i know you looked gorgeous today. well, especially gorgeous.
to say i know is to say that i had true and justified belief, and that this belief is itself based on reliable sources, and that this knowledge is sensitive to the truth (the last requirement is a little bit sketchy, ontological-analysis wise). but that is the gist of what i mean when i say that i know.
tomorrow, after the stars go out, the sun will rise, the rains will ease and the winds will sail.
i have lived too long on these premises that i can hardly be said to be unhappy now.
so long, so long.
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
CLXX - secret
i have decided and have begun to start writing. i hope to be devoted to it. it will take time and i will give it time. it's actually pretty tiring. but the process has turned out well so far. and that's not too bad. sometimes i wake up and write down something that occurred to me in that mid-stream between dreaming and stirring. sometimes i feel like i'm into a secret, a secret that binds every writer in the course of history, great and small. and the secret is that our words are shared at some remove from our own piddling and miserly little lives, that our words exist on their own two living and breathing feet and that they may matter, at some far and obscure remove.
someday people die. someday the things you own will belong, if they are lucky, in the hands of another owner. the vulgar things will survive in their own vulgar little ways. i mean money and all such countable things. obviously money buys everything in so far as it is a thing. but money cannot buy meaning, meaning is invested. that is clear. but returning to the point of this, i wish to say that someday the things you own will either be lost or belong to another. yes. the book that you love will be read by someone who reads with clumsy eyes and rough, unpracticed hands. the pages will fray and the words will not mean to another's obtuse heart what they mean to you. perhaps that is why some of the old kings buried all their treasure with them. anyway, the fates of these things are little bound with ours after we have passed on. to some extent, there is to me some smidgeon of regret about someone being unworthy of my things. my things, my things which i have deemed worthy of curating and collecting. my things which i have once truly loved. someday someone will trample on the things i once held dear. but by then i will truly have died.
p.s. Sunday, 14 December 2014. the second paragraph does not end well. that is because i started writing it with one intention in mind but i lost the spirit of it in the writing. i may have been tired or the words may have jaded me. i wanted to say that we need to trust the people that follow us with our things. and one way to accept such a proscription is to put some effort into those people. in a way we need to see some reflection of ourselves in another before we can get to some point of trust. but is that good and necessary? i am not so, i hope, proud as to always think so. therefore what i wanted to say was that we need to have some faith in our fellow man, to take over this world, over our lands. so you see, at least our words, inscrutable, ancient, lost, are some kind of guardian spirit to men. that is the secret.
someday people die. someday the things you own will belong, if they are lucky, in the hands of another owner. the vulgar things will survive in their own vulgar little ways. i mean money and all such countable things. obviously money buys everything in so far as it is a thing. but money cannot buy meaning, meaning is invested. that is clear. but returning to the point of this, i wish to say that someday the things you own will either be lost or belong to another. yes. the book that you love will be read by someone who reads with clumsy eyes and rough, unpracticed hands. the pages will fray and the words will not mean to another's obtuse heart what they mean to you. perhaps that is why some of the old kings buried all their treasure with them. anyway, the fates of these things are little bound with ours after we have passed on. to some extent, there is to me some smidgeon of regret about someone being unworthy of my things. my things, my things which i have deemed worthy of curating and collecting. my things which i have once truly loved. someday someone will trample on the things i once held dear. but by then i will truly have died.
p.s. Sunday, 14 December 2014. the second paragraph does not end well. that is because i started writing it with one intention in mind but i lost the spirit of it in the writing. i may have been tired or the words may have jaded me. i wanted to say that we need to trust the people that follow us with our things. and one way to accept such a proscription is to put some effort into those people. in a way we need to see some reflection of ourselves in another before we can get to some point of trust. but is that good and necessary? i am not so, i hope, proud as to always think so. therefore what i wanted to say was that we need to have some faith in our fellow man, to take over this world, over our lands. so you see, at least our words, inscrutable, ancient, lost, are some kind of guardian spirit to men. that is the secret.
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