Sunday 18 March 2018

Rule 4 - Just Be This as Well





Rule #1 :
Stand up straight with your shoulders back

Rule #2 :
Treat yourself like you would someone you are responsible for helping

Rule #3 :
Make friends with people who want the best for you

Rule #4 :
Compare yourself with who you were yesterday, not with who someone else is today

Rule #5 :
Do not let your children do anything that makes you dislike them

Rule #6 :
Set your house in perfect order before you criticise The World

Rule #7 :
Pursue what is meaningful (not what is expedient)

Rule #8 :
Tell The Truth – or, at least, don’t lie.

Rule #9
Assume that the person you are listening to might know something you don’t

Rule #10 :
Be precise in your speech

Rule #11 : 
Do not bother children when they are skate-boarding

Rule #12 :
Pet a cat when you encounter one on the street




This readout tells you where you're going,
This one tells you where you are
This one tells you where you were.



Bethany: 
Everything I am has been a lie.

Metatron: 
No, no, no! 
Knowing what you now know doesn't mean you're not who you were

You are Bethany Sloane
no one can take that away from you, not even God

All this means is a new definition of that identity. 

The incorporation of this new data into who you are. 

Be who you've always been. 
Just be this as well... from time to time.




INQUISITOR: 
You are a slimy, despicable, rat-hearted, green-discharge of a man, aren't you? 
RIMMER: 
Well... sort of, yes. 

INQUISITOR: 
So then, justify yourself! 

RIMMER: 
What else could I have been? 

My father was a half-crazed military failure, 
my mother was a bitch-queen from hell. 

My brothers had all the looks and talent. 

What did I have? 
Unmanageable hair and ingrowing toenails. 

Yes, I admit I'm nothing. 

But from what I started with - nothing is up. 

*****

CAT :
 I have given joy to the world because I have such a beautiful ass! 

Some might say I'm a pretty shallow guy. 
But a shallow guy, with a great ass!

*****

 INQUISITOR: 
Well Kryten, justify yourself. 

KRYTEN: 
I'm not sure I can. 

INQUISITOR: 
But surely your life is replete with good works. 
There can be few individuals who have lived a more selfless life. 


KRYTEN: 
But I am programmed to live unselfishly. 
And therefore, any good works I do come not out of fine motives but as a result of a series of binary commands I am compelled to obey. 

INQUISITOR: 
Well then, how can any mechanical justify himself? 

KRYTEN: 
Perhaps only if he attempted to break his programming and conduct his life according to a set of values he arrived at independently. 

INQUISITOR: 
Your argument invites deletion. 

KRYTEN: 
The rules are yours, not mine. 

INQUISITOR: 
Do you wish to be erased? 

KRYTEN: 
Well, I am programmed not to wish for anything. 
I serve. 

INQUISITOR: 
In a human, this behavior might be considered stubborn. 

KRYTEN: 
But I am not human - and neither are you. 
And it is not our place to judge them. 

I wonder why you do..?


*****

LISTER: 
Spin on it!





" No matter how good you are at something, or how you rank your accomplishments, there is someone out there who makes you look incompetent.

You’re a decent guitar player, but you’re not Jimmy Page or Jack White. You’re almost certainly not even going to rock your local pub. You’re a good cook, but there are many great chefs. Your mother’s recipe for fish heads and rice, no matter how celebrated in her village of origin, doesn’t cut it in these days of grapefruit foam and Scotch/tobacco ice-cream. Some Mafia don has a tackier yacht. Some obsessive CEO has a more complicated self-winding watch, kept in his more valuable mechanical hardwood-and-steel automatic self-winding watch case. 

Even the most stunning Hollywood actress eventually transforms into the Evil Queen, on eternal, paranoid watch for the new Snow White. And you? Your career is boring and pointless, your housekeeping skills are second-rate, your taste is appalling, you’re fatter than your friends, and everyone dreads your parties. Who cares if you are prime minister of Canada when someone else is the president of the United States?


Inside us dwells a critical internal voice and spirit that knows all this. It’s predisposed to make its noisy case. It condemns our mediocre efforts. It can be very difficult to quell. Worse, critics of its sort are necessary. There is no shortage of tasteless artists, tuneless musicians, poisonous cooks, bureaucratically-personality-disordered middle managers, hack novelists and tedious, ideology-ridden professors. Things and people differ importantly in their qualities. Awful music torments listeners everywhere. Poorly designed buildings crumble in earthquakes. Substandard automobiles kill their drivers when they crash. 

Failure is the price we pay for standards and, because mediocrity has consequences both real and harsh, standards are necessary.

Saturday 17 March 2018

Rule 3 — Do You Really Think I Care For You So Little That Betraying MeWould Make the Slightest Difference..?





Rule #1 :
Stand up straight with your shoulders back

Rule #2 :
Treat yourself like you would someone you are responsible for helping

Rule #3 :
Make friends with people who want the best for you

Rule #4 :
Compare yourself with who you were yesterday, not with who someone else is today

Rule #5 :
Do not let your children do anything that makes you dislike them

Rule #6 :
Set your house in perfect order before you criticise The World

Rule #7 :
Pursue what is meaningful (not what is expedient)

Rule #8 :
Tell The Truth – or, at least, don’t lie.

Rule #9
Assume that the person you are listening to might know something you don’t

Rule #10 :
Be precise in your speech

Rule #11 : 
Do not bother children when they are skate-boarding

Rule #12 :
Pet a cat when you encounter one on the street



" Sometimes, when people have a low opinion of their own worth—or, perhaps, when they refuse responsibility for their lives—they choose a new acquaintance, of precisely the type who proved troublesome in the past. Such people don’t believe that they deserve any better—so they don’t go looking for it. Or, perhaps, they don’t want the trouble of better. Freud called this a “repetition compulsion.” 

He thought of it as an unconscious drive to repeat the horrors of the past—

sometimes, perhaps, to formulate those horrors more precisely, sometimes to attempt more active mastery and sometimes, perhaps, because no alternatives beckon. People create their worlds with the tools they have directly at hand.

Faulty tools produce faulty results. Repeated use of the same faulty tools produces the same faulty results. It is in this manner that those who fail to learn from the past doom themselves to repeat it. It’s partly fate. It’s partly inability.

It’s partly … unwillingness to learn? Refusal to learn? Motivated refusal to learn? "

Wednesday 14 March 2018

Rule 2 — Your Pet (probably) Loves You - And Would Be Happier if You Just Took Your Damn Pills


Rule #1 :
Stand up straight with your shoulders back

Rule #2 :
Treat yourself like you would someone you are responsible for helping

Rule #3 :
Make friends with people who want the best for you

Rule #4 :
Compare yourself with who you were yesterday, not with who someone else is today

Rule #5 :
Do not let your children do anything that makes you dislike them

Rule #6 :
Set your house in perfect order before you criticise The World

Rule #7 :
Pursue what is meaningful (not what is expedient)

Rule #8 :
Tell The Truth – or, at least, don’t lie.

Rule #9
Assume that the person you are listening to might know something you don’t

Rule #10 :
Be precise in your speech

Rule #11 : 
Do not bother children when they are skate-boarding

Rule #12 :
Pet a cat when you encounter one on the street


" Now, one of the complications of transplantation is rejection.

Your body does not like it when parts of someone else’s body are stitched into it. Your immune system will attack and destroy such foreign elements, even when they are crucial to your survival. 

To stop this from happening, you must take anti-rejection drugs, which weaken immunity, increasing your susceptibility to infectious disease. Most people are happy to accept the trade-off. 

Recipients of transplants still suffer the effects of organ rejection, despite the existence and utility of these drugs. 

It’s not because the drugs fail (although they sometimes do). 

It’s more often because those prescribed the drugs do not take them. 

This beggars belief. It is seriously not good to have your kidneys fail. Dialysis is no picnic. 

Transplantation surgery occurs after long waiting, at high risk and great expense. 

To lose all that because you don’t take your medication? How could people do that to themselves? How could this possibly be? 

It’s complicated, to be fair. Many people who receive a transplanted organ are isolated, or beset by multiple physical health problems (to say nothing of problems associated with unemployment or family crisis). 

They may be cognitively impaired or depressed. They may not entirely trust their doctor, or understand the necessity of the medication. Maybe they can barely afford the drugs, and ration them, desperately and unproductively. 

But—and this is the amazing thing—imagine that it isn’t you who feels sick. It’s your dog. 

So, you take him to the vet. The vet gives you a prescription. What happens then? You have just as many reasons to distrust a vet as a doctor. 

Furthermore, if you cared so little for your pet that you weren’t concerned with what improper, substandard or error-ridden prescription he might be given, you wouldn’t have taken him to the vet in the first place. 

Thus, you care. Your actions prove it. 

In fact, on average, you care more. People are better at filling and properly administering prescription medication to their pets than to themselves. That’s not good. Even from your pet’s perspective, it’s not good. 

Your pet (probably) loves you, and would be happier if you took your medication. "



UHURA: 
But they do give us something, Mister Spock. 
They give us Love. 

Well, Cyrano Jones says a tribble is the only love that money can buy. 

KIRK: 
Too much of anything, Lieutenant, even love, isn't necessarily a good thing. 


"There was not much, but there was enough - an empty phial, another nearly full, a hypodermic syringe, several letters in a crabbed, foreign hand. The marks on the envelopes showed that they were those which had disturbed the routine of the secretary, and each was dated from the Commercial Road and signed ' A. Dorak'. They were mere invoices to say that a fresh bottle was being sent to Professor Presbury, or receipts to acknowledge money. There was one other envelope, however, in a more educated hand and bearing the Austrian stamp with the postmark of Prague. 'Here we have our material!' cried Holmes, as he tore out the enclosure.

HONOURED COLLEAGUE, [it ran] Since your esteemed visit I have thought much of your case, and though in your circumstances there are some special reasons for the treatment, I would none the less enjoin caution, as my results have shown that it is not without danger of a kind. It is possible that the serum of Anthropoid would have been better. I have, as I explained to you, used black-faced Langur because a specimen was accessible. Langur is, of course, a crawler and climber, while Anthropoid walks erect, and is in all ways nearer. I beg you to take every possible precaution that there be no premature revelation of the process. I have one other client in England, and Dorak is my agent for both. Weekly reports will oblige. 

Yours with high esteem, H. LOWENSTEIN

Lowenstein! The name brought back to me the memory of some snippet from a newspaper which spoke of an obscure scientist who was striving in some unknown way for the secret of rejuvenescence and the elixir of life. Lowenstein of Prague! Lowenstein with the wondrous strengthgiving serum, tabooed by the profession because he refused to reveal its source. In a few words I said what I remembered. Bennett had taken a manual of zoology from the shelves.

'"Langur",' he read, '"the great black-faced monkey of the Himalayan slopes, biggest and most human of climbing monkeys." Many details are added. Well, thanks to you, Mr Holmes, it is very clear that we have traced the evil to its source.'

'The real source,' said Holmes, 'lies, of course, in that untimely love affair which gave our impetuous Professor the idea that he could only gain his wish by turning himself into a younger man. When one tries to rise above Nature one is liable to fall below it. The highest type of man may revert to the animal if he leaves the straight road of destiny.'

He sat musing for a little with the phial in his hand, looking at the clear liquid within.

'When I have written to this man and told him that I hold him criminally responsible for the poisons which he circulates, we will have no more trouble. But it may recur. Others may find a better way. There is danger there - a very real danger to humanity. Consider, Watson, that the material, the sensual, the worldly would all prolong their worthless lives. The spiritual would not avoid the call to something higher. It would be the survival of the least fit. What sort of cesspool may not our poor world become?' 

Suddenly the dreamer disappeared, and Holmes, the man of action, sprang from his chair. 'I think there is nothing more to be said, Mr Bennett. The various incidents will now fit themselves easily into the general scheme. The dog, of course, was aware of the change far more quickly than you. His smell would ensure that. It was the monkey, not the Professor, whom Roy attacked, just as it was the monkey who teased Roy. Climbing was a joy to the creature, and it was a mere chance, I take it, that the pastime brought him to the young lady's window. There is an early train to town, Watson, but I think we shall just have time for a cup of tea at the "Chequers" before we catch it.'

Sunday 11 March 2018

Shackleton

Petain: The Pessimistic Patriot

A Scandal in Vienna : The Mayerling Incident





‘Basically most of the — most recent historians changed their minds now — especially in France, it's quite interesting. 
Two things, basically, or two or three things. I asked my grandmother [Zita of Bourbon-Parma] about it, to start with. 

She told me that when she was very young and married, Emperor Franz Joseph liked her very much, so she went to him and asked him. And he had imposed on himself not to speak for one hundred years, that it should not be revealed. 

But then he told her: "One of your aunts" — I don't remember the name of that one, she told of my grandmother — "asked the same questions the day after the death of Archduke Rudolf. Go and ask her what I told her."

‘So obviously my grandmother ran to see that person. And that old aunt said, "When the Emperor told me, before the coffin was closed, when I pay my respects, I should bow over the coffin and touch the hands of the Archduke." 

And she said she did it. And there were nothing in — there was nothing in the gloves. And when you look at the little room in Mayerling, you can see that with a hatchet the door was opened. 

So if somebody has his hands cut off — and this was probably pushing on the other side — there is no way you can shoot a bullet through your brain.

‘Now the other thing is that the archives of the Vatican have opened since. And not all the documents are there; but the main reason was that Emperor Francis Joseph, ah, wanted his son to be buried, ah, on church ground. 

But he couldn't, because he had committed [air quotes] "officially" suicide. 

So the Emperor had to explain to the Pope why he wanted it. 

Now why was the official version suicide? 

It's because Rudolf had had, sadly enough, had bad frequentations, especially with the Freemasons. 

The Freemasons asked him, after a few years, to do two things. 

The first thing was to destroy the Catholic Church in the Empire; which Archduke Rudolf, who wasn't the most best person, was ready to do. 

And then to push aside his father; and that he did not want to do. And that, probably, sealed his death.

‘So those are the reasons why I say it. Thank you.’




A man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six inches in height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His dress was rich with a richness which would, in England, be looked upon as akin to bad taste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed across the sleeves and fronts of his double-breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak which was thrown over his shoulders was lined with flame-coloured silk and secured at the neck with a brooch which consisted of a single flaming beryl. Boots which extended halfway up his calves, and which were trimmed at the tops with rich brown fur, completed the impression of barbaric opulence which was suggested by his whole appearance. He carried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across the upper part of his face, extending down past the cheekbones, a black vizard mask, which he had apparently adjusted that very moment, for his hand was still raised to it as he entered. From the lower part of the face he appeared to be a man of strong character, with a thick, hanging lip, and a long, straight chin suggestive of resolution pushed to the length of obstinacy.
“You had my note?” he asked with a deep harsh voice and a strongly marked German accent. “I told you that I would call.” He looked from one to the other of us, as if uncertain which to address.
“Pray take a seat,” said Holmes. “This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson, who is occasionally good enough to help me in my cases. Whom have I the honour to address?”
“You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. I understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour and discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most extreme importance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate with you alone.”
I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me back into my chair. “It is both, or none,” said he. “You may say before this gentleman anything which you may say to me.”
The Count shrugged his broad shoulders. “Then I must begin,” said he, “by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at the end of that time the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not too much to say that it is of such weight it may have an influence upon European history.”
“I promise,” said Holmes.
“And I.”
“You will excuse this mask,” continued our strange visitor. “The august person who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and I may confess at once that the title by which I have just called myself is not exactly my own.”
“I was aware of it,” said Holmes dryly.
“The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution has to be taken to quench what might grow to be an immense scandal and seriously compromise one of the reigning families of Europe. To speak plainly, the matter implicates the great House of Ormstein, hereditary kings of Bohemia.”
“I was also aware of that,” murmured Holmes, settling himself down in his armchair and closing his eyes.
Our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid, lounging figure of the man who had been no doubt depicted to him as the most incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe. Holmes slowly reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his gigantic client.
“If your Majesty would condescend to state your case,” he remarked, “I should be better able to advise you.”
The man sprang from his chair and paced up and down the room in uncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desperation, he tore the mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. “You are right,” he cried; “I am the King. Why should I attempt to conceal it?”
“Why, indeed?” murmured Holmes. “Your Majesty had not spoken before I was aware that I was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and hereditary King of Bohemia.”
“But you can understand,” said our strange visitor, sitting down once more and passing his hand over his high white forehead, “you can understand that I am not accustomed to doing such business in my own person. Yet the matter was so delicate that I could not confide it to an agent without putting myself in his power. I have come incognito from Prague for the purpose of consulting you.”
“Then, pray consult,” said Holmes, shutting his eyes once more.
“The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a lengthy visit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-known adventuress, Irene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you.”
“Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor,” murmured Holmes without opening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system of docketing all paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it was difficult to name a subject or a person on which he could not at once furnish information. In this case I found her biography sandwiched in between that of a Hebrew rabbi and that of a staff-commander who had written a monograph upon the deep-sea fishes.
“Let me see!” said Holmes. “Hum! Born in New Jersey in the year 1858. Contralto—hum! La Scala, hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera of Warsaw—yes! Retired from operatic stage—ha! Living in London—quite so! Your Majesty, as I understand, became entangled with this young person, wrote her some compromising letters, and is now desirous of getting those letters back.”
“Precisely so. But how—”
“Was there a secret marriage?”
“None.”
“No legal papers or certificates?”
“None.”
“Then I fail to follow your Majesty. If this young person should produce her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is she to prove their authenticity?”
“There is the writing.”
“Pooh, pooh! Forgery.”
“My private note-paper.”
“Stolen.”
“My own seal.”
“Imitated.”
“My photograph.”
“Bought.”
“We were both in the photograph.”
“Oh, dear! That is very bad! Your Majesty has indeed committed an indiscretion.”
“I was mad—insane.”
“You have compromised yourself seriously.”
“I was only Crown Prince then. I was young. I am but thirty now.”
“It must be recovered.”
“We have tried and failed.”
“Your Majesty must pay. It must be bought.”
“She will not sell.”
“Stolen, then.”
“Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay ransacked her house. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice she has been waylaid. There has been no result.”
“No sign of it?”
“Absolutely none.”
Holmes laughed. “It is quite a pretty little problem,” said he.
“But a very serious one to me,” returned the King reproachfully.
“Very, indeed. And what does she propose to do with the photograph?”
“To ruin me.”
“But how?”
“I am about to be married.”
“So I have heard.”
“To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meningen, second daughter of the King of Scandinavia. You may know the strict principles of her family. She is herself the very soul of delicacy. A shadow of a doubt as to my conduct would bring the matter to an end.”
“And Irene Adler?”
“Threatens to send them the photograph. And she will do it. I know that she will do it. You do not know her, but she has a soul of steel. She has the face of the most beautiful of women, and the mind of the most resolute of men. Rather than I should marry another woman, there are no lengths to which she would not go—none.”
“You are sure that she has not sent it yet?”
“I am sure.”
“And why?”
“Because she has said that she would send it on the day when the betrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will be next Monday.”
“Oh, then we have three days yet,” said Holmes with a yawn. “That is very fortunate, as I have one or two matters of importance to look into just at present. Your Majesty will, of course, stay in London for the present?”
“Certainly. You will find me at the Langham under the name of the Count Von Kramm.”
“Then I shall drop you a line to let you know how we progress.”
“Pray do so. I shall be all anxiety.”
“Then, as to money?”
“You have carte blanche.”
“Absolutely?”
“I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my kingdom to have that photograph.”
“And for present expenses?”
The King took a heavy chamois leather bag from under his cloak and laid it on the table.
“There are three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred in notes,” he said.
Holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his note-book and handed it to him.
“And Mademoiselle’s address?” he asked.
“Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John’s Wood.”
Holmes took a note of it. “One other question,” said he. “Was the photograph a cabinet?”
“It was.”
“Then, good-night, your Majesty, and I trust that we shall soon have some good news for you. And good-night, Watson,” he added, as the wheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street. “If you will be good enough to call to-morrow afternoon at three o’clock I should like to chat this little matter over with you.” 


Kali-Ma - The Divine Feminine Rage

"There is very little difference between the capacity for Mayhem and Destructionintegrateand Strength of Character"


"There is very little difference between the capacity for Mayhem and Destruction, integrated and Strength of Character"







" Sometimes people are bullied because they can’t fight back. This can happen to people who are weaker, physically, than their opponents. This is one of the most common reasons for the bullying experienced by children. Even the toughest of six-year-olds is no match for someone who is nine. A lot of that power differential disappears in adulthood, however, with the rough stabilization and matching of physical size (with the exception of that pertaining to men and women, with the former typically larger and stronger, particularly in the upper body) as well as the increased penalties generally applied in adulthood to those who insist upon continuing with physical intimidation. 



...But just as often, people are bullied because they won't fight back. This happens not infrequently to people who are by temperament compassionate and self-sacrificing—particularly if they are also high in negative emotion, and make a lot of gratifying noises of suffering when someone sadistic confronts them (children who cry more easily, for example, are more frequently bullied).

It also happens to people who have decided, for one reason or another, that all forms of aggression, including even feelings of anger, are morally wrong. I have seen people with a particularly acute sensitivity to petty tyranny and overaggressive competitiveness restrict within themselves all the emotions that might give rise to such things. Often they are people whose fathers who were excessively angry and controlling. 

Psychological forces are never unidimensional in their value, however, and the truly appalling potential of anger and aggression to produce cruelty and mayhem are balanced by the ability of those primordial forces to push back against oppression, speak Truth, and motivate resolute movement forward in times of strife, uncertainty and danger."





CAUTION WITH KALI

When invoking Kali within, we must do so with care for what may emerge upon her calling. 

Unholy structures must fall, beliefs and language which are only self-serving and do not include the collective of compassionate humanity must go. 

She is the housecleaner who dances through the battlefields of life and calls out the false matrixes at play. 

She is the one who would shut down the factories making a fortune off of child-labor or animal cruelty. 

She is the muddied feet dancing over the tables of Congress to bring shame to the unrighteous laws being passed there. 

She is the part of us who both feels that Earth is our home and we must protect her—while at the same time feeling “not from here,” in an off-planet, unattached to the outcome of her actions sort of way. She is the part of us who cares only for the results of her rage…that those things which should no longer stand due to their ignorance do not stand.

I have never felt a more important time in reality for Kali to emerge in all women (at the very least). Right now this earth is a giant home in chaos. Women have been shut down and taught, in so many cultures worldwide, to stand back or keep their opinions to themselves or to follow the lead; this can no longer be the case if we are to evolve as a species. Kali must come forth in all of us. We must not be okay looking away from what is discordant to us all. We must not fear our inner rage and what will come of it if we let it out in alignment with truth and compassion.

In order to call forth Kali within we could use words like this:

“I now choose to invoke the aspect within me which can no longer look away from the ignorance, which can no longer tolerate intolerance, which can no longer watch the atrocities of this reality, against children, against women, against people of color, against animals, against the Earth herself. 

I invoke Kali in me to bring forth the Divine Rage which cuts through the illusions of ignorance, which slices through the illusions of false truths and false safety, to the heart of this reality. 

I call forth my Divine Feminine Mother self, full of fierce loving rage so that I may take back for the Earth what is hers, for the Children what is theirs, and for the beating Human heart what is the Divine Birthright of all humanity. 

I call forth the part of me who fears nothing, who knows that my Divine Consort and Beloved—the Consciousness in me which is Shiva-mind—still pointed, calm, and resolute—is standing ground under me and for me. I now choose to activate the Divine Rage of the Mother of us all—in form—so that I may begin to participate in the great change which must now come at this stage in Human Evolution. 

I choose to allow the incineration of the old, the death of the old ways and the removal of a paradigm of regret and sorrow in order to usher in a great transformation of the Ages…which is the role of the Kali in me. 

And so it is. 

As the Butterfly bursts forth from the Cocoon, so too does Kali—in me—burst the fabric of Creation in order to reveal the next cycle. “





When asked about PTSD, Complex PTSD, Schizophrenia and  Borderline Personality Disorder Teal gives her mind about The Current Mental Health System and how Diagnosing can injure people.  Diagnosing in Mental Health creates negative patterns within ourselves.  

For More views on Teal's perspective of different mental health conditions simply search them in Youtube.

This is an excerpt from the March 4th 2018 Online Synchronization Workshop.  To view the rest of the workshop please visit 


Help us caption & translate this video!



Rage, Rage Against The Dying of The Knight...

"Down a Mine, is He?", Chortled Gordon



Order is the Shire of Tolkien’s hobbits: peaceful, productive and safely inhabitable, even by the naive. 

Chaos is the underground kingdom of the dwarves, usurped by Smaug, the treasure-hoarding serpent. 


Chaos is also the formless potential from which the God of Genesis 1 called forth order using language at the beginning of time. It’s the same potential from which we, made in that Image, call forth the novel and ever-changing moments of our lives. And Chaos is freedom, dreadful freedom, too. 

Order, by contrast, is explored territory. That’s the hundreds-of-millions-ofyears- old hierarchy of place, position and authority. That’s the structure of society. It’s the structure provided by biology, too—particularly insofar as you are adapted, as you are, to the structure of society. Order is tribe, religion, hearth, home and country. It’s the warm, secure living-room where the fireplace glows and the children play. It’s the flag of the nation. It’s the value of the currency. Order is the floor beneath your feet, and your plan for the day. It’s the greatness of tradition, the rows of desks in a school classroom, the trains that leave on time, the calendar, and the clock. 

Order is the public façade we’re called upon to wear, the politeness of a gathering of civilized strangers, and the thin ice on which we all skate. 

Order is the place where the behavior of the world matches our expectations and our desires; the place where all things turn out the way we want them to. 

But order is sometimes tyranny and stultification, as well, when the demand for certainty and uniformity and purity becomes too one-sided.

  • Before the Twin Towers fell—that was order. Chaos manifested itself afterward. Everyone felt it. The very air became uncertain.
  • What exactly was it that fell? Wrong question. 
  • What exactly remained standing? That was the issue at hand. 



When the ice you’re skating on is solid, that’s Order. When the bottom drops out, and things fall apart, and you plunge through the ice, that’s Chaos. 

Order is the Shire of Tolkien’s hobbits: peaceful, productive and safely inhabitable, even by the naive. 

Chaos is the underground kingdom of the dwarves, usurped by Smaug, the treasure-hoarding serpent. 

Chaos is the deep ocean bottom to which Pinocchio voyaged to rescue his father from Monstro, whale and fire-breathing dragon. That journey into darkness and rescue is the most difficult thing a puppet must do, if he wants to be real; if he wants to extract himself from the temptations of deceit and acting and victimization and impulsive pleasure and totalitarian subjugation; if he wants to take his place as a genuine Being in the world. 


Order is the stability of your marriage. It’s buttressed by the traditions of the past and by your expectations—grounded, often invisibly, in those traditions. 

Chaos is that stability crumbling under your feet when you discover your partner’s infidelity. Chaos is the experience of reeling unbound and unsupported through space when your guiding routines and traditions collapse. 

Order is the place and time where the oft-invisible axioms you live by organize your experience and your actions so that what should happen does happen. 

Chaos is the new place and time that emerges when tragedy strikes suddenly, or malevolence reveals its paralyzing visage, even in the confines of your own home. Something unexpected or undesired can always make its appearance, when a plan is being laid out, regardless of how familiar the circumstances. 

When that happens, the territory has shifted. Make no mistake about it: the space, the apparent space, may be the same. But we live in Time, as well as Space. 

In consequence, even the oldest and most familiar places retain an ineradicable capacity to surprise you. You may be cruising happily down the road in the automobile you have known and loved for years. But time is passing. The brakes could fail. 

You might be walking down the road in the body you have always relied on. If your heart malfunctions, even momentarily, everything changes. Friendly old dogs can still bite. Old and trusted friends can still deceive. New ideas can destroy old and comfortable certainties. 

Such Things Matter. They’re Real


Gentleman's Relish : The City of Big Temptation



In the early years of the nineteenth century, refugees from war-torn Europe began arriving in New York in great numbers. Many were remnants of the crumbling French aristocracy, forced to seek refuge abroad from the dread "Monsieur Guillotine." Arriving here without funds or friends, many of these were forced to survive, as one contemporary put it, "by their wits or worse."

One of these, arriving in late 1803 or early 1804, was Mlle. Evelyn Claudine de Saint-Évremond. Daughter of a noted courtier, wit, and littérateur, and herself a favorite of Marie Antoinette, Evelyn was by all accounts remarkably attractive: beautiful, vivacious, and well-educated, and she was soon a society favorite. For reasons never disclosed, however, a planned marriage the following year to John Hamilton, son of the late Alexander Hamilton, was called off at the last minute. Soon after, with support from several highly placed admirers, she established a salon -- in fact, a brothel -- in a substantial house that still stands at 42 Bond Street, then one of the city's most exclusive residential districts.

Evelyn's establishment quickly won, and for several decades maintained, a formidable reputation as the most entertaining and discreet of the city's many "temples of love," a place not only for lovemaking, but also for elegant dinners, high-stakes gambling, and witty conversation. The girls, many of them fresh arrivals from Paris or London, were noted for their beauty and bearing. More than a few of them, apparently, were actually able to secure wealthy husbands from among the establishment's clientele.

When New Yorkers insisted on anglicizing her name to "Eve," Evelyn apparently found the biblical reference highly amusing, and for her part would refer to the temptresses in her employ as "my irresistable apples." The young men-about-town soon got into the habit of referring to their amorous adventures as "having a taste of Eve's Apples." This knowing phrase established the speaker as one of the "in" crowd, and at the same time made it clear he had no need to visit one of the coarser establishments that crowded nearby Mercer Street, for instance. The enigmatic reference in Philip Hone's famous diary to "Ida, sweet as apple cider" (October 4, 1838) has been described as an oblique reference to a visit to what had by then become a notorious but cherished civic institution.

The rest, as they say, is etymological history.

The sexual connotation of the word "apple" was well known in New York and throughout the country until around World War I. The Gentleman's Directory of New York City, a privately published (1870) guide to the town's "houses of assignation," confidently asserted that "in freshness, sweetness, beauty, and firmness to the touch, New York's apples are superior to any in the New World or indeed the Old." Meanwhile, various "apple" catch-phrases -- "the Apple Tree," "the Real Apple," etc. -- were used as synonyms for New York City itself, which boasted (if that is the term) more houses of ill repute per capita than any other major U.S. municipality.

William Jennings Bryan, though hardly the first to denounce New York as a sink of iniquity, appears to have been the first to use the "apple" epithet in public discourse, branding the city, in a widely reprinted 1892 campaign speech, as "the foulest Rotten Apple on the Tree of decadent Federalism." The double-entendre -- i.e., as a reference to both political and sexual corruption -- would have been well understood by voters of the time.

The term "Big Apple" or "The Apple" had already passed into general use as a sobriquet for New York City by 1907, when one guidebook included the comment, "Some may think the Apple is losing some of its sap." Interestingly, the phrase had also become pretty well "sanitized" in the process, thanks to a vigorous campaign mounted just after the turn of the century by the Apple Marketing Board, a trade group based in upstate Cortland, New York. Alarmed by sharply declining sales, the Association launched what some believe to be the earliest example of what would now be called a "product positioning campaign."

By devising and energetically promoting such slogans as "An apple a day keeps the Doctor away" and "as American as apple pie!" the A.M.B. was able to successfully "rehabilitate" the apple as a popular comestible, free of unsavory associations. It is believed that the group also distributed apples to the poor for sale on the city's streets during the Great Depression (1930-38). No convincing documentary evidence has been produced to support this, however.

-- Society for New York City History,
Education Committee

Saturday 10 March 2018

Rule 1 — I Have Very Bad Posture


Rule #1 :
Stand up straight with your shoulders back

Rule #2 :
Treat yourself like you would someone you are responsible for helping

Rule #3 :
Make friends with people who want the best for you

Rule #4 :
Compare yourself with who you were yesterday, not with who someone else is today

Rule #5 :
Do not let your children do anything that makes you dislike them

Rule #6 :
Set your house in perfect order before you criticise The World

Rule #7 :
Pursue what is meaningful (not what is expedient)

Rule #8 :
Tell The Truth – or, at least, don’t lie.

Rule #9
Assume that the person you are listening to might know something you don’t

Rule #10 :
Be precise in your speech

Rule #11 : 
Do not bother children when they are skate-boarding

Rule #12 :
Pet a cat when you encounter one on the street


I'm on My Time with everyone 
I Have.Very. Bad Posture

— Kurt Cobain, Pennyroyal Tea



“A lobster loser’s brain chemistry differs importantly from that of a lobster winner. This is reflected in their relative postures. 

Whether a lobster is confident or cringing depends on the ratio of two chemicals that modulate communication between lobster neurons: serotonin and octopamine. Winning increases the ratio of the former to the latter.


A lobster with high levels of serotonin and low levels of octopamine is a cocky, strutting sort of shellfish, much less likely to back down when challenged. This is because serotonin helps regulate postural flexion. 




A flexed lobster extends its appendages so that it can look tall and dangerous, like Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti Western. 



When a lobster that has just lost a battle is exposed to serotonin, it will stretch itself out, advance even on former victors, and fight longer and harder.  The drugs prescribed to depressed human beings, which are selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, have much the same chemical and behavioural effect. In one of the more staggering demonstrations of the evolutionary continuity of life on Earth, Prozac even cheers up lobsters.

High serotonin/low octopamine characterizes the victor. The opposite neurochemical configuration, a high ratio of octopamine to serotonin, produces a defeated-looking, scrunched-up, inhibited, drooping, skulking sort of lobster, very likely to hang around street corners, and to vanish at the first hint of trouble. 

Serotonin and octopamine also regulate the tail-flick reflex, which serves to propel a lobster rapidly backwards when it needs to escape. 

Less provocation is necessary to trigger that reflex in a defeated lobster. 

You can see an echo of that in the heightened startle reflex characteristic of the soldier or battered child with post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Excerpt From: 
Jordan B. Peterson. 
12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos.


Leader of the Crab People[entirely red] : 
See now where we have been forced to live for a thousand years! But soon we shall rule the land above, and mankind will be gone!

Mr. Garrison :
Gone?? 

["Crab People! Crab People!"]

Crab Man 2 :
Crab people are too small and weak to take over man by force, and so we came up with our perfect plan! 

[another crab person walks over to a closet full of human shells, all of them replicas of the Queer Eye guys. The crab person climbs in a Carson replica and closes the shell behind him. Carson's replica comes to life]

Carson replica :
If you can't beat Man -
[drops down from his hook] 
change Man!!!

Mr. Garrison :
I knew it! 
I knew gay people would never do this to their own kind! 
[some crab people restrain him and Mr. Slave]

Crab Leader :
When all the world is metrosexual, the crab people shall finally reign supreme!! 

[raises his pincers and claps. The other crab people join him and clap]

Crab People :
Crab People! Crab People!

Crab Solo :
Taste like crab, talk like people.
Crab People!
Crab People!

Kyle :
You'll never turn ME into a metrosexual! 
I like being a dirty, filthy little boy!

Crab Man 2 :
[approaches
Very well. If we can't make you into metrosexuals, then we will make you into crab people! Take them!! 

[the crab people swarm in and separate the hostages. Some of them take Kyle into Crabwear and select a crab outfit for him to wear. Then they take him to Crab Salon and put antennae on his hat, then they take him to get a facial, then they march him down the underground road]




" Maybe you are a loser. And maybe you’re not—but if you are, you don’t have to continue in that mode. 

Maybe you just have a bad habit. Maybe you’re even just a collection of bad habits. 

Nonetheless, even if you came by your poor posture honestly—even if you were unpopular or bullied at home or in grade school —it’s not necessarily appropriate now. Circumstances change. 

If you slump around, with the same bearing that characterizes a defeated lobster, people will assign you a lower status, and the old counter that you share with crustaceans, sitting at the very base of your brain, will assign you a low dominance number. 

Then your brain will not produce as much serotonin. 

This will make you less happy, and more anxious and sad, and more likely to back down when you should stand up for yourself. It will also decrease the probability that you will get to live in a good neighbourhood, have access to the highest quality resources, and obtain a healthy, desirable mate. It will render you more likely to abuse cocaine and alcohol, as you live for the present in a world full of uncertain futures. It will increase your susceptibility to heart disease, cancer and dementia. All in all, it’s just not good. 

Circumstances change, and so can you. "

Excerpt From: 
Jordan B. Peterson. 
12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos.




Reverse Arm-Fold :

The physical inverse of the Badass Arm-Fold, where the arms are folded behind the back. 

The hands may be clasped together just behind the waist (more common in the West and pictured at right), or gripping the opposite forearm higher up (more common in the East). 

This posture generates strong connotations of patience and consideration.


There are four [FIVE] basic character types who use this, for their own reasons:

1) Martial artists, especially the Old Master, who will hold this pose constantly while his hands are not occupied, unless he's a monk, in which case one hand will hold a prayer position in front of his chest.

2) Old people of the Asian persuasion in general, who take the same pose but lean forward as if for balance.



3) The Contemplative Boss. See the picture on that page for an example.

4) Military personnel, while on duty but not actively engaged in some activity (for instance, in formation but not being inspected, waiting for inspection formation, or waiting to be told to form up for inspection). The stance shown in the picture is known as "Parade Rest" in the US military (and possibly elsewhere) and "At Ease" in The Commonwealth.

[ 5) Groucho Marx Impersonators ]



Villains are also fond of the pose, as it allows them to lean forward intimidatingly and not look silly as they would if they just let their arms hang loosely. 

Compare and Contrast Coy, Girlish Flirt Pose.