Saturday, December 26, 2009
It’s trying to bring me down
Gravity is working against me
It’s pulling me down
Gravity is working against me
Gravity is working against me
I don’t even want to break free
When I spoke to them three days ago they asked me what I thought about the weather. I said it was fine. It had not been anything out of the ordinary, nothing to ask about. In fact it was quite strange that they asked, it was like something from an English movie, or a joke an adult or socially awkward teenager tells about English folk. My friend remarked that the Nigerian national anthem was rather British sounding, maybe the similarities were far more wide-reaching than I thought. Still I ignored it; the weather was fine I said, as I rose to turn up the thermostat in my hotel room. I looked out, it was a fairly sunny day but still the Harmattan had displayed none of its colors. We talked about other things, and I decided to visit the following day.
The weather was ridiculous! It is ridiculous now as I write. It is so hot. It was ridiculous in their house and pools of sweats swam across my pimpled forehead as I waved my hands frantically bemused that I was before the Akiyama fan. It is hot now and as sure as ogujejijeji clears the stomach the fan is on and I have stripped most of the fancy clothes I am wearing. These earrings are quite long and I am worried that the sweat may discolor them. They were a gift from a friend, quite appropriate indeed since my last pair of gold earrings were discolouring. I was not sure about the reason for the discoloration because they were barely a few months old. I liked these new earrings. I could hardly call them new, I had received another new pair, purple and silver ones that could match the many purple outfits I had acquired over the summer. I have taken the earrings off and I must admit I feel less hot than I did before. My head turns easier now, but I looked so beautiful in them. When I get back into the Camry I will put them back on and then as I stare out into the rising Lagos skyline I will look beautiful once more.
But really this weather does not allow one do anything much. There is a banking crisis here and over two thousand people have been laid off from one institution the week before Christmas. Happy Holidays? It is the white man’s holiday but they have shared with us; they keep Santa Claus and we keep Father Christmas. Jesus Christ came to save us all. And there are dead chickens to show for it.
I used to know a lot about Nigeria, when I visited the cousins in the much less glamorous parts of Lagos. Maybe those too have changed with this wonderful new governor. But then I saw Lagos. I bought water at 10 naira not the 500 that sits on my lunch bill twice each day. This heat is disorienting but I suppose not more so than the daily 25000 naira fee for my meals. I am little sick of the shine nose fish. Efo rero is slightly enjoyable but ogbono soup is still my favorite it seems. The sand flies must be in a festive mood as well; they will not quit at my limbs and breasts too. I have to go to the cinema and watch a few more movies before I leave. There is all that work I ought to do so that my vacation is not a sabbatical. This unlike the pricey hotel meals I cannot afford.
I am spending a little time in my home country. That is what we like to do, us Africans, spend the holiday with family. It looks a little as though we want to be sure we know where and how the families are doing. The ones that stay away do indeed stay away. But we are all here, most of us from last year. I do not want this to become a ritual, Christmas with efo rero is a better option than this yellow friedrice with weird peas. It is hot in here and I have missed the thermostat.
Tomorrow I will call the ones that stayed away, there are of course no hard feelings. I think they might ask of the weather and I shall tell them that it did not rain. It is December. It is the Harmattan. It did not rain. I cannot speak of today then because I will be back in my hotel room, reaching for frosted cereal and 500 naira bottled water. One of the Harmattan colors is showing, there is a dearth of the ajepaki… at least on my side of the island.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
want me to pull off this next sleight"
But I am beholden to you
If this meant anything it would not be this
"This talk is called patter"
This heart is.....
"Your undoing blooms like cancer"
Eroding at the core
Tugging at the seeds and razing the roots
"The axe forgets but the tree remembers"
And I still call out...
A mind forgets to tame the wanderer
It is not the same
"You my audience are pulling for me"
I however am falling for you
And ivory breaks forever
Thursday, September 10, 2009
We are together everything
And as I lay in your arms watching the tides and waves roll by
I am nothing but with you
Where would I need to be?
If not looking to you
Because in those still ochre eyes there is depth beyond this life
Where would I need to be?
I am lost and found
We are this, and "we" is all
I cannot feel the need to fall, you hold me up beyond the flaws
I am lost and found
I am nothing but with you
And everything that we are is beautiful
You are my self-effacing yet dominating hero
I am nothing….yet with you
I am all and for you
I am nothing but with you
And "we" will weather the storms of time
As you ferry me across the horizon
Into new love where passions keep rising
I am lost and found
The all that is none
That I am is your doing
If not looking to you
I am but with you.
Monday, August 31, 2009
bir patrick jones şiiri.
we are not deceived by your words
we see through your promises
we sanctify your lies
we are the disaffected
the isolated wounds of subtle napalm;
shopping doesn't make us happy
commercials cull our sensitivity
freedom is nothing without responsibility
and in the rain drenched tarpaulins of market traders
lies the epitomy of belief
clinging to our pennies on entrance on exit
memory or dream
this hole in my throat this gap in the ink
this place without meaning
this stuttering eloquence of screaming;
save, save us all
find a path, be unafraid to act hold life
stand stand oak tall
even the smallest body makes a shadow -
in the hanging out the wash
in the protest of discipline
tiny hands scraping solitudes clinging to moments creating
miracles from everyday routines
in the dignity of ironing
the anxiety of mortgages
sentence of being but still still still the being
we are butterflies trapped in the frost
victory is acknowledging the fact that we, we have not yet lost.
so carress me with your alienation
alienate me with your carress create me with your credit
pour me power through direct debit
feed me freedom from selling shares
and paint me a symbol and tell me i'm free;
we are the guerilla tapestry
in the silence of insurance payments
council tax benefits
the penny pinchers the super savers
the lottery watchers
the incoherent throats searching for sound
the peaceful protestor
the single mother
the social worker at the homeless shelter
we are the happy shoppers
the credit cravers
the sales offers
the breaking fabric of modernity
stitched only by our solitude
we are the temporary fragments of a capitalist master plan;
family credit beggars
no collar coolies
part time slaves
praying for meaning
not this lipless screaming
and in these motives that purify in these acts that dignify
in this tiny gesture of defiance
is an articulation of a void
a vision versed in lament
this hate this hate
is born from love;
we are the undying
the breath of chlorophyll over the concrete
the soul against the gold
we are loneliness burned iron fists fuelled by injustice
we are the denied
we are the tapestry, the crackling cracks of modernity
dislocated desperations stitched together
by the disparate verses of our skin;
i write therefore we exist
we exist therefore i write
and from this page this scream
from the supermarket to the dole
from the youth centre to the old peoples' home
is the sound the silence
of the sound of the alone
to the alone
the sound of the ability to resist;
and in this ink there is the blood of a thousand miners
and in this ink the eyes of 500 doctors
the struggle of my father
the sensitivity of my mother
and the hand of my baby;
and in this prison cell there is a skied sunlight
and in these words the power they tried to deny us,
the stab of a killer
the tourniquet of a nurse
and in this ink is
is you and i
and in this voice
the milk of a mother
against against against
their chains to smother
mother to man to woman to child
the guerrilla tapestry
and in the division
there is a unity
and in this incision
there is a sanctity
and in this pale silent page
blisters a cacophony enraged
with the burn of generations following the bullet of emancipation
we are we are the threads
we are we are the severances
we are we are the stitches
we are we are a no in search of a yes
we are we are the breaking
we are we are the making
the blind beginning to see
we are we are we are the guerilla tapestry.
The thing is if you really don’t what something repeated, do not say it. But if you really can’t keep your mouth shut, like most of us anyway, then say it to only those few people that matter or that will be decent enough to keep your shared thought private.
The concept of a secret and personal and private thoughts seem to have lost all meaning in this ‘utopia’ of a factory. Really.
I’m just saying, but maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea for some of us to stop expecting that people will shut up about our secrets when we couldn’t.
What gets me the most however, is this constant need to know about other people and pry into the details of their lives. I mean really, get a life. I can imagine that there are tons of you reading this and thinking that you do have a life, you’re just excessively curious about other people’s lives because your life is so fulfilling and exciting and since you have so little time to do anything else but have a great life you’d like to find out about others’ lives just in case.
With all my love,
“What about it?”
Life hurts sometimes. It makes you want to tear your insides out or crawl into a corner. You want to find respite. You want your friends to be there for you when you need them. You want to know that people that you care about care about you too.
If you’re all alone. You’re all alone.
Or maybe your friends are there for you when you need them. Maybe you’re not all by yourself. Some of us are lucky; we don’t always have to help ourselves. Some of us are even luckier; we’ve convinced ourselves we don’t need any help. But some of us, well we’re just down right lonely and aware of it.
I don’t know where you find yourself. Some of us are looking to find ourselves, whatever that means.
So in case you are not sure please remember that when you are really down and feel like you need a hand, there are two attached to your shoulders.
With all my love,
Ps: SWRCENTH: Someone who really cares enough not to help.
I have sweet memories of things that did not last
Dreams of serenity and echoing love...
I face forward, rowing into the distant past
Like a fading, yellowed off-white gown
Seeming this and being
That soft, stale wind that comes around
Whispering tales of what I've been seeing
I am this towering wreck of an abyss
Holding pictures; embossed images
of what sweet, true, real love is
Love, fresh roses, letters, signatures, things to miss
See me howling
Like a grey wolf, struck in the cold dessert prowling.
It is a full moon with glowing stars.
I am the weeping willow with your axes' scars
You will hold my hand
Walking me to my death as I let it take over
You will be my man
Barring my heart as love gets colder
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Yesterday, a creeping sound
Forever a silent call
I was reaching out from a distant past
Clinging on to the memories of what we were
Who I was when you held me
Midnight; the brightest stars
My darkest hour
Lost in the darkness
This is an ebony madness
A solitary time
Gazing from an ivory tower
Sinking into the saline blue-greenness
Hollow writhing by the river banks
It was brief
I still remember still save the memories
So short and long it is now
Time leaves its scar,
A mark on even the timeless
The quiet longings of a heart
That I could see you here or then
That I strive to be
And yet it is not much that you see
There is a distance, a long road
Leading to the familiarity of my loneliness
You have heard my name
Though things change that stays the same
I have heard you speak
I still remember a yellow brick road
It led, led to nowhere
A road less travelled was there but not clear
I stood and stared
I thought of you
And when I stare into those dark and fiery pools
I see a pure reflection of myself
Of my thought
A song, a rhyme a verse, a chant
You make, you make
You have the days
I see the horizon
I can hear the rhythm
Far away, the drum beats
I can see what life is
I can barely breathe
Far away I see a shooting star
I can hear a melody
It lulls my aching heart to sleep
Moonlight glows as vagrant waters flow
On this night even the stars
The stars look forlorn
You make my heart sing
A verse a chant a song
I forgot the last thing
I can hear the echo
Of a beat
Of your feet
Some nights I cry into my pillow
Sometimes in April and then in May
I thought today would be a lovely day
Some nights the stars shine over the saline sea
Some nights he whispers words of comfort to me
Gentle whispers with the dawning dew
I fall so quickly and break so easily
Sometimes I wonder
Sometimes I stare into the darkness
Sometimes I feel the emptiness
Yesterday I woke to a bright blue sky
Last night I cried into my pillow
The stars have been gone for a while
But the waves have not ceased to be
Sometimes when I look at me
The weariness overwhelms my soul
I stare into the abyss, that big black hole
Last night my tears fell
Again unto my pillow.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
An analysis of sense perception requires an understanding of its nature and power. Sense perception involves an active, selective and often interpretative process of achieving conscious knowledge of the external world through our five senses. Sense Perception has both advantages and disadvantages. Knowledge gained in this way is grounded in observable "facts" and is thus termed objective, claims of knowledge may be tested and criticized relatively easily, it is basic to the scientific method, which has proven to be a valuable process in establishing a great deal of our knowledge in the modern world, it is a way of knowing that often can be tested repeatedly. It is also the most believable and effective way of evidence first hand and a rapid way of knowing once your senses can detect the stimulus.
But sense perception is subject to the fact that not all phenomena are easily observable and Perceptions are also affected by their environment as exemplified by the fact that lights in a picture are only perceptible when there are darker shades. Observable data takes on meaning by the way that it is organized and interpreted, and such organization/interpretation may introduce bias, emphasis on "objectivity" may mask "subjective" influences. What we perceive is undoubtedly affected by our emotions and the influence of the bias of one wants to perceive- the pattern- seeking nature of our minds. Previous knowledge affects it, as sense perception cannot be utilized in a vacuum but alongside experiences.
Regardless of the fact that our senses open us up to various possibilities of knowledge our senses have limits and can at times mislead us (e.g. optical illusions, hallucinations).The biological constitution of a living organism influences, and at times limits its sense perception. Humans are for example only sensitive to certain ranges of stimuli e.g. 20Hz to 20 kHz define our minimum and maximum audibility ranges. Furthermore, sense perceptions are inarguably subject to expectations, assumptions and beliefs and where there are gaps in our perceptions, our imaginations fill them up in accordance with our expectations.
Still, the predominance of visual perception inclines the perceiver to ignore or insufficiently consider information that is obtained from other senses. We cease to see the things that we are familiar with, so that we do not perceive all that we should perceive, if we choose to rely only on our visual sense.
Reason involves a variety of elements that effectively results in the construction of meaning as a product of interactions of and amendments to ideas. Because reason must be coherent, consistent and based on logical validity and rigor, it is easier for the knower to provide justifications for his knowledge claims as they have resulted from a reproducible, chronological and rational series of thought processes. Reason thus allows the knower to escape the problems that feeling, imagining or wishing pose to him.
Reason does not depend upon the limits of sensory observation, it is checked by rules of logic and internal consistency in its least formal practice, this is often a "common sense" way of knowing. It enables one to determine why not how and allows for independence of thought.
Nonetheless, the fact that reason results form logical thought does not mean that reason is always universal and objective, or that it is based on laws of logic that are incontrovertible. In fact, at times our ability to reason is affected by emotions and reason cannot really be objective when foreknowledge is present. Beliefs affect our capacity to reason and recognize valid arguments, it is dependent on sufficiency and accuracy of facts, as flawed facts lead to flawed reasoning and insufficient information is likely to lead one to draw incorrect conclusions.
Again, reason works with abstractions that may be unrelated to the "real world we live in" by ignoring the details that other ways of knowing for example, sense perception may provide. Logical arguments may hide fallacies and rhetorical conceits as what at first may seem "logical" may turn out to be merely social/cultural convention.
Whether or not we choose to apply reason in order to come by knowledge the inextricably interwoven nature of sense perception and reason as ways of knowing as implied by Immanuel Kant when he said, “Concepts without perceptions are empty, perceptions without concepts are blind”, cannot be overemphasized.
Therefore it cannot be conclusively stated that with sense perception or reason one is universally more reliable than the other. It follows that in some situations sense perception provides the knower with the most accurate information and in other situations that sense knowledge must be acquired by employing the logic that reason affords. Nonetheless, one must maintain that these ways of knowing are not independent of each other but rather act as complimentary stages in the acquisition of knowledge and the justification of a knowled
Often related to space, time is a dimension that allows two similar events occurring at the same point in space to be distinguished and perhaps measured by the interval between them. At times we consider time as a causative force, capable of acting on people and object; we age and our bodies become worn, similarly objects dilapidate with time because time is associated with change.
We are slaves to time are we not? If it is evening in Australia and morning here what disallows the acceptance of an overturning of this? Time fascinates me because I am given to think that it is illusory and much too mechanized. Ideas of the effects of time on us and the things around us are intriguing and make time and its validity an interesting concept to explore.
Can time be proven to be real or is it merely illusory. Personally, the latter seems more likely than the former. We live in an illusory world of becoming and seeing so perhaps time fits neatly in this illusion. But time has no effect on those things that are real or true. We can only have full knowledge of what is real, what exists and such as those are timeless. Reality exists outside of time and as such time must be illusory. If it is true that an apple is a fruit, it was true a thousand years ago and will be true in a million years. Why then is time relevant?
Time is experienced subjectively and differently and yet we quantise it objectively, that does not take into account each individuals experience of it. Our notions of time are subject to the scales that they are looked at with and one can argue that we have different notions of time over time. The Islamic calendar works differently than the traditional calendar but this renders it no less ‘true’ than our calendar.
We use time to define and interpret the nature and relevance of our experiences but one must agree that even those interpretations change over time. Granted, we must find a way to systemise all the events we experience, a way that is coherent and indeed time was the product of that necessity. Even so, at times, time contradicts the revelations of our consciousness.
I came across the argument that it is valid because it is a measurement of how things are flowing in the universe, how atoms are moving; a measurement of how things happen. Also that, if one is anxiously awaiting something, time seems to pass more slowly because one achieves a heightened awareness of one’s surroundings. But if a second feels like an hour to us then that is exactly what it is.
I recently took my SATs; I clicked the button to view my results and had to wait at least an hour, by my watch barely a minute had passed. How do we disregard the fact that that was how long I consciously experienced the event? WE could not possibly allow our consciousness to determine everything because that would perhaps give rise to much too much irregularity, perhaps our concept of time allows for science to achieve more consistency which perhaps facilitates the acquisition of knowledge.
The usual objection to the reality of time is "we can only perceive the present, but we can see into the distance", ignoring the fact that seeing into the distance is in some ways seeing into the past; since light takes time to travel, the farther something is, the longer it takes light from it to get to us, and thus the images we see of far away things are from earlier in time than the images of closer things.
Distances can also seem to change depending on how much weight one is carrying, or if one is in a race of some sort. Five feet can be a lot if you're dragging five hundred pounds or it could be only a little if it is the distance between you and an angry bear. Measurement of both instances would indicate five feet. That does not discredit distance as a valid concept. Time flow changing with velocity is part of relativity, and according to relativity, length also changes with velocity. Time-dilation doesn't is perhaps simply met with more fascination than length-contraction for reasons I am unable to explain satisfactorily.
Over time, time has become more and more relevant to society. There are and have been a variety of instruments created for the measurement of time. The measurement of time is so critical to the functioning of modern societies that is it coordinated at an international level. The basis for scientific time is a continuous count of seconds based on atomic clocks around the world . However, if this mechanised conception of time was indeed real and true it would suggest that we have a prescribed fate and no freewill. And suppose we take to belief of the notion of the existence of an immortal soul, or religion’s concepts of eternal life, what happens to time then? Does time merely have a beginning and then and no end, is that even possible?
The arrow of time points forwards only? Why do we believe this to be true? How can we say time to be real? Is time itself timeless and outside the limits of its own self. How then is it not imagined? Time is what is measured by a clock, so time is defined in terms of space and movement. Movement is defined in terms of space and time thus time is defined in terms of space and space and time eventually time is defined in terms of space, space, space and space.
There is a speed of time. It is dt/ds, the rate of perceived temporal change over absolute relativistic displacement but it too but based on my understanding does not appear to be a useful concept. For example, if we have a graph of x and t points, it looks static. What determines how fast the "scanning line" on the t-axis moves? The concept of the speed of light however, gives us some translation abilities between time and space.
Time is as valid a concept as space, which is to say that accepting space as real ought to be equivalent to accepting time as real. To accept one and not the other is like accepting the existence of blue but not red. And just as red and blue are subsumed into a greater concept of "colour", so are time and space more properly aspects of a greater concept of "space-time", which is perhaps the more valid concept with space and time being themselves only projections thought up by man.
Although time may be illusory, time is a valid concept; it is possible to define a 4-direction with the property of "past-future", i.e. the 4-vector with the most negative square relativistic displacement, and it is possible to perform objective measurements of displacement along this 4-direction such that one can calculate what other observers will measure. On the other hand, identifying a specific idea of "time" invites absurdities like the idea of a "timeline", of a chronology shaped like a river that can bend independently of space. This idea is completely wrong, and thus is a risk of postulating a "time".
So perhaps time is not a good concept, and space is not a good concept, and perhaps one should only think of "space-time” the ideas of "time-like" and "space-like" while discarding space and time. Unfortunately, space and time are necessarily separated when working in coordinate systems, making this formulation a bit unreasonable.
Time can be a useful concept, and I think that it is just as valid as "space", and that neither are as valid as "space-time", but validity and usefulness are different questions, with both having the answer of "yes but with qualifications". Can we know that time is real? No, but we can neither say that time is unreal for we do not possess the apparatus that enable us to determine the truth. We have conceptualized time as part of a measurement system and it indeed facilitates our pursuit of knowledge in the sciences reasonably well acting as a fundamental quantity that enables the description of other quantities.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
It's this thing i have on strife. it just bothers me like a little pest. No matter the 'quantity of philosophy' that i associate with my motivation it comes down to a pretty basic thing really. the need to survive. and then we make these distinctions between existing and living and surviving and thriving and as many 'ivings' and 'ovings' or simple 'ings' that we like. It all seems pretty useless. Its rather wonderful, run thousands of miles away form your home but once you return home - the net displacement is zero. There's a lot here with displacement. it applies to me, to life, to everything that surrounds me and to the nothing around me. is there or isn't there? This comes with the territory does it not. i'm not sure where i'm going with...well i am but its that language problem again so we'll wait. Later.
In the Ghana of our dreams the child is like a diamond, treated with utmost love and significance, the youth are comparable to an energy source (say oil) whose contributions are acknowledged as unrivalled and inimitable, critical to the success of our nation, and finally the elders, analogous to refined gold, a display of the royalty of our nature, the radiance of our exquisiteness and the immense value of our people.
In the Ghana of our dreams each man works to achieve for the nation’s good. Our leaders are blessed with the understanding that leadership is in essence service and our people comprehend that a government is empowered only by the people. In so that each lives knowing that as he walks and works, he treads on chords that vibrate for all eternity affecting the future of not only his progeny but the children of many to come.
In this Ghana we have order; we keep to time, make appointments and plan ahead. We have the acuity to look at both long-term and short term benefits. A place where a man is his word and his value is in his work. A place with a system of law, order and accountability, where society’s elite and working class have access to the same definition of justice, with a system of legislation that looks out for the common man and a judicial system that stands independent enough to effectively preserve all of his rights.
It is a Ghana where we have educated, enlightened and open-minded adults whose lot does not rest on ’government’ but is earned on the merit of their own hard work. It is a place where national pride is not while-a-soccer-match but where our anthem is etched into the core of our very hearts. A country like ours can be rich in culture and rich in money, because our Ghana is not limited to the American definition but is indeed the sort of wealthy that is displayed on the African child’s face, as a smile emerges not because he can finally dream of eating something (dear God anything!) after three day, but because he is aware that years ago that may have been his reality.
The Ghana of our dreams provides fertile soil for its youth to imbibe the art of excellence hence a verdant nation. The Ghanaian child has a voice, a powerful one at that, trained and refined by the virtues of our culture. He has keenness and aptitude enhanced by education coupled with the blessing of youthfulness. (Forgive me but today I hear very little wisdom from the so called old Folk…maybe I’ve listening to too much radio). When I say the child has been developed I mean he has access to a holistic education that covers principles, ethics and academics; values of honesty, integrity and passion for one’s work (I mean you can’t be told silly things like you are taking things ‘too personal’ because you don’t want your teacher to spend the whole lesson lamenting about people being late or not bringing in their work or worse still you’re standing alone at one side of the room because the rest of your class concurs that copying off someone’s work or miraculously having the test questions before hand ‘is not cheating’) Forgive me, I digress, a student whose quest is for enlightenment so that he can put it to use.
In our Ghana, labor is fruitful, for on the harvest ground we each have sufficient bundles (but we have to be attractive…healthy…uno, no beer bellies and obesity [we reserve that for a lower class of people perhaps] because that exposes us to more disease, reduces our labor force and costs us irreplaceable time and money). It is a beautiful thing to see each of us rejoicing because we have conquered the world without selling our souls or the beauty of our heritage.
It is a Ghana that reaches out to those in need because it can afford to and genuinely wants to.
People will always complain but in this Ghana while we complain we know that we have much to be thankful for and while we’re done complaining we’re still at the drawing board because we possess the crucial knowledge that it is our onus to make things better.
Sometimes in April it rains, because it’s the season. Sometimes in May I wonder why it rains, in June and also in May. Trivialities like these seem to characterize the life that I live. In the face of wars, famine, pain and suffering I seem to falter in terms of my comprehension of things like aspiration and ambition. When the whole world needs inspiration we’re fighting for ambition. Ambition to save the world perhaps?
I have a habit of disconnected ideas. Forgive me. Sometimes I risk potential system overload. Not because I am so stressed or so tired or so unhappy or so ungrateful or so young as to not understand. Simply because so much seems to go on in my mind and I can rarely find a way to express my self. Can i express myself to myself to myself? i think so but on setting it down to paper or putting it at the mercy of any form of language it loses all its meaning. well not all but a lot of meaning especially its ocntext and import. Why then do i bother to write. to attempt this destruction of my ideas...as if they are so wonderful.
Why Sometimes in April, quite frankly only sometimes, because in reality sometimes it doesn’t. And when it doesn’t a lot of this rat race loses its meaning. I can’t find the words to express my ideas but I think the basic import I hope is for me the vicissitudes of life or better put perhaps its very apparent mutability.Nought remains but mutability i should blog on that. later.
Its only sometimes in April and then its in May and sometimes its even not at all. Why am I fighting to attain something that may turn out to be meaningless and then how do I know if to fight for anything when all seems to change so frequently. I tire from this nonsense though I have ,erely exhausted the prologue to my ranting. I have a gift. I do not make sense.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
I realize now that I do not believe that there is a world of ideas. I also do not care if there is a world of ideas. I realize that whether or not I choose to believe that there is a world of is an afterlife it does not matter too much now here. Where is here anyway? Sometimes I wonder is all of me truly here? Because a belief that there is or is not still precludes a random life. If there is an after-tomorrow or no tomorrow, each action still requires miraculous thought.
I must live life as though there were nothing after but as though there were. That I should be involved without being too involved. We’re all going to die. I should remind you. We tend to forget. Yesterday was and today is and that is exactly how my life was/is. Somethings are merely a matter of fact. You are reading this. I am. The World is. Although this seems to mean little I figure this is quite like all else. I wonder.
What relevance is there of a world of ideas, separate from ours but incomprehensibly linked to it? None whatsoever. At least not now, not to me. Or perhaps it matters and I simply have not have cause to think of it. Even now I have not bothered to do so too well and I will not. I have already said that I do not believe that there is a world of ideas, I will not change my mind, at least not now. But everything changes though- life possesses a remarkable mutability. I’m living this kind of life. Whatever that means I have not bothered to write about though I have pondered it. Truly the question that plagues this mind’s random musings - Why is this life lived like this?