The concept of a whole person is an enigma that evolves within a culture . Often it is not a transitive concept and can only be conjuncted within it's social setting . In fact the realities of social fragmentation make most all concepts of a whole person universally inapplicable .

Literature is often a good tool for developing an understanding of a culture and it's inclinations . In a cultures folk tales , plays , and fictions you find authors making a deliberate attempt to portray the basic dramas of their society .

Greek myths are a vivid example of this ; they are literally frought with characterizations . In their development these multitudes of characters weave into an elaborate tapestry that depicts the developing Greek moral ethic . The intricasies of the analogous content are brought across in a multitude of forms . Names were very important and a major force in clarifying the concepts being presented . The multitudes of characters portray a multifaceted understanding of the human psyche . The chauvinistic banality of their culture and it's gods is graphically depicted against the backdrop of their developing ethics .

It is difficult for a modern man to construct a vision of a whole person from a strictly ancient Greek point of view . The obvious anachronisms envolved make such an attempt partially ludicrous . Contrarily the bulk of their characterization paints a vivid picture of their primative social state .

Of course while the Greeks were muddling through the multicolored quagmire of human frailty many societies where learning to master the powers they had developed through centuries of strict adherence to religious and social mores . The development of their socially biased realities make many Greek nuances seem decadent anachronism . Rather than deitizing their baser natures as the Greeks had thay had learned to master them and turned to new paths to clarity . Spiritual pragmatism and lack of comunication nullified the social attributes of many of these extrapolations on positive orientation .

Jung preaches that man has an innate need to assimilate all external sensory perceptions . I find this untrue . In fact I find it self abortive . Human beings have a complexity factor that is individual and must be protected from overload ; man's moral ethic is a tender and deludable feeling directed by empathy . In the hectic world of modern mass media this tender individuality can become dwarfed by the percieved need to obtain social acceptance . Whole civilizations have become deluded by the flow of their complexities into an outright denial of their moral ethics .

I find this partially estranged condition prominent throughout social history . Children are brought up to respond to a vast realm of presupposed social ideologies and are not allowed to venerate themselves until much of their conscious matrix has been established . This of course makes self evasion an easily attainable goal . Sometimes politically speaking the actual goal . The mind satiated by it's social framwork is the ideal tool for a socialistic or tyrannical government .

To me the value of social history lies not in it's application as much as it's illumination . All the fragmented pockets of human coalescence should instill an understanding of man's posibility factors . Man's inability to supersede his developing anachronism may well be the cause of his annihilation .

Modern man has learned how to use tact in instilling the acceptable social mores . Solviet psychiatrists have spent years on perfecting these social sublimations ; children learn how to make their personalities conform to the accepted mean . I think that the true nature of a well rounded being lies in an ability to reject the fragmental nature of these instilled mores and develop a more universally acceptable social orientation . Does the son of a ku klux **** member have to hate blacks ? The obvious answer is no ; contrarily socially acceptable orientation is a product of environment . This is the pitfall of man's evolution as a race ; his inability to rise above the quandary of his immediate surroundings with all of their overwhelming complexities and demands to become a cognizant and empathetic being . There in lie the keys to his future .

This does not necessarily define the well rounded person . A well rounded person must be able to cope with his immediate surroundings withoutan abject denial of his empathetic being .

I believe well roundedness lies in thoughtful orientation and a well centered understanding of self . One need not be socially active as long as they are thoughtfully cognizant . Obey the golden rule ; you can not allow your objective orientation to supersede your subjective empathy . You can't allow yourself to be thwarted or overcome by your peers into being something they might want to make you because temptation may overwhelm them and you will become a transient tool in their succession .

the "mystery" of the transaction,
that's quiet legal in
Amsterdam...
      you can only actually subject
           a woman to "your" object...
if you're never made such
a transation...
            i guess you're left in the dark
with all the fungus-historians
that speak of the second "big-bang"
of an ape on hallucinogenics...
objectifying women...
            funny...
                           not even funny,
just odd...
              maybe the whole
    objectivity "vs." subjectivity is not
being allowed duality,
     that eventually becomes blurry...
and is instead
  this jargon quasi-intellectualism of
people afraid of Alzheimer's
disintegration of words from
words and words from ideas and
ideas from clarifying idea-neutral
narratives...
              perhaps it's an american
thing,
       since a stripper can't be made
        subject to the "objectifying" posit...  
make that's why there's really
only an objectification-of-object
and no, absolutely no
     subjectification-of-object-***-subject?
is objectification a reference
to genital "intrusion"?
      what if there is no genital "intrusion"?
******* crossword puzzles
that sometimes aim of exposing
working within the confines of
   the thesaurus...
                 a-subject made inconvenient
        by the-object?
     sure, given i was only the fifth
in line...
                        i actually don't know
what objectivism implies
with the confines
   of a woman who will not desire
to make me into a subjective
enterpire of, mothering,
wife...
                  and... what am i again?
object of an hour
    within the absolute lack of
subject on her behalf...
                 for some strange reason
she's more of a subject,
a canvas... than i might allow myself
to not be a stroke of a brush
and some, paint...
          but then public conversation
doesn't attach itself to
the intellectual murk of dualism:
                    it needs dichotomy...        
nice backdrop, a week ago:
   haven't seen a lightning storm like that
acting out parliament over
           london in a long time...
in the back of my mind:
      the subjectivism of women seems
inherently wrong...
   subjectifying could be deemed
more harroring for the idle minor-head
when turning blisters into
       golden flakes on the topic of
   ego                  body
           \           /           \
              mind                id
                                     cosine serpent...
given the sine serpent answer:
                id              mind
             /      \         /      
    body          "ego"
      i can only fathom a threshold of the point
of objectification...
        after the threshold
there's a breach of objects -
      unlike a guarantee of one
man, a hammer and a sack of nails...
       i'm just curious that
there is an actual legal non-debate taking
place...
                the sort of shrinking
**** sensation in english law:
    it's illegal to own brothels...
   but it's not illegal to procure
the act...
                       so what's the difference
between objectification
                    and necrophilia?
the former word isn't as fancy...
  it's not exactly equivalent to mana from
heaven for the Hibrealites...
    i can only undertand
authentic objectification
             as confined to necrophilia...
of what is necessary to express
the crude correlation of "fact" to act...
          since then the death-fore of
eating beef...
           but without actually *******
a cow...
                             so a dead end...
it's just a "problem" with too many
close-proximity words...
         namely the ob-        sub-
              prefix claustrophobia of attaching
a thought to explaining or:
   guaranteeing a decided congregation
on...
             2 years without
  having touched a human body in the way
that i'd like to be touched,
kissed, looked intently into the eyes...
   finding sparrows chirping
on gently toying with lips using
the bare minimum of tongue and teeth?
finding the gentle baron cartilege of
the nose also being gentle leeched...
                 and a giggle?
              just my luck to have synchronised
the two events...
   and written this a week later;
could never take to metaphorical *** antics
   in the known to me
               expressions of being *** starved;
i'm a butcher...
           not an Argentinian beef chef
                      or food critique combined.

She smiled as he told her it’s over
Between the two of them
She mumbled underneath her breath

“Heart breaks make for good poetry”

Her heart would be the ink
To write this story
Of how he thought she was his one and only
She cheated because, she felt his love faded
When next to him she felt so lonely
When he kissed her
he kissed the entire mankind
She admitted to never being holy
Sleeping with demons, and pleasing others
A savage at most, her motto was that she will never be tamed
Too wild to love
Too broken to fix
A victim of subjectivism
Only to be exposed for lacking loves definition

could
                      killing hasselhoff
be the next
   big lebowski?

well, to me it already
is...

         i'd prefer the whole:
killing off monty python
sense of comic...

       to stress the concept of
individualism,
       but be "offended"
                 by subjectivity?

what's this?
            a lesson in how
a pendulum works?

            ball hits ball,
   ball hits another ball
             puritanical objectivism...

actually: talking to an old
man in a park about his
bike makes: pretty much all
the sense there is...

after all, the movie is an
archetypal study of
   the book of yob / hiob / jobe -
have i suddenly plaid
a false note on a flute?

          o.k.: joe'b:
                             i.e. 'b = blib.
******* really gagged
   to get technical with
language...
           it's called:
                an oyster eating
a herring that churns it into
a pearl...
       and how many human tongues
are actually
              enslaved by Poseidon
              in these shell creatures?

but to discount subjectivity per se,
and only allow an en masse
objectivism...
                 too, much, grounding
in physics...
                     physics with a ******
nose, i.e. having to discuss
biological (subjective) realism...
realism, i.e. ****,
back into physical reality;
or rather:
    subjectivism, yes, in the focus
on intra-space,
   and yes, objectively speaking
      in the focus of inter-space...

which:
                  
        hardly a case for the "offended",
as if getting ******* needs
a thesaurus cipher-cloak...
          
               now, in the vicinity,
in the immediate sense,
      an anti-thesis
                of dasein: or rather,
in english translation:
     there's being...
                          
                    which implies
an inclination toward: in situ.

    i still think
killing hasselhoff
is the next cult movie on
the lines of
   the big lebowski...
   4.3/10 - ‎1,319 votes...
       (out of) /
                    (based on) -
                 my ***.

my my, haven't we become
very, subtle, creatures?

  sure, others prefer the tailoring
of a tux, as opposed
to, being pedantic.

the 502 bad gateway hacks are down below; my my... today was a surprising struggle...

and i'm drinking this wine... seeing faces in clouds,
demoniac courtesy,
peep show at best...
         i'm done with sensibilities, esp. English
sensibility,
     it must have been fun in the 20th century,
in the late 19th century to be this English,
this sensible, this egalitarian...
              these days? not, so, much...
                     i'm here for the pandemonium...
i'm here for the circus,
i'll be the crying crown: like i told my Valentine...
Vaughan Williams...
Templar Chants... i cry at beauty...
i don't cry because i'm sad...
               i'm done with the literal and the objectively
sensible... it's time... it's time to double down
and re-explore the subjectivism of the foundations
of existentialism, from Kierkegaard upwards...
sure, Russia might be tickling Ukraine into a war...
but what does a ****** care for Ukraine
after the Khmelnytsky Uprising?
      coincidentally there was that Swedish Deluge...
the Ottomans were tickling...
see... i gather... the English are a people that
were last invaded by the Normans some 1000 years ago...
sure... they were plagued by Danish enclaves
of ransom paid with violence...
    but for the most part? as all island living folk are...
solipsistic... far removed from
continental plights...
"my" people didn't live in such harmony
as to have the luxury to think up the steam-train...
panacea... oh right...
Lex Fleming and penicillin...
     oh sure... we had Copernicus... but then he was
stolen by the Germans...******* mutes...
overshadowed by Galileo...
but if you're fighting all the ****** time...
you're not going to have the luxury to invent cricket...
or football for that matter...
the English have had so much free time on
their hands... now that multiculturalism has
turned a corner and people are showing up:
"fresh off the boat"... Africans with translators...
i was an "illegal" in 1997... i was deported...
my life was churned up-side down...
i remember watching the 1998 world cup final
with my great-grandmother in a dark room...
i remember watching the opening ceremony:
two eyes akin to two pebbles of coal
on fire...
i came back in 1998... well... i felt real sore
with rejection... look what i brought with me...
the entire world...
now, what? you're doubling down your
standards?!
they can... but... back then... i couldn't?!
you ever spend your childhood in a house with
20+ migrant men...
do you think i was *****?
are we talking about Pakistanis or Slavs?
exactly...
               harsh... but precise...
oh my my... this wine is fine... most graciously...
you can never go wrong with an Argentinian red...
"beautiful view"... yeah...
it's not cheap... but... i'll still do what
the Catalonians do...
having mingled with the Aztecs / Mayans...
i'm going to drink a KALI-MOTXO...
X = CH...
                     i'm going to **** into the wine...
then i'll drip drip some coca into it...
cola... Jacob...

               two bottles of wine: i'd call that a safeguard
of the night...how illuminat8ng...
the moonlight turning up unexpected
like quicksilver, like a constellation of stars...
imagining oneself naked when being
startled by one's shadow....

ah... liebste kalt, am meisten nacht...
  ich trinken zu sie!

     und ohne zeppelins!
           sich verbeugen...  Fräulein Albion!

why must have i fallen in love this late in
life...
   how terrible... how terrible i feel being
in love... with all that must pass...
over my head & down the drain...
   i'd much prefer appreciating torture...
being allowed access to bone...
to muscle to sinew strain...
              to an excess...
not this heart *******... this salt sprinkled on
a mollusk... this petty heart...
that i wished to remain a pebble...
a heart that could be summarised by
skidding from a throw across the lake...
imitating "drowning"...

i don't want to love...
i hate loving someone... it makes me weak...
it drains my parameters and focuses
them on a claustrophobia...
i don't want to love...
i'd much prefer a toothache than
a love-affair...
that's how much i despise love...
because i always give more than is offered
in return...

****... i think i'm going to comb my beard
pretending that i'm playing a violin...

maybe.. i'll just brush my teeth, look in the mirror,
pretend to see myself...
then again... perhaps i'll just want to see
a reflection of my hand...
perhaps i'll just want... to see my shadow...
when i fall in love: i fall bad....

when i ought to be in a brothel...
i'm dropping a bouquet of flowers round her
house.... in the middle of the night,
getting thrown off my bicycle on
the last turn... like i told her:
some people never go mad...
  what horrible lives they must lead...
no... not LED: LEED... even i don't know why
there's an A invoked...
but that's what happens...
trying to be the Afghanistan of Ancient Rome...
you don't apply diacritical distinctions...
you get a  while bunch of dyslexics...

i abhor being in love...
it drains me... physically... mentally...
i was quiet alright minding my own business...
but like they say... a female drought...
periodical... 10 years or so...
then... all of a sudden... 20 ******* appear!
wow... i have a choice?!
and the one i choose is throwing
knives right left and centre....
other women in her vicinity are trying to
discourage me from making further attempts
with her... well... d'uh... i love a challenge...
but how does that work...
we're doing a shift and there she is...
swiping left to right right to left
on TINDER... sorry... what's a dating app?

i love ****-ups... you know.... there's that
megalomania of saviour in me that's insomniac...
oh... but **** me...
when this desire comes crashing down...
it'll be like Kevin Spacey being accused
of "cis-normative" ****** practices...
   i'm really, really going adore myself then...

right now... i'm a teenager stupid...
i don't know whether up is up or whether up is down...
i'm literally at my wits' end...
i might as well be deaf, blind... dumb...
no... sorry... what are you saying?!
you're actually saying something?!

the pupil of my eye has extended into the night...
if an eye can be allowed to yawn,
rather than blink... i've ate a star or two...
while my green iris sacrificed the girth of
this planet... for the seas to emerge...
shuffle the continents...

    this is going to be one terrible mistake
after another... i don't think i can allow this love
to become lame, domesticated,
sterile... i want the wildness of this mistake
to remain... retake me...
yes... i don't want to domesticate these feelings...
even if i don't bag her by sleeping
with her... i want to feel for her what i feel
for all the prostitutes i slept with...
an impossible weight i impossibly managed
to nonetheless lift...

title: butterfly seller
body:
some pseudonym,
Nabokov: FF;

title: seismic
body:
sort of shift;
tragedy down
the supplied
borrowing of
itch.
fear of TH through to PH;
esp. Hellenic.