Socius mens mentis:

Evangelos Odysseas Papathanassiou playing delicately. “Le Petite Fille de la mer” from THEMES.

Mr. Uncle recently said: “Hang on, let me get my tongue to do right. My thought is there, but I can't get it to come out!”

“Her eyes are so blue ... like when you look at the earth from space.” [said by Mother, speaking of Bella, Miss Siamese Angel).

Derrida asked: “What comes before the question?” My answer: The thought. And then after the thought, the ‘will’ to ask it. And now I ask: If one questions what comes before the question, what actually comes after the answer? To question anything is to expect an answer, or a response of some kind. Unless, of course, one is merely questioning for the sake of questioning (blank walls). There must be emotional-varieties: knowledge? opinions? ... laughter? &c. As differentiating human beings, there is never one “secure” question or answer (the unexpected) in this regard.

A genuine thesis, like hallways repaired, hugging the shimmer of furblungen light for genuine cacoethes. Windows masticating as romantic visuals like Japanese gardens. The home (a vice) . Windows are romantic visuals. I awake in an olive drab, treating a nurture like ephemeral aethers; our image, truest magma when we wake, sizzle-feeling, truest miagma when awoken, strict doubt and an all too-human propensity. There is silence in everything if you keep your eyes closed.

Unmask yourself, not in what or where your eyes meet, but where your heart speaks. It will descend from the effect like gripping remorse without body language, implicating that this exhibits our visionarial scrutiny and smoothes the progress upon the cascade that drives these alleviations.

FILM IDEAS: a person attempts to focus more on his fears, watches a spider crawl quickly towards his bare foot, clinches face, toes mumble with a peculiar anxiety with a combination of pleasure and pain.

Camera shows the viewer of the back of someone sitting down, half-composed. Maybe: a random scene shot through his glasses as he looks out of his window. The reflection from an unknown object (but an object nontheless) that is received in the camera (from the viewer’s point of view) appears as though someone or something glides quickly (as if flying) across the window from the outside. He nervously-jumps thinking he sees something move. Close (and fast jumps and close-ups and cut-backs) images of his face within a 5-10 second span show his shocking and hesitant external composition.

Once, thought about how to give attention to one second. To be able to share it, to share what no one else can see. In the future we may need to think again, so says the beginning. Today is promised if you are able to complete Time’s questions without having to hesitate to answer.

Aperture, 2008 by Philip Gurrey

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