Tag: blogpost

  • Homunculus

    Homunculus

    What if this representation of the sensory info the brain centers are innervated with is the representation of what centers we use to think about performing actions? Words, lots of words, but in a nutshell, we sense the world with what we control. We make our body interact with itself, and odd how we can’t tickle ourselves (but I disagree). We create our own sensations at times by using old sensations that kept burning on. Even the patterns we created piece by piece were getting stored as one larger pie.

    The pizza pie isn’t just pizza, I mean the idea of pizza is, but the ingredients and preparation that define it is what makes it a pizza. We attribute every sensation of the pizza in our head, so we remember how the cheese not only tasted, but smelled, looked, felt, etc. No wonder they say we only have 5 senses, because what else could we do to a pizza? We could imagine it, but does that count?

    Some claim they can sense the forces of other people, but perhaps when asked to prove it, they have no method or results. Some claim to read minds. It’s the reality that exists, and the conscious that tries to prove it. We know we think, but without a definition to follow for our own sakes, it just feels like existing.

    Existing isn’t consciousness we assume. I think we can have a little person in our head that does an action first and then it feels the consequences before the real life version. I think that doesn’t work out for either of them in the bad consequences, especially when chaos leads to instability, and instability goes off the rails. I would be afraid too if my fear made it inside my head.

  • Expectations

    Expectations

    They might not be comforting or witty or someone I know. They may not be perfect, my platform to stand on, or someone I can control. They might make me shift my priorities. I might need moments to myself. I may be misunderstood. I may be in a battle with myself while they want me to be unoccupied. I might be lazy and boring on days they want excitement. They might be worse than me in everything they do. I might misjudge them or lose them entirely. I might have to do more internal work and rituals to change my headspace. I might need to let them walk away or call them back. I might not like all their friends. I might not have all the answers nor do they. They might speak a language I don’t know fluent. The little things might tick us off. The desire to be alone may be filled by someone else for the moment. I may never get my life where I want it. I might always fight the same battles. They may not like my music. They may not like any music. Something might be off about them. My messages may go unnoticed. Our time might mean nothing.

    It might still be worth defying my expectations.

  • Dread

    I feel a wave of dread flush over me. It isn’t a fictional telling, just a perspective. When I imagine a flock of birds flying up in the sky, I imagine skyscrapers and small birds colliding with them. Large birds too, like geese, swans. I imagine at least less than there used to be. At least hundreds at some point. Maybe this was inevitable, so all I can do is move away or turn my head. It puts me into a pigeon-hole.

    Conservation shouldn’t be this difficult, but the pigeon-hole is just the hole the pigeon can make a hole for itself. We navigate around each other, and I would say orbit, but this requires space we don’t always have. That skydiver who didn’t clear the bridge, but has done it for years. When we fail to take the right spaces, the spaces take you.

    It feels good to submit to sleep sometimes, knowing maybe I will show back up tomorrow. Sometimes I dread going to sleep because I know I won’t like tomorrow. Every day can’t be perfect, but we imagine perfection like we have already seen it. Since nothing is going to surprise us, surprises are just new world views we can’t deny. The truth can get stale if we know it won’t change.

    Even your favorite foods might change one day. What stops you from changing your favorite color?