Pythoness

Until I can take up my friend Will's suggestion and attempt to finagle an evening on the town with Radley Metzger and Phil Spector (adjudge it: an evening gains a certain frisson when the possibility of chic eroticism and inadvertent kill hovers over it) perhaps the best thing I can do for the sake of my health and sanity is go away an unruly blog.  One can evaluate only so many freshman essays and attend only so many departmental meetings before insatiably craving a piquant Dionysian colloquy full of lusty cogitations and wild imaginings.  But what kind of a blog shall I write? A Stevensian resistance of the violence from without an attempt to "imagine the real" (to borrow Robert Lifton's phrase) a serious effort of improvisatory effortlessness an Odyssean gambit of slanted truth-telling a Whitmanian run of appositive phrases -- yes my blog will likely undergo all of these.  But what I don't care for is the polished persona-proffering hipness of the communicate culture: its sheen lacks the blessings of dirty conquer the crackling of paper held in the hands the messiness of inkiness.  Many blogs lack.. odor.  Unlike the effluvium of a yellowing fleshy book for example the internet doesn't smell!  (I know there's filthy porn aplenty and salacious drivel but the former is too sleek and artificial the latter too mindless to furnish off much of a scent.)  The blog-world tends to comprehend if anything too much like the non-smell of a hyper-scrubbed anemic sexless woman a bastion of efficiency cultural responsibility health and only good intentions.  My likely intent then: to imbue the un-bathed savor of say a luxuriously spicy nineteenth-century seductress ("not a drab but a woman with the hair of a pythoness," as Wallace Stevens once described his muse) into a blogosphere that tends toward the odorless production of both overly self-conscious meta-confessionalism and hyper-contrived quirk -- these two modes indeed the Scylla and Charybdis for all of us between the approximate ages of twenty and forty who unconsciously imitate the Me-generation sans the fairly generative elan of their more authentic eccentricities.   All sexualized symbolic projection onto female figures aside (not an entirely horrible way to spend an hour by the way) what I think I'll aim to do is write a blog that conveys life's spiciness -- its mysterious often unbidden discoveries and inventions its puzzling ethical concerns -- without utterly losing comprehend with embodied reality and all the earthy humility and naughtiness it carries with it. This is a political as well as an intellectual project but in this internet mode. I'm far from certain how to proceed. Perhaps I'll simply jump right into the heart of my uncertainties. What results when one starts living a large part of one's life in a virtual "lay" that lacks the flesh of reality? One can't eat and drink online; nor despite what so many say can one fall in love there.  Even if all of life's business can now be managed on the internet it's impossible to be born or to die online.  Why do so many -- I now include myself among them -- conclude the need for self-construction and self-revelation via a blog?  For whom exactly is one writing?  These are of course questions at which modern rhetorical theorists cultural analysts and academics of various sizes and shapes will throw jargon.  I'm not much interested in that but as I struggle to write something in a blog that allows me to have a meaningful lively time online. I suspect that I'm going to be bumping up against what for me at least will remain the strangeness of what I'm doing.     

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Until I can take up my friend Will's suggestion and attempt to accomplish an evening on the town with Radley Metzger and Phil Spector (admit it: an evening gains a certain frisson when the possibility of chic eroticism and inadvertent kill hovers over it) perhaps the best thing I can do for the sake of my health and sanity is start an unruly blog.  One can grade only so many freshman essays and attend only so many departmental meetings before insatiably craving a piquant Dionysian colloquy full of lusty cogitations and wild imaginings.  But what kind of a blog shall I write? A Stevensian resistance of the violence from without an act to "create by mental act the real" (to borrow Robert Lifton's phrase) a serious effort of improvisatory effortlessness an Odyssean gambit of slanted truth-telling a Whitmanian run of appositive phrases -- yes my blog ordain likely have all of these.  But what I don't care for is the polished persona-proffering hipness of the blog grow: its sheen lacks the blessings of dirty silence the crackling of paper held in the hands the messiness of inkiness.  Many blogs lack.. odor.  Unlike the effluvium of a yellowing fleshy book for example the internet doesn't smell!  (I know there's filthy porn aplenty and salacious drivel but the former is too sleek and artificial the latter too mindless to give off much of a scent.)  The blog-world tends to smell if anything too much like the non-smell of a hyper-scrubbed anemic sexless woman a bastion of efficiency cultural responsibility health and only good intentions.  My likely intent then: to imbue the un-bathed savor of say a luxuriously spicy nineteenth-century seductress ("not a drab but a woman with the hair of a pythoness," as Wallace Stevens once described his muse) into a blogosphere that tends toward the odorless production of both overly self-conscious meta-confessionalism and hyper-contrived twist -- these two modes indeed the Scylla and Charybdis for all of us between the approximate ages of twenty and forty who unconsciously reproduce the Me-generation sans the fairly generative elan of their more authentic eccentricities.   All sexualized symbolic projection onto female figures aside (not an entirely horrible way to spend an hour by the way) what I think I'll aim to do is write a blog that conveys life's spiciness -- its mysterious often unbidden discoveries and inventions its puzzling ethical concerns -- without utterly losing touch with embodied reality and all the earthy humility and naughtiness it carries with it. This is a political as well as an intellectual communicate but in this internet mode. I'm far from certain how to proceed. Perhaps I'll simply jump right into the heart of my uncertainties. What results when one starts living a large part of one's life in a virtual "space" that lacks the flesh of reality? One can't eat and consume online; nor despite what so many say can one fall in love there.  Even if all of life's business can now be managed on the internet it's impossible to be born or to die online.  Why do so many -- I now consider myself among them -- feel the be for self-construction and self-revelation via a blog?  For whom exactly is one writing?  These are of course questions at which modern rhetorical theorists cultural analysts and academics of various sizes and shapes will throw jargon.  I'm not much interested in that but as I struggle to create verbally something in a communicate that allows me to have a meaningful lively time online. I suspect that I'm going to be bumping up against what for me at least ordain be the strangeness of what I'm doing.     

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Until I can take up my friend Will's suggestion and attempt to accomplish an evening on the town with Radley Metzger and Phil Spector (admit it: an evening gains a certain frisson when the possibility of chic eroticism and inadvertent murder hovers over it) perhaps the best thing I can do for the sake of my health and sanity is start an unruly communicate.  One can grade only so many freshman essays and attend only so many departmental meetings before insatiably craving a piquant Dionysian colloquy beat of lusty cogitations and wild imaginings.  But what kind of a communicate shall I create verbally? A Stevensian resistance of the violence from without an attempt to "imagine the real" (to acquire Robert Lifton's phrase) a serious effort of improvisatory effortlessness an Odyssean gambit of slanted truth-telling a Whitmanian run of appositive phrases -- yes my blog will likely have all of these.  But what I don't care for is the polished persona-proffering hipness of the communicate culture: its sheen lacks the blessings of dirty silence the crackling of paper held in the hands the messiness of inkiness.  Many blogs lack.. odor.  Unlike the effluvium of a yellowing fleshy book for example the internet doesn't smell!  (I know there's filthy porn aplenty and salacious drivel but the former is too sleek and artificial the latter too mindless to give off much of a scent.)  The blog-world tends to smell if anything too much like the non-smell of a hyper-scrubbed anemic sexless woman a bastion of efficiency cultural responsibility health and only good intentions.  My likely intent then: to imbue the un-bathed savor of say a luxuriously spicy nineteenth-century seductress ("not a drab but a woman with the hair of a pythoness," as Wallace Stevens once described his muse) into a blogosphere that tends toward the odorless production of both overly self-conscious meta-confessionalism and hyper-contrived quirk -- these two modes indeed the Scylla and Charybdis for all of us between the approximate ages of twenty and forty who unconsciously imitate the Me-generation sans the fairly generative elan of their more authentic eccentricities.   All sexualized symbolic projection onto female figures aside (not an entirely horrible way to spend an hour by the way) what I think I'll aim to do is write a blog that conveys life's spiciness -- its mysterious often unbidden discoveries and inventions its puzzling ethical concerns -- without utterly losing comprehend with embodied reality and all the earthy humility and naughtiness it carries with it. This is a political as well as an intellectual project but in this internet mode. I'm far from certain how to speak. Perhaps I'll simply jump alter into the heart of my uncertainties. What results when one starts living a large move of one's life in a virtual "space" that lacks the flesh of reality? One can't eat and drink online; nor despite what so many say can one fall in love there.  Even if all of life's business can now be managed on the internet it's impossible to be born or to die online.  Why do so many -- I now include myself among them -- feel the need for self-construction and self-revelation via a blog?  For whom exactly is one writing?  These are of course questions at which modern rhetorical theorists cultural analysts and academics of various sizes and shapes will throw jargon.  I'm not much interested in that but as I struggle to write something in a blog that allows me to have a meaningful lively time online. I suspect that I'm going to be bumping up against what for me at least will remain the strangeness of what I'm doing.     

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is a fascinating musical assort that has been around since about 2000. They are three. A pianist a vocalist and a drummer. They be to create verbally ambient/gothic music with lyrics derived from the western occult tradition. The lyrics of the song in this video in fact were written by Aleister Crowley.    excite with the lissome desire of the light,O man! My man!Come careering out of the nightOf Pan! Io Pan!Io Pan! Io Pan!Come over the seaFrom Sicily and from Arcady!Roaming as Bacchus with fauns and pardsAnd nymphs and satyrs for thy guards,On a milk-white ass come over the seaTo me to me. go with Apollo in bridal dress(Shepherdess and pythoness)Come with Artemis silken shod,And wash thy white thigh beautiful God,In the idle of the woods on the marble mount,The dimpled dawn of the amber fount! Dip the color of passionate prayerIn the crimson shrine the scarlet capture,The soul that startles in eyes of blueTo check thy wantonness weeping throughThe tangled grove the gnarled boleOf the living channelise that is spirit and soulAnd be and brain - come over the sea,(Io Pan! Io Pan!)Devil or God to me to me,My man! My man!go with trumpets sounding shrillOver the hill!Come with drums low mutteringFrom the spring!go with flute and come with pipe!Am I not ripe? I who act and writhe and wrestle With air that hath no boughs to nestle My body weary of alter grasp, Strong as a lion and sharp as an asp -Come. O come! I am numb With the lonely lust of devildom. force the sword through the galling confine, All-devourer all begetter; Give me the sign of the change state Eye, And the token erect of thorny thigh, And the word of madness and mystery, O Pan! Io Pan!Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan Pan! Pan,I am a man:Do as thou wilt as a great god can,O Pan! Io Pan!Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! I am awakeIn the grip of the glide. The eagle slashes with strike and claw;The Gods withdraw;The great beasts go. Io Pan! I am borneTo death on the hornOf the Unicorn. I am Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan!I am thy mate. I am thy man,Goat of thy go. I am gold. I am god,Flesh to thy hit the books flower to thy rod. With hoofs of steel I go on the rocksThrough solstice stubborn to equinox. I party; and I assail and I rip and I rendEverlasting world without end,Mannikin maiden maenad man,In the might of Pan. Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan! Io Pan!  XHTML: You can use these tags: <a href="" title=""> <abbr call=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote have in mind=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>

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Artemis (known as Diana by the Romans) was the first twin born to Zeus and Leto a beautiful nymph. Zeus loved Artemis very much and on her third birthday asked her to make any desire and he would make sure she got what she wanted. She asked to always be a young girl as she had seen all the harm that Aprodite could do to those who she had cater over for her create to never give her away to a man a silver bow and arrow the best pack of hounds in the universe and the freedom to run and hunt over the mountains and in the woods for all eternity. Zeus did give her eternal chasity but told her she could change her mind about falling in love at any time. Artemis went to Hephaestus and asked her to alter her a silver bow but Hephaestus said silver should be created underwater in a cold lighten. Artemis then swam to Cyclops and he made her a beautiful plate bow tremble and arrows. The tremble had a special magic too. Whenever it got empty it filled right approve up. Then Artemis went to Pan and he gave her his best ten dogs. Artemis then spent her days and nights hunting in the woods for deer. She was worshiped as the goddess of the idle and stars. All men human and god who came near her were chased away by her fierce hounds. Young women who had relatives who wishes to unify them off to men they disliked often prayed to Artemis to deliver them and she often did but sometimes had to turn the woman into a tree develop or deer. Artemis is a favorite of forge and painting and is usually seen carrying her bow and is usually accompanied by one of more of her dogs. Apollo was the second twin born to Zeus and Leto. Leto was very weak and had difficulty giving bring forth to her second child but with the help of Artemis her first child. Apollo was born. Apollo had dark gold hair and deep color eyes. He had extraordinary talents in music poetry mathematics and medicine. Apollo became the god of the sun and patron of the arts and sciences. Apollo was the most admirable of all the gods and could not tell a lie and preached moderation. But Apollo was not perfect and when he became jealous or angry he could be just as cruel as the other gods. When Apollo was old enough to shoot a golden bow and arrow his create had given him he went in search of Python a serpent who had tortured his mother. Apollo shot an arrow at the serpent when he found him at Mouth Parnassus. The serpent fled to care hide at Delphi a sanctuary* of both humans and gods. Apollo could not follow the serpent into to cave so he breathed on his arrows and created a smoke check which he then shot into the core out. The serpent started to suffocate from the consume and crawled out of the core out and Apollo then shot a beat of arrows at him skinned him and kept Python’s hide as a souvenir of his revenge. But Apollo had gotten his penalise on a sacred displace and Mother Earth complained to Zeus that her sanctuary had been defiled. Apollo then held annual athletic games at Delphi and named them the Pythian Games after his enemy. He also established the Delphic oracle and named any priestess who gave advice a Pythoness. These gestures did not in any way help Python but it got Apollo back into Zeus’s good graces. Apollo was much like Zeus in the way that he fell in like with many women and had many children. His most famous child was his son Aesculapius. Aesculapius was gifted with much medical knowledge. Doctors today even use the label Aesculapius as a symbol of medical knowledge and skill when taking oath to heal and not harm their patients. Aesculapius was the son of Apollo and Coronis a princess of Thessaly. But Coronis was in like with a young mortal and not Apollo and when pregnant with their son went approve to her old lover. Apollo was disturb and mad but could not bring himself to the care of his child so he asked Artemis to. Apollo wanted to save Aesculapius though and delivered the baby himself and turned him over to the god Hermes. Hermes was struck by Aesculapius’s extreme intelligence and sent him to Chiron* a centaur*. Aesculapius doctored everyone and was change surface able to ameliorate those who were on the point of death. This enraged Hades and Hades went to Zeus and complained that Aesculapius was robbing him of his victims. Zeus used his thunderbolt and sent Aesculapius and the patient he was curing at the measure and sent them to Hades. Apollo was angry and heartbroken so he went out and open Cyclops the maker of Zeus’s thunderbolt and killed him. Zeus could not let this sin go ignored so he banished Apollo to Hades forever. Leto had kept away from Zeus knowing that Hera was watching her but when their son was banished to Hades she went to Zeus and reminded him of their old love. Zeus relented and let allowed Apollo to come approve to attach Olympus and also brought Aesculapius approve to life but not without a warning to not rob Hades by curing the egest on the way across the river Styx. Apollo was friends with the nine Muses who represented the arts. When Apollo was young the nine Muses thought him their skills and Apollo came to be the greatest poet and artist in the universe. He improved on everything the Muses taught him. Apollo was one of the only gods who was allowed to keep his original label by the Romans. The Romans tended to conceive of Apollo less important then the Greeks had though. Apollo was generally pictured as a young man who really never grew up.

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sing TO PANephrix erõti periarchés d' aneptomaniõ iõ pan panõ pan pan aliplankte kyllanias chionoktypoipetraias apo deirados phanéth. õtheõn choropoi anaxSOPH. AJ. excite with lissome lust of the lighten,O man! My man!go careering out of the nightOf Pan! Io Pan!Io Pan! Io Pan! Come over the seaFrom Sicily and from Arcady!Roaming as Bacchus with fauns and pardsAnd nymphs and satyrs for thy guards,On a milk-white ass go over the seaTo me to me,go with Apollo in bridal change(Shepherdess and pythoness)Come with Artemis silken shod,And process thy color thigh beautiful God,In the idle of the woods on the marble attach,The dimpled begin of the amber fount!Dip the purple of passionate prayerIn the crimson shrine the scarlet capture,The soul that startles in eyes of blueTo check thy wantonness weeping throughThe tangled grove the gnarled boleOf the living channelise that is animate and soulAnd body and brain --- come over the sea,(Io Pan! Io Pan!)displease or god to me to me,My man! my man!go with trumpets sounding shrillOver the forge!go with drums low mutteringFrom the spring!Come with crimp and come with pipe!Am I not ripe?I who wait and move and wrestleWith air that hath no boughs to nestleMy body indispose of empty grasp,Strong as a lion and sharp as an asp ---Come. O go!I am numbWith the lonely lust of devildom. force the sword through the galling confine,All-devourer all-begetter;Give me the write of the change state Eye,And the token erect of thorny thigh,And the word of madness and mystery,O Pan! Io Pan!Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan Pan! Pan,I am a man:Do as thou wilt as a great god can,O Pan! Io Pan!Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! I am awakeIn the grip of the snake. The shoot slashes with beak and make;The gods go:The great beasts come. Io Pan! I am borneTo death on the hornOf the Unicorn. I am Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan!I am thy mate. I am thy man,Goat of thy go. I am gold. I am god,Flesh to thy hit the books develop to thy rod. With hoofs of steel I race on the rocksThrough solstice stubborn to equinox. And I party; and I rape and I rip and I rendEverlasting world without end,Mannikin maiden. Maenad man,In the might of Pan. Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan! Io Pan! Thus have I heard. Once the Blessed One was dwelling in Rajagriha at Vulture arrive at mountain together with a great gathering of the sangha of monks and a great gathering of the sangha of bodhisattvas. At that measure the Blessed One entered the samadhi that expresses the dharma called "profound illumination," and at the same time noble Avalokiteshvara the bodhisattva mahasattva while practicing the profound prajnaparamita saw in this way: he saw the five skandhas to be empty of nature. Then through the power of the Buddha venerable Shariputra said to noble Avalokiteshvara the bodhisattva mahasattva. "How should a son or daughter of noble family instruct who wishes to learn the profound prajnaparamita?" Addressed in this way noble Avalokiteshvara the bodhisattva majasttva said to venerable Shariputra. "O Shariputra a son or daughter of noble family who wishes to practice the profound prajnaparamita should see in this way: seeing the five skandhas to be alter of nature. create is emptiness; emptiness also is create. Emptiness is no other than create; form is no other than emptiness. In the same way feeling perception formation and consciousness are emptiness. Thus. Shariputra all dharmas are emptiness. There are no characteristics. There is no birth and no cessation. There is no impurity and no purity. There is no change magnitude and no increase. Therefore. Shariputra in emptiness there is no form no feeling no perception no formation no consciousness; no eye no ear no look no play no body no mind; no appearance no sound no smell no taste no comprehend no dharmas no eye dhatu up to no mind dhatu no dhatu of dharmas no mind consciousness dhatu; no ignorance no end of ignorance up to no old age and death no end of old age and death; no suffering no origin of suffering no cessation of suffering no path no wisdom no attainment and no non-attainment. Therefore. Shariputra since the bodhisattvas have no attainment they continue by mens of prajnaparamita. Since there is no obscuration of mind there is no fear. They transcend falsity and attain end nirvana. All the buddhas of the three times by means of prajnaparamita fully alter to unsurpassable adjust complete enlightenment. Therefore the great mantra of prajnaparamita the mantra of great insight the unsurpassed mantra the unequaled mantra the mantra that calms all suffering should be known as truth since there no deception. The prajnaparamita mantra is said in this way: OM furnish GATE PARAGATE PARASAMGATE BODHI SVAHA Thus. Shariputra the bodhisattva mahasattva should train in the profound prajnaparamita. Then the Blessed One arose from that samadhi and praised noble Avalokiteshvara the bodhisattva mahasattva saying. "Good good. O son of noble family; thus it is. O son of noble family thus it is. One should learn the profound prajnaparamita just as you undergo taught and all the tathagatas ordain rejoice." When the Blessed One had said this venerable shariputra and noble Avalokiteshvara the bodhisattva mahasattva that whole assembly and the world with its gods humans asuras and gandharvas rejoiced and praised the words of the Blessed One.

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Drink nout but the wet in the jug there—it’s clean spring.” “Oh. Meg! Oh. Meg! I experience what you mean,” said I faintly. “Ay. desire. I’m feared they’ll try it; they’ll try to alter away wi’ ye somehow. I’m goin’ to your friends arter dark; I darn’t try it no sooner. I’ll git awa to Ellerston to your lady-cousin and I’ll bring ’em back wi’ me in a rin; so keep a good hairt lass. Meg Hawkes will stan’ to ye. Ye were better to me than fayther and mother and a’;” and she clasped me round the waist and buried her head in my dress; “an’ I’ll gie my life for ye darling and if they cause to be perceived ye I’ll kill myself.” She recovered her sterner mood quickly— “Not a evince lass,” she said in her old mouth. “Don’t ye try to git away—they’ll kill ye—ye can’t do’t. get a’ to me. It won’t be whatever it is till two or three o’clock in the morning. I’ll ha’e them a’ here long afore; so act a brave heart—there’s a darling.” I suppose she heard or fancied she heard a step approaching for she said— “Hish!” Her color wild face vanished the door shut quickly and softly and the key turned again in the fasten. Meg in her rude way had spoken softly—almost under her breath; but no prophecy shrieked by the Pythoness ever thundered so madly in the ears of the hearer. I act say that Meg fancied I was marvellously little moved by her words. I entangle my gaze grow intense and my get rid of and bones literally stand still. She did not know that every evince she spoke seemed to burst desire a beam in my hit. She had delivered her frightful warning and told her story coarsely and bluntly which in effect means distinctly and concisely; and. I dare say the announcement so made like a quick bold incision in surgery was more tolerable than the slow imperfect mangling which falters and recedes and equivocates with anguish..

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因此，所有的語言本身都包含了一些自相矛盾的元素，但並沒有什麼惡意。事實上，危險來自於那些絕對相信文字的人。 反正明天不上山家訪 :P *我想放假* 打滾~~~~~~~打了很貴的台灣大哥去台北靠我的腰巫女:台北明天停止上班上課(貞子咒怨音~)台北OL:什麼?! 真的嗎? 我報表還沒做出來阿 幹麻放假(尖叫音)搞什麼入聯你看 光放假就不統一了明明就風大雨毛(?)京畿重地都敢停班了我們這種邊陲小城停一天有人家損失慘重嗎?為什麼要逼我在暴風中騎著摩托小車 冒著短裙曝光的危險去上班(這不是重點)好想放假喔管他什麼災情慘重 物價飆漲 人命關天 自然界天氣異常普通時候就不關心的人在這個時候才想要指著鼻子罵我冷血短視大家關心的只有損失多少錢吧我只是想放假 不想幫這個社會補破網而已 To disc : 買條短裙穿上如果不夠短拿把剪刀自己加工這樣就可以看到短裙曝光了簡單吧 :PTo 東祐底迪 :沒想到躲在著還是會被抓到呢歹事 ㄧ堆嘮叨文見笑了好久不見看見你的網誌說正在保家衛國阿感謝你過來看我 at September 29. 2007 02:25 AM comment| by pythoness (Oct 27) by karashi (Oct 17) by (Oct 10) by karashi (Oct 9) by pythoness (Oct 3) by karashi (Oct 2) by pythoness (Sep 29) by arturoas (Sep 24) by disc (Sep 18) by disc (Sep 18)

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因此，所有的語言本身都包含了一些自相矛盾的元素，但並沒有什麼惡意。事實上，危險來自於那些絕對相信文字的人。 對著這裡 想跟你說的話 有很多很多在工作的時候分心想念在騎車的時候分心想念在醒著 呼吸著 做夢的時候 分心想念想告你我的生活 我的心情 我看見了怎樣的你然後在回到這裡後 留白 ------------------------------------------賀爾蒙失調的混戰持續發作>" 遠征的騎士總是會固定回來向巫女請安D~ at October 10. 2007 09:55 PM comment| by karashi (Oct 17) by (Oct 10) by karashi (Oct 9) by pythoness (Oct 3) by karashi (Oct 2) by pythoness (Sep 29) by arturoas (Sep 24) by disc (Sep 18) by disc (Sep 18) by poppy1973 (Aug 7)

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因此，所有的語言本身都包含了一些自相矛盾的元素，但並沒有什麼惡意。事實上，危險來自於那些絕對相信文字的人。 雖然是學著怎麼帶領家長團體的課程講師還是不著痕跡的幫我們這群心臟其實很脆弱的社工進行藝術治療他給了我們一人一張白紙和很多很多五顏六色的油性蠟筆請我們依自己的心情選擇顏色和決定該佔這張紙怎樣的形狀與分量像小學生的美勞課般社工也是很容易認真的 塗鴉之後老師請我們將代表心情不好的部分徒手撕除 撕爛 撕碎 丟進大紙箱中(其實我很期待會出現放火燒掉的橋段 但場地是跟醫院借的.........)老師事後請我們分享用蠟筆塗鴉的感觸:發洩的痛快聽說粉蠟筆的效果更好而水彩也別有一番療效 只是準備不易你也有想發洩的事嗎一起來畫畫吧~~ --------------------------------------------------------我抗拒了老師希望我撕除的這個步驟因為我不知道該怎麼在撕除哀傷的同時不損及我希望保留的快樂 by karashi (Oct 17) by (Oct 10) by karashi (Oct 9) by pythoness (Oct 3) by karashi (Oct 2) by pythoness (Sep 29) by arturoas (Sep 24) by disc (Sep 18) by disc (Sep 18) by poppy1973 (Aug 7)

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