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tsumikdamn my legs hurt! In kung fu we're learning this form called Tai Peng Sin Kun which roughly translates to "Great bird spreads it's wings". I think that's totally the wrong name for the form. I think it should be called "Great bird is going to kick your ass girly man" Makes me wonder what that translates to in chinese ;)
Anyway another installment of my old journal, Again sorry for being so long again.
Well I missed a few days. Nothing because of shortcomings. I sort of have forgotten that I started this. I watched the movie Thomas Crown Affair again and pondered what it must be like to life everyday with someone you love without ever thinking about working. The money was there and that everyday could be an adventure. I couldn't just sit around all day and not do anything. I'd have to revel in life enjoying what there is to see and explore. But what fun is exploring when you can't share it with someone? Not very.
The little things that make people social animals and me a dreamer. A black and white photograph sort of dreamer. Everything I see these little beautiful moments. Beautiful now that's a word. How many people really see what is beautiful and just say it is beautiful because they think that's the proper word to describe what they see? Hardly very few really see that word and reserve it for the special things that capture a light of a different kind. The sort of light that only follows a beautiful woman in a room. How everyone around her becomes cast in a shadow and become totally unnoticed. That lost feeling that is bliss. A silent moment that just sort of hangs there and everything stops. But I'm a poet so I see these things all the time.
But I do fall prey to the daily tasks and labors of the mind that prevent me from slowing down and taking things in. How many moments have I missed? And were any of those moments life or fate changing. Would things be different had I taken the time to stop and enjoy the little things that pass me by. My lack of acknowledgement surely missed a few. But what of the material things. The refinement of it all. I wrote once that I preferred things man made by hand than something made by a machine. A very Japanese view of things and there creation. The items made of the best quality come more from the mind and vision of something truly brilliant. Where a Ferrari is not made by man but dreamed by man. That desire to revel along with a brilliant dreamer of a vision he has of a car. What it should be and how it fits with a person. A thought to what the purpose of the item is and an attempt in art to exemplify that. The sense of flight, power, and speed in a car. Such does a Ferrari do that. Taking away all the hard edges and making everything refined allowing one to only concentrate on the essentials of a car. Most cars are made by machines but some are made from a vision from men or women that make it unique and original. It's truly designed.
And fashion. Finely made piece of clothes to cover the body, which is the temple of God and the beauty within. One would not cover a Ferrari in burlap so why would one want to cover the most single precious thing, ones self, in the same. A desire to not cover but accent one's self with materials that amplify and tell a story about the person inside. A harmony if you will with the person and the clothes.
But isn't that what all of it is, Music? A desire to find the harmony to which ones natural sounds and hymns duet effortless. Where a Ferrari would be a magical symphony, a well-made sports car such as a RX-7 is a standing ovation sort of show. And of all this who helped teach me to be a poet? A mystery for sure. What describes my upbringing and what factors controlled my lust of and for beauty. This I should ponder next time.
Anyway another installment of my old journal, Again sorry for being so long again.
Well I missed a few days. Nothing because of shortcomings. I sort of have forgotten that I started this. I watched the movie Thomas Crown Affair again and pondered what it must be like to life everyday with someone you love without ever thinking about working. The money was there and that everyday could be an adventure. I couldn't just sit around all day and not do anything. I'd have to revel in life enjoying what there is to see and explore. But what fun is exploring when you can't share it with someone? Not very.
The little things that make people social animals and me a dreamer. A black and white photograph sort of dreamer. Everything I see these little beautiful moments. Beautiful now that's a word. How many people really see what is beautiful and just say it is beautiful because they think that's the proper word to describe what they see? Hardly very few really see that word and reserve it for the special things that capture a light of a different kind. The sort of light that only follows a beautiful woman in a room. How everyone around her becomes cast in a shadow and become totally unnoticed. That lost feeling that is bliss. A silent moment that just sort of hangs there and everything stops. But I'm a poet so I see these things all the time.
But I do fall prey to the daily tasks and labors of the mind that prevent me from slowing down and taking things in. How many moments have I missed? And were any of those moments life or fate changing. Would things be different had I taken the time to stop and enjoy the little things that pass me by. My lack of acknowledgement surely missed a few. But what of the material things. The refinement of it all. I wrote once that I preferred things man made by hand than something made by a machine. A very Japanese view of things and there creation. The items made of the best quality come more from the mind and vision of something truly brilliant. Where a Ferrari is not made by man but dreamed by man. That desire to revel along with a brilliant dreamer of a vision he has of a car. What it should be and how it fits with a person. A thought to what the purpose of the item is and an attempt in art to exemplify that. The sense of flight, power, and speed in a car. Such does a Ferrari do that. Taking away all the hard edges and making everything refined allowing one to only concentrate on the essentials of a car. Most cars are made by machines but some are made from a vision from men or women that make it unique and original. It's truly designed.
And fashion. Finely made piece of clothes to cover the body, which is the temple of God and the beauty within. One would not cover a Ferrari in burlap so why would one want to cover the most single precious thing, ones self, in the same. A desire to not cover but accent one's self with materials that amplify and tell a story about the person inside. A harmony if you will with the person and the clothes.
But isn't that what all of it is, Music? A desire to find the harmony to which ones natural sounds and hymns duet effortless. Where a Ferrari would be a magical symphony, a well-made sports car such as a RX-7 is a standing ovation sort of show. And of all this who helped teach me to be a poet? A mystery for sure. What describes my upbringing and what factors controlled my lust of and for beauty. This I should ponder next time.
