Wisdom and spirit of the Universe Thou soul is the eternity of thought That giv'st to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion Not in vain By day or star-light thus from by first dawn Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me The passions that build up our human soul, Not with the mean and vulgar works of man, But with high objects, with enduring things, With life and nature, purifying thus The elements of feeling and of thought, And sanctifying, by such discipline Both pain and fear, until we recognize A grandeur in the beatings of the heart.
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Whoever controls the media--the images--controls the culture.
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Ah, to build, to build! That is the noblest art of all the arts. Painting and sculpture are but images, are merely shadows cast by outward things on stone or canvas, having in themselves no separate existence. Architecture, existing in itself, and not in seeming a something it is not, surpasses them as substance shadow.
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The chief mate of the Pequod was Starbuck, a native of Nantucket, and a Quaker by descent. He was a long, earnest man, and though born on an icy coast, seemed well adapted to endure hot latitudes, his flesh being hard as twice-baked biscuit. Transported to the Indies, his live blood would not spoil like bottled ale. He must have been born in some time of general drought and famine, or upon one of those fast days for which his state is famous. Only some thirty arid summers had he seen; those summers had dried up all his physical superfluousness. But this, his thinness, so to speak, seemed no more the token of wasting anxieties and cares, than it seemed the indication of any bodily blight. It was merely the condensation of the man. He was by no means ill-looking; quite the contrary. His pure tight skin was an excellent fit; and closely wrapped up in it, and embalmed with inner health and strength, like a revivified Egyptian, this Starbuck seemed prepared to endure for long ages to come, and to endure always, as now; for be it Polar snow or torrid sun, like a patent chronometer, his interior vitality was warranted to do well in all climates. Looking into his eyes, you seemed to see there the yet lingering images of those thousand-fold perils he had calmly confronted through life. A staid, steadfast man, whose life for the most part was a telling pantomime of action, and not a tame chapter of sounds. Yet, for all his hardy sobriety and fortitude, there were certain qualities in him which at times affected, and in some cases seemed well nigh to overbalance all the rest. Uncommonly conscientious for a seaman, and endued with a deep natural reverence, the wild watery loneliness of his life did therefore strongly incline him to superstition; but to that sort of superstition, which in some organizations seems rather to spring, somehow, from intelligence than from ignorance. Outward portents and inward presentiments were his.
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Isn't life a series of images that change as they repeat themselves?
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Every Universe exists depending on the Knowledge that reflects it and not in its absence. It is absolutely true that our ancestors saw this universe before and after we were born and this is why we think that the Universe exists irrespective of our existence. It is an illusion as big as the Illusion of our Life with our entire universe, because our ancestors too saw the world through these senses that we have too, they were human being too, a part of the human race. For the members of a tribe, for instance, their Universe expands up to the borders on their Knowledge of this world. If these borders are very small, the world will be very small and the other way around. Our Universe will look completely different to an animal, even if we think it sees the same images we do. It is true that we are aware, in the Illusion of our Life that the animal sees the same images, but he will interpret them differently, depending on his level of competence, which will entail a different image of the Universe. The same happens with human beings, who think based on a Logical Coefficient 2 and cannot conceive a world where the beings think and see an universe based on Logical Coefficient superior to the one of the man. That world and the universe that will include it will be completely different to the one that reflects and includes our world. Then the meaning of the man�s existence in this world which is for us vanity of the vanities, for a different thinking belonging to a different Logical Coefficient, can be something different.
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Writing prejudicial, off-putting reviews is a precise exercise in applied black magic. The reviewer can draw free-floating disagreeable associations to a book by implying that the book is completely unimportant without saying exactly why, and carefully avoiding any clear images that could capture the reader's full attention.
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Life!... It's a cybernetic psychedic explosion of garishly illuminated images, sounds, smells, and feelings! I am skewed, warped, distorted, twisted, altered in such a way as to defy description. I am discomboomulated to the maximum intensity of a technorave, industrial force. I'M ALIVE, DAMN YOU, AND MY HEAD IS TWEAKED TO THE Nth POWER! My mind is swirling and pulsing with wreckless, exuberant abandon! Pounding and surging in a vortex of sensory overload! Euphoric insanity!!'
'Sooooo..... how's life been treatin you?'
'I LIKE IT!
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Is the human species a cancer on the planet?' American Anthropology Society's Symposium Organizer, Dr. Warren Hern, physician and epidemiologist, said that aerial and satellite views of urban centers taken over a period of years bore a striking similarity to images of cancerous tissue invading the healthy surrounding tissue. He added that in many parts of the world the increase in human numbers is rapid and uncontrolled, that it invades and destroys habitats, and that by killing off many species it reduces the differentiation of nature.'
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At that instant he saw, in one blaze of light, an image of unutterable conviction, the reason why the artist works and lives and has his being--the reward he seeks--the only reward he really cares about, without which there is nothing. It is to snare the spirits of mankind in nets of magic, to make his life prevail through his creation, to wreak the vision of his life, the rude and painful substance of his own experience, into the congruence of blazing and enchanted images that are themselves the core of life, the essential pattern whence all other things proceed, the kernel of eternity.
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We are all hungry and thirsty for concrete images. Abstract art will have been good for one thing: to restore its exact virginity to figurative art.
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Only in relationship can you know yourself, not in abstraction and certainly not in isolation. The movement of behavior is the sure guide to yourself. It's the mirror of your consciousness: this mirror will reveal its content, the images, the attachments, the fears, the loneliness, the joys and sorrow. Poverty lies in running away from this, either in its sublimations or its identities.
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It is not the literal past that rules us, save, possibly, in a biological sense. It is images of the past. Each new historical era mirrors itself in the picture and active mythology of its past or of a past borrowed from other cultures. It tests its sense of identity, of regress or new achievement against that past.
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The sumptuous age of stars and images is reduced to a few artificial tornado effects, pathetic fake buildings, and childish tricks which the crowd pretends to be taken in by to avoid feeling too disappointed. Ghost towns, ghost people. The whole place has the same air of obsolescence about it as Sunset or Hollywood Boulevard.
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Imagination could hardly do without metaphor, for imagination is, literally, the moving around in one's mind of images, and such images tend c...
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The visual is sorely undervalued in modern scholarship. Art history has attained only a fraction of the conceptual sophistication of literary criticism. Drunk with self-love, criticism has hugely overestimated the centrality of language to western culture. It has failed to see the electrifying sign language of images.
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Is enough to look at the Middle Ages, at the Inquisition and on the ultra religious societies that, through their fanaticism, make an enemy of and have to eliminate everything that goes against them. This leads to the exacerbation of dictatorial Evil, to the most monstrous images that can be reflected in the mirror of Knowledge by this world with Destiny. Since this world has a Destiny, it means that everything occurred only once before our world was under the Print of our Creating Factor and everything we see already existed before we did, except for the fact that they occurred in the same Accidental Occurrence, while in our world with destiny they happen in successions of Intended Occurrences. There is a big difference through, because they determine a frontier between Illusion and the Image of this Illusion, on one side and the Print that was reflected in the Mirror of Knowledge, on the other side. This difference, that accepts the succession of events of the Intended Occurrences which determine destiny, since they are predestined by the Unique Accidental Occurrence which is our Creating Factor and Unique Accidental one, it makes have a Free Will vision on the world, because we illusory believe all the Intended occurrences can be influenced by the past Occurrences, which is completely wrong, because all of them are Intended Occurrences. If the Free Will does not exist, can we indirectly influence from another point of view a certain succession of events that occurs in a illusory man in our world?
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Mirrors should reflect a little before throwing back images.
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Language, the machine of the poet, is best fitted for his purpose in its rudest state. Nations, like individuals, first perceive, and then abstract. They advance from particular images to general terms. Hence the vocabulary of an enlightened society is philosophical, that of a half-civilized people is poetical.
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What I so like about Poussin and Cezanne is their sense of organization. Ilike the way in which they develop space and shape in architecturalcontinuity - the rhythm across their paintings. When I paint a landscape, Iget the greatest pleasure out of composing it. As I paint, I try to work outa visual sonata form or a fugue, with realistic images.
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What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow, Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
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I see that all of us who live are nothing but images or insubstantial shadow.
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Thou shalt have one God only; who Would be at the expense of two? No graven images may be Worshipped, except the currency:
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Who are the Saints? They are people who succeeded in loving more than others did, that found more or less the Path of the Sacred Self, the path to the spiritual fulfilment. They are humans that have come to understand that only by walking down the path of Love they can understand the most of the infinity of the Destiny. They are humans that also know that everything they know from the infinity of that Destiny is less than an element in reference to an infinity of other elements. These are the Holy Men that have come to understand that Free Will does not consist of changing the Destiny through some intervention on it, but in knowing new and unsuspected images of this Destiny-which cannot change the world, the Self of this world- but who can change the Image of this world. This is way, Man has to always be a religious being who must love, love so intensely as to become Love, Holiness in which to believe and to turn the faith in religion.
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Rome - the city of visible history, where the past of a whole hemisphere seems moving in funeral procession with strange ancestral images and trophies gathered from afar.
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All images generated by imaging technology are viewed in a walled-off location not visible to the public. The officer assisting the passenger never sees the image, and the officer viewing the image never interacts with the passenger. The imaging technology that we use cannot store, export, print or transmit images.
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Logicians may reason about abstractions. But the great mass of men must have images. The strong tendency of the multitude in all ages and nations to idolatry can be explained on no other principle.
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The symbolic view of things is a consequence of long absorption in images. Is sign language the real language of Paradise?
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This is why man creates his own universes when he Knows them, and these universes can never be prior to man because they are mere images of the vanity of vanities that will make whole man�s thirst of solidarity with the Infinite, the Absolute and the Plenitude dusted by so much stardust of its own illusory image of life. To claim that Man�s God is independent of him is a fiction, because this God is a God of the man�s Illusion of Life because it cannot be any other way, because this the only way in which man can determine and recognize it, because only this way can this God exist.
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My mind withdrew its thoughts from experience, extracting itself from the contradictory throng of sensuous images, that it might find out what that light was wherein it was bathed.... And thus, with the flash of one hurried glance, it attained to the vision of That Which Is.
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