February 5, 2009
I like it when I sometimes hit the zone where life dims and blurs past in a swirl of browns and greys.  When they sky is mute and harsh white light washes out pubescent clouds.  All around me people are rushing with purpose.  Their neurons sequentially fire and they develop goals that they pursue with linearity.  What will I become?  Who am I now?  Where is the place I want to be going to?  These are all thoughts that grace our minds at some point or another.  In any case , I know well enough that I regularly lose my own focus in a torrent of plans, musings, and analyses relative to my proximal stimulants.  This is just so. Though I use similar words or think in similar patterns, there exists two distinct scales in which my meta-commentary operates.  Those things which are important to my now (what will make me feel the way I want to feel, i.e. I want a nap, I want a pukka pie, I want to kick a squirrel) and on the other end of the spectrum is a more detached examination of myself as a part of something larger (why I feel the way I feel, i.e. are my thoughts a product of my cultural surroundings? what is my place in nature? why do people love one another? what is aprivilege? what is a right?). In the end, my perspective is self-centric despite curious attempts to see the world as others do.  The majority of these attempts merely fill in blanks of prefabricated thought templates.  As an example, if I want to imagine life as a professional athelete, I will consider the benefits and negatives of strength, fame, adulation, temptation, and responsibility while ignoring the humanity that this template must exist on.  With learned, rational thought I flesh out benefits and the drawbacks of this life, but here my rationality betrays the attempt for life is no stranger to irrationality.  It is a gradient of stimuli, responses and murky realizations.  There is no set form of love, sadness, awareness - they are constant fluxes across peoples and within a person.  It is more often that approximations of these basic motivators come to dominate and distract the attentions of man.  Love has developed rules.  Hatred is a social tool.  Awareness is limited by our ability to communicate it. Until I die I will prod these essences without finding them, even if I trick myself into believing I have.  That, if nothing else, is beauty.  -kerb

I like it when I sometimes hit the zone where life dims and blurs past in a swirl of browns and greys.  When they sky is mute and harsh white light washes out pubescent clouds.  All around me people are rushing with purpose.  Their neurons sequentially fire and they develop goals that they pursue with linearity.  What will I become?  Who am I now?  Where is the place I want to be going to?  These are all thoughts that grace our minds at some point or another.  In any case , I know well enough that I regularly lose my own focus in a torrent of plans, musings, and analyses relative to my proximal stimulants.  This is just so.

Though I use similar words or think in similar patterns, there exists two distinct scales in which my meta-commentary operates.  Those things which are important to my now (what will make me feel the way I want to feel, i.e. I want a nap, I want a pukka pie, I want to kick a squirrel) and on the other end of the spectrum is a more detached examination of myself as a part of something larger (why I feel the way I feel, i.e. are my thoughts a product of my cultural surroundings? what is my place in nature? why do people love one another? what is aprivilege? what is a right?).

In the end, my perspective is self-centric despite curious attempts to see the world as others do.  The majority of these attempts merely fill in blanks of prefabricated thought templates.  As an example, if I want to imagine life as a professional athelete, I will consider the benefits and negatives of strength, fame, adulation, temptation, and responsibility while ignoring the humanity that this template must exist on.  With learned, rational thought I flesh out benefits and the drawbacks of this life, but here my rationality betrays the attempt for life is no stranger to irrationality.  It is a gradient of stimuli, responses and murky realizations.  There is no set form of love, sadness, awareness - they are constant fluxes across peoples and within a person.  It is more often that approximations of these basic motivators come to dominate and distract the attentions of man.  Love has developed rules.  Hatred is a social tool.  Awareness is limited by our ability to communicate it.

Until I die I will prod these essences without finding them, even if I trick myself into believing I have.  That, if nothing else, is beauty.  -kerb

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