Tag Archives: remix

a personal story remix

This is a personal story. All stories come forth from an experience or a moment of reflection that results in a revelation of circumstance, but this is simply a personal story. Nothing more and certainly nothing less.

planetarium

2 Comments

Filed under story-telling

universal truths – understanding remix

photo by kris krüg

photo by kris krüg

Universal truths tend to exist outside of themselves in a stillness that is eloquently unavoidable. Such truths can be spoken about in different contexts by various minds to pinpoint the center of such their essence. The beauty of universal truths is not so much in their undefinable definitions being coherently understood by the masses at the appropriate moment. Their actual beauty exists in the spontaneous realization at any approximate moment of understanding, with each understanding being held intently with the mind for which it is perceived upon. The universal element of such truths is the resonance that they create within us upon impact. When a building collapses upon itself with the greatest of all destruction. everyone inside gets hurt but their hurt is witnessed in emotional, physical and spiritual differences. The commonality held between them is the metaphorical hurt.
We can not escape such universal truths for when they reveal themselves they connect with the residual pieces of themselves that live in all of us. The primordial split has left dent, bruises, twigs, bits and leaves inside hidden corners that have never caught blown away in the commotion to wind ourselves into the frenzy of the unconnected. Some have spoken of this origin within the context of the primordial ooze. This idea of the primordial ooze is for which everything has come from and thus out of creation has everything been touched by the same creating essence with residual ripple effect. A ripple divides upon itself with each diligent descent but never entirely disappears. We have heard the principle of a butterfly’s wings creating the force for which halfway around the world manifests a powerful sea storm. If the universal truth plays upon the potential power of the movement of a small creature such as a butterfly, one can imagine such the power play upon a universal truth that is rippled upon the minds of connected and the unconnected that can instantaneously shatter hearts like glass upon pavement with the intensity of realization.

photo by kris krüg

photo by kris krüg

A benign example of this idea of a universal truth can be held in the space of a scream. The very thought of a scream contextually references the dark and unknown in everyone’s initial existence but the truth actually held is far greater. When a scream is issued into a space of the unknown with variables far greater than the mind’s eye, I canter to the idea of universal truth being the complete of awareness of the felt power. We experience the scream by its connection to the scream living silently inside of us. We truthfully unlock the presence of the residual image of our own scream and thus universally, feel the presence of the scream inside of us because of our external stimulation by a scream outside of ourselves.
Masterfully the trick of such an experience is not in the gratuitous notion that we all discover what is behind the door unlocked. The contents contained are not the reflexive universal element within us. I can experience fear from my unlocked door, while my neighbor could experience grief tinged with sadness behind theirs. The Truly universal experience is which truth can sustain is that such a primordial experience, such as the scream, allows us to unlock. We can only unlock the pieces from which we came from, which are different in their personal residence, by connecting with the key of a base element. An instantaneous freedom within ourselves to connect our internal experience to the external happening of others’ internal processes is a completion of exploring large scale osmosis.

photo by kris krüg

photo by kris krüg

There are many and few universal truths. Yet the boiled down base of each truth is that it unlocks, intentionally or perhaps unintentionally. The process of opening up is by far the greatest element of each truth. Universally, the truth is a key. The answer or chaos by which the key discovers is our internal elemental connection to the primordial from which we came from. The primordial, with its experience of everything, can be anything. With such knowledge is important to potentially realize that this is the least important element of all. With each key given to us, we are unlocked whether we choose to turn the key. Our only choice lies after the fact. When one hears a scream, we are all react differently because in the unlocking, we are connected to the once was which has never left.

1 Comment

Filed under culture

the new story: the memory remix

photo by kris krug

photo by kris krug

i’ve done the crazy and been the crazy. still, to no avail, the craziest ten hours of my life revolved around a bottle of whiskey and a couch. luckily for the couch, it wasn’t just me sitting upon and furthermore the bottle of whiskey was in good company because my lips never touched it. still nonetheless, i was settled in for the ride of the circus of a lifetime. the players were characters of themselves. characters wrapped in character suits, three sizes too big and lines that read straight off the back of cue cards. the miracle of the night was the timing of every situation, lapped upon each other and my fervent sober memory cells detailing the outlines of each account in the blurriest of all detail. this was the night that a couch saved my life.
the setting was of such that no light came in or out of the gallery. the darkness dripped over ripped shards of what was once considered furniture. balancing at the perfect acute angle, my ass did not approve of such precarious destinations. i just wanted to sit down. to my dismay, i did a lot of sitting that night and thank god my lack of caring extended to my ass, because the objects of such sitting were highly questionable. even for the uncaring.
i stumbled into this darkened cave by the off-handed reference of a distant friend. the conditions under which i was invited were about as clear as the firewater everyone was coating their insides with, but alas the uncaring care little about thoughts preceding the unknown. the darker the reason, the more unclear the emotion, the safer one feels. perhaps.
the red light coated everyone’s face in a sweet menace that was potentially highly offensive but ridiculous in its unabashed care of painting all of us. many photos were taken that evening in a hopes of capturing every perfect element in all of its perfect imperfections but everyone was too wasted to care to try to focus, not blink or position the camera without any movement. any physical capture of this evening actually perfectly captured the entrails of room. wavy unfocused people moving around haphazardly. a light defining a face gripped by industrial backdrops with no hope in sight. smiles that were washed out by general fade. blurry images clearly depicting all the blurry things that crawl through the night in hopes of finding solace. it captured the blur exactly as it was.
photo by kris krug

photo by kris krug

i can’t even remember if music blared through the empty walls that were dotted with canvases of all sizes, painted entirely in black paint. the walls had more escape black holes than the inside of my head but i was not going to be the first person to point out their glaring fact. my mind was represented in this cavern and i was terrified that people would recognize it for what it was. i played it out with everyone else but all the while feeling like i was playing too close to home with a comfortable audience. the only element that played a melody in front of me was the boy with the saxophone. he had no idea how to actually play it but the prop in his hands kept him with a purpose while the rest of the room droned out the lull.
the whiskey bottle never came into my careening eye with much vigor. it always just had a place on the sidelines, silent with its watch. occasionally it got the action it was looking for and the party promptly thanked it eagerly. the mood was saturated with the dark and the liquid was not excused. everyone proceeded to approach getting hammered but ultimately there was always a plateau that was hit. once the settling in was formulated, they couldn’t get past that last hump of inebriation. they weren’t any less coherent but perhaps more honestly open and apparent than ever before. the characters in the room were finally ready to read all of their lines with the systematic gusto that each approached it with. this was not a show nor was the spectacle for me, i was merely a character myself. my only stage direction was to simply: pay attention.
once the party of the evening was officially dead, the hours seemed to approach days. this is when the couch took center stage. my cyclic existence was a gratifying one because i existed solely on this couch for hours. some of the four remaining characters would gravitate towards me for entertaining or general playing, but my main attention was the simplistic nature of the couch. it had distinguishing characteristics about that were overtly memorable. if poked and prodded, i wouldn’t have been able to tell you the make, the mode, the color or even the fabric. i don’t remember if it was scratchy or old, or brand new or soft like velvet. all i remember is that that couch saved my life.
blasted by the fact that a couch could simply save someone’s life, i’m sure, but it’s true.
photo by kris krug

photo by kris krug


not so much memory was acquired while sitting on this couch, except the fact that i was literally transformed. the circus of earlier was no longer a theatre of the absurd, it had turned into my life. i was living my life on this couch with these characters, building upon story lines with references that had never happened. i was creating dissent out of thin air and life was breathing into me with the warm, dirty breath of a full night wide awake. people started to run out of sense to make and common areas like the simple touch lost any true value. words were spoken that night that could have been looked upon as seeds of the future. but i don’t care to think that deep without the proper tools by my side. so i kept the seeds in my pocket for further inspection at a later date with more light around me.
the night soon ended in that space like the ending of time in a vacuum. there was no loud brash bravado with closing doors and girls crying. there was no off handed remarks from characters that lay in the foreground trying to score the spotlight. there was no misunderstanding. there was no hangover of the dark paintings on the wall. there really wasn’t a couch at all because once i left it and closed the door, the show was over. the play was done. the characters kept rolling their lines in such proper format that i was brutally shocked at the length.
i kept up with my part. the whiskey bottle had proven that to me. and my time spent on that couch were simply my fifteen minutes of fame. i was a star that night about to burn out but for fifteen minutes, i held on to my light. no one saw it but really that was besides the point.
in all honesty.

Leave a comment

Filed under story-telling

possibility: the emotional remix

photo by kris krug

photo by kris krug


The theory of emotions and possibility is always a very interesting, sometimes slippery slope down a subjectively intellectual landscape. Possibility is often expansive, pervasive and endless while emotions can be oppressive and constricting by the simple restrictions and mental boundaries. The intersection of the two areas is a simple one: emotional states create much possibility, though often times unnecessary noisy possibility that is destructive and distracting.

A remixed idea of such an intersection is acting about the inverse action proposed. If highly emotional states created noisy unneeded levels of possibility, is it possible that narrowed avenues of possibility obliterate the pathway for the fostering of highly emotional states? In the simplest idea process, if you care less about specific situations, can that eventually make you feel better.

Now I am not condoning the notion of self-proclaimed naiveness is a serving practice but we can have active choice in what our possibility is directed towards. We can have the possibility of exaggerated emotions causing loud brash story lines berating our heads or we can have the endless journey of bliss. The idea of bliss is not a plane of irrational happiness but of courtless jousts devoid of endless battles. The battles we pick can be the battles we ultimately choose but the battles we pick do not have to the authority of picking us.

photo by kris krug

photo by kris krug

There was a talk by Barry Schwartz published on the TED website called the Paradox of Choice. that detailed the idea that with more choice, we have more misery and more sadness. The more choice that is presented to us ultimately increases our notion of loss, apathy, guilt and mistake. Emotions can have the same effect on the psyche. The greater attention paid to enhanced emotions can cause us the unneeded sense of loss and failure.

We can fail at feeling when our feelings override what they are actually accentuating. When emotions lack punctuation, literally a mental semi-colon, they ride us to the every end. It may not be the simplistic equation of care less, feel better. The remix of the final emotional sentence might simply be: care with guided intention, feel better. When our intentions precede our delivery of how we care, our emotions can exclaim to the fullest extent for which they were created. To simply emote. Not to generate the unnecessary or the unneeded. Just to simply emote.

Once we are done emoting, the possibility of expansive possibility is limited by the grounds of the simple sense of the word: by which of what is possible. When our emotions allows us to believe that the terribly impossible can happen, everything in the world seems possible and plausible. The inverse can be sustained as well; when our emotions create the space for themselves and our possibility is not a contingent hinge, we can really and sincerely feel better.

1 Comment

Filed under culture, sexuality

femme manifesto: the remix of me

I have many names. The one that matters the most is the one that I respond to.
I am a quantum femme. Challenging the proposition of femininity with my every step, I can be everywhere and nowhere in the same second. I leave a track in the dirt which marks that I have indeed touched the earth. The moment the wind takes it away does not lessen the moment it existed.
I am a fluid creature, ever adapting to my own personal existence. I cannot be pinned to futile labels that concretely identify the essence of me for one second. I must stand open in my own being to move freely.
I have skills that are ever evolving as I grow. Some are defined by conventional standards and those I track for remembrance and referral. Some of my skills are unspoken for and manifest in the moments that they are needed. These skills I must wholeheartedly trust in for they lay undefined but still just as powerful as those defined.
I am in the now because I am with myself. I like myself because I love myself. I love myself because I like myself.
I am grateful for my life just as I am grateful for the lives I encounter daily, and the lessons I learn from their lives. I can teach people by merely being myself. I am the muse I have always looked for.
I have natural gifts and I should hold dearly to those only for the sake of remembering to give them away. If I lose sight of the gifts I have and do not foster their growth, they are worthless for their gift to give away is often overlooked and forgotten.
I must never forget my sorrows and my sadness because they strengthen me when my happiness and joy is present. My emotions are the seasoning as to how I taste my life. It is not always bitter just as it is not always sweet.
I feast upon myself so that I can be the sustenance to others. I am full of life because I have breath. I am not my thoughts for my thoughts are merely a guide as to what my actions may be. My thoughts do not define my footsteps.
I can manifest the action of love by not only carrying love but emerging in love and swimming in it. Love can be fierce with sharp claws, but it is still love. I can be all of these emanations without losing the sense of action.
I manifest what I want in my life. Sometimes looking into the filter of my imperfections I may manifest the unpleasant and the unwanted but surely I must understand that I am not any less powerful. My manifestations are still my manifestations and I must relish in the complete action of such power. I can choose at any moment how I feel and what I do. Sometimes I need to choose the unpleasant and unwanted to know that I can choose the pleasant and the dearly wanted. I own everything I manifest.
The light I have in my life comes from the darkness it has grown in. I do not shy away from my dark hidden corners. I rejoice that I have such places to learn in, such haunts to grow from and such comfort that I may return at a moment’s notice. I am not afraid of such places. The only fear I have in my life is pulled from the gravity of the unknown. The unknown is simply such, unknown. I not know of its gravity or its defiance, so such is the fear that escapes there. I know fear as merely a hinderance to jumping. My fear of falling is merely a misplaced perspective of wanting to fly.
The only living death I shall know is the death of my dreams. The upmost importance should be forth put into maintaining a sense of freedom in dreaming. I can dream up any possibility, any ability, any adventure, anything. The first step is believing I have the freedom to dream. The only one who can take away such a freedom is myself.
I am impossible and in charge of my own possibility. I can be anything I want to be. The expansive universe does not exist outside for it is merely a region that exists inside me. I expand infinitely. I am the bright star of the sun, soon to burn out at the end of a very long line. I am the fierce light of the moon, silently playing many roles. I am the gravitational pull, drawing my manifestations towards me with force. I am the stars that line the way for myself and others to journey along safely.
I am the mother and child before they have separated.
I am the electric space between two lovers’ lips just before the first touch.
I am the softness of the wind that carries the sunlight upon its back, heavy and effortless.
I am the goddess particle: splintered, dented, bruised and multiplied.
I am a quantum femme.

3 Comments

Filed under heros, sexuality