I'm going to be a philosopher when I grow up!

I'm thinking about the Vienna Circle tonight. And MOZART Makes You Smarter. And lotsa-lotsa accidental physics, "Back and more mysterious than ever!!".

I want to say something along the lines of pretending by nature (though it's easier to think of the next word by watching the present one materialize on the screen...no way is this going to help me). Something about either having faith in the "why", or else avoiding it altogether...and not because it doesn't imply us.

Wait a moment--i'ma gonna go comb my hair before it dries... (Just because i oughta. :)

Alright. I don't think that science is most relevant. I don't think that an explicit language is more objective because it is less intuitive. I do think that objectivity is absurd outside of a context of communication.

Speaking of binaries: what of the macro/micro scenario? Have you ever cracked a rock into pieces? They don't really fit together afterwards either. (Ridiculous simplification, darling? Maybe.)


Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (10/25/06)

"For the 'meaning' of a word is given either by translation or by definition." *check *check

Imagine distraction this complete, can you just? What about cold hands? What about heavy feet, stamping to believe in their own presence, but can't quite? What about questions being their own answers--where is there space for that?

Consider the weight of a fitful sleep, for instance. Where are we when we're in between? And how is dissatisfaction this complete if what we think we want is the truth? (What else is there!?) Fuck that: where we go has nothing to do with destinations; where we're from has nothing to do with time. Momentary and fleeting truth is not of inherently less worth--its fallback is quarantined in the limits we put on how much value we're willing to expend, as if supply could be just so & not a calculated decree. As if we weren't unequivocally aware of our intentions and ever-willing to deny them, entirely, a voice of distinction.

How do you create the context that will hold yourself still? This isn't about love! Not exactly. It's about willingness. “Oh--but it doesn't have to reflect anything besides itself,” says the mirror of the reflection.

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (10/9/06)

[Hmmm, it's warm today...but i can still afford the coffee.]

Okay, okay, okay! So I can't imagine what it is that I want. Rather, I seem to be infinitely caught up in everything that I have.  (damnit to hell.)  In the mean time: let's talk UNREQUITED!, shall we?

"There are people that come into and leave my life, not gently, moving quickly. They taste unfinished in my eyes--they have neither desire nor chance to distract me, and neither would I allow them to. But it is their theoretical selves that leave me this bewildered; knowing you're at least that real." [How is it that I am the same!?] What do we do with this? These ancient infants, sitting before each other with half-lidded opportunites!?

(look at a person. go ahead.)

Consider a few different perspectives peering at a particular life:
  • What is its shape? How does it build its time around itself? These--the things that we do, and allow done to us.
  • What is its intention? How does it live with itself, knowing so completely why it's doing what-all it does?
  • Where is its height of awareness? How clearly do the lines which join and separate it from everything seem to show up in its own form? How-looks a belief held--and (then) not?

[And which of these are real? What happens when what we deem 'maintenance', starts showing up everywhere?]

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (10/7/06)

"I am Nestor's delicious drinking cup. Whoever drinks from this cup swiftly will the desire of fair-crowned Aphrodite seize him."

Except we are so impressionable! How is this moment not momentarily changing you?

(And you'll carry it now, like it or not--seventy-five years of consciousness, give or take a lifetime. This is what i have (to shape like ivy, perhaps?). I love that the wind brushes leaves on my cheek. ["And know you the end of each joy will come!?" Yup, and more.])

Earlier: "I just untied a hiding necklace from a tree branch and moved it to another lower to the ground. Cuz sometimes you gotta change things up to prove you're paying attention."
Later: "A man sat at a table looking at the necklace for some minutes this evening. Then he stood up, untied it, and rushed away."

But Smiled at me, she did! and whispered to me with urgency, "No! SiƩntese! Coma tu comida..." With tiny, ground teeth, so readily showed / with eyes bright and dull and wantingwantingwanting something...her voice was so much!

(Mine is a generation bent on making things out to be less than they are--always with everything that is in fact ours. For an ode to the thoughts behind the words...be it something like static?)

Oh god, you do no justice to this. But you are so impressionable, and moved still. It has to be like this...EXISTENCE!...and the stuff that happens is secondary. Can you believe it!?--how your heart is pumping?


Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (10/5/06)

Bah!? Arrrrgh! & Grrr!!, respectively.

Fucking Jesus Christ!! Wait no! But damnit to hell nonetheless. (Such is the process of useless expression--needfully anonymous so as to keep what's yours intact. Potent.)

Opinions & Opinions. God! they're everywhere. Stated with such assurance -- believed, even! -- as if recounting an experience ever comes close to its presence; as if noticing it always comes afterward.

I'm such a loser, (might we prefer 'carelessly dissatisfied'? - nope!) i don't know what I'm complaining about. (I'm cold, etc.) Whatever, probably writing is no better than talking (everevertalking--incessant! this silly talk) when you get right down to it. But in the mean time, call me gruff.

Gruff - Rough, brusque, or surly: a gruff manner.

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (10/4/06)

As the last person on earth that rollerblades--let come the Nebraska-massive bruising!

[These brackets are to contain an existence-altering sort of banter, wherein a distracted prelude to an extreme alteration of a thusfar skewed-spectacled awareness of life in general will at longlast be made available to you, the masses.]

My right hand is cold; my left hand isn't. I hope I'm not dying. (Probably i'm not.)

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (10/2/06)


(What is it about cold thoughts or coffee? "I'm freezing," sayeth the extremities of my body.)

I have an altogether insufficient memory that has proven tenacious: this fleeting person, not at all present. Would that i were fickle!--it's gotten to the point that whenever i'm not thinking about him, i feel like i'm forgetting something.

What is this!? I've neither excuse, nor basis. I don't even want anything. And at least I'm writing again...

But I am a ridiculous thing, after all. I wish that i were unhappy--I haven't a chance.

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (10/1/06)