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October 2007

01:22 Tuesday 23 October 2007

Painting Painting The Painter

I sometimes make paintings. I might not love them. Maybe I dislike them. Maybe I don't even care for what I paint. Maybe I do not respect my creativity.

Suppose then, hypothetically, recalling various... things... that... matter itself is consciousness. And suppose then, on that premise, that each of my paintings are conscious beings.

And finally, suppose that somehow, hypothetically atleast, my consciousness temporarily merges with the consciousness of a painting made by me.

So that creator and created experience for a few moments life as one with each other.

But due to the extraordinary nature of such an event, both get confused.

The creator suddenly experiences life as seen by a painting. A painting made by a creator who at his most negative, sees his paintings as a bit of a joke.

The creator then, will see his own world, and the life he lives as a human being on this earth amongst all these billions of people, and reality itself, as something of a two dimensional joke played on him.

The creator will see his world in which he lives as a creation by a creator not unlike himself; who at his most negative sees his creation as a bit of a joke. The creator will feel suddenly as if he has never had any control over his life, it has all been controlled by, as far as he can tell, malevolent forces existing in realms outside his proper sense of reality and ability to percieve.

The creator is unlikely to see the funny side of it, or realise what is happening.

But what happens to the painting? The painting suddenly sees life as not two dimensional, but three dimensional*. So the painting suddenly feels it has been conned out of a full existence. It will feel it has been imprisoned; trapped in a futile and pointless two dimensional existence.

The painting wants to escape. The painting is unlikely to realise what is happening.

Both are experiencing the other at the same time as themselves.


These are most dire circumstances indeed. What if somehow, again hypothetically (but even more so this time), the painting escapes and swaps existence with its creator?

The creator is trapped inside his own painting!!

The painting now existing in the body of the creator, can then paint the painting!!!

Oh my!!! It Can't Be True!!!! CAN IT!?!?!?!?!?!?

How to resolve? How to resolve?

*I've not quite yet figured where the dimension of time sits in this context.

20:32 Tuesday 16 October 2007



he has booked a week off of work = next week. he's wondering what to do. he has booked it off without making any plans for the week he will be free from work. he has only booked it off so as to not be at work for a week - otherwise he would have had to wait for over a month for an opportunity to book a week off work.

so what should he do? should he do what he usually does, and try to make art, say some paintings, or drawings, or programming, or music?

or should he do something entirely different for once in his life?

say for example, booking a cheap holiday somewhere, all by himself?

"f##king hell" he says, "i'm so s##t". "i'm such a shit person."

"i will never get anywhere with my life. it's only a matter of time before suicide starts to seem a viable option... maybe."

he remembers what the doctor told him once about a woman, who coincidently was at the time, roughly the age he is now. this woman had similiar problems. the doctor told him that this woman regrets not going out into the world, she regrets staying at home, hiding from the world. she regrets it because now, hiding and staying in is the only thing she is capable of.

he feels like that is his future. decay. he still wants to be confident among people and to be in a light mood and able to have light conversations with strangers in unknown places. but it's a dream and he's tried and does not know how to make it happen.

he remembers a new years eve party at a club. his friends were there, and their friends also, he barely spoke to his friend's friends. he did not speak to a single person he did not know, except to buy himself a drink at the bar. he did not get up and dance at any point during the night. he sat in his chair and watched people being happy and felt miserable that he could not join them.

00:23 Friday 5 October 2007

!No Comment

The night before last I uploaded the code I'd been working on since Monday. It was code to allow people to post comments onto the pages on this website. I was quite pleased with it.

So pleased I wrote Web 1.2 and a Half which is half tongue in cheek mockery of "Web 2.0" and half serious comment on ... stuff.

So I sent email to mail list and then went2 bed & promptly no sleep & worry 'bout DOS attax using comment form & get bak up out bed online and disable commentz.

 x cept eye dont dsabul cmntz an sumwun poss comnts an i uhhhhh re-en-able-them. becuz like DOS attax don't like need a form to work, they work without it. and all the text entered into the form stays as that:text so that html will appear as that:text (not activated HTML) so no XSS attax posse-bul 'ere m8, coool.


so there you go. now i'm looking at using cookies and sessions with PHP. Because,because i need to manage the comments some how and the file permissions don't allow me to edit them when logged in i need to edit them as user:www-data and only one way for that to happen thus cookie sesh rechoired.

btW::::> i hope i'm really irritating all you grammar pedants.



A page detailing new stuff and other random noise.

The journal is a general place for writing about what I am doing, or for making more official announcements concerning the things I do. It's also a place where I can write freely about my ideas, or just play with words and language.

DISCLAIMER: The opinions and attitudes of James W. Morris as expressed here in the past may or may not accurately reflect the opinions and attitudes of James W. Morris at present, moreover, they may never have.

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