If you can relate - you understand. If you can't - you don't. The world is really just one giant collection of overlapping Venn universes: some are big, some are small - and some are very exclusive.
Because one was an opening that wasn't an opening - it was a sanitary cupboard. (E.B. White)
No soul which has not practiced philosophy, and is not absolutely pure when it leaves the body, may attain to the divine nature - that is only for the lover of wisdom. (Plato - Phaedo)
He did not have far to go. He even knew how many steps it was from the gateway of his house. Seven hundred and thirty steps. Lost in dreams, he had somehow counted them once. (Fyodor Dostoevsky - Crime and Punishment)
Subtly inspired by one of my favorite movies. I'm sure that says something about me. And my current state of mind. None of it good. A question. How and when do you determine - that there is no point?
The definition of apathy? If I tripped and fell, landing face first in an inch-deep puddle of water ... I would drown. Haha. Such poor wit. Teach me how I should forget to think?
Resurrected from a play I wrote in my 20s. I think my essay on the Final Exam would still be essentially the same. But now my answer to the bonus question would probably be "swim" - in a mango flavored, "Harmony Hall" sort of way.
A little historical poetic license. Anyway. Getting closer to the finish line on this weird HBM journal. Maybe these virtual scraps of paper will survive as hers did.
Embarrassingly bad? Yep. But this poem (full text in my blog) marked the transition from my mostly winging it with luck and talent to really putting in the effort on writing. And for that it is my favorite.
The third time I met death was age 5. Snuck in the neighbor's yard to pet puppies. They stopped biting when my head hit the driveway and I was knocked out. Woke up in ER. Got a sucker. It was orange. My life? It was all stolen time.
This sounded SO much better in my head at 3am. Oh well. When I travel, I have fun inventing backstories and conversations for people I observe. For a few? I'd rent my soul to hear their thoughts.
Another day, another mask meltdown. I ponder the cause. Learning about the implied social contract? Confronting existentialism? Fearing mortality? Exhibiting selfishness? Or, f*ing alien brain parasites?
One time I was on the wrong side of the fourth wall, for Our Town, I had to learn to cry on stage. Watching the debate made clear how numb we are becoming to everything. Our motivation for tears is running dry.
The reasons are many, but for our species to survive - I think it is obvious that half of us will need to go. I guess we can flip a coin or something?
17 days? The joy of being stranded on an uninhabited island in an ocean of uncertainty. And growing tired of talking to a volleyball. All he does is stare at me.
The natural human world is a monotonous gray canvas. We are not entitled to art. The inspired colors that fill our world come at a cost - borne by painters, sculptors, photographers, writers, composers, etc.
I am on a quest to acquire 1970s vintage, Nikon AI prime lenses. Why? You either get it. Or you don't. But then? I wondered how that would play out in the REAL world. Turns out - not well. Not well at all.
History is littered with the corpses - and collateral damage - of those that sought to reshape reality with their ego. The difference between passion and obsession ... is justification.
I am feeling the stress of a Universe pushing me to the edge of what I can endure. And I am not doing well. I would pay any price - to find myself in a reality where I was not simply an object of amusement.
If I could live my life over again? I wouldn't.