The Office of the Lost & Found

The silence lies as thick as always
In the corridors and hallways
Upon the windowsills and tables
And the cornices and gables
The lack of sound is quite profound
In the Office of the Lost & Found
Detail from BUSHFIRE NIGHTMARE, oil painting by CR/MM/SRS

bushfire nightmare

BUSHFIRE NIGHTMARE oils on stretched canvas 90 x 90 cm, not mad about this painting, it's not there and may never be, just got tired of working on it, so I'm declaring it final, even though it isn't up to par BUSHFIRE NIGHTMARE oils on stretched canvas 90 x 90 cm, not mad about this painting, it's not there and may never be, just got tired of working on it, so I'm declaring it final, even though it isn't up to par


eBooks by Cosmic Rapture:

NIGHTMERRIES: THE LIGHTER SIDE OF DARKNESS This so-called "book" will chew you up, spit you out, and leave you twitching and frothing on the carpet. More than 60 dark and feculent fictions (read ‘em and weep) copiously illustrated by over 20 grotesque images you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley.

AWAREWOLF & OTHER CRHYMES AGAINST HUMANITY (Vot could be Verse?) We all hate poetry, right? But we might make an exception for this sick and twisted stuff. This devil's banquet of adults-only offal features more than 50 satanic sonnets, vitriolic verses and odious odes.

MANIC MEMES & OTHER MINDSPACE INVADERS A disturbing repository of quotably quirky quotes, sayings, proverbs, maxims, ponderances, adages and aphorisms. This menagerie holds no fewer than 184 memes from eight meme-species perfectly adapted to their respective environments.

the beguilements of Goleman

Daniel Goleman, Co-Director, Consortium for Research on Emotional Intelligence in Organizations, Rutgers University, USA, speaks during the session 'The New Reality of Consumer Power' at the Annual Meeting 2011 of the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, January 27, 2011. Copyright by World Economic Forum swiss-image. Photo by Michael Wuertenberg. Photo-manipulation by Cosmic Rapture. This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license.Words can't be trusted. They are shifty and unreliable. Their meaning keeps changing.

Take the word "intelligence", for example. Intelligence is much smarter than it used to be.

It used to be that a certain dexterity with numbers, letters and patterns was labelled as "intelligence". Then dexterity with people and relationships was labelled as "emotional intelligence", initially by Daniel Goleman (pictured) and others.

Lurking in the wings, perhaps, is "spiritual intelligence": dexterity with the Universe in general, a cleverness with the divine, so to speak...

The Universe herself is another good example of the treachery of language.

on time

Many people say time is an illusion. Maybe, maybe not. But if it is an illusion, it is a real illusion: the illusion really exists!

bipolar order is universal

Illustration from Codex Buranus (Wheel of Fortune), a collection of texts from the 11th and 12th century. There are many paths to Truth. The way of the intellect is one path, a difficult one to tread. Because the smarter you are, the more you think you know. And the belief that you know more than others inhibits and constrains your capacity to learn -- from others, and from the universe at large!

how to boil a kettle of priests

Rubin's Vase, artwork by SRS/CR/MMDemeaning of life? I believe that the meaning and purpose of MY LIFE is to help X understand and experience what it is like to be ME.

If I may be so bold, I believe that the meaning and purpose of YOUR LIFE is to help X understand and experience what it is like to be YOU.

The meaning and purpose of President Obama's life is to help X to understand and experience what it is like to be President Obama.

faceless Freddy and other freaks

photograph of faceless family, by SRS Once there was a man with no face whom everyone loved because they didn't have to (in fact couldn't) express their love to his face. They called him Faceless Freddy. In turn, he loved everyone who loved him, because he couldn't face the prospect of not loving them.

remnants with guts (the old one's PEE)

The Mastress, illustration for cover of e-book, Nightmerries, by SRS[This is the last of the "Mastress" posts, you'll be pleased to know. I sure am.]

No stars sparkled above. The black shroud of night lay impenetrable and heavy on the land. In the breath of a feeble wind wafted the stench of rotting algae from the dead river beyond. On all sides loomed the dark ruins of the Lost City.

Around a defiant fire huddled the last Remnants loyal to the Imperium, survivors of the Barbarian invasion, gritty farmers and artisans with pain in their hearts and tin in their eyes.

They had fled, yes, when the Barbarian hordes had swept down from the icy hills and frigid fjords and ransacked the villagers and pillaged their muffins.

But they had fled with courage: these were Remnants with guts. They had taken to the very hills recently vacated (luckily) by the Barbarians, vowing vengeance and swearing allegiance to the Imperior forevermore and a day.

circumcised nose-pickers and other members (my entangled qualia)

Here's a little meme-game anyone can play: List the different sets of which you are a member.

I'm a member of the set of all vertebrates. And a member of the set of all bipeds, the set of all humans, capitalist wage slaves, tenants, pantheists, nose-pickers, fathers, sons, husbands, sentient entities (hopefully), people with circumcised genitalia, people who were born on a Tuesday, and many more.

I'm also a member of the set of all green-eyed earthlings. Which contains the members of the set of things with green-eyes, as well as all the members of the set of all earthlings.

please freeze fleas

jumping fleasWhat really happened was... no lunch, no wine, no tribespersons bearing platters of desert delicacies. No sand-ripened scorpion-hearts in sticky date sauce.

No. What really happened was that the thrice-dusted Islimiri drew himself up to his full height (rendering himself ahead behind the monstrous JackJill) and began shaking his robes vigorously.

As well, strangely enough, a tribesperson of diminutive stature and cognition, who had crept into the tent without anyone noticing, took hold of one of the buttock-rugs and began shaking it vigorously. Clouds of what looked like dust filled the air as Islimiri and his short shaker shook themselves and their rugs mysteriously to no apparent purpose.

“What in Belial’s name are they doing?” whispered Selestin into Clothilde’s ear.