raw and uncouth

It has been a while that the author of these writings did something rough and raw here. I've posted half polished articles and short essays, but not much of the absurd stuff I used to write. For the sake of these new times, that lie behind us, I will do that today is a Sunday, a day when we have put the work on the Rainbow Center on hold and I do some sitting in the room and reflect. That work is going well, if you're interested in rural grass roots community centers operating sustainably at low-cost, this is your thing. So, we've arrived here about two weeks ago and we are working powerfully to get the center done. But here is not the place to write about it; here is the place to come ahead and join the chorus of what we feel we can understand some day.
I was living in Berlin, Seoul, Chefchouen, Dakar, Istanbul and Utrecht but forgot to write about it here. If you want these impressions, the warm slums and the shots of Senegalese coffee Tuba, the alleys filled with curious cats in snowy Istanbul, the gloomy but cute streets of Utrecht, the incredible pace of Seoul, the magic rooftops overlooking the pearl of Chefchouen, or the warm summer near Berlin's Tempelhof airfield tell me so in a comment.

Free will, meanwhile, doesn't think it needs a vacation. Is that disappointing? Is that one of these things we learn to appreciate once we have experienced its absence? I saw a documentary about monsieur Sartre and want to reread being and nothingness. Free will as a filter of our experiences, a layer of our information processing without which we perish. So all we need to do to become more "free" is to experience the thickness of that layer, vividly.
It all comes naturally is what they say, what is the function, if that word we should use, of compassion and how are we going to show that compassion is very close to the dancing stars if we peel off the layers of religious hypocrisy, so that Nietzsche himself would write about a great compassion? For me for instance compassion links directly to creativity or it should be called differently, what we are talking about is the fragile intention of an other person, or another animal, or another living thing, and our curious and creative approach of that intention. The struggle, intentions going different ways, a wide net of knots of importance, an almost mathematical determination of how much tension there is, of a vector whose strength is a prerequisite for creativity.
And there must be a reason why the phenomenon was hijacked by hypocrisy and the capitalist-theologist Futures business. Is it an instinct that helped us survive smaller groups, but detrimental in most urban life? It might not be a bad idea to do some more reading, to consult some more sources.
But the whole cult of creativity itself, as goal in itself, seems to be strange at best. What is this urge and where does it come from? Banal immortality? A cultured metastasis of some understanding of diversity? Pourquoi création?