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Expression is the only human magic to remain to date.
There are quite a few common beliefs.


'Art' dominates expression, includes written, visual and audible sectors. Sided by skill 'connect'.


Sound dominates. It has maybe the widest of systematic tables. It wields enormous power since its connection has the capability to become bidirectional even accidentally. Requires the feat of divine attune. Huge differences in natural resistance/vulnerability. Mass amplification through attainment.


Visual art is more powerful than writing to the maker. Touch magic, the effect is entwined in the casting. Non-target. Even low-level casters are seen as a mystic force, even if they had no real effect. Most of the power is illusionary and suggestive.


Writing is more powerful than speech. Writing is the most reliable solution. Touch magic, target self. High skill requirements for non-self targets. Writing is fettered by lingua - perhaps the most limited true possibilities for development.


Speech is more powerful than thought. Enables basic connect. Defines lingual properties. Employed as a tool for other fields. One day we will be free.


Thought is more powerful than instinct [sic]. Thought produces the most intensive expression. All expression is thought.


Instinct is an underlying force, surpasses thought. Instinctive expression is for some unknown reason seen as valuable and "pure" - even in cases artificially stimulated. Instinctive acts feel real. "Natural" magic.

Bullshitting is the basic force behind everything. Big conspiracy. Powered by half a dozen oxen. Produces what appears as expression, speech, thought and writing. Sometimes even a dominating power. Take this business seriously[sic].

Connecting is channelling. Skill of targeting. Connecting can amplify anything, works ubiquitously.

"The past is just practice."


"The problem with perspective is that it's bidirectional."


"And then the whispers begin."

Yellow leaves have began to conquer the pavement.
A tired gust of warm summer air.
The fall's here.


This moment alone is more beautiful
than what is to follow,
what preceded it.


I can finally behold it all with my new eye,
Watch the planes coexist and slide.

Soon it'll all be around again.
We never learn.

(18:19:23) DFade says: ufo-ohjattuja mäkkisynia
(18:20:46) Sampsa Aslak says: Hell yeah
(18:20:52) Sampsa Aslak says: ja liki studiotason äänityksiä

My day.

11/7/2009

"At times come these moments...
It all becomes somewhat surreal.

The context: the time frame, the locus of a life parted.
Maybe not lost as such.
Just... Irrelevance.

What finds its meaning is the world within. Thoughts overlay the real, everything falls behind the transparency of the conflict at hand.

I just lose myself. Not like a daydreamer, nevertheless adrift. And none of it's euphoric. It's just the moment. It's the bubble that keeps you from realising that the real world would puch a hole in you.

My world moves a distance. The dimensions pan at its power. None of the strength is abundant, nor even at my disposal. I take a lean to the window, and zoom countless measures away from what surrounds me.

People, they're there. They're talking. It appears to me that I really don't care.

But now it's all back here to mock me again.

An unholy hypothesis unveiling once more."

Date and time unknown.

---

The poet

---

And I shall call myself an artist
And claim the world is manifested in the ink of my strokes

And claim superiority over the fable just living their lives without perspective

And claim I know better
And claim to be the only one to see

And claim I create what people always wanted this world to be like.

And claim to entertain those of particular intellect.

But I'm blind.
Canvas felt by hand.
Lies following the lines, pulled apart by the brush.

Each line rewritten just for pleasurable language;
The hand not divinely motivated creating perceived perfection.

O' truly a great fake it is.
I wish we could open our eyes.
While silently hoping we never do-

What is there to do when my book runs out of pages?

Yes, one more left, page 74. It stalks me with its gleaming blank.

This could be a prelude to closure, or deprivation.

I just might have joined the Pirate Party. Let's make the idiotism stop, shall we?