Fegg .. quantum perception
Fegg. F[aberge]egg. Fegg. Simple, splendid, extravagant, delicious, reverent, jeweled. Fegg. It is seeing and tasting that richness in the little world that is fegg. One of the Earth Decorator's most fegg is, of course, the hummingbird, an outrageous jeweled miniature envied on all planets of all stars. “Ah, Madame Deco,” an offworld Designer would sigh, hardly concealing stark envy, “How did you do it!?” Planet Designers are a good lot on the whole in spite of their universally being riddled with admiration twinned with envy. It's just that when you see something unbearably well done — the concept, the craft, the flash, the diligence, it haunts the heart with gratitude that it has been done–and envy that you didn't think of it first. Gratitude and applause minutely outweigh envy.
It is no accident that having a clear sense of beauty, style, and fittingness is called ‘taste.' Fegg is the unpretentious exhilarating quintessence of taste. The eclectic rollicking embrace of teleology–the appreciation of design.
“Remember that the rose bush lavished with luxurious blossom is but a fantastic conjuror's trick–dormant dirt, water, sun animated by a pinch of some damn good design and presto: roses. Fegg. The real question is not how we can find reverence, but once we open our eyes, how we can avoid being paralyzed by awe?
You would think that if a person woke from being a wraith in the twilight worlds to this technicolor extravaganza in which we dwell that that person would run around going WOW, GEE WHIZ. Somehow a lot of us got fegg-impaired. Forgot to surrender to delight
The Faberge Imperial eggs (particularly the ones by Perchin)
are fabulous, and the notion of fegg derives a portion of its charm from the pleasure that human artisans can be so deft. But the planet's Designer has simply strewn our path with marvels upon marvels, has all but stuffed riches down our throat like fat corn down the foie gras goose's gullet.
Faberge eggs usually hinged open to reveal some remarkable surprise, a spray of milky white chalcedony windflowers in a basket made of platinum and tiny diamonds, for instance. When your eyes have been pried open, you wake in the morning, look sleepily out the window, and put your hand to your heart in amazement. You are living inside a magnificent Faberge egg and you yourself are the surprise. You have been placed here tenderly by the same Artists who designed the stars. Fegg indeed. Not only are you here in this ingenious astound, a fact so impossible as to be miraculous, but you work. You can dance or sing a song. You can somersault. Do.
We are so bombarded by idiot doctrines which distract us from the simple sustainable radiance which is our birthright, that we forget that we are a miraculous jewel set in a miraculous jewel. It's not just the big showy stuff like the exultant unbearable ocean or the wide wings of a hawk in the sapphire summer sky. It is the dainty spider who can walk upside down on the ceiling and the familiar grime around the kitchen light switch.
You must start slowly because as you realize it is surprise within surprise and the knowledge multiplies crescendoing, the jolt of electricity searing in your blood can terrify you. The churches neglected to mention that the ecstatic vision and sensation is at your own fingertips, eyetips, tonguetip, nosetip, eartips. Your body can stand this surging power. Your body is designed to run at many mega-feggs of raw radiance. If you haven't tampered with the mechanism by drink, drugs, or stupid doctrines, the body has all the necessary safety systems.
You can get as high on air as you like. You were designed for awe and delight. You were given senses and sense to be a co-designer in this blooming magic world. You cannot over-fegg.
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Pogblog pushes the best drugs. I mainlined some fegg and have been hallucinating that it is a gorgeous world all day.
Thanks for my daily fix, pogblog.
It's interesting that miniaturization is so beguiling. An ultimate condensation being DNA, I suppose. Of course if infinity goes big and small, it may not be as tricky as it appears.
To what nebula creatures are we ants?
Whenever the people get too much with me, I default to Planet Beauty & am thus never lonely. The planet cannot betray you. It always is what it is and never is not what it seems. People are iffy, tho fascinating. I've learned to be interested in them, often very, but never to count on them. You can count on the planet tho, wholeheartedly.
This gives people (including oneself) the room to flail between noble and cruddy, gorgeous and rotten without all the Burden of Romanticization.