Tag Archives: Subconscious

Fear Spiders

If I dream about fear, my own fear, it is often embodied by a poisonous spider. The spider in my dream frightens me especially on moments when I cannot see it.

In real life, spiders only scare me if they are larger than my hand and faster than my arm. In dreams they emotionally disrupt me. They often co-occur with the collapse of my house. In a recent episode, there are giant moths involved, about 30 cm long, which have been eating the foundations of a wooden top floor. They live symbiotically with a black widow in her nest made of half composted, tar-smeared branches. The spider is hiding somewhere deep inside, behind the eating larvae which quickly evolve and fly off. I know I will encounter it when I clean up this nest. And it won’t be happy.

Clearly, I’m not the only one who, albeit below the surface, has a fear for spiders. I do wonder what causes that because honestly, they’re not that dangerous. Only a few exceptional specimens could kill you, but you’ll have plenty of time to find the antidote. It would make far more sense to dream about poisonous snakes or about an aircrash or a bulldozer falling un top of me, because those events are far more threatening. Why the spider?

A spider is generally blackish and has eight legs with which it runs rapidly and with a very light tread. More often, it sits still, hiding in a dark corner, or somewhere on its self-built sticky and artistic web. Most spiders have beautiful patterns on their back which deserve a better look. They are hunters. Top of the food chain. Prevent the blood from clotting, then suck their victims dry. To humans mostly harmless.

My mom and sister used to panic when there was a wolf spider in the house. Motioning after them, I did too. As the man of the house, I had to gradually learn that the easiest way to get a spider out of the bathtub, is to let it walk onto your arm, get outside and push it off the place of your body were it felt comfortable to stay. A spider is most scary when it runs, because we don’t know where it is going. The aspect of the unknown. I think her sudden speed also reflects the suddenness with which our fears present themselves to us.

Do spiders in my dream reflect my mothers fears from when I was a kid? The explanation is interesting in combination with the collapse of my house. The loss of control over my limited, constructed understanding of myself and reality. Is this fear culturally inherited? Is it psychologically entangled with the cognitive challenges of our childhood?

There’s another hypothesis I’d like to propose; one of more mystical nature. It’s connected to the number eight. The sacred geometry of it. In semi-dream mode I sometimes have visions of octangular, tunnel-like structures that seem to be a passageway to a certain insight or to my subconscious. The vision sometimes evolves into spider shapes, and even into highly detailed images of spiders with nice, colourful back patterns and fangs. It seems meaningful sometimes, as if these spiders have something to do with the access to my subconscious. Hiding in the dark, unknown corners of my mind.

The spider. A small, powerful entity that makes our imagination go wild. One day, she’ll trap the bug that ate from my corpse.

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The Metaphor of Geert Wilders

For a long time, I have avoided writing about the Dutch politician of this era. The guy pissed me off whenever I saw him. I didn´t think he deserved my attention or that of my readers. Pollute my blog with him. Yet for the past ten years, he has kept his status as a nagging presence in Dutch society. It makes us wonder: what has given this childman his power? How has he managed to become so persistently annoying that he convinced me to write about him? Where has our society failed to ignore him to death? Which lessons does he throw in our midst?

A brief history for those who´ve missed it. Around the year 2000, Pim Fortuyn was the first politician whose party got big because he addressed the problem of integration in the Netherlands. He got killed (by an educated Dutch guy who thought he was saving the country) and left a gap in the political offer while the demand remained. Wilders filled that gap. When, after some years, he managed to enter the government, he dismantled it after a year. Today, no politician wants to govern with him. He yells bombastic language from the sideline and crosses some ethical lines for which he is then punished.

Some people admire Wilders´ rethorics. They see quality in his capacity to frame things simply, in a language that people with little education can follow. He called other politicians mental, has framed their plans as garbage, and has insulted cultural groups, delaying big decisions in the process. Even if he can make me laugh, I don´t think his intelligence is the reason for our fascination, because if you look at him closely, he acts like a little boy.

Wilders is the personification of his own incapacity to cause productive change. He does not dare to go into dialogue with strangers because he is afraid it might threaten his worldview. He has translated his unwillingness to listen to others into a program that reveals his identity as a sissy who calls his daddy when he gets into a conflict. The daddy, here, are the cops that do the dirty work for him.

What intrigues us in Wilders, is his reminder of our own cowardly attitude to change. Our laziness in the search for truth. Dutch politicians cannot call him to order because of their fear for the points he addresses. They too lack the creativity to solve them, so they pretend there is nothing going on. WIlders is our collective lack of interest in our neighbour, and our incapacity to move ourselves towards a happy life.

What this man has sublimed will keep tormenting our subconscious until we solve the fragmentation in our communities. He exists among us until most of us learn how to be peacefully curious about the realities of the other. He´ll be here until we perceive understanding as an action instead of a state of mind. He will reflect our fears until we gather the courage to look them in the eyes.

Biodiversinesque

I enjoy making up new words. It’s an exploration of realms of meaning. A good new word is new territory accessible for other people too. I also like it when other people invent words. That’s why I’ll discuss Maria E. Ignatieva’s ‘Biodivesinesque’, to bring some light into this ‘blue monday’, as a marketeer once called it.

Ignatieva is a European (more or less) landscape architect focussing on urban ecology and design. In several articles, she notes that in the previous two centuries, two main styles have inaugurated globalized urban landscape design, meaning these styles were introduced in colonial territories. The first one was ‘picturesque’, a natural style in which parks look like deforested Western European landscapes, containing elements such as meandering roads and irregular terrains. Open grasslands are an iconic aspect of this style. The second one was ‘gardenesque’. This is a far more high maintenance, regular yet artistic way of designing landscapes, using a variety of exotic plant species and neatly cut hedges to convey a sense of human triumph over nature.

Biodiversinesque goes beyond both styles by integrating deeper understanding of the behaviour of natural environments into the design. The designer lets go of the imperative to imprint a thought upon the landscape. Instead, she or he shows appreciation for nature by taking vital characteristics such as ground water, local species and weather fluctuations into account during the design process. When working with nature, instead of over its back, areas have the potential to become far more biodiverse. This style allows for dynamics in vegetation patterns, since surprises are appreciated instead of being seen as messy and a lack of park management. Through biodiversinesque design, landscape architects can convey the beauty of ecological processes to the visitors of a park, while blending the urban landscape into the natural surroundings.

Reconnecting the urban ecosystem with the surrounding ones, a process that is advancing steadily in Europe, is a way to invite traditional flora and fauna back into the lives of city dwellers that may have forgotten about them. It is a public acknowledgement of the fact that not interfering can sometimes lead to better results than doing something. With her presence, nature gives us soft, subconscious education. By allowing nature back into our lives, we peacefully become it. All we essentially have to do is give it some space.

Winter Ramblings

Over the years, I have accumulated some subconscious rules as a blogger. Customs, so to speak. Most of them for the benefit of clarity. One is to treat one topic at the time. Another is to write the article in pen first. There are phases when I have to do effort to find a topic to write about. This week, I have gathered so many impressions and frustrations, that I’d like to break my rules and fire an incoherent set of thoughts back onto the internet. My lunch consists of a piece of precut raw brocolli of which I take bites only when I manage to lift my fingers of the keyboard.

Charlie Hebdo and his clan got killed. What a surprise. We all saw that coming for years. Is this an attack on freedom of expression? No it is not. It is an attack on insults to a religion. An over the top reaction, I agree, but a reaction nonetheless. We in the West are lucky to be able to get killed while doing the thing we love. Thousands of journalists are killed world wide every year (just a passionate guess, I admit), For saying far less bad things.

Yesterday, the ECB announced that the deflation in Germany is worse than expected. Bad news, we would say, but the European stockmarkets went up. Huh? Because investors have learned by now, that when this happens, the ECB pumps in some new artificial money to prevent a crash. Therefore, they invested their own money, just to be able to fish more out of the market later. I sincerely hope the ECB takes a wiser decision this time.

My new favourite word is Wiggle. Wiggle is a great word. Not only is that because of the sound it makes when you say it and the smile you put your face in when you do, or the feeling you get when you wiggle your toes, but also because I discovered that wiggle is also an emotion, and I’m looking forward to write an article about that one day and I know this sentence is way to long but I don’t care.

O yes, I posted a new video with my friend Michael Kailis, yesterday. If you want to kill me for it, come visit me. By the way, I just noticed I have outsling. I hate rain. Don’t expect me to reread this, just going to look for a picture now, and post it right away, breaking another rule as I go. Deal with it.

Loving the fear for the lie

There are people in this world who talk about fear and love as if they are each other’s opposites. Some of those people frame it as a choice between two pathways: do you take the path of fear or the path of love? You may have met them. Some people also categorize acts into ‘fearful and loving’ behaviour. This scene from Donnie Darko puts it poignantly. It makes me wonder how it has happened that these two simple words are now so deeply embedded in the human understanding of their lives.

What strikes me most about the way society understands fear and love, is that both are very tightly connected to our will. Ask a person what he or she fears, and many times that person will speak of something he or she likes to avoid, while if they talk about something they love, they’d bring up a situation they would like to attract. There’s a movement of the mind towards or away from some object. If both are indeed movements, aren’t fear and love ultimately very similar things? Or seen from a different angle: how would fear and love look if we imagined ourselves out of the equation?

Perhaps my objection here is not with this immature definition of fear and love, but rather with the omnipresent understanding of all things as having a dualistic nature. I think this whole yin yang thing is a veil over a colourful reality. The reason it is so popular, I think, is that our minds prefer to contrast themselves to the background of their own projections. And how do you better do that than in black and white? Then again, since I am perceiving the world through my mind, I am per definition not the right person to contest a well established truth as dualism. After all, it is possible I am unknowingly objecting against the nature of existence itself. My mind can not know reality without it, but then again, whose mind could? How can we be sure duality exists? Or does not? Isn’t this very question dualistic in nature?

Something you fear can turn into something you love, something you love can turn into something you fear. You can love fear, and you can fear love. You can even fear and love a single thing at once. If you dig into it, you find vast varieties in what people perceive as their fears and their loves. They can be emotional states, but they can also be lingering presences in our conscious or subconscious perceptions with, admitted, influence on our choices. A triggered fear can lead you anywhere, and a triggered event of love could lead you to exactly the same place. They can be directed towards something that actually exists, but they can also confront something imaginary, something that we have made up, yet presents itself to us as lively as anything else.

To talk about fear or love is to talk about two mountains in the own emotional landscape. We don’t usually clarify if we are talking about the peaks or the base, the tree line or the sound of the birds. Are we talking about the act of climbing these mountains, or sliding off from them? Instead, we are tempted to just place one mountain on the opposite side of the other and say: well my experience is either of the two. What is the benefit of doing that?

Perhaps downsizing the richness of the inner world makes it easier to lead your life. Or maybe it is part of an evil plot serving to control our behaviour by fragmenting our inner coherence and scatter our will. Or am I overcomplicating things and are fear and love indeed poles of our mental existence? Poles we can simply pick a direction from. Maybe I’m justifying my incapacity to do so myself. Am I guided by my fear of the lie? My love for the truth? Or maybe I’m just playing around.

A fearful loving fool would know.

“Judge not, that you be not judged”

For the past ten years I have wondered: why do religious and spiritual groups unanimously condemn the act of judgement? What is so fundamentally bad about it that we all tell ourselves and each other to stop? And if it really is so bad, why do we keep doing it? What is judgment in the first place?

In a recent bright moment I understood that judgment is bad at the point where our thoughts create reality. For example: if I believe that homeless people are losers, I will subconsciously express this while talking to them. With my tone and behaviour, I will impose the thought of their inferiority upon them. At the same time, my surroundings will see how I behave towards homeless people and whether they want it or not, be influenced by it. This way, people collectively turn their back on the homeless, and such a person will find reason to believe in their nature as an outsider. The surroundings don’t see their role in it, because they stopped paying attention. Consequently, the very word homeless and all its connotations act as a mental net, limiting the possibilities of those it has caught.

Politicians and activists use judgement as a discursive tool for control. They justify this behaviour by calling it “framing”. Even if the act often affects minorities in the same way as man-to-man judgement does, it is seldom frowned upon, let alone condemned or punished. It is sometimes even used as a way to take away power of those who stand out, meaning it can restore the power balance somewhat. Yet even then, it probably does damage to people who don’t necessarily deserve it. Think for example of the ingenious declaration “bankers are wankers”. As if all bankers are men.

This question becomes more interesting at the point where you genuinely ask what is true about a certain judgement. Some bankers, for example, have played a vital role in the way their guild are currently perceived, and some homeless people may indeed have called their situation upon themselves. But others didn’t. Curious beings as we are, we don’t necessarily need to judge ourselves for trying to make sense of the cosmic blob of information that surrounds us, but we should remain aware of our weakness.

Somewhere on the way between our sensorial perceptions and our mental interpretations of them, our desire to be in touch with our surroundings turns into an attempt to dominate it. We place ourselves on the sideline  of the same existence we so deeply want to belong to. I think that what religions want to say is not that judging is something to avoid; that idea is confusing. What I think is meant is that we should spend time in making an effort to distinguish our illusions from reality. Otherwise they might invade it.

Sacred Democracy

It’s interesting to see that most people defend democracy while they know quite well that the winning parties are the ones with most of the money and the strongest organizational capital. Most citizens today are aware that these parties are indoctrinating them with their repetitive presence through posters and slogans, yet we still vote for them.

Democracy was the elite answer to the French Revolution. It was introduced to keep the angry mob satisfied with the illusion that they were in control. At the time, the new regime proved their own dishonesty by their increasing suppressive character, releasing the public anger once again a few decades later. Things have calmed down since then, but does that justify our obsessive idealization of the democratic system?

Surely, the destiny of our species has long been bigger than the individuals who courageously put themselves in centre of the battle fields, hasn’t it? Then what is it we believe to attain when we collectively put our cross on the piece of paper that was given to us by the people whose names are written on it?

In a recent text, subconscious stakes, I tried to show the importance of deepening our self-knowledge in decision-making processes. Politicians, in their public debate, exercise the opposite. Their stake is their party, but if you take an entire political program, it’s unlikely that all members fully agree with it. Regardless of inner disagreements, they’re trained to defend it. They have to stand for a static cloud of ideas, while, particularly in these versatile times, change of personal preference is only natural. There has to be subconscious friction which troubles decision makers’ views.

I think my point here is that the movements of the tides are not in our command. To be honest, I believe that the big political fields can be steered only by those who deeply choose for the new direction. And they will have their impact whether they are part of the theater or not. If we want to feel in control, we should do our best to stay close to our dearest motivations and use whatever talent we have to push in that direction. Not just our vote. That part wasn’t even credible in the eighteenth century.

Subconscious stakes

We are often taught to consider the stakes of all parties involved in a certain issue. Many businesses and NGOs regularly do stakeholder analyses when creating a marketing plan in order to understand the aids and obstacles to their plans. In doing so, they seldom take into account the subconscious drives of those same players. Thus, agreements made on the surface don’t always match the movements on intangible levels.

Some examples. Money and profit are conscious stakes. Having a house, a night in bed with a colleague, stepping up the career ladder are personal conscious stakes. Nature conservation, policy making or cleaning up de city, basically any project goal is a conscious stake.

Personal subconscious stakes include control over the own situation, being recognized by a colleague, dominion over others, harmony on the work floor, adventure, doing the good thing and seeing your ideas manifest in reality.

A conscious stake for one may be subconscious for the other, and one stake can be conscious one day, but grow into the subconscious. It’s dynamic. The extent to which you are aware of your stakes determines how much in control your are once the heat gets on, for example during a meeting when those stakes start to matter.

Here’s why I’m bringing this up. Unfortunately people are often unaware of stakes that take a hinderingly dominant form. It can hamper their ability so see clear once a meeting is on. In some cases, they can’t communicate anymore. Whether they need to be right, drift off from the conversation or feel too insecure to speak their minds, they stop paying attention to views of others. Plans become less determined. They lose stability. Lose their rational base. In a wilderness of actions, any asshole can do what he wants.

I believe that unacknowledged subconscious stakes cause more harm in society than we are aware of. They are important to see and to consider for anyone working in a team. We could do so much better if we manage those as well.

Image run wild

“Not the slightest hint of attention…” thought Shawn as he faded with the setting sun. “The man can’t live without me, but does he ever wonder what I want? Not an instant of the day.” Even if he was disappearing, the shadow was right. Evan had never cared about him and judging the circumstances it seemed unlikely that he would anywhere in the near future. He was more interested in lighter matters such as the computer screen, television or the occasional candle.

“Where would he be without me?” wondered Shawn after Evan had switched the light on. “No girl would take note of his sturdy jaws or his voluptuous lips. His qualities would lay hidden in a face that would seem plain and pale. No one would fall for him where it not for my indefatigable presence.” Not that it had had benefit so far, Evan was not the guy to make a move. Shawn nevertheless actively increased his chances must he ever tip over.

This did not occur to Evan. He turned on his television and sat down, casting a new version of Shawn on the wall behind him. It flickered dimly.  “THEre rEAlly SHoulD BE SOmethINg wE caN do ABout this” he said to his other self on the seat below Evan.  Evan, distracted by the lit up box on the other end, did not notice the conversation between Shawns insecure version and the more sturdy one carrying Evans behind. “Do you think it’s fair that I follow him wherever he goes, while he never even gives the slightest sign of respect? A little thank you once in a while would be nice. Flowers, chocolate, something! Once!” The flickering Shawn found it hard to wrap his head around these concepts, so he agreed with his alter ego on the couch.

Evan stood up. “There he goes!” shouted couch-Shawn, who now flashed to the floor and shot to the lower part of the wall. “Stands up and walks away, pretending nothing’s going on. That we’ll follow him without question. Well, that will not stand!” He had to run quickly and hop from wall to wall to keep up until the kitchen. It was when Evan opened the fridge, spawning yet another Shawn on the enormous plant behind him, that the poor shadow had enough. He lifted his arms to the ceiling and pulled himself up. Evan took his beer out of the fridge and closed it, making his shadow vanish in the darkness.

Evan walked back through the dining room to the TV, Shawn ran around him on the walls. “A man can only spend so much time without appreciating his shadow before it will get back at him” whispered Shawn who was back with his flickering him on the wall behind. He creeped slightly to the left. The flickering Shawn started impersonating Evan picking his nose. This amused the shadow on the couch, who thought some donkey ears would go well with that. Flickering Shawn, inspired, gave him a long tale by which he lifted himself into the shadow of a bonsai tree that stood near the lamp on the table. It to suddenly grew a shady banana. Shawn mimicked another monkey figure that took lice out of Evans fur. He ate them.

“Is that enough?” Evan, warned by jungle sounds, had turned around and now gazed at the scene with a condescending expression. Shawn drooped back to the chair. Evan turned back to the TV. The other Shawn pointed a flickering finger of accusation to the void and held an arm on his thigh. Couch-Shawn giggled silently. He drew a little black square moustache on his lip. Shawn topped this up with a flickering arm in the air, after which the whole figure rose out of its shady chair, threw a straight leg forward and took a step. They thought the resemblance was striking.

Evan, feeling ridiculed, stood up, ran to the wall and screamed: “stop it!” only to find himself yell at his own mirrored projection flickering on the wall. Shawn was delighted at the view. After Evan had turned around again he lifted his thumbs to his ears and wiggled his fingers. Evan himself was puzzled, but felt that he had sufficiently dealt with the situation. He watched some more TV, turned of the light, walked to the bedroom and went to sleep.

The sight of his ceiling at the moment Evan opened his eyes caused somewhat of a stir in his subconscious depths. He closed his eyes again, pretending that that would bring him back to sleep. Meanwhile, the stir moved through his belly, reached disrupting proportions around his heart, then sprang out through his eyes. Kaleidoscopic patterns swarmed over his walls and his ceiling. When he managed to wipe the sleep out of his eyes, Evan could discern little figures running all over. He stood up and walked to the wall, only to find that they were tiny portraits of himself, jumbling in what seemed the representation of a civil war.

One scene showed him running after a girl. She looked a lot like a miniature shadow of his first love Melinda. She ran and ran until she stopped then turned around and pursued him instead. This caused his miniature shadow to turn, run and disappear into the crowd. He saw a tiny picture of his boss behind his desk. On the other side of the desk, a figure of himself hurried in whichever direction the other pointed. The poor little fellow shrank with every act. Evan stood a meter away from his wall, witnessing shadowgraphs of forgotten fights with his brothers, struggles with his car and a strange incident in the supermarket which he found hard to place. The wall kept him hypnotized until all figures disappeared into what seemed a little black hole with an odd depth effect, shrinking down to an invisible size.“Wow…” thought Evan, as he fell backwards on his bed and closed his eyes.
“Uh-oh…” thought Evan as the phone rang downstairs. He jumped out of bed, skipped his house shoes and stumbled down the stairs ignoring three horned creatures the sun cast upon the wall to his left through the tiny windows to his right. They weren’t flattering.
“If you’re not here within half an hour” spoke Evan’s boss calmly through the receiver, “I’m going to have to let you go.” The connection was broken.

It took Evan twenty-eight minutes and thirty-six seconds to knock on his boss’s door. He had been obliged to skip some essential morning rituals, including shower, shave and breakfast. The cause of it all had, according to several eye witnesses continued its shenanigans. The shadow had indeed shown such engagement with its quest that it had managed to drag along crowds in its disobedience. It was for that reason that people looked up expecting to see a zeppelin when Evans bus drove by. It also explained the wavy movement of the buildings’ shadows on the city streets. Perhaps it even had something to do with the street map visuals on the clouds, bothering six meteorologists in the region.

While Evan did his very best to beg for mercy at the desk of his boss, Shawn made a long nose behind him. Ignatio, the boss, ignored the shadows recalcitrance. He had sufficient reason and justice to stick to his words. Evan had managed, against his expectations, to arrive within the given time. But he was not going to make it easy.
“I see you did not shave?” he asked, with a silent undertone.
“I’m sorry. I had to run. I reckoned it will be just for today. Tomorrow I’ll look in top shape again.” Ignatio ignored the gesture of denial made on the background. After all, one can not fire their employees on grounds of undesirable shadow motions. Besides, Evans clothes looked ironed and tidy as ever.
“What is your excuse for arriving this late?”
“Well, I woke up, turned off the alarm, and then by some overwhelming force got sucked back into sleeping mode. I had quite disturbing dreams about seeing…
“Dreams? Force? You’re saying you went to sleep again after turning off the alarm clock! What did you do last night?” Evan wanted to open his mouth, but the question was rhetorical. Shawn felt sudden pity for him, and accentuated Evan’s few weak gestures to support him on the background. Ignatio, ignoring that, entered a speech on how the values of a business are reflected by its employees, and that this kind of late coming must never happen again, and that he could consider buying a second alarm clock if he thought that necessary. He should also go to bed earlier, because well rested employees make a far better impression.
“What are you staring at?” asked Ignatio, noting an absence in Evans mind.
Somebody knocked.
“Yes?”
His secretary entered.
“Sir, the Ink Company® called. They asked when we will deliver the squids.”
“Come in. Evan, you can go. Don’t let this happen again.”
“I won’t”. Answered Evan. The eyes of the secretary looked bigger than usual as he passed. Behind his back, his shadow stroked hers over the shoulder with one finger. Hers threw one arm around Shawns neck.

Evans desk was tidy. Whoever had done that must come from a dark place where evil is forged and grandma wolf sits knitting sheep’s clothing for her twisted little boys.

Evans shade looked small now that the sun stood at its highest. “Morning, Evan” said Fun Freddy. “Problems waking up today?” I have that all the time. It’s a matter of opening both eyes at once, turning on the light and sitting up straight. You’ve got to do it in a single painless move. Pretend it has already happened before you start. If not, the land of the darkness catches you somewhere on the way, and you’re lost. What’s wrong with your shadow? Did you feed it sugar?” Shawn bashed Freddies to the ground. “Whoah! Did you see that? It’s is coming on to mine. You should teach it some manners, dear colleague!” Evan was certain that his nickname would be Savage Shadow Evan from now on.

Yet except for the difficulties in finding his material and the occasional uproar at his work spot, for example when Shawn threw shadow popcorn into the shadow of Fun Freddies coffee, entering numbers into data sheets went as usual that afternoon. He worked for a bit longer, partially to catch up, but he was also happy to avoid rush hour. Driving home was less embarrassing that way. The street lights and the bus lights created interplay of shadows, making it harder for others to see Shawns attempts to wreak havoc.

When they arrived back home and Evan was alone with his shadow, he felt the need to act. The thought of talking to his shadow again made him wonder if he had not lost it, but it was a thought he could not erase. He failed to notice the broccoli with cheese sauce when he put it in his mouth. What would he tell his shadow? Why on earth would he assume it would listen, let alone answer? After all, there had been no response the night before.

The sound and light of the TV reached as little of his conscious mind as the taste. The tension in his belly rose as he wondered where to start. Should he take a loving approach, or be stern? He found himself wording out sentences in his head. He wondered if he needed to explain his shadow about himself, or that it knew everything. It had after all been with him forever. Could it read his mind? Did it know of his current dilemma? Probably. It must be unable to speak, was his conclusion. Or perhaps only in signs, but Evan could not read signs.

His flickering shadow plucked out his hairs on the wall behind him. Sometimes it abruptly stood up, then it quickly sat down. It walked to the corner of the room and put itself there, arms around its knees. Evan hurried to the kitchen, took a glass out of the closet, filled it with water and took a sip. Then, it slipped from his hand and scattered on the floor. “What do you want?” he screamed out. The corner of the room was silent as any corner of a room.

Never again did Shawn act in any way unexpectedly. Evan sometimes wondered if he had dreamed the whole thing, and was decided not to speak of it again. His nickname had not become established on the work floor. Still, ever since that day, he looked back at Shawn frequently with quirky shivers over his spine.

The Dark Knight Rises

Heath Andrew Ledger died on the 22nd of January 2008, at the age of 38, due to an accidental overdose of drugs that were prescribed to him. – IMDB 2008

There’s a word in that sentence I do not believe. No need to let you guess which: it’s accidental. This death was a clear case of suicide. The man was unable to discern himself and his role. And who blames him? Good work needs sacrifice. Why not die at your best hour? But best, of course, is relative.

Why is it always with the Batman, that tragic events occur? James Holmes – remember that name – knew the time and the place he hit. What’s worse, he chose it. Purposefully. Hitch hiking on the fame of The Batman, and maybe even of Heath Ledger. Why would he?

Yesterday night and tonight, I watched the first two movies in this series. Although I don’t see them as fully credible all the time, Bob Kayne and Bill Finger (Batman’s creators) and Christopher Nolan aligned an intriguing set of events, revealing an intricate aspect of the human intellect to which even Deepak Chopra and Thich Nhat Hanh would say we are connected. The truth is simpler than we dare to admit. That’s why it horrifies us.

All you care about is money. This town deserves a better class of criminal.                                                                                                                     A little thing about chaos… It’s fair…

Movies provide mass education. You may run left or right to contest this statement, but it is the truth. Remember The Matrix? Avatar? Even Titanic has shown us parts of ourselves we’d rather deny. A fictional world, spawning from the mind of its creator, reaching as far as the flatness of our screens, so that we can be the lazy spectators of our own subconscious. Until someone in the audience stands up and opens fire…

I have mentioned before on this blog that I feel highly connected to the joker. I believe you all do. Unlike the biggest part of what we perceive as ourselves, the joker is free. He is brilliant in his every detail. Our unfathomable opponent in person.

Heath Ledgers medicines were prescribed for insomnia, anxiety and depression. He’d unleashed the beast and was trying to control it. There was a collective movement behind this icon, a group of artists that have brought about this character so brilliantly, that it has started a life of its own. A life beyond the distant dream. Into the waking life.

It’s in this begeisterung that Heath and James now find each other. They perceive the joker’s depth, but cannot handle it as they should; from the perspective of the decent man. Sad, we might say, while in the dark night, minds keep being deceived by beliefs and ideals.

Madness, as you know, is like gravity… All it takes is a little…push!

Hahahihihihihi! – The Joker 2008