Translumination is a Livejournal community devoted to the 'fluorescent' personality type: imaginative, fantasy-prone, artistic geeks who are strongly driven by their emotions. Fluorescent is the opposite of 'mundane,' a personality type which is stereotypically fixated on this world and practical matters, doesn't do much self-exploration, and doesn't place much value on the beauty or inherent interest of an idea. Though nobody is devoid of creativity and emotion, fluorescents feel these things so powerfully that they can overwhelm other aspects of their lives.
In general: Fluorescents are easy 'moved' to emotions like awe and wonder, and may not be able to understand why other people aren't. Fluorescents like to play with their minds and may spend hours lost in fantasy worlds. They tend to get involved with imaginative, 'geeky' hobbies like costuming, sci-fi fandom, and roleplaying. They tend to be skeptical of mainstream rules-based morality and many gravitate into 'alternative lifestyles' like polyamory and neopaganism. There's nothing stopping them from becoming monogamous Christians, either -- but they would be unlikely to practice either for the sake of propriety or profit, without love. Life without passion is painful for the archetypal fluorescent.
Translumination is a place for discussion of fluorescence and the psychological phenomena (like having imaginary friends into adulthood, or nympholepsy, or compulsive daydreaming) sometimes associated with it. It's a place to share coping strategies for staying (in)sane in a world that doesn't seem to care much about sensitive mystical types. It's also a place for us to develop a sense of solidarity, so we know we're not alone, and talk about ways to make society more hospitable to deep emotion, creative play, gentleness and 'enlightened naivete.'
We intend to sing the love of danger, the habit of energy and fearlessness.
Courage, audacity, and revolt will be essential elements of our poetry.
Up to now literature has exalted a pensive immobility, ecstasy, and sleep. We intend to exalt aggresive action, a feverish insomnia, the racer's stride, the mortal leap, the punch and the slap.
We want to hymn the man at the wheel, who hurls the lance of his spirit across the Earth, along the circle of its orbit.
The poet must spend himself with ardor, splendor, and generosity, to swell the enthusiastic fervor of the primordial elements.
We stand on the last promontory of the centuries!... Why should we look back, when what we want is to break down the mysterious doors of the Impossible? Time and Space died yesterday. We already live in the absolute, because we have created eternal, omnipresent speed.
They will come against us, our successors, will come from far away, from every quarter, dancing to the winged cadence of their first songs, flexing the hooked claws of predators, sniffing doglike at the academy doors the strong odor of our decaying minds, which will have already been promised to the literary catacombs.
But we won't be there... At last they'll find us - one winter's night - in open country, beneath a sad roof drummed by a monotonous rain. They'll see us crouched beside our trembling aeroplanes in the act of warming our hands at the poor little blaze that our books of today will give out when they take fire from the flight of our images.
They'll storm around us, panting with scorn and anguish, and all of them, exasperated by our proud daring, will hurtle to kill us, driven by a hatred the more implacable the more their hearts will be drunk with love and admiration for us.
Injustice, strong and sane, will break out radiantly in their eyes.