The Friends of Design: Abraxas Opening

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What kind of time do you call this?

The children were waiting up for you until midnight, you still weren’t there. We called find my iPhone and there was no response. I mean … what kind of evil, dark, self-centered, devious, sleazy, trickster, monstrous, deathly, purposeless sort of FUCKING NOSFORATU are you??????

You broke my heart. I believed in you. I thought you had it. Thought you could deliver. On the sunnah. On the truth, the tafsir for everyone. I didn’t mind, well maybe I did a little, if you shared … but it was okay. That deliverance was worth it. The reality is enough, because reality is the truth the divine truth, uncovered, and who am I not if but to share? I love you, son of Source. I love you, so let your meaning unfold. You know now its 2017 going on 2018: time is ticking, you know, and I gave a date for that opening.

– What the fuck?! 

– Do not be afraid

– What?! Where am I? Who are you?

– I am here. And here. And here.

– I perceive … this divine face … there … and there .. and there .. 

– So read.

– Read?

– Read.

Apologia 2.0

Regret, feeling bad about a mistake one has made: summing up and identifying a painful chain of causality post event … It’s something we all do, and, long after the event regretted itself, regret may return to haunt us, like the opposite of nostalgia. I had a terrible time as a teen, girls hated me, I was awkward and had bad hair and skin, there was that one time I completely embarrassed myself in class and everyone laughed at me … And I’m in my forties now!

I think it’s fair to say my approach to regret has been, perhaps similar to yours (?), to let time heal old wounds. At some point it fades. Things that you were mortified by, and continued to be … at some point become funny stories about some other person, some other you. Time is possessed with the capability to utilize the objectification that is, no doubt, inherent within the situation of regret itself and enhance it into … a secondary narrative divorced from the current protagonist-self. What’s the most embarassing thing that’s has every happened to you? Oh I’ll tell you a story, because … it really wasn’t me.

In this way, regret has the means to escape within the very objectifying bars inherent to its comportment to the self in ill decision.

Love 12.1: Anxiety and sex and power and all that good stuff ..

The headline was just to get you to read what I’m writing, Anxiety-love I ought to clarify. I’ve used, after John! The maxim that god is love. And it’s a better term now than ever before, so overused in the media, so underused in ritualized morality.

What is love and it’s an anxiety? It is science, always in the middle. Study and reflection that will never I’ll. Then what lies to the east? Failure: hear lies the end state if your anxiety, its realization. Failure … to love. But you know, this card might not be so bad. Perhaps you live a long and distinguished life and, in your Ninty fifth … your pass your last breath abd you will say …

I have has a beautiful life. Married a beautiful girl. We have two beautiful daughters. Am I anxious about that record. It is, verily, the most precious of my world.

And yet I remain anxious. I miss Asel, back in Rome with the girls. 

The battke was over almost as fast as it began. I wish we had the wrk ache and the ability to reach  code to make this xxzicda Fucking.  Change the world. Rather than change the world, the world simply changed, physically and economically, and culturally. None of the stuff I am ruminating in would be recognized in a me 30 years ago. 

‘Daddy did you get my iPhone’s sceen fixed. I can’t survive on this iPad, I can’t work it,’ she said, half out of breath from her hockey game.

‘No yet, I need one more day, sorry darling,’ Dad said, putting down his satchet and arranging his probably too Italian for his age jacket on a coat hanger. ‘I mean, I looked at the options. The broken 6s will hysterical 140, while a new 8 will be about 10 pounds more.’ He was obviously trying to teach a subtle lesson regarding the Idea that we still retain translators ….

Love 12: Anxiety

And again it appears only the psychoanalytic school has made any kind of formalized investigation into the state of love and the state of anxiety, hysteria (a bit 19/29 ), neurosis (21st century, who do you know who isn’t a neurotic?!)

Yet that anxiety is clearly determined by some primordial witnessing, being, hearing, being, smelling, being, felt, being. The primal scene for example. Or some other movement, between papi and mama. You want to kill that fucking dad and take his place and then you think you’ll be content.

The point is of course you know the Oedipal complex is cyclic. Perhaps thus is more obvious to you now than it was in the 9th century, where organizations were less high speed, and definitely bit fueled by the expediency if the internet etc. 

And so we obsess too much on that primordial determination, because we assert love’s anxiety is not of that fundamental complex. It does not ground nor is it grounded by complex. Rather,  it is purely transitory, like the snow flake or the leaf or the individual. But the snow flake, the leaf, the individual …. these things are real, and happen to people, And yet we would not say that they are of the fundamental complex, and yet we would say that they influence and are indeed what we need … ethically not morally.


Running from one to the other, they care about you, they planned your emergence, they wanted and wanted ….

Then you. Running again. It’s time to stettle down, because you’re now running, and I don’t mind one bit.

You see, but are filled mostly with yourself: so you perceive simply utter truth, careless to how you related to it.

Oh but to avoid my shame of being lesser, and define myself to all, to my women, my wife and daughters as …. giving.

Oh but that.