The Truth Or Just One More Irrational Mistake.

  Marcel Proust: He was determined to tell a story in great detail as the good writer that he was. Being eloquent in his recounting the tale of a life from earliest times to ..well, as much of it as possible. Many who read his work get the impression the life being narrated is his own. So I drew great pleasure from his comment that it was all fiction. I feel this way about the story I am part of. I have created my legacy in my mind and that is mostly personal narrative, only because truth is only an ideal and as such is not knowable. Like a man who comes out of unconsciousness and learns second hand of how he had an accident or blow to the head or whatever. In my case near fatal events while riding bicycle. We are not always aware of what the role is we are playing in life. I like to be cognizant of what is going on around me but I will be the first to admit there are times I do not know where the story is leading. If I suddenly were transported onto the set of a sitcom and had no li

The starting line, square 1, it’s all good to start with “I.” But is it I that wishes to start? Life is not a set of choices.   A kid of 14 who started out December 1973, from Montreal, He is on the run after escaping custody at the juvenile detention center St. Valier’s, He is now hitchhiking on California Highway one, Now the passenger in a green Falcon driving between Monterey and Los Angeles, Absorbed in a panoramic view to one side, an over stimulated Salam chain smoking guy, to the left. New Views of the Pacific at Big Sur unfolding before these impressionable eyes.   Ok, it is said that the whole-body regenerates over a period of ten years, so This “Not I,” has somehow grafted memories Of events still disguised as firsthand experiences.   Some memories have worked their way into his psyche. Blended right in you could say. Their descriptions being localized in a present of Originals mixed with modified versions slightly corrupted by (Time?)

Let us consider the number of times we, as individuals, have experienced failure to communicate. For my hypothetical interlocutor to be a successful purveyor of truth, he must ooze confidence, his internal dialogue must be affirming. Thoughts must come to words and words must come to meaning and purpose. Not only does he need to make some sort of sense , but it must contain concrete evidence of the scientific method being employed in the direction or pursuit of something. I wont claim to be an expert of neuro-psychology or physiology so I will limit myself to describing my experience with the actual facts that unroll. Not only one meaning or one purpose but many. I am starting to sound like Robin Williams in Flubber.  Actually infinite quantities of each. The more we find the fewer we will need as we cannot possibly consume all the meaning and we certainly cannot attend to every purpose. Would it be a bad thing if we could but decided we were not going to make the effort?  Yeah, the m

In the aftermath of my “resignation” from TBS, I reached out to the primary antagonist of the situation, the top bureaucrat in the corporate services sector, Ms. Cahill. After she accepted my contact request, I attempted to engage her in reassessing a nasty turn in events she helped bring on. There are two points of contention I wanted her to take another look at. There was the lack of requirement on the part of those who use the PSPM (Public Service Performance Management) system to sign their entries. And the other was the work objectives which were assigned to a small group of individuals in the AMG (Access management Group) in the IT solution section which she oversaw.   Karen Cahill   3rd degree connection · 3rd Sous-ministre adjointe Services ministériels chez Secrétariat du Conseil du Trésor | Treasury Board of Canada Secretariat SEP 2 Kenth Cound sent the following messages at 9:35 AM View Kenth’s profile Kenth Cound   9:35 AM A: Because I care.

accounting for privacy -  it is better to have poor privacy than no privacy Who am I to even mention privacy when I am spreading my innards on a page to post to the world. I am Kenth. I became Kenth when I purchased a copy of my birth certificate and saw it right there on the page, Kenth. I don’t know why I went the 55 years going by Kenneth as is what my parents called me. So funny that, family never caught on to the typo. It would have been a totally different youth for me to have been Kenth.   There is a little known fact about me.  I sit to write. I am writing for a completely contrived audience. If there was anybody here, I would be speaking. Only those who cannot speak would need to write in that scenario. What have I to say? What is on my mind that is made of words that I can express onto this page? As with most blabber there is a need to communicate but I have none and I only write for exercise. Will there ever come a day when surveillance is so thorough that we cannot ev

The Joy of Incompletness An example of the great paintings of Bhaskar Krag I found on Tourism Vancouver  pages. In speaking about "  Detail of Starpop  " he speaks of harmony in completeness. But I would like to take your mind off that for a second and suggest incompleteness is where it is at. I am not referring to a Godel theorem but to the artist who at the moment the decision is made that this is ready for press, has made an observation that the work is finished, or as complete as it is going to be. Has given in to reality and accepted a condition that may never be ideal. It is the letting go of what is for the hope of something better. Maybe we are always doing that. We leave the table feeling satisfied and hope the living room will provide something else. We let go of one thing to pick up something else. If the situation becomes too static we feel stressed. We want change, meaning we want away from the over familiar. In looking at the artists work I can see how th