Sunday, December 19, 2004

If there really is a circular book at the center of the Library of Babel, I have to wonder if it's a dictionary.

Saturday, December 11, 2004

Get Me Away from Here Im Dying

Belle and Sebastian

Ooh! get me away from here I’m dying
Play me a song to set me free
Nobody writes them like they used to
So it may as well be me
Here on my own now after hours
Here on my own now on a bus
Think of it this way
You could either be successful or be us
With our winning smiles, and us
With our catchy tunes and words
Now we’re photogenic
You know, we don’t stand a chance

Oh, I’ll settle down with some old story
About a boy who’s just like me
Thought there was love in everything and everyone
You’re so naive!
They always reach a sorry ending
They always get it in the end
Still it was worth it as I turned the pages solemnly, and then
With a winning smile, the poor boy
With naivety succeeds
At the final moment, I cried
I always cry at endings

Oh, that wasn’t what I meant to say at all
From where I’m sitting, rain
Falling against the lonely tenement
Has set my mind to wander
Into the windows of my lovers
They never know unless I write
This is no declaration, I just thought I’d let you know goodbye
Said the hero in the story
It is mightier than swords
I could kill you sure
But I could only make you cry with these words

Tuesday, December 07, 2004

I let some thoughtless words bring down my muse and cause her to flee. Whats worse is that they were words from a stranger, or practicly one. I haven't written in my weblog since a few months ago, and I can assure you that much has been going on. Still, I have to wonder most about how delicate I am in these latter days, and how so much like a house of cards.
My temprament was always something that pleased me in my youth. I was emotional sure, but most of that was for attention, I think these days. Still, when I was younger I was almost impossible to anger. Insults were often met with only blank stares or a bemused smile. Poorly motivated criticisms were combatted with a whole array of argumentative techniques which found their roots in logic and the Socratic method. I always believed that my free will was my own, possibly the only thing which I possessed, and so the often trivial aspects of our society had no effect on me. I have robbed myself of this over time.
Don't ever let anyone tell you that it's hard to change, because it's not. Entropy grinds away at us all, slowly widdling the passions and spirit of our youth. No matter how vibrant your spirit, it is the course of our aging to bring us to the norm. Nature has always had a preference for equilibrium. Changing is not hard, the current of our life will garuntee that for us, it is directing the change which requires the effort.
And what of this short slight, and the words which faltered this project of mine. My weakness lies in loneliness, it's always been my secret heel. This stranger who had power over me was someone whom I had come to admire from a distance. A character whose online journal I read everyday through a link from John's page. I had come to admire a brilliant writer and an inquisitive mind. Not to mention that the picture he had on his page was adorable, but who doesn't have a weakness for a pretty face.
As time progressed I came to meet this man, again through John, and we had spoken a few times.
Very quickly it became obvious that I had been mistaken about my interest. I don't want to degrade myself by slinging mud or recording some horrific chain of faults and judgements, but for sure I almost immediatly recognized that any pursuit of a relationship with him would be both exhaustive and emotionaly unrewarding. My interest safely curtailed I thought myself surely impervious, but apparently I was not.
You see I have this wonderful way of dismissing people completely from my life and not really ever looking back. I've never had any trouble burning bridges if I thought they might be ones the Romans would use to pursue me. But with this guy I seemed to have no subconscious defense.
See, he said something about how he prefered the intellectual and thoughtful posts over the ones that simply recorded my responses to the day. It wasn't very insulting in itself, but the tone that was set in the phrase and the context of the statement implied a harsh contempt. I had been judged, I knew, and I found it even more insulting that he thought that he could slip it by. Like he had suddenly come to decide that I was an inferior intellect, and thus a bauble to be poked at.
My emotional response was silent irritation, which passed rather quickly. My subconscoius response was to stop writing in my weblog. And now I have missed recording some of the most remarkable events in the past many years.
I wonder why he would have such power over me. And I came to the conclusion tonight, he does not. He never did. My problem is far more systemic to me; my weakness is not one of armour or weapons, but one of a fractured perception.
It is time that I made some changes in my life. And change, like strength or temperance, is an act of my will.

Sunday, December 05, 2004

It is always the hardest with the devils we adore. All the sultry charms of a fallen cherub and a soothing balm that will indeed cure you of one ill at the price of another. That is the ever threat of limitation, to be fallable is to be vulnerable both in thought and action.