We are all pixels. I am a pixel. You are a pixel. Everything is pixels. Partaking in an image of x, y, z, infinity, infinity, infinity. There are no gaps or space, just pixels. Fathom the unfathomable. You are floating on top, underneath, beside, adjacent to everything. 

 

Disconnected connections randomly placed where up close completely insignificant on it's own, however viewed from any angle anywhere a conclusion of thoughts. 

 

One pixel composed of rational thought, common sense, and adversity. Vulnerable. Destructible. Lazy. Coexisting. Existing. Predictive. Addictive. Possible. 

 

There's only room for us and nothing more. Though imagine the unfathomable. Destruction equals construction. Where there is death, there is life. Pixels do not cease to be. Just the color is exchanged. White to blue. Blue to red. Red to yellow. And life goes on. A constant flow of ever-changing colors. Magnificent. Powerful. Complete. 

 

Some people like to believe in God. I like to believe in the bigger picture.

 

I gotta thank you
For being cruel to me
For showing me
How bad it could be
For everything I never wanted

I gotta thank you
For changing my life
For taking me for granted
And losin all the trust I had
It showed me
How bad I had it

You made me who I am
For getting all the bad
All at once it woke me
Gave me life
Woke me up and told me
That ain't my life

I oughta thank you
For pushing me away
For choosing not to stay and fight
To become the star I am
in another sky
I love goodbyes

I oughta thank you
For messing with my head
For getting outta bed
It left a space here
Made a spot for him
this is where I am, yeah

You made me who I am
For getting all the bad
All at once it woke me
Gave me life
Woke me up and told me
That ain't my life

You know that tired old question that's been run over and over until it's lost in itself? Well, I got to thinking about this today. What is art. It's something that evolves continuously and I think that's why so many people have a hard time pegging it for what it is. 

If I were to say what I think art is, I would say it is when a person is able to capture something that results in others wishing that they had captured it themselves first. And when that is multiplied by the masses, one can be considered a legendary artist. 

I think being an artist is a balance of ego, torment and self gratification. Probably most artists would agree with me. Achieving the status of influence that surrounds you with enjoy almost on a zombie level. Throves of artist hopefulls wishing they could taste what you have inside that makes you create what you're so unique at creating.

To capture a single image, a shot, a single epitaph of a fleeting moment.... that is what creates jealousy to which all who cannot recreate that moment want to own that moment. A artist is one whose fantasy is good enough to visualize what others have never yet seen and able to produce what it is in reality. Evoking envy, head scratching, and awe. Text that cannot be resaid better, or wiser, or music that cannot have been played more eloquently. This is art. To me anyway. 

I should hardly ever call myself an artist as I've never yet attained that level of envy. I am just one of those fellow zombies feeding off the ones who strive to make the hand obey the mind.

I am not made from great things. I can only strive to create something as close to greatness with what I have been given to work with. Far from perfect. Flawed and dinged. Age is catching up on me. I can only hope to see as far as my eyes can focus. But my eyes are growing weaker every passing day. And though my body fails me, I know this is not the end of me. I can only try to avoid the dangers along the nearby path. I cannot promise to carry more than my two hands can tarry. Every choice. Every step. It's motivated by doing as little harm as possible. I am simply human. These choices aren't always understood. Forgive me for not being the person you want me to be. But keep your expectations of me for that is who I aim to become someday. Watch this space between me and your expectations. That's the realm of possibilty if I'm given the faith.

What happens when the enemy you were told to mistrust is nothing more than a faceless embodiment of beliefs? A blur of morals justified by egoistic superiority. A good PR campaign with colorful 3D self righteousness. You could build an entire empire ruled by fear. History is doomed to repeat itself, because fear requires an enemy. An enemy requires fear. As long as we continue to be shown who the enemy should be, we will always fall victim to fear. When the enemy is faceless, how can you know they are your enemy when you look them in the eye? 

 

The problem with the world today is that we have been spoon fed by the media for so long telling us who our enemy should be that we no longer can step outside of our homes anymore without worrying a run-in with our enemy. People get behind a microphone and tell you who to trust. They sit behind a keyboard and blast the enemy with sufficient doubt that there is no longer a requirement of accountability. When mankind releases personal accountability and responsibility for their own beliefs handing everything over to someone else, they become addicts. The ones who feed them their addiction are the pushers. The addicts tune in to find out if everything is going to be alright. Pushers spoon feeding the addicts chocolate pudding ratings laced with heroin contrived headlines. A good number of people have fallen for the spoon. Fear leaving their pusher and going straight. Listening to other media. Getting a world view. And God forbid, meeting the enemy to find out their side. Unfortunately the media wouldn't be this way if there wasn't a demand for them to tell people how to think. And so goes the cycle of pusher and addict. Supply and demand. The addict cannot live without the drug of fear based security. Everything is going to be ok as long as the pusher is in control. 

 

The problem is that these pushers are growing in numbers, while the numbers of addicts are growing exponentially. While there is a number of mankind who sit around in guffaw of the lure of the drug, there is a massive congregation of junkies. The drug blurring their vision, they don't even know who to hate anymore. And so since they cannot recognize a face, they simply hate everyone who has the same belief, color, sexual preference, country, and dress of your enemy. Mistrust all who bare the symbol of your enemy. Fear the stranger you cannot see under the burkha. Expect everyone to conform to your beliefs and moral values. Hate all opposed of your world view. Fear, hate, repeat. 

 

Did you listen to someone else? You're not thinking straight. Take your medicine. Be afraid. Be afraid. Be afraid. The first one is free. Stay tuned.

 

 

 

You really have to dare to stick your neck out. You really have to dare to say what you believe in. It takes a lot of guts to voice your opinion and stand strong. Resolute. In order to hold your head up high, you'll need a strong neck to remain true to yourself. But be prepared for when you do stick your neck out. It only makes you taller and easier to spot when they come with the guillotine. 

You're going to shake some feathers. You're going to step on some toes. Throughout the ages, those who have dared to speak their mind have born the burden of becoming a troublemaker. For standing up for what they believed in, they were targeted, martyred, exiled. Not everyone who stood up for what they believed in was a good person. They simply had the louder voice. The voice that was simply easier to agree with. They were good at the art of manipulation. That doesn't make them taller. It doesn't make their spine firm and straight. And they aren't remembered for the good things they stood up for. Or even having a spine, let alone a neck.

How to spot the difference? The one sticking their neck out for what they believe in stands alone. While the one who sticks their neck out for their own personal gain stand surrounded by those who dare not to take a stand at all. 

So, what's the point? you ask. The point is simple. By standing by what you believe in even after you've been beheaded, you'll still have your self respect intact. And you know what? Your neck will grow back. 

 

"Come and get me."

Zoom forward fifteen years. I'd say this.

Don't mistake lust for love. Don't mistake love for hate. Don't mistake masochism for love. Don't mistake want for need. Nor assume that love can be replaced or fed by something else rather quickly. Love is not something you can possess or own. Love does not punish. Love is a place that no one can tarnish. Not even by the one you love. For real love does not come and go. It stays with you forever. It doesn't have a switch and it does not judge. It doesn't want to change you, nor does it expect you to remain the same forever. Love is not something that can be bought or shared. Love doesn't want to trap you or keep you bound. It's not something that can be read through poems or heard in songs. It's unique to you and no one can tell you when it is not real. Don't mistake passion for love. For when you truly get the opportunity to feel love and loved, you know you can never return to anything else. It often reveals itself in retrospect, so be open to it while it might be there to experience it. Don't be afraid to be loved even if it makes you ache. No other species can experience that ache for a reason. Consider yourself blessed. Follow your heart and it will show you what real love is. For even after you've lost the one you love, the love will last in your heart forever and remind you that there is a reason to believe in it. Don't let love pass you by.

 

To the sea where I played as a child.
Find the edge where the waters rise
to reach my hand accept the cold.
This was where we used to go.

Winter the wind blows and so does his love go.

Cold embrace reminding me of him
whose distance kept me
Peaceful calm but underneath it all
the unchangeable surface.

Winter the wind blows and so does his love go.

Winter she blew
And the stillness came too.
And ice froze the surface
And riddled it blue.
White now and shivering.
Can't stop the wondering.
Of what happens to me
when the surface gets cold.

Winter the wind blows and so does his love go.

Down below my father's fate roams
This place where he calls home
Mourn regret float up to meet the snow
Telling me to go.

Winter the wind blows and so does his love go.

Winter she blew
And the stillness came too.
In the end was the surface 
All I ever knew
Frozen and gone
Leaving this song
What happens to the little things
When the surface gets cold?

underwater

©nicoleöstman2010

Even blindfolded, you know the bullet is aimed right at you. You don't have to have vision to know when you're standing in a path that will lead to something bad. We have this built in radar for knowing when we are standing in harms way.

But is that feeling instinct or simply fear? Where does fear come from, but from the unknown? The unknown path. The unknown stranger. The unknown fear of the unknown. Like a mother bear and her young, how does she know that the children in the woods aren't going to attack her babies? She's just reacting out of fear. She has no idea the children would never hurt her babies. She's just reacting on instinct. Fear of the unknown. And so she's dancing with the trigger. She's been there before. She knows what the smell of human is like and she can associate that with bullets. Humans and bullets must smell the same bitter metal smell in her sensitive nostrils.

You can't blame the bear for lashing out. You can't blame the bear for protecting her young. But you can't blame the children either for wanting to hug the cute little baby bears that reminded them of their teddy's back home.

Don't hate the bear for doing what she must. Don't hate the children for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's not anyone's fault. It's just a mauled fatal story that leaves everyone feeling bad.

And because the two shall never be able to mix. The bear and the children are now divided by a glass, but are living worlds apart.

Animal Instinction to keep from Animal Extinction. If only they could play together without fear. I wonder what kind of world that would be.

There is an ancient chinese proverb that says, An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet regardless of time, place or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break. What if it's not a red thread at all? What if it was a string of xmas lights instead?

Every year you pull down the required xmas decorations to prepare for the yearly customary decorating. You pull down the box marked 'Lights' with a bit of anxiety. You tried so hard to make sure that the next time you pulled this box down, you would see no difference from the moment you packed it. Cleanly entwined just as you left it. But for some reason, beyond logic, beyond physics, time has managed to turn everything into a tangled web of nonsense that will take you ages to unravel. Yet, unraveling the past is the tradition you have become accustomed to. That's why you have anxiety about it. It's never a comfortable process.

You start at the end and slowly start to work your way through the jungle of cable. Working your way past each light. Checking as you go to make sure the light is securely fastened. Pulling and tugging as you go, the maze of cable becomes more and more clear. What once was a mishmash of knots, is slowly becoming an untangled and beautiful wire of light. You understand everything so much better when it's all over.

Sometimes it feels like we're just bumping and tangling into one another. Every day we encounter hundreds of people throughout our day. You don't even notice the ones who never make an impression. You notice the ones who leave knots in your path. If you were carrying a red thread from the moment you woke until the moment you laid your head to bed, you can imagine the tangled mishmash you'd wind up with. It's nicer imagining it was a mishmash of xmas lights. Because then you could simply just plug in the end and light your way back to the beginning. And you might possibly see things differently as you untangle the mesh making memories stronger, knots harder to swallow, and something beautiful to look at.

Happy Untangling!

Lonely bike is not so lonely anymore.