Sunday, April 30, 2006


shreds ...

that's how it all turned out ... shreds. how, exactly, did this happen? i mean, it feels like i woke up and found my life like this ... shreds. WTF??? where, i wonder, was i when it all fell to shreds? drowning ... ? perhaps. drowning in a sea of identity thru others. velvet, mother. velvet, wife. velvet, existing only in relation to the others in her life. velvet, brutally wounded by the bayonettes called anger, grief, parenting. parenting ... we all want it. that's because we have no idea how horribly difficult, isolating and painful it really is ... and because we don't count on getting a child that's defective ... unable to fit the mold we so desperately want it to fit ... unable to even love its parents.

shreds. each and every day. the defective child ... the one the parents grieve, despite his physical presence. each day a new feeling of loss superimposed on top of the old feelings of loss. each day, the violent slap of unrequited love ... the painful desperation of knowing i love and do not receive any in return. shreds ... each parent, consumed in grief, anger, desperation. grief, with no closure. never closure. only a dull aching and a feeling of failure. FAILURE.

consumed. this thing ... consumed us. or ... we allowed ourselves to be consumed. does it matter now? we are empty nesters ... empty being the key word. we are left in the nest ... feeling empty, they have emptied us out ... the children of this marriage. what remains? two empty shells ... formerly known as ourselves. who are we? who am i? who is he? what are we doing here? besides brooding, brooding, and spewing unhappiness. when does love become habit ...? when does need become habit? habit ... an action one engages in without consideration. is that what we have become?

how does one extract oneself from the tangles of grief, anger, isolation, guilt, emptiness? can there be salvation? can there be redemption ...? i mean, redemption for the relationship ...? does anything remain to be redeemed? does whatever remains WANT to be redeemed? that, dear readers, is quite the question. isn't it?

Friday, April 28, 2006

left the uncomfortable zone

as in leaving the (un)comfortable zone ... as in all my doubts regarding the right course action had left me. what do i feel? not sadness, not anger, just ... just ... immense relief. like, i can exhale now.

Wednesday, April 26, 2006


i read in a recent news item, shimon peres quoted as saying israelis have not yet recovered from the holocaust. ok. at the risk of being labelled ... i will ask what others may be afraid to ... WTF??? one wonders ... really, really wonders ... when does the world get to hear about the OTHER holocausts that have taken place since WWII? or are we just supposed to keep whining about something that happened over 60 years ago at the expense of everyone else?

the irony is ... for a people that are heard saying 'never again' ... they sure seem so guilty of breaking that vow. just sayin' is all. (don't lynch me, ok? last time i checked it was a free country and so ... this is what i think. so deal with it!) and ... well, i guess we're not supposed to think of bosnia ... rwanda ... all those places where mass genocide has occured.

it really is true ... the more things change the more they stay the same. how sad. how truly sad. i think our children are hearing the phrase 'never again' ... but these seem hollow words ... with no actions to back them up.

the word hypocrit comes to mind ...

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

beauty and joy

i was inspired by Infini ... aka Contessa ... to share this picture (taken in 1991), which captures the beauty and joy of my life ... if i accomplish nothing else in this life ... at least i have accomplished this:

Sunday, April 23, 2006

such bullshit!

ok. so ... several retired generals are calling for rumsfeld's ass ... hmmmm - telling, isn't it? don't really think anything more needs to be said ... here is where you can read the story, in full.

here's another sickening tidbit ...

"The Pentagon has also found a novel way of recovering some of the $240 billion it has spent to fight its losing war in Iraq: charge soldiers for gear destroyed in battle. First Lieutenant William 'Eddie' Rebrook IV, a 25-year old West Virginian, found out about this new military income stream the hard way. He was riding in the turret of a Bradley Fighting Vehicle last year when it was hit by a roadside bomb. Rebrook's right arm was wounded and he was picked up by a Black Hawk helicopter and taken to a combat hospital in Baghdad. When he returned his gear in early this year, prior to heading home, he was ordered to pay nearly $700 for the equipment that was destroyed in the attack, including $570 for the Kevlar vest he had been wearing. Not really knowing what to do, Rebrook borrowed the money from his pals in the First Cavalry Division and paid the US Army." (Graydon Carter, "Editor's Letter" in Vanity Fair: April 2006, pp. 69-70)

and ... apparently members of the CIA get fired for leaking classified information. read about it here so, why don't those 'leakers' in the White House get fired? is this yet another example of the goddamned double standard at work here? likely ...

ok. so Osama has put out a new tape. unfortunately, a lot of what he says in this latest tape makes sense ... too bad he thinks the way to solve this issue is with bombs and using planes as weapons of mass destruction ... there must be some other way?

FOR FUCK'S SAKE! isn't there anything good going on in the world?

Sunday, April 16, 2006

a little piece of heaven

copyright: here, 2006

room 1025

november. ottawa. oh ... so many years ago. i remember the room number - 1025. i will never forget. you did not want me to meet you, there, so many years ago. but i didn't listen. i insisted - followed you there. and you acquiesced. how could you refuse me? you never could refuse me. i knew your weakness --me. when i arrived, at the door of 1025, you answered, wearing all black. you had the monday night football on the tele. and that smile painted on your face. desire - it oozed from your pores.

i felt ... wow ... exhilarated. was this really happening? i had waited so long to spend the night with you ... and at times never believed it would happen. and then - there it was. it felt good. like a dream. and we enjoyed each other. forgot about the reality - the unchanged reality that waited for us at home. and we ate together, walked together, talked together, slept together. i got so hot under the covers i had to go out on the balcony -- melting snow you called it. that was our joke after that. i believed i loved you -- i always wonder if you ever loved me.

i still carry in my heart your leaving. it was friday morning. you had to go to hull, you said. it was early. you got ready in silence -- gathered your things. i felt invisible, like i wasn't there. you had already started to shut me out. i laid there, under the covers. despair, like an occlusive heaviness, sat in my throat. i could not move, or barely speak. did you know? could u feel how i felt? and then you left the room. just left - took a cursory glance around the room, smiled a phoney smile and left.

do you know how cheap and used i felt? i cannot even tell you. but i was so young, so tender. and so vulnerable. and you left me. it hurt. and ... about 15 years later ... i can still recall the stinging in my heart as though it were fresh. each time i think of you. i feel that dark feeling in my heart when i think of you ... leaving me. leaving room 1025. 1025. the leaving room.

Saturday, April 15, 2006

northern belle

i have finally figured it out. all this time i thought i had an attitude problem. nah ...! that's not it at all. my problem is i'm really a southern belle. i was just born in the fucking prairie nowhere land of canada.

ahhh - canada. land of mediocrity. where we are happy to be mediocre. think about it. what are we good at? being passive and lame. canada ... a place whose reputation precedes itself. really. its true. in more ways than i care to explain.

so. that's it. i've had it. i'm tired of donating 45 % of my income to taxes for ... for ... for ... what??? hmmmm ... i'm not sure, really. not sure at all.

at the window ...

i could not have slept very long ... the clock said 0359 just before i drifted off, and when i awoke dawn had not yet descended. i did not think to look at the clock. i did not feel fully conscious. i found myself in that sleep purgatory - that place that affords me awareness, with virtually no capability of moving my body. nonetheless, i am positive this was not a dream - no ... this felt very real, indeed.

she appeared there, at the window. again. i could not see her facial features in the darkness. she appeared by my window, located right by my front door - a shadowy figure, a sillouette. i'm sure it was the same woman i had seen a few days before. her energy ... it felt the same. desperate, longing, needy. she did not speak though ... just wildly gestured.

i still can't, for the life of me, figure out what she was trying to communicate to me. she waved a piece of cloth ... a t-shirt, or towel, perhaps? i dunno. she waved it wildly ... it flapped in the light spring breeze. the sky behind her ... starry and deep dark velvet. the air ... still and silent. she danced around on the landing outside my window and front door, wildly waving this piece of cloth. she would not go away. i could not see the expression on her face. i did not really need to. the whole thing ... i found way too trippy. and ... not at all in a good way.

i tried to speak ... no words. i cannot speak when in sleep purgatory. not even to scream for help. and so ... i must find some other way to get her to go away, leave me in peace. i could not move my legs. i could, however, lift my arm ... with so much effort. i had no idea my arm could feel so heavy. and ... i had no idea it could require so much concentration to flip somebody the bird. you know, give them the finger. but ... i did. she saw me ... saw the sign. and she left.

but, she did not leave before taking my peace of mind (something that has always been fragile at best since childhood) and any notion i had that i am safe in my own home. so ... shall we take the blue pill? or the red pill? it's like that, isn't it? we all float around our lives, clinging to the illusions of safety and peace of mind ... its a FUCKING RUSE, folks. safety? peace of mind? who, among us, has these? no one, i dare say. like the animals in the jungle ... that's us.

but ... human's are worse, because they derive pleasure at inflicting unpleasantries on their fellow humans. that, in my opinion, makes us lower that the lowest life form.

note: this story is NOT a work of fiction ... just so you know

Friday, April 14, 2006

nothing is what it seems ...

copyright: me, 2006

Thursday, April 13, 2006

things i am thankful for

i am not dying;
nor is anyone i hold in any kind of esteem or affection;
i have a son, and
as far as i am aware:
he is still alive,
has not been kidnapped by anyone,
and has not been sacrificed to some misguided military cause;
i have use of my arms and legs,
i can breath without mechanical assistance,
i can swallow food,
i can control my bodily functions,
i can wipe my ass without help
i am not bleeding from any bodily oriface

that is all i can think of ...

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

open heart

a movie. it was on the movie central - this evening. it is based on a true story: this story. it is what nursing is like here. sick ... fucked up. its why i'm leaving this country. though, i must admit ... i have my doubts whether it will be any different anywhere else.

yet, another nail in the coffin, where my esteem of the human race is concerned.

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

manchurian candidate ...

the remake, not the original. i just saw this movie. very good, i thought. why do i like this movie? well, because i think its a very accurate portrayal of how selfish, vile, and destructive humans are. it seems the way of the world, doesn't it? just use, abuse, walk all over others ... to achieve your end. who gives a flying fuck how many you take out along the way.

after all, every war has casualties, doesn't it?

and that, folks, is exactly why the only individual i will ever really trust is my dog.


Monday, April 10, 2006

i want to write

something ... but all the anger, vitriole, rage have turned everything into stone. vitriolic ... i quite like that word. think sulfuric acid ... that's me. corrosive - that describes it, in a word. why am i angry? oh, FUCK! why not? being happy, trusting and all fucking care bear about life - that's such a load of shit. who are we kidding, anyhow?

i will just be my wonderfully corrosive self. (btw if you don't like it, then fuck you) and that way, i keep everyone at bay. its so much safer that way. you know, people only wanna know you when things are sun shiny ... not when the storm clouds are overhead. suits me just fine, actually. people are just out for what they can get. so, i say - fuck 'em.

i am just looking for an excuse ... hah! i don't really need one ... i feel quite hateful sitting here by myself, actually. and ... you're all full of shit if you're sitting there, thinking all that 'new age' crap -- it does feel quite liberating ... quite good. at least i'm honest enuf to admit it.


i think that should be my new mantra.

a spike thru the skull

I have heard, in the past several days, so much fucking BULLSHIT about the seal hunt. I feel the need to put my two cents' worth on the table.

first, i will say you all need to get your facts straight. here is where you will find a worthy news source providing the TRUE facts surrounding the seal hunt. DON'T BOTHER COMMENTING TO THIS POST UNLESS YOU HAVE INFORMED YOURSELF ON THE ISSUE! Reading wires on Yahoo News or reading that crap that IFAW puts out IS NOT INFORMING YOURSELF anymore than reading the National Inquirer is! get your fucking facts straight before shooting your mouthes off! clearly, you don't know what you're talking about - and, frankly it PISSES me off!

i just want to point out that all those photos of the white coats, shown in relations to the seal hunt are quite misleading. the killing of white furs happens to be illegal, and has been since 1987. pehaps if you actually made an effort to learn about this you would sound more informed and intelligent.

and, while we are on the topic of killing young animals, perhaps you did not know that those veal cutlets you love so much are actually young cattle. did you know that these are cattle that have been deprived of grass all their young lives, kept in the dark, and fed a diet of milk powder? likely not ... you all sound like the type that thinks veal comes from your grocer's freezer! well, hun - think again! are you hooked now? you wanna learn more?

as for the 'carnage' of it all. how hypocrtical. have you been to a slaughter house? do you know how they slaughter all that steak, bacon, ham and veal cutlet? well here's a lesson for you meat lovers out there who think the seal hunt is carnage.

pigs are electrically shocked on their heads and cattle are stunned by a blow to the head with a bolt gun, the throat is slit, and they get hung up by their hind legs to bleed out. the blood that they bleed out is used to make sausage! and i will spare you the details of how pigs get their canine teeth, their tails and their testicles cut off - without any anesthetic - even before they get to the slaughter house! think about this next time you enjoy your bacon and eggs, will you?

and this is routine animal husbandry and meat processing - ROUTINE!

so - think about that, all you outraged animal lovers ... next time you bite into that juicy steak or burger. We are no better that the seal hunters and that's that f*cking truth!

Oh yeah ... and before you worry about what Stephen Harper is smoking you may want to be worried about why the jack ass who is running your country thinks he can leak classified information to bolster support for his illegal war!

Saturday, April 08, 2006

i saw your mother today

edwin. a crushed soul. crushed ... and shattered. and the shards cut deep. oh, edwin, such sorrow oozes from each of her pores. and still, she asks how i'm doing. when i touch her hand -- it stings. it stings me, edwin ... you know the stinging when you touch your eye after chopping onions? like that. her pain engulfs me. there's so much of it. it fills this place, this store where you got shot in the head over $47.

i now know why i have felt such fear of entering the store. the energy of your death, the crushing grief your parents feel, at missing you. i feel it. every molecule, every drop of sorrow and grief. my heart, my soul ... they remember this pain, this suffering. plucked away, edwin - this feeling, it's the feeling of 'plucked away.' the most beautiful, well-rooted and healthy feather ... plucked away. your parents, they witnessed what no parent should have to -- watching their own son die violently at the hands of another human. and they continue to live and work in that very place you lost your life.

Edwin ... can you breath some gentle comfort into the heart of your mother ... and shine some soft hope onto your father's anguished soul?

Friday, April 07, 2006

leaky lewis?

soo ... now the white house is trying to convince the world that the president declassified the information, as opposed to leaking classified information (or authorizing said leakage) ...? FUCK! come one dubya ...! how stupid do you think we are anyway ...?

why can't you just admit that you had no fucking legal reason to go to war ... but you were sooo desperate to play soldier ... that you just made up a reason! now that we have discovered who is really responsible for leaking classified information ... now will you live up to your promise? what was that again, you said you would do to those information leakers? ... hmmmm we can only hope that was not just another one of your bullshit stories, dubya.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

universal access?

really? that's what they're calling it, here. well ... FUCK ... there are certainly some deluded people living in this country, then, aren't there? we, here, in the great white north, are always shooting our mouthes off about our great system of universally accessible health care. i'm sitting here, thinking, no one really has access to anything, because the system has no capacity to enable anyone access to anything in a timely manner.

need a lifesaving MRI for diagnostic purposes? huh! good look. well, you may be able to jump the queue if you have some ca$h in your pocket. have a suspicious lump? need a biopsy? or chemo? good luck ... you may be waiting awhile. but ... if you are a 90-something yr old, demented and disabled resident of a nursing home, who has taken a fall ... then of course you can have the quickest access to the OR, despite the fact that you have not walked in years, that you are absolutely NOT a surgical candidate, and that there is little likelihood you will survive the surgery. this makes perfect sense, doesn't it? that the greatest bulk of health care resources go toward those most futile of causes? don't get all outraged about the fact that i've said something the rest of you may not be able to bring yourselves to think of. it's just the truth - as i see it.

okay ... so this is why the average canadian income earner pays 40% of his/her salary to taxes? for this ... universally inaccessible system, in which everything - especially the quality of health care - gets reduced to the lowest - no the worse - common denominator? lol that's pretty fucking funny.

all my life i have heard this ... this BS about how universal access is a defining and great canadian characteristic. what a load of crap. really, the fact of the matter is that this ... myth of universal access that we cling to is merely another indication of how mediocre and pathetic canada is. we have a bunch of overpayed, underworked, complacent and arrogant civil servants that run the country ... we all know how corrupt they all are, thanks to the Gomery thing.

i'm fed up ... of paying for something i never get. of hearing about how privatization will erode the 'canadian way of life' ...! maybe that would be a good thing ... the canadian way seems to be accept mediocrity to keep the peace. don't rock the boat ... we don't really want to know what isn't working.

well ... i'm here to tell you all FUCK THIS BULL SHIT. I THINK I AM OUTTA HERE! I just wonder -- why didn't i think of this sooner?

Monday, April 03, 2006

i want you to know

i forgive you, for what you did. it never was a question of forgiveness, on my part. just anguish, dark and lonely anguish that your betrayal sent me plunging into -- head first. i understood, you know. i understood why you did those things to me. you were 19 or 20. how old was i? i think, 10 or 12. my recollection of these times in my life - fragmented. i remember being in grade 6, then grade 7, then grade 8. and i remember that i understood.

sitting in the back seat of the car, listening to the adults talk about themselves and their relationships. that's when it became clear to me ... she ... your wife ... spoke of not satisfying you ... sexually. you know, that stupid mind-fucking game wives play with their husbands, involving deprival of sex at a whim? and, so, i rationalized, you had to get fulfilment somewhere. and that somewhere happened to be me. and ... i understood.

and, so, on those late nite drives - you driving me home after an evening of babysitting your daughter - thru the dark, deserted residential streets, you took what wasn't yours to take. did you think it was okay to take what wasn't yours if no one saw you taking it? did you think maybe i would forget ... that i wouldn't notice anything went missing?

well. i want you to know that it wasn't okay, that i did notice, even though no one else seemed to notice. and that your denials did not change the unchangeable reality. how many others, like me, were there? i wonder, do they remember the sour scent of your breath? the pastey, greasy feeling of your hair and skin? and do they have the same fear of men with grimy hands and dirt under their fingernails? and ... i also wonder ... how do you live with yourself?

i want you to know that ... what you took - my innocence, trust, self - you also took from every man i have ever loved. or tried to love. years after your betrayal, the ugly, repulsive and horrific betrayal ... you continue to take these things. and those, who never even knew you, have suffered the cold and icey fallout ... my cold and icey fallout.

and you ...? what have you suffered? oh ... why should i care? i don't really. i don't. i just want you to know that i remember ... forgive even ... but i can never, never forget. that's what i want you to know.

its all about ME

  • i'm roxanne, and this is velvet, the voice inside my head. and this -- this is her blog.
  • i'm that wild, passionate and unruly girl your mum warned you about

    i'm a maelstrom, a whirling dervish, a minx. i run from "same-ness" - i find it oppressive.

    change is good. change is necessary. life is change.

    if change scares you, if change intimidates you, if change makes you uncomfortable, then you're a BORE!

    this blog changes to reflect its continually evolving creator - moi.

    so ... adapt!

    you never know what you'll find when you get to velvet's place. that's the adventure of it all.

    this place continues to take shape, as velvet finds her voice in all this darkness.

    velvet rants, rages, throws the occasional hissy fit, launches the odd venomous tirade, and intellectually contemplates all the stuff of life, love, and soul

    its depressing, and enraging because the world burns and crumbles before our eyes. yet we sleep.

    we sleep. apathy, greed, power sit atop our eyelids like lead weights

    so, welcome to my world.

    i aim to pry your eyes open, to pry your mind open, to get you thinking outside the box, to shock you even.

    i ask the questions most choose to ignore. i think the thoughts most consider unthinkable. i'm alive. i'm awake. are you?

    hey -- WAKE UP!

  • fury wrapped in a daffodil, confused, undecided, wild child, indigo child, impatient, insomniac, rebellious, outspoken, artistic, restless, bored with routine, i love change, afraid of commitment, i work to live - not live to work, claustrophobic, perfectionist, odd and maybe downright wierd, anxious and maybe a l'il (ok, a lot) neurotic, dichotomous, a teensy bit vitrolic, prone to nastiness, a maverick and a cynic, highly intuitive, sensual, erotic, intense, spiritual -- NOT religious, a bitch, a wordsmith, poet, storyteller, addict, mother, caregiver, dog lover, voracious reader, Mac person, Coke drinker, cannibis appreciator, clean freak, prone to hissy fits, attitude - i got one, fav. colour: red, perfume: estee lauder pleasures exotic, voluptuous, afraid of falling asleep, afraid of the dark, hate being touched, still get flashbacks - PTSD, nite hawk, into fetishes, got a sadomasochistic streak in me
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my GRACE blog - giving thanx

methuselah lives here

    i have several poetry blogs on the 'net. essentially these contain the same stuff, just presented in differing formats. this methuselah just likes digging around in more than one corpse at a time!

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      afghan hound

      yes to madness





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    velvet poetry

      bell jar dreams

      you held me in your arms,
      my trembling alabaster fruit
      and savagely,
      you trampled me, underfoot
      as master of my shattered freedom
      you - the twisted and beautiful lord
      who sealed me in a windowless bell jar
      with anguish and solitude,
      as my only companions

      captor! my demented master!
      my withered soul screams for you
      it howls for the soothing barbs,
      hidden, in your voice
      and your frail, orgasmic vulnerability
      my withered soul screams your name,
      raging delicately,
      for the gaping hollows of my existence,
      which melted into yours:
      dessicated dreams,
      vanquished innocence

      this sick hunger in my heart for you -
      will it ever ebb?

      copyright ROXI G 2006

      your grace grotesquely crumbles

      your grace crumbled
      into grotesque flakes
      as your fingertips slashed
      my tender silken face
      with rage and vengence,
      that drench my frail child-spirit

      steeped in self-loathing,
      you infected me -
      my gauzy soul
      on your poisoned barbs
      of hatred and lusty greed

      once, i loved you -
      worshipped you, adored you
      and darkness
      eviscerated my heart
      as i watched this adoration stream past
      your inert, stoney heart

      my trembling eyes splinter
      into a thousand tears
      when i look upon your face -
      my reflection - in the looking glass
      you, who deserted my child-trust -
      remain, achingly, ever present

      this dark riverbed of adoration
      that flowed in my viscera for you
      has dried up; my heart --
      which once glistened sublimely inside yours,
      now lies in eternal anguish:
      dessicated, petrified, searingly denuded

      your grace crumbles
      into grotesque flakes
      of grief, rage and greed,
      soaked in the brine of remorse
      you beg, like i did, for a morsel of mercy
      but -- i will STARVE you of forgiveness

      copyright ROXI G 2006


        "there's no way around grief and loss: you can dodge it all you want, but sooner or later you just have to go into it, through it, and, hopefully, come out on the other side. the world you find there will never be the same as the world you left." (johnny cash)

        "i wore black because i liked it. i still do, and wearing it still means something to me. its still my symbol of rebellion - against a stagnant status quo, against our hypocritical houses of god, against people whose minds are closed to others' ideas." (johnny cash)

      poetry masters

        if only you would touch my heart
        if only you were to put your mouth
        to my heart
        if only you were to put your tongue
        like a red arrow
        there where my dusty heart is beating,
        if you were to blow on my heart
        near the sea, weeping,
        it would make a dark noise,
        like the drowsy sound of train wheels
        like the indecision of waters,
        like autumn in full leaf
        like blood,
        with a noise of damp flames
        burning the sky,
        with a sound like dreams
        or branches or the rain,
        or foghorns in some dismal port,
        if you were to blow on my heart
        near the sea, likea white ghost,
        in the spume of the wave,
        in the middle of the wind
        like a ghost unleashed,
        at the seashore, weeping.

        ... Pablo Neruda, from 'Bararole'

        By a route obscure and lonely,
        Haunted by ill angels only,
        Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
        On a black thrones reigns upright,
        i have reached these lands but newly
        From an ultimate dim Thule -
        From a wild wierd clime that lieth, sublime,
        Out of SPACE - out of TIME.

        ... Edgar Allan Poe, from 'Dream-Land'

      anais nin

        "and the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

        “i do not like to be just one anais, whole, contained. as soon as someone defines me. i do as june does; i seek escape from the confinements of definition.”

        “i speak of relief, perhaps when i write; but it is also an engraving of pain, a tatooing of myself.”

        “we are like sculptors, constantly carving out of others the image we long for, need, love or desire, often against reality, against their benefit, and always, in the end, a disappointment, because it does not fit them.”

        “life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. this is a kind of death.”