction of sorts requires no logical rhyme or reason. At any given moment, Mother Nature can spawn on the innocent a natural weather phenomenon; she could alter her course of physical actions, growths, and bearings to be a complete alter ego of the original formation. It is my belief that man follows this same path. He can be predicted, only to a degree of allowance and his predictions are almost as valuable as gold nuggets. To obtain the ability to predict mans fickle behavior and tendencies will be worthy of a plaque or a beneficial reward. A mark in mankind that is waiting to be stumbled upon and once the human race can begin to predict the unpredictable, he can truly begin to understand that which has essentially rendered him stagnant. He will begin to open within himself a feeling of spiritual wholeness. Aside from the figh