but if we look at the blue world through yellow glasses it is all . . . . . . . . spaced out the dots look differently ??? annie is going to come get the oragne one and sell it and turn it into a mat
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Pragmatic.
Perception is reality.
Subjective, certainly.
Indisputably real.
Frustration is inherent in all other philosophies.
While I certainly can agree with the above, including the comment about frustration being inherent in all other philosophies, I would offer that without any philosophy one is living in a world of act/react like one of the lesser animals. For those who choose to follow that path, be prepared to spend your lives screwed to every wall you pass.
Perhaps the concept of “stillness” applies? One can act without reacting, no matter what their philosophy.
Quote:
Quote:Pragmatic.
Perception is reality.
Subjective, certainly.
Indisputably real.
Frustration is inherent in all other philosophies.
While I certainly can agree with the above, including the comment about frustration being inherent in all other philosophies, I would offer that without any philosophy one is living in a world of act/react like one of the lesser animals. For those who choose to follow that path, be prepared to spend your lives screwed to every wall you pass.
I’ll maybe dispute a little -
Pragmatism, well, yeah. An utterly non-pragmatic world view/philosophy is kinda inconceivable, or else utterly mad. Consider one as a thought-experiment.
Perception I can’t link to reality on a 1/1 basis. So much is illusory. Mis-perception, ‘it looks like’ but it isn’t. Discrimination, then, comes into it all.
Subjective, yeah. But realising it’s subjective kinda messes with the concept, no?
Indisputably real…ahmmm…nope. Perceived as a good pragmatic model, maybe, with the caveat that reality is always disputable. The limits of perception, though, they get kinda interestin’. Or what isn’t known…
Frustration may well be inherent in any other philosophy. But that’s okay. Providing you don’t subscribe to the concept of an invincible frustration: ‘there are some things that man was not meant to know’, that sort of thing. If you don’t understand something, wayull, as long as you’re not going with the idea that it can never be understood, then off you go, pursuing it.
Action-reaction, almost blows away cause and effect in a way. Response, rather, that’s something else. And what we humans do.
though I do wind up screwed to far too many walls.
doc…
imitatation is…
Herb.
…is that gasoline I smell?
Sorry. This particular very old thread keeps opening this window every time I log on, asking me to post a reply. Can’t seem to bypass it. Maybe posting will satisfy the computer ghosts.
Nope. It just keeps popping up. Moderators! Help!
???
whole lotta nothing going on here , I reckon .
respect ? huh ?
ben
Right, Chip, nothing happening except ghosts of trolls from the past.
the divine within the machine
the fact that this is popping up may ,if you wish, be a com from beyond
like turning on the ol’ movie chanel and seeing weismuller diving from a tall tree and uttering that memorable quote,AAAAAAHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYAAAAAAA
…ambrose…
that under water scene from 1932 before the censors…worth waking up
I remember that scene in the movie, and the silhouette scene in the tent. There is, I am told, a completely uncensored piece of film that shows Maureen O’Sullivan as Jane swimming underwater for an hour completely nude.
No trolls in any of those scenes. Maybe they were censored out for blocking the view.
Give and Get. just ask Herb.
Respect implies a certain naivety of the viewer and a humility of those in the “know” as the operational dynamic. True you can’t beat the old Tarzan features, although I liked the Sherlock Holmes series better. But my favorite show of all time was the “What’s my Line” show where Everyone put on a blindfold and tried to determine the occupation of the mystery guest by the answers to certain “loaded” questions. My very favorite was when Jack Kennedy came on, and with some voice change coaching from Paul Winchell, fooled all but Kitty Carlisle who asked, “Was the Bay of Pigs the turning point in the international view of America’s expansionist tendencies, cause who can really successfully fire one of those Russkie missiles anyway, and who gave the best blow-job, Jimmy Hoffa or Marilyn Monroe?” The flower in the crack turned out to be the crack in the flower. And surfboards were left to rot in the sun while The Gidget Budget culture gurus became “cosmetic” surgeons, hoping to land that one last forever young, Peter Pan fry, macrobiotic, rich beyond belief, master skill planner/planer (who had a side job at Benihana’s as a sushi slicer to the stars) I still remember all my sisters f–king little naked non-gender specific troll dolls, with the oversize eyes and the fight promoter style shock of hair, standing ever vigilant on her windowsill, waiting for the (re)visit from their overseas creators/saviors, so they could go to troll heaven and live the good troll afterlife, not be pressed for time in some earthen landfill. Course in those days it wasn’t - recycle, it was just - don’t litter. Was the (personal) loss of innocence the day that I heard a close friend had taken a surfboard to the head, and in those days riding the wild surf was a life or death enterprise, or was it the day I laid my “Pacific Vibrations” shape in front of the great Chuck Dent, and he said, “Why would you want to work in the ‘burned out’ surf industry? The money is in the boat industry.” I’m sure that today he would say - now it’s in designing popouts or pop-ups… Sellouts… Forever locked in the fight scene with the underwater snake or crocodile or whatever the hell it was Tarzan had to overcome, so he could bonk the well-educated representation of civilization, but misplaced, Jane, down on her knees and begging for the royal man-reaming, while the JUNGLE, as personified by Cheetah, took on the roll of peeping-tom, voyeur, fade out to black, lights out, use your imagination while you wait until Hugh and then Pam Anderson supplies the required footage.
Goodbye to those that taught what surfing and respect was really about…
That’s a new take on trolls. Those little troll dolls. They were cute. Sex objects? Whew. No wonder they all had that weird little smile on their faces.
Trolls. They come in all shapes and sizes. They are young or old, male of female (but it’s hard to tell the difference). There are always newborns, and they are immortal so the population is ever increasing. We are running out of bridges for them to live under, so they are more and more running amok among us or sneaking up on us. Their main talent is creating a reaction, mostly consternation or annoyance. They each have their own special area of expertise in which to do so. Yet, they all have one trait in common. They are self-absorbed, self-promoting. They need to be esteemed by others beyond the common human degree of “I’m here, too. Love me.” Just when you think a particular one is gone from your life, it reappears. Remember, it’s immortal, and so is its special talent.
And it’s very hard to teach a troll to behave properly, no matter how hard it seems to try, no matter how much hope you have or how hard you try. Forgiveness doesn’t really help, because the troll doesn’t really care how you feel. It notices you only as a potential worshipper.
There is a lovely absence of trolls on Swaylocks.
Daddio, the path from then to now is still respected, as are those who broke the trail. Those who continue to break trail through the wilderness of today’s world, and are concerned with the common welfare as well as their own perfectly OK wish to succeed and be recognized, are also deserving of respect. It happens here.
Yes. Trolls can be anywhere. However, vigilance can pay off. That’s why Jane’s immortal swim exists.
You just gotta respect that!
While I certainly enjoyed the Tarzan stories in any incarnation, primarily because Tarzan could go swimming any time he wanted, I was much more enthralled by the “Road” movies of Bob Hope and Bing Crosby. They seemed to always be having a great time, rather than be enduring the constant crisis of Tarzan territory. While Jane was a hottie Bing and Bob got all kinds of women and had very little problems with alligators. You will, no doubt, recall that Cheetah was doing the most laughing in Tarzan films…
I seem to have very little problem with trolls in my life, despite Scandanavian proclivities. Modern life however does seem to constantly tie me to two bent over green trees, cut the trees loose, tear me apart and fling my innards all over the African jungle. Perhaps it is just genetic memory.
An opportunity, after being ripped and torn asunder
To resew the pieces in a different frame of wonder.
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An opportunity, after being ripped and torn asunder
To resew the pieces in a different frame of wonder.
Absolutely! Plus, I always liked to travel…