The art is in evolving to such a receptive consciousness, which is aligned to enjoyment and fruition in both ways _ expecting and planning the randomizations for __pecific_ joys as well as designing joys in __eneric_ randomizations. True love lands you in a consciousness, which relishes the joys of this rainbowish dualism best.
Yet velvet curtains, soft cheese, compelling work and boys who can run full-tilt__t isn't enough. And if it isn't, it isn't. There's no living with that. The world is made from our imagination; our eyes enliven it, as our hands give it shape. Wanting makes it thrive; meaning is what you put in, not what you extract. You only see what you are inclined to see, and no more. We have to make the new.
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Yet velvet curtains, soft cheese, compelling work and boys who can run full-tilt__t isn't enough. And if it isn't, it isn't. There's no living with that. The world is made from our imagination; our eyes enliven it, as our hands give it shape. Wanting makes it thrive; meaning is what you put in, not what you extract. You only see what you are inclined to see, and no more. We have to make the new.
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Apparently, now, though, we writers and artists are not allowed to give offence. We must not question, criticise or insult the other, for fear of being hounded and murdered. These days a writer without bodyguards can hardly be considered serious. A bad review is the least of our problems.
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How love works: Proximity leads to intimacy, and intimacy leads to a relationship. In other words, people who are around each other a lot, get close, and end up hooking up. So it's no great mystery why bosses and secretaries or co-workers or classmates end up dating each other.