<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4279241653900729973</id><updated>2012-02-16T20:34:37.867-08:00</updated><title type='text'>blog along</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://royweltman.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4279241653900729973/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://royweltman.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>roy weltman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07563078543812487643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bwflDXFZhZ0/SQ2g1BwX02I/AAAAAAAAAAM/WercoMSGZ2c/S220/IMG_8827.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>6</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4279241653900729973.post-5640560385753746605</id><published>2009-06-11T14:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-11T14:26:09.648-07:00</updated><title type='text'>fear of the Unknown</title><content type='html'>I always supposed, to myself in particular, that I am not afraid of what I do know, but rather afraid of what I do not know. This pertains to information, and not knowledge, though it is said that information is knowledge. I am relating more to the emotional need for information with regard to love and passion.&lt;br /&gt;We are certainly brave and stupid as human beings, we believe we can handle anything told to us and have the right to be infuriated and psychologically compensation by what is omitted in certain tales repeated to us. I am certainly a casualty and accomplice to this phenomenon.&lt;br /&gt;Our intuitive physiology and psychology is self taught based on experiences, incidents and perceptions. Though we convince ourselves that we are stronger than the event and that we are immune to the effects, we still seem to fall prey to wicked little tricks of life as a whole.&lt;br /&gt;I am valiant and sturdy, I am impervious emotionally to the preposterous and I do not presuppose. Oh fuck sure mate! Well there we go, our little egos and incoherent voices in the brain are definitely the factors that control the physics of our actions. “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.” I think it was Newton who said that, but I am not sure, and that is not important, what is important is our, as human beings, reactionary response to that what hits those infinite nerves of imaginary steel that are actually created out of thin and flimsy cotton.&lt;br /&gt;An insatiable amount of information passes through our brains on a daily basis, and we filter nothing at all. The information hits our micro brain cells like asteroids splitting up in the direct path of a susceptible space ship, waiting to hit and conquer the little people who drive this ship bravely through the cosmic spheres probing for fallow territories. When these broken bits of asteroids hit, they really hit, jolting the nerve center to an oblivious ricochet and sequential of paradox happenings. Now we are, like space ships, built with a large array of competent defense systems, yet when the attack is multiple in its panoramic advance our defense systems congeal and malfunction.&lt;br /&gt;Malfunctioning is the most ominous of after effects the human brain can experience, and not experience. The systems of logic, rational and compromise crash and the brains ability to indemnify itself from such attacks are confronted with bizarre judgment and response to the onslaught.&lt;br /&gt;And then we react!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4279241653900729973-5640560385753746605?l=royweltman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://royweltman.blogspot.com/feeds/5640560385753746605/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4279241653900729973&amp;postID=5640560385753746605' title='43 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4279241653900729973/posts/default/5640560385753746605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4279241653900729973/posts/default/5640560385753746605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://royweltman.blogspot.com/2009/06/fear-of-unknown.html' title='fear of the Unknown'/><author><name>roy weltman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07563078543812487643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bwflDXFZhZ0/SQ2g1BwX02I/AAAAAAAAAAM/WercoMSGZ2c/S220/IMG_8827.JPG'/></author><thr:total>43</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4279241653900729973.post-3875045235104518512</id><published>2007-08-15T09:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-15T09:21:38.074-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Poem</title><content type='html'>Today I decided to post a poem, here it is...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;At War&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So weary, so distended&lt;br /&gt;My ankles swell, and my arms drag&lt;br /&gt;My head battles the heat, and my back carries the weight&lt;br /&gt;I can only look down, for I have no more pride&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Roy Weltman&lt;br /&gt;3rd August, 2006&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4279241653900729973-3875045235104518512?l=royweltman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://royweltman.blogspot.com/feeds/3875045235104518512/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4279241653900729973&amp;postID=3875045235104518512' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4279241653900729973/posts/default/3875045235104518512'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4279241653900729973/posts/default/3875045235104518512'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://royweltman.blogspot.com/2007/08/poem.html' title='A Poem'/><author><name>roy weltman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07563078543812487643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bwflDXFZhZ0/SQ2g1BwX02I/AAAAAAAAAAM/WercoMSGZ2c/S220/IMG_8827.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4279241653900729973.post-6162683257602639815</id><published>2007-08-14T05:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-14T05:46:29.290-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Infinite controversy</title><content type='html'>The studious debates on war, bad relations, schoolyard fights, etc, are a waste of valuable intellect. The debates should form, rather, around studies of locating the complex trigger that embattles the vast egos of our species.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though, perhaps, not that vast, as these type of scenarios exist in all of life’s creatures, whether mammals or insects, or whatever is in between.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why just yesterday, in fact, I witnessed the gentle and loving playfulness of a dog at the park. She was needy, avoided rejection and so gentle around children, that you would have thought, by her behavior, that an angel had penetrated her soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then the storm arrived, a kitten crossed her path and a flash she turned from sweet angel to vicious killer and mauled the kitten in a split second, turning, with her tail in the air and head held high, victorious and continued her angelic ways at the park.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is not her fault. It is in her instinct. To kill, for no reason at all, not from hunger or any other legitimate reason, just kill for the sake of killing itself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In our species there must exists the same instinct and therefore to debate this and formulate rules around it is quite ambiguous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Roy&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4279241653900729973-6162683257602639815?l=royweltman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://royweltman.blogspot.com/feeds/6162683257602639815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4279241653900729973&amp;postID=6162683257602639815' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4279241653900729973/posts/default/6162683257602639815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4279241653900729973/posts/default/6162683257602639815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://royweltman.blogspot.com/2007/08/infinite-controversy.html' title='Infinite controversy'/><author><name>roy weltman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07563078543812487643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bwflDXFZhZ0/SQ2g1BwX02I/AAAAAAAAAAM/WercoMSGZ2c/S220/IMG_8827.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4279241653900729973.post-2833580142520728139</id><published>2007-08-13T04:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-13T04:16:06.604-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The art of equilibrium</title><content type='html'>Equilibrium in physical and mental work is fundamental, in my opinion to complete satisfaction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find when I am spending all my time writing and focusing on my intellectual growth, I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;in fact&lt;/span&gt; inhibit my growth, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;intellectually&lt;/span&gt;, rather than enhance it. My body becomes &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;bloated&lt;/span&gt;, I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;suffer&lt;/span&gt; from headaches and I over eat, smoke too much and have long thoughts about alcohol binges, though I avoid too much alcohol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the converse, when I am focused on my physical needs only, I realise that I am constantly bored, irritable and not too social.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I therefore declare my body a vessel of multiple needs for harmony and a long life. I work out, write, read, flex, take long drives, horse ride, listen to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;classical&lt;/span&gt; music and good jazz, drink quality alcohol, and only smoke socially.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I strongly believe that we need &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;decedent&lt;/span&gt; pleasures to enhance our meaning of life, and provided that we are fit, both mentally and physically i don;t see why such pleasures, in moderation, should be denied!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A long life to all...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Roy&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4279241653900729973-2833580142520728139?l=royweltman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://royweltman.blogspot.com/feeds/2833580142520728139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4279241653900729973&amp;postID=2833580142520728139' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4279241653900729973/posts/default/2833580142520728139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4279241653900729973/posts/default/2833580142520728139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://royweltman.blogspot.com/2007/08/art-of-equilibrium.html' title='The art of equilibrium'/><author><name>roy weltman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07563078543812487643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bwflDXFZhZ0/SQ2g1BwX02I/AAAAAAAAAAM/WercoMSGZ2c/S220/IMG_8827.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4279241653900729973.post-4260560662708382318</id><published>2007-08-12T00:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-12T00:49:12.622-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Victims'</title><content type='html'>I was reading Saul Bellow's "The Victim" over the weekend and besides being well written literature, is also provoked some profound thought in me with regard to how and when we consider ourselves a 'victim' of an occurrence, as well as some subliminal self pondering that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;develops&lt;/span&gt; in our Psyche in which we place ourselves in these 'victimised' situations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As i delved further into my spaced out Saturday afternoon thoughts I took my memory to Kafka's "The trial" and I found many similarities in my thinking then as my thoughts self provoked with "The victim".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4279241653900729973-4260560662708382318?l=royweltman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://royweltman.blogspot.com/feeds/4260560662708382318/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4279241653900729973&amp;postID=4260560662708382318' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4279241653900729973/posts/default/4260560662708382318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4279241653900729973/posts/default/4260560662708382318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://royweltman.blogspot.com/2007/08/victims.html' title='Victims&apos;'/><author><name>roy weltman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07563078543812487643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bwflDXFZhZ0/SQ2g1BwX02I/AAAAAAAAAAM/WercoMSGZ2c/S220/IMG_8827.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4279241653900729973.post-3427613055004413606</id><published>2007-08-11T05:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-11T06:01:58.623-07:00</updated><title type='text'>As we move with time</title><content type='html'>Today is the 11th August, 2007.  As I sit here, typing, I feel the time move on with me. Is it an age thing, I wonder, or have I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;finally&lt;/span&gt; matured with time (forgive the pun) and accepted that nothing stands still.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I write a lot, almost every day, and I feel blocked at most times, yet ponder on and find that writing &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;equilibrium&lt;/span&gt; and enthusiasm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With the writing comes a sense of immortality, something that live long after and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;hopefully&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;indefinitely&lt;/span&gt;. to give our legacy. a witness, of sorts, to our lives of which we hold hope and meaning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have decided that this blog will serve as my creative diary, of sorts, and I will find that time to have a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;daily&lt;/span&gt; insert of my moods.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So read and comment...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Roy&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4279241653900729973-3427613055004413606?l=royweltman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://royweltman.blogspot.com/feeds/3427613055004413606/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4279241653900729973&amp;postID=3427613055004413606' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4279241653900729973/posts/default/3427613055004413606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4279241653900729973/posts/default/3427613055004413606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://royweltman.blogspot.com/2007/08/as-we-move-with-time.html' title='As we move with time'/><author><name>roy weltman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07563078543812487643</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bwflDXFZhZ0/SQ2g1BwX02I/AAAAAAAAAAM/WercoMSGZ2c/S220/IMG_8827.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
