BRANDTRUEBOY

Current flavors in the ever-morphing mix:

Online telepathy
Graffiti
Andy Warhol
Fiction
awareness:

Can you feel it?  The light is getting brighter. When’s the last time you looked at the sky?  Have you noticed the shimmery wash of Alex Grey pinks and purples—the chem trail visual symphony and distinct sense of otherness that I feel is up there, right in front of our eyes. Something is different:  am I the one who changes it through the filter of my own perception or does it look that way to you too?

Intricate mandalas flash in code—sacred geometry appears in the crops and the clouds.  Information is becoming known by a new found ability that is in between hearing and sight—an increased intuition—a higher sense of coordination like the kind that sends the nimble-minded Google researcher cartwheeling across the internets.  You go (joyfully) where the search leads you, remembering that no matter how chaotic it may seem at any given moment, the internet is a lot like life itself—we always make only the moves that we were meant to make—and only at the right times.  Our human evolution is opening us up towards recognizing that our magnetic sixth (or seventh?) sense—the kind birds use to navigate the earth—is not about knowing, but about feeling.

Can you feel it?

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Glitch Nation (Part Deux-Doo-Do-DaDa-Da)

Part 1

(nequest)

The idea of the glitch gets further turned inside out later on in the Matrix trilogy, when Neo meets The Architect who explains that although the prophecy is that The One will destroy the Matrix, what he or she will really do is reboot it—causing everything to be destroyed and then created anew in a slightly different variation.  Among all the things accounted for in this new matrix will be a group of people destined to be the next rebel uprising. The truth is that there is no singular “truth”: all that exists outside the Matrix is another Matrix—similarly, there is no such thing as being outside of reality—our efforts to deconstruct it are what build it back again, efforts that begin with our awareness of the system as a system that can never be fully eradicated.  Something always escapes—something unexpected—like an accident or another kind of surprise—a tiny bit of slippage that’s able to regenerate itself.

Is it possible that this understanding about the value of mistakes, glitches, accidents and our inability to make anything (or anyone) truly gone for good has effected our collective attitude to such a degree to have fundamentally changed the nature of that reality?

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(via voodoovoodoo) Is it possible that by becoming hyper aware of the way we experience reality we can change that reality? Perhaps a UFO sighting IS the experience of that change. The object in the sky is a blind spot in the context of our gaze—something that escapes our understanding and doesn’t make sense—a tear along the seams of reality that we immediately fill with unconscious fantasies. For the scientist Jacques Vallée, like Jung, the primary focus was not upon the “realness” of the craft but upon the psychological aspects to the event of seeing it. Vallée believed that, “…mythology rules at a level of our social reality over which normal political and intellectual action has no power….” He offers the following analogy by way of explaining what he called (back in 1978) the “open source” nature of reality: Suppose you’re walking through the desert and you see a stone that looks as though it was painted white. A thousand yards later you see another stone of similar appearance. You stop and consider the matter. Either you can forget it or - if you’re like me - you can pick up the stone and move it a few feet. If suddenly a bearded character steps out from behind a rock and demands to know why you moved his marker, then you know you’ve found a control system. My point is that you can’t be sure until you do something. Then you realize that what you were seeing, the thing that looked absurd and incongruous, was really a marker for a boundary that was invisible to everybody else until you discovered it because you looked for a pattern. I think that’s exactly what we have to do with UFOs. We have to do something that will cause them to react. And I don’t mean building landing strips in the desert and waiting out there to welcome the space brothers. Vallée’s words bear an uncanny resemblance to the following scene from The Matrix—a movie that became a metaphor (myth) for the nature of reality at the turn of the millennium: [Neo sees a black cat walk by them, and then a similar black cat walk by them just like the first one] Neo: Whoa. Déjà vu. [Everyone freezes right in their tracks] Trinity: What did you just say? Neo: Nothing. Just had a little déjà vu. Trinity: What did you see? Cypher: What happened? Neo: A black cat went past us, and then another that looked just like it. Trinity: How much like it? Was it the same cat? Neo: It might have been. I’m not sure. Morpheus: Switch! Apoc! Neo: What is it? Trinity: A déjà vu is usually a glitch in the Matrix. It happens when they change something.(via voodoovoodoo) Is it possible that by becoming hyper aware of the way we experience reality we can change that reality? Perhaps a UFO sighting IS the experience of that change. The object in the sky is a blind spot in the context of our gaze—something that escapes our understanding and doesn’t make sense—a tear along the seams of reality that we immediately fill with unconscious fantasies. For the scientist Jacques Vallée, like Jung, the primary focus was not upon the “realness” of the craft but upon the psychological aspects to the event of seeing it. Vallée believed that, “…mythology rules at a level of our social reality over which normal political and intellectual action has no power….” He offers the following analogy by way of explaining what he called (back in 1978) the “open source” nature of reality: Suppose you’re walking through the desert and you see a stone that looks as though it was painted white. A thousand yards later you see another stone of similar appearance. You stop and consider the matter. Either you can forget it or - if you’re like me - you can pick up the stone and move it a few feet. If suddenly a bearded character steps out from behind a rock and demands to know why you moved his marker, then you know you’ve found a control system. My point is that you can’t be sure until you do something. Then you realize that what you were seeing, the thing that looked absurd and incongruous, was really a marker for a boundary that was invisible to everybody else until you discovered it because you looked for a pattern. I think that’s exactly what we have to do with UFOs. We have to do something that will cause them to react. And I don’t mean building landing strips in the desert and waiting out there to welcome the space brothers. Vallée’s words bear an uncanny resemblance to the following scene from The Matrix—a movie that became a metaphor (myth) for the nature of reality at the turn of the millennium: [Neo sees a black cat walk by them, and then a similar black cat walk by them just like the first one] Neo: Whoa. Déjà vu. [Everyone freezes right in their tracks] Trinity: What did you just say? Neo: Nothing. Just had a little déjà vu. Trinity: What did you see? Cypher: What happened? Neo: A black cat went past us, and then another that looked just like it. Trinity: How much like it? Was it the same cat? Neo: It might have been. I’m not sure. Morpheus: Switch! Apoc! Neo: What is it? Trinity: A déjà vu is usually a glitch in the Matrix. It happens when they change something.

(via voodoovoodoo)

Is it possible that by becoming hyper aware of the way we experience reality we can change that reality? Perhaps a UFO sighting IS the experience of that change. The object in the sky is a blind spot in the context of our gaze—something that escapes our understanding and doesn’t make sense—a tear along the seams of reality that we immediately fill with unconscious fantasies. For the scientist Jacques Vallée, like Jung, the primary focus was not upon the “realness” of the craft but upon the psychological aspects to the event of seeing it. Vallée believed that, “…mythology rules at a level of our social reality over which normal political and intellectual action has no power….” He offers the following analogy by way of explaining what he called (back in 1978) the “open source” nature of reality:

Suppose you’re walking through the desert and you see a stone that looks as though it was painted white. A thousand yards later you see another stone of similar appearance. You stop and consider the matter. Either you can forget it or - if you’re like me - you can pick up the stone and move it a few feet. If suddenly a bearded character steps out from behind a rock and demands to know why you moved his marker, then you know you’ve found a control system.

My point is that you can’t be sure until you do something. Then you realize that what you were seeing, the thing that looked absurd and incongruous, was really a marker for a boundary that was invisible to everybody else until you discovered it because you looked for a pattern. I think that’s exactly what we have to do with UFOs. We have to do something that will cause them to react. And I don’t mean building landing strips in the desert and waiting out there to welcome the space brothers.

Vallée’s words bear an uncanny resemblance to the following scene from The Matrix—a movie that became a metaphor (myth) for the nature of reality at the turn of the millennium:

[Neo sees a black cat walk by them, and then a similar black cat walk by them just like the first one]

Neo: Whoa. Déjà vu.

[Everyone freezes right in their tracks]

Trinity: What did you just say?

Neo: Nothing. Just had a little déjà vu.

Trinity: What did you see?

Cypher: What happened?

Neo: A black cat went past us, and then another that looked just like it.

Trinity: How much like it? Was it the same cat?

Neo: It might have been. I’m not sure.

Morpheus: Switch! Apoc!

Neo: What is it?

Trinity: A déjà vu is usually a glitch in the Matrix. It happens when they change something.

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(via supersonicelectronic) We tend to think of progress in terms of scientific inventions and improvements in medicine, travel and technology—but I believe that the advancement of the human spirit has more bearing on the quality of our lives.  The peaks and valleys of the story of our self-awareness are often visible only to an eye trained to read in between the lines of the facts and figures of history. They outline the true measure of  human evolution, which is in the amount of self-awareness attained by the general public. It might not be obvious but thanks to pop culture we recently advanced to a whole new level.  American inspired TV has taken over the world—and the internet has risen up alongside it primarily to give us a means to talk about our favorite shows and movies and stars who star in them. As a result we’ve reached a saturation point in which post-modern marketing is mass produced and served up in microwave-safe, pop art inspired everyman containers and packaging. Everyone knows what it is, even if they don’t know what it’s called. It’s a language filled with cues that run like a laugh track beneath and between our multi-media streams. It’s a brand new t-shirt with a retro slogan design. It’s the sample of a TV show in the middle of a hip-hop song, or a commercial about the making of a commercial that never actually shows the product its advertising. Marketers no longer expect people to buy into a straightforward message—instead they build a pre-fab ironic critique into their campaigns. I’m writing this in a way that makes it sound like a purely bad thing, but that’s not my intention:  post-post modernism is neither good nor bad, just like post-modernism wasn’t either extreme, nor modernism before it…they are merely stages of understanding in the evolution of the human spirit.  From the all-plastic center of post-modern meaningless gleams the 9/11 center—in which meaning was simultaneously destroyed and disseminated—the need to feel blew out across the country like the burning dust that blew across the city. In fact, everyday post-9/11, post-post modernism has become self-aware to the point of paranoia— it is our own gaze looking back at us—our own psychic projections that we see in the sky as well as on the TV screen. This is a moment of cultural confusion—of mashed-up disjointedness and TiVo’d happy moments. We’re at the moment in time when the DVD has ended and we can’t find the remote and we’re too lazy to get up…so the menu sequence plays over and over. There’s a handful of frames and a bit of a broken song followed by short pause before repeating—over and over, the way a CD used to skip. This is our reality—the next step is not to turn it off but to fall asleep with it on, and dream a new life based on it—a remix of a sequence from a TV season—a series of weekday evenings strung together in a beautiful silver disc—dangling like a large pendant from a necklace. The dream becomes reality. (no wonder we call the plastic boxes CDs and DVDs come in “jewel cases”) Writing this reminds me that Jung had a dream that he recounted in his autobiography of “lens shaped” flying saucer in the shape of a telescope—which led Jung to wonder whether he was dreaming the UFO, or whether it was dreaming him…(via supersonicelectronic) We tend to think of progress in terms of scientific inventions and improvements in medicine, travel and technology—but I believe that the advancement of the human spirit has more bearing on the quality of our lives.  The peaks and valleys of the story of our self-awareness are often visible only to an eye trained to read in between the lines of the facts and figures of history. They outline the true measure of  human evolution, which is in the amount of self-awareness attained by the general public. It might not be obvious but thanks to pop culture we recently advanced to a whole new level.  American inspired TV has taken over the world—and the internet has risen up alongside it primarily to give us a means to talk about our favorite shows and movies and stars who star in them. As a result we’ve reached a saturation point in which post-modern marketing is mass produced and served up in microwave-safe, pop art inspired everyman containers and packaging. Everyone knows what it is, even if they don’t know what it’s called. It’s a language filled with cues that run like a laugh track beneath and between our multi-media streams. It’s a brand new t-shirt with a retro slogan design. It’s the sample of a TV show in the middle of a hip-hop song, or a commercial about the making of a commercial that never actually shows the product its advertising. Marketers no longer expect people to buy into a straightforward message—instead they build a pre-fab ironic critique into their campaigns. I’m writing this in a way that makes it sound like a purely bad thing, but that’s not my intention:  post-post modernism is neither good nor bad, just like post-modernism wasn’t either extreme, nor modernism before it…they are merely stages of understanding in the evolution of the human spirit.  From the all-plastic center of post-modern meaningless gleams the 9/11 center—in which meaning was simultaneously destroyed and disseminated—the need to feel blew out across the country like the burning dust that blew across the city. In fact, everyday post-9/11, post-post modernism has become self-aware to the point of paranoia— it is our own gaze looking back at us—our own psychic projections that we see in the sky as well as on the TV screen. This is a moment of cultural confusion—of mashed-up disjointedness and TiVo’d happy moments. We’re at the moment in time when the DVD has ended and we can’t find the remote and we’re too lazy to get up…so the menu sequence plays over and over. There’s a handful of frames and a bit of a broken song followed by short pause before repeating—over and over, the way a CD used to skip. This is our reality—the next step is not to turn it off but to fall asleep with it on, and dream a new life based on it—a remix of a sequence from a TV season—a series of weekday evenings strung together in a beautiful silver disc—dangling like a large pendant from a necklace. The dream becomes reality. (no wonder we call the plastic boxes CDs and DVDs come in “jewel cases”) Writing this reminds me that Jung had a dream that he recounted in his autobiography of “lens shaped” flying saucer in the shape of a telescope—which led Jung to wonder whether he was dreaming the UFO, or whether it was dreaming him…

(via supersonicelectronic)

We tend to think of progress in terms of scientific inventions and improvements in medicine, travel and technology—but I believe that the advancement of the human spirit has more bearing on the quality of our lives.  The peaks and valleys of the story of our self-awareness are often visible only to an eye trained to read in between the lines of the facts and figures of history. They outline the true measure of  human evolution, which is in the amount of self-awareness attained by the general public. It might not be obvious but thanks to pop culture we recently advanced to a whole new level.  American inspired TV has taken over the world—and the internet has risen up alongside it primarily to give us a means to talk about our favorite shows and movies and stars who star in them. As a result we’ve reached a saturation point in which post-modern marketing is mass produced and served up in microwave-safe, pop art inspired everyman containers and packaging. Everyone knows what it is, even if they don’t know what it’s called. It’s a language filled with cues that run like a laugh track beneath and between our multi-media streams. It’s a brand new t-shirt with a retro slogan design. It’s the sample of a TV show in the middle of a hip-hop song, or a commercial about the making of a commercial that never actually shows the product its advertising. Marketers no longer expect people to buy into a straightforward message—instead they build a pre-fab ironic critique into their campaigns.

I’m writing this in a way that makes it sound like a purely bad thing, but that’s not my intention:  post-post modernism is neither good nor bad, just like post-modernism wasn’t either extreme, nor modernism before it…they are merely stages of understanding in the evolution of the human spirit.  From the all-plastic center of post-modern meaningless gleams the 9/11 center—in which meaning was simultaneously destroyed and disseminated—the need to feel blew out across the country like the burning dust that blew across the city.

In fact, everyday post-9/11, post-post modernism has become self-aware to the point of paranoia— it is our own gaze looking back at us—our own psychic projections that we see in the sky as well as on the TV screen.

This is a moment of cultural confusion—of mashed-up disjointedness and TiVo’d happy moments. We’re at the moment in time when the DVD has ended and we can’t find the remote and we’re too lazy to get up…so the menu sequence plays over and over. There’s a handful of frames and a bit of a broken song followed by short pause before repeating—over and over, the way a CD used to skip. This is our reality—the next step is not to turn it off but to fall asleep with it on, and dream a new life based on it—a remix of a sequence from a TV season—a series of weekday evenings strung together in a beautiful silver disc—dangling like a large pendant from a necklace.

The dream becomes reality.

(no wonder we call the plastic boxes CDs and DVDs come in “jewel cases”)

Writing this reminds me that Jung had a dream that he recounted in his autobiography of “lens shaped” flying saucer in the shape of a telescope—which led Jung to wonder whether he was dreaming the UFO, or whether it was dreaming him…

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I AM BRIDGE. …a reply in the form of a digression to @seallion The Bridge by Franz Kafka I was stiff and cold, I was a bridge, I lay over a ravine. My toes on one side, my fingers clutching the other, I had clamped myself fast into the crumbling clay. The tails of my coat fluttered at my sides. Far below brawled the icy trout stream. No tourist strayed to this impassable height, the bridge was not yet traced on any map. So I lay and waited; I could only wait. Without falling, no bridge, once spanned, can cease to be a bridge. It was toward evening one day- was it the first, was it the thousandth? I cannot tell- my thoughts were always in confusion and perpetually moving in a circle. It was toward evening in summer, the roar of the stream had grown deeper, when I heard the sound of a human step! To me, to me. Straighten yourself, bridge, make ready, railless beams, to hold up the passenger entrusted to you. If his steps are uncertain, steady them unobtrusively, but if he stumbles show what you are made of and like a mountain god hurl him across to land. He came, he tapped me with the iron point of his stick, then he lifted my coattails with it and put them in order upon me. He plunged the point of his stick into my bushy hair and let it lie there for a long time, forgetting me no doubt while he wildly gazed around him. But then – I was just following him in thought over mountain and valley – he jumped with both feet on the middle of my body. I shuddered with wild pain, not knowing what was happening. Who was it? A child? A dream? A wayfarer? A suicide? A tempter? A destroyer? And I turned so as to see him. A bridge to turn around! I had not yet turned quiet around when I already began to fall, I fell and in a moment I was torn and transpierced by the sharp rocks which had always gazed up at me so peacefully from the rushing water. Translated by Willa and Edwin Muir I AM BRIDGE. …a reply in the form of a digression to @seallion The Bridge by Franz Kafka I was stiff and cold, I was a bridge, I lay over a ravine. My toes on one side, my fingers clutching the other, I had clamped myself fast into the crumbling clay. The tails of my coat fluttered at my sides. Far below brawled the icy trout stream. No tourist strayed to this impassable height, the bridge was not yet traced on any map. So I lay and waited; I could only wait. Without falling, no bridge, once spanned, can cease to be a bridge. It was toward evening one day- was it the first, was it the thousandth? I cannot tell- my thoughts were always in confusion and perpetually moving in a circle. It was toward evening in summer, the roar of the stream had grown deeper, when I heard the sound of a human step! To me, to me. Straighten yourself, bridge, make ready, railless beams, to hold up the passenger entrusted to you. If his steps are uncertain, steady them unobtrusively, but if he stumbles show what you are made of and like a mountain god hurl him across to land. He came, he tapped me with the iron point of his stick, then he lifted my coattails with it and put them in order upon me. He plunged the point of his stick into my bushy hair and let it lie there for a long time, forgetting me no doubt while he wildly gazed around him. But then – I was just following him in thought over mountain and valley – he jumped with both feet on the middle of my body. I shuddered with wild pain, not knowing what was happening. Who was it? A child? A dream? A wayfarer? A suicide? A tempter? A destroyer? And I turned so as to see him. A bridge to turn around! I had not yet turned quiet around when I already began to fall, I fell and in a moment I was torn and transpierced by the sharp rocks which had always gazed up at me so peacefully from the rushing water. Translated by Willa and Edwin Muir

I AM BRIDGE. …a reply in the form of a digression to @seallion

The Bridge

by Franz Kafka

I was stiff and cold, I was a bridge, I lay over a ravine. My toes on one side, my fingers clutching the other, I had clamped myself fast into the crumbling clay. The tails of my coat fluttered at my sides. Far below brawled the icy trout stream. No tourist strayed to this impassable height, the bridge was not yet traced on any map. So I lay and waited; I could only wait. Without falling, no bridge, once spanned, can cease to be a bridge.

It was toward evening one day- was it the first, was it the thousandth? I cannot tell- my thoughts were always in confusion and perpetually moving in a circle. It was toward evening in summer, the roar of the stream had grown deeper, when I heard the sound of a human step! To me, to me. Straighten yourself, bridge, make ready, railless beams, to hold up the passenger entrusted to you. If his steps are uncertain, steady them unobtrusively, but if he stumbles show what you are made of and like a mountain god hurl him across to land.

He came, he tapped me with the iron point of his stick, then he lifted my coattails with it and put them in order upon me. He plunged the point of his stick into my bushy hair and let it lie there for a long time, forgetting me no doubt while he wildly gazed around him. But then – I was just following him in thought over mountain and valley – he jumped with both feet on the middle of my body. I shuddered with wild pain, not knowing what was happening. Who was it? A child? A dream? A wayfarer? A suicide? A tempter? A destroyer? And I turned so as to see him. A bridge to turn around! I had not yet turned quiet around when I already began to fall, I fell and in a moment I was torn and transpierced by the sharp rocks which had always gazed up at me so peacefully from the rushing water.

Translated by Willa and Edwin Muir

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(via eatsleepdraw) Deleuze and Guattari’s utopian concept of becoming a Body Without Organs—either as an individual (in relation to his or her myriad personas) or as a populace—is becoming more and more of a possibility as social media rises in prominence, making all of the world and its people just a click away from one another.  The ability to connect without the intermediary of a government or a corporation is itself revolutionary—as it allows groups to form organically, as opposed to hierarchically. The many are talking to the many. The false divisions between being the head of an organism and being its feet are being eradicated, as each one of us realizes that we each have a role to play.  The lowly colon and fingernails are just as important as the celebrated biceps, or poetical eyes. It isn’t only a matter of needing one another to survive—it’s that we wouldn’t even exist in the first place if not as a network.(via eatsleepdraw) Deleuze and Guattari’s utopian concept of becoming a Body Without Organs—either as an individual (in relation to his or her myriad personas) or as a populace—is becoming more and more of a possibility as social media rises in prominence, making all of the world and its people just a click away from one another.  The ability to connect without the intermediary of a government or a corporation is itself revolutionary—as it allows groups to form organically, as opposed to hierarchically. The many are talking to the many. The false divisions between being the head of an organism and being its feet are being eradicated, as each one of us realizes that we each have a role to play.  The lowly colon and fingernails are just as important as the celebrated biceps, or poetical eyes. It isn’t only a matter of needing one another to survive—it’s that we wouldn’t even exist in the first place if not as a network.

(via eatsleepdraw)

Deleuze and Guattari’s utopian concept of becoming a Body Without Organs—either as an individual (in relation to his or her myriad personas) or as a populace—is becoming more and more of a possibility as social media rises in prominence, making all of the world and its people just a click away from one another.  The ability to connect without the intermediary of a government or a corporation is itself revolutionary—as it allows groups to form organically, as opposed to hierarchically. The many are talking to the many. The false divisions between being the head of an organism and being its feet are being eradicated, as each one of us realizes that we each have a role to play.  The lowly colon and fingernails are just as important as the celebrated biceps, or poetical eyes. It isn’t only a matter of needing one another to survive—it’s that we wouldn’t even exist in the first place if not as a network.

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oxahau: coccaonthinks: artpixie: (via flyingpigsofdoom) “Let the Golden Age begin” so it is written in the Gospel of the Gorgeous the free and the unknowable The unrestrained and uncontained NOWoxahau: coccaonthinks: artpixie: (via flyingpigsofdoom) “Let the Golden Age begin” so it is written in the Gospel of the Gorgeous the free and the unknowable The unrestrained and uncontained NOW

oxahau:

coccaonthinks: artpixie: (via flyingpigsofdoom)

“Let the Golden Age begin”

so it is written

in the Gospel of the Gorgeous

the free and the unknowable

The unrestrained and uncontained

NOW

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oxahau: coccaonthinks: artpixie: emre on vi.sualize.us oxahau: coccaonthinks: artpixie: emre on vi.sualize.us

oxahau:

coccaonthinks: artpixie: emre on vi.sualize.us
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richndelicious: dutchwideweb: via images.magicseaweed.com How we look at something effects the nature of what we look at. Each one of us is the Event Horizon— The Door that seperates the infinitely big from the infinitely small. “You are the center of your universe, but so is everyone else.” —Nassim Harameinrichndelicious: dutchwideweb: via images.magicseaweed.com How we look at something effects the nature of what we look at. Each one of us is the Event Horizon— The Door that seperates the infinitely big from the infinitely small. “You are the center of your universe, but so is everyone else.” —Nassim Haramein

richndelicious:

dutchwideweb:

via images.magicseaweed.com

How we look at something effects the nature of what we look at.

Each one of us is the Event Horizon—

The Door that seperates the infinitely big from the infinitely small.

“You are the center of your universe, but so is everyone else.” —Nassim Haramein

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